neetha Napew - Spellsinger

the branch of an overhanging oak. Talea and Flor were chatting quietly beneath

bedrolls on the other side of the fire. He thought of joining them, shrugged,

and spread out his own blanket. He was dead tired, and it would soon be morning.

Right then his body needed comforting more than his ego....

XVIII

Two days of climbing the rapids followed, during which the only danger they had

to cope with was the burning in Jon-Tom's ears as he was compelled to endure

Mudge's reciting and embroidering of the story of his escape from the monstrous

chameleon. When the horned color-changer grew to twice the size of Falameezar,

even Flor threatened to beat the glib otter.

On the fourth day they encountered signs of habitation. Plowed fields, homes

with neatly thatched or slate-tiled roofs, smoking chimneys, and small docks

with boats tied to them began to slip past.

Falameezar would glide deeper in the water, keeping only his eyes, ears, and

passengers above the surface as he breathed through his gills. Anyone on shore

watching would think the several travelers were floating atop a peculiarly low

boat.

On the tenth day Clothahump noted a group of low hills off to their left. Rapids

lay directly ahead, though they were not nearly as swift as those that cut

through the Duggakurra hills close by buried Pfeiffunmunter.

"You may put us ashore here, friend dragon. We are quite close to the city."

"But why?" Falameezar sounded disappointed. "The river is still deep and the

current not too strong." He puffed smoke ahead. "I can pass on easily."

"Yes, but your presence with us might panic the inhabitants."

"I know." The downcast dragon let out a sigh. "I shall put you in to land, then.

What shall I do next?"

Jon-Tom threw Clothahump a look, and the wizard subsided in the youth's favor.

"I'll talk to the commissars of the Polastrindu commune. Perhaps they might

accept you as a member."

"Do you think so? I had no idea so enlightened a community existed." Fiery eyes

stared back down at Jon-Tom hopefully. "That would be wonderful. I'm certainly

willing to do my share of the work."

"You've already done more than that this trip, comrade Falameezar. Clothahump is

right, though, in suggesting you wait here in the river. Even the most educated

comrades can sometimes react thoughtlessly when confronted by the unfamiliar."

He leaned forward, and the dragon bent his neck back and down as Jon-Tom

whispered to him, "There are counterrevolutionaries everywhere!"

"I know. Be on your guard, comrade Jon-Tom."

"I will."

The dragon eased into shore. They marched down his back and tail, passing supply

packs from hand to hand. A well-used track halfway between a wide trail and a

small road led over the hills. Jon-Tom looked back for a moment. The others had

already started up the road. Flor was alive with excitement at the prospect of

entering the strange city. Her enthusiasm made her glow like the lining of

clouds after a storm.

He waved to the dragon. "Be well, comrade. Up the revolution."

"Up the revolution!" the dragon rumbled back, saluting him with a blast of fire

and smoke. Then the ferocious head dipped beneath the surface. A flurry of

bubbles and some fading, concentric ripples marked with a watery flower the

place where the dragon sank. Then they too were gone.

Jon-Tom waded, his long legs and walking staff soon bringing him up alongside

his companions, despite the burden of guilt he carried. Falameezar was far too

nice a dragon to have been so roundly deceived. Perhaps they'd left him happier

than he'd been before, though.

"What do you think he'll do?" Caz moved next to Jon-Tom. "Will he stay and wait

for you to return?"

"How should I know? I'm no expert on the motivations of dragons. His political

beliefs seem unshakable, but he tends more to philosophizing than action, I

think. He might simply grow bored and swim back downstream to his familiar

feeding grounds." He looked sharply at the rabbit. "Why? Do you expect trouble

in Polastrindu?"

"One never knows. The larger the city, the more arrogant the citizens, and we're

not exactly the bearers of good news. We shall see."

An hour's hike had brought them to the crest of the last hill. Finally the

destination of so many days' traveling lay exposed to their sight.

It was wonderful, yes, but it was a flawed wonderment. They started down the

hill. Why should a city here be so very different from any other? he thought

sardonically.

There was a massive stone wall surrounding the city. It was intricately

decorated with huge bas-reliefs and buttressed at ground level. Several gates

showed in the wall, but the traffic employing them was sparse.

It was not a market day, Caz explained. Farmers were not bringing produce into

the city, nor distant craftsmen and traders their wagon-borne wares.

There was somewhat more activity to the south of the city. The great wall ran

almost to the river there. At least a dozen vessels were tied to the rotting

docks. Some were similar to the sail-and-oar-powered keel-type boat that Caz had

fled from that day on the river. Jon-Tom wondered if that very same ship might

be among those bobbing gently at anchor below them. Barges and fishing vessels

comprised the rest of the motley but serviceable flotilla.

"The main gate is on the opposite side of the city, to the northwest and facing

the Swordsward."

"What's that?" Flor wondered aloud. "Have you been there? It seems like you've

been everywhere."

Caz cleared his throat. "No, I have not. I've been no farther than anyone else,

I should say. It is a vast, some say endless, ocean of vegetation inhabited by

vile aborigines and dangerous creatures.

"We have no need to march around the whole city. The harbor gate should be a

quite satisfactory ingress."

They continued down the winding path, which had now expanded to road size.

Curious fellow travelers let their gaze linger long on the unusual group.

Lizard-drawn wagons and carts trundled past them. Sometimes riders on individual

mounts would run or hop past. There was even a wealthy family on a small riding

snake.

Clothahump was enjoying himself. He moved with much less effort downhill than

up. His glance turned upward. "Pog! Anything to report, you useless miscreant?"

The bat yelled down to them as he dipped lower in the sky. "Da usual aerial

patrol. A couple o' armed jays overflew us a few minutes ago. I don't tink dey

saw us wid da dragon, though. Dey've long since turned 'round and flown back to

report. Dey didn't act excited."

Clothahump appeared satisfied. "Good. I have no time for intermediaries,

Polastrindu is too big for them to bother with every odd group of visitors, even

if we are a bit odder than most."

"We may not seem so from the air, sir," Jon-Tom pointed out.

"Quite so, my boy."

They strolled into the docks without anyone challenging them. They watched as

busy stevedores, mostly broad-shouldered wolves, margays, and lynxes,

laboriously loaded and unloaded stacks of crates and bales. Exotic goods and

crafts were stacked neatly on shore or loaded carefully onto dray wagons for

transport into the city.

Along the docks the aroma was pungent but something less than exotic. Even the

river was darker here than out in midstream. The gray coloration derived not

from some locally dark soil, as Jon-Tom first thought, but from the effluent

pouring out of pipes and gutters. The raw sewage abraded much of the initial