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

belly, moaning. Strange marks showed on its narrow backside.

“Faset,” Hathcar hissed, “what happened?” The mon-

goose rolled to look at him, yelped when its bruised pelvis

made contact with the ground.

“I happened.” Everyone turned toward the voice.

The unicorn strolled casually into the clearing. It was

gold. Not the light gold of a palomino but a pure metallic

gold like the color of a coin or ring, except for white

patches on its forehead and haunches. It might have risen

from a vat of liquid gold except that Jon-Tom could clearly

see that the color was true, down to the shortest hair.

In its mouth it carried a small crossbow. This it dropped

at Jon-Tom’s feet. Then it nodded meaningfully toward the

still groaning mongoose. Jon-Tom now recognized the

marks on the mongoose’s pants. They were hoofprints.

Hathcar was beside himself as he glared furiously at the

unicorn. “Who the hell are you, four-foot? And who

asked you to interfere? This is none of your business.”

The unicorn gazed at him out of lapis eyes, said coolly,

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Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

227

“1 am making it my business.” He smiled at Jon-Tom.

“My name’s Drom. I was grazing back in the woods when

I heard the talk. Ordinarily I would have ignored it, as I

ignored your presence.” He nodded toward the mongoose,

who was trying to crawl back to its comrades while

avoiding Hathcar.

“However, I happened to chance upon this ebon worm

as he was aiming his little toy at your back.” Drom raised

a hoof, brought it down on the crossbow. There was a