neetha Napew - Spellsinger

Jon-Tom raised the torch higher. Two figures lay on the floor of the tunnel. One

was Mudge. His feet were bound at the ankles and knees and his arms done up

similarly at wrists and elbows. A carrying pole had been slipped neatly between

the bindings.

Leaning over the otter was a furry creature about four feet tall. His attire was

surprisingly bright. He wore a yellow vest studded with blue cabochons and held

together across the chest with blue laces. Additional lacings held the vest

bottom securely to what looked like lederhosen.

A ringlet much like a thin tiara sat askew on the brown head. It was fastened

under the chin by yellow straps. Broad sandals were laced across its feet. The

sandals were pointed at toe and heel, possibly a matter of design, perhaps to

aid in digging, giving freedom to the long thick claws on each hind foot.

One hand was fitted with a yellow metallic glove. This covered the creature's

face as he squinted sideways through barely spread fingers, though he was trying

hard to look directly at Jon-Tom and his torch.

The other hand held the sickle-shaped weapon that was resting on the otter's

throat. Mudge's own weapons lay scattered on the floor nearby, even to his

secret heel-boot knife. His arrows, sword, and bow shared space with the spears

and wicked-looking halberds abandoned by those who had fled at Jon-Tom's

appearance.

"I say to you again," repeated the determined gopher, his grip tightening on the

sickle-knife, "if you move I'll open this thief's neek and let out his life

among the stones."

"Thief?" Jon-Tom frowned as he looked back down at the tightly trussed otter.

"Ah, you fart-faced worm eater, that's the biggest lie since Esaticus the eagle

claimed to 'ave done it flyin' underwater!"

Jon-Tom settled back against the cool wall and deliberately lowered his knife,

though he didn't go so far as to replace it in its sheath. The gopher watched

him uncertainly.

"What has been going on here, Mudge?" he asked the otter quietly.

"I'm tellin' you, mate! I was out huntin' for our supper when I tripped while

chasin' a fine fat broyht. I fell down into this pit o' 'orrors, where I was

promptly set upon by this 'orde o' rabid cannibals. They're blood-drinkers, lad.

You'd best take care o' this one with your magical powers afore--"

"That's enough, Mudge." He looked up at the gopher. "You can put up your sickle,

or knife, or whatever you call it, sir. That position can't be too comfortable."

He set the torch down on the floor. "I'm sorry if my light hurts your eyes."

The gopher was still wary. "Are you not this one's friend?"

"I'm his associate in travel. I'm also a believer in the truth. I promise not to

attack you while we talk, or make a hostile move of any kind."

"Lad, you don't know wot you're sayin'! The minute you put up your knife 'e's

likely to--"

"Mudge... shut up. And be glad I'm here instead of Clothahump. He'd probably

just leave you." The otter went quiet, muttering under his breath.

"You have my word," Jon-Tom informed the gopher, "as a traveler in your country

and as a," he thought rapidly, "as a wizard who means you no harm. I swear not

to harm you on my, uh, sacred oath as a spellsinger."

The gopher noted the duar. "Wizard it may be, though it was more of a daemonic

effect you had upon my men." Reluctantly the scythe blade moved away from

Mudge's throat.

"I'm Jon-Tom."

"And I am called Abelmar." The gopher moved his hand away from his eyes and

squinted painfully at the man. "It was your light as well as your appearance

which startled my troop. Most of them are moles and the light is far more

hurtful to them than to me, for my kind occasionally make daytime forays when

the city so requires it. Some daytime activity is necesary for the maintenance

of normal commerce, much as we of Pfeiffunmunter prefer to keep to ourselves."

He looked meaningfully down at Mudge.

"Except when we are intruded upon by cutthroats and thieves."

" 'Tis all a bloody lie!" Mudge protested. "When I get out o' these blinkin'

ropes I'll do some intrudin' you'll never forget. Come on now, mate," he said to

Jon-Tom, "untie me."

Jon-Tom ignored the twisting, writhing otter. "I meant no intrusion, Abelmar. My

friend says that you attacked him. You've called him a thief."

"I am in charge of the east-end morning patrol," explained the gopher. He looked

worriedly back down the tunnel. "Citizens will soon be appearing on nightly

business, awakening from the day's sleep. It would be embarrassing for them to

see me this way. Yet I must carry out my duty." He stiffened.

"Your associate is guilty of attempted theft, a sadly common crime we must

continually face when we deal with outlanders. Yet it is not the theft that

troubles us so much as the vandalism."

"Vandalism?" Jon-Tom looked accusingly at Mudge.

"Yes. It is not serious, but if left unchecked could become a serious threat to

our neatly built community. Do you have any idea, Jon-Tom, how taxes go up when

the public thoroughfares are torn to pieces by strangers?"

" 'E's lying through those oversized teeth o' 'is again, mate," Mudge protested,

though with less conviction this time. "Why would I want t' go around rippin' up

'is blinkin' street?"

Abelmar sighed. "I suppose it is our own fault, but we are aesthetes by nature.

We enjoy a bit of brightness in our city, for all that it gives us problems with

ignorant travelers such as this," and he kicked Mudge in the back. "But I see

you still do not understand." He'd grown accustomed enough to Jon-Tom's torch to

look without blinking now.

"Look," and he bent toward Mudge.

"Careful!" Jon-Tom took a step forward and raised his knife.

"Easy move, Jon-Tom stranger," said the gopher. "If you are suspicious of my

movements, then look instead at your own feet. Or can it be in truth you have

not looked closely at our fine streets?"

Jon-Tom knelt cautiously, still keeping an eye on the gopher. Moving the torch,

he stared intently at the closely laid bricks. They gleamed as dully as those

he'd encountered near the tunnel entrance, only with the torch resting directly

on them the glow intensified. They threw back a half-familiar, reddish-yellow

light.

"Common enough below Pfeiffunmunter," said the gopher with a trace of

bitterness, "but not to those who come along and try ripping it out of our

beautiful pathways and boulevards. It makes for pretty paving, don't you think?"

"Surely now that you understand you can excuse me the temptation, mate," said

Mudge defensively. "You wouldn't think these grave diggers would be so greedy

they'd resent a poor visitor a few cobblestones."

"Excuse me." Jon-Tom rose and almost cracked his head again on the low ceiling.

"I apologize to you for any damage, Abelmar."

"It's not too bad. You have to understand," the gopher told him, "that if we let

this sort of thing persist and word of it spread 'round the outworld, before too

long we'd have mobs of sunlifers down here destroying all our public

thoroughfares, our roads, and our very homes. It would be the end of

civilization as we know it."

He paused. Noise was growing behind him, moving up from the depths of the

tunnel. "Travelers out for an evening walk," the gopher surmised, "or else my

men, the cowardly bastards, coming back to see if anything's left of me." He

sighed. "I have my duty, but I can face reality as well. We have something of a