Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  in heah, where theah's some covah."

  The unicorn shook his head, the mane of gold rippling

  in the filtered tight. "It will not be good enough, tigress. I

  can see that you are powerful as well as well-versed in

  war, but there are too many of them, and you will be

  fighting in very close quarters. If they come at you from

  all directions simultaneously you won't have a chance.

  You require a more defensible position."

  "You know of one?" Jon-Tom asked him.

  "It is not far from here. I think if we can get there we

  will be able to stand them off."

  "Then let's get the hell out of here," he muttered as he

  shouldered his pack.

  Mudge held back, torn between common sense and the

  effort he'd put into their supper. Roseroar saw his hesitation.

  "A full belly's small consolation to someone with his

  guts hangin' out. Ah declah, short-whiskahs, sometimes

  ah wondah about yo priorities."

  "Sometimes I wonder meself, lass." He looked longingly

  back at the lost roast as they hurried through the woods,

  following the stallion's lead.

  Drom maintained a steady but slow pace to enable his

  newfound friends to keep up with him. Everyone watched

  the surrounding woods. But it was Roseroar's ears they

  relied on most.

  "Stayin' carefully upwind of us, but I can heah them

  movin' faster. They're still behind us, though. Must think

  we're still in the camp."

  "Wait a minute!" Jon-Tom called a halt. "Where's

  Mudge?"

  Roseroar cursed under her breath. "Damn that ottah! Ah

  knew ah should've kept a closer watch on him. He's gone

  back fo some of that meat. Yoah friend is a creature of base

  instincts."

  "Yes, but he's not stupid. Here he comes."

  Mudge appeared, laboring beneath a section of roast

  nearly as big as himself. "Sorry, mates. I worked all day

  on this bloody banquet, and I'm damned if I was goin' to

  leave it all for those bastards."

  "You're damned anyway," snapped Jon-Tom. "How

  are you going to keep up, hauling that on your back?"

  The otter swung the heavy, pungent load off his shoulders.

  "Roseroar?"

  "Not me, ottah. Yo stew in yoah own stew."

  "We're wasting time," said Drom. "Here." He dipped

  his head forward. "Hold it still."

  A quick jab and the roast was impaled on the spiral

  horn. "Now let's be away from here before they discover

  ourflight." He turned and resumed his walk. "Disgusting."

  "What is?" Jon-Tom asked as he jogged alongside.

  "The smell of cooked flesh, the odiferous thought of

  consuming the body of another living creature, the miasma

  of carbonized protein, what else?"

  Suddenly Jon-Tom wasn't so hungry anymore.

  Creepers and vines strangled the entrance to the ancient

  structure. Roseroar was reluctant to enter. The strangely

  slitted windows and triangular doorways bespoke a time

  and people who had ruled the world long before the

  warmblooded.

  230

  Alan Dean Foster

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  231

  "Sulolk used this place," murmured Drom as he trotted

  inside.

  Distant shouts of outrage came from behind them,

  deciding the tigress. She bent beneath the low portal and

  squeezed in.

  The single chamber beyond had a vaulted ceiling that

  enabled her to stand easily. There was more than enough

  room for all of them. Mudge was admiring the narrow

  windows, fashioned by a forgotten people for reasons of

  unknown aesthetics but admirably suited to the refugees'

  present needs. He notched an arrow into his bow and

  settled himself behind one thin gap.

  Jon-Tom took up a stance to the left of the opening,

  ready to use his steel-tipped staff on anyone who tried to

  enter. A moment later he was able to move to a second

  window as Roseroar jammed a massive stone weighing at

  least three hundred pounds into the doorway, blocking it

  completely.

  "This is a good place to fight from." Drom used a hoof

  to shove the cooling roast from his horn onto clean rock.

  "A small spring flows from the floor of a back room.

  Cracks in the ceiling allow fresh air to circulate. I have

  often slept here in safety." He indicated the damp grass

  growing from the floor. "There is food as well."

  "For you," admitted Jon-Tom, watching the woods for

  signs of their pursuers. "Well, we have what's in our

  packs and the roast we saved." He glanced to his right,

  toward the other guarded window. "You shouldn't have

  done that, Mudge."

  "Cor, it ain't no fun fightin' on an empty stomach,

  mate." He leaned forward; his black nose twitched as he

  sampled the air. "If they try chargin' us, I can pick 'em off

  easy. Our 'omy friend's right. This is a damn good place."

  Rosewar was eyeing the wall carvings uneasily. "This is

  a very old place. I smell ancient feahs." She had drawn

  bom longs words.

  There was a thump as Drom settled down to wait. "I

  smell only clean grass and water."

  Threatening shouts began to emanate from the trees.

  Mudge responded with some choice comments about

  Hathcar's mother, whom he had never met but whom

  thousands of others undoubtedly had. This inspired a rain

  of arrows which splintered harmlessly against the thick

  stone walls. One flew through Jon-Tom's window to stick

  in the earth behind him.

  "Here they come!" he warned his companions.

  There was nothing subtle about the bandits' strategy.

  While archers tried to pin down the defenders, an assort-

  ment of raccoons, foxes, and cats rushed at the entrance,

  carrying a big log between them. But Roseroar braced her

  massive shoulders against the boulder from behind and

  kept it from being pushed inward, while Mudge put arrows

  in the log wielders as fast as they could be replaced.

  "Another bugger down!" the otter would yell each time

  an arrow struck home.

  This continued for several minutes while Mudge re-

  duced the number of Hathcar's band and Roseroar kept the

  boulder from moving so much as an inch inward. No

  martyrs to futility, those hefting the battering ram finally

  gave up and fled for the safety of the woods with the

  otter's deadly shafts urging them on.

  No one had approached Jon-Tom's window during the

  fight. Mudge and Roseroar had done all the work and he

  felt pretty useless.

  "What now? I don't think they'll try that again."

  "No, but they'll bloody well try somethin' else,"

  murmured the otter. "Say, mate, why don't you 'ave a go

  at 'em with your duar?"

  Jon-Tom blinked. "I hadn't thought of that. Well, I had,

  but it's hard to think and sing when you're running."

  "Why make music? To aggravate them?" asked Drom

  interestedly.

  "Nope. 'E's a spellsinger, 'e is," said Mudge, "and a

  232

  Alan Dean Poster


  right good one, too. When 'e can control it," he added by

  way of afterthought.

  "A spellsinger. I am impressed," said the unicorn.

  Jon-Tom felt a little better, though he wished the golden

  stallion would quit staring at him so intensely.

  "What do you think they'll try next?" Jon-Tom asked

  the otter.

  Mudge eyed the trees. "This bunch bein' about as

  imaginative as a pile o' cow flop, I'd expect them to try

  smokin' us out. If four legs there is right about the cracks

  in the roof lettin' air in, they'll be wastin' their time."

  "Are yo certain theah's no back way in?"

  "None that I was ever able to discover," Drom told the

  tigress.

  "Not that you'd fit places where some o1 the rest of us

  might," observed Mudge thoughtfully. He handed his bow

  and quiver to Jon-Tom. "I'd better check out the nooks

  and crannies, mate. We don't want some nasty surprises to

  show up and stick us in the behind when we ain't lookin'."

  He headed for the crumbling back wall.

  Jon-Tom eyed the bow uncertainly. "Mudge, I'm not

  good at this."

  "Just give a shout if they come at us again. It ain't 'ard,

  mate. Just shove an arrow through the window there. They

  don't know you can't shoot." He bent, crawled under a

  lopsided stone and disappeared.

  Jon-Tom awkwardly notched an arrow, rested it on the

  window sill as Roseroar took up a position behind the one

  the otter had vacated.

  "Ah don't understand," she murmured, squinting at the

  forest. "We all ain't worth the trouble we're causin' this

  Hathcar. That ottah brought down five or six o' them. If ah

  was this fella ah'd give up and go in search of less deadly

  prey."

  "That would be the reasonable thing to do," said

  Drom, nodding, "except that as chief he has lost face

  already before his band. He will not give up, though if he

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  233

  suffers many more losses his own fighters may force him

  to quit." The unicorn climbed to his feet and strolled over

  to Roseroar's window. She made room for him.

  "Hathcar!" he shouted.

  A reluctant voice finally replied. "Who calls? Is that

  you, meddler with a spike in his brain?"

  "It is I." Drom was unperturbed by the bandit leader's

  tone. "Listen to me! These travelers are poor. They have

  no money."

  Cuscus laughter rang through the trees. "You expect me

  to believe that?"

  "It's true. In any case, you cannot defeat them."

  "Don't bet on that."

  "You cannot break in here."

  "Maybe not, but we'll force you out. It may take time,

  but we'll do it."

  "If you do, then I will only lead them to another place

  of safety, one even harder to assault than this one. I know

  these woods, and you know I speak the truth. So why not

  depart now before suffering any more senseless losses? It's

  a stupid leader who sacrifices his people for no gain."

  Muttering came from different places in the trees, proof

  that Drom's last words had hit home. Hathcar hastened to

  respond.

  "No matter if you lead them elsewhere. We'll track you

  down no matter where you go."

  "Perhaps you will. Or perhaps you'll find yourselves

  led into a trap. We of the forest have ways of defending

  ourselves against you lovers of civilization. There are

  hidden pits and tree-mounted weapons scattered through-

  out my territory. Follow me and find them at your peril."

  This time the woods were silent. Drom nodded to

  himself. "Good. They're thinking it over, probably argu-

  ing about it. If they come to their senses, we may be able

  to get out of here without any more violence."

  Jon-Tom peered through the narrow slit in the stone.

  "You think they'll really react that sensibly?"

  234

  Alan Dean Foster

  "I don't know, but he knows I'm talking truth," said the

  unicorn softly. "I know this section of forest better than he

  does, and he knows that I know that."

  "But how could we slip out of here and get past them?"

  Drom chuckled. "1 did fudge on that one a bit. Yet for

  all he knows there are a dozen secret passages out of

  here."

  "If there are, they're bloody well still secret." Mudge

  emerged from the crawlspace he'd entered and wiped

  limestone dust from his shirt and whiskers. "Tight as a

  teenage whore. Nothin' bigger than a snake could get out

  the back way. We're safe enough here, all right." Jon-Tom

  gladly handed back the otter's bow and found himself a

  soft place on the floor.

  ' Then I guess we wait until they attack again or give up

  and leave us alone. I suppose we ought to stand watch

  tonight."

  "Allow me, suh," said Roseroar. "Ah'm as comfortable

  with the night as ah am with the day."

  "While we wait to see what they'll do," said Drom,

  "perhaps now you'll tell me what you people are doing in

  this country, so far from civilization."

  Jon-Tom sighed. "It's a long story," he told the uni-

  corn, and proceeded to relate it yet again. As he spoke, the

  sun set and the trees blended into a shadowy curtain

  outside. An occasional arrow plunked against the stone,

  more for nuisance value than out of any hope of hitting

  any of the defenders inside.

  Hathcar had indeed lost too many in the futile attack to

  try it again. He knew that if he continued to fling his

  followers uselessly against an impregnable position they

  would melt quietly away into the woods. That night he

  moved away from the main campfire and sought counsel

  from an elderly rat and wolf, the two wisest of his band.

  "So how do we pry those stinking bastards out of

  there?"

  The rat's hair was tinged with white and his face and

  THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

  235

  arms were scarred. He picked at the dirt with one hand.

  "Why bother? Why not let them rot in there if they so

  desire? There are easier pickin's elsewhere."

  Hathcar leaned toward him, glaring in the moonlight.

  "Do you know what happened today? Do you? They made

  a fool of me. Me, Hathcar! Nobody makes a fool of

  Hathcar and walks away to boast of it, nobody! Not on

  their own legs, they don't."

  "It was just a thought," the rat mumbled. "It had to be

  said."

  "Right. It's been said. It's also been forgotten." The rat

  said nothing.

  "How about smoking them out?" suggested the wolf.

  The cuscus let out a derisive snort. "Don't you think

  they've already thought of that? If they haven't tried to

  break out, it means they aren't worried about smoke; and

  if they aren't worried about it, it probably means it won't

  work if we try it."

  "Could we," suggested the rat, "maybe force our way in

  through the roof?"

  Hathcar sighed. "You're all looking at the obvious, all

  of you. I'm the onl
y one who can see beyond the self-

  evident. That cursed four-legs led them straight here, so

  he's probably telling the truth when he says he knows it

  well. He wouldn't box himself into a situation he wasn't

  comfortable with. He says they can slip out anytime and

  hide somewhere else twice as strong. Maybe he's lying,

  but we can't take that chance. We have to take them here,

  while we know what we're up against. That means our

  first priority is to get rid of that horned meddler."

  "How about moving a couple of archers in close?

  Those with good night vision. If they can sneak up against

  the wall they might get a clear shot inside."

  Hathcar considered. "Not bad, except that if they don't

  snuff the unicorn right away that fucking water rat's likely

  to get 'em both. I've never seen anybody shoot like that."

  He shook his head.

  236

  Alan Dean Foster

  "No, it's not good enough, Parsh. I'm sure they've got

  a guard up, and I won't send any more of the boys against

  that otter's bow. No, we have to bring the unicorn out

  somehow, far enough so we can get a clear shot at him. By

  himself, if possible."

  The rat spat on the ground. "That's likely, isn't it?"

  "You know, there may be a way."

  Hathcar frowned at the wolf. "I was only half-serious,

  Brungunt."

  "I'm wholly serious. All we need is the right kind of

  bait."

  "That blow you took in Ollorory village has addled

  your brains," said Parsh. "Nothing's going to bring that

  unicorn out where we can get at him."

  "Go on, Brungunt," said the thoughtful Hathcar.

  The wolf leaned close. "It should be done when most of

  them sleep. We must watch and smell for when the stallion

  takes his turn as sentry. If they post only the one guard, we

  may have a chance. Great care must be taken, for it will be

  a near thing, a delicate business. Bait or no bait, if the

  meddler senses our presence, I do not think he can be

  drawn out. So after we set the bait we must retreat well out

  of range. It will work, you'll see. So powerful is the bait,

  it will draw our quarry well out where we can cut off his

  retreat. Then it won't matter if he bolts into the woods.

  The important thing is that we'll be rid of him, and the

  ones we really want will be deprived of his advice and

  aid."

  "No," said Hathcar, his eyes gleaming, "no. I want

  that four-legs, too. I want him dead. Or better yet, we'll

  just hamstring him." He grinned viciously in the dark.