trade trinkets, and dangling feathers. An elegant
barbarism, Jon-Tom mused. It was a perfect frame
for the expression beneath it.
"Hiya, guv'nor," said Mudge cheerfully. He spread
his paws in a gesture of innocence. "See, we didn't
know there was goin' to be a punch-up 'ere, we
didn't. We were just 'aving a spot o' bath, and we—"
The one with the skull headdress shifted the point
of his spear so that the tip hung in the air an inch
from Mudge's nose.
"Right you are, mate! We're comin', we're comin'."
He climbed out and Jon-Tom followed him.
Their captors backed off a bit, intimidated by
Jon-Tbm's unexpected size, and allowed them to
march over the causeway to retrieve their clothes-
Eyes turned among the rest of the victors as the
peculiar pair passed among them. High-pitched que-
ries followed their progress.
"Where'd you find these?"
"Down in one of the pools."
"What were they doing there, you suppose?"
"Spying, I wager."
THE MOMBWT or THE MAGICIAHf
85
"A good place to spy from, if that was their
intention."
"Mighty big human, isn't it?"
"Doesn't look so tough to me."
This steady exchange between the four captors
and their colleagues continued until a cluster of
older prairie dogs clad in real armor approached.
The newcomers were led by one white-furred old-
ster who was taller than Mudge, His helmet was of
brass, with holes cut on top for ears and curved slats
to protect the bulging cheeks.
"I'm General Pocknet," he said in a curious but
no-nonsense tone. "You two don't belong hereabouts."
Jon-Tom wasn't about to argue with him. "We're
travelers, just passing through on our way south."
"South?" The general frowned. "There's nothing
to the south of the hills."
"The city-state of Quasequa," Jon-Tom told him
helpfully.
"Never heard of the place," replied Pocknet, shak-
ing his head. His jowls and whiskers quivered.
"Still, that's where we're headed." He nodded to-
ward the bloodstained causeway. "Looks like your
troops won."
"We won this day, yes."
"Glad to hear it."
"Don't try and ingratiate yourself with me, man.
We have settled our differences with the Wittens for
another month. Then we must Fight again to see
who retains possession of the springs."
Mudge was frowning as he tried to understand.
"Let me get this straight now, guv. You lot 'ave this
same little argument regular-like every month?"
"Naturally," said the officer behind Pocknet.
"You two honestly don't know what is happening
here, do you?" said Pocknet. Man and otter shook
Alan Dean Foster
86
their heads in unison. Pocknet gestured across the
water.
"Over there is my home, the land of Fault." He
turned and pointed up the hill pimpled with the
bodies of the Wittens. "Beyond this rise lies the
territory of Witten, our hereditary enemy. We fight
the good fight on the first day of every month.".
"For fun?" asked Jon-Tom hesitandy.
"A typically human conceit. Of course not for fun.
We fight for control of this." He indicated the valley
of hot springs with a sweep of one hand.
"Wot do you want with a bunch o' boilin' water?"
Mudge wondered.
The general eyed him distastefully. "Civilized folk
know what to do with heat- It cooks our food, cleans
our clothing, pleases us in many ways. Whoever
controls the bridge controls the Mulmun, and who-
ever controls the Mulmun controls the springs."
"Uh, pardon our ignorance," said jon-Tom, "but
what's the Mulmun?"
The general was shaking his head. "It's true; you
two are ignorant, unsophisticated travelers, aren't
you?"
"That's us, your generalship." agreed Mudge readily.
"Just a couple of innocent dolts bumbling our way
southward."
"That remains to be determined. You've said where
you are going. Where do you come from?"
"From the north, from across the Tailaroam. The
forest known as the Bellwoods," Jon-Tom told him.
"That would explain your evident ignorance of
civilized matters," the general agreed. "But I suspect
this pretense of innocence is nothing more than a
clever ruse. Obviously you were spying for the Wittens."
A circle of spears closed in tight around Jon-Tom
and Mudge.
"Hey, let's 'old on a minim 'ere, guv'nor! We were
THE MOMENT OF THE BSAOICSAW
87
just 'aving ourselves a spot o' bath is all, wot? Didn't
know shit about this Wittens-mittens-Smault business,
we didn't!" One of the encircling soldiers touched
him with a spear, and Mudge turned to glare angrily
at him. "Poke me with that again, short whiskers,
and I'll put it where the sun don't shine."
A senior officer leaned forward to whisper in the
general's ear. "Your pardon, sir, but their stupidity
appears genuine to me. I honesdy believe they have
no idea what the Mulmun is."
"Hmmph. Well..." General Pocknet nibbled one
curling whisker and squinted at the two strangers.
"You are an odd pair, no denying it. Too odd even
for the Wittens to employ, perhaps."
"Oddest pair you ever set your bloomin* eyes on,
guv," Mudge assured him readily.
"I may have erred in calling you spies. Yes, you
happened to be bathing in the springs, purely out of
ignorance of reality, only to find yourselves caught in
the middle of a battle."
Jon-Tom let out a sigh of relief as the spears
withdrew slightly. "That, sir, is just about the size of
it."
The general waved the spears aside completely.
"Let them have their weapons." He moved to stand
close to Jon-Tom, staring up at the much taller
human. "Since you are not our enemies, I guess you
have to be our guests."
"General, sir, if it's all the same to you, we'd just as
soon... umph!" He grabbed himself and looked an-
grily at Mudge, who'd quickly elbowed him in the
ribs. Mudge beckoned him close, and Jon-Tom
restrained himself long enough to hear the otter out.
"Listen to me close, mate. I know these tunnel-
dwellers, I do. They can be real touchy about 'avin'
their 'ospitality turned down."
Alan Dean Foster
88
"Oh. all right." He stood, still rubbing his side. "So
we're your guests. What does that entail?"
"A good meal and friendly chatter," the general
told him. "You can tell us of where you're from and
where you're going." He turned and barked orders,
His troops began to regroup and to fall back across
the causeway. The general and his senior staff flanked
the visitors, Pocknet striding along brisk
ly with both
paws clasped behind his back. An armor-bearer walked
behind him, carrying the general's helmet and sword.
"Tell me now, how comes an otter and a man to be
traveling together in our country?"
"Let's save that for dessert," Jon-Tom told him. "If
you don't mind, I have a couple of questions of my
own." Mudge was making shushing sounds in his
direction. Jon-Tom ignored him.
"Can't you share the hot springs with the Wittens?"
The general smiled up at him. "You are a dumb
stranger, so I will excuse the affront. You see," he
said, as if explaining to a child, "there is but the one
Mulmun, the symbol of the springs. That is what we
fight for control of. Whoever possesses the Mulmun
has the right to control the springs."
"But isn't there enough here for both communities?
Can't you share?"
"Why share," replied the general, favoring him
with an odd look, "when one can have it all?"
"Because it makes more sense than slaughtering
your neighbors."
"But we like slaughtering our neighbors, and our
neighbors feel exactly the same way about us," said
the general easily.
"How do you know sharing wouldn't be better?
Have you ever tried sharing?"
"Absurd notion. We could never trust the Wittens.
Wouldn't dare to try. The minute our backs were
turned, they'd cut our throats and take control of
THE MOMBHT OF THE MAOJCIAW
89
the springs forever. If any of us survived, we'd never
see the Mulmun again. At least, not for another
month."
"You only fight on the first of the month? Nobody
ever tries a sneak attack on the other side in the
middle of an off week?"
The general looked indignant. "Certainly not! What
do you think we are, uncivilized barbarians? What an
outrageous notion. Ah, we're home."
Ahead lay a hole in the side of a hill. The large,
ornately carved wooden gate had been flung wide to
reveal the well-lit tunnel beyond. A line of sentries
stood drawn up in review on either side of the
pathway. Other, much less spectacularly decorated
entrances were visible off to the left.
The general led Mudge and Jon-Tom inside. As
usual, Jon-Tom was forced'to bend in order to clear
a local ceiling. Once out of the sun, the gophers and
moles in the group were able to remove their protec-
tive sunshades.
Before long they began to encounter noncombatants,
citizens engaged in daily chores. Greetings were ex-
changed between civilians and soldiers. Cubs tagged
alongside, jabbering at one another and occasionally
pausing to engage in mock battles. Tunnels appeared
that branched off in all directions.
Eventually they turned right and entered a room
with a ceiling high enough to permit Jon-Tom to
straighten. He pressed a hand gratefully against his
complaining lower back. There were half a dozen
long tables in the room, each decorated with neat,
miniature place settings. Pennants Tiung from the
rock overhead, while spears and more exotic weap-
ons were attached to the walls. Fires burned in
several fireplaces whose chimneys had to reach all
the way to the surface above. Kettles and pots simmered
over the flames.
Aim Dean Foster
90
"Officers' mess," General Pocknet informed them.
He directed them to the head table. Jon-Tom found
a cushion and tried to balance on it. The low table
made the thought of trying a chair out of the question.
Females brought out hors d'oeuvres, platters heaped
high with fruit and nuts. The general cracked one
between his front teeth, tossed the shell into a com-
munal basket in the center of the long table, and
gnawed on the nutmeat Soon the room was filled
with sharp cracking noises and Hying shells. Jon-
Tom felt like a kernel in a popcorn popper.
Mudge was trying to make conversation with one
of the waitresses, so it was left to Jon-Tom to engage
the general.
"This war of yours, it's been going on like this,
month after month, for a long time?"
"As far as history tells," Pocknet assured him.
"We're quite comfortable with the arrangement, and
so are the Wittens. Gives our lives continuity. All
disputes between us are settled by control of the
Mulmun."
"Exactly what is this 'Mulmung'?"
" 'Mulmun,'" the general corrected him smoothly.
He pointed toward one of the fireplaces as he cracked
another nut.
Resting on the mantel was a garishly colored,
three-foot-high blob of regurgitated ceramics, mostly
maroon, pink, purple and glazed with pearlescent
white. It was possibly the ugliest piece of sculpture, if
it could be dignified by such a description, that
Jon-Tom had ever seen.
"That," said the general proudly, "is the Mulmun.
Whoever wins the battle on the first of each month
retains it. It is the symbol of the springs. While we
hold it, the Wittens may not come near or make use
of the warm waters. We've held it for six months
now, at great expense, but it's been worth it."
THB MOMENT OF TVS MAGICIAW
91
of a long, thin nut. The meat was delightfully sweet,
which was good, because it had taken him at least
four minutes to break the tough shell.
"I think I understand. If you didn't possess the
Mulmun, then you'd have to relinquish your absolute
control of the hot springs."
The general nodded. "We carry it with us into
battle each month. Should the Wittens win, they
would take it back to Witten with them and dominate
the springs for a month." He chuckled, obviously
relishing his opponents' discomforts. "They must be
very filthy by now."
"I didn't see it during the fight."
"Do you think we'd risk putting it in danger?" the
general asked him, aghast. "The possessors display it
in its special container, well out of the way of the
combatants' arms but up where all can see it for
inspiration. It is quite irreplaceable, quite."
"Ghastly piece o' puke, ain't it?" Mudge whispered
to his friend. The otter had found something alcohol-
ic to imbibe and was draining his mug as fast as the
dainty prairie lass nearby could refill it for him.
"Christ, watch your mouth!" Jon-Tom warned him
anxiously. He smiled at the general. "Being a strang-
er here, it's not for me to criticize your customs."
"Then don't," Pocknet advised him blandly. "Enjoy
your meal and be on your way- Now, tell me about
your plans." He looked eagerly at his tall guest.
Jon-Tom regaled their hosts with tales of his many
adventures, and the underground citizens listened
politely, for all that they thought
he was the biggest
Bar to come among them in many a moon. None,
however, denied the amusement value ofJon-Tom's
rambling prevarications, and they applauded politely
at the conclusion of each anecdote.
The dinner also featured some live entertainment.
Alan Dean Foster
92
Several captive Wittens were dumped in the center
of the room, hauled erect, and tied to stakes so that
the ladies, when not serving the tables, could pull the
unfortunate prisoners to pieces. Jon-Tom found that
this diminished his appetite considerably. His hosts
seemed to find it uproariously amusing.
Several times Mudge had to lean over and warn
his friend to keep his opinions to himself. You don't
insult true believers in the middle of their own
church. Besides, hadn't they seen worse outrages in ^
their travels? Tomorrow they could leave, none the ^
worse for the experience. ^
So Jon-Tom smiled thinly and made a show of ^'
enjoying himself. There wasn't a damn thing he ^
could do about it anyway. The "entertainment" over. ^
everyone repaired to their respective bedchambers. ^
Their hosts even managed to rig a bed of sufficient
length for Jon-Tom to stretch out upon.
Comfortable though it was, it didn't lull him to
sleep. Instead, he lay wide-awake, thinking hard
about all he'd seen and heard during the day.
The situation existing between Witten and Fault,
two communities of similar size and population, was | ,
intolerable to a civilized human being. It was worse
than intolerable: it was sickening, disgusting, a sin
against common sense! It ought not to exist. It must
not be allowed to continue.
Since no one else seemed to give a damn, Jon-Tom
resolved quietly to do something about it himself.
VI
It was pitch-black inside the burrow when he de-
cided it was safe to move. A good five hours had
passed since they'd retired, and, Jon-Tom reasoned,
most of the underground community should be rest-
ing soundly.
He fumbled along the wall until he encountered
one of the ubiquitous oil-soaked torches each hall
and room was equipped with, struggled with his flint
until it sprang to life.
"Mudge." He moved quietly toward the otter's bed.
"Let's go, move it. We're getting out of here. We're
going to help these people whether they like it or
not. Mudge?"
He put out a hand, feeling for the otter's shoulder
in the dim light provided by the torch. It went all the