Tucking his head down inside his shell until only
the crown was visible, he slid off the bed and waded
out into the brambles, quite safe from the thorns.
They couldn't penetrate his body armor, but neither
did he have the strength to force a path through
them. Finally he gave up and returned to the bed.
"It's no good, lad. I'm neither as young nor agile
as I once was."
Alan Dean Foster
48
"How about a spell?"
Clothahump's reply to that suggestion was tart.
"You spelled this jungle up: you unspell it."
Jon-Tom's fingers twisted against each other. "I
don't think I ought to try that."
Clothahump looked dazed. "What's that? What's
this? Some small hint of humility? How gratifying.
Today we pass another signpost on the road to
wisdom." A powerful, resonant voice interrupted his
sarcasm.
"THERE'S SOMEONE AT THE DOORI"
"Drat, that's the bell," the wizard groused. "Why
am 1 blessed with visitors who have such wonderful
timing?"
They waited patiently on the bed. Minutes later an
uncertain voice called to them from the vicinity of
the doorway.
"Uh, Master?" They could just make out the four-
foot-tall shape of Clothahump's apprentice standing
in the opening. For a wonder, Sorbl sounded almost
sober this morning. That was something of a magic
itself.
"There is someone at the door, Master."
"We know that, you idiot," said Clothahump with a
grimace. "We heard the bell too. Who is at the door?"
"He says he's come a long ways on a mission of
great importance. Master."
"Don't they all."
"His name is Pandro. He's a raven and he says he
comes from a city named Quasequa."
Suddenly Clothahump was more interested than
indifferent. "Quasequa, you say? Well, I have not
heard from anyone in that distant land in some time.
I recall mention of a young sorcerer of some promise,
a fellow name of Opiode, who was trying to set
himself up in business down there."
THE MOMENT OF TOE MAGICIAN
49
"That's who's sent him here, sir!" said Sorbl excitedly.
"This Pandro says it's most urgent."
"Opiode, yes, that was the name. Though I can't
be certain. My memory's not what it used to be. I'll
see him, though." The turtle's tone darkened. "You
> will not offer him any liquid refreshment stronger
than fruit juice!"
"Master, I? Do you think that I... ?"
"Yes, I do. Now, shut up, see him comfortably in,
and inform him I'll be along directly. Then go to the
storage bin outside the parlor. Inside you'll find
some large wood clippers. Bring them back here and
cut us out of my bedroom. Then, while we are
listening to this visitor's tale, you may take the re-
mainder of the day to prune around my bed."
The owl let out a resigned sigh. "As you direct,
Master." A brief pause, then, "Would it be improper
of me to ask what happened here?"
"Not at all. You should find it instructive. This
E minor botanical catastrophe sprang from the heart
of our young spellsinger here. He is in love, you see.
One would tend to say he has a green thumb. The
^ actual problem, however, lies with the protuberance
which arises from between his shoulders."
^ It was a mild enough reprimand and Jon-Tom
fought to accept it gracefully. Lest he do additional
damage, he forced himself to put all thoughts of
the beauteous Talea aside and concentrate instead on
*the potential import of whatever this far-ranging
truest might have to say.
|^ Clothahump's spell-sharpened shears soon cut a
11" tunnel to them through the tangled growth, and the
^ two of them were able to crawl to freedom.
iffl '
"^ "A good job," the wizard complimented his appren-
; .^- lice. "Now clean out the rest of it, but leave those
•^ pink blooms over there, the ones under the window.
Alan Dean Foster
00
always damp anyway."
"Yes, Master." They left him hacking away with the
shears at Clothahump's bedchamber.
The raven awaited them on the guest perch which
had been installed by Clothahump for the comfort of
winged visitors. He might have come a long ways,
but he didn't look particularly fatigued to Jon'Tbm.
Of more interest was the bruise on his forehead, the
feathers missing from one wing, and the ugly scar
which ran down the back of his neck. The wounds
looked recent, and Jon-Tom wondered if they had
anything to do with the raven's reason for coming to
the Bellwoods.
If Clothahump noticed any of this, he gave no
sign, preferring instead to stare grimly at the
widemouthed glass from which the raven was sip-
ping decorously.
"What's that?"
"What's what?" said the raven uncertainly, looking
up as they entered. "Oh, this?" He gestured with the
glass. "A drink, and nice and strong, too- I sure as
hell needed it. Thanks to your—"
"1 know who to thank," rumbled Clothahump
dangerously, "He did not by any chance have one
himself? Just to prove that he could be a proper
host?"
Before the raven could reply, the wizard had whirled
and was clomping angrily back toward his bedroom.
"SORBL!"
Jon-Tom and Pandro eyed each other uncomfort-
ably for a couple of minutes until Clothahump
returned.
"I'll be lucky if he has my bedroom cleaned out by
nightfall, and he'll be lucky if he doesn't cut off one
of his own feet in the process- I'll deal with him
THE MOMENT OF THE MAOICIAJI 51
Her." He calmed himself as he gazed over at his
;uest.
"Please pardon the interruption. Now then. Your
| name is Pandro and you come from far Quasequa?"
. The raven put his glass aside on the shelf that was
^attached to the perch- "That's right, sir."
I "That is quite a journey."
I "Tell me about it." Pandro fluttered to the floor
•and hopped over to stand close to them. "Keep in
: mind that I'm just a hired messenger. I'm not
[ completely sure what this is all about. I could tell you
what I know, but 1 imagine these documents I was
instructed to deliver to you will explain what's going
; on in my country much better than I could." He
| removed the papers from the cylinder hanging from
| his neck chain.
[ "These come from Opiode, former chief advisor
' in matters arcane and mystic to the Quorum of
| Quasequa."
" 'Former'?" Clothahump peered at the messages
through his thick glasses. "Um." He turned to read
silently-
Jon-Tbm tried to make conversation. "What hap-
Ipened to your neck?"
| Instinctively, a wing felt of the recently acquired
ground. "I was attacked while on my way here. Some-
tone or something wanted to make sure I didn't n^ake
|cay delivery."
| "Who attacked you?"
| "Demons." Pandro said with admirable casualness.
I^Taceless demons. Gray and black they were, with
pong curved teeth and no eyes."
•is. It wasn't the explanation Jon-Tom expected, and
^he was more than a little taken aback. "You don't
' IW
• • "They were demons," Pandro insisted, mistaking
Jim-Tom's surprise for disbelief. "I know a demon
Alan Dean Poster
when I see one, let alone when it tries to take my
head off."
"I wasn't disputing you," Jon-Tom replied.
The raven studied him with interest. "You're the
biggest human I've ever seen."
"I'm also a spellsinger," Jon-Tom told him proudly.
Clothahump .spoke without looking up from his
reading. "That he is. If you want to see a demonstra-
tion of his powers, have a look in the next room
over."
"It doesn't matter. It's not very impressive," Jon-
Tom said hastily. "This wizard Opiode: you work for
him?"
"I was only hired to make this single delivery. I'm
not in his regular service, if that's what you mean."
Clothahump concluded his perusal of the papers
with a noncommittal grunt. "This doesn't sound too
serious, even though Opiode's language borders on
the hysterical- Certainly not important enough to
warrant my personal attention. Still, if he feels he
needs help, I suppose it is incumbent on me to
provide some." He turned back to face the raven.
"This new advisor, this Markus the Ineluctable
Opiode refers to: have you met him?"
Pandro shook his head. "I just run a small messen-
ger service. I don't get into the halls of the Quorumate
Complex much. No, I haven't met him. From what
I've heard, not many have. Keeps to himself a lot.
But there are plenty of stories about him. And about
his peculiar powers."
"And he's a human?"
Pandro nodded. "That's what they say."
Clothahump examined the papers again. "A hu-
man who claims to have come here from another
world?"
Jon-Tom felt suddenly faint -,. but not so faint that
he couldn't interrupt with anxious questions.
THE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN
S3
"Another world! Tell me, does he sing his magic,
spellsing like 1 do, or use a musical instrument when
he's exercising his powers?"
Pandro flinched, taken aback by the gangling young
human's unexpected enthusiasm. "Not that I've heard,
sir, no. It's said that he whispers his spells so that
none can hear him. I haven't heard anyone mention
music."
"It is not used," said Clothahump, "or Opiode
would have mentioned it in his communication. The
rest he does confirm, however." He was watching
Jon-Tom carefully. "A human magician who claims to
have come here from another world."
"It's possible," said Jon-Tom excitedly. "Don't you
think it's possible? It happened once, to me. Why
not to another?"
"All things are possible- However, just because you
have a good heart and good intentions does not
mean that this new visitor is as good and kind as
yourself, or that he even comes from your world.
The plenum is full of other worlds."
"That's right," said Jen-Torn, momentarily downcast.
"I got so excited I forgot about that."
"In fact," the wizard went on, still eyeing the
'papers, "from what Opiode says, this Markus ap-
; pears to be sadly lacking in the social verities. Opiode
• is not only afraid of what the newcomer has done;
he is even more afraid of what he may intend to do
anext. As for the visitor's magic, it is powerful indeed."
L'He folded the papers.
I "This is none of my business. I'm not one to
[insinuate myself into another wizard's difficulties.
Opiode admits that this Markus defeated him in a
battle of talents. These 'fears' he alludes to may
merely be a reflection of his own disappointments.
And he speaks only of worries and concerns, not of
any actual threat. I see no reason for such panic.
Alan Dean Foster
This Markus hasn't instituted any sort of reign of
terror or inquisition or anything so boring since
assuming Optode's office, has he?"
**No sir," Pandro admitted. "As far as the average
citizen is concerned, nothing's changed. At least, not
insofar as I've seen. Of course," he added thoughtfully,
"I was attacked on my way here, and the forest where
I encountered my assailants is not noted for having a
large demonic population."
"I wouldn't know," Clothahump murmured. "1 am
not familiar with that part of the world. What do you
think of all this, Jon-Tom?"
Sorcerer and spellsinger discussed the matter while
Pandro stood and waked quietly. While hardly an
experienced judge of wizardry qualities, if asked, he
would have had to confess that Opiode was whistling
up the wrong trunk if he expected to get any aid
from this bunch. The apprentice who'd ushered him
inside was an obvious drunk, the turtle showed signs
of senility, and the tail human struck the cosmopoli-
tan Pandro as something of a hick.
Still, surely Opiode the Sly knew what he was
doing in sending here for help. And what was it they
were arguing about?
"I'm telling you, this guy's from my own world,
from my home!" Jon-Tom was saying. "He's got to
be. Transported here by accident, just like me."
"There have been no recent disturbances in the
ether as there were when I brought you over,"
Clothahump told him.
"Maybe he crossed over in a different way. Do you
know of every path between the dimensions?"
"No," Clothahump admitted, a mite huffily. "As I
said before, all things are possible. All 1 am saying
now is that there is nothing to suggest that this
Markus the ineluctable came over from your world.
For one thing, according to Opiode, this fellow seems
THE MOMBWT OF THE MAOICIAN
55
to have been practicing his magic for quite a while,
whereas you discovered your spellsinging ability pure-
ly by accident and only after you had been in this
world for some time. Furthermore, all this blather of
coming from another world may merely be typical
wizardly showmanship, an attempt to cow and over-
awe impressionable Quasequans. There are many
humans in this world, as you well know. This Markus
may not be a transdimensional traveler; he may be
nothing more than a slick talker. Remember, my boy,
that your materialization here was an accident."
"Maybe this isn't an accident," Jon-T
om argued.
"Maybe some wizard from another world has found
a way to cross over on his own."
"As I recall, there are no wizards in your own
world."
Jon-Tom slumped. "I know. But maybe he was
something else. Maybe he's an engineer like you
thought I was, and he can make magic here by
reciting engineering theorems, or something. The
point is, Fve got to know. Don't you see, Clothahump?
If he got through on purpose, by design, maybe he
can return home the same way. Maybe with the two
;of us working together we can manage a way home
; for both of us!"
'• Clothahump was nodding. "That is how I thought
you would react to this information, my boy. Well, it's
only natural that you should be excited. 1 certainly
will not stand in the way of your finding out."
TBK MOMENT OF THE. SSAOICtAtf
57
IV
Pandro had been silent long enough.
"Look here, I'm not at all sure what you two are
talking about any more than I knew what Opiode
was talking about. Like I said, I'm just a messenger." 3
He gestured with a wingtip toward the papers ^
Clothahump held- "One thing Opiode did tell me,
though. He said that if this Markus is truly from
another world, then it must be a place of evil and
darkness." He eyed Jon-Tom uneasily.
"And you say you're maybe from the same place?"
"Maybe. We've no reason to believe that yet," .
Clothahump replied. T
"Well, he's sure peculiar-looking, but according to ^
the descriptions I've heard, mighty different from ^
this Markus the Ineluctable."
"What's he supposed to be like?" asked Jon-Tom
eagerly.
"Definitely human. Tall, but much shorter than
you. Fat, and older. Not much fur left on his head."
Jen-Tom was nodding. "He could be an engineer
from my world."
"And it's said he still wears the clothes he was
wearing when he came into our world."
"Tell me about them, describe them! Does he wear
56
jeans—pants of rough blue material? Or maybe a
suit, something with a long V-shaped opening in the
front, with a white shirt underneath, and maybe a
long strip of material tied around his neck?"
"No," said Pandro thoughtfully, "the description
that I heard was somewhat different. I was told he
dresses entirely in black of some slick, finely woven
material, with a black cape to match, and a strange
black tower atop his head, and a spot of petrified
blood he keeps always over his heart."