neetha Napew - Spellsinger

" 'Twas a chameleon," said Mudge bravely, sitting down on a rock near the fire

with the look of one who'd run far and hard. "You know 'ow dangerous they can

be, Talea Blendin' their colors in with the landscape and waitin' with those

great sticky tongues o' theirs for some unwary travelersby."

"Chameleons?" Flor looked confusedly over at Jon-Tom. He muttered something

about much of the reptilian life growing to the size of buffaloes and why should

chameleons be any exception.

"I just 'ad crept up on 'im and was drawin' back me bow," said Mudge tensely,

warming to his story, "when the brute saw me against a light-barked tree. Turned

on me right there, 'e did, with all three horns a flashin' in the moonlight an

'im so close I could smell 'is fetid breath."

"What happened then?" wondered Flor, leaning close. The exhausted otter rested

the back of his head against the cushion of her bosom and tried with difficulty

to concentrate on his spellbinding invention, while Talea soothingly stroked one

limp arm.

"I 'eard that slick raspy noise they make when they open their jaws just afore

the strike, so I dove right back between two trees. That tongue came after me so

fast you'd o' swore it 'ad wings o' its own. Came right between the trees after

me an' went over me 'ead so near it took off the top o' me cap.

"I started runnin' backward, just to keep 'im in sight. The damn persistent cham

followed 'is tongue right through those trees. I tell you, 'is nose 'orn 'twere

no farther from me 'eart than you are from me now." He patted the cushion

against which he rested.

"Then how did you get away?" asked the rapt Flor, her black hair mixing in his

short fur.

"Well, 'e charged so fast and reckless, so 'ungry was 'e for me flesh, that 'e

gets 'imself pinned between the trunks, 'is top right 'orn pierced 'alfway

through one. For all I know 'e's still there a-tuggin' and a-pullin', tryin' to

free 'imself." Whiskers twitching, the otter wiped a hand across his forehead.

" Twere a near thing, luv."

A disgusted Jon-Tom was angrily tossing twigs into the fire. A warm paw came

down on his shoulder. He looked up to see Caz, the orange firelight sparkling on

his monocle, grinning down at him around a pair of blunt white incisors.

"Something less than the truth to our friend's tale, Jon-Tom?" Another twig

bounced into the flames. "I know, I've heard him spin stories before. What he

lacks in literacy he compensates for with a most fecund imagination. By the time

he finishes he will half believe it actually happened."

"I don't mind him spinning a yarn," Jon-Tom said, "it's the way those two are

lapping it up."

"Don't let it dig at you, my friend," said the aristocratic lepus. "As I said,

it is his enthusiasm that carries his storytelling. Before very long cleverness

instinctively gives way to a natural lack of subtlety coupled with an inability

to let well enough alone."

In confirmation, a startled yelp came from the other side of the fire, followed

by the sound of a hand striking furry flesh. An argument filled the misty night

air. Jon-Tom saw both Flor and Talea stalking angrily away from the recumbent

and protesting otter.

"You see?" Caz sounded disapproving. "Mudge is a good fellow, but at heart he is

crude. No style."

"What about you?" Jon-Tom looked curiously up at his companion. "What's your

style? What do you expect to get out of this journey?"

"My style... is to be myself, friend." It was spoken with dignity. "To be true

to myself, my friends, and forgiving to my enemies."

"Including those who chased you off the boat?"

"Tut! They were justified in their feelings, if not the extremity of their

reaction." He winked with his unglassed eye. "I was doubtless guilty of some

indelicate prestidigitation of the dice. My mistake was that I was found out.

"If they had actually caught and killed me, of course, I would have been

somewhat more upset."

Jon-Tom couldn't help breaking into a grin.

"As to what I expeet to 'get out of this journey,' I have already stated that I

feel assisting this worthy cause is reason and therefore satisfaction enough.

You have been too long in the company of likable but amoral types such as Mudge

and Talea. I believe implicitly everything our currently comatose wizard leader

says.

"I have been studying him closely these past few days. Any idiot can see plainly

that all the woes of the world weigh squarely upon his head. I am no hero,

Jon-Tom, but neither am I such a fool that I cannot see that the destruction of

the world as it currently exists would mean the end of my pleasant manner of

living. I'm quite fond of it.

"So you see, it is in my own best interest to go along with and to help you, as

it would be for any warmlander satisfied with his existence. I will help

Clothahump in any way I can. I am not much for soldiering, but I have some skill

in the use of words. Even he realizes, I think, that he has a tendency to be

impatient with fools. On the other hand I am quite used to dealing with them."

"This group could sure use a diplomat," agreed Jon-Tom. "I've tried my best at

mediating but... I guess I just don't have the experience for it."

"Do not belittle that which you have no control over, which is your youth, my

friend. You strike me as wise for your years. That's more than anyone could ask,

from what I've learned of your unwilling presence here. It strikes me you want

not for ability but for goals.

"Though I have more experience than you, I am always willing to listen to

others. And I could never do what you've done with the dragon. There is

experience and there is experience. You handle him who breathes fire and I will

take care of those who breathe insults and threats. We will complement each

other. Agreed?"

"Fair enough." Man and rabbit shook hands warmly. The sensation no longer

surprised Jon-Tom. It was like shaking hands with someone wearing mittens.

Camp was growing quiet and the nightly rain had hesitantly begun a late fall.

"You see?" Caz pointed to the motionless figure of Clothahump, still seated on

his log. He seemed not to have moved since Jon-Tom left the camp to search for

Mudge. Now he sat glaze-eyed and indifferent to the falling rain.

"Our friend broods on larger matters. Yet often is the greater lost for lack of

attention to the lesser."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that we have posted no sentries. This is strange country to all of us."

"In this case I don't think we have to worry. You're forgetting something." He

pointed.

" 'Pon my soul," laughed the rabbit, "so I have." He sounded embarrassed. "It is

not easy to forget a dragon. How quiet he is, though."

"Dreaming sweet dreams of a classless society, no doubt."

Caz removed his monocle, absently polished it with the hem of his beautiful

shirt. "Then it seems we can sleep soundly ourselves. The dragon's presence is

worth more than any hundred sentries. I will enjoy the security of sleeping near

to so powerful an ally."

"Just be careful he doesn't turn in his sleep." Caz waved smilingly back to him,

and Jon-Tom watched the bobbing white tail recede toward the black bulk

shielding their camp.

A gentle voice reached back to him. "Dragons don't toss and turn in their sleep,

my friend. They're not built that way. But I surely hope he does not snore. I

wouldn't enjoy waking up with my pants on fire."

Jon-Tom laughed with him. Pog was asleep, dangling like a dark decoration from