Read Online The Hour of the Gate by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online

didn’t think I’d have the chance and I don’t want to forget any of the words, not while they’re still fresh in my mind. Wait till you hear some of ’em, Clothahump. They’ll burn your ears, but they’ll do worse to—”
    â€œI do not have any ears in the sense you mean them, my boy. I suggest you restrain yourself.”
    â€œRestrain myself!” He whirled on the wizard, waved toward the rapidly carbonizing lump of the Porprut. “Not only were the little bastards going to feed us slowly to that monstrosity, but they were all sitting there laughing and having a hell of a fine time watching! Maybe revenge isn’t in the lexicon of wizards, but it sure as hell is in mine.”
    â€œThere’s no need, my boy.” Clothahump waddled over and put a comforting hand on Jon-Tom’s wrist. “I assure you I bear no misplaced love for our hastily departed aboriginal associates. But as you can see, they have departed.”
    In truth, as he looked around, Jon-Tom couldn’t see a single ugly arm, leg, or set of whiskers.
    â€œIt is difficult to put a spell on what you cannot see,” said the wizard. “You also forget the unpredictability of your redoubtable talents. Impelled by uncontrolled anger, they might generate more trouble than satisfaction. I should dislike being caught in the midst of an army of, say, vengeful daemons who, not finding smaller quarry around, might turn their deviltry on us.”
    Jon-Tom slumped. “All right, sir. You know best. But if I ever see one of the little fuckers again I’m going to split it on my spearpoint like a squab!”
    â€œA most uncivilized attitude, my friend,” Caz joined them, rubbing his fur and brushing daintily at his soiled silk stockings. “One in which I heartily concur.” He patted Jon-Tom on the back.
    â€œThat’s what this expedition needs: less thinking and more bloodthirstiness. Cut and slash, hack and rend!”
    â€œYeah, well…” Jon-Tom was becoming a bit embarrassed at his own mindless fury. It was hardly the image he held of himself. “I don’t think revenge is all that unnatural an impulse.”
    â€œOf course it’s not,” agreed Caz readily. “Perfectly natural.”
    â€œWhat’s perfectly natural?” Flor limped up next to them. Her right leg was still asleep. Despite the ordeal they’d just undergone, Jon-Tom thought she looked as magnificent as ever.
    â€œWhy, our tall companion’s desire to barbeque any of our disagreeable captors that he can catch.”
    â€œSi, I’m for that.” She started for the wagon. “Let’s get our weapons and get after them.”
    This time it was Jon-Tom who extended the restraining hand. Now he was truly upset at the manner in which he’d been acting, especially in front of the dignified, sensible Caz.
    â€œI’m not talking about forgiving and forgetting,” he told her, shivering a little as he always did at the physical contact of hand and arm, “but it’s not practical. They could ambush us in the Sward, even if they hung around.”
    â€œWell we can damn well sure have a look!” she protested. “What kind of a man are you?”
    â€œWant to look and see?” he shot back challengingly.
    She stared at him a moment longer, then broke into an uncontrollable giggle. He laughed along with her, as much from nervousness and the relief of release as from the poor joking.
    â€œHokay, hokay,” she finally admitted, “so we have more important things to do, si ?”
    â€œPrecisely, young lady.” Clothahump gestured toward the wagon. “Let us put ourselves back in shape and be once more on our path.”
    But Jon-Tom waited behind while the others reentered the wagon and set to the task of organizing the chaos the Mimpa had made of its contents.
    Walking back to the cleared circle which had so nearly been their