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

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.
    â€œProblems, 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.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œHe 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.”
    â€œIt is true we shall miss his brute strength,” said the wizard, “but intelligence and wisdom are worth far more than any amount of muscle.”
    â€œMaybe so.” Jon-Tom vaulted into the back of the wagon. “But I’d still feel better with a little more brute strength on our side.”
    â€œWe 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 chuckle. “It will be days before they cease running.”
    â€œDo we continue on tonight, then?”
    â€œFor 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 unpleasant and we will have difficulty enough in holding to our course.
    â€œThen too, while I don’t know how you young folk are feeling, I’m not ashamed to confess that the body inside this old shell is very much in need of sleep.”
    Jon-Tom had no argument with that. Falameezar or no Falameezar, Mimpa or no Mimpa, he was dead tired. Which was a good deal better than what he’d earlier thought he’d be this night: plain dead.
    The storm did not materialize the next day, nor the one following, though the Swordsward received its nightly dose of steady rain. Flor was taking a turn at driving the wagon. It was early evening and they would be stopping soon to make camp.
    A full moon was rising behind layers of gray eastern clouds, a low orange globe crowning the horizon. It turned the rain clouds to gauze as it lifted behind them, shedding ruddy light over the darkening sward. Snowflakelike reflections danced elf steps on the residue of earlier rain.
    From the four patient yoked lizards came a regular, heavy swish-swish as they pushed through the wet grasses. Easy conversation and occasional laughter punctuated by Mudge’s lilting whistle drifted out from the enclosed wagon. Small things rose cautiously to study the onward trundling wooden beast before dropping down into grass or groundholes.
    Jon-Tom parted the canvas rain shield and moved to sit down on the driver’s seat next to Flor. She held the reins easily in one hand, as though born to the task, and glanced over at him. Her free hand rested across her thighs. Her long black hair was a darker bit of shadow, like a piece of broken black plate glass, against the night. Her eyes were luminous and huge.
    He looked away from their curious stare and down at his hands. They twisted and moved uncomfortably in his lap, as though trying to find a place to hide; little five-footed creatures he could not cage.
    â€œI think we have a problem.”
    â€œOnly one?” She grinned at him, barely paying