The roo took a step back. “We won’t see any more of our cubs vanish from their beds, or disappear from our towns and farms. We won’t watch them turned into creatures their own parents wouldn’t recognize.”
“So you’re goin’ to storm mis bleedin’ monastery.” Squill glanced back at his sister. “Sound familiar, Neena?
Why does I ‘ave a feelin’ this’ll be a tougher nut to crack than a certain Baron’s walled mansion?”
“It will be difficult,” Wurragarr admitted. “The monastery is located high in the mountains, in a narrow basin. A wall protects it from the front, and the cliffs on both sides are extremely steep and difficult to scale. There are no trees above the wall, and cover is scarce. Therefore we must attack from the front. There are two springs in the basin behind the monastery itself. They can withstand a long siege.
“But there will be no siege. We all of us have trades to practice, crops to plant or bring hi, families to look after. We can’t afford to be long at this work. So we must attack and shatter the mam gate, the only gate.” He gestured with the ax. “Then we will put Kilagurri to the torch, and incinerate the evil it contains.” An inspiring cheer rose from his companions, echoing through the paperbark woods.
Buncan hesitated, uncertain how to respond. “I don’t know what to say, Wurragarr, except that we have our own priorities.”
“Bloody right we do.” Squill gazed down importantly. “We’ve come a long way, and we ain’t about to chance no dangerous detours here.”
“We’re searching for the Grand Veritable and we’ve a ways to go yet,” Buncan added.
“Tell ‘em, Bunc,” Squill said with a whistle.
“So if you want what help I can give, it’s yours.” He extended a hand.
“Right, we’ve . . .” Squill broke off, goggling at his friend. “Say that again, mate?”
“It’s what Jon-Tom would do,” Buncan explained.
Squill was beside himself. “Well, it ain’t bleedin’ wot Mudge would do!”
The roo ignored the fuming otter as he shook Duncan’s hand. “We can use every extra fist, mate. I’m sorry we misinterpreted your presence here at first.”
“No, no, you didn’t misinterpret anything’!” Squill was waving wildly, looking to his companions for support. Neena gave a little shrug and smiled beatifically.
“What about the rest of you?” Wurragarr let his gaze rove over the travelers. “The workings of the Dark Ones threaten you as much as us. If they are not stopped in our country, who knows how far then- scourge might spread? Maybe even beyond the Tamas.”
“I’m hi.” Snaugenhutt gave a little shake that set his armor to jingling lightly. “Could do with a good fight. Don’t remember too much of the last one I participated in.”
“Same here.” Viz and Mowara exchanged acknowledgments by simultaneously dipping then- beaks.
Buncan eyed the merchant. “Gragelouth?”
The sloth was reluctant to commit himself. “Squill’s observations are like a battered bowclass="underline" It leaks, but still holds truth. We should be on our way.”
“I know, but there’s greater truth in these folks’ misery. We could maybe make a difference here.” He indicated the three now abashed kookaburras. “I don’t see how we can deny them our help.”
“Ask me,” growled an indignant Squill. “I’ll show you.”
Buncan looked past him. “Neena?”
“ ‘Tis an awful lot you’re askin’, Bunkles.”
“You really think Mudge would have ridden on by?” She squirmed uncomfortably. “Don’t you want to be better than that?”
“Don’t you want to bloody well live?” Squill asked nun.
Buncan glared at his friend. “We survived Hygria. We survived the Sprilashoone and Camrioca. We saved Neena from Krasvin and crossed the Tamas in spite of the Xi-Murogg. What does that tell you, Squill?”
“That we’re temptin’ bloomin’ fate, mate.”
“Are we spellsingers or not?”
“You sure got Jon-Tom’s talent.” The otter sighed. “Why’d you ‘ave to go an’ get ‘is bleedin’ sense of duty as well?”
“I’m not going to argue with you anymore.” Buncan turned away. “You don’t have to come.”
“Cor, wot are we supposed to do?” Neena put hands on waist. “Go on by ourselves, then? Without ‘im?” She pointed at the reluctant merchant. “ ‘E’s the only one who knows the way.
“We three needs to stick together, we do. We can’t make magic without you, and you can’t make it without us.”
“I can still use my sword,” Buncan reminded her.
“You? A swordsman?” She let out a series of long whistles.
He ignored the insult. “I don’t like the circumstances either, Neena, but part of the reason I’m here is to participate in worthy adventures like this.”
“Is it now?” said Squill. “Then why’d we ‘afta come all mis blinkin’ way? You coulda got yourself killed right back ‘ome. There’s plenty o’ them in Lynchbany would do the job for free.”
“As I told you, I’m a blacksmith by trade.” Wurragarr spoke quietly. “Not a soldier. None of us are.”
“Me ‘eart bleeds for you.” Squill spat to his right, unfortunately not quite missing his foot. A hundred pairs of eyes and more watched him silently. “Oh, right then,” he muttered. “Go on, bury me in guilt. Dump it copiously. I loves it, I’m a glutton for it.” He reached back to finger his quiver. “Blacksmith, you think you can make me some more arrows?”
A broad smile creased the roo’s face. “We’ve plenty with us. You can have your pick, so long as you promise to stick them where they’ll do the most good.”
“fi-iar Dunkum, or wotever the ‘ell you said,” Squill mumbled disconsolately.
Wurragarr, Bedarra, and Mowara let Snaugenhutt lead the column as it wound its way through the forest. The path led steadily upward. Unfamiliar evergreens began to appear more and more frequently as they ascended, their branches and needles so evenly spaced one would have thought them fashioned by hand instead of grown. Higher up they could make out the first bare rock faces, naked granite devoid of any vegetation.
“We’re not afraid of the monks,” Wurragarr explained. “Only the revolting creations that do their bidding. Some are more formidable than others. We have Mowara’s description of a numbat crossed with a thylacine. I wouldn’t care to meet something like that on a black night.”
“If you and your people can handle the fighting,” Buncan told him, “maybe my friends and I can come up with a spellsong to counteract their sorcery. Based on our experiences, I think the best thing to do would be to confront them directly. That means slipping us inside. We managed that feat under similar circumstances not long ago, but we were lucky. I don’t know if we could do it again.”
The roo looked thoughtful. “Mowara’s the only one of us who knows the monastery’s interior, but he’s a flier.” He rubbed his chin as he hopped along, easily keeping pace with Snaugenhutt, his tail flicking behind him. “What about it, Mowara?”
The galah timed his shrug to Wurragarr’s bounce. “Hard to get out. Might get in. Can you sneak?”
Buncan grinned. “I’m traveling with two otters.”
“Wait just a bloody minim, mate.” Squill had been listening closely. “You want us to go inside this den o’ sorcerers an’ their offspring an’ clean ‘em out?”
Buncan looked up at the otter. “Not clean them out. Just keep them from using their necromancy against Wurragarr and his people. Confuse them, tie them down, create a diversion.”
“I liked it better when we were throwin’ Snaugenhutt around.”
The rhino glanced back and up. “Easy for you to say, otter.”
“Right. So this time all of us are to act as a diversion. Wot ‘appens if the oversize rat ‘ere an’ ‘is mates don’t make it in? By my way o’ thinkin’ that leaves us ‘appy sappy diversions ‘igh an’ dry, singin’ our bleedin’ ‘earts out.”