The now gigantic malign cloud seemed composed of dense black smoke. Lightning continued to flash from its fringes, and the sound it made stiffened the small hairs on the back of Buncan’s neck. Gragelouth cowered against the curving sandstone while Viz clung desperately to his iron perch.
Meanwhile the otters, motivated now by a sense of malicious mischief as much as a need to defend themselves and their companions, rapped on, ignorant of what they had wrought but delighted at the effect it was having on their erstwhile abductors.
“Tornado!” screamed the dazed whirlwind, collecting itself as best it could after the blow it had taken. Staggering wildly, it skittered off down the canyon.
The panicked cry was taken up by the rest of the boreal convention as, pushing and shoving, they scrambled to escape. Mass confusion ensued as collections and isobars slammed into and sometimes through one another. Fleeing from the restrictive walls of the canyon, the frenzied storms scattered frantically to . . . well, to the four winds.
By this time the invoked tornado towered higher than the greatest of the previously assembled whirlwinds, an inverted black cone that sucked at the sky. Its power was palpable, its bellowing like that of a runaway waterfall. Squill and Neena could hardly hear themselves sing, much less each other.
As they looked on it pounced on a retreating vortex and tore it apart, sending its collection of rubble flying in all directions. Where a moment earlier there had been a healthy whirlwind in flight, in seconds only a scattered cluster of desultory breezes remained. It was an appalling display of meteorological ferocity.
Far higher now than the canyon walls, the black spindle pawed angrily at the ground as if searching for additional victims. It spun back and forth, daring any organized wind to approach.
In shifting to the middle of the chasm, the noise had been reduced to just less than intolerable levels. Snaugenhutt glanced back and up at Viz.
“What’s a tornado?”
Clinging to its perch, Viz shook his head. “Beats me, Snaug. But at least it’s on our side.” For the moment, the tickbird thought.
Save for the apparition they had called into being, the canyon was now clear of breezy intruders. Buncan let his fingers fall from the duar. The otters ceased their rapping as Squill moved to loosen one of the water casks.
“I have never seen or heard of such a thing.” Looking down, Buncan saw the awestruck merchant staring at the awesome cloud. “What a weapon it could be.”
“Oi,” commented a relieved Neena, “think o’ wot it could o’ done to that bastard Krasvin’s ‘ouse. Splintered it and sent every one o’ them up the dirty bugger’s arse. Impaled “im on “is own—”
“We get the picture, Neena.” Buncan carefully checked his duar for damage from flying gravel.
The tornado whipped across the little stream that ran down the center of the canyon and in an instant sucked it dry. It displayed no inclination to pursue the fleeing whirlwinds.
Gragelouth plucked tentatively at Buncan’s sleeve. “A most useful conjuration and demonstration, but do you not think that it is time to make it disappear?”
Viz peeped out from his armored howdah. “Yeah. Make it go away, Duncan.” The tickbird faced the now aimless storm warily. “It’s making me nervous.”
“Right. Squill, Neena?”
Squill nodded as his sister slaked her thirst. “Righty-ho, mate. Give us a minim ‘ere.” When Neena was sated she recorked the cask and settled herself close to her brother. Each put an arm around the other’s shoulder as they leaned their mouths close. Whiskers tangled.
“Done your job and done it well
Blew ‘em all away like a storm from Hell
Now’s the time to leave
Time to go on your way
Hey tornado, wot you say?
We say, you gots to go away and maybe come again
Some other day, okay?”
With a violent twist, the black spire abandoned the creek bed and started toward them.
Eyes wide in his gray-furred face, Gragelouth retreated until his back was once more pressed against the sandstone arch. “What are you doing? Make it go away.”
The otters rapped faster and Buncan’s fingers flew over the duar’s strings, but the savage storm continued its deliberate, turbulent advance until it was almost upon them. In the face of that terrible wind Buncan had to fight to stay on his feet, while the otters now clung to each other in deadly earnest. Even the massive, defiant Snaugenhutt was brushed backward several feet.
This storm, Buncan sensed, would not delicately collect them, would not care for and pamper them. It would smash them as thoughtlessly and thoroughly as it had the unfortunate whirlwind it had overtaken.
Behind him he heard Gragelouth screaming frantically. “Make it go away, spellsingers! Make it go away! Oh what a tangled web we sloths weave!”
The sorrowful lament wasn’t intended as a suggestion, but the otters jumped on it just the same.
“Wind it up and tie it tight
Lock it down like sleep at night
Bind it fast and make it helpless
Got to see it doesn’t eat us
Don’t want to make it angry at me, at thee
At anyone we see
Just have to put it away for a while
Time to do it fast, and for sure in style.”
The propulsive vortex was almost upon them when its outer edges began to kink and snap. As the tornado halted, Buncan sensed a distinct feeling of puzzlement. It began to groan as if it had bones, embarking on a succession of violent convulsions. Tumultuous winds continued to buffet the watchful travelers, but they came from all directions now, confused in their approach and aimless in their passing.
As they stared the tornado folded in on itself. Disorganized streaks of black wind coiled in all directions. The storm contracted and spasmed, knotting and reknotting until with an audible groan the entire towering structure keeled over to slam into the canyon floor, sending a cloud of dust and sand flying.
Buncan averted his face until the cloud had begun to settle. When he looked back he saw the tornado lying prone, twisting and humping helplessly in a futile attempt to loosen the thousands of knots into which it had tied itself at the behest of the otter’s spellsong.
A benumbed Gragelouth sought to gather bis wits. “Astonishing, but we had best depart before the treacherous phenomenon ascertains a solution to its current predicament.”
Neena took a deep breath. “I’m all for that, guv. That were a near thing.”
With a prudent eye on the bound tornado, they took turns mounting Snaugenhutt, who as soon as everyone was aboard trotted off up the canyon, careful to maintain a circumspect distance between himself and the enraged but impotent maelstrom.
As they finally exited the steep-sided chasm, Gragelouth turned in his seat to peer back the way they’d come. There was no sign of the beknotted tempest.
“That is what I try to do to my competitors,” he informed mem somberly. “Surely it will free itself eventually?”
“I’d think so.” Buncan scanned the mesas and plains ahead. “Hopefully, before that happens we’ll have put plenty of distance between us.”
The merchant settled himself back in his seat. “Of course, if it were to pursue us you three could simply bind it within itself again.”
Buncan felt his duar bouncing lightly against his back. “Don’t count on it, merchant. So far we’ve been pretty lucky with our spellsinging, but Jon-Tom always said something about sequels never being as good as the originals. I guess that’s just a natural component of sorcery. So if it comes after us we might have to try something else, and it might not be as effective. I’d rather make speed.”
“I suspect I have more confidence in you, young human, man you do in yourself.”