So he was more than a little surprised when a voice behind him whispered anxiously, “Get ready.”
Duncan turned his head to scrutinize the merchant. “Get ready? Get ready for what?”
“Why, to spellsing, of course. To work your magic.” He shifted his attention. “You! Squill, Neena.”
“Miphhh . . . what?” Squill looked up sleepily.
“Wake your sister. Prepare a spellsong.”
The otter blinked, sparing a glance for the dozing guard before returning his attention to the merchant. “Come off it, guv. We can’t do no spellsingin’ without Duncan’s duar to back us up.”
“I am aware of that. I am about to free you all.”
Neena was now as awake as her brother. “With wot? Kind words an’ good intentions?”
“Be still,” the sloth whispered, “and watch.”
Gragelouth sat bound securely, his claws contained, his arms tied behind him. He was neither as strong as Duncan nor as agile as the otters. It should have been obvious to any observer that he was completely helpless.
Except . . . he was not as thoroughly bound as his captors believed. Possibly in their triumph they had simply overlooked it, or perhaps they had never encountered a representative of Gragelouth’s tribe before. Sloths had powerful, highly visible claws, and these the Xi-Murogg had rendered useless.
But they had forgotten to do anything about his tongue.
Long, flexible, and prehensile, it curled out of the merchant’s mouth as he leaned forward, straining against the post. It crept down his chest, crossed his waist, and reached the top of his pants. There was a gentle click as it nudged one of the fake jewels which decorated the buckle of his snakeskin belt. The guard stirred, and everyone held their collective breath. The meerkat rubbed his snout, twitched his whiskers, but didn’t open his eyes.
As soon as the guard had settled afresh, Gragelouth re-retumed to his work. With the click the front of the buckle had popped open, to reveal a hidden compartment containing a well-traveled, experienced merchant’s emergency supplies: a miniature vial of energy-giving honey-based concentrate, another of poison, a couple of valuable jewels . . . and a small, all-metal blade. At the sight, it was all the otters could do to contain themselves.
The guard slapped at a fly, turning his shoulder to the center tent post. Exerting himself to the limit, Gragelouth felt of the blade with his tongue. Delicately the end of that sensitive organ curled around the short hilt. Buncan winced sympathetically, but the merchant never faltered.
Gripping the blade, Gragelouth removed it from the open buckle. Neena lay nearer than Squill or Buncan. Steadying himself, the merchant rocked to his left until he fell over on his side. Buncan inhaled sharply, but the sloth held on to the blade. Extending his tongue to the limit (which was greater than Buncan would have believed possible), he passed the tiny knife into the otter’s waiting fingers.
“Don’t drop it, you silly twit.” Squill squirmed against his own bonds, a bundle of pure, restrained energy.
“Shut up, broom-face.” A pause, then a husky whisper of triumph. “Got it!”
Gragelouth retracted his tongue, licking his lips as he smiled gently at Buncan. “That was something of a strain.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
The merchant shifted against the floor, unable to sit back up. “What, and have one of you cubs perhaps give it away? Besides, I honestly did not know if I could reach the buckle, bound as I was. I am not one to raise false hopes.”
“Hurry up!” Squill admonished his sister.
Her fingers worked the blade back and forth. “Want me to drop it? Then chew your whiskers and leave me alone.” Squill went silent, but it required a distinct effort of will.
The guard dozed on, oblivious to the silent struggle taking place practically under his nose.
What seemed like hours passed. Finally Neena’s arms gave a visible twitch and her hands came around in front of her. She barely paused long enough to rub circulation back into her wrists before starting on her leg bindings. The work went faster now that she didn’t have to worry about dropping the knife.
Once free, she tiptoed silently around the inner edge of the tent to come up noiselessly behind the guard. Buncan gave a little jerk as she used the knife. The unpleasant business quickly concluded, she immediately set to work on the thongs binding Gragelouth.
“Oi!” her brother exclaimed. “Wot about me?” “You can just lie there for a minim, mister always-in-a-hurry.” Squill glared at her and gnashed his teeth, but quietly. The merchant was soon loose. Avoiding her brother, who tried his best to bite her on the leg as she stepped past, she set to work on Duncan’s bonds. Only when he and Viz had been released did she at last turn to Squill.
Buncan nudged the motionless guard with a foot as he strapped on his sword. The thick woven that soaked up most, but not all, of the meerkat’s blood. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”
She didn’t look up from her work. “From me dear oP mum. She always told us that academics should be grounded in a good practical education.”
As soon as he was free, Squill favored his sister with a threatening glare. But instead of assaulting her he limped over on tingling legs and kicked the dead guard square in the face. Blood spurted. Buncan frowned. “There’s no need for that.” The otter smiled thinly up at him. “Cor, I know that. I just did it for me own personal pleasure.” As he drew back his leg for a second kick, Buncan stepped in front of him. “C’mon. We’re a long ways from being out of here.” Squill hesitated, then nodded and hurried to salvage his own belongings from the pile.
Viz was stretching his wings, fluttering into the air and then landing to rest. “We can’t leave without Snaug.” The tickbird shook his head dolefully. “I can’t believe they got him drunk. He’d been doing so well.”
“Doubtless he thought he could handle it.” Gragelouth was philosophical. “A common misconception of those overly fond of the bottle. Do not be too hard on him.”
“Maybe rney didn’t get him drunk.” Buncan slipped the duar over his shoulders. “Maybe he was drugged.”
Viz brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that. I made the obvious assumption.”
“We all did.” Buncan stroked the duar in anticipation. “We’re not going to be able to just walk out of here, free Snaugenhutt, and ride out through the break in the rocks. Too many guards and chanters around. But right now surprise is ours. We’d better make good use of it.”
“Spellsinging, yes,” said Gragelouth enthusiastically. “But what form should it take?”
Squill stepped forward. “Leave it to Neena and me.” His eyes flashed.
Buncan’s fingers strummed the double set of strings. At the center, something fiery flared. The otters murmured one very angry sentence.
A globe of reflective flame leaped from the duar’s nexus, floated like a bubble across the interior of the tent, and burst against the far wall. Concentric ripples of silver fire expanded outward from the hole in the wall like ripples in a pond. Gragelouth looked delighted.
“My, but aren’t we incensed?”
Squill and Neena stood side by side, fingers entwined, bobbing in time to Duncan’s music. This time no grins were in evidence as they sang. Viz settled expectantly on the merchant’s shoulder as they followed the highly focused human and otters outside.
Not far away Snaugenhutt lay on his back, still clad in his armor. His feet thrust into the air, front and rear securely bound at the ankles. Heavier thongs crisscrossed his exposed belly, binding him to the earth.
Viz glided over to land on the ground next to his associate. The tickbird turned his head sideways as he examined his friend and companion.
“How you feeling?”
The rhino looked away. “They offered me a drink. Some kind of fermented lizard milk or somethin’. I was thirsty.”