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

done that, Mudge.”

“Cor, it ain’t no fun fightin’ on an empty stomach,

mate.” He leaned forward; his black nose twitched as he

sampled the air. “If they try chargin’ us, I can pick ’em off

easy. Our ‘omy friend’s right. This is a damn good place.”

Rosewar was eyeing the wall carvings uneasily. “This is

a very old place. I smell ancient feahs.” She had drawn

bom longs words.

There was a thump as Drom settled down to wait. “I

smell only clean grass and water.”

Threatening shouts began to emanate from the trees.

Mudge responded with some choice comments about

Hathcar’s mother, whom he had never met but whom

thousands of others undoubtedly had. This inspired a rain

of arrows which splintered harmlessly against the thick

stone walls. One flew through Jon-Tom’s window to stick

in the earth behind him.

“Here they come!” he warned his companions.

There was nothing subtle about the bandits’ strategy.

While archers tried to pin down the defenders, an assort-

ment of raccoons, foxes, and cats rushed at the entrance,

carrying a big log between them. But Roseroar braced her

massive shoulders against the boulder from behind and

kept it from being pushed inward, while Mudge put arrows

in the log wielders as fast as they could be replaced.

“Another bugger down!” the otter would yell each time

an arrow struck home.

This continued for several minutes while Mudge re-

duced the number of Hathcar’s band and Roseroar kept the

boulder from moving so much as an inch inward. No

martyrs to futility, those hefting the battering ram finally