The Prophet of Panamindorah, Book One Fauns and Filinians (11 page)

The centaur was holding something. Corry
recognized the gold chain. With a swiftness that surprised even
himself, Corry’s hand darted upward, seized the chain, and jerked.
The force of his successful snatch made him stumble backward to the
head of the stairs. The flute swung and struck the wall of the
tower. It rang like a bell.

Corry would have been surprised if he’d had
time. He whirled and raced down the stairs. “Help! Thief! Help!”
With a sinking feeling, he remembered the muted boom he’d heard
earlier.
That was the sound of the door breaking. If it carried
so poorly, how will anyone hear me?

He could hear the sharp report of the
centaur’s hooves against the stone behind him. They sounded close,
though the huge animal must be having difficulty in the narrow
space. Corry could hear something else, too—a note on the edge of
sound, throbbing. It seemed to bend unpleasantly in the ear. The
flute swung against his arm, and Corry realized that it was still
vibrating.

Something whistled past Corry’s head and
slapped against the curved wall of the tower.
What’s he throwing
at me?
Then it hit the side of his leg and tangled in his feet.
Too late, Corry realized what was happening. With a cry, he pitched
forward. As the centaur’s whip jerked his feet from under him,
Corry’s own momentum sent him sprawling headfirst down the steep
staircase. Pain exploded in his chest, and he tasted blood.

Chapter 13. The End of a War
and the Beginning of a Grudge

Syrill has done an admirable job of winning
this war, which made the blow of my decision harder. But I did what
was best.

—King’s Annals, Meuril Sor, Summer 1700

Corry opened his eyes. He could not tell
whether he’d only just shut them or whether he’d been asleep for
ages. He felt a little like both.

Somewhere off in the gloom, he could see the
centaur. It looked uncertain. “What have you done?” it hissed.

“I don’t know. Where are we?”

“You are as nearly nowhere as it is possible
to be,” said a new voice.

Corry turned and saw a wolf, big as Dance,
his voice somehow gray as his coat. Corry’s eyes were beginning to
adjust to the dim light. He thought he saw trees. Almost, he
thought they might be back in the orange grove. “Am I
dreaming?”

“You may call it dreaming,” said the wolf,
“but those who dream thus never wake.” Behind the first wolf, Corry
saw more wolves than he could count. They slunk towards him through
the gray world, their eyes sad and hungry, though not, Corry
thought, for food.

“Wizard spawn!” roared the centaur suddenly.
“Lift your curse, or I will crush your bones!” He sent his battle
whip snaking through the air, but to Corry’s amazement, the whip
passed right through him.

“You can hurt no one here,” said the gray
wolf. “You cannot hurt or be hurt. You cannot die; you cannot live;
you can only
be
and barely that.”

The centaur gave a little moan. He pranced
wildly for a moment, then fled, as though he might outrun the gray
world.

“What is this place?” whispered Corry.

“It is his dungeon, the Otherwhere,” said the
wolf, “but we thought it was forgotten. Has he returned to claim
more victims, then?”

“Who?”

“Gabalon, the great wizard.”

Corry shook his head. “You’re them, aren’t
you? The ones who disappeared—the durian wolves.”

Something like hope stirred in the wolf’s
eyes. “Has our king sent you?”

“I…I don’t think so.”

Corry was becoming increasingly aware that he
carried a nimbus of golden light around his person. It was very
faint, but it was disturbing his night vision. Corry looked down
and saw that the light was coming from something he’d clutched in
his fist. He opened his hand.

Corry’s breath caught. He could
see
the flute. It was translucent gold, glowing faintly. As he opened
his hand, the light increased, and a gasp went up from the wolves.
Corry heard a hiss and looked down to see, not a wolf, but a
child-sized shelt, staring up at him with dark, malevolent eyes. It
had a hairless tail and skeletal feet. Corry jerked back with a cry
of disgust.

He heard a muttering. “He has it! Help us,
help us, give it to us, give it, help, help!”

Corry ran. The creatures ran with him, crying
out in their many voices. The golden light struck a glint off
something ahead—glass? He thought he saw a window standing
unsupported in a frame, and beyond it a crumbling castle room.

Then he stumbled into a hole. He was sinking,
drowning. The gray world vanished.

* * * *

Shyshax the cheetah was not having a good
morning. In the small hours, he and Laylan had come upon Filinian
tracks while scouting. This was nothing unusual. Filinians were
deserting their camp in a steady trickle as the morning’s slaughter
approached.

But these tracks were different. Shyshax
recognized at least two scent signatures and suspected he knew the
others. These tracks were left by Lexis and his officers. They had
snuck through the lines in the dead of night and were heading
towards Laven-lay. Shyshax wanted to be off at once to tell Syrill,
but Laylan had insisted they follow the trail for a short distance
to be certain of the direction.

As it turned out, Ounce had lingered behind
to discourage pursuit. Shyshax had always found the snow leopard
the most intimidating member of Lexis’s cabinet. He was not the
biggest, but he had a reputation as the most ruthless. He’d been
lieutenant to Demitri, Lexis’s father, during the bloodiest years
of Filinian conquest of wolfling Canisaria. Everyone knew he
detested shelts and liked small cats hardly any better. Shyshax
could only imagine what Ounce would do to a cheetah who worked with
a shelt and spied on other cats.

He put on a burst of speed when he saw Ounce,
but suspected he’d only escaped because the snow leopard did not
want to get too far from his king. Shyshax and Laylan raced back to
Syrill’s camp to bring the news of Lexis’s flight. Coming and going
from Syrill’s camp was a chore in itself. The fauns humored Laylan,
but never entirely trusted him. They liked to nudge Shyshax with
spears and make nasty jokes, and Shyshax tried to grin and joke
back while the smell of the blood from the skinning made his hair
stand on end. Capricia had finally succeeded in lifting the embargo
on Filinian pelts. They were the loot of the battlefield.

When Shyshax and Laylan finally found Syrill
and told him their story, he leapt up in a frenzy and galloped from
the camp with only the barest escort. And of course, Shyshax and
Laylan had to follow him, even though they’d been up all night.
Syrill was their protection. They weren’t entirely safe in the camp
without him. At least Laylan managed to get a deer to ride so that
Shyshax could travel a bit lighter.

As they were nearing the castle, they found a
boy shivering beside a stream. He was apparently an iteration.
Syrill knew him and decided they couldn’t leave him alone in the
forest. The boy didn’t know how to ride a deer, and since Shyshax
could at least give instructions, he had to carry the creature. All
in all, not a good morning.

“Aren’t you the one who helped rescued our
trap key?” Laylan asked the iteration. They were now in the very
rear of the party and falling further behind.

The boy nodded. He was soaking wet in the
chilly fall air and seemed dazed. “How far are we from
Laven-lay?”

“At this rate?” Shyshax shrugged. “Maybe half
a watch. What were you doing out here?”

Corry didn’t answer. He was fingering
something on a chain round his neck.

“You left the palace without telling anyone,”
said Laylan. “I heard the princess was…concerned.”

“Oh?” Corry seemed about to say something
else, then decided against it. Shyshax felt a twinge of sympathy.
Being an iteration among shelts must be a little like being a
cat and a foxling among fauns.

* * * *

Corry’s mind seethed.
How long have I been
gone? Dare I ask? Capricia must be alright from what Laylan said,
but she could be in danger. Does Syrill suspect me again? He seemed
very angry.
Corry tried again to get comfortable on Shyshax’s
bony ribs. The cat seemed friendly enough. Every now and then, he
tried to coax Corry into conversation, but Corry couldn’t
concentrate.
Why is Syrill in such a hurry? What’s
happened?

They arrived at the gates of Laven-lay just
at dawn. According to the guards, they were only a little behind
Syrill’s party. As they approached the castle, Corry rehearsed in
his mind what he was going to say to Capricia. His thoughts were
interrupted as they approached the castle doors. “That’s not
possible! I demand to speak to him!” It was Syrill’s voice. Corry
caught sight of a small cadre of fauns in leather armor, clustered
around the front steps.

“I’m sorry, but his majesty ordered that no
one be admitted—”

“Do you really think he meant to bar
me
?” thundered Syrill. He managed to somehow loom, in spite
of being a head shorter than the guard.

“Actually, he mentioned your name
specifically.”

At that moment, the door opened a crack, and
a sentry inside whispered something to the one outside. “His
majesty says that he will see you now,” said the outer sentry, “but
he asks that you go around to the west entrance and wait in the
council chamber there.”

Syrill exploded. “Come in by the backdoor?
Like an urchin looking for handouts? Deer dung!” He leapt forward
and forced his shoulder into the crack in the door with such force
that it flew open in the sentry’s face. Syrill’s officers, who had
been watching uneasily from the bottom of the steps looked at each
other. Syrill, perhaps, had license for insolence, but they weren’t
about to risk a flogging. Corry, Laylan, and Shyshax, standing on
the edge of the group, waited a moment. Then, when the sentries
didn’t seem to be shutting the doors. Corry, slipped off Shyshax
and went in.

Syrill was standing unnaturally still in the
middle of the antechamber. The door to the throne room was opening,
and already creatures were issuing from it. At the head of the
party paced a cat who could only be Lexis—a white tiger, with eyes
as blue as a summer sky. He glided over the marble floor like ice
over hot stone. King Meuril strolled beside him. They were chatting
amiably.

Lexis’s eyes met Syrill’s, and Corry saw the
trace of a tiger smile. As he passed, Lexis’s tail flicked sideways
to caress the faun’s leg. “Morning, Syrill.”

Syrill turned and drew his sword in the same
movement, but a growl close to his ear brought him up short. Syrill
had been so intent on Lexis that he had not noticed the snow
leopard coming behind his king.

Meuril and Lexis turned at the sound of
Ounce’s growl. Meuril sighed. “Syrill, I told you to come around to
the—”

“Sire—” grated his general, his voice shaking
with rage.

“Go to my chamber and wait.”

“How dare—!”

“I said go, Syrill!”

Meuril turned away. Lexis lingered for an
instant, his eyes like a purr. Syrill mouthed something at him.
Corry was certain it was not a customary response to “good
morning.” Ounce glided around Syrill without a backward glance, but
he stopped near the doorway. Corry saw that Laylan and Shyshax had
ventured inside. Ounce hesitated to growl something at the cheetah.
Corry heard the words, “Faun-loving little dog-cat,” to which
Shyshax said something about “ice for brains.” Lexis growled, and
Ounce moved away. Then they were gone.

Syrill stood clenching and unclenching his
free fist until the door closed. Then he sheathed his sword with
unnecessary force and stormed into the throne room.

“Corellian!”

Corry looked up to see Capricia, last to
emerge from the conference. “So the thief has returned!”

“Thief?” Corry glanced at Laylan and Shyshax,
who were taking an interest in the conversation. The sentry at the
inner door also looked interested.

Capricia reached Corry. “Where have you
been?” she hissed. “Or, more appropriate,
what
have you
been?”

“I didn’t steal it,” muttered Corry. “I’ll
explain later. How long have I been gone?”

He was surprised and somewhat alarmed to see
a delicate, but very sharp looking dagger in her hand. She shook
her head at him, eyes narrowed to slips. “You’ve no idea what it’s
like. Every deer that stops by my window, every burrow in the
streets, every bird, every rodent…! I had a perfectly good hawk
shot because he was sitting in suspicious attitude on my garden
wall!”

“Why?” He was looking at the dagger.

“Syrill told me,” she whispered between
clenched teeth. “You
can
shift.”

Corry’s mouth fell open.

“I’d like to know just one thing before I
throw you in the dungeon. Why did you burn my books?” She looked at
him with an expression of pain. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t! Capricia, there was a
centaur—”

She shook her head. “Sentry,” she raised her
voice, “fetch me four or five guards, large ones.” She glanced at
Laylan and Shyshax. “What are you two looking at? You weren’t
invited to audience. You may wait outside for Syrill.”

“Capricia, no!” Corry thought quickly. He
fumbled in his pocket.

She took a step back, raising the dagger.
“Keep your hands in front of you, iteration.”

Corry raised the chain and extended it
towards her. He noticed that the flute was invisible again.
“Capricia, I didn’t steal it,” he whispered. “I caught a centaur
trying to, and I got it back, and I ended up in…another place, the
gray world. They called it the Otherwhere.”

Capricia snatched the flute. She looked at
Corry suspiciously.
She’s only trying to scare me
, he
thought. And another part of his mind answered miserably,
It’s
working.