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

column of dromedaries. As they ran the sun began to rise,

bringing with it welcome light and unwelcome heat. And

all around them, the sand continued to crawl inexorably

westward.

Mounted on the backs of the camels was an irregular

assortment of robed rodents—pack rats, kangaroo rats,

field mice, and other desert dwellers of related species.

They looked to Jon-Tom like a bunch of midget bewhis-

kered bedouins. He loped alongside the lead camel, tried

to bow slightly, and nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” The pack rat

did not reply. The camel did.

“We go to Redrock, Everyone goes now to Redrock,

man. Everyone who lives in the desert.” The camel’s

manner was imperious and wholly typical of his kind. He

spat a glob of foul-smelling sputum to his left, making

Jon-Tom dodge.

“Who are you people?” inquired the pack rat in the

front. There was room on the camel’s back for several.

“Strangers in this land.”

“That is obvious enough,” commented the camel.

“Why is everyone going to Redrock?” Jon-Tom asked.

The camel glanced back up at its lead rider and shook its

head sadly. The rat spoke. “You really don’t know?”

“If we did, would we be askin’ you, mate?” said

Mudge.

The rat gestured with both paws, spreading his arms

wide. “It is the Conjunction. The time when the threads of

magic that bind together this land reach their apogee. The

time of the time inversion.”

“What does that mean?”

The rat shrugged. “Do not ask me to explain it. I am no

magician. This I do know. If you do not reach the safety of