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

remains of the crossbow.

"I don't understand," Jon-Tom murmured. "We offered

them all the food they could eat."

"It wasn't just your food they were after." Drom kicked

the crossbow fragments aside. "I know that bunch by

reputation. They were after your weapons and armor, your

Fine clothes and your money."

Mudge let out a barking laugh. "Our money! Now

mat's amusin'. We haven't a copper to our names," he

lied.

"Ah, but they thought you did." The unicorn nodded

toward the forest. "Small comfort that would have been to

you if they had learned that afterwards."

"You're right there."

Roseroar was turning a slow circle, keeping the roasting

carcass at her back as much as possible. "They're still out

theah. Probably they think we can't heah them, but ah

can." She growled deep in her throat, a blood chilling

sound. "Our friend here is right. They're trying to get

behind us."

"And to surprise you. Hathcar did not show his full

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THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

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strength. Many more of his band remained concealed while

he spoke to you."

Jon-Tom eyed the silent trees in alarm. "How many

more?' *

"A large number, though, of course, I am only guessing

based on what I could observe during my approach."

"We appreciate your help. You might as well take off

now. Our problems aren't yours."

"They are now," the unicorn to!d him. "These are

indifferent murderers, full of false pride. I have embarrassed

their leader in front of his band. Now he must kill me or

lose face and possibly his status as leader."

Roseroar strode toward the back of the clearing. "Move

in heah, where theah's some covah."

The unicorn shook his head, the mane of gold rippling

in the filtered tight. "It will not be good enough, tigress. I

can see that you are powerful as well as well-versed in

war, but there are too many of them, and you will be

fighting in very close quarters. If they come at you from

all directions simultaneously you won't have a chance.

You require a more defensible position."

"You know of one?" Jon-Tom asked him.

"It is not far from here. I think if we can get there we

will be able to stand them off."

"Then let's get the hell out of here," he muttered as he

shouldered his pack.

Mudge held back, torn between common sense and the

effort he'd put into their supper. Roseroar saw his hesitation.

"A full belly's small consolation to someone with his

guts hangin' out. Ah declah, short-whiskahs, sometimes

ah wondah about yo priorities."

"Sometimes I wonder meself, lass." He looked longingly

back at the lost roast as they hurried through the woods,

following the stallion's lead.

Drom maintained a steady but slow pace to enable his

newfound friends to keep up with him. Everyone watched

the surrounding woods. But it was Roseroar's ears they

relied on most.

"Stayin' carefully upwind of us, but I can heah them

movin' faster. They're still behind us, though. Must think

we're still in the camp."

"Wait a minute!" Jon-Tom called a halt. "Where's

Mudge?"

Roseroar cursed under her breath. "Damn that ottah! Ah

knew ah should've kept a closer watch on him. He's gone

back fo some of that meat. Yoah friend is a creature of base

instincts."

"Yes, but he's not stupid. Here he comes."

Mudge appeared, laboring beneath a section of roast

nearly as big as himself. "Sorry, mates. I worked all day

on this bloody banquet, and I'm damned if I was goin' to

leave it all for those bastards."

"You're damned anyway," snapped Jon-Tom. "How

are you going to keep up, hauling that on your back?"

The otter swung the heavy, pungent load off his shoulders.

"Roseroar?"

"Not me, ottah. Yo stew in yoah own stew."

"We're wasting time," said Drom. "Here." He dipped

his head forward. "Hold it still."

A quick jab and the roast was impaled on the spiral

horn. "Now let's be away from here before they discover

ourflight." He turned and resumed his walk. "Disgusting."

"What is?" Jon-Tom asked as he jogged alongside.

"The smell of cooked flesh, the odiferous thought of

consuming the body of another living creature, the miasma

of carbonized protein, what else?"

Suddenly Jon-Tom wasn't so hungry anymore.

Creepers and vines strangled the entrance to the ancient

structure. Roseroar was reluctant to enter. The strangely

slitted windows and triangular doorways bespoke a time

and people who had ruled the world long before the

warmblooded.

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231

"Sulolk used this place," murmured Drom as he trotted

inside.

Distant shouts of outrage came from behind them,

deciding the tigress. She bent beneath the low portal and

squeezed in.

The single chamber beyond had a vaulted ceiling that

enabled her to stand easily. There was more than enough

room for all of them. Mudge was admiring the narrow

windows, fashioned by a forgotten people for reasons of

unknown aesthetics but admirably suited to the refugees'

present needs. He notched an arrow into his bow and

settled himself behind one thin gap.

Jon-Tom took up a stance to the left of the opening,

ready to use his steel-tipped staff on anyone who tried to

enter. A moment later he was able to move to a second

window as Roseroar jammed a massive stone weighing at

least three hundred pounds into the doorway, blocking it

completely.

"This is a good place to fight from." Drom used a hoof

to shove the cooling roast from his horn onto clean rock.

"A small spring flows from the floor of a back room.

Cracks in the ceiling allow fresh air to circulate. I have

often slept here in safety." He indicated the damp grass

growing from the floor. "There is food as well."

"For you," admitted Jon-Tom, watching the woods for

signs of their pursuers. "Well, we have what's in our

packs and the roast we saved." He glanced to his right,

toward the other guarded window. "You shouldn't have

done that, Mudge."

"Cor, it ain't no fun fightin' on an empty stomach,

mate." He leaned forward; his black nose twitched as he

sampled the air. "If they try chargin' us, I can pick 'em off

easy. Our 'omy friend's right. This is a damn good place."

Rosewar was eyeing the wall carvings uneasily. "This is

a very old place. I smell ancient feahs." She had drawn

bom longs words.

There was a thump as Drom settled down to wait. "I

smell only clean grass and water."

Threatening shouts began to emanate from the trees.

Mudge responded with some choice comments about

Hathcar's mother, whom he had never met but whom

thousands of others undoubtedly had. This inspired a rain

of arrows which splintered harmlessly against the thick

stone walls. One flew through Jon-Tom's window to stick

in the earth behind him.

"Here they come!" he warned his companions.

There was nothing subtle about the bandits' strategy.

While archers tried to pin down the defenders, an assort-

ment of raccoons, foxes, and cats rushed at the entrance,

carrying a big log between them. But Roseroar braced her

massive shoulders against the boulder from behind and

kept it from being pushed inward, while Mudge put arrows

in the log wielders as fast as they could be replaced.

"Another bugger down!" the otter would yell each time

an arrow struck home.