Chorus Skating by Alan Dean Foster Page B

at the much bigger human as it thrust and slashed with its weapon. Whiskers protruded not only from the muzzle but also above the eyes, as in many of the cats. But it was no cat, Jon-Tom was certain of that.
    Three more scrambled to join the one doing battle with Jon-Tom, kicking dirt on their campfire and scattering gear in their haste to join the battle. Though outnumbered, Jon-Tom felt his greater size and strength coupled with Mudge’s quickness served to equalize the confrontation.
    Now that his companion was safely back on his feet and in fighting position once more, Mudge moved around in front of him. That way the otter could ward off any blows aimed at his friend’s legs, while Jon-Tom could use his much greater reach and longer sword to keep their opponents at bay. In such close quarters there was no time to draw a bow or, for that matter, compose and play a suitable spellsong.
    Repulsed, their assailants backed off, forming a semicircle with weapons at the ready. One looked longingly at the elegant halberds stacked neatly by the fire. Each blade was different, reflecting the work of some unknown but highly accomplished armorer.
    â€œBanded mongoose.” Jon-Tom watched the lethal quartet intently.
    â€œAye. One o’ the few creatures that can give an otter a run for ’is money when it comes to speed an’ agility. Watch yourself, mate. This ain’t no sorry mob o’ bandits. This lot ’as done some professional fightin’ before, they ’ave.”
    For a while nothing was said as bright black eyes flicked from human to otter. The mongoose nearest the demolished campfire started edging his way toward the halberds. The intent was easy to figure. Unable to reach their opponents with their short swords, they would have to make use of the much longer, heavier weapons if they hoped to negate the human’s impressive reach.
    Clearly Jon-Tom and Mudge couldn’t allow that.
    The one who’d struck first at the spellsinger boasted three inlaid azure stripes on his helmet and shoulders, together with an embedded spiral shell motif. This was more in the way of insignia than any of the others displayed. He was clearly in charge.
    â€œWhat are you afraid of?” he barked at his troops. “It’s only one otter and a human!”
    The soldier on the officer’s left was watching Jon-Tom carefully. “Mighty big human.”
    â€œLet’s everyone just calm down.” Jon-Tom lowered the point of his sword. “We mean no one any harm. We’re just travelers in a hard land, like yourselves.”
    â€œYou attacked me,” said the officer accusingly.
    â€œI didn’t attack anyone. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I fell off that little ridge.” Keeping his eyes on their assailants, he gestured up and back with his free hand. “It’s the first ridge we’ve encountered in days, and I wasn’t expecting it.”
    â€œOi, you know ’ow clumsy ’umans are,” Mudge added helpfully. “Not like me an’ thee.”
    The officer looked uncertain, but dropped his own weapon slightly. “For such a short fall you made an awful great crash coming down into me.”
    Jon-Tom tapped the muddy but intact duar strapped to his back. “My instrument. I had to be careful of it.” The mongoose strained to see. “I’m a musician by trade.”
    â€œReally?” The officer pushed back the brim of his leather helmet, which threatened to slip down over his eyes. “Your intent is not to kill and rob us?”
    â€œWhy would we want to do that, guv?” Mudge shook his head. “There’s four o’ you an’ only the two o’ us. Besides, everyone knows soldiers don’t ever ’ave any money.”
    â€œThe river-runner speaks truth there!” agreed one of the other soldiers heartily. The officer relaxed a little more.
    A full head taller than any of his