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

his head. Jon-Tom blocked it with his staff, and the

ramwood held as the mace’s chain wrapped around it. He

pulled and twisted in one motion, bringing the knobbed

end of the staff down on his assailant’s helmet. The hyena

dropped like a stone. They ran on, Jon-Tom unwrapping

the chain from his staff.

Then they were up against the thick wooden door in the

city wall. Crossbow bolts thudded into the wood or splintered

against the rock as the wall’s garrison struggled to regroup.

Mudge inspected it rapidly. “Locked, damn it, from the

other side!”

“Pahdon me,” said Roseroar. While they covered her

she put her back against the door, dug her feet into the

pavement, and shoved. The door broke with a snap, the

wood holding but not the iron hinges. It fell with a crash.

The trio ran out, pursued by yells and weapons. No one

chose to pursue beyond the city wall in person. The tigress

had demonstrated what she could do at close range, and

Malderpot’s soldiery had taken the lesson to heart. They

held back, waiting for someone higher up to give the

necessary orders, and praying those directions would take

their time arriving.

Before they did, the fugitives were deep within the

concealment offered by the Bellwoods and the night.

Eventually they located a place where several giant trees

had fallen, forming a natural palisade, and settled in

behind the wooden barricade nature had so thoughtfully

provided.

The long run hadn’t troubled Jon-Tom, who was a

good distance runner, nor Mudge, who was blessed with

inexhaustible energy, but Roseroar was tired. They waited