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Otherwise you would fall, and when the world snapped back to normal, you would find yourself in
pieces, no less deceased for having perished during the perturbation. That would be awkward indeed."
Sorbl joined them. "All is in readiness, Master."
The wizard nodded. "About time. You have your pack, my boy, and I have mine." He trundled over to
the study exit and prepared to shoulder one of the two heavy packs the famulus had prepared. Jon-Tom
wrestled his own onto his back and followed his mentor into the front hall.
He halted there, wondering why the thought hadn't occurred to him earlier. "Wait a minute. Why are we
walking? Surely we're not going to foot it all the way to the Northern Plateau?"
"Of course not," Clothahump assured him. "Once we get to Lynchbany we'll rent ourselves a wagon or
coach."
"But that's a pretty good hike in itself. Why walk even that far"-he swung his duar around in front of
him-"when we can ride?"
"Uh-oh." Sorbl's eyes sought a discreet hiding place.
"Boy." Clothahump harrumphed, "I'm not much in the mood to try any transportation spells. I've too
many other things on my mind. Besides, there are one or two bits of sorceral knowledge I've managed to
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forget over the past two hundred years, and we've no time to waste looking up the necessary formulae."
"I know you're not being modest." Jon-Tom was smiling fondly down at the old conjurer. "So I have to
assume that you're worn-out from dealing with the nothing."
"I will not deny that the effort was fatiguing." He was eyeing the duar uneasily. "I sense what you have in
mind, but I am not certain you are up to it. I know that you have had a great deal of practice lo these past
many months. Despite this, the precision of your spellsinging still leaves much to be desired.''
Jon-Tom felt himself flush. "I don't claim to be perfect. I never did. But I'm a hell of a lot sharper than I
was when I first picked up this duar and started playing. And I have conjured up transportation before.
Boats and rafts and one time M'nemaxa himself."
Clothahump was nodding slowly. "I am aware of what you have accomplished, my boy, and you have
much to be proud of, but the ability of calling up simple land transportation is a talent that seems to have
escaped you."
"You're forgetting, sir. Remember when we first journeyed south to the Tailaroam River to seek
transport upstream to Polastrindu? So that we could all travel together in ease and comfort, I called forth
a fine L'borian riding snake."
"You're right. I had forgotten. I remember now, though- just as I remember that you were trying to
conjure up something entirely different. You were as startled by the snake's appearance as the rest of us."
Jon-Tom looked away and coughed slightly. "So I was. But at least I produced something, and it turned
out to be perfectly serviceable. This time I'm going to try for a L'borian riding snake. Having already
conjured one previously, I ought to be able to produce it on demand."
The wizard considered, said reluctantly, "I admit I was not looking forward to the long tramp into
Lynchbany. I am of a mind to give my blessings to your attempts. If you are confident . . ."
"Of course, I'm confident."
Clothahump sighed. "My legs feel older even than my head. We could avoid the sordid haggling that
would surely ensue over the hiring of a coach. Very well, then. Let us see what you can produce. But let
us move outside first. Some of this furniture is old."
Jon-Tom followed, feeling several inches taller. Not literally this time, but emotionally, for no
perturbation was affecting the world. This was the first time he had actually been requested to spellsing
by the wizard, and he was determined not to let his benefactor and teacher down.
The morning was crisp and clear, with the first bite of fall in the air. Clothahump's anxiety to hurry on
their way was caused by the nearness of winter, when the paths to the Northern Plateau could become
clogged with early snows. It was difficult to imagine everything cloaked in white, so brilliant were the red
and gold hues of the forest.
They set their packs aside. Jon-Tom prepared himself while Clothahump placed a simple but effective
lockspell on his front door. Then he and Sorbl stood off to one side while Jon-Tom walked out into the
taller grass, away from the shade of the enormous old oak tree.
He let his fingers strum the duar's double set of strings, adjusted the mass and tremble controls, and
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cleared his throat. Sorbl left his master's side and tried to edge inconspicuously around behind the bulk of
the tree. Clothahump was made of sterner stuff. He sympathized with his apprentice's apprehension but
held his ground.
Jon-Tom stood off by himself and let individual chords and notes tumble from the duar. This was not the
first time he'd had to hesitate. The problem was that while he knew exactly what he wanted to bring forth,
he didn't know what song to employ. Snakes were not a popular subject of popular music.
There was a group that called itself Whitesnake, however. One of their tunes, anything related to
transportation, might do it. He couldn't think of anything more appropriate, and he was acutely conscious
of an increasingly impatient Clothahump standing nearby and staring at him. Better to sing something, if
only to loosen up, than to continue standing there looking like a complete fool. He closed his eyes,
remembered the words, began tapping his right foot in time to the beat, and started to sing.
A slight fluttering in the air, more perceived than seen, caused him to open his eyes. One or two
gneechees, those harbingers of magic, were teasing the fringes of his vision. They always appeared when
his spellsinging was working. It was a good sign and spurred him to greater efforts with the duar. But
while the gneechees remained, darting and dancing around the edge of reality, they did not appear in the
hoped-for numbers. Neither did the long, scaly shape of the riding snake. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]