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

This continued for several minutes while Mudge re-

duced the number of Hathcar's band and Roseroar kept the

boulder from moving so much as an inch inward. No

martyrs to futility, those hefting the battering ram finally

gave up and fled for the safety of the woods with the

otter's deadly shafts urging them on.

No one had approached Jon-Tom's window during the

fight. Mudge and Roseroar had done all the work and he

felt pretty useless.

"What now? I don't think they'll try that again."

"No, but they'll bloody well try somethin' else,"

murmured the otter. "Say, mate, why don't you 'ave a go

at 'em with your duar?"

Jon-Tom blinked. "I hadn't thought of that. Well, I had,

but it's hard to think and sing when you're running."

"Why make music? To aggravate them?" asked Drom

interestedly.

"Nope. 'E's a spellsinger, 'e is," said Mudge, "and a

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right good one, too. When 'e can control it," he added by

way of afterthought.

"A spellsinger. I am impressed," said the unicorn.

Jon-Tom felt a little better, though he wished the golden

stallion would quit staring at him so intensely.

"What do you think they'll try next?" Jon-Tom asked

the otter.

Mudge eyed the trees. "This bunch bein' about as

imaginative as a pile o' cow flop, I'd expect them to try

smokin' us out. If four legs there is right about the cracks

in the roof lettin' air in, they'll be wastin' their time."

"Are yo certain theah's no back way in?"

"None that I was ever able to discover," Drom told the

tigress.

"Not that you'd fit places where some o1 the rest of us

might," observed Mudge thoughtfully. He handed his bow

and quiver to Jon-Tom. "I'd better check out the nooks

and crannies, mate. We don't want some nasty surprises to

show up and stick us in the behind when we ain't lookin'."

He headed for the crumbling back wall.

Jon-Tom eyed the bow uncertainly. "Mudge, I'm not

good at this."

"Just give a shout if they come at us again. It ain't 'ard,

mate. Just shove an arrow through the window there. They

don't know you can't shoot." He bent, crawled under a

lopsided stone and disappeared.

Jon-Tom awkwardly notched an arrow, rested it on the

window sill as Roseroar took up a position behind the one

the otter had vacated.

"Ah don't understand," she murmured, squinting at the

forest. "We all ain't worth the trouble we're causin' this

Hathcar. That ottah brought down five or six o' them. If ah

was this fella ah'd give up and go in search of less deadly

prey."

"That would be the reasonable thing to do," said

Drom, nodding, "except that as chief he has lost face

already before his band. He will not give up, though if he

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suffers many more losses his own fighters may force him

to quit." The unicorn climbed to his feet and strolled over

to Roseroar's window. She made room for him.

"Hathcar!" he shouted.

A reluctant voice finally replied. "Who calls? Is that

you, meddler with a spike in his brain?"

"It is I." Drom was unperturbed by the bandit leader's

tone. "Listen to me! These travelers are poor. They have

no money."

Cuscus laughter rang through the trees. "You expect me

to believe that?"

"It's true. In any case, you cannot defeat them."

"Don't bet on that."

"You cannot break in here."

"Maybe not, but we'll force you out. It may take time,

but we'll do it."

"If you do, then I will only lead them to another place

of safety, one even harder to assault than this one. I know

these woods, and you know I speak the truth. So why not

depart now before suffering any more senseless losses? It's

a stupid leader who sacrifices his people for no gain."

Muttering came from different places in the trees, proof

that Drom's last words had hit home. Hathcar hastened to

respond.

"No matter if you lead them elsewhere. We'll track you

down no matter where you go."

"Perhaps you will. Or perhaps you'll find yourselves

led into a trap. We of the forest have ways of defending

ourselves against you lovers of civilization. There are

hidden pits and tree-mounted weapons scattered through-

out my territory. Follow me and find them at your peril."

This time the woods were silent. Drom nodded to

himself. "Good. They're thinking it over, probably argu-

ing about it. If they come to their senses, we may be able

to get out of here without any more violence."

Jon-Tom peered through the narrow slit in the stone.

"You think they'll really react that sensibly?"

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"I don't know, but he knows I'm talking truth," said the

unicorn softly. "I know this section of forest better than he

does, and he knows that I know that."

"But how could we slip out of here and get past them?"

Drom chuckled. "1 did fudge on that one a bit. Yet for

all he knows there are a dozen secret passages out of

here."

"If there are, they're bloody well still secret." Mudge

emerged from the crawlspace he'd entered and wiped

limestone dust from his shirt and whiskers. "Tight as a

teenage whore. Nothin' bigger than a snake could get out

the back way. We're safe enough here, all right." Jon-Tom

gladly handed back the otter's bow and found himself a

soft place on the floor.

' Then I guess we wait until they attack again or give up

and leave us alone. I suppose we ought to stand watch

tonight."

"Allow me, suh," said Roseroar. "Ah'm as comfortable

with the night as ah am with the day."

"While we wait to see what they'll do," said Drom,

"perhaps now you'll tell me what you people are doing in

this country, so far from civilization."

Jon-Tom sighed. "It's a long story," he told the uni-

corn, and proceeded to relate it yet again. As he spoke, the

sun set and the trees blended into a shadowy curtain

outside. An occasional arrow plunked against the stone,

more for nuisance value than out of any hope of hitting

any of the defenders inside.

Hathcar had indeed lost too many in the futile attack to

try it again. He knew that if he continued to fling his

followers uselessly against an impregnable position they

would melt quietly away into the woods. That night he

moved away from the main campfire and sought counsel

from an elderly rat and wolf, the two wisest of his band.

"So how do we pry those stinking bastards out of

there?"

The rat's hair was tinged with white and his face and

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235

arms were scarred. He picked at the dirt with one hand.

"Why bother? Why not let them rot in there if they so

desire? There are easier pickin's elsewhere."

Hathcar leaned toward him, glaring in the moonlight.

"Do you know what happened today? Do you? They made

a fool of me. Me, Hathcar! Nobody makes a fool of

Hathcar and walks away to boast of it, nobody! Not on

their own legs, they don't."

"It was just a thought," the rat mumbled. "It had to be

said."

"Right. It's been said. It's also been forgotten." The rat

said nothing.

"How about smoking them out?" suggested the wolf.

The cuscus let out a derisive snort. "Don't you think

they've already thought of that? If they haven't tried to

break out, it means they aren't worried about smoke; and

if they aren't worried about it, it probably means it won't

work if we try it."