Now was not the time to succumb to the foibles of resurgent adolescence, he reminded himself firmly. He was now an experienced adventurer and spellsinger, and he’d damn well better act like one.
By this time more than a hundred armed males and females surrounded Snaugenhutt and his companions. An equal number of arrows and spears and pikes and swords were pointed in their direction. While mere was no doubt that the rhino could break through the encirclement, it was equally certain that a shower of weaponry would fall on him and his passengers. With what kind of accuracy it was difficult to say, out many of the wallabies and roos looked agile and fast enough to bound right onto the rhino’s retreating back and if necessary engage Buncan and his comrades in hand-to-hand combat.
“She’s right, then!” declared a deep, booming voice. A huge russet-tinged roo as tall as Buncan hopped out of the foliage, leaped effortlessly aver the wombat and thylacine, and landed with a thud an arm’s length in front of Snaugenhutt. Wearing only light snakeskin armor, he stood gazing thoughtfully up at Buncan, apparently utterly indifferent to the fact that with a quick lunge Snaugenhutt could impale him on his born and Sing him into the nearest bush.
A spiked earring dangled from the roo’s right ear. A strip of leather bristling with steel spikes ran from his forehead, down between his ears, and all the way down his spine to his heavy tail, the tip of which had been fitted with a double-sided wooden club. This gave an occasional, ominous twitch.
In his right hand the roo held a double-sided war ax. Bom feet were shod in some kind of socklike material. Upward-pointing hooks flashed at the toes. Like the rest of his companions the speaker, Buncan reflected, was not dressed for casual conversation. Haphazard and disorganized, they were clearly not military, and they were overequipped for mere banditry. What was going on in these far-off, strangely vegetated mountains?
“I’m Wurragarr.” His war ax flashed in the sun as he strained to peer past Buncan. “You’re a curious lot. Not from around here, that much is clear.”
“We’re from a lot farther than you’ve ever been,” Neena informed nun.
“I won’t argue with that, shiela.” He returned his attention to Buncan. “Myself, I’m a simple blacksmith. Don’t get around much. But the good folk of Nooseloowoo have invested me with the responsibility of leadership, and I aim not to let them down.” He jerked a thumb in the thylacine’s direction. “Heard you tell Bedarra and Quibo you were heading northwest. Kilagurri lies to the northwest.”
Buncan fought to contain his exasperation. “Look, we don’t know what’s going on here, and we’ve never heard of this Kilagurri place. We’re on a quest of our own, and we’re just trying to stay out of everybody’s way.”
The roo was insistent. “What’s your business in the northwest?”
“Didn’t you hear that too? We’re looking for the Grand Veritable.”
“Never heard of it.”
“We told your friends. We don’t know what it is either. That’s what we’re trying to find out.” He hesitated. “It’s said to be the source of great power and great danger.”
The roo nodded contemplatively. “Can’t say about power, but we’ve plenty of danger here to go around.” He turned and pointed with the ax. “You continue on the way you’ve been goin’ and you’ll for sure find it.”
“That’s our business.” filter to keep up a bold front, he thought, than show any weakness. “We’ve been dealing with trouble ever since we left home.”
“Bloody right,” said Squill.
“So if you’ll be good enough to let us pass,” Buncan continued, “we won’t trouble you any further. I don’t know what your business is with this Kilagurri, but it has nothing to do with us.”
“Kilagurri has to do with everybody,” insisted an armored quokka from the edge of the mob. A mutter of agreement spread through the assembled.
Squill gestured with his bow. “ ‘Ere now, you lot, we ‘aven’t got time for this. Me sister and me ‘uman friend ‘ere,” he put a paw on Buncan’s shoulder, “are bleedin’ great spellsingers, we are. If you don’t make way there, we’ll show you some real power. Turn you into a flock o’ gabbin’ geese, or toads, or make all your ‘air fall out, or maybe dump you in each other’s pouches.” Otters were not particularly adept at threatening glares, but Squill gave it bis best shot.
“Spellsingers!” Wurragarr’s brows rose. “Now that’s interesting.” Turning, he called into the crowd. “Windja, Charoo, Nuranura!”
Three stocky birds lifted clear of the mob and soared over to land on a fallen log to the quokka’s left. Each was slightly larger than Viz. They wore uniform scarves of black striped with yellow, but no headgear. Their plumage was white with, black highlights, and their thick, pointed bills looked too heavy for their bodies. Duncan had never seen anything like mem. Except for the outrageous beaks they might well have been oversize kingfishers.
As they settled down on the branch, murmuring among themselves, a pair of small wallabies hopped forward. One carried a pair of short wooden sticks inscribed with arcane symbols and drawings, while his companions held an intricately painted wooden tube hollowed at both ends. It turned in upon itself at least three times. An attempt to duplicate the duar’s systemology of mystical intersecting strings? Buncan wondered.
Wurragarr gestured with quiet pride at the waiting group. “As you can see, we have our own spellsingers. So don’t think to intimidate us with music.”
“We’re not trying to intimidate you, or anybody,” said Buncan patiently. “We’re just trying to get on our way.”
The thylacine stepped forward and snarled softly. “You lot don’t look much like sorcerers to me. You look like a bunch of cubs too lazy to walk.” Laughter rose from those close to him.
“Who’s a cub?” barked Squill angrily.
“Squill.” Buncan turned in his seat.
The otter was not to be denied. “Just a small demonstration, mate. To show these buggers wot we can do to ‘em if they ain’t polite.”
Gragelouth leaned to one side. “Perhaps an exhibition of a very minor nature might serve to facilitate our departure?”
“Haven’t said you could leave yet,” Wurragarr reminded them.
“Just going to sing a little song.” Buncan unlimbered the duar, scowled wamingly at the otters. “Nothing hostile.”
Neena smiled brightly as she and her brother began to improvise.
“ ‘Ere in the woods ‘tis peaceful and calm
Wouldn’t wanna hurt it by droppin’ no bomb
Just want to go, yo, go on our way, hey
Say how pretty it is
Look at the blossoms, let Viz
Lead us away, hey.”
There. Surety that was harmless enough, Buncan mused as he rested his hands.
Nothing happened. Then Snaugenhutt let out a violent sneeze as a bouquet of exquisite purple orchids began to grow from his nostrils.
“Hey! Knock it off.” He shook his head violently, but the spray of blooms developed rapidly until they formed a small carpet that drooped from his snout.
Viz surveyed the thaumaturgical horticulture thoughtfully. “Kind of mutes the intimidation factor.”
Snaugenhutt shook his head again and flowers flew in all directions. “Yeah. This’ll really strike fear in the hearts of our opponents.”
“Quit complaining.” The tickbird hopped down the length of the rhino’s head until he could bend over and inhale deeply. “This is the best you’ve smelled in years.”
Duncan’s brows drew together as he frowned at the otters. Neena lifted both paws noncommittally.
“You wanted nonhostile, Bunscan; you got nonhostile.”
“That’s just a sample,” Squill declared warningly. “Weren’t even strainin’ ourselves. We can call up thunderclouds, earthquakes, all the aspects o’ bleedin’ nature. The forces o’ the universe are ours to command, they are.” Buncan glared at him, and the otter smiled innocently.