The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy Page 4

  Corry held out his hands. “I’m unarmed,” he said.

  “Stay still,” she rasped. She wore a sleeveless brown tunic, and a thin sword belt. Corry thought she looked no older than he and perhaps younger. Her eyes might have been golden, but now they were almost black, the pupils dilated with fear.

  BANG! Doors flew open. Fauns poured down both staircases, while archers drew their weapons along the balcony. Fauns with swords and bows swarmed around the perimeter of the room. Corry caught sight of the faun with the purple cape.

  The wolfling’s eyes darted in one direction and then another.

  Someone on the balcony shouted, “Don’t shoot!” It was Capricia. She was glaring at Corry, but she continued. “You’ll kill my guest!”

  “Then tell him to get out of the way...” murmured Purple Cape.

  Suddenly the wolfling bolted toward the only remaining exit—the main door of the castle. Fauns charged along the perimeter of the wall like giant pincers closing. Corry let out a long breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. A few arrows sang over his head and clattered along the floor, but none struck the fleeing wolfling.

  For a moment Corry thought she would escape, but just as she reached the main doors they flew open. The wolfling was running too fast to stop, and she all but collided with the first faun through the door. Their swords were singing before anyone could intervene.

  The faun was Syrill. His hooves made little clicking noises as he ducked and dodged, the green feather of his hat dancing like an excited bird. The wolfling was obviously outmatched, and he pushed her steadily backwards.

  The fauns had now formed a complete ring around the fighters. No escape. Soon Syrill was fighting right next to the dangling rope. Corry saw the end twitch. He shouted, but no one was listening. The next instant Syrill hit the ground, struck by a wolfling who had slid partway down the rope and leapt on him from above. The two rolled over in a blur of brown and gray.

  They came to a stop, crouching. The wolfling had an arm around Syrill’s chest and a sword against his throat. Syrill’s sword had been knocked from his grasp.

  The new wolfling was male and looked at least ten years older than the female. “Up,” he breathed and jerked Syrill to his feet. “Talis?”

  “Sir?” answered the girl-wolfling, still watching the crowd.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes.”

  The male wolfling nodded. “Walk.” He pushed a rigid Syrill toward the door, but fauns blocked his way. “Move!” he shouted. Some of the darker-skinned fauns obeyed, but not the pale strangers. The wolfling whirled to the faun in the purple cape. “Tell them to get out of my way, or I’ll kill him.”

  The faun’s jaw was working, and he took a step forward. The wolfling pressed his sword hard enough against Syrill’s throat to draw a trickle of blood. “I’m not bluffing, Chance.”

  “Move.” The faun called Chance growled the word. “Get out of his way.” His furious eyes returned to the wolfling. “I’ll have your pelt, Sham. But first I’ll hang you from the highest scaffold in Panamindorah.”

  The wolfling ignored him and moved toward the doors. He was having some trouble with Syrill. Talis circled round to guard Sham’s back. Suddenly, Chance leapt forward, and his sword met Talis’s with a clash. She parried with such force that he staggered and her momentum carried her briefly into the crowd. The next thing Corry knew, he was stumbling backward with one arm twisted painfully behind him. He saw Chance backing away uncertainly. “Sham,” came Talis’s voice behind Corry’s head, “we’ve got another.”

  The instant they were clear of the castle’s portico, the wolflings broke into a run. Corry could hear the shouts of pursuing fauns. Wolflings afoot would have been no match for mounted fauns, and Corry felt a flutter of hope. Then two enormous wolves shot across the plaza. They were as large as small ponies. The teeth flashing in their panting mouths were as long as Corry’s fingers. Corry dug in his heels, and Talis had to drag him the last few yards.

  Sham was still having difficulty with Syrill, who kept lashing out with his hooves, twisting, biting, and shouting. At last Sham struck him on the head with the flat of his sword. Syrill staggered. Sham hoisted him onto the back of a wolf, then leapt up behind. Talis’s wolf came up behind Corry, tipped its nose between his legs, and stood, letting Corry slide neatly onto its back.

  Bells were ringing all over the city as the wolves left the castle complex. They fled through Laven-lay, making use of the parks and gardens. Talis pulled something like twine from her pack as they road and made a swift slip-knot around Corry’s wrists, tying them in front. Her own hands were shaking, her breathing ragged against the back of his neck. She jerked the knot painfully tight.

  At some point Corry realized that a third wolf and rider had joined them. She was older than Talis and her dirty blond hair hung down her back in a tail as bushy as any wolf’s. “Danzel?” she growled.

  “I know,” muttered Sham. “He almost got Talis killed, and now we have hostages.”

  The new wolfling eyed Syrill in a way that made Corry’s hair prickle. “Kill them.”

  Sham shook his head. “Not Syrill. Not without Fenrah’s consent.”

  “Then leave them.”

  Sham shook his head. “We might need them again. This isn’t over.”

  Corry saw the white outer wall of the city rising out of the trees ahead. Then branches slapped him in the face as the wolves plowed into a thicket. They stopped abruptly, and Corry saw a freshly excavated tunnel, the brush beaten down around it.

  Sham sprang from his wolf and pulled Syrill to the ground. He threw away the faun’s sword belt. As Corry watched, Sham rifled through the pockets of Syrill’s tunic. He stopped suddenly and held up something small and silvery, then shoved it into his own pocket.

  A new wolfling scrambled out of the tunnel. “We’re almost ready down here. Lyli said that you have an unconscious faun. I’ve arranged transport.”

  “Sevn, have you seen Danzel?”

  The new wolfling shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

  Sham sat down in the dirt. “Danzel wasn’t at his post. I had a run-in with Chance, and he’s got my hackles up.”

  “Chance!” Sevn flung a handful of rope out of the tunnel. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. This whole raid has been a disaster.”

  “Really?” asked Talis quietly.

  Sham glanced at her and flashed a toothy grin. “We’ll see.”

  Sevn was frowning. “Do you suppose someone told—?”

  “No. Laylan probably found the diggings.” Sham grimaced. “He’s getting better.”

  A leaf crunched, and Sham spun around. On the edge of the clearing stood a small wolfling who didn’t look older than ten. He wore a baggy, mud-stained gray tunic, weighted on one side with a sword that looked too big for him. Corry caught sight of a bulging satchel attached to his belt opposite the sword. The child held his hands behind his back, his ears angled sharply backwards. His outsized paws pushed against each other nervously.

  “Danzel!” Sham barked. Then, more softly, “Pup, where have you been? Lyli didn’t find you, and Talis had no way of getting off the roof. She was chased and nearly killed. We had to drop through the ceiling! Danzel, where were you?”

  “I’m sorry, Sham.” His voice came soft and squeaky. “I just... I saw... There was this...and he had...and it...”

  Sham took the youngster by the shoulders. “What happened?”

  “I saw a faun with a satchel on his belt, and it looked heavy. It clinked.”

  Sham let out his breath and put his head down.

  Danzel continued. “And I followed him. And he went into a big house. I stalked him. I was so quiet! You would have been proud of me. I was so quiet!”

  “Danzel!” growled Sham, raising his head and shaking the youngster so hard the satchel tinkled. “We didn’t come here for cowries!”

  “How about gold?” asked Danzel cheerfully. “How abo
ut ten gold pieces, and I didn’t even count how many cowries. There’s silver. Pearls too!”

  Sham opened his mouth, but then Danzel brought his hands from behind his back. “And I found this.” Danzel was holding a violin. He thrust it into Sham’s hands. Sunlight falling through the trees lit on the polished, gracefully curving wood and made it glow golden.

  “It’s what I was looking for,” continued Danzel softly. “I couldn’t get the bow.” He looked anxiously at Sham. “But you could make that, couldn’t you?”

  Sham stood up suddenly and turned around so that Danzel couldn’t see his face. Corry saw him cover his mouth with one hand and shut his eyes. A single large tear rolled down over his fingers. Then he rubbed his hand hard over his face and turned around.

  “What you did was wrong. You were not there for Talis when she needed you. We hold each other’s lives in our hands, and if you don’t do your part... Talis and I could both be dead.”

  Danzel’s eyes clouded. “I’m sorry. I only wanted—”

  “You must obey orders!” Sham took the violin in both hands and broke it over his knee.

  Danzel flinched. His bushy tail dropped down limp behind him.

  Sham dropped the broken instrument and pointed to it. “Our lives. That’s what almost happened to them.”

  Danzel stared at the ground. “Yes, sir.”

  By this time Sevn had already urged the three wolves down the tunnel. He cleared his throat and said softly. “We need to hurry. Lyli is keeping watch at the far end.”

  Sham nodded. “Go and tell her we’re ready, Danzel.”

  Danzel darted down the tunnel.

  As soon as he was gone, Talis stepped over to the violin and picked it up. “This was a good one.” She inspected it minutely. “A very good one.” Sham turned away. “You didn’t have to break it,” said Talis.

  “Yes, I did.” He would not look at the violin.

  Syrill’s eyes were just beginning to flutter groggily when a sack went over his head. Sevn tied his legs to the line going into the hole. He gave a couple of jerks, and Syrill slithered into the darkness. Sevn followed him and Talis came behind. A moment later, Danzel appeared to say that Lyli had secured Syrill. She and Talis were on their way back to camp, and Sevn was keeping watch at the end of the tunnel.

  Sham turned to Corry. “Make things difficult for us, and we’ll kill you—one shout, one snatch for a weapon, and you’re dead. You’re not that valuable. Do you understand?”

  Corry nodded.

  Sham cut loose his hands and pointed to the tunnel. “Crawl.”

  Corry crawled. He could see almost nothing in the tunnel, and he went along hesitantly, feeling his way over protruding tree roots and clods of earth. Behind, he heard Danzel’s voice. “Something else happened this morning.”

  “Oh?” Sham sounded suspicious.

  “Laylan chased me.”

  “What?”

  “I think he found my tracks near the castle wall where I was supposed to be waiting. He must have followed me, because when I came out of the faun’s house, he nearly shot me. I ran, and he chased me all the way to the royal grain sheds.”

  “Was he on Shyshax?” asked Sham. “Danzel, are you making this up?”

  “No! He wasn’t on Shyshax. I ran into a shed. It was one of the smaller ones, only half full. I ran out before he could get behind the grain, and I shut the door. It locked!”

  Sham began to chuckle. “You locked Laylan in a grain shed?”

  “Yes.” Corry could hear the grin in Danzel’s voice. “It only had one window in the top.”

  Sham was laughing hard now. “No wonder they haven’t found us. They probably haven’t even found Laylan.”

  Chapter 6. Raiders

  The fact that the Raiders confused the plans of the greatest of planners should not come as a surprise. The Raiders were an anomaly from the beginning. They confused everyone.

  —Archemais, Gabalon: The Many Facets of a Tyrant

  Corry woke in darkened stillness. He remembered a long ride, the feel of wolf fur, wind in his face, splashing through a river. Then Talis had asked him to drink something—a drug probably, because he’d become very sleepy. They’d stopped somewhere. He’d lain down, and—

  Corry opened his eyes. He was lying on the dirt floor of a cave. From somewhere nearby he heard the sound of rushing water. His wrists were tied behind his back, and one leg throbbed where a root had cut off the circulation. Dragon moon looked in at an opening above his head. By its light, he could see that the walls and floor were muddy, his clothes filthy. Corry braced himself against the slimy rock and got to his feet. He staggered to the wall and hopped up and down a couple of times below the cave entrance.

  “You can’t reach it, not with your hands tied.”

  Corry turned. In the shadows near the back, something moved. “Even if you could reach the hole, there’ll be a guard outside.”

  “Syrill?” Corry moved towards him. Syrill sat with his back against the wall. His feet were tied as well as his hands. Blood had dried around a cut on his cheek. His clothes, like Corry’s, were very dirty.

  Corry sat down beside him. “You fought well with that wolfling. I saw the rope twitch and tried to yell, but no one could hear me. It was just bad luck.”

  Syrill laughed bitterly. “I heard you. I just didn’t pay attention.”

  Corry was surprised at his honesty.

  “I should have left off when I saw it was a Raider. To think it was you she found, and all this time I thought it had something to do with them.”

  Corry was lost. “She?”

  “Capricia. She met you on the king’s tour of the western provinces three years ago, yes? You probably don’t know that the king’s party was waylaid on the way back by the Raiders. Capricia and her doe were separated from the main group for almost a day. When she returned to the castle, she behaved strangely. I see now it was you she had grown curious over, but at the time, I thought she’d found some clue to the Raiders’ den. I don’t suppose you can shape-shift?”

  Corry shook his head. “Can most iterations do that?”

  “Well, if you’ve got wizard blood, I suppose there’s always the possibility.”

  “How do you mean ‘she behaved strangely’?”

  “I wasn’t there for most of it, but I heard she’d developed an intense interest in the old language and the wizards. I seem to remember she worried her father by making unguarded forays into the forest. Of course, that all stopped when the war started.”

  “What war?”

  Syrill looked incredulous. “The war with Filinia—with the cats. Don’t you know anything about this part of the world?”

  Corry had thought carefully about how to answer this question. “Capricia told me what happened to my village, but I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything beyond a few days ago. All I knew was that I had to get to Laven-lay and find her.”

  Syrill grimaced. “Something happened to you on the way here. Fauns can be cruel to iterations they find alone in the wood.”

  Corry half smiled. “Can they?”

  “I was not cruel,” countered Syrill. “Besides, iterations don’t have the national ties of a shelt and some do spy for the cats. That’s why I picked you up, and when you couldn’t answer me coherently, I thought—”

  “It’s alright,” said Corry. “I’d never have found Laven-lay without you. I was lost.” He sat back against the wall. “Do you call all wolflings Raiders or only this group?”

  “You really don’t know anything, do you? And now I come to listen, your speech is strange. You don’t have any idea how far you came to get here?”

  Corry shook his head. “Sham and Danzel were talking about someone called Laylan. Who is he, and who was that faun in the purple cape, Chance? Why are you at war with the cats?” Corry glanced at the long scars running up Syrill’s arm and under his sleeve. “Did a cat do that to you?”

  “Yes—flipped me off my deer. I was lucky; Blix came
after me. He’s a brave mount. That was the day I won my command. We were cut off, the army routed, most of the senior officers dead. I rallied the survivors. Afterward, Meuril put me in charge.

  “As for the cats, they conquered Canisaria—that was wolfling country—and pushed the wolves and wolflings into our territory, the Endless Wood. We bounty wolflings because they kill deer and occasionally fauns, but they really don’t have any other place to go.” Syrill grimaced. “We should have helped the wolflings when they were fighting for their lives. Meuril thought the cats would stop in Canisaria, but they didn’t, and now we have to fight them. Most wolflings only hide and try to survive. Organized, troublesome packs crop up occasionally, but most of them are hunted down and destroyed within a year.”

  “But not the Raiders?”

  “No. Three years ago rumors crept into Laven-lay about a new outlaw pack. Their leader was a female named Fenrah Ausla. Fauns attached little importance to the name, even though Ausla is a royal Canid line. However, when the Raiders began exacting a heavy cowry count from our merchants, even threatening the king’s caravan, fauns took notice. Meuril tripled the bounty on Raiders. Fenrah, however, proved cunning. There were eight Raiders three years ago. There are eight today.”

  “So who are Chance and Laylan?”

  “I’m coming to that. You know, of course, that the cliff fauns think Danda-lay impregnable?”

  “What’s Danda-lay?”

  Syrill frowned. “It is amazing that you retain the ability to dress yourself.”

  Before Corry could formulate a retort, Syrill continued, “Cliff faun capital. Political and financial seat of middle Panamindorah.”

  “Is Chance from Danda-lay?”

  “Yes, he’s a cliff faun prince, King Shadock’s youngest. Like all of them, he has a certain arrogance about that city. You can imagine their outcry when the Raiders dared attack it.”

  “Ah. So then Laven-lay’s problem became Danda-lay’s, too?”

  “You would have thought the queen had been ravished for all their clamor. The raid came during a celebration: the spring festival of Lupricasia. At that particular festival Shadock was honoring Chance for a feat of bravery in battle. Cliff fauns have helped us in the cat wars. Chance’s ceremony was interrupted and a statue in his honor insultingly defaced.” Syrill grinned wickedly.