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The hilly shore bordered a land of smaller trees, narrower of bole and widely scattered amid thick brush.
Despite his insistence that he preferred water to land, the dragon had no trouble smashing his way
through the foliage bulwarking the water's edge.
A small clearing close to the river was soon located. They settled into camp to the accompaniment of
rising moonlight. Ahead was the steady but soothing roar of the rapids Falameezar would have to
negotiate the next day.
Jon-Tom dumped a load of wood by the fire, brushed bark and dirt from his hands, and asked Caz,
"What do ships traveling past this point do about the rapids?"
"Most are constructed and designed so as to make their way safely through them when traveling down
to the Glittergeist," the rabbit explained. "When traveling upstream it is necessary to portage around.
There are places where it can be done. Logs have been laid across ancient, well-known paths. The ships
are then dragged across this crude cellulose lubrication until quieter water is reached." He nodded
curiously toward the dragon. Falameezar lay contentedly on the far side of the clearing, his tail curled
across his jaws.
"How did you ever manage to talk the monster into conveying us atop his belly instead of inside it? I
understood nothing of his riddle or your reply, nor of the lengthy talk you have engaged in subsequently."
"Never mind," said Jon-Tom, stirring the fire with a twig. "I'll take care of the dialectic. You just try to
say as little as possible to him."
"No fear of that, my friend. He is not my idea of a scintillating conversationalist. Nor do I have any
desire to become someone's supper through misapplication of a word or two." He patted Jon-Tom on
the back and grinned.
Despite the rabbit's somewhat aloof bearing, Jon-Tom couldn't help liking him. Caz was inherently
likable and had already proven himself a willing and good-natured companion. Hadn't he volunteered to
come on what was likely to be a dangerous journey? To be quite fair, he was the only true volunteer
among them.
Or was there some other motive behind the rabbit's participation that so far he'd kept well hidden? The
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thought gave Jon-Tom an unexpected start. He eyed the retreating ears. Maybe Caz had reasons of his
own for wanting to travel upstream, reasons that had nothing to do with their mission. He might desert
them at the first convenient opportunity.
Now you're thinking like Clothahump, he told himself angrily. There's enough for you to worry about
without trying to analyze your companion's thoughts.
Speaking of companions, where the devil had Mudge got himself to? Caz had returned a few moments
ago with a fat, newtlike creature. It drew deprecatory comments from Talea, the designated chef for the
evening, so they'd given it to the delighted Falameezar.
But Mudge had been gone a long time now without returning. Jon-Tom didn't think the mercurial otter
would try to split on them in so isolated a place when he'd already passed up excellent opportunities to
do so in far more familiar surroundings.
He walked around the fire, which was now crackling insistently for fuel, and voiced his concern to
Clothahump. As usual, the wizard sat by himself. His face shone in the firelight. He was mumbling softly
to himself, and Jon-Tom wondered at what lay behind his quiet talk. There was real magic in the
sorcerer's words, a source of never ending amazement to Jon-Tom.
The wizard's expression was strained, as befitted one on whose shoulders (or shell) rested the possible
resolution of a coming Armageddon.
Clothahump saw him without having to look up. "Good eve to you, my boy. Something troubles you."
Jon-Tom had long since overcome any surprise at the wizard's sensitivity.
"It's Mudge, sir."
"That miscreant again?" The aged face looked up at him. "What has he done now?"
"It's not what he's done so much as what he hasn't done, sir, which is come back. I'm worried, sir. Caz
returned a while ago, but he didn't go very far into the forest and he hasn't seen Mudge."
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"Still hunting, perhaps." Most of the wizard's mind seemed to be on matters far off and away.
"I don't think so, sir. He should have returned by now. And I don't think he's run off."
"No, not here, my boy." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]