is under attack."
"Maybe they're right." Jon-Tom started forward.
"Hey, you two!" Roseroar called to them as she idly
batted aside a large rat armed with a short sword who had
tried to sneak under her guard. The rodent went skidding
across the paving stones, shedding bits and pieces of armor
and flesh as he went. "Ovah heah! This way!"
They ran toward her. Jon-Tom placed his staff in front of
him while Mudge ran backward to guard their rear, his
short legs a blur. As they ran they dodged spears and
arrows. Mudge responded to each attack individually, and
6O
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
61
they were rewarded as one figure after another fell from
the wall above.
Snarling, a hyena draped in heavy chain mail headed
right for Ion-Tom, swinging a viciously studded mace over
his head. Jon-Tom blocked it with his staff, and the
ramwood held as the mace's chain wrapped around it. He
pulled and twisted in one motion, bringing the knobbed
end of the staff down on his assailant's helmet. The hyena
dropped like a stone. They ran on, Jon-Tom unwrapping
the chain from his staff.
Then they were up against the thick wooden door in the
city wall. Crossbow bolts thudded into the wood or splintered
against the rock as the wall's garrison struggled to regroup.
Mudge inspected it rapidly. "Locked, damn it, from the
other side!"
"Pahdon me," said Roseroar. While they covered her
she put her back against the door, dug her feet into the
pavement, and shoved. The door broke with a snap, the
wood holding but not the iron hinges. It fell with a crash.
The trio ran out, pursued by yells and weapons. No one
chose to pursue beyond the city wall in person. The tigress
had demonstrated what she could do at close range, and
Malderpot's soldiery had taken the lesson to heart. They
held back, waiting for someone higher up to give the
necessary orders, and praying those directions would take
their time arriving.
Before they did, the fugitives were deep within the
concealment offered by the Bellwoods and the night.
Eventually they located a place where several giant trees
had fallen, forming a natural palisade, and settled in
behind the wooden barricade nature had so thoughtfully
provided.
The long run hadn't troubled Jon-Tom, who was a
good distance runner, nor Mudge, who was blessed with
inexhaustible energy, but Roseroar was tired. They waited
while she caught her breath.
There in the moonlight she pulled off her helmet, undid
the thick belt that held both swords, and put it aside. Then
she leaned back against one fallen trunk. Her bright yellow
eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. Physically she was
unharmed by the fighting, though her armor showed plenty
of cuts and dents.
"We owe you our lives," he finally told her.
"Yes, ah expect that's so. Damned if ah know how
ah'm going to collect on that debt. Yo told me yo didn't
mean to conjuh me up in the first place?"
"That's right," he confessed. "It was an accident. I
was trying to put our jailer to sleep. When it didn't work I
got upset and spellsang the first thing that came to mind
and—poof—there you were."
"Ah was the first thing that came to yo mind?"
"Well, not exactly. Matter of fact, I've never seen
anybody like you. This kind of thing happens to me a lot
when I try to spellsing."
She nodded, turned to look to where Mudge was already
searching the bushes for something edible. "Is he telling
the truth, squirt?"
"Me name is Mudge, lady o' the long tooth," said the
voice in the bushes, "and I'll make you a deal right now.
You can like me o' not, but you don't call me names and
I'll respond likewise."
"Ah favor politeness in all things, being a lady of
refined tastes," she replied evenly.
Mudge restrained the first reply that came to mind, said
instead, "Aye, 'e's tellin' you the truth. A powerful spellsinger
'e is. Maybe the most powerful ever, though we ain't yet
sure o' that. 'E certainly ain't. See, 'e 'as this bad 'abit o'
tryin' to do one thing and 'e ends up doin' something total
unexpected."
Jon-Tom spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"It's true. I have this ability but I don't seem able to
control it. And now it's caused me to go and inconve-
nience you."
62
Alan Dean Foster
"That's a fine, politic way of putting it, sub. Going to
the Glittergeist, yo said?"
"And across it. We have to get to Snarken."
"Ah've heard of Snahken. It's supposed to be an inter-
esting place, rich in culture." She thought a long moment,
then sighed. "Since yo say y'all can't send me home, ah
guess ah maht as well tag along with y'all. Besides, ah
kind of like the way you have with words, man." Her eyes
glittered and Jon-Tom felt suddenly uncomfortable, though
he wasn't sure why.
"Oh, Vs a fine one with words 'e is, luv," Mudge said
as he reappeared. He was carrying an armful of some
lime-green berries. Jon-Tom took a few, bit into one, and
found the taste sweet. More out of politeness than any
expectation of acceptance, the otter offered some to the
tigress.
"Bleh!" she said as she pulled back. She smiled widely,
displaying an impressive array of cutlery. "Sun, do ah
look like the kind to enjoy weeds?"
"No you don't, luv, but I thought I'd be polite, since
you place such store by it."
She nodded thankfully as she scanned the surrounding
woods. "Come the morning ah'll find mahself something
to eat. This appeahs to be good game country. Theah
should be ample meat about."
Jon-Tom was glad she wasn't looking at him when she
said that. "I'm sure we'll run across something edible."
He turned to the otter. "What about our pursuit, Mudge?"
The otter responded with his ingratiating, amused bark.
"Why, them sorry twits will be all night just tryin' t' get
their stories straight. From wot I saw on our way out, most
of 'em were your typical city guard and likely ain't in
Zancresta's personal service. It'd be that arse'ole Chenelska
who'd be put in charge o' organizin' any kind o' formal
chase. By the time 'e gets the word, gets 'is conflictin'
reports sorted out, and puts together anythin' like a formal
pursuit, we'll be well out o' it."
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
63
"Then you don't think they'll be able to track us
down?"
"I've been seein' to the coverin' o' our tracks ever since
we left that cesspool o' a town, mate. They won't find a
sign o' us."
"What if they do come after us, though? We can't
conceal all of Roseroar's petite footprints."
Mudge assumed a crafty mien. "Aye, that they might,
guv. They'll likely comb a wide front to the south, knowin'
that we're to be headin' for the ol' Tailaroam. They can
run up every tree in the Bellwoods without fmdin' sign o'
us, because we ain't goin' t' go south. We'll fool 'em
inside out by goin' west from 'ere. We're so far north o'
the river we might as well do it anyhows."
Jon-Tom struggled to recall what he'd been taught of the
local geography. "If you go far enough west of here, the
forest disappears and you're into the Muddletup Moors."
"You got it, mate. No one would think t'ave a looksee
for us there."
"Isn't that because no one ever does go in there?"
"That's right. Wot better place o' safety t' flee to?"
Jon-Tom looked doubtful as he sat back against a fallen
trunk. "Mudge, I don't know about your thinking."