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wing beats pushing air off the tunnel walls. Then he settled
down to walk.
The floor of the cave was carpeted with clean straw, carefully
braided into intricately patterned mats. They appeared to be
in good repair. If this iron warren was abandoned, it hadn't
been so for long.
The tunnel soon expanded into a larger, roughly oval-
shaped chamber. It was filled with a peculiar assortment of
furniture. There were lounges but no chairs, and high-backed
perches. The lounges suggested creatures that walked, as did
the climbing vines dangling outside each cave opening, but
the high-backs pointed to arboreals like himself. He shook his
head. Deductive thinking was not his strong suit.
The utensils were also confusing rather than enlightening.
A little light reached the chamber from the cave opening, but
his sonar was still searching the surroundings as though it
were pitch dark. His heart beat almost as rapidly. Finish dis,
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he told himself frantically. Finish it, and get out.
Several additional chambers branched from the back of the
one he was studying. He would begin with the one immedi-
ately on his right and work his way through them. Then
Clothahump couldn't say he'd made only a superficial inspec-
tion and order him to return.
It turned out to be a pantry-kitchen arrangement. It was
discouraging to find that whoever had lived in the cave was
omnivorous. In addition to instruments for preparing meat
and fruit there was also a surprising garbage pile of small
insect carcasses and empty nuts.
It was an eclectic and indiscriminate diet. Perhaps it also
189
Alan Dean Foster
included bats. He shuddered, drew his wings tighter around
his small body. One more room, he told himself. One more,
and den if da boss wants more info he can damn well climb
up and look for himself.
He entered the next chamber, found more furniture and
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little else. He was ready to leave when something tickled his
sonar. He turned.
A pair of huge, glowing yellow eyes stared down at him.
Their owner was at least seven feet tall and each of those
luminous orbs was as big around as a human face. Pog
stuttered but couldn't squeeze out word or shout.
"Hooooooo," said the voice beneath those fathomless eyes
in a long, querulous, and slightly irritated tone, "the hell are
yoooooo?"
Pog was backing toward the chamber exit. Something
sharp and unyielding pricked his back.
"Tolafay asked you a question, interloper! Better answer
him." The new voice was completely different from the first,
high and almost human.
Pog glanced over his shoulder, saw eyes not as large as the
first pair he'd encountered but larger still in proportion to the
body of their owner. Four yellow eyes, four malevolent little
angry suns, swam in a dizzying circle around his head. He
started to slump.
The sharp thing moved, poked him firmly in the side.
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"And don't faint on us, interloper, or I'll see your body
leaves your gizzard behind...."
'^What the devil's keeping him?" Jon-Tom stared with
concern up at the cave where Pog had vanished.
"Maybe they go very deep into the mountainside," Talea
suggested hopefully. "It may take him a while to get all the
way in and all the way out again."
"Perhaps." Bribbens stared longingly at a small creek that
190
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
flowed from the base of an icefall across the barren little
plateau. "How I long for a boat again." He lifted one of his
enormous, snowshoed feet.
"Walking's beginning to get to me. No fit occupation for a
riverman."
"If it's any consolation I'd rather be on a boat myself just
now," said Jon-Tom.
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Then Mudge was gesturing excitedly upward. "Ease off it,
mates! 'Ere 'e comes!"
"And damned if he hasn't got company." Talea unsheathed
her sword, stood ready and waiting for whatever might drop
out of the sky.
Pog drifted down toward them, a black crepe-paper cutout
against the bright sky. He was paced by a similar silhouette
several times more massive, with a distinctly animate lump
attached to its back.
Dozens of other fliers poured from the perforated cloud-
cliff like water from a sieve. They did not descend but instead
blended together to create a massive, threatening spiral above
the plateau.
Talea reluctantly placed her sword back in its holder.
"Doesn't look like they've hurt Pog. We might as well
assume they're friendly, considering how badly we're
outnumbered."
"Characteristic understatement, flame-fur." Caz's monocle
waltzed with the sun as he craned his neck to inspect the
soaring whirlpool overhead. "I make out at least two hundred [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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