neetha Napew - Spellsinger

She grinned wickedly at him, and something went all weak inside Jon-Tom. "I have

eleven brothers and sisters, Mr. Clothahump, and I'm the second youngest. The

only reason I'm on the cheerleading squad is because they don't let women play

on the football team. Not at the university level, anyhow. I grew up with a

switchblade in my boot."

"I am not familiar with the weapon," replied a pleased Clothahump, "but I

believe we can arm you adequately."

Talea had stifled her amusement and had walked over to gaze appraisingly up at

the new arrival. "You're the biggest woman I've ever seen."

"I'm tall even for back home," said Quintera. "It's been a drawback sometimes,

except in sports." She smiled dazzlingly down at Talea and extended a hand. "Do

you shake hands here?"

"We do." Talea reached out hesitantly.

"Bueno. I'd like for us to be friends."

"I think I'd like that too." The two women shook, each taking the measure of the

other without conceding anything.

"It's just like I've always dreamed," Quintera murmured, eyes shining.

"You mean you're not upset?" Jon-Tom gaped at her.

"Oh, maybe a little."

Pog grumbled steadily as he began cleaning up the debris created by the

explosive collapse of the interdimensional vortex.

"But I've always wanted to be the heroine in shining armor, ever since I was a

little girl," Quintera continued.

"No need to worry, then," said Jon-Tom firmly. "I've learned quite a bit since

I've been here. I'll make sure no harm comes to you."

"Oh, don't worry about me," she replied gaily.

Pog appeared with an armful of old weapons. "Got 'em since ya left," he told the

curious Jon-Tom. "Boss thought it'd be a good idea t'have a few lizard-stickers

around in case his magic really got rusty."

Flores Quintera immediately knelt over the pile of destruction and began sorting

through it with something other than doll-like enthusiasm. "Hoy, but I'm looking

forward to this."

"It could be very dangerous." Jon-Tom had moved to stand protectively close to

her.

"Well, of course it could, from what Clothaheemp... Clothahump tells me... watch

your foot there, that ax is sharp." He took a couple of steps backward. "It

wouldn't be any fun if it didn't have any danger," she informed him, as though

addressing a complete fool.

"Oh, this looks nice," she said brightly, hefting a saw-edged short sword. "Can

I have this one?" It was designed for someone Mudge's size. In her lithe hands

it looked like a long, thick dagger.

She moved as if to put it in her belt, became aware she wasn't wearing one.

"I can't go marching around in this," she muttered.

"Oh God!" Mudge threw up his paws and spun away. "Not again. Please, I can't go

back to Lynchbany and go through this again."

"Never mind." Talea was studying the towering female form. "If the wizard can

conjure up some material, I think the two of us can make you something, Flores."

"Call me Flor, please."

"I don't know about conjuring," said Clothahump carefully, "but there are stores

in the back rooms of the Tree. Pog will show you where."

"O' course he will," snorted the bat under his breath. "Don't he always?"

The two young women vanished with the bat into yet another section of the

seemingly endless interior of the tree.

"I 'ave to 'and it t' you, mate." Mudge smacked Jon-Tom's back with a friendly

whack from one furry paw and leered up at him. "First you make friends with

Talea and now you materialize this black-maned gable o' gorgeousness. Would that

I were up t' such, wot?"

"I'd rather have switched places with an engineer," Jon-Tom mumbled.

He considered Flor Quintera. Her personality somehow did not seem to match his

imagining of same. "This new lady, Flor. I've seen her a lot, Mudge, but I'd

always imagined her to be somewhat more, well, vulnerable."

" 'Er? Vulnerable? Kiss me bum, mate, but she seems as vulnerable as an ocelot

with six arms."

"I know," said Jon-Tom sadly.

Mudge was looking at the doorway through which the women had disappeared. "

'Crikey but I won't mind unvulnerablin' 'er. It'd be like climbin' a bloomin'

mountain. I always did 'ave a 'ankerin' t' go explorin' through the peaks and

valleys of a challengin' range, wot." He moved away from the distraught Jon-Tom,

chuckling lasciviously.

Jon-Tom shuffled across to the workbench. Clothahump sat there, inspecting his

shattered apparatus and trying to locate intact bits and pieces with which to

work.

"I'm really sorry, sir," he said a little dazedly. "I tried my best."

"I know you did, boy. It is not your fault." Clothahump patted Jon-Tom's leg

reassuringly. "Rare is the man, wizard, warrior, or worker, who can always think

with his brains instead of his balls. Not to worry. What is done is done, and we

must make the best of it. At least we have added another dedicated fighter and

believer to our ranks. And we still have you and your unpredictable but

undeniably powerful spellsinger's abilities, and something more."

"I don't suppose we could try again."

The wizard shook his head. "Impossible. Even if I thought I could survive and

control another such conjuration, the last of the necessary powders and material

have been used. It would take months simply to find enough ytterbium to

constitute the necessary pinch the formula requires."

"I hope you're right about my abilities," Jon-Tom mumbled. "I don't seem to be

much good at anything here lately. I hope I can think of the right song when the

time comes." He frowned abruptly. "You said we have my abilities and 'something

more'?"

The wizard nodded, looked pleased with himself. "Sometimes a good shock is more

valuable than any amount of concentration. When I was thrown against the Tree

wall by the force of the trans-dimension dissipation, I had a brief but

ice-clear image. I now know who is behind the growing evil." He gazed

meaningfully up at the staring Jon-Tom.

"Tell me, then. Who and what are--"

But the turtle raised a restraining hand. "Best to wait until everyone has

returned. There is ample threat to all in this, and I shall not begin to play

favorites now."

So they waited while Jon-Tom watched the wizard. Clothahump sat quietly,

contemplating something beyond the ken of the others.

The women returned with Pog muttering irritably behind them. Jon-Tom was a

little shocked at the transformation that had come over the delicate flower of

his postadolescent fantasies.

In place of the familiar cheerleader's sweater and skirt Flor Quintera was clad

in pants and vest of white leatherlike material. The sharply cut vest left her

arms and shoulders bare, and her dark skin stood out startlingly against the

pale cream-colored clothing. A fringed black cape hung from her neck and matched

fringe-topped black boots. The long dagger (or short sword) hung from a black

metal belt and a double-headed mace hung from her right hand.

"What do you think?" She twirled the mace gracefully and thus indicated to

Jon-Tom why she'd selected it. It was not dissimilar to the baton she was so

accustomed to. The major difference was the pair of spiked steel balls at one

end, lethal rather than entertaining.

"Don't you think," he said uneasily, "it's a mite extreme?"

"Look who's talking. What's the matter, not what you'd like to see?" She turned

on her toes and did a mock curtsey. "Is that more ladylike?"

"Yes. No. I mean..."

She turned and walked over to him, laughing, and put a comforting hand on his