Foster, Alan Dean Spellsinger 5 The Paths of the Perambulator

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perambulator is going to perturb the sun itself. It will blow up and you will die, mad or sane, as quickly as
the rest of us. Give it up, fellow practitioner of the art. Give it up."
"Prevaricator within a box, come no closer, I warn you!" The wolverine skittered back into the corridor
a few steps and gestured threateningly with the battle-ax. Clothahump ignored the warning and continued
his measured approach, reaching out now with both hands.
"Come now, since you still retain enough sense to execute spells, you must realize in some part of your
brain that you are gravely ill. Why won't you let us help you?"
"No, please, stay away!" It was not a threat this time but a cry for help wearing the guise of an
admonition, a desperate, pleading whine. The wolverine had backed himself up against a wall and held
the ax out defensively in front of him. Jon-Tom was startled to see that the giant was trembling.
"Well, I'll be damned," Mudge muttered as Clothahump continued to talk to their nemesis in soothing,
reassuring tones. "No wonder 'e's off 'is nut."
"What do you mean, Mudge?" Talea asked him.
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"Cor, you mean you can't any of you see it? No, I expect you can't. 'Tis plain enough to me as the tail on
me backside. This 'ere Braglob, for all 'is size an' sorcerous skill, 'e's a bloomin' coward. And I ought to
know one when I sees one. No wonder 'e's crazy. As big as 'e is an' a wolverine to boot, why, if I 'ad
that size and those muscles and that kind o' natural fightin' ability an' skill at magicking and was still a
coward, I'd probably be a bit unbalanced meself."
"So that's what it is." Now that Mudge had pointed it out, Jon-Tom wondered how he could have
missed seeing it right away. The wolverine's whole posture and attitude since they'd encountered him was
indicative not of defiance but of fear. He was afraid of them. All the threats he'd made since confronting
them were just so much bluff.
That did not, however, mean that he was harmless. He flung the battle-ax aside and tried to crawl into
the wall, wrapping his face in both arms as he turned away from them.
"No, don't come any closer, get away!'
How much of a wizard he was, they might never know, but madness can amplify magic as surely as it
can physical strength. Insane people have been known to do extraordinary things, from bending the bars
on hospital room windows to ripping off straitjackets while fighting a dozen men at a time.
Clothahump was blown backward by a blast of pure terrified madness, fueled by cowardice and
powered by fear. He did have just enough time to draw in his head and limbs as he was thrown into a
wall opposite. As he lay there rocking back and forth and trying to recover from the concussion, Braglob
turned his paranoia on the rest of them.
"Go away, don't hurt me, leave me alone!" he sobbed.
The wind that struck them stank of madness. Dormas dug in and somehow managed to hold her ground.
Colin had a low center of gravity to begin with. He immediately dropped to the ground and dug into the
floor with his powerful claws.
But Mudge was lifted and tossed backward. Only his otterish acrobatic ability enabled him to tuck and
roll. He was only slightly bruised as he reached out and grabbed onto one of Dormas's hind legs. He
hung on as the insane gale tore at him, trying to blow him away, stretching him out behind the ninny like a
furry flag rippling on a pole.
Jon-Tom had the duar around in front of him and was playing before the first storm-breath struck. The
main force of the gale split and passed to either side of him. Talea stood at his back, shielded by his body
and the aura of immobility in which he'd wrapped himself. Her red hair streamed out behind her. What
wind did get through the spellsong ripped at Jon-Tom's clothes and blew dust in his eyes. But it was not
strong enough to knock him off his feet.
Braglob slowly turned to stare at Jon-Tom, having at least temporarily vanquished all other opponents.
"You! Why don't you go away too? I want you to go away!" He waved both arms at Jon-Tom. A
stronger gust of wind battered him, but he was able to hold his ground. "Why don't you go away?"
"Because I am not of your world, and so I do not respond to your madness."
"What insanity is this?" roared the wolverine. "Another lie!" His face twisted violently. "It will have to be
something special for you, then. Something unique. Something I have never tried before. Something even
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more devastating than your heart's desire."
"No, it won't. This madness has to stop. Not only for our sake and for the rest of the world but for your
own sake as well, Braglob. It doesn't matter what you do from now on because . . ."
And he began to sing, "We're not gonna take it. We're not gonna take it. We're not gonna take it
anymorrre . . .!"
Dee Snider and the rest of the gang would've been proud.
Braglob let out a tremulous howl. At the same time the deep-throated hum and the song of the
perambulator grew louder still. Jon-Tom sang on, aware that Talea was tugging at his shirt.
"Jon-Tom-look!"
There was something in the brilliantly lit chamber besides the perambulator. Gneechees. Not just one or
two this time but a veritable snowstorm of them, each as bright and intense as the perambulator itself.
And for the first time outside of a dream he found he could look at them directly instead of just out of the
corner of his eye.
They danced in the air, coalescing until they'd formed a laser-pure spiral that wove its way around the
perambulator. They appeared to be tiptoeing on its fringes, tangent to but not quite touching the
substance of the apparition that it was. They had been drawn to this place by Jon-Tom's spellsinging and
remained to luxuriate in the instability generated by the perambulator.
Jon-Tom was growing hoarse trying to match his output to that of the otherworldly traveler. The sound
battered at his body as much as at his ears. The music of the perambulator raged through his soul. He
couldn't go on much longer. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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