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

incapacitate their jailer. Since he seemed half-asleep al-

ready, Jon-Tom softened his voice as much as possible and

sang the sweetest ballads he could think of, finishing with

"Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel. That par-

ticularly apt selection set the porcupine to snoozing. To

make sure, he added a relaxing rendition of "Scarborough

Fair."

I

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

51

Carefully, he tugged gently on the cord. Two half-witted

eyes popped wide open and the line went taut.

"I told you not to try anything," the porcupine growled.

For an instant Jon-Tom was sure they'd lose the duar

along with their last hope. "I didn't mean anything!" he

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!"

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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

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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