correct. I know that your music could counter them."
Something was wrong, Jon-Tom thought. Zancresta ought
to have been begging for mercy. Instead, he sounded as
confident as ever.
"Your music is strong, spellsinger, but you are feeble
here." He tapped his head. "You see, as I said, I came
prepared to deal with anything." He looked to his right.
"Charrok, I need you now,"
From behind a partly vacant shelf, a new shape appeared.
Jon-Tom braced himself for anything, his fingers ready on
the duar, his mind full of countering songs. The figure that
emerged did not inspire any fear in him, however. In fact,
it was singularly unimpressive.
The mockingbird stood barely three feet tall, shorter
even than Corroboc. He wore an unusually plain kilt of
black on beige and yellow, a single matching yellow vest
devoid of adornment, and a single yellow cap.
Zancresta gestured at Jon-Tom. "That's the one I told
you about. Do what I paid you to do!"
The mockingbird carefully shook out his wings, then the
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
271
rest of his feathers, put flexible wingtips on his hips and
cocked his head sideways to eye Jon-Tom.
"I hear tell from Zancresta here that you're the best."
"The best what?"
The mockingbird reached back over a shoulder. Roseroar
and Mudge tensed, but the bird produced not an arrow or
spear but a thin wooden box overlaid with three sets of
strings.
"A syreed," murmured Roseroar.
Charrok nestled the peculiar instrument under one wing
and flexed the strong feathers of the other. "Now we're
going to learn who's really the best."
"Bugger me for a mayor's mother!" Mudge gasped.
"The bloody bastard's a spellsinger 'imself!"
XVI
"That," said the mockingbird with obvious pride, "is just
what I am."
"Now, look," said Jon-Tom even as he made sure the
duar was resting comfortably against his ribs, "I don't
know you and I've no reason to fight you. If you've been
listening to what's been going on you know who's on the
side of right here and who on the side of evil."
"Evil-schmieval," said the mockingbird. "I'm just a
country spellsinger. I don't go around making moral judg-
ments. I just make music. The other I leave to solicitors
and judges." Feathers dipped toward multiple strings.
"Let's get to it, man."
The voice that emerged from that feathered throat was
as sweet and sugary as Ion-Tom's was harsh and uneven,
and it covered a range of octaves no human could hope to
match.
Well then, Jon-Tom decided grimly as he saw the smile
that had appeared on the ferret's face, it was up to him to
respond with musical inventiveness, sharper lyrics, and
better playing. If nothing else, he could at least match the
mockingbird in enthusiasm and sheer volume.
272
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
273
The mountain rattled and the shelving shook. The floor
quivered underfoot and stone powder fell from the ceiling
as the two spellsingers threw incisive phrases and devastat-
ing rhymes at each other. Charrok sang of acid tongues
and broken hearts, of mental anguish and crumbling self-
esteem. Jon-Tom countered with appropriate verses by
Queen and the Stones, by Pat Benatar and Fleetwood Mac.
Charrok's clashing chords smashed violently against Jon-
Tom's chords by the Clash. The mockingbird even resorted
to calling up the defeated warriors of the Plated Folk, and
Jon-Tom had to think fast to fight back with the pounding,
sensual New Wave of Adam Ant.
As the two singers did battle, Mudge struggled to get a
clear shot at Zancresta. The wizard had witnessed several
demonstrations of the otter's prowess with the longbow,
however, and was careful not to provide him with a decent
target.
Jon-Tom was finally forced to pause, no matter the
consequences. He was panting hard and his fingers were
numb and bloody from nonstop strumming. Worse, his
throat stung like cracked suede and he feared creeping
hoarseness.
But the arduous duel had taken its toll on his opponent
as well. Charrok no longer fluffed out his feathers proudly
between songs, nor did he appear quite as confident as he
had when the battle had begun.
At which point Jon-Tom thought to try another line of
attack entirely.
"That last tune, the one about the drunken elephant with
the knife? That was pretty sharp. You got some good riffs
in there. I couldn't do that."
"Sometimes," Charrok croaked, "it's harder with fin-
gers than with feathers." He held up his right wing and
wiggled the flexible tips for emphasis. "You're not doing
too badly yourself, though. What was that bit about dirty
deeds done dirt cheap?"
274
Alan Dean Poster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
275
"AC/DC," Jon-Tom replied tiredly. "I thought it might
conjure me up a few berserk assassins. No such luck."
"Good try, though," Charrok complimented him. "I
could almost feel the knife at my throat."
Zancresta stepped forward, careful to keep the body of
his hired instrument between himself and Mudge.
"What is this? I am not paying you to indulge in casual
conversation with this man. I am paying you to kill him!"
Charrok turned. His gaze narrowed as he stared up at
the sorceror. "You hold on a minute there, Mr. Zancresta,
sir. You hired my spellsinging, not my soul."
"Don't get existential with me, you warbling bumpkin!
You'll do as you're told!"
Charrok was unperturbed by the sorcerer's outburst.
"That's what I've been doing." He nodded toward Jon-
Tom. "This fella's mighty damn good. He might, just
might, be better than me."
"I don't know who's best and I don't care," Jon-Tom
said hastily, "but you sing like a storm and you play like a
fiend. I'd appreciate it a lot if you could show me that last
song." He strummed an empty chord on the duar. "Maybe
I've only got five fingers here, but I'd damn sure like to
give it a try."
"I don't know ... a duar only has two sets of strings and
my syreed three. Still, if you dropped a note here and
there...." He started to walk over. "Let's have a looksee."
"No fraternizing with the enemy," Zancresta snapped,
putting a restraining paw on the mockingbird's shoulder.
Charrok shook it off.
"Maybe he ain't my enemy."
"Of course I'm not," said Jon-Tom encouragingly,
moving forward himself. "A gig's a gig, but that shouldn't
come between a couple of professionals." When Charrok
was near enough, Jon-Tom put a comradely arm around
the bird's shoulders, having to bend over to do so. "This
isn't your fight, singer. Two musician-magicians of our
caliber shouldn't be trying to destroy each other. We
should be collaborating. Imagine the wizardry we could
work! This shouldn't be a duel, it should be a jam
session."
"I'd like that," said Charrok. He searched the aisle
beyond. "Where are the berries?"
"Not that kind of jam. I mean we should play together,
make music and magic together."
A hand reached out and clutched in frustration at the
mockingbird's vest. "1 won't have this!" The ferret was
jumping up and down on short legs. "I tell you, I won't
have it! I've paid you well to serve me in this matter. We
have a contract! There is too much at stake here."
"Yea, including my reputation," Charrok told him frosti-
ly. "But," he glanced up at Jon-Tom, "that can always be
settled between friends. As for your money, you can have