Spellsinger 03 – The Day of the Dissonance by Foster, Alan Dean

nice duar. You a musician, bright boy?”

“‘e’s a spellsinger, and a right powerful one, too,”

Mudge informed her. “Come all the way from across the

Glittergeist to fetch back medicine for a sick sorcerer.”

“He’s a right powerful fool,” she snapped. She sat

down heavily on the log, her legs spread wide in a most

casual and unladylike manner. Jon-Tom estimated her to

be about four inches high and almost as wide.

“I’m called Jon-Tom.” He introduced his companions.

An uneasy silence ensued and he finally asked, “What’s

your name?”

“None of your business.”

“Come on,” he said coaxingly. “Whether you help us

186

Alan Dean Foster

or not is up to you, but can’t we at least be polite to one

another?”

“What’s this? A polite human? That doesn’t make any

sense, bald-body.” She shrugged. “What the hell. My

name’s Grelgen. Want to make something of it?”

“Uh, no.” Jon-Tom decided he was going to have to

tread very carefully with this pint-size package of enchanted

belligerence.

“Smart answer. You got anything to eat?”

Jalwar started to rummage through his pack. “I think

we have some snake jerky, and there are a few hard rolls.”

“Ptui!” She spat to her right. “I mean real food. Fruit

tarts, cream cups, nectar custard, whipped honey rolls.”

Jon-Tom said carefully, “I think I am beginning to see

what your problem is.”

“Oh, you are, are you, fungus-foot? You think every-

thing’s cut and dried, don’t you? It’s all so obvious to

you.” She was pacing now, back and forth atop the log,

waving her tiny hands to punctuate her words.

“Say, you can’t fly, can you?”