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

He turned to the otter. “What about our pursuit, Mudge?”

The otter responded with his ingratiating, amused bark.

“Why, them sorry twits will be all night just tryin’ t’ get

their stories straight. From wot I saw on our way out, most

of ’em were your typical city guard and likely ain’t in

Zancresta’s personal service. It’d be that arse’ole Chenelska

who’d be put in charge o’ organizin’ any kind o’ formal

chase. By the time ‘e gets the word, gets ‘is conflictin’

reports sorted out, and puts together anythin’ like a formal

pursuit, we’ll be well out o’ it.”

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

63

“Then you don’t think they’ll be able to track us

down?”

“I’ve been seein’ to the coverin’ o’ our tracks ever since

we left that cesspool o’ a town, mate. They won’t find a

sign o’ us.”

“What if they do come after us, though? We can’t

conceal all of Roseroar’s petite footprints.”

Mudge assumed a crafty mien. “Aye, that they might,

guv. They’ll likely comb a wide front to the south, knowin’

that we’re to be headin’ for the ol’ Tailaroam. They can

run up every tree in the Bellwoods without fmdin’ sign o’

us, because we ain’t goin’ t’ go south. We’ll fool ’em

inside out by goin’ west from ‘ere. We’re so far north o’

the river we might as well do it anyhows.”

Jon-Tom struggled to recall what he’d been taught of the

local geography. “If you go far enough west of here, the

forest disappears and you’re into the Muddletup Moors.”

“You got it, mate. No one would think t’ave a looksee

for us there.”

“Isn’t that because no one ever does go in there?”