region that was little more than rumor in Quasequa.
Opiode assured him such a place existed, just as he
assured him the great wizard he was to deliver his
message to existed.
If he was real, Pandro would find him. He'd never
28 Alan Dean Foster
failed to make a detivery yet, and this morning he
was feeling particularly confident. He felt so good he
skipped his usual midday snack, preferring to cover
as much territory as possible. Thus far the journey
had proved anything but dangerous. He'd assured
his mate before leaving that it would be more in the
nature of an extended vacation than a difficult
assignment. So far it had developed exacdy as he'd
told her.
Then he heard the noise.
It was behind and slightly above him and growing
steadily louder as he listened. At first he couldn't
place it. More than anything, it sounded like the
droning he imagined the fliers of the Plated Folk
might make. But those historic enemies were likewise
little more than rumor in Quasequa. Pandro had
only seen drawings of them, the fevered sketches of
far-ranging artists with more imagination than fact
at their disposal.
Hard-shelled, gray-eyed relatives of the common
bugs and crawly things that inhabited the woods and
lakes, they were. None had penetrated as far south
as Quasequa. He certainly never expected to see
them in person. Yet when at last he was able to look
back and make out the shapes pursuing him, he was
startled, for they certainly looked like the representa-
tions he'd seen of the Plated Folk.
The reality as they drew nearer still was worse.
They were not minions of the Plated Folk but some-
thing far more sinister. Similarities in shape and
appearance there were, but even the Plated Folk had
faces. The demons overtaking him had none. They
were hard-shelled but utterly different from any-
thing he'd ever seen before- Nor were they fliers like
his cousins, for where there should have been beaks
he saw only hungry, razor-sharp, strangely curved
fangs.
THE MOMENT OF THB MAOICIAW
29
No matter how he strained he couldn't outdistance
them, and they closed the space between with terrify-
ing ease. Hoping to lose them in the trees, he dove
for the crowns of the forest. They followed easily,
closing ground still more when he reemerged from
the branches. He dipped and rolled and dodged,
employing every maneuver he could remember, some-
times vanishing among the foliage, sometimes dou-
bling sharply back on his route before rising again to
check the sky. And the demons stayed with him,
inexorable in their pursuit, malign in their purpose.
For Pandro they meant only death.
One veered just a little too near the mass of a giant
tocoro tree and smashed into the bark. Glancing
backward, Pandro was relieved to see it fall, spinning
and tumbling and broken, to smash into the ground
below. There was still hope, then. Demonic visitors
his tormentors might be, but they were neither invul-
nerable nor immortal. They could be killed.
Six of them had fallen on him. Now there were
five left. But he couldn't continue the battle at this
speed. All the diving and dodging among the trees
was wasting his strength at a much faster rate than
mere flying. Yet having tried to outrun them and
failed, he didn't have much choice. He had to keep
to the woods-
One of his pursuers swooped around the bole of a
forest giant, only to find itself caught in the grasp of
a huge, carnivorous flying lizard. Blood spurted as
the two combatants tumbled groundward, unable to
disengage. The lizard was stunned by the ferocity of
the much smaller creature it had caught, while for its
part the demon was unable to break free from sharp
talons. They struck the earth together.
Four left, Pandro thought wildly. His heart was
pounding against his chest feathers and his wing
muscles ached. One of the demons was right on top
Aim Dean Foster
30
of him, and he had to fold his wings and drop like a
stone, plummeting desperately toward the ground
only to roll out at the last second. Even so, curved
fangs slashed at his left wing in passing, sending
black feathers flying.
He checked the injury as he climbed cloudward.
The wound was superficial, but it had been a near
thing. Too near. And his assailants seemed as fresh
and untired as when they'd First attacked. He had to
do something drastic, and soon. He couldn't keep
dodging them forever.
Once more he drew his wings in close to his body
and fell earthward. As though of the same mind, the
four demons followed in unison, screaming at him.
Again he rolled up and over before crashing, but
this time he landed behind a chosen tree. His pursu-
ers split and came at him from two sides. The first
one went over his head, the second missed him on
the right. The third went straight for his throat and
crumpled itself against the tree, teeth flying in all
directions as the head shattered. The fourth turned
away to reconsider -
Pandro pushed air as he flew back toward Quasequa,
hoping they wouldn't see him and intending to make
a wide curve back northward once he'd lost them.
Looking back over his shoulder he spotted two of
them skimming low over the treetops, hunting him
in the opposite direction.
But where was the third surviving demon?
He turned just in time to duck, but the teeth bit
deeply into his neck and back, barely missing his
face. Blood flew with his feathers. The clouds began
to swim in front of his eyes, blotting out all the blue
sky. He felt himself falling toward a green grave.
Good-bye, Asenva of the saucy tail, he thought.
Good-bye fledglings. Good-bye worried wizard, may
THE MOMENT OF TBE MAGICIAN 31
your skin never be dry. I tried my best. But you
didn't tell me I would have to fight demons.
The first tree reached up to catch him. He hit
hard.
Prugg enjoyed the expressions that came over the
faces of Kindore and Vazvek when the demons
returned. The two members of the Quorum made
protective signs in front of their faces and all but hid
beneath the master's cape. Markus let them quake in
terror for a few minutes before assuring them they
were in no danger and that the faceless fliers were
his servants. Even so, Vazvek did not emerge from
behind the magician until the demons had settled
one at a time into waiting wall alcoves.
As soon as he was sure they had fallen asleep,
Prugg approached them. He did not want to show
fear in front of the Quorumen, but he feared the
master's magic nonetheless.
"Go on, Prugg," said Markus helpfully. "They won't
hurt you. They won't move unless I command them."
Prugg studied the trio. True to the master's word,
they ignored him. They were not very big, especially
for demons, but those curved fangs were very
impressive. Prugg ran a finger over one and still its
owner did not stir.
"Only three of them," Markus murmured- "I won-
der what happened to the other three." He shrugged.
"Doesn't matter. I can always call up more." He
tteraed to face his supporters.
"What do you think, Kindore? Should I bring
dievq back to life and have them dance in the air for
you?"
"No, oo, no, advisor," said a badly shaken Kindore.
He pulled at his thin coat, working to refasten the