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

those worthless brigands”—he nodded seaward, to where

the retreating boat had raised sail and was disappearing

toward the horizon—”who stole everything I have man-

aged to accumulate in a short, unworthy life. They kept

me and forced me to do their menial work, to cook and

clean and wash for them while they preyed upon other

unsuspecting travelers.

“They said they would let me go unharmed. Finally

they tired of me, but instead of returning me to a place of

civilization they brought me here to this empty, uninhabited

shore, intending to maroon me in an unknown land where

I might starve. They stole what little I had in this world,

taunted me by leaving my stock bags, and would have

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stolen my life as well at the last moment had you not come

along, for I was refusing to be abandoned.”

“Don’t give us too much credit,” Jon-Tom advised

him. “Our being in a position to rescue you was an

accident.”

“You can say that again, mate,” growled the disgusted

Mudge as he slung his bow back over his shoulder.

Jon-Tom ignored the otter. “We’re glad we could help. I

don’t like seeing anyone taken advantage of, especially

senior citizens.”

“What?”

“Older people.”

“Ah. But how can I thank you, sir? How can I show my

gratitude? I am destitute.”

“Forget it.” The ferret’s effusiveness was making Jon-

Tom uncomfortable. “We’re glad we could help.”

The ferret rose, wincing and putting one hand against

his back. “I am called Jalwar. To whom do I owe my

salvation?”

“I’m Jon-Tom. I’m a spellsinger. Of sorts.”

The ferret nodded gravely. “I knew at once you were