world flock to my banner."
"There aren't enough of you. You're just a few
species among many."
Gymaught looked smug. "We will enlist others to
serve under us, and they will do the heavy dying.
They will be proud to when they see what the new
order is to be."
"You haven't got a chance, any more than your
human counterpart did."
"He was a fool, and only a human. I am confident."
That beak moved dose, but Jon-Tom stood his ground.
There was no place to retreat to anyway. "And now
we shall see if there is truth to your words. Sing, stir
(he hearts of my followers, and you will live long."
Jon-Tom did so, though it stung badly. He rational-
ized his efforts by assuring himself he was only
stalling for time. Stalling until Mudge arrived to
THE MOMEJVT OF THE MAGICIAN 121
spirit him out of this place. Then they'd figure out a
means of stopping this disease that had crossed over
from his own world before it could spread.
He sang all the marches he could think of. The
raptors were drawn to the music, dipping low to
listen. There was a screech of approval at the conclu-
sion of each martial melody.
WhenJon-Tom's lungs Finally gave out, Gymaught
put a friendly wing over him. Jon-Tom felt suddenly
unclean.
"You did well, musician! Put aside your otherworldly,
primitive moral conceits and join me. I am not
ungrateful to those who pledge their lives to me."
Jon-Tom wanted to tell the eagle precisely what he
thought of him and his totalitarian philosophy, but
he had sense enough to shrug and say instead,
"Maybe you've got something here. Maybe it could
work in this world if not in the one we've left
behind."
"That's the spirit." Gymaught patted him on the
back, nearly knocking Jon-Tom down. "The others
moved too fast and became insane. But 1 am not
insane, and I will not force my wing. Our advance
and conquest will be patient, but inexorable. This
time the cause will not fall." He looked around.
"Over there is a small cave. A good place for you,
unless you would prefer a higher perch."
Jon-Tom let his gaze travel up the vertical walls of
the shaft. "I'd never get up or down. I think I'll stay
close to the ground."
"A poor, earthbound creature. But you see, with
me, you can fly! In truth, good singer, you will be
able to lord it over your fellows. Think on that."
Another crushing pat and Gymaught walked off
to talk with his underlings.
Smooth, Jon-Tom thought. He has the charisma
down pat. The odor of the charnel house was power-
Alan Dean Foster
122
ful in Jon-Tom's nostrils, an echo of similar, greater
slaughterhouses from his own world's recent history.
That could not be repeated here, must not be repeated.
But he had to be careful. Gyrnaught was ,no fool.
He would listen carefully to anything Jon-Tom might
sing until he was more confident of his pet human's
loyalty. So he had to be careful until he could do
something.
He just wasn't sure what.
One thing struck him forcefully as the days passed
within the shaft: the ease with which Gyrnaught had
taken control of the minds and spirits of this world's
raptors. They drilled efficiently on the ground and
in the open air overhead, seemingly having readily
abrogated their traditional independence in favor of
Gyrnaught's rule. It just wasn't like them, according
to those Jon-Tom had met in his travels.
One day he asked an osprey about it. To his
surprise, the bird informed him that when left to
themselves, the hawks and falcons and other birds of
prey often questioned the wisdom of Gyrnaught's
philosophy. They weren't sure they really wanted to
conquer the world- But in his presence they were
helpless. The force of the eagle's personality and the
strength of his arguments overwhelmed any hesitant
opposition. Furthermore, anyone who questioned it was
never seen again. So there was no organized opposi-
tion to his plans.
The osprey left Jon-Tom much encouraged. May-
be they weren't confident enough to oppose him, but
at least not all of the raptors had signed over their
souls to Gyrnaught. That uncertainty could be
exploited, but not gradually. Gyrnaught would sure-
ly trace any such dissension to its source, and that
would be the end of Jonathan Thomas Meriweather.
No, it would have to be fast, a sudden collapse of
will if not outright opposition. Trouble was, all the
THE MOMENT or THE MAOICLW 123
songs he knew were full of life and delight and fun.
He didn't know any music darker than the martial
bombast Gyrnaught himself favored. Nor could he
think of anything potentially disruptive which would
work fast enough. And he didn't think he had much
time. His renditions of old marches were quickly
•bang their edge as his own disenchantment manifested
itself, and Gyrnaught was getting suspicious. One
day soon the eagle might decide to go hunting for a
new musician.
He was sitting in his private alcove on the bed of
straw that had been provided for his comfort, chat-
ting with a small falcon named Hensor.
"Tell me again," he asked the raptor, "why you all
follow Gyrnaught so blindly and willingly. Because
he's bigger than the rest of you?"
"Of course not," said Hensor. "We follow because
he is smarter and knows what's best for the rest of
us. He knows how to make us act as a single talon
able to strike death into the hearts of any who
oppose us."
"Yeah, but nobody's opposing you."
"All oppose us. All who do not bow down to the
rule of the master race."
"Well, suppose everyone else did bow down to
you?"
*They won't." Hensor spoke with confidence. "We'll
have to knock it into their heads. Gyrnaught says so."
"I'm sure he's right, but just suppose, just for a
moment, that everyone did bow down to you. Then
what?"
"Then we would rule without bloodshed. Except
for the inferior races, of course, who would have to
be disposed of."
Jon-Tom felt a chill but continued politely. "Who
would rule?"
Alan Dean Foster
124
"We would, the raptors would. Under Gyrnaught's
enlightened leadership, of course."
"I see."Jon"Tom shifted on the straw. "Suppose all
this comes to pass, suppose you conquer the whole
world under Gyrnaught's direction. Then what
happens?"
"Well..." Hensor hesitated. Evidently Gyrnaught's
orations hadn't sought that far into the future. "We
wouldn't have to work. Others would do our fishing
and hunting and gathering for us."
"Then what w
ill you do?"
"Why, we will rule, naturally."
"But you already have everything you require."
"Then we'll get more."
"More what? How much food can you eat? How
much wood do you need for a house or traditional
nest?"
"I... I don't know." The falcon shook his head,
rubbed at his eyes with the flexible tip of one red-
feathered wing. "Your questions hurt my thoughts."
"I know what you'll do, and I'll tell you."Jon-Tom
peered quickly outside. Gyrnaught wasn't around.
Probably off drilling troops somewhere. "You'll get
bored, that's what you'll do. You'll sit around doing
nothing until your feathers fall out and you can't fly
anymore. You'll look like a bunch of chickens."
"Take care," Hensor warned him. "Some of my
best friends are chickens."
"Well, you know what I mean. Laziness will result
in flighdessness."
Hensor's confidence returned. "No it won't. Gyr-
naught's drills will keep us strong."
"Strong so you can do what? No, once you've
conquered everyone else, you'll get bored and soft
because you won't have anything else to fight for.
and defeated people will see to all your needs. Rap-
THE MOMENT or THE MAGICIAN 125
tors are born to hunt. Without any need to do that,
you'll all get flabby and flightless."
"You confuse me."
"Oh, I don't mean to do that," Jon-Tom assured
that's all. You're all such strong fliers now, I'd hate to
see you waste away."
"What do you suggest?"
Jon-Tom moved close, spoke in a conspiratorial
whisper. "There'll be one of you who'll never get fat
and lazy because he'll be too busy making sure the
rest of you stay in line. Those that don't, of course,
are liable to end up on his dinner table."
Hensor looked shocked. "No, that would never
happen! Gyrnaught would never do that."
Jon-Tom shrugged. "He'd only be following his
own philosophy. The strong rule, the weak perish."
He hoped he was having some impact on Hensor
because the convoluted reasoning was beginning to
make him a little dizzy himself. "There is a solution
to the problem, though."
"What?" asked Hensor eagerly.
"It's simple. Everyone must be equal. None of the
master race must be any less the master than his
neighbor. That's only fair, isn't it? That way every-
one will have to maintain himself in optimum condi-
tion for lighting."
Hensor's expression showed that this notion of all
chiefs no Indians was new to him. "Gyrnaught wouldn't
like it," he replied slowly.
"Why not? If you're all members of the master
race, shouldn't you all have an equal part in ruling
the lesser races? He'd still be the prime leader, but
you'd all be leaders together. Isn't that how it's
always been among the raptors?"
"Yes, that's true," Hensor agreed excitedly. "We
could all be leaders. We are all leaders." He turned
Aim Dean Foster
126
and spread his bright red wings. "I must tell the
others!"
Jon-Tom retreated to the depths of his alcove and
went through the motions of rearranging his few
belongings. Before too much time had passed his
attention was drawn outside by a rising din. He
smiled to himself as he turned to peek out of the
cave.
Something a mite stronger than an animated dis-
cussion was taking place among the soldiers of the
master race, high up in the air of the central shaft- It
appeared to involve a majority of them, in fact. In
the midst of the discussion was a large gray shape,
dipping and swinging its wingtips in what looked
very much like fury.
Soon it was raining feathers. They were of many
sizes and colors, and Jon-Tom amused himself by
gathering a few and stuffing them into the lining of
his cape. As the screeching and angry squawking
continued, he casually picked up his duar and strolled
toward the path leading to the tunnel. No one paid
him the slightest attention, since everyone was fully
involved in determining who was qualified to be a
leader and who was not.
Apparently Gyrnaught was having some difficulty
sorting out this business of multiple leadership, and
the offer to make him prime leader wasn't sufficient
to satisfy his ego. There was only one leader here,
one master! His heretofore obedient soldiery was
vigorously disputing this position.
Jon-Tom reached the lip of the tunnel, spared a
last backward glance for the argument which had
freed him, and then hurried into the passageway. He
was almost to the exit when a very large hawk
swooped down from a hidden perch near the ceiling
to challenge him.
Jon-Tom hadn't expected a guard. This one had
TtSS MOMENT OF THE MAOICSAN
127
an eight-foot wingspan and gripped a long we
tipped with four sharp points in both flexible wingdps.
Jon-Tom was more fearful of its natural weapons.
Beak and talons could tear him apart.
"Where are you going, musician?"
i "Just getting a little air," Jon-Tom told the guard,
smiling thinly. He glanced over his shoulder, eyed
the hawk significantly. "Aren't you going to join the
discussion and put your application in?"
"What discussion?" The hawk's bright eyes never
left him.
"The one where everybody's going to determine
who's a proper member of the master race and who
"I am the sentry," the hawk told him. "That is
enough for me to be."
"But everyone else is—" The hawk cut him off by
taking a step forward and jamming the sharp spikes
against Jon-Tom's belly. Jon-Tom retreated. The hawk
followed, prodding him backward.
"Haven't you heard about the discussion?" Jon-
Tom asked lamely-
"I'll find out later."
"But everyone's a master now, everyone's a leader."
"I'm only a sentry. I think maybe we'd better talk
to Gyrnaught about this. I don't think you're allowed
out to 'get a little air.' There's plenty of air in the
lair." Again the spikes pricked Jon-Tom's gut, forcing
him back another couple of steps.
He was on the verge of panic. Unarmed, there
wasn't a chance he could overpower this determined
guard. In a little while Gyrnaught might whip his
fracturing reich back into shape. When he did, Jon-
Tom had a hunch the eagle would do some interrogat-
ing. Then he'd come looking for his pet musician,
whose clever songs wouldn't save his skin from being
slowly peeled from his clever body.
Atan Dean Foster
128
"Can't we talk this over?" he pleaded.
"Nonsense. I can't discuss things with a member of
; an inferior race because it would—" The hawk stopped
in mid-sentence. He pivoted slowly, and as he did so,
Jon-Tom saw something like a quill protruding from
the back of his skull. It wasn't a quill and it had
feathers of its own. An arrow.
The guard fell on his face, a heap of dead feathers,
"Are you goin' to stand there gawkin' all day,"
snapped Mudge as he notched another arrow into
his longbow and tried to see down the tunnel, "or do
you think it'd be too much of me to ask that you
move your bloody aggravatin' arse?"
VIII
t "Mudgel"
^ "Oi, I know me name and you know yours." The
^Otter was starting to back toward the exit. "Now, if
^your legs are still connected to your feeble brain, I'd
^appreciate it if you'd get the latter t' movin' the
^'former."
^ Mudge led him outside, then down the tree-choked
i^ope to the water's edge, where their raft was beached.
Jon-Tom had been disappointed when he'd called it
; Up, but now it was as beautiful as a forty-foot motor
| yacht. They pushed off and began rowing furiously
|^fith the paddles.
^ From time to time Jon-Tbm could see several shapes
"rise from the hollow interior of the island only to
dive back inside.
"Beginnin' to think I'd never run you down, mate,"
' Mudge was saying.
"Why'd you bother, after what you were saying the
last time we talked? There were plenty of good
reasons for you to forget about me, and none for
coming after me."
"Well, let's call it curiosity and leave it at that,
mate. If I think on it much I'm liable to get sick.
Maybe I was just interested in seein' if you'd ended
129
Alan Dean Foster
130
up as bird food or wotever. Or maybe I'm crazier
than a neon worm."
"1 don't care why you did it, I'm just glad that you
did"
Mudge jerked his head in the direction of the
rapidly shrinking island. "Wot 'appened in there,
anyways? Never 'eard a screekin' and yowtin' like that
in me life. You put a spellsong on 'em?"
"Not exactly. I just sort of convinced them to
engage in a dialogue aimed at preventing the spread
of injustice while maintaining equality among them-
selves."
"Cor, no wonder they was 'avin' a bloody mess of
it! The poor flap-faces. Think they'll come after us
after they get things sorted out among themselves?"
"Not right away, if then. If their leader survives
this little debate, he's going to be too busy trying to