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

found he was whispering, too, though there seemed no

reason for it.

“Feel any wind now, mate?”

Jon-Tom wet a finger, stuck it into the air. “No. Not a

breeze.”

“Then ‘ave a look at your own feet, mate.”

210

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSOJVAJVCE

211

Jon-Tom did so. As he stared he saw sand flowing over

his toes. There was no wind at all, and now the sand was

moving much faster. He drew his feet up as if the pulver-

ized silica might bite him.

“Look all around, lad.”

The sand was crawling westward at an ever more rapid

pace. It seemed to accelerate even as he watched. In

addition to the steady movement there came the first

murmurs of a dry, slithery, rasping sound as grains tumbled

over one another.

The discussion finally woke Roseroar. “What’s goin’ on

heah?”

“I don’t know,” Jon-Tom muttered, eyeing the crawling

ground. “The sand is moving, and much faster now than it

was yesterday. I’m not sure I want to know what’s making

it move.”

“Should we go back?” The tigress was slipping on her

sandals, shaking the grains from the leather.

“We can’t go back.” He pulled on his boots. “If we go

back now, we lose Jalwar, Folly, and likely as not,

Clothahump’s medicine. But I won’t force either of you to

stay with me. Roseroar, are you listening to me?”

She wasn’t. Instead, she was pointing southward. “Ah

think we might get ourselves a second opinion. We have

company, y’all.”

The line of camels the tigress had spotted was slightly

behind them but moving in the same direction. Hastily

gathering their equipment, the trio hurried to intercept the

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Categories: Alan Dean Foster
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