evidence of the power Eejakrat commands. Not a sign of it at
work."
"Maybe he can't manipulate it properly. Maybe it's beyond
his control."
" 'Maybes' kill more individuals than swords, my boy."
"What kind of magic are you looking for?"
"I don't know." The wizard gazed skyward. "The clouds
are innocent of storm. Nothing hints at lightning. The earth is
silent, and we've naught to fear from tremorings. The ether
flows silently. I feel no discord in any of the levels of magic.
It worries me. I fear what I cannot sense."
"There's a possible storm cloud," said Jon-Tom, pointing.
"Boiling over the far southern ridge."
Clothahump peered in the indicated direction. Yes,'there
was a dark mass back there, which had materialized suddenly.
It was blacker than any of the scattered cumulo-nimbus that
hung in the afternoon sky like winter waifs. The cloud
foamed down the face of the ridge, rushing toward the Pass.
"That's not a cloud," said Caz, seeking with eyes sharper
than those of other creatures. "Plated Folk."
265
Alan Dean Foster
"What kind?" asked Clothahump, already confident of the
reply.
"Dragonflies, a few large beetles. All with subsidiary
mounted troops, I fear. Many other large beetles behind
them."
"They should be no trouble," murmured Clothahump.
"But I wonder."
Aveticus crossed the Gate and joined them.
"What do you make of this, sir?"
"It appears to be the usual aerial assault."
Aveticus nodded, glanced back toward the plain. "If so,
they will fare no better in the air than they have on the
ground. Still..."
"Something troubling you then?" said Clothahump.
The marten eyed the approaching cloud confusedly. "It is
strange, the way they are grouped. Still, it would be peculiar
if they did not at least once try something different."
Yells sounded from behind the Gate. The warmlanders own
aerial forces were massing in a great spiral over the camp.
They were of every size and description. Their kilts formed a
brilliant quiltwork in the sky.
Then the spiral began to unwind as the line of bats and
birds flew over the Gate to meet the coming threat. They
intercepted the Plated Folk fliers near the line of combat.
As soon as contact was made, the Plated Folk forces split.
Half moved to meet the attack. The second half, consisting
primarily of powerful but ponderous beetles, dipped below
the fight. With them went a large number of the more agile
dragonflies with their single riders.
"Look there," said Mudge. "Wot are the bleedin' buggerers
up to?"
"They're attacking ground troops!" said Aveticus, outraged.
"It is not done. Those in the sky do not do battle with those
on the ground. They fight only others of their own kind."
266
THE HOUR Or THE GATE
"Well, somebody's changed the rules," said Jen-Tom,
watching a tall amazonian figure moving across the wall
toward them.
Confusion began to grip the advance ranks of warmlanders.
They were not used to fighting attack from above. Most of
the outnumbered birds and bats were too busy with their own
opponents to render any assistance to those below.
"This is Eejakrat's work," muttered Clothahump. "I can
sense it.'It is magic, but of a most subtle sort."
"Air-ground support," said the newly arrived Flor. She
was staring tight-lipped at the carnage the insect fliers were
wreaking on the startled warmlander infantry.
"What kind of magic is this?" asked Aveticus grimly.
"It's called tactics," said Jon-Tom.
The marten turned to Clothahump. "Wizard, can you not
counter this kind of magic?"
"I would try," said Clothahump, "save that I do not know
how to begin. I can counter lightning and dissipate fog, but I
do not know how to assist the minds of our soldiers. That is
what is endangered now."
While bird and dragonfly tangled in the air above the Pass
of puzzled warmlanders, the sky began to rain a different sort
of death.
The massive cluster of large beetles remained high out of
arrowshot and began to disgorge hundreds, thousands of tiny
pale puffs on the rear of the warmlander forces. Arrows fell
Aom the puff shapes as they descended.
Jon-Tom recognized the familiar round cups. So did Flor.
But Clothahump could only shake his head in disbelief.
"Impossible! No spell is strong enough to lift so many into
the air at once."
"I'm afraid this one is," Jon-Tom told him.
"What is this frightening spell called?"
"Parachuting."
267
Alan Dean Foster
The wannlander troops were as confused by the sight as by
the substance of this assault on their rear ranks. At the same
time there was a chilling roar from the retreating Plated Folk
infantry. Those who'd abandoned their weapons suddenly
scrambled for the nearest canyon wall.
From the hidden core of the horde came several hundred of
the largest beetles anyone had ever seen. These huge scara-
baeids and their cousins stampeded through the gap created
by their own troops. The startled wolverines were trampled
underfoot. Massive chitin horns pierced soldier after soldier.
Each beetle had half a dozen bowmen on its back. From there
they picked off those wannlanders who tried to cut at the
beetle's legs.
Now it was the wannlanders who broke, whirling and
scrambling in panic for the safety of the distant Gate. They
pressed insistently on those behind them. But terror already
ruled their supposed reinforcements. Instead of friendly faces
those pursued by the relentless beetles found thousands of
Plated Folk soldiers who had literally dropped from the sky.
The birds and their riders, mostly small squirrels and then-
relatives, fought valiantly to break through the aerial Plated
Folk. But by the time they had made any headway against the
dragonfly forces confronting them the great, lumbering flying
beetles had already dropped their cargo. Now they were
flying back down the Pass, to gather a second load of
impatient insect parachutists.
Glee turned to dismay on the wall as badly demoralized
troops streamed back through the open Gate. Behind them
was sand and gravel-covered ground so choked with corpses
that it was hard to move. The dead actually did more to save
the wannlander forces from annihilation than the living.
When the last survivor had limped inside, the great Gate
was swung shut. An insectoid wave crested against the
barrier.
268
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
Now the force of scarabaeids who'd broken the wannlander
front turned and retreated. They could not scale the wall and
would only hinder its capture.
• Strong-armed soldiers carrying dozens, hundreds of ladders
took their places. The ladders were thrown up against the wall
in such profusion that several defenders, while trying to spear
those Plated Folk raising one ladder, were struck and killed
by another. The ladders were so close together they some-
| times overlapped rungs. A dark tide began to swarm up the
| wall.
| Having no facility with a bow, Jon-Tom was heaving spears
I as fast as the armsbearers could supply them. Next to him
| Flor was firing a large longbow with deadly accuracy. Mudge
I stood next to her, occasionally pausing in his own firing to
| compliment the giantess on a good shot.
I The wall was now crowded with reinforcements. Every
II time a wannlander fell another took his place. But despite the
number of ladders pushed back and broken, the number of
climbers killed, the seemingly endless stream of Plated Folk
: came on.
; It was Caz who pulled Jon-Tom aside and directed his
attention far, far up the canyon. "Can you see them, my
friend? They are there, watching."
! "Where?"
"There... can't you see the dark spots on that butte that
juts out slightly into the Pass?"
Jon-Tom could barely make out the butte. He could not
discern individuals standing on it. But he did not doubt Caz's
observation.
"I'll take your word for it. Can you see who 'they' are?"
S "Eejakrat I recognize from our sojourn in Cugluch. The
| giant next to him must be, from the richness of attire and
'servility of attendants, the Empress Skrritch."
269
Alan Dean Foster
"Can you see what Eejakrat is doing?" inquired a worried
Clothahump.
"He looks behind him at something I cannot see."
"The dead mind!" Clothahump gazed helplessly at his
sheaf of formulae. "It is responsible for this new method of
fighting, these 'tactics' and 'parachutes' and such. It is telling
the Plated Folk how to fight. It means they have found a new
way to attack the wall."
"It means rather more than that," said Aveticus quietly.
Everyone turned to look at the marten. "It means they no
longer have to breach the Jo-Troom Gate...."
270
XVI
"Is it not clear?" he told them when no one responded.
"These 'parachute' things will enable them to drop thousands
of soldiers behind the Gate." He looked grim and turned to a
subordinate.
"Assemble Elasmin, Toer, and Sleastic. Tell them they
must gather a large body of mobile troops. No matter how
bad the situation here grows these soldiers must remain ready
behind the Gate, watching for more of these falling troops.
They must watch only the sky, for, if we are not prepared,
these monsters will fall all over our own camp and all will be
lost."
The officer rushed away to convey that warning to the
warmlander general staff. Overhead, birds and riders were
holding their own against the dragonfly folk. But they were
fully occupied. If the beetles returned with more airborne
Plated Folk troops, the warmlander arboreals would be unable
to prevent them from falling on the underdefended camp.
271
Alan Dean Foster
Attacked from the front and from behind, the Jo-Troom Gate
would change from impregnable barrier to mass grave.
Once out on the open plains the Plated Folk army would be
able to engulf the remnants of the warmlander defenders. In
addition to superior numbers, which they'd always possessed,
the attackers now had the use of superior tactics. Eejakrat had
discovered the flexibility and imagination dozens of their
earlier assaults had lacked.
Not that it would matter soon, for the inexorable pressure
on the Gate's defenders was beginning to tell. Now an
occasional Plated Folk warrior managed to surmount the
ramparts. Isolated pockets of fighting were beginning to
appear on the wall itself.
" 'Ere now, wot d'you make o' that, mate?" Mudge had
hold of Jon-Tom's arm and was pointing northward.
On the plain below the foothills of Zaryt's Teeth a thin dark
line was snaking rapidly toward the Gate.
Then a familiar form was scuttling through the nulling
soldiers. It wore light chain-mail top and bottom and a
strange helmet that left room for multiple eyes. Despite the
armor both otter and man identified the wearer instantly.
"Ananthos!" said Jon-Tom.
"yes." The spider put four limbs on the wall and looked
outward. He ducked as a tiny club glanced off his cephalothorax.
"i hope sincerely we are not too late."
Flor put aside her bow, exhausted. "I never thought I'd
ever be glad to greet a spider. Or that to my dying day I'd
ever be doing this, compadre." She walked over and gave the
uncertain arachnid a brisk hug.
Disdaining the wall, the modest force of Weavers divided.
Then, utilizing multiple limbs, incredible agility, and built-in
climbing equipment, they scrambled up the sheer sides of the
Pass flanking the Gate. They suspended themselves there, out
272
THE HOUR Of TVS GATE
of arrow range, and began firing down on the Plated Folk
clustered before the Gate.
This additional -firepower enabled the warmlanders on the
wall to concentrate on the ladders. Nets were spun and
dropped. Sticky, unbreakable silk cables entangled scores of
insect fighters.
Dragonflies and riders broke from the aerial combat to
swoop toward the new arrivals clinging to the bare rock. The
Weavers spun balls of sticky silk. These were whirled lariatlike
over their heads and flung at the diving fliers with incredible
accuracy. They glued themselves to wings or legs, and the
startled insects found themselves yanked right out of the sky.
Now the birds and bats began to make some progress
against their depleted aerial foe. There was a real hope that
they could now prevent any returning beetles from dropping
troops behind the Gate.
While that specific danger was thus greatly reduced, the
most important result of the arrival of the Weaver force was
the effect it had on the morale of the Plated Folk. Until now
all their new strategies and plans had worked perfectly. The
abrupt and utterly unexpected appearance of their solitary
ancient enemies and their obvious rapport with the warmlanders
was a devastating shock. The Weavers were the last people
the Plated Folk expected to find defending the Jo-Troom
Gate.
Directing the Weavers' actions from a position on the wall
by relaying orders and information, via tiny sprinting spiders
colored bright red, yellow and blue, was a bulbous black
form. The Grand Webmistress Oil was decked out in silver
armor and hundreds of feet of crimson and orange silk.
Once she waved a limb briskly toward Jon-Tom and his
companions. Perhaps she saw them, possibly she was
only
giving a command.
The warmlanders, buoyed by the arrival of a once feared
273
Alan Dean Foster
but now welcomed new ally, fought with renewed strength.
The Plated Folk forces faltered, then redoubled their attack.
Weaver archers and retiarii wrought terrible destruction among
them, and the warmlander bowmen had easy targets helplessly
ensnared in sticky nets.
A new problem arose. There was a danger that the growing
mountain of corpses before the wall would soon be high
enough to eliminate the need for ladders.
All that night the battle continued by torchlight, with
fatigue-laden warmlanders and Weavers holding off the still
endless waves of Plated Folk. The insects fought until they
died and were walked on emotionlessly by their replacements.
It was after midnight when Caz woke Jen-Tom from an
uneasy sleep.
"Another cloud, my friend," said the rabbit. His clothing
was torn and one ear was bleeding despite a thick bandage.
Wearily Jon-Tom gathered up his staff and a handful of
small spears and trotted alongside Caz toward the wall. "So
they're going to try dropping troops behind us at night? I
wonder if our aerials have enough strength left to hold them
back."
"I don't know," said Caz with concern. "That's why I was
sent to get you. They want every strong spear thrower on the
wall to try and pick off any low fliers."
In truth, the ranks of kilted fighters were badly thinned,
while the strength of their dragonfly opponents seemed nearly
the same as before. Only the presence of the Weavers kept the
arboreal battle equal.
But it was not a swarm of lumbering Plated Folk that flew
out of the moon. It was a sea of sulfurous yellow eyes. They
fell on the insect fliers with terrible force. Great claws
shredded membranous wings, beaks nipped away antennae
and skulls, while tiny swords cut with incredible skill.
It took a moment for Jon-Tom and his friends to identify
274
THE HOUR OF THE GATS
the new combatants, cloaked as they were by the concealing
night. It was the size of the great glowing eyes that soon gave
the answer.
"The Ironclouders," Caz finally announced. "Bless my
soul but I never thought to see the like. Look at them wheel
and bank, will you? It's no contest."
The word was passed up and down the ranks. So entranced
were the warmlanders by the sight of these fighting legends