empty perches ringing the room, "and ifya don't, our gooc
buddy da dragon will bum your manure pile of a rat-warrer
down around your waxy ears!"
"Shut up, Pog." Clothahump glared irritably at the bat.
While he was doing so the unctuous gopher leaned ovei
and spoke to the badger in a delicate yet matronly voice.
"The creature is undiplomatic, Mayor-President, but he has a
point."
"I will not be blackmailed, Pevmora." He looked down
the other way and asked in a less belligerent tone, "What do
you say, Aveticus? Do we disembowel these intruders now, 01
what?"
The marten's reply was so quiet Jon-Tom had to strain to
make it out. Nevertheless, the creature conveyed an impres-
sion of cold power. As would any student interested in the
law, Jon-Tom noticed that all the other council members
immediately ceased picking their mouths, chattering to each
other, or whatever they'd been doing, in order now to pay
attention.
13
Alan Dean Poster
"I think we should listen to what they have to say to us.
Not only because of the threat posed by the dragon, against
whose breath I will not expend my soldiers and whom you
must admit we can do nothing about, but also because they
speak as visitors who mean us nothing but good will. I cannot
yet pass on the importance of what they may say, but I think
we can safely accept their professed motivations. Also, they
do not strike me as fools."
"Sensibly put, youngster," said Clothahump.
The marten nodded once, barely, and ignored the fact that
he was anything but a cub. He smiled as imperceptibly as
he'd nodded, showing sharp white teeth.
"Of course, good turtle, if you are wasting our time or do
indeed mean us harm, then we will be forced to take other
measures."
Clothahump waved the comment away. "You give us credit
for being other than fools. I return the compliment. Now
then, let us have no more talk of motivations and time, for I
have none of the last to spare." He launched into a long and
by now familiar explanation of the danger from the Plated
Folk and their preparations, from their massed armies to their
still unknown new magic.
When he'd finished the badger looked as bellicose as
before. "The Plated Folk, the Plated Folk! Every time some
idiot seer panics, it's 'the Plated Folk are coming, the Plated
Folk are coming!'" He resumed his seat and spoke sarcastically.
"Do you think we can be panicked by tales and rumors
that mothers use to scare their cubs into bed? Do you think
we believe every claim laid before us by every disturbed
would-be leader? What do you think we are, stranger?"
"Stubborn," replied Clothahump patiently. "I assure you
on my honor as a wizard and member in good standing of the
Guild for nearly two hundred years that everything I have just
14
THE HOUR Of THE GATE
told you is true." He indicated Jon-Tom, who until now had
been silently watching and listening.
"Last night, this young spellsinger actually encountered an
envoy of the Plated Folk. He was here to foment trouble
among local human citizens, and according to my young
associate he was well disguised."
That brought some of the more insipid members of the
council wide awake. "One of them... here, in the city ...!"
"He was attempting to begin war between the species,"
reiterated the wizard. More mutters of disbelief from those
behind the long table.
"He wanted me to join with his puppets," Jon-Tom explained.
"The humans he'd recruited say the Plated Folk have prom-
ised to make them the overlords and administrators of all the
warmlands the insects conquer. I didn't believe it for a
minute, of course, but I think I've studied more about such
matters than those poor deluded people. I don't think they
have many followers. Nevertheless, the word should be
spread. Just letting it be known that you know what the Plated
Folk are trying to do should discourage potential recruits to
their cause."
The muttering among the councillors changed from ner-
vous to angry. "Where is he?" shouted the hummingbird,
suddenly buzzing over the table to halt and hover only inches
from Jon-Tom's face. "Where is the insect ofifal, and his
furless dupes?" Tiny, furious eyes stared into larger human
ones. "I will put out their eyes myself. I shall..."
"P&rch down, Millevoddevareen," said Wuckle Three-Stripe,
the badger. "And control yourself. I will not tolerate anarchy
in the chambers."
The bird glared back at the Mayor, muttered something
under his breath, and shot back to his seat. His wings
continued to whirr with nervous energy. He forced himself to
calm down by preening them with his long bill.
15
Alan Dean Foster
"Such fringe fanatics have always existed among the
species," the Mayor said thoughtfully. "Humans have no
comer on racial prejudice. These you speak of will be warned,
but they are of little consequence. When the time for final
choices arrives, common sense takes precedence over emo-
tion. Most people are sensible enough to realize they would
never survive a Plated Polk conquest." He smiled and his
mask fur wrinkled.
"But no such invasion has ever succeeded. Not in tens of
thousands of years."
"There is still only one way through Zaryt's Teeth,"
proclaimed a squirrel, "and that is by way of the Jo-Troom
Pass. Two thousand years ago Usdrett of Osprinspri raised the
Great Wall on the site of his own victory over the Plated
Folk. A wall which has been strengthened and fortified by
successive generations of fighters. The Gate has never been
forced open, and no Plated Folk force has ever even reached
the wall itself. We've never let them get that far down the
Pass."
"They're too stratified," added the raven, waving a wing
for emphasis. "Too inflexible in then" methods of battle to
cope with improvisation and change. They prepare to fight
one way and cannot shift quickly enough to handle another.
Why, their last attempt at an invasion was among the most
disastrous of all. Their defeats grow worse with each attack.
Such occasional assaults are good for the warmlands: they
keep the people from complacency and sharpen the skills of
our soldiers. Nor can we be surprised. The permanent Gate
contingent can hold off any sudden attack until sufficient
reinforcements can be gathered."
"This is no usual invasion," said Clothahump intently.
"Not only have the Plated Folk prepared more thoroughly
and in greater numbers than ever before, but I have reason to
believe they have produced some terrible new magic to assist
16
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
them, an evil we may be unable to counter and whose nature I
have as yet been unable to ascertain."
"Magic again!" Wuckle Three-Stripe spat at the floor.
"We still have no proof you're even the sorcerer you claim to
be, stranger. So far I've only your word as proof."
"Are you calling me a liar, sir?"
Concerned that he might have overstepped a trifle, the
Mayor retreated a bit. "I did not say that, stranger. But surely
you understand my position. I can hardly be expected to
alarm the entire civilized warmlands merely at the word of a
single visitor. That is scarcely sufficient proof of what you
have said."
"Proof? I'll give you proof." The wizard's fighting blood
was up. He considered thoughtfully, then produced a couple
of powders from his plastron. After tossing them on the floor