Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

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by Foster, Alan Dean;


  Jon-Tom resorted to questioning one of the guards. The

  muskrat was barely four feet tall and wore his fur cut

  fashionably short.

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  219

  "Please, we're strangers here." He nodded toward the

  desert. "Does this happen every year?"

  "Twice a year," the guard informed him, bored. "A

  grand sight the first time, I suppose."

  "What's it for? Why does it happen?"

  The muskrat scratched under his chin. "It is said that

  these are the sands of time. All time. When they have run

  their course, they must be turned to run again. Who turns

  them, or why, no one knows. Gods, spirits, some great

  being somewhere else who is bored with the task, who

  knows? I am no sorcerer or scholar, visitor." He turned to

  leave.

  "Let 'im go, mate/' said Mudge. "I don't care wot it's

  about. Runnin' for me life always tires me out. Me for a

  spot o' sleep and somethin' to drink." He started down the

  stairs. Jon-Tom and Roseroar followed.

  "What do yo think happens heah?" the tigress asked

  him.

  "I imagine it's as the guard told us. The desert is some

  kind of hourglass, holding all time within it." He gazed

  thoughtfully at the sky. "I wonder: if you could stop the

  mechanism somehow, could you stop time?" He turned

  toward the glassy tower. "I'd sure like to have a look

  inside that."

  "Best not to," she told him. "Yo might find something.

  Yo might find your own time."

  He nodded. "Anyway, we have other fish to fry."

  "Ah beg yo pahdon?"

  "Jalwar and Folly. If everyone else is forced to seek

  sanctuary here from the Conjunction, they would also. If

  they weren't caught by the sand, they should be some-

  where here in the city."

  "Ah declah, Jon-Tom, ah hadn't thought o' that!" She

  scanned the courtyard below.

  "Unless," he went on, "they were far enough ahead of

  us to have already crossed the desert."

  "Oh," She looked downcast, then straightened. "No

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  mattah. We'll find them." She began looking for an empty

  place among the crowds. Probably the few city inns were

  already full to overflowing with the wealthy among the

  refugees. The city gates were open and some were already

  filing back out into the desert.

  "Yo know, somethin' just occurred to me, Jon-Tom.

  This old Jalwah, ah'm thinkin' we've been underestimatin'

  him all along. Do yo suppose he deliberately led us out

  heah into this desert knowin' we didn't know about this

  comin' Conjunction thing, and hopin' we might get oah-

  selves killed?"

  Jon-Tom considered only a moment. "Roseroar, I think

  that's a very good possibility, just as I think that the next

  time we meet up with our ferret friend, we'd better watch

  our step very carefully indeed."

  XIII

  Inquiries in the marketplace finally unearthed mention of

  Folly and Jalwar's passing. They were indeed several days

  ahead of their pursuers, and yet they had rented no riding

  animals. Apparently Jalwar was not only smarter than

  they'd given him credit for, he was also considerably

  stronger. The merchant who provided the information did

  not know which way the ferret and the girl had gone, but

  Jon-Tom remembered enough of the map to guess.

  The desert reaches were much more extensive to north

  and south. There was no way back to Snarken except via

  Redrock. Therefore their earlier suppositions still held

  true. Jalwar was making for Crancularn as fast as possible.

  Roseroar's search for nighttime lodging was terminated.

  There was no time to waste. Jon-Tom reluctantly allowed

  Mudge to scavenge for supplies, and the travelers then beat

  a hasty retreat from Redrock before their unwilling vict-

  ualers could awaken to the discovery of their absent

  inventory.

  "Of course, we'll pay for these supplies on our way

  back," Jon-Tom said.

  "And 'ow do you propose we do that?" Mudge labored

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  under his restocked pack. The desert was oddly cool

  underfoot, the sand stable and motionless once again. It

  was as though the grains had never been displaced, had

  never moved.

  "I don't know, but we have to do something about this

  repeated steali—"

  "Watch it, mate."

  "About this repeated foraging of yours. Why do you

  insist on maintaining the euphemisms, Mudge?"

  The otter grinned at him. "For appearances' sakes,

  mate."

  "It troubles me as well," Roseroar murmured, "but we

  must make use of any means that we can to see this thing

  through."

  "I know, but I'll feel better about it if we can pay for

  what we've 'borrowed' on our way back."

  Mudge sighed, shook his head resignedly. " 'Umans,"

  he muttered.

  Despite Jon-Tom's expectations, they did not catch up

  to their quarry. They did encounter occasional groups of

  nomads returning to their campsites, sometimes sharing

  their camps for the night. All expressed ignorance when

  asked if they had seen any travelers fitting Jalwar's or

  Folly's description.

  On the third day they had their first glimpse of the

  foothills which lay beyond the western edge of the Timeful

  Desert. On the fourth they found themselves hiking among

  green grass, cool woodlands, and thick scrub. Mudge

  luxuriated in the aroma and presence of running water,

  while Roseroar was able to enjoy fresh meat once more.

  On their first day in the forest she brought down a

  monitor lizard the size of a cow with one swordthrust.

  Mudge joined her in butchering the carcass and setting the

  steaks to cook over a blaze of thin, white-barked logs.

  "Smells mighty good," commented a strange voice.

  Roseroar rose to a sitting position. Mudge peered around

  THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

  223

  the cookfire while Jon-Tom put aside the duar he'd been

  strumming.

  Standing at the edge of their little clearing in the trees

  was a five-foot-tall cuscus, a bland expression on his pale

  face. He was dressed in overlapping leather strips and

  braids, snakeskin boots of azure hue, and short brown

  pants. A single throwing knife was slung on each hip, and

  he was scratching himself under the chin with his furless,

  prehensile tail. As he scratched he leaned on the short staff

  he carried. Jon-Tom wondered if, like his own, the visi-

  tor's also concealed a short, deadly length of steel in the

  unknobbed end. The visitor's fur was pale beige mottled

  with brown.

  He was also extraordinarily ugly, a characteristic of the

  species, though perhaps a female cuscus might have thought

  otherwise of the newcomer. He made no threatening ges-

  tures and waited patiently.

  "Come on in and have a seat." Jon-Tom extended
the

  invitation only after Roseroar had climbed to her feet and

  Mudge had moved close to his bow.

  "That is right kind of you, sir. I am Hathcar." Jon-Tom

  performed introductions all around.

  Roseroar was sniffing the air, glanced accusingly down

  at the visitor. "You are not alone."

  "No, large she, I am not. Did I forget to mention it? I

  am sorry and will now remedy my absentmindedness." He

  put his lips together and emitted a sharp, high-pitched

  whistle.

  With much rustling of bushes a substantial number of

  creatures stepped out into clear view, forming a line behind

  the cuscus. They were an odd assortment, from the more

  familiar rats and mice to bandicoots and phalangers. There

  was even a nocturnal aye-aye, who wore large, dark

  sunglasses and carried a short, sickle-shaped weapon.

  Their clothes were on the ragged side, and their boots

  and sandals showed signs of much usage. Altogether not a

  prosperous-looking bunch, Jon-Tom decided. The presence

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  of so many weapons was not reassuring. These were not

  kindly villagers out for a daily stroll.

  Still, if all they wanted was something to eat....

  "You're welcome to join us," he told Hathcar. "There's

  plenty for all."

  Hathcar looked past him, to where Mudge was laboring

  with the cooking. His tongue licked black lips.

  "You are kind. Those of us who prefer meat haven't

  made such a grand catch in many a day." He smiled as

  best he could.

  Jon-Tom gestured toward Roseroar. "Yes, she's quite

  the huntress."

  "She sizes the part. Still, there is but one of her and

  many of us. How is it that she has been so successful and

  we have not?"

  "Skill is more important than numbers." One huge paw

  caressed the hilt of a long sword.

  Hathcar did not seem impressed. "Sometimes that can

  be so, unless you are a hundred against one lizard."

  "Sometimes," she agreed coolly, "but not always."

  The cuscus changed the subject. ' 'What seek you strang-

  ers in this remote land?"

  "We're on a mission of importance for a great and

  powerful wizard," Jon-Tom told him, "We go to the

  village of Crancularn."

  "Crancularn." Hathcar looked back at his colleagues,

  who were hard-pressed to restrain their amusement. "That's

  a fool's errand."

  Jon-Tom casually let his fingers stray to his staff. He'd

  had just about enough of this questioning, enigmatic visi-

  tor. Either they wanted something to eat or they didn't,

  and double-talk wasn't on the menu.

  "Maybe you think we look like fools," Hathcar said.

  All hints of laughter fled from the gang standing behind

  him. Jon-Tom didn't reply, waited for what might come.

  The cuscus's smile returned, and he moved toward the

  fire. "Well, you have offered us a meal. That's a wise

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  225

  decision. Certainly not one to be made by fools." He

  pulled a throwing knife. "If I might try a bite? It looks

  well done. My compliments to the cook." Mudge said

  nothing.

  Jon-Tom watched the visitor closely. Was he going to

  cut meat with it... or throw it? He couldn't decide.

  Something came flying through the air toward him. He

  ducked and rolled, ending up on his feet holding the

  ramwood staff protectively in front of him. Mudge picked

  up his bow and notched an arrow into the string. Roseroar's

  longswords flashed as they were drawn. All within a

  couple of seconds.

  Hathcar was careful not to raise the knife he now held.

  Behind him, his colleagues gripped their own weapons

  threateningly. But the cuscus was not glaring at Jon-Tom.

  His gaze was on the creature who had come flying through

  the air to land heavily next to the tall human.

  The mongoose was clad entirely in black. It lay on its

  belly, moaning. Strange marks showed on its narrow backside.

  "Faset," Hathcar hissed, "what happened?" The mon-

  goose rolled to look at him, yelped when its bruised pelvis

  made contact with the ground.

  "I happened." Everyone turned toward the voice.

  The unicorn strolled casually into the clearing. It was

  gold. Not the light gold of a palomino but a pure metallic

  gold like the color of a coin or ring, except for white

  patches on its forehead and haunches. It might have risen

  from a vat of liquid gold except that Jon-Tom could clearly

  see that the color was true, down to the shortest hair.

  In its mouth it carried a small crossbow. This it dropped

  at Jon-Tom's feet. Then it nodded meaningfully toward the

  still groaning mongoose. Jon-Tom now recognized the

  marks on the mongoose's pants. They were hoofprints.

  Hathcar was beside himself as he glared furiously at the

  unicorn. "Who the hell are you, four-foot? And who

  asked you to interfere? This is none of your business."

  The unicorn gazed at him out of lapis eyes, said coolly,

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  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  227

  "1 am making it my business." He smiled at Jon-Tom.

  "My name's Drom. I was grazing back in the woods when

  I heard the talk. Ordinarily I would have ignored it, as I

  ignored your presence." He nodded toward the mongoose,

  who was trying to crawl back to its comrades while

  avoiding Hathcar.

  "However, I happened to chance upon this ebon worm

  as he was aiming his little toy at your back." Drom raised

  a hoof, brought it down on the crossbow. There was a

  splintering sound. "The unpleasant one there," and he

  nodded toward Hathcar, "was right. This was none

  of my business. I don't trouble to involve myself in

  the affairs of you social types. But I can't stand to

  see anyone backshot." He turned his magnificent head,

  the thin golden goatee fluttering, and glared back at

  Hathcar.

  "Yo ah a true gentlemale, suh," said Roseroar approvingly.

  "You should have stayed out of this, fool." Hathcar

  moved quickly to join his gang. "Anyway, he lies. No

  doubt this insect," and he kicked at the miserable Faset,

  "was trying to put a bolt through you. But that has nothing

  to do with me."

  "You called him by name," Jon-Tom said accusingly.

  "A casual acquaintance." Hathcar continued to retreat.

  His backers muttered uneasily.

  "Glad you don't know 'im, friend." Mudge's arrow

  followed the cuscus's backpedaling. "I'd 'ate to think you

  'ad anything to do with 'is little ambushcade."

  "What about your invitation?" Hathcar wanted to know.

  "I think we'd rather dine alone," Jon-Tom smiled

  thinly. "At least until we can sort things out."

  "That's not very friendly of you. It's not polite to

  withdraw an invitation once extended."

  "My back," the mongoose blubbered. "I think my

  back is broken."

  "Shut up, asshole." Hathcar k
icked him in the mouth

  and blood squirted. The cuscus tried to grin at the tall

  man. "Really, this thing has nothing to do with me." His

  band was beginning to melt into the forest. "Always

  hanging around, looking for sympathy. Sorry our visit

  upset you. I understand." Then he too was gone, swallowed

  by the vegetation.

  Roseroar's ears were cocked forward. "They're still

  movin' about," she murmured warily.

  "Where?" Jon-Tom asked her.

  "Back among the trees."

  "They are spreading out in an attempt to encircle you,"

  said the one-horned stallion.

  "Permit me to congratulate you on your timely arrival,

  mate." Mudge's eyes searched the woods as he spoke. "I

  never sensed 'im."

  "Nor did I," said Roseroar, sparing a glance for the

  remains of the crossbow.

  "I don't understand," Jon-Tom murmured. "We offered

  them all the food they could eat."

  "It wasn't just your food they were after." Drom kicked

  the crossbow fragments aside. "I know that bunch by

  reputation. They were after your weapons and armor, your

  Fine clothes and your money."

  Mudge let out a barking laugh. "Our money! Now

  mat's amusin'. We haven't a copper to our names," he

  lied.

  "Ah, but they thought you did." The unicorn nodded

  toward the forest. "Small comfort that would have been to

  you if they had learned that afterwards."

  "You're right there."

  Roseroar was turning a slow circle, keeping the roasting

  carcass at her back as much as possible. "They're still out

  theah. Probably they think we can't heah them, but ah

  can." She growled deep in her throat, a blood chilling

  sound. "Our friend here is right. They're trying to get

  behind us."

  "And to surprise you. Hathcar did not show his full

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  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  229

  strength. Many more of his band remained concealed while

  he spoke to you."

  Jon-Tom eyed the silent trees in alarm. "How many

  more?' *

  "A large number, though, of course, I am only guessing

  based on what I could observe during my approach."

  "We appreciate your help. You might as well take off

  now. Our problems aren't yours."

  "They are now," the unicorn to!d him. "These are

  indifferent murderers, full of false pride. I have embarrassed

  their leader in front of his band. Now he must kill me or

  lose face and possibly his status as leader."

  Roseroar strode toward the back of the clearing. "Move

 

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