"I do not think your curiosity strong enough to
cause you to linger this long," observed the 'Speaker
cannily. "If you could leave freely, 1 believe you
would already have done so. Indeed, were you capa-
ble of such sorcery, I do not think you ever would
have been captured." He paused, and Jon-Tom had
the feeling the tall insect was eyeing him curiously.
"There was known to be among the warmlanders
during the battle for the Gate a great and strange
spellsinger. To make magic, a spellsinger of any race
must have an instrument with him." He gestured
with a three-foot-long arm toward the storage chamber.
"That instrument, perhaps."
Jon-Tom didn't look toward his duar. "Perhaps. Or
perhaps this small flute I always carry with me." He
reached inside his shirt.
The two stocky insects nearly broke their antennae
diving for the exit, jamming tight for an instant
before tumbling to safety in the water beyond. The
giant water bug stirred uneasily, its massive front
pincers flexing.
The tall speaker flinched but did not retreat. He
relaxed when Jon-Tom's hand stayed concealed in-
side his shirt. "A small amusement. I understand."
He turned his head to eye the dome's entrance. His
two aides were peeking cautiously back into the
air-filled chamber.
Jon-Tom didn't understand the phrasing, but it
certainly sounded like a curse that fell from the
speaker's speaking tube. A contemptuous curse. The
Tae MojitBarr or THB MAOICSAM 167
aides sl^ly reentered the'^ome under the baleful
gaze of <|(-eir superior. Jon^Ebm's interpretation of
their expressions was not pleasant.
As thodgh nothing had happened, the speaker
turned back to him. "Tomorrow we will make a
special conveyance for both of yoQ. It will contain a
small air chamber like this one so chat we can travel
safely to Cugluch underwater. There are many riv-
ers and quiet^akes between here and the Greendowns,
and we shouN not have to expose ourselves to the
land-dwellers Very often. There will he no chance of
rescue for you-You might as well enjoy the journey.
You will be pandered."
"Fatted calvesA Jon-Tom murmured. "How are
you going to cross %aryt's Teeth?**
"There are rivers that tunnel through the mountains.
We know them. You shaHcome,to know them as well,
though it is knowledge yau .frill never be able to
share. Now I have a question^ man. What were you
intending in this country, so-far south of your own
land, from the region backing onto the Gate?"
Mudge jerked a thumb in Jon-lbm's direction.
"This one 'ere, guv'nor. "e's a bloody tourist, 'e is. He
likes to get out and see (he wondersao' nature and all
that crap." ^
"And whai-^Lf you?"
"Me? That^^asy. See, I'm^barkin' insah^ ain't I?
I'd 'ave to be ^ I wouldn't be 'ere." Witlr^hat he
sat down on th^eeds, a decidedly peeved l^o^on
his face, and rerKfcd to answer any more quertQs.
J!!»^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
The worst they c
"You must be at^
wizai^y. corn mentecT";
ney beo^een here ai
' ^, ^ r
emoy maty adverting co
"•" ^'^"'jpn-Tomtol
iterestn^ perj^n, spellsinger
.speaker. "Itt^a longjpur-
Greendowns. We may
rsation along the way."
lim evenly. "I'm-not
with'^asual killers "
Alan Dean roster
188
"We are not casual. I am disappointed. I would
have thought your reaction to your situation might
have been more enlightened," It performed a ges-
ture that might have stood for a shrug, or, might
have meant something else entirely.
"It will make no difference in the final judgment.
You know your fate."
With dignity, the speaker turned and vanished
through the watery portal, flanked by his stocky aides.
There was respect in the giant water bug's movements
as it swam aside to let the trio pass. Jon-Tom watched
the speaker swim slowly around the dome, heading
back down toward the buildings below.
There was a rush of water from the entrance. The
giant water bug's head, with its massive mandibles,
was even more impressive out of the water.
"YOU STAY," it grunted in a crackling voice, then
pulled clear to resume its motionless patrol. Water
surged in after it, making their humid prison damp-
er than ever.
"Tomorrow, he said," Jon-Tom murmured, gazing
toward the watery sky. Already it was growing dark
inside the dome as the sun sank toward the horizon.
"That doesn't give us much time."
"It doesn't give us any time, mate. We're doomed."
"Never use that word around me, Mudge. I refuse
to acknowledge it."
"Right you are, mate. We're stuck." The otter turned
away, bemoaning his fate.
In truth, there seemed no way out Even if they could
somehow manage to slip past their monstrous guard,
their movement through the water could be detected
and recognized instantly by any of the vibration-
sensitive inhabitants of the underwater community.
As for the dome, if they cut a hole in it, water
would pour in and prevent any exit. In any case, it
would take at least a week to make an impression on
THE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN
189
that hard, sticky material with Mudge's claws and his
fingernails. It was as if they were imprisoned in a cell
completely encased in alarm wires. All they had to
do was move to trip one.
That didn't keep him from thinking about escape,
but by the time they'd finished the evening meal
their captors thoughtfully provided, he was forced to
admit that his usually fertile imagination could gener-
ate nothing in the way of a plan. Not even a sugges-
tion of a plan.
Mudge was right this time. They were stuck. May-
be they would have a better opportunity to escape
during the long journey to Cugluch. In that case,
he'd only hurt their chances by not sleeping.
The mat was soft, but not reassuring.
"Where's the other one?" said an excited, rasping
voice.
Jon-Tom opened his eyes. It was light inside the
dome again, but barely. The sun was still rising. He
shivered in the damp cold air.
The dome was alive with activity. Sitting up on the
reeds, he tried to force his eyes to adjust to the
feeble light. Busy water beetles scurried around,
inspecting the walls, sniffing at the floor, tearing the
reed mat up around him. All of them carried six-
inch-long knives.
He counted at least a dozen of them. Two ran past,
still shedding water from their recent entry. As his
brain began to clear he saw that they were not
merely active; they were downright agitat
ed.
Standing close to the entrance was the speaker.
His maroon aides huddled close to him. Their swords
were drawn and they, too, were searching the interi-
or of the dome anxiously.
Then the speaker's words, filtered through his
half-asleep thoughts, struck home.
Aim Dean Footer
100
•'Mudge?" He got on all fours, feeling through the
reeds where the otter had been sitting last night.
"Mudge!" The otter's musk was still strong in the
enclosed chamber. That, and the impression of his
body in the reeds, was all that remained of him.
When Jon-Tom rose, he was immediately sur-
rounded by three of the sword-wielding water beetles.
He put their edginess and Mudge's apparent absence
together and reached an inescapable conclusion.
The otter had split.
As the rising sun shed more light on the search,
his smile grew wider and wider. The Plated Folk
were already repeating themselves. After all. there
were only a limited number of possible hiding places
within the dome. Somehow Mudge had made it to
freedom without waking his companion or alarming
their giant guard.
He wasn't angry with the otter for not alerting
him. Obviously, whatever avenue of escape he'd
followed wasn't suitable for the gangly Jon-Tom, or
Mudge would have gotten both of them out. Sure he
would. Jon-Tom refused to believe otherwise-
He wouldn't allow himself to believe otherwise.
Besides, it was only justice. Only fair that having
been unwillingly dragooned into this expedition,
Mudge should be the one to escape with his life.
Then there was no more time to bask in the
success of the otter's chicanery because the speaker
was towering over him.
Bright compound eyes gazed down at the single
remaining prisoner, and that raspy voice repeated
the question it had asked of its minions only minutes
earlier.
"Where is the other one? The short furry slave?"
"He's not a slave," Jon-Tom said defiandy. "As for
your first question, why don't you go screw yourself
and see if it brings forth enlightenment?" He de-
THE MOMENT OF TOK MAQJCIAH
191
rived unexpected pleasure from the vehemence of
his reply.
It had absolutely no effect on the speaker. "Tell me
or i will have your limbs removed."
"What, and deprive the Empress of so much
delight?" Jon-Tom grinned up at the speaker. "Not
that it matters. I don't know where he is any more
than you do. Your folks woke me out of a sound
sleep. You were here and Mudge was gone. Where to
I couldn't say, and I don't care as long as it's far away
from here."
"I do not think you are telling the truth, but as you
say, it matters not. You are here and he is gone. You
are the important one anyway. You are the one they
will greet with joy in Cugluch. The flight of the
other is irritating. That is all." He gestured with a
long arm. The chitin Hashed in the light.
Several short laborers were bringing something
long and rectangular through the entrance. It looked
uncomfortably like a coffin, for all that Jon-Tom
knew it was designed to preserve his life, not his
corpse.
"The means by which you will be transported
safely to Cugluch," the speaker explained unnecessarily.
"The escort is ready- Now you will be made ready."
Jon-Tom tried to take a step backward, only to
find himself hemmed in on all sides. He was much
taller than every one of the Plated Folk with the
exception of the speaker, but they were stocky and
strong.
"What do you mean, 'ready* me?"
The speaker elucidated. "One as clever and well
versed in the arcane arts as you is always a threat,
even without your magic-making instrument. I will
take no chances on you working mischief during our
journey, or on suiciding at the last moment."
Long arms pushed. Jon-Tom felt himself shoved to.
Alan Dean Foster
192
one side. Looking past the speaker he could see
something like a five-foot-long cockroach waiting
patiently near the portal. An air-Filled ovo^d was
strapped to its back. Within, he could see his ramwood
staff, duar, and the rest of the supplies that had been
salvaged from their raft. The laborers were strap-
ping the air-filled bier onto the back of another.
Then the speaker stepped aside, revealing the
ugliest speciman of Plated Folk Jon-Tom had ever
seen. It walked on alt sixes instead of fours like the
speaker and water beetles. Its body was long and
thin and flattened from head to thorax, while the
abdomen swelled into a grotesque globe- In color it
was mucklededun except for the comparatively small
eyes, which were bright red.
As it moved toward him, it raised its two front
arms. Tiny vestigial wings began to vibrate excitedly
against the thorax, which was very narrow. It was
also the smallest of the Plated Folk in the chamber,
barely three feet long. So was the tightly curled
ovipositor-like tube which protruded from the base
of the bulbous abdomen. It curved up over the
insect's back and head. The hypodermic tip quivered
in the air a foot in front of the creature's head.
for a place to hide. There was no place to hide.
"Listen, you don't have do to this," he told the
speaker, his eyes following that wavering point. "I'm
not going to give you any trouble. I can't, without my
duar."
"This is a reasonable precaution, particularly in
light of the disappearance of your companion," said
the speaker. "I do not want you to vanish one night
when we are almost to Cugluch."
"I couldn't do that, I couldn't.'* He wasn't ashamed
of the hysteria rising in his voice. He was genuinely
THE MOMBNT OF THK MAOSCIAM
193
terrified by the approach of what in essence was a
three-foot-long needle.
**There is no need to struggle," the speaker as-
sured him. "You can only hurt yourself. The Ruze's
venom has been used on the warmblooded before. It
knows exactly how large a dose to administer to
render you immobile for the duration of our journey."
"I don't give a damn if it's been to medical school.
You're not sticking that thing in me!" He jumped to
his right, hoping to clear the surprised guards and
make a run for the water, not caring anymore wheth-
er they used their swords on him or not.
They did not have the chance to react. As soon as
Jon-Tom moved, the Ruze struck. The stinger lashed
down like a striking cobra. Jon-Tom felt a terrific
burning pain between his waist and thighs as the
stinger went right through his pants to catch him
square in the left gluteus. He was surprised at the
( intensity of his scream. It was as if someone had
given him an injection of acid.
The Ruze backed away, its work completed, and
studied the human with interest. Beetle guards spread
out. Jon-Tom staggered a couple of steps toward the
entryway before collapsing. One hand went to his
left buttock, where the fire still burned, while he
tried to pull himself forward with his other hand.
The coldness started in his legs. It traveled rapidly
up his thighs, then spread through the rest of his
body- It wasn't uncomfortable. Only frightening. When
it reached his shoulders, he collapsed on his stomach.
Somehow he managed to roll over onto his back. His
elbows locked up in front of his eyes, then his wrists
and fingers.
The long, thin, bug-eyed face of the speaker came
within range of his vision and gazed down at him
from a great height. Jon-Tom fought to make his
vocal cords function.
Alan Dean Foster
194
"You... Hed... to... me."
"I did not lie to you." the speaker replied calmly.
"You will not die. You will only be made incapable of
resisting."
"Not that." It. took a tremendous effort for him to
speak. His words were weak and breathy. '*You said
it... wouldn't... hurt."
The speaker did not reply, continued to regard
him as it would something moving feebly beneath a
microscope.
Jon-Tom wondered how long the effects of the
injection would last. How many times between here
and Cugluch would he be subjected to the Ruze's fiery
attentions? Once a week? Every morning? Better that
he find some way of killing himself quickly. He couldn't
even do that now. His paralysis was their security.
It was difficult to tell if the speaker was pleased,
apologetic, or indifferent. As for the Ruze, it was
only doing a job. The dose it had injected had been
delivered with a surgeon's skill.
Satisfied, it nodded its absurdly small head and
indicated that the task of immobilizing the prisoner
had been completed. The speaker turned to a group
of unarmed water beetles waiting patiently nearby.
Jon-Tom felt stiff, uncaring hands turning him. He
wanted to resist, to strike out against his tormentors,
but the only things he could move were his eyes.
Then they were placing him in the oversized glass
coffin and preparing to load it onto the back of the
waiting cockroach-thing. Inside the water-tight con-