“Now we’re going to learn who’s really the best.” Roseroar and Mudge tensed, but the bird produced not an arrow or spear but a thin wooden box overlaid with three sets of strings.Ĭharrok nestled the peculiar instrument under one wing and flexed the strong feathers of the other. The mockingbird reached back over a shoulder. “I hear tell from Zancresta here that you’re the best.” The mockingbird carefully shook out his wings, then the rest of his feathers, put flexible wingtips on his hips and cocked his head sideways to eye Jon-Tom. 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. The mockingbird stood barely three feet tall, shorter even than Corroboc. The figure that emerged did not inspire any fear in him, however. Jon-Tom braced himself for anything, his fingers ready on the duar, his mind full of countering songs. “You see, as I said, I came prepared to deal with anything.” He looked to his right.įrom behind a partly vacant shelf, a new shape appeared. “Your music is strong, spellsinger, but you are feeble here.” He tapped his head. Instead, he sounded as confident as ever. Zancresta ought to have been begging for mercy. I know that your music could counter them.” Something was wrong, Jon-Tom thought. “You poor, simple, unwilling immigrant, do you think I’m so easily beaten? I know a hundred powerful conjurations to throw at you, remember a thousand curses. The ferret pursed his lips and shook his head sadly.
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