Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

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'is reputation by it." He turned to Jon-Tom. "This 'ere

Zancresta chap's the 'ead wizard not only for the town of

Malderpot but for much of the northern part o' the Bellwoods.

See, each town or village 'as its own wizard or sorcerer or

witch, and each o' them claims to be better than 'is

neighbor at the arts o' magickin'."

"Zancresta is the best," said the coati. "He is the

master."

"I ain't goin' to argue the point with you," said Mudge.

"I 'ave no interest whatsoever in wizardry debates and

functions, for all that I seem to be gettin' repeatedly

screwed by 'em.

"Now, if it's the spellsinger 'ere you're come after, take

'im and let me go. I'm only a poor traveler tryin' 'is best

to make it down the windy road o' life, and I've 'ad a 'ard

enough time makin* ends meet as it is without gettin'

caught up again in the world's troubles."

"It may be true," said the coati, eyeing him unflatteringly.

"But I have my orders. They say I am to bring back the

spellsinger known as Jon-Tom and any who travel with

him. You will have the chance to plead your case before

the master. Perhaps he will let you go."

"And if *e don't?"

The coati shrugged. "That's not my affair."

"Easy for you to say," Mudge grumbled.

Spears prodded Jon-Tom and Mudge into the back of the

wagon, where they sat with their hands tied behind their

backs. A couple of the coati's henchmen took over the

reins. The little procession swung back northward, slightly

west of Timswitty but also in the opposite direction from

Lynchbany and the River Tailaroam.

"This Zancresta 'as a bad reputation, mate," Mudge

whispered to his companion. "Mind now, I'm not denyin'

'is abilities. From wot I've 'eard 'e ain't bad at sorcerin',

but 'e's unscrupulous as 'ell. Cheats on 'is spells and

short-changes 'is incantations, but 'e's too powerful for

anyone to go up against. I've 'ad no dealin's with 'im

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THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

41

tneself, and I stay clear o' folk from Malderpot. As I said,

they ain't much for partyinV

"From what you tell me about their chief wizard, I can

see why they aren't."

"Right." Mudge nodded past the drivers. "Now, 'tis

clear this 'ere ringtail knows nothin' o' wot 'is master

wants with us. That may be somethin' we can turn to our

advantage. So somehow we 'ave to get clear o' this

charmin' bunch o' throat-slitters before we're brought up

before Zancresta himself. If that 'appens, I 'ave this funny

feelin' that we'll never see the shores o' the Glittergeist or

any other calm water."

"Don't underestimate this one." Jon-Tom indicated the

coati, who strolled along in the lead, talking with a couple

of his band. "He seems more than the usual hired thug."

"Fancy clothes can't hide one's origin," said Mudge.

"No harm in trying." He raised his voice. "Hey, you,

leader!"

"Shut up," snapped the muskrat from the driver's

bench. He showed a short sword. "Or you will eat your

own tongues for breakfast and can see how your words

taste then."

"I just want a word with your chief. Surely one as

illustrious as he can spare a prisoner a few minutes of his

time."

Evidently the coati's ears were as sensitive as his nose,

because he slowed his pace until he was walking alongside

the wagon.

"I bear you no hatred, spellsinger. What do you wish to

talk about? By the way, my name is Chenelska."

"Don't you have any idea what your master wants with

us? What use has so great and powerful a wizard for a

mere spellsinger like me?"

Chenelska considered a moment, then glanced past Jon-

Tom to Mudge. "Tell me, water rat, is this tall human as

ignorant as he appears or is he making fun of me?"

"No." Mudge spoke with sufficient conviction to per-

suade the coati that he was telling the truth. " 'E's as

dumb as he looks."

"Thanks, Mudge. Nice to know I can rely on your good

opinion."

"Don't mention it, mate."

"Can it be," said the dumbfounded Chenelska, "that

you have never heard of the rivalry between our master

and the one that you serve?"

"The one I serve? You mean Clothahump? I don't serve

him. I'm not an apprentice or anything like that. He has

another who serves him. We're just friends."

"Indeed. Good enough friends that you undertake a

long, dangerous mission on his behalf when he lies too ill

to travel himself. A mission to cross the Glittergeist in

search of a rare and precious medicine he requires to cure

himself."

"How the hell do you know that?" Jon-Tom said

angrily.

The coati grinned and laughed, a single sharp barking.

"It seems that this Clothahump does have another who

serves him. A true famulus. A fine, intelligent, hard-

working apprentice who serves faithfully and well. Except

when he's been treated to a few stiff sips of good belly-

warmer."

"Sorbl! That stupid big-eyed sot!"

The coati nodded, still grinning. "Not that we had to

work hard at it, you understand. The poor little fellow

merely wanted companionship, and other servants of my

master provided it, whereupon the turtle's servant grew

extremely talkative."

"I'll bet he did," Jon-Tom mumbled disconsolately.

"It has always been a matter of great contention in this

part of the world," the coati explained, "as to who the

greater wizard is. Clothahump of the tree or my master

Zancresta. It didn't bother my master when opinion was

divided and drifted back and forth. But it has lately

become apparent that outside the immediate environs of

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THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

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Malderpot, the consensus is that your Clothahump is the

greater." He moved closer to the wagon and lowered his

voice so that his band could not overhear.

"It's true that saving the whole world is a tough act to

follow. When word came of the victory over the Piated

Folk at the Jo-Troom Gate, and the part your master

Clothahump played in it, there was very little my master

couid do to counteract the great shift in public opinion,

and he has been in a murderous mood ever since."

' 'As if Clothahump saved all the warmlands just to spite

him," Jon-Tom said disgustedly.

"Be that as it may, wizards can be very touchy about

such things. Zancresta dwells on evil spells and prepares

toxic presents and calls down all who cross him. He has

been dangerous to approach ever since this happened. The

only way for him to regain his self-respect and cancel his

shame is to do something to make himself again be

considered the equal of the turtie of the tree. Yet he sees

no way to do this. This Clothahump refuses all challenges

and duels."

"Clothahump," Jon-Tom explained politely, "doesn't

think much of games."

"Word travels that he does not because he is getting

senile.''

Jon-Tom didn't reply. There was nothing to be gained by

arguing with Chenelska and angering him.

"Therefore, my master is badly frustrated, since there is

no way he can prove that he is truly the most skilled in the

wizardly arts.

"Word arrived recently about this severe sickness

Clothahump is suffering from and that he cannot cure with

his own magic, that he needs medicine obtainable only

from a land beyond Snarken. My master was delighted by

it."

"When we get out of this," Jon-Tom whispered to