said desperately. "It's only that playing in the same
position all the time hurts my arms. I wasn't doing
anything else."
"Well..." The jailer slumped back in his chair. "See
that you don't do it no more. Please play another song. I
never heard anything like them. Pretty."
Despairingly, Jon-Tom simply sang the first thing that
came to mind, the theme song from one of the Rocky
films. Maybe it was his frustration, perhaps his sudden
indifference. Whatever the reason, he almost thought he
could feel the power running through him. He tried to
focus on it, really working himself into the useless song in
the hope it might lead to something better.
A faint smell of ozone began to filter into the air of the
dungeon. Something crackled near the ceiling. Mudge
scrambled warily back into the farthest comer of the cell.
Jon-Tom jumped as an electric shock ran up his wrists. He
tried to pull back into the cell, found he was trapped
against the bars by the leather wristcuffs and linking chain.
Oh, shit, he mumbled silently. I've gone and done
something weird again.
Only this time he was trapped up against whatever it
was. Something was materializing in the air next to him.
He tugged futilely at the leather cuffs, dropping the duar in
the process. The instrument was glowing brightly as it
bounced around on the floor like a toad at a disco.
The slow-moving porcupine was on his feet and staring.
He'd abandoned the cord in favor of edging 'round toward
the rack of weapons. Selecting a long spear, he aimed it at
the cell. Jon-Tom was uncomfortably aware of the fact that
if the jailer so chose, he could run him through where he
stood.
"What are you doing, spellsinger? Stop it!"
52
Alan Dean Foster
"I'm not doing anything!" Jon-Tom prayed his hysteria
was as convincing as it was heartfelt. "Untie my hands!"
The jailer ignored him, gazing in stupefied fascination at
the slowly rotating cylinder of fluorescent gas that had
gathered inside the cell. "Don't lie to me. Something is
happening. Something is happening!"
"I know something's happening, you moron! Let me
loose!" He wrenched uselessly at his bonds.
The jailer continued to keep his distance. ' 'I am warning
you, spellsinger. Put an end to this magic right now!"
Keeping his thorny back against the walls, he edged
around until he was standing close to the bars. From there
he was able to prod the prisoner with the tip of his spear. It
was extremely sharp.
"I can't stop it! I don't know what I did and I don't
know what's happening."
"I do not believe you." The jailer's voice had turned
shrill and he was jabbing seriously with the spear.
Suddenly a loud bang came from the cloud of gas. The
glowing cylinder dissipated to reveal a massive, powerful
form at least seven feet tall standing in the center of the
jail cell. It had to crouch to keep from bumping its head
against the ceiling.
Mudge quailed back against the wall while Jon-Tom
thought wildly about his last song. The indifferently sung
song which apparently had been far more effective than all
its anxiety-laden predecessors. The theme song from that
Rocky film ... what was it?
Oh, yeah. The "Eye of the Tiger."
Actually there were two of them, and they glared around
in bewilderment. Jon-Tom had never seen a white tiger
before, much less one that wore armor and stood on two
legs. Leather and brass strips made a skirt which covered
the body from waist to the knees. Additional armor protected
the back of arms and legs, was secured over the legs with
crisscrossing leather straps. A finely worked brass helmet
shielded the head, and an intricate inscription covered the
thin nose guard. Holes cut in the top of the helmet allowed
the ears to protrude.
The huge furry skull glanced in all directions, taking in
unanticipated surroundings. White and black ears flicked
nervously as a quarter ton of tiger tried to orient itself.
Paws dropped to sheaths, and in an instant each one held a
five-foot-long sword with razor-sharp serrated edges.
"By all the nine feline demons, what's going on heah? I
declare I'll have some answers right quick or there'll be
hell to pay." Slitted eyes fixed on the bars. She took a step
forward and glared down at the quivering porcupine.
"You! What is this place? Why am ah locked up? Y'all
53
54
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
55
answer me fast or ah'll make a necklace out of yo
backbone!"
"G-g-g-guards," the porcupine stammered. It came out
as a whisper. Aware his cry wasn't reaching very far, he
raised his voice. "Guards!"
"Quit stabling and talk to me." Feminine, Jon-Tom
decided. Thunderous, but undeniably feminine. The conju-
ration was a she. She turned to eye Mudge. "Yo theah.
Why won't he talk to me?"
"You talkin' to me, m'dear?" Mudge inquired reluctantly.
She reached down and lifted him easily off the floor with
one paw, setting her second sword aside but within easy
reach. Fully extended, her claws were nearly as long as
Mudge's fingers.
"Now, who else would ah be talking to, you little
sponge?"
"Blimey, m'dear, I ain't considered the possibility."
"Guards!" Suddenly it occurred to the porcupine that
since he wasn't having much luck obtaining help with his
voice, it might be efficacious to employ his feet. He raced
up the stairs with unexpected speed. "Guards, help me!"
"Hey, yo!" The tigress dropped Mudge, who promptly
retreated to the back of the cell. "Come back heah! Yo
heah me?"
"He thinks you're a threat to him."
"What's that?" For the first time she focused her
attention on Jon-Tom.
"I said, he thinks you're a threat to him. Because
you're in here with us."
"Y'all are awfully big fo a human."
"And you're awfully big period." He continued strug-
gling with the cuffs that bound him to the bars of the cell.
"What is this place?" She turned slowly to make a
more careful inspection of the prison. She did not appear
frightened. Only irritated.
"We're in a dungeon in a town called Malderpot."
"Nevah heard of it," said the feline amazon. "A dun-
geon, you say. I can see that fo mahself, honey." She eyed
his restraints. "Why ah yo tied up like that?"
"I'm a spellsinger," he explained. "I've been doing a
little singing and I think I accidently brought you here."
"So that's it!" Jon-Tom did his best not to cower away
from those burning yellow eyes. She stepped back and
hefted both her swords. "Well then, y'all can just send me
back."
He squirmed against the bars. "I, uh, I'm afraid I can't
do that. 1 don't know how I brought you here. I can try
later, maybe. But not without my duar." He pointed into
the room. "And I can't play it with my hands tied like
this."
"Well, that much is obvious. Ah've got eyes, yo
know."
"Very pretty eyes, too."
"Huh," she said, a little more softly. "Spellsingah, yo
say? Yo sound moah like a solicitah to me." Jon-Tom
didn't inform her about his legal training, not being sure of
her opinion of solicitors.
One sword suddenly cut forward and down. Mudge let
out a half moan, half squeak, and Jon-Tom closed his
eyes. But the sword passed between the bars to delicately
cut the chain linking his wrist cuffs. A couple of quick
twists of a clawed paw and his hands were free. He spoke,