Alan Dean Foster Spellsinger 02 The Hour of the Gate

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He was sitting stiffly in his seat, eyes staring straight ahead yet seeing
very little. Seeing only what Clothahump wanted them to see, in fact.
Under the wizard's urging, the rustic whipped the team forward. The
mesmerization had taken only a moment, and no one else had observed it.
"Damnsight better than walking." Talea reached awkwardly down to
draw one foot toward her, wishing she could massage the aching sole but not
daring to remove even that small section of the disguise.
"Sure is," agreed Jon-Tom. He balanced himself in the swaying,
rocking wagon as he made his way forward. Clothahump sat next to the driver.
The insect ignored his arrival.
"A great deal happening these days," Jon-Tom said by way of opening
conversation.
The driver's gaze did not stray from the road. His voice was oddly
stilted, as though a second mind were choosing the words to answer with.
"Yes, a great deal."
"When is it to begin, do you think, the invasion of the warmlands?"
Jon-Tom made the question sound as casual as he could.
A movement signifying ignorance from the driver. "Who is to know?
They do not permit wagon masters to know the inner workings of the High
Military. But it will be a great day when it comes. I myself have four
nestmates in the invasion force. I wish I could be among them, but my district
logistician insists that food supplies will be as important as fighting to the
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success of the invasion.
"So I remain where I am, though it is against my desires. It will be
a memorable time. There will be a magnificent slaughter."
"So they claim," Jon-Tom murmured, "but can we be so certain of
success?"
For a moment, the shocked disbelief the driver felt nearly overcame
the mental haze into which he'd been immersed. "How can anyone doubt it? Never
in thousands of years has the Empire assembled so massive a force. Never
before have we been as well prepared as now.
"Also," he added conspiratorially, "there is rumor abundant that the
Great Wizard Eejakrat, Advisor to the Empress herself, has brought forth from
the realms of darkness an invincible magic which will sweep all opposition
before it." He adjusted the reins running to the third lizard in right line.
"No, citizens, of course we cannot lose."
"My feelings are the same, citizen." Jon-Tom returned to the rear of
the wagon. Clothahump joined him a moment later, as he was chatting softly to
the others.
"If confidence is any indication of battleworthiness.'we're liable
to be in for a bad time."
"You see?" said Clothahump knowingly as he leaned up against a pair
of green-filled barrels, "that is why we must find and destroy this dead mind
that Eejakrat somehow draws knowledge from, or die in the attempt."
"Speak for yourself, guv'," said Mudge. " 'E wot fights an' runs
away lives t' fight another day."
"Unfortunately," Clothahump reminded the otter quietly, "if we fail,
like as not there will not be another day."
Several days passed. Farms and livestock pastures began to give way
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to the outskirts of a vast metropolis. Fronted with stone or black cement,
tunnels led down into the earth. On the surface row upon row of identical gray
buildings filled the horizon, a vast stone curve that formed the outer wheel
of the capital city of Cugluch.
As they entered me first gate of many, they encountered larger
structures and greater variety. Faint pulses of light from within cast
ambivalent shadows on the travelers while the echoes of hammerings resounded
above the babble of the chitinesque crowd. Once they passed a wagon emerging
from a large, cubical building. It was piled high with long spears and pikes
and halberds bound together like sheaves of grain. The weapon-laden vehicle
moved westward. Westward like the troops they'd passed. Westward toward the
Jo-Troom Gate.
It had rained gently every day, but was far warmer than in
the so-called warmlands. Pat, limpid drops slid off their
hard-shelled disguises, only occasionally penetrating the wellfashioned false
chitin. Cooled by spell, those inside the insect suits remained comfortable in
spite of the humidity, dothahump. as a good wizard should, had foreseen
everything except the need to scratch the occasional itch.
Only an isolated clump of struggling trees here and then brought
color to the monotonous construction of the city. It was an immense warren,
much of it out of sight beneath the surface of the earth.
They pushed their way through heavier and heavier traffic,
increasingly military in nature. Clothahump guided the drive, smoothly,
directing them deeper into the city.
Wagonloads of troops, ant- and beetle-shapes predominant, shoved
civilian traffic aside as they made their way westward, Enormous beetles eight
and nine feet long displayed sharpened' horns to the travelers. Three or four
armed soldiers rode or the backs of these armored behemoths.
Once a dull thump sounded from behind a large oval structure.
Jon-Tom swore it sounded like an exploding shell For an awful moment he
thought it was the result of Eejakrat'a unknown magic and that the Plated Folk
had learned the ust of gunpowder. His companions, however, assured him it wa?
only a distant rumble of thunder.
Buildings rose still higher around them. They were matched by roads
that widened to accommodate the increased traffic Weaving ribbons of densely
populated concrete and rock rose six and seven stories above the streets,
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