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

shore, intending to maroon me in an unknown land where

I might starve. They stole what little I had in this world,

taunted me by leaving my stock bags, and would have

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stolen my life as well at the last moment had you not come

along, for I was refusing to be abandoned."

"Don't give us too much credit," Jon-Tom advised

him. "Our being in a position to rescue you was an

accident."

"You can say that again, mate," growled the disgusted

Mudge as he slung his bow back over his shoulder.

Jon-Tom ignored the otter. "We're glad we could help. I

don't like seeing anyone taken advantage of, especially

senior citizens."

"What?"

"Older people."

"Ah. But how can I thank you, sir? How can I show my

gratitude? I am destitute."

"Forget it." The ferret's effusiveness was making Jon-

Tom uncomfortable. "We're glad we could help."

The ferret rose, wincing and putting one hand against

his back. "I am called Jalwar. To whom do I owe my

salvation?"

"I'm Jon-Tom. I'm a spellsinger. Of sorts."

The ferret nodded gravely. "I knew at once you were

mighty ones."

Jon-Tom indicated the disgruntled Mudge. "That ball of

fuzzy discontent is my friend Mudge." The otter grunted

once. "And this tower of cautionless strength is Roseroar."

"I am honored to be in your presence," said the ferret

humbly, proceeding to prostrate himself on the beach and

grasping Jon-Tom's boots. "I have nothing left. My stock

is gone, my money, everything save the clothes I wear. I

owe you my life. Take me into your service and let me

serve you."

"Now, wait a minute." Jon-Tom moved his boots out of

the ferret's paws. "I don't believe in slavery."

" 'Ere now, mate, let's not be 'asty." Mudge was quick

to intervene. "Consider the poor suck—uh, this poor

unfortunate chap. 'E's got nothin', 'e 'asn't. 'E'll need

protection, or the next bunch 'e runs into will kill Mm for

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85

sure, just for 'is clothes." He eyed the ferret hopefully.

"Wot about it, guv? Can you cook?"

"I have some small talent in the kitchen, good sir."

"Mudge..." Jon-Tom said warningly. The otter ig-

nored him.

"You said you washed clothes."

"That I did, good sir. I have the ability to make even

ancient attire smell sweet as clover again, with the slightest

of cleansing materials. I am also handy at repairing gar-

ments. Despite my age, I am not a weakling. I can more

than carry my weight."

Mudge strutted about importantly. " 'Ere then, friend, I

think we should take pity on you and admit you to our

company, wot"?"

"Mudge, you know how I feel about servants."

"It wouldn't be like that at all, Jon-Tom. 'E does need

our protection, and 'e'll never get out o' this place without

our 'elp, and 'e's more than willin' to contribute 'is

share."

The ferret nodded enthusiastically. "Please accept my

service, good sir... and madame. Allow me to accompany

you. Perhaps being proximate to such mighty ones as your-

selves will improve my own ill fortune."

"I'll bet you were a good trader," Jon-Tom commented.

"Okay, you can come with us, but as an equal. Not as a

servant or slave. We'll pay you a decent wage." He

remembered the purse filled with gold, stolen by Zancresta's

thugs. "As soon as we can afford it, that is."

"Food and shelter and protection is all I ask, great sir."

"And stop calling me sir," said Jon-Tom. "I've intro-

duced you to everyone by name."

"As you wish, Jon-Tom." The ferret turned to look

down the beach. "What do we now? I presume you are

bound to the east, for if one walks long enough one will

come 'round again to the lands bordering the Bellwoods

and the River Tailaroam, where civilization is to be

encountered."

"Don't I wish," Mudge grumbled.

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Alan Dean Poster

Jon-Tom shook his head. "We don't go to the east,

Jalwar. We go southwest, to Snarken."

' 'Across the Glittergeist? Sir... Jon-Tom... I have lived

long and seen much. The voyage to Snarken is long and

fraught with danger and difficulty. Better to begin the long

trek to the mouth of the Tailaroam. Besides, how could

one take ship from this deserted land? And north of here

lie the Muddletup Moors, where none may penetrate."

"We penetrated," said Mudge importantly.

"Did you? If you say it so, I doubt it not. Still, this far

north places us well away from the east-west trade routes.

We will encounter no vessels here."

"You won't get any arguments from me on that score,

mate," said Mudge. "Best to do as you say, go back to the

Bellwoods and the Tailaroam and start over. Likely

Chenelska's give up on us by now."

"No," said Jon-Tom firmly. "I am not going back and I

am not starting over. We've come too far."

Mudge squinted up at him. "Well now, you've just

'eard this wise old chap. 'Ow do you propose to get us

across that?" He pointed to the broad, sailless expanse of

the Glittergeist. "I like to swim, lad, but I prefer swimmin'

across water I can cross."

"What can yo do, Jon-Tom?" Roseroar asked him.

He stood fuming silently for a moment before blurting

out, "I can damn well conjure us up a boat, that's what!"

"Uh-oh." Mudge retreated toward the trees, searching

for a boulder of appropriate size to conceal himself behind.

" 'Is nibs is pissed off and 'e's goin' to try spellsingin'

again."

Roseroar eyed the otter curiously. "Isn't that his busi-

ness, fuzzball?"

"That may be wot some calls it. Me, I'd as soon brush

a crocodile's teeth than 'elp 'im with 'is work."

"Ah don't understand. Is he a spellsinger or not?"

" 'E is," Mudge admitted. "Of that there's no longer

any doubt. 'Tis just that 'e 'as this disconcertin' tendency

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87

to misfire from time to time, and when it 'appens, I don't

want to be in the line o' fire."

"Go on, Roseroar," Jon-Tom told her. "Get back there

and hide behind a rock with him." He was mad at the

otter. Hadn't he, Jon-Tom, helped to bring about the great

victory at the Jo-Troom Gate? Purely by accident of

course, but still...

"No sun," said the tigress, offended. "If n y'all don't

mind, I'll stand right heah."

"Good for you." Jon-Tom unlimbered his duar, turned

away to confront the open sea, where soon he hoped to see

a proper ship riding empty at anchor. Turning also kept

Roseroar from seeing how nervous he was.

Once before on a far-distant river he'd tried to bring

forth a boat to carry himself and his companions. Instead,

he'd ended up with Falameezar, the Marxist dragon. That

misplaced conjuration had produced unexpectedly benign

results, but there was no guarantee he'd be as fortunate if he

fouled up a second time.

It was too late to back down now. He'd already made his

boast. He felt Roseroar's gaze on the back of his neck. If

he backed down now he'd prove himself an incompetent to

Mudge and a coward to the tigress. He had to try.

He considered several songs and discarded them all as

unsuitable. He was beginning to grow frantic when a song

so obvious, so simple, offered what seemed like an obvi-

ous way out,

His fingers tested the duar's strings and he began to

sing.

Flecks of light sprang to instant life around him. It was

as though the sand underfoot had come to glowing life.

The lights were Gneechees, those minute ultrafast specks