force of it knocked Zancresta backward to the floor.
It gave Jon-Tom a moment to check on his companions.
They were unhurt, but there was plenty of blood on the
floor of the aisle. It all came from the same source, and
was sticky with green and blue feathers. A beaked skull
lay sightless in one place, a leg elsewhere, a pair of wings
on a half-empty shelf. More blood stained Roseroar’s
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
269
muzzle and claws. Her swords were still sheathed and
clean. She hadn’t needed to use them, having dismembered
Corroboc as neatly as Jon-Tom would have a fried chicken.
Mudge stepped forward to fire a single arrow at Zancresta.
The sorcerer raised a hand, uttered one contemptuous
word. The arrow turned rotten before it crumpled against
the ferret’s hip. Meanwhile Jon-Tom wondered and wor-
ried about Folly. If only Drom had time enough to reach
her before …!
Sensing his opponent’s lapse of concentration, Zancresta
waved a hand over his head and declaimed stentoriously. A
small black cloud appeared in the air between them.
Thunder rolled ominously.
Jon-Tom barely had the presence of mind to shout the
right words from Procol Harum’s “In Held I Was” and
hold up the duar in front of him in time to intercept the
single bolt of lightning that emerged from the cloud. The
instrument absorbed the bolt, though the impact sent him
stumbling. The cloud disintegrated.
Now, for the first time, there was a hint of fear in
Zancresta’s eyes. Fear, but not surrender. Not yet. He
stood staring at his opponent, making no effort to draw his