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from his mouth, and though he had never heard it before he
knew it was, finally, his true voice.
Stars spun faster around him, the universe seemed wrenched
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THE HOUR OF THE GATE
for an instant. His head throbbed and his throat burned with
the strange wordless song that poured from him like a river a
million times stronger than any earthly river.
Now blue sky hurried toward them, then the snowy caps of
mountains. The boundary was back the luscious, palpable
limit of existence. He felt more alive than he had ever in his
life.
"Cor, wot a friggin' ride!" Mudge's joyous voice came
from behind him.
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"Love you, Mudge!" screamed Jon-Tom, ecstatic to hear
that familiar sound.
"You're crazy where the 'ell we been?"
Everywhere, Jon-Tom thought, but there was no way to say
it.
' 'THE COURSE OF MY JOURNEY HAS BEEN FOREVER CHANGED,''
bellowed M'nemaxa. "I HAVE HAD TO CHANGE MY DIRECTION
BECAUSE OF THE EVIL IN YOUR WORLD AND NOW MY ROUTE IS
ALMOST THROUGH. COME WITH ME TO THE OUTSIDE, LITTLE
MAN, YOUR WORLD IS FULL OF DOOM. I WILL SHOW SUCH
THINGS AS NO MORTAL SHALL EVER AGAIN SEE."
"Wot's 'e talkin' about, guv'nor?"
"Eejakrat's magic, Mudge. Clothahump knew mat they
could not control it, and it has created devastation so utter
that even M'nemaxa had to detour around it. It's happened
before, but in my world. Not here. Look."
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The mushroom cloud that billowed skyward from the far
end of the Troom Pass was not large, but it was considerably
darker and denser than any of the mists behind it.
Below them now the last of the Plated Folk army, those
who'd been lucky enough to be trapped in the middle of the
Pass, were surrendering, turning over their weapons and
going down on all sixes to plead for mercy.
Beneath the now fading mushroom cloud that marked the
failure of Eejakrat's imported magic, me butte he'd stood
293
Alan Dean Poster
upon had vanished. In its place there was only an empty,
radioactive crater. The bomb Eejakrat had been in the process
of creating had been a relatively clean one. What remained
would serve as a warning to future generations of Plated Folk.
It would block the Pass far more effectively than had the
Jo-Troom Gate.
Raming wings slowed. Mudge was deposited gently back
on top of the wall. Jon-Tom thanked the flaming being but
would not return with him.
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"THREE MILLION YEARS!" M'nemaxa boomed, his neighing
shaking boulders from the cliffsides of the canyon.
"ONLY THREE MILLION. THANK YOU, LITTLE HUMAN. YOU
ARE A WIZARD OF UNKNOWN WISDOM. FAREWELL!"
The vast fiery form rose into the air. There was an
earsplitting explosion that rent the fabric of space-time. The
gap closed quickly and M'nemaxa had gone, gone back to
resume his now truncated journey, gone back to the every-
where otherplace.
Bodies, furred and otherwise, swarmed around the returnees
Caz, Flor, Bribbens holding his bandaged right arm where
he'd taken a sword thrust. Pog fluttered excitedly overhead,
and warmlander soldiers mixed queries with congratulations.
The battle had ended, the war was over. Those Plated Folk
who had not perished in the modest thermonuclear explosion
at the far end of the Pass were being herded into makeshift
corrals.
Jon-Tom was embarrassed and nervous, but Mudge glowed
like M'nemaxa himself from me adjulation of the crowd.
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When the excitement had died down and the soldiers had
gone to join their companions below, Clothahump managed to
make his way up to Jon-Tom.
"You did well, my boy, well! I'm quite proud of you." He
smiled as much as he could. "We'll make a wizard of you
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THE HOUR Or THE GATS
yet. If you can only leam to be a bit more specific and precise
in your formulations."
"I'm learning," Jon-Tom admitted without smiling back.
"One of the things I've learned is to pay attention to what lies
behind a person's words." He and the wizard stared into each
other's eyes, and neither gave ground.
"I did what I had to do, boy. I'd do it again."
"I know you would. I can't blame you for it anymore, but
I can't like you for it, either."
"As you will, Jon-Tom," said the wizard. He looked past
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the man and his eyes widened. "Though it may be that you
condemn me too quickly."
Jon-Tom turned. A petite, slightly baffled redhead was
walking toward them. He could only stare.
"Hello," Talea said, smiling slightly. "I must have been
unconscious for days."
"You've been dead," said a flabbergasted Mudge.
"Oh cut it out. I had the strangest dream." She looked
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