losing patience with this infinitesimal harridan.
“Ah-/ia! So, a casual assassin. The worst kind.” She
put two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp, piercing
whistle. Jon-Tom listened admiringly. The sound was loud
enough to attract an empty cab from two blocks down a
Manhattan street.
What it did attract, from beneath mushrooms and flow-
ers, from behind moss beds and tree roots, was a swarm of
enchanted folk, several hundred of them. A few carried
wands resembling Grelgen’s, but most hefted miniature
bows and arrows, crossbows, and spears. Jon-Tom put a
hand out to restrain Roseroar from picking up her swords,
even though the tigress weighed more than all the enchanted
folk combined.
“Magic,” he whispered warningly.
Roseroar yielded, but not to his admonition. “Magic or
no, the tips of then: weapons are moistened. I suspect
poison. An ungallant way to fight.”
“I guess if you’re four inches tall you have to use every
advantage you can think of.”
Jalwar moved close, whispered to him. “Move carefully
188
Alan Dean Poster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
189
here, spellsinger, or we may vanish in an arrogant conjura-
tion. These folk have a deserved reputation for powerful
magic.”
“That’s how I figure it,” he replied. “Maybe they’re
not all as obnoxious or combative as our friend there.”
“What’s that, what did you say?”
“I said,” he told Grelgen, “that it’s nice of you to
invite us to meet all your friends and relatives.”
“When one of us is threatened, buster, all spring to the
rescue.”
Jon-Tom noted that none of the fairies surrounding them