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

sky. Only when the moon was well past its zenith and had

begun to set again did the volume decrease and finally

peter out.

Then the geyser fell silent. The chatter of the refugees

and the cityfolk filled the air, replacing the roar of the

tower. A glance revealed that the bottomless moat was

empty once again.

Beyond the wall, beyond the moat, the Timeful Desert

once more was as it had been. All was still. The absence

of life there despite the presence of water was now explained.

“Great magic,” said Roseroar solemnly.

“Lethal magic.” Mudge twitched his nose. “If we’d

been a few minutes longer we’d be out there somewhere

with our ‘earts stopped and our guts full o’ sand.”

Jon-Tom stopped a passing fox. “Is it over? What

happens now?”

“What happens now, man,” said the fox, “is that we

sleep, and we celebrate the end of another Conjunction.

Tomorrow we return to our homes.” She pushed past him

and started down the stairs.

Jon-Tom resorted to questioning one of the guards. The

muskrat was barely four feet tall and wore his fur cut

fashionably short.

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

219

“Please, we’re strangers here.” He nodded toward the

desert. “Does this happen every year?”

“Twice a year,” the guard informed him, bored. “A

grand sight the first time, I suppose.”

“What’s it for? Why does it happen?”

The muskrat scratched under his chin. “It is said that

these are the sands of time. All time. When they have run

their course, they must be turned to run again. Who turns

them, or why, no one knows. Gods, spirits, some great