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moaned, "an ideal communal society. A
perfect communistic organism."
"You don't know that's what it was, Falameezar," Jon-
Tom argued. "It might have been a normal creature with a single brain."
"I do not think so." Falameezar slowly shook his head, looking and sounding as
depressed as it was possible for a dragon to be. Little puffs of smoke
occasionally floated up from his nostrils.
"I have looked inside the corpse. There are many individu-
al sections of creature inside, all twisted and intertwined together,
intergrown and interdependent. All functioning in perfect, bossless harmony."
Jon-Tom stepped away from the scaly side. "I'm sorry."
63
Alan Dean Foster
He thought carefully, not daring to offend the dragon but worried about its
state of mind. "Would you have rather you'd left it alone to nibble us to
death?"
"No, Comrade, of course not. But I did not realize fully what it consisted of.
If I had, I might have succeeded in making it shift its path around you. So I
have been forced to murder a perfect natural example of what civilized society
should aspire to." He sighed. "I fear now I must do penance, my comrade
friend."
A little nervous, Jon-Tom gestured at the broad, endless field of the
Swordsward. "There are many dangers out there, Comrade. Including the still
monstrous danger we have talked so much about."
It was turning to evening. Solemn clouds promised another night of rain, and
there was a chill in the air that even hinted at some snow. It was beginning
to feel like real winter out on the grass-clad plain.
A cold wind sprang from the direction of the dying sun.
went through Jon-Tom's filthy leathers. "We need your help, Falameezar."
"I am sorry, Comrade. I have my own troubles now. You will have to face future
dangers without me. For I am truly sorrowful over what I have done here, the
more so because with a little thought it might have been avoided." He tamed
and lumbered off into the rising night, his feet crushing dowr the Sward,
which sprang up resiliently behind him.
"Are you Sure?" Jon-Tom followed to the edge of the cleared circle, put out
imploring hands. "We really need you, Comrade. We have to help each other or
the great danger will overwhelm all of us. Remember the coming of the bosses
of
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bosses!"
"You have your other friends, your other comrades to assist you, Jon-Tom," the
dragon called back to him across
(he waves of the green sea. "I have no one but myself."
"But you're one of us!"
64
THE HOUR Or THE GATE
The dragon shook his head. "No, not yet. For a time I had willed to myself
that it was so. But I have failed, or I would have seen a solution to your
rescue that did not involve this
murder."
"How could you? There wasn't time!" He could barely see me dark outline now.
"I'm sorry, Comrade Jon-Tom." Falameezar's voice was faint with distance and
guilt. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Falameezar." Jon-Tom watched until the dragon
had completely vanished, then looked disappointedly at the ground. "Dammit,"
he muttered.
He returned to the wagon. Lamps were lit now. Under their familiar, friendly
glow Caz and Mudge were checking the condition of the dray team. Flor,
Clothahump, and Talea were restocking their scattered supplies. The wizard's
glasses were pinched neatly on his beak. He looked out and down as
Jon-Tom, hands shoved into his pockets and gaze on the ground, sauntered up to
him.
"Problems, my boy?"
Jon-Tom raised his eyes, nodded southward. "Falameezar's left us. He was upset
at having to kill the damn Porprut. I
tried my best to argue him out of it, but he'd made up his mind."
"You did well even to try," said Clothahump comfortingly.
"Not many would have the courage to debate a dragon's decision. They are
terribly stubborn. Well, no matter. We shall make our way without him."
"He was the strongest of us," Jon-Tom murmured disappointedly. "He did more in
thirty seconds to the Porprut and the Mimpa than all the rest of us were able
to do at all.
No telling how much trouble just his presence prevented."
"It is true we shall miss his brute strength," said the wizard, "but
intelligence and wisdom are worth far more than any amount of muscle."
65
Alan Dean Foster
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"Maybe so." Jon-Tom vaulted into the back of the wagon.
"But I'd still feel better with a little more bmte strength on our side."
"We must not bemoan our losses," Clothahump said chidingly, "but must push
ahead. At least we will no longer be troubled by the Mimpa." He let out an
unwizardly chuck-
le. "It will be days before they cease running."
"Do we continue on tonight, then?"
"For a short while, just enough to leave this immediate area behind. Then we
shall mount a guard, just in case, and continue on tomorrow in daylight. The
weather looks un-
pleasant and we will have difficulty enough in holding to our course. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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