undivided attention of several hundred sets of eyes. He
took a deep breath, thankful for the morning runs which
kept him in decent condition. “We’re going to start with
some deep knee-bends. Hands on hips… watch those
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Tarn DAY or THE DISSONANCE
199
wings, that’s it. Ready.” He hesitated. “This would work
better if we had some music.”
Grelgen grunted, turned, and barked a command. There
was a brief delay. Several small figures made their way
through the enchanted mob and took up positions atop the
stone wall. Each carried a delicate instrument. There were
a couple of flutes, a set of drums, and something that
resembled a xylophone which had been in a bad traffic
accident.
“What should we play?” piped one of the minuscule
musicians.
“Something lively.”
“A dance or roundelet?” They discussed the matter
among themselves, then launched into a lively tune with
faintly oriental overtones. Jon-Tom waited until he was
sure of the rhythm, then smiled at his attentive if uncertain
audience.
“Ready? Let’s begin! Imitate me.” He dipped. “Come
on, it’s not hard. One, two, three, and bend; one, two,
three, and bend;… that’s it!”
While Jon-Tom’s companions looked on, several hun-
dred fairy folk struggled to duplicate the human’s move-
ments. Before too long, groans and moans all out of
proportion to the size of the throats they came from filled
the air.
Grelgen was gasping and sweating. Her orange chiffon
gown was soaked. “You’re sure that you’re not actually
trying to murder us?”
“Oh, no.” Jon-Tom was breathing a little hard himself.