might help the dead I helped the living to survive. I have no
regrets."
When Jon-Tom did not respond the wizard continued, "My
boy, your magic is of an unpredictable quality and consider-
able power. Many times that unpredictability could be a
drawback. But the magic we face is equally unpredictable.
You may be of great assistance... if you choose to.
"But I feel responsibility for you, if not for your present
hurt. If you elect to do nothing, no one will blame you for it
and I will not try to coerce you. I can only wish for your
assistance.
"I am trying to tell you, my boy, that there is no formula I
know for raising the dead. I said I would try, and I shall,
when the time is right and other matters press less urgently on
my knowledge. I must now try my best to preserve many. I
cannot turn away from that to experiment in hopes of saving
one." His voice was flat and unemotional.
"I wish it were otherwise, boy. Even magic has its limits,
however. Death is one of them."
Jon-Tom stood numbly, still balancing the dead weight on
his shoulders. "But you said, you told me..."
"What I told you I did in order to save you. Despondency
does not encourage quick thinking and survival. You have
survived. Talea, bless her mercurial, flinty little heart, would
be cursing your self-pity this very moment if she were able."
"You lying little hard-shelled—"
Clothahump took a cautious step backward. "Don't force
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me to stop you, Jon-Tom. Yes, I lied to you. It wasn't the
first time, as Mudge is so quick to point out. A lie in the
service of right is a kind of truth."
Jon-Tom let out an inarticulate yell and rushed forward,
blinded as much by the cold finality of his loss as by the
wizard's duplicity. No longer a personality or even a memory,
me body on his shoulders tumbled to the earth. He reached
blindly for the impassive sorcerer.
Clothahump had seen the rage building, had taken note of
the signs in Jon-Tom's face, in the way he stood, in the
tension of his skin. The wizard's hands moved rapidly and he
whispered to unseen things words like "fix" and "anesthesia."
Jon-Tom sent down as neatly as if clubbed by his own staff.
Several soldiers noted the activity and wandered over.
"Is he dead, sir?" one asked curiously.
"No. For the moment he wishes it were so." The wizard
pointed toward the limp form of Talea. "The first casualty of
the war."
"And this one?" The squirrel gestured down at Jon-Tom.
"Love is always the second casualty. He will be all right in
a while. He needs to rest and not remember. There is a tent
behind the headquarters. Take him and put him in there."
The noncom's tail switched the air. "Will he be dangerous
when he regains consciousness?"
Clothahump regarded the softly breathing body. "I do not
think so, not even to himself."
The squirrel saluted. "It will be done, sir."
There are few drugs, Clothahump mused, that can numb
born the heart and the mind. Among them grief is the most
powerful. He watched while the soldiers bore the lanky,
youthful Jon-Tom away, then forced himself to turn to more
serious matters. Talea was gone and Jon-Tom damaged. Well,
he was sorry as sorry could be for the boy, but they would do
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without his erratic talents if they had to. He could not cool
the boy's hate.
Let him hate me, then, if he wishes. It will focus his
thoughts away from his loss. He will be forever suspicious of
me hereafter, but in that he will have the company of most
creatures. People always fear what they cannot understand.
Makes it lonely though, old fellow. Very lonely. You knew
that when you took the vows and made the oaths. He sighed,
waddled oS to locate Aveticus. Now there was a rational
mind, he thought pleasantly. Unimaginative, but sound. He
will accept my advice and act upon it. I can help him.
Perhaps in return he can help me. Two hundred and how
many years, old fellow?
Tired, dammit. I'm so tired.. Pity I took an oath of
responsibility along with the others. But this evil of Eejakrat's
has got to be stopped.
Clothahump was wise in many things, but even he would
not admit that what really kept him going wasn't his oath of
responsibility. It was curiosity....
Red fog filled Jon-Tom's vision. Blood mist. It faded to
gray when he blinked. It was not the ever present mist of the
awful Greendowns, but instead a dull glaze that faded rapidly.
Looking up, he discovered multicolored fabric in place of
blue sky. As he lay on his back he heard a familiar voice say,
"I'll watch him now."
He pushed himself up on his elbows, his head still swim-
ming from the effects of Clothahump's incantation. Several
armed warmlanders were exiting the tent.
"Ya feeling better now?"
He raised his sight once more. An upside-down face stared
anxiously into his own. Pog was hanging from one of the
crosspoles, wrapped in his wings. He spread them, stretching,
and yawned.
"How long have I been out?"
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THE HOUR Of THE GATE
" 'Bout since dis time yesterday."
"Where's everyone else?"
The bat grinned. "Relaxing, trying ta enjoy themselves.
Orgy before da storm."
"Talea?" He tried to sit all the way up. A squat, hairy
form fluttered down from the ceiling to land on his chest.
"Talea's as dead as she was yesterday when you tried ta
attack da master. As dead as she was when dat knife went
into her t'roat back in Cugluch, an dat's a fact ya'd better get
used ta, man!"
Jon-Tom winced, looked away from the little gargoyle face
confronting him. "I'll never accept it. Never."
Pog hopped off his chest, landed on a chair nearby, and
leaned against the back. It was designed for a small mamma-
lian body, but it still fit him uncomfortably. He always
preferred hanging to sitting but given Jon-Tom's present
disorientation, he knew it would be better if he didn't have to
stare at a topsy-turvy face just now.
"Ya slay me, ya know?" Pog said disgustedly. "Ya really
think you'resomething special."
"What?" Confused, Jon-Tom frowned at the bat.
"You heard me. I said dat ya link you're something
special, don't ya? Ya tink you're da only one wid problems?
At least you've got da satisfaction of knowing dat someone
loved ya. I ain't even got dat.
"How would ya like it if Talea were alive and every time
ya looked at her, so much as smiled in her direction, she
turned away from ya in disgust?"
"I don't—"
The bat cut him off, raised a wing. "No, hear me out.
Dat's what I have ta go trough every day of my life. bat's
what I've been going trough for years. 'It don't make sense,'
da boss keeps tellin' me." Pog sniffed disdainfully. "But he
don't have ta experience it, ta live it. 'Least ya know ya was
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loved, Jon-Tom. I may never have dat simple ting. I may
have ta go trough da rest of my life knowin' dat da one I love
gets the heaves every time I come near her. How would you
like ta live wid dat? I'm goin' ta suffer until I die, or until she
does.
"And what's worse," he looked away momentarily, sound-
ing so miserable that Jon-Tom forgot his own agony, "she's
here!"
"Who's here?"
"Da falcon. Uleimee. She's wid da aerial forces. I tried ta
see her once, just one time. She wouldn't even do dat for
me."
"She can't be much if she acts like that toward you," said
Jon-Tom gently.