those worthless brigands”—he nodded seaward, to where
the retreating boat had raised sail and was disappearing
toward the horizon—”who stole everything I have man-
aged to accumulate in a short, unworthy life. They kept
me and forced me to do their menial work, to cook and
clean and wash for them while they preyed upon other
unsuspecting travelers.
“They said they would let me go unharmed. Finally
they tired of me, but instead of returning me to a place of
civilization they brought me here to this empty, uninhabited
shore, intending to maroon me in an unknown land where
I might starve. They stole what little I had in this world,
taunted me by leaving my stock bags, and would have
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Alan Dean Foster
stolen my life as well at the last moment had you not come
along, for I was refusing to be abandoned.”
“Don’t give us too much credit,” Jon-Tom advised
him. “Our being in a position to rescue you was an
accident.”
“You can say that again, mate,” growled the disgusted
Mudge as he slung his bow back over his shoulder.
Jon-Tom ignored the otter. “We’re glad we could help. I
don’t like seeing anyone taken advantage of, especially
senior citizens.”
“What?”
“Older people.”
“Ah. But how can I thank you, sir? How can I show my
gratitude? I am destitute.”
“Forget it.” The ferret’s effusiveness was making Jon-
Tom uncomfortable. “We’re glad we could help.”
The ferret rose, wincing and putting one hand against
his back. “I am called Jalwar. To whom do I owe my
salvation?”
“I’m Jon-Tom. I’m a spellsinger. Of sorts.”
The ferret nodded gravely. “I knew at once you were