arrival.
"A great deal happening these days," Jon-Tom said by way
of opening conversation.
The driver's gaze did not stray from the road. His voice
was oddly stilted, as though a second mind were choosing the
words to answer with.
"Yes, a great deal."
214
THE HOUR Of THE GATS
"When is it to begin, do you think, the invasion of the
wannlands?" Jon-Tom made the question sound as casual as
he could.
A movement signifying ignorance from the driver. "Who
is to know? They do not permit wagon masters to know the
inner workings of the High Military. But it will be a great day
when it comes. I myself have four nestmates in the invasion
force. I wish I could be among them, but my district logisti-
cian insists that food supplies will be as important as fighting
to the success of the invasion.
"So I remain where I am, though it is against my desires.
It will be a memorable time. There will be a magnificent
slaughter."
"So they claim," Jon-Tom murmured, "but can we be so
certain of success?"
For a moment, the shocked disbelief the driver felt nearly
overcame the mental haze into which he'd been immersed.
"How can anyone doubt it? Never in thousands of years has
the Empire assembled so massive a force. Never before have
we been as well prepared as now.
"Also," he added conspiratorially, "there is rumor abun-
dant that the Great Wizard Eejakrat, Advisor to the Empress
herself, has brought forth from the realms of darkness an
invincible magic which will sweep all opposition before it."
He adjusted the reins running to the third lizard in right line.
"No, citizens, of course we cannot lose."
"My feelings are the same, citizen." Jon-Tom returned to
the rear of the wagon. Clothahump joined him a moment
later, as he was chatting softly to the others.
"If confidence is any indication of battleworthiness.'we're
liable to be in for a bad time."
"You see?" said Clothahump knowingly as he leaned up
against a pair of green-filled barrels, "that is why we must
215
Alan Dean Foster
find and destroy this dead mind that Eejakrat somehow draws
knowledge from, or die in the attempt."
"Speak for yourself, guv'," said Mudge. " 'E wot fights
an' runs away lives t' fight another day."
"Unfortunately," Clothahump reminded the otter quietly,
"if we fail, like as not there will not be another day."
216
XIII
Several days passed. Farms and livestock pastures began to
give way to the outskirts of a vast metropolis. Fronted with
stone or black cement, tunnels led down into the earth. On
the surface row upon row of identical gray buildings filled the
horizon, a vast stone curve that formed the outer wheel of the
capital city of Cugluch.
As they entered me first gate of many, they encountered
larger structures and greater variety. Faint pulses of light from
within cast ambivalent shadows on the travelers while the
echoes of hammerings resounded above the babble of the
chitinesque crowd. Once they passed a wagon emerging from
a large, cubical building. It was piled high with long spears
and pikes and halberds bound together like sheaves of grain.
The weapon-laden vehicle moved westward. Westward like
the troops they'd passed. Westward toward the Jo-Troom
Gate.
It had rained gently every day, but was far warmer than in
217
Alan Dean Foster
the so-called warmlands. Pat, limpid drops slid off their
hard-shelled disguises, only occasionally penetrating the well-
fashioned false chitin. Cooled by spell, those inside the insect
suits remained comfortable in spite of the humidity, dothahump.
as a good wizard should, had foreseen everything except the
need to scratch the occasional itch.
Only an isolated clump of struggling trees here and then
brought color to the monotonous construction of the city. It
was an immense warren, much of it out of sight beneath the
surface of the earth.
They pushed their way through heavier and heavier traffic,
increasingly military in nature. Clothahump guided the drive,
smoothly, directing them deeper into the city.
Wagonloads of troops, ant- and beetle-shapes predominant,
shoved civilian traffic aside as they made their way westward,
Enormous beetles eight and nine feet long displayed sharpened'
horns to the travelers. Three or four armed soldiers rode or
the backs of these armored behemoths.
Once a dull thump sounded from behind a large ova:
structure. Jon-Tom swore it sounded like an exploding shell
For an awful moment he thought it was the result of Eejakrat'a
unknown magic and that the Plated Folk had learned the ust
of gunpowder. His companions, however, assured him it wa?
only a distant rumble of thunder.
Buildings rose still higher around them. They were matched
by roads that widened to accommodate the increased traffic
Weaving ribbons of densely populated concrete and rock rose
six and seven stories above the streets, hives of frenetii
activity devoted now to destruction and death.
Sleep was in snatches and seconds that night. Clothahump
woke them to a soggy sunrise.
Ahead in the morning mist-light lay a great open square-
paved with triangular slabs of gray, black, purple, and blu"
stone. Across this expansive parade ground, populated no\v
218
THE BOVR OF THE GATE
only by early risers, rose a circular pyramid. It consisted of
concentric ring shapes like enormous tires. These tapered to a
smooth spire hundreds of feet high that pierced the mist like a
gray needle.
Half a dozen smaller copies of the central structure ringed
it at points equidistant from one another. There was no wall
around any of them, nor for that matter around the main
square itself.
Despite this the driver refused to go any further. His
determination was so strong even Clothahump's hypnotic
urgings failed to force him and his wagon onto the triangular
paving.
"I have no permit," he said raspily, "to enter the palace
grounds. It would be my death to be found on the sacred
square without one."
"This is where we walk again, my friends. Perhaps it is
best. I see only one or two wagons on the square. We do not
want to attract attention."
Mudge let himself over the back of the wagon. "Cor, ain't
that the bloody ugliest buildin' you ever saw in your life?"
They abandoned the wagon. Clothahump was last off. He
whispered a few words to the driver. The beetle moved the
reins and the wagon swung around to vanish up the street
down which they'd come. Jon-Tom wondered at the excuse
the unfortunate driver would offer when he suddenly returned
to full consciousness at his delivery point after nearly a week
of amnesia.
"It seems we need a permit to cross," said Caz appraisingly.
"How do we go about obtaining one?"
Clothahump sounded disapproving. "We need no permit. I
have been observing the pedestrians traversing the square,
and none has been stopped or questioned. It seems that the
threat is sufficient to secure the palace's exclusiveness. The
219
Alan Dean Foster
permit may be required within, but it does not seem vital for
walking the square."
"I hope you're right, sir." The rabbit stepped out onto the
paving, a gangling, thoroughly insectoid shape. Together they
moved at an easy pace toward the massive pyramidal palace.
As Clothahump had surmised, they were not accosted. If
anything, they found the square larger than it first appeared,