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carcass and setting the steaks to cook over a blaze of thin, white-barked
logs.
 Smells mighty good," commented a strange voice.
Roseroar rose to a sitting position. Mudge peered around
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
the cookfire while Jon-Tom put aside the duar he'd been
strumming.
Standing at the edge of their little clearing in the trees was a
five-foot-tall cuscus, a bland expression on his pale face. He was dressed in
overlapping leather strips and braids, snakeskin boots of azure hue, and short
brown pants. A single throwing knife was slung on each hip, and he was
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scratching himself under the chin with his furless, prehensile tail. As he
scratched he leaned on the short staff he carried. Jon-Tom wondered if, like
his own, the visitor's also concealed a short, deadly length of steel in the
unknobbed end. The visitor's fur was pale beige mottled with brown.
He was also extraordinarily ugly, a characteristic of the species,
though perhaps a female cuscus might have thought otherwise of the newcomer.
He made no threatening gestures and waited patiently.
 Come on in and have a seat." Jon-Tom extended the invitation only
after Roseroar had climbed to her feet and Mudge had moved close to his bow.
 That is right kind of you, sir. I am Hathcar." Jon-Tom performed
introductions all around.
Roseroar was sniffing the air, glanced accusingly down at the
visitor. "You are not alone."
 No, large she, I am not. Did I forget to mention it? I am sorry
and will now remedy my absentmindedness." He put his lips together and emitted
a sharp, high-pitched whistle.
With much rustling of bushes a substantial number of creatures
stepped out into clear view, forming a line behind the cuscus. They were an
odd assortment, from the more familiar rats and mice to bandicoots and
phalangers. There was even a nocturnal aye-aye, who wore large, dark
sunglasses and carried a short, sickle-shaped weapon.
Their clothes were on the ragged side, and their boots and sandals
showed signs of much usage. Altogether not a prosperous-looking bunch, Jon-Tom
decided. The presence
of so many weapons was not reassuring. These were not kindly
villagers out for a daily stroll.
Still, if all they wanted was something to eat....
 You're welcome to join us," he told Hathcar. "There's plenty for
all."
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Hathcar looked past him, to where Mudge was laboring with the
cooking. His tongue licked black lips.
 You are kind. Those of us who prefer meat haven't made such a
grand catch in many a day." He smiled as best he could.
Jon-Tom gestured toward Roseroar. "Yes, she's quite the huntress."
 She sizes the part. Still, there is but one of her and many of
us. How is it that she has been so successful and we have not?"
 Skill is more important than numbers." One huge paw caressed the
hilt of a long sword.
Hathcar did not seem impressed. "Sometimes that can be so, unless
you are a hundred against one lizard."
 Sometimes," she agreed coolly, "but not always."
The cuscus changed the subject. ' 'What seek you strangers in this
remote land?"
 We're on a mission of importance for a great and powerful
wizard," Jon-Tom told him, "We go to the village of Crancularn."
 Crancularn." Hathcar looked back at his colleagues, who were
hard-pressed to restrain their amusement. "That's a fool's errand."
Jon-Tom casually let his fingers stray to his staff. He'd had just
about enough of this questioning, enigmatic visitor. Either they wanted
something to eat or they didn't, and double-talk wasn't on the menu.
 Maybe you think we look like fools," Hathcar said. All hints of
laughter fled from the gang standing behind him. Jon-Tom didn't reply, waited
for what might come.
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The cuscus's smile returned, and he moved toward the fire. "Well,
you have offered us a meal. That's a wise
decision. Certainly not one to be made by fools." He pulled a
throwing knife. "If I might try a bite? It looks well done. My compliments to
the cook." Mudge said
nothing.
Jon-Tom watched the visitor closely. Was he going to cut meat with
it... or throw it? He couldn't decide.
Something came flying through the air toward him. He ducked and
rolled, ending up on his feet holding the ramwood staff protectively in front
of him. Mudge picked up his bow and notched an arrow into the string.
Roseroar's longswords flashed as they were drawn. All within a couple of
seconds.
Hathcar was careful not to raise the knife he now held. Behind
him, his colleagues gripped their own weapons threateningly. But the cuscus
was not glaring at Jon-Tom. His gaze was on the creature who had come flying
through the air to land heavily next to the tall human.
The mongoose was clad entirely in black. It lay on its belly,
moaning. Strange marks showed on its narrow backside.
 Faset," Hathcar hissed, "what happened?" The mongoose rolled to
look at him, yelped when its bruised pelvis made contact with the ground.
 I happened." Everyone turned toward the voice.
The unicorn strolled casually into the clearing. It was gold. Not
the light gold of a palomino but a pure metallic gold like the color of a coin
or ring, except for white patches on its forehead and haunches. It might have
risen from a vat of liquid gold except that Jon-Tom could clearly see that the
color was true, down to the shortest hair.
In its mouth it carried a small crossbow. This it dropped at
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Jon-Tom's feet. Then it nodded meaningfully toward the still groaning
mongoose. Jon-Tom now recognized the marks on the mongoose's pants. They were
hoofprints.
Hathcar was beside himself as he glared furiously at the unicorn.
"Who the hell are you, four-foot? And who asked you to interfere? This is none
of your business."
The unicorn gazed at him out of lapis eyes, said coolly,
 am making it my business." He smiled at Jon-Tom. "My name's Drom.
I was grazing back in the woods when I heard the talk. Ordinarily I would have
ignored it, as I ignored your presence." He nodded toward the mongoose, who
was trying to crawl back to its comrades while avoiding Hathcar.
 However, I happened to chance upon this ebon worm as he was
aiming his little toy at your back." Drom raised a hoof, brought it down on
the crossbow. There was a splintering sound. "The unpleasant one there," and
he nodded toward Hathcar, "was right. This was none of my business. I don't
trouble to involve myself in the affairs of you social types. But I can't
stand to see anyone backshot." He turned his magnificent head, the thin golden
goatee fluttering, and glared back at Hathcar.
 Yo ah a true gentlemale, suh," said Roseroar approvingly.
 You should have stayed out of this, fool." Hathcar moved quickly
to join his gang. "Anyway, he lies. No doubt this insect," and he kicked at
the miserable Faset, "was trying to put a bolt through you. But that has
nothing to do with me."
 You called him by name," Jon-Tom said accusingly.
 A casual acquaintance." Hathcar continued to retreat. His backers
muttered uneasily.
 Glad you don't know 'im, friend." Mudge's arrow followed the
cuscus's backpedaling. "I'd 'ate to think you 'ad anything to do with 'is
little ambushcade."
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 What about your invitation?" Hathcar wanted to know.
 I think we'd rather dine alone," Jon-Tom smiled thinly. "At least
until we can sort things out."
 That's not very friendly of you. It's not polite to withdraw an
invitation once extended."
 My back," the mongoose blubbered. "I think my back is broken."
 Shut up, asshole." Hathcar kicked him in the mouth and blood
squirted. The cuscus tried to grin at the tall [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]