neetha Napew - Spellsinger

Thoroughly engrossed in his work, the wizard failed to notice his visitors.

After a proper pause, Pog fluttered forward and said deferentially, "Pardon da

intrusion, Master, but dey have returned."

"Um... what? Who's returned?" He looked around and his gaze fell on Jon-Tom. "Oh

yes, you. I remember you, boy."

"Not too well, it seems." It was something less than the exuberant welcome he'd

hoped for.

"I have a lot on my mind, boy." He slid off the low bench and sought out the

gray figure of Mudge, who was partly hidden behind Jon-Tom. "Back early, I see.

Well, you lazy, foul-mouthed, slanderous mammal, what have you to say for

yourself? Or is this merely a courteous visit and I should assume you've

encountered no troubles?" The last sentence was spoken with false sweetness.

" 'Tis not like you're thinkin' at all, Your Worshipfulness," the otter

insisted. "I was showin' the lad the ways o' Lynchbany and we ran into some

unforeseen problems, we did. They weren't no more my fault than they was 'is,"

and he jerked a short thumb in Jon-Tom's direction.

Clothahump looked up at the tall young man. "Is what he says true, boy? That's

he's done his best and taken good care of you? Or is he the outright liar he

looks?"

"Wot a thing to say," muttered Mudge, but not too loudly.

"It's hard to lay responsibility for what we've been through lately at anyone's

feet, sir." He was aware of black otter eyes hard on his back. "On the one hand,

it certainly seems as though I... as though we've been the victims of a really

unlikely sequence of unfortunate happenings. On the other...."

"No, mate," interrupted Mudge hurriedly, "there be no need t' go into such

silliness now." He looked back to the wizard. "I did me best for the lad, Your

Highestness. Why, I venture t' say nary a stranger's 'ad quite such fullness o'

experience o' local customs as 'e 'as in these past several days."

Jon-Tom kept his expression carefully neutral. "I certainly can't argue with

that, sir."

Clothahump considered while he inspected Jon-Tom. "At least the laggard has

clothed you properly." He took note of the war staff and the duar. Then his

attention shifted to the third member of the little group.

"And who might you be, young lady?"

She stepped proudly forward. "I am Talea of Wuver County, of the Brightberries

that mature at Night, third on my mother's side, first of red hair and green

eyes, and I am afraid of neither man, woman, beast... nor wizard."

"Hmph." Clothahump turned away from her, then suddenly seemed to slump in on

himself. Sitting back down on the workbench he leaned his shell against the

table. Fingers rubbed tiredly at his forehead as he smiled almost apologetically

at his visitors.

"Pardon my tone, my friends. You especially, Jon-Tom. I forget common courtesy

myself these days, as I forget many other things too easily. Responsible as I am

for your inconveniencing, I owe you more than a curt interrogation concerning

your recent activities. If I seemed brusque it was only out of worry for your

welfare. But you see, things are growing worse and not better."

"The coming crisis you told us about?" Jon-Tom wondered sympathetically.

The turtle nodded. "It turns my sleep into a cauldron of black distress. I dream

of nothing save darkness and death. Of an ocean of putrification about to drown

the worlds."

"Ahhh, I don't see why ya worry yourself so much," said Pog from a nearby

rafter. "You knockin' yourself out fer noddin', boss. Everybody else scoffs at

ya, taunts ya behind your shell. Ya know some of da names dey call ya? 'Senile'

is da best o' them."

"I am aware of the local opinion." Clothahump grinned slightly. "In order for

one to be affected by insults, one must have some respect for their source. I've

told you that before, Pog. The comments of the rabble are of no import, even if

they are the rabble one is trying to save. You'll never make a decent peregrine

unless you change your attitude in such matters. Hawks and falcons are a haughty

folk. You need to cultivate more mental and social independence."

"Yeah, tell me about it," the bat muttered.

Jon-Tom was fascinated by the still unspecified threat, despite his own personal

problems. "So you haven't learned anything new about this evil since we left? Or

about its source, or when it will come?"

The wizard shook his head dolefully. "It remains as nebulous in nature, as

tenuous of touch as before, boy. Nor am I any nearer concocting a methodology to

combat it with."

Jon-Tom tried to cheer the despondent turtle. "I've a surprise for you,

Clothahump. It was a surprise to me, also."

"What are you riddling me with, boy?"

"I think I may be able to help after all." Clothahump looked up at him

curiously.

"Aye, 'tis true, Your Geniusness," said Mudge excitedly. "Why, 'twas meself who

first suggested that..." He broke off, thinking better of the incipient lie.

"No. No, dammit, I cannot take any o' the credit. The lad did it all on 'is

own."

"Did what on his own?" asked the exasperated wizard.

"We'd been tryin' 'ard t' discover some useful skill for 'im, Your Mastership.

'Is range o' experience matches 'is youthfulness, so wasn't much in the way o'

things 'e was practiced at. 'E 'as 'is natural size and reach, and some agility.

At first I thought 'e might make a good mercenary. But 'e kept insistin' 'e

wanted t' be either a lawyer or a musician." Jon-Tom nodded in confirmation.

"Well, Your Lordship can imagine wot I thought o' the first suggestion.

Concernin' 'tother, while the lad's voice is o' considerable volume, it leaves

somethin' t' be desired as far as carryin' the tune, if you follow me meaning.

But 'is musicianship was another matter, sor. 'E 'as real enthusiasm for

music... and as it turned out, somethin' more.

"We stumbled, literally stumbled we did, across that fine duar you see 'angin'

about 'is neck. And when he got to strummin' on it, well, the most unbelievable

things started a-happenin'! You would not believe it 'ad not you been there

yourself. All purple and 'azy it started to shine, and its shape a shakin', and

the sounds, sor." The otter put his hands melodramatically to his ears.

"The sounds this lad can coax out o' that little musicbox. 'E calls it music

like 'e's used to playin', but 'tis of a size I never 'eard in me short but full

little life."

"I don't know what happened or why, sir." Jon-Tom ran his fingers over the duar.

"It vibrates a little when I play it. I think it's trying to become the kind of

instrument I'm used to, and can't. As to the magic"--he shrugged--"I'm afraid

I'm not very good at it. I only seem to have the vaguest kind of control over

what I call up."

"He's too modest, sir," said Talea. "He's a true spellsinger.

"We were tired and worn from our long march through the woods when he started a

strange song about some kind of transportation." She looked sideways at Jon-Tom.

"I cannot imagine what it was he was singing about, but what he produced was a

L'borean riding snake. I do not think it was specified by his song."

"Not hardly," agreed Jon-Tom.

"Nevertheless, that is what he materialized, and a fine ride it provided us,

too."

"Nor be that all, sor," said Mudge. "Soon afterward, as we glide through the

forest night, 'e's a-strummin' those strings and then... why sor, the like's o'

so many gneechees was never seen in this country! I swear by me piece they were