neetha Napew - Spellsinger

A large, spiked mace rose in front of Jon-Tom's gaze. The man hefting it was

bleeding badly from the neck and sanity had left his face.

"Die then, otherworld thing!"

Jon-Tom closed his eyes and readied himself for oblivion. There was the shock of

concussion, but it was in his right shoulder instead of his forehead. Opening

his eyes he found the mace-wielder sprawled across his legs. As he watched, the

dying man slid to the floor.

Talea stood above the corpse, a knife in each hand, her clothes splattered with

the darker stains of blood. She looked back into the room. Another door had

opened in the far corner. His few surviving captors were retreating via the new

exit. Of Hanniwuz there was no sign.

The redhead was breathing heavily, her chest heaving beneath the shirt. She had

a wild look in her eyes. It became one of concern as she focused on the slumped

shape of Jon-Tom. He blinked at her as he held his throbbing shoulder.

"I'm all right. But just barely. Thanks." He looked past her. "Pog? You

responsible for this?"

"Dat a fact. Sometimes da coward's course is da best. When I saw da fight all

revolving around you, I knew it was you dey were after. So I held myself in

reserve in case I had ta follow or bring help."

"I'll bet you 'eld yourself in 'reserve,' you sanctimonious 'ypocrite!" bellowed

Mudge from across the room. The last of Jon-Tom's captors had fled or been

dispatched, and the otter was walking toward the table, wiping at a cut across

his chest.

"Near ruined me best vest, bugger it! Cost me thirty coppers in Lynchbany." He

smiled then at Jon-Tom and let out a pleased whistle-whoop. "But it don't matter

much, mate, because you're awright."

"Your vest's in better shape than my shoulder." Jon-Tom sat up with Talea's

help. She felt of it ungently, and he yelped.

"Don't be such a cub. It's not broken, but I wager you'll have the devil of a

bruise for a few weeks." She cleaned one knife on a pants leg and used it to

point at an overhead set of iron bars. Jon-Tom walked beneath them. They'd been

invisible from his seat on the cot.

"Crawl space up there. We heard you talking with this bunch before we

interrupted the party." She looked back at him interestedly. "What were you

talking about?"

"Nothing much." He looked away. "They wanted me to join them."

"Huh! Join them in what?"

"Sort of an outlaw band," he muttered uncomfortably.

"And what were you going to do?"

He looked angrily at her. "I didn't give it a thought, of course!" He hoped he

appeared suitably outraged. "What do you take me for?"

She regarded him silently for a moment before saying, "A confused, stubborn,

naive, brilliant, and I hope sensible guy."

With that she left him, joined Flor in inspecting the escape door to see if any

wounded remained.

Caz was at his back, undoing his bonds. "Rather awkward situation, my friend."

" 'Ere now, it were bloody well more than 'awkward,' flagears!" Mudge had

adopted a familiar swagger, now that the fight was won. "When I shot into the

room and saw that mace comin' down I was afraid we were goin' t' be a second too

late. Good thing sweet flame-top's as fast with 'er 'ands as she is with 'er

'ips," and he glanced around quickly to make certain Talea hadn't overheard him.

"I'm okay, Mudge." The ropes came loose. Circulation stabbed back into his

wrists. Rubbing them, he stood, towering once more over his rescuers.

Mudge, Caz, Pog. Not only were they not "annuals," he decided, they were a hell

of a lot more "human" than the so-called humans who'd kept him prisoner. The

thought of betraying their trust on behalf of the Plated Folk now made him

almost physically ill. As for dreams of power and mastery, they vanished from

his thoughts. Not because they were unattainable, not because they were morally

repugnant, but because Jon-Tom had always been utterly unable to do less than

the Right Thing.

I'd make a lousy lawyer, he thought. And if I can't help thinking about power

and mastery, well hell, I'm only human.

Maybe if I work real hard, he told himself, I can manage to overcome that.

"There was an insect envoy with them," he said. "One of the Plated Folk. They're

trying to find allies among the locals. We have to inform the authorities."

"We'll do that for a fact, mate," said a startled Mudge. "Cor, t' think o' one

o' them great ugly bugs a-sneakin' about in this part o' the world!"

"How could he get in here?" Caz wondered.

"He looked as human as any of the others," Jon-Tom told them. "Clothahump should

know."

Talea and Flor crawled back out of the secret doorway. "No sign of the one

Jon-Tom says he saw here, nor the scum that got away."

They moved cautiously to the main door. Jon-Tom gathered up his belongings. It

felt good to have the smooth bulk of the duar under his arm and the staff in his

hands. While his companions formed a protective cordon around him, Mudge checked

the stairway. It was empty now.

Then they were racing up the hallway toward the street, Jon-Tom and Flor taking

the steps two at a time. Mudge and Talea burst outward into the mist, one

looking right, the other left.

"All clear," Talea called back. The others soon stood on the cobblestones.

They started back up the street. Eyes searched windows for drawn bows as they

walked rapidly between dark buildings. Pog overflew alleys in search of ambush.

But there was no sign of any attempt to block their progress.

Jon-Tom stumbled once as his shoulder flared with pain. Talea was alongside. She

remained there despite his insistence that he was all right.

"This outlaw band," she inquired, still warily inspecting the street ahead, "you

sure you didn't consider joining up with them? They might do real well if they

have Plated Folk support."

"Why would I do an asinine thing like that?" he snapped. "I've no love for the

insects."

"They've done nothing to you or yours. Why should you not be as willing to join

with them as with us?"

How much did she overhear through that grating? he wondered. Then it occurred to

him that she was nervous, not angry. The unaccustomed expression of

vulnerability made him feel suddenly and oddly warm inside.

"I didn't like those people," he told her calmly. "I didn't like that envoy

Hanniwuz. And I do like you. And Caz, and Mudge, and the others."

"As simple as that?"

"As simple as that, Talea."

She seemed about to say something more, lengthened her stride instead. "Let's

hurry it up." She moved out in front of them and the others, even the

long-limbed spellsinger, had to hurry to keep pace.

A disturbed Pog suddenly dipped low overhead. "Jon-Tom, Jon-Tom! There's

something wrong up ahead!"

"What? What's wrong, Pog?"

"Big commotion, boss. Many people running like da Naganuph's after dem. I can't

see a cause yet."

They turned a corner and were nearly trampled. Dozens of citizens poured down

the wide street, bumping into the new arrivals and each other. Anxious raccoons

cuddled masked infants in their arms, squirrel tails bobbed hysterically, and

nightgown-clad anteaters stumbled into panicky simians. All were screeching and

yelling and bawling in fear, and all were obviously running away from something

utterly terrifying.

"What's wrong, what's the matter?" Talea demanded of one of the fleeing

inhabitants.

The elderly bobcat beat feebly at her with her cane. "Let me go, woman. He's

gone mad, he has. He'll kill us all! Let me go!"