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Even as he spoke the remaining Taleas had clustered around them and were trying to separate Jon-Tom
from his stubborn bodyguards. Despite their valiant effort, Colin and Mudge were driven in opposite
directions, away from Jon-Tom and from each other. Dormas and Sorbl were trying to protect
Clothahump and had no time to spare for someone who wouldn't raise a hand to defend himself.
Then one of the Taleas burst through, charging down on Jon-Tom, holding her sword over her head. He
could only stare. Talea, it was Talea, from her flowing hair to the tips of her toes. Yet he'd just watched
while a dozen identical Taleas had turned into something small and brightly colored before exploding.
They had been cloned by some devilry, called up by a sinister magic. They were not his beloved. His
heart's desire was a phantom.
Then it was time for reflexes to take control from an unwilling mind. As the sword came down he
brought up the front of the ramwood staff. The blade glanced off the nearly indestructible wood and slid
harmlessly off to the side. He wasn't even nicked. Continuing the defensive motion, he brought the club
end of the staff around to strike his attacker just above the temple, staggering her. The pain that shot
through him had nothing to do with the recoil his arm muscles absorbed. Recovering, she brought the
sword around in a low arc, aiming for his legs and trying her best to cripple him. He had no choice but to
thumb the concealed button on the side of the staff, releasing the six-inch-long blade hidden in the shaft.
Closing his eyes as he did so, he stabbed swiftly. The point went right through his assailant's throat. She
let out a violent gurgle and fell away from him, but there was no blood, not a drop, not even when he
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withdrew the blade. Contraction, change, explosion, and she-or rather it-was gone.
"See, mate!" Mudge called over to him. "None of 'em is for real. They've been conjured up to confuse
and bemuse us, and you most of all!"
Of course. When he'd defeated the impish spellsingers sent to stop them, he'd alerted the evil force
within the fortress.
Recognizing the danger Jon-Tom posed, the perambulator's captor had somehow conceived of and put
into effect a defense specifically designed to take care of his most dangerous opponent. And it had nearly
worked. Only his companion's ceaseless defense on his behalf had preserved him from a death by
deception.
They'd carried the load for him long enough. It was time to strike a few blows on his own behalf.
"You're right, Mudge. I'm sorry." Angrily he waded into the thick of the fight, swinging the club end of
the staff in great sweeping arcs. Now that he'd been jolted out of his reverie, he fought with twice the
resolve of his friends, furious beyond measure at anything that would employ such insidious intimacy
against an opponent. The ranks of identical attackers grew thin as one after another blew up and
vanished into the clear mountain air.
Showing unexpected speed, Colin ducked, twisted, and struck with one booted foot at an unprotected
knee. The Talea on his left dropped her Weapon, let out a loud moan, and fell to the ground. She knelt
there, holding her leg and rocking back and forth. The koala brought the long saber up and around for a
killing blow. At the same time it struck Jon-Tom forcefully that this was the first time anything like a
lingering cry of pain had been produced by any of their attackers. But having progressed from one mental
and emotional extreme to the other, he was loath to make a fool of himself again. So he hesitated.
"Son of a bitch," the injured Talea mumbled girlishly. Jon-Tom's eyes went wide.
"Colin, no!" He managed to interpose himself between the fallen woman and the falling sword just in time
to block the decapitating blow. Colin gaped at him for a moment but, with no time to argue, turned to
deal with another attacker.
It wasn't possible, of course. He held his staff out warily in front of him as he approached the figure that
was rocking back and forth on the ground and clutching her injured knee. Lifting the spear end of the
ramwood, he held it ready to thrust into the body beneath him. He was acutely conscious of the fact that
the rapidly diminishing band of Taleas might be attempting to substitute craftiness for numbers. This might
be a new ploy, designed to trap and bemuse him anew.
The figure seemed to see him for the first time, raised a hand in a feeble attempt to ward off the spear's
point. "Please, Jon-Tom, don't you recognize me? It's me, Talea!"
While the battle raged around him there was another, no less furious, boiling within him. It looked like
Talea, it sounded like Talea, but so had all the others, and when pricked, they had gone up in puffs of
orange-red gas. He had time to hesitate, to consider, because Mudge and Colin were temporarily in
control of his flanks.
"I-I have to do this. Forgive me." And he jabbed down with the point of the spear.
But only to puncture lightly, not to kill, tearing the slightest of cuts along one arm. The figure let out a little
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scream.
"You motherfucking bastard, you've ruined my blouse!" She started to sob.
Yes, it certainly sounded like Talea, but of more importance was the thin flow of blood that began to
trickle down her arm. She grabbed at the wound and continued to curse him. It was difficult because she
was crying so hard.
"She's bleeding, she's bleeding!" He whirled, shaking the ramwood staff joyfully over his head. "Did you
hear me, Mudge, she's bleeding!"
"Right, mate, I 'eard you."
Colin spared a glance for the tall man, then commented to the otter fighting at his shoulder. "Sounds like
these two have a wonderful relationship."
"Of course, I'm bleeding, you stupid imbecile! You stabbed me."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He was so relieved and so happy, he could hardly speak. "I had to."
"You had to stab me?" She looked down at her arm. Blood continued to filter through her fingers. "If
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