The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy Page 8

  Corry blinked. “Then how does she have time to go wandering around in the forest?”

  Syrill gave him an odd look. “She doesn’t.”

  At that moment a messenger came trotting in with a worried expression on his face. He went straight to the king, leaned over, and whispered something in his ear. Meuril rose and tapped the table for silence. “I have just received important news.” He waited until he had their full attention. “Demitri of Alainya is dead. Lexis of Alainya takes his place as king of Filinia,” he hesitated a moment and then added, “and all Filinian conquests.”

  A babble of talking erupted. Corry turned to look at Syrill. The general sat very still, eyes fixed on something far away. Abruptly, he rose and left the hall.

  Meuril followed him. Capricia hesitated for an instant, then got up to go after them. “Well this explains the lull in their fighting,” commented Chance, looking over Corry at Laylan. “Perhaps Lexis grew impatient.”

  Laylan shook his head. “Demitri was ill. Lexis is too intelligent to risk his birthright when it was so obviously about to fall between his paws.”

  Corry only half heard them. He leapt up and ran after Capricia. He caught up with her, already half way down the corridor outside. “Capricia, when did you meet me?”

  She glanced at him, still walking fast. “Pardon?”

  He lowered his voice. “If you’ve been holding court here while your father fights cats, how did you have time to go wandering around the forest with the flute? Or to write a history book? That day by the lake when I first saw you, and you ran from me...when was it?”

  Capricia shot him a suspicious glance. “About three years ago, before the war started.”

  “But it was only days ago to me!”

  Capricia’s only response was to walk a little faster.

  “Don’t you see?” asked Corry, trotting to keep up. “This shows that time really does pass more slowly on Earth than in Panamindorah. This explains how I might have been gone for only a year of Earth’s time, while hundreds of years passed here!”

  “Will you please keep your voice down?” she hissed.

  “We could figure out when I left...when I was stolen the first time. We could calculate it, you see? Figure out how much time passed in Panamindorah between our first two meetings and how much time passed on Earth. Capricia, don’t you want to know who I am?”

  She said nothing.

  Corry’s mouth opened slowly. “Or do you already know?”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Corellian, listen to me: I have already made my decision—”

  “Passed your judgment, you mean? This isn’t your courtroom, Capricia.”

  “Do you know what would happen to most shelts if they spoke that way to me?”

  “Well, you’ve already threatened twice to kill me. What’s a third time?”

  She rounded on him with a snarl. “I have told you: the past cannot be reclaimed. What if you found you were someone bad? Someone evil?”

  “Was I?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know that you are keeping me from an important conference.”

  “Will you at least tell me the date we met?”

  “I’ll check my records tomorrow, when you come to work on those translations.”

  Chapter 12. Thief

  I learned today that Corellian is missing. I wish I could help look for him, but as usual Lexis vexes me by consuming all my attention.

  —journal of Syrill of Undrun, Summer 1700

  Corry waited next morning for Capricia’s summons. He had dreamed all night of wolves in dungeons and felt singularly unrested and irritable. While he waited, he read her book:

  Since I wish to write a scholarly work, I will omit details of the events before the fire until I am able to better understand the old manuscripts. The legend, then, in brief:

  Some say the wizards came across the sea and our years are numbered from their coming. Others say they were always in Panamindorah, but they were not always evil. Some say that they are with us still, others that they are gone.

  All say this: that a wizard called Gabalon gathered to himself the support of many nations, that he made his capital in Selbis, that he made it mighty. They say he invited his fellow wizards to a great feast, and at the feast he poisoned all but seven of them. Those seven formed his inner circle.

  It is said that Gabalon hated beasts and robbed them of speech, but that the cats were stronger and fiercer and Filinia too vast for his armies. He could not master them, and so they speak still.

  It is said that Gabalon possessed a weapon of magic that allowed him to perform such feats. His weapon protected him during rebellions, the largest of which involved the last of the talking wolves, the durians. The legend goes that they entered the Endless Wood and vanished, and that is why the wood faun kingdom is called Endless, because it swallowed them without a trace.

  The cliff fauns and their allies finally overthrew the tyrant in 1388 (this date is well documented). In myth, they say the Creator sent a bird of fire, which went before the armies of the cliff fauns and terrified their enemies. Historians speculate that the fauns may have had the help of pegasus, perhaps the first pegasus to appear in middle Panamindorah. Others say they had the help of the Unibus, who figure prominently in old stories, but purportedly disappeared into the Snow Mountains of Filinia during the time of Gabalon’s tyranny. It is not now certain that Unibus ever existed. Their legends call them shape-shifters, and they may, in fact, have been some form of iteration.

  That Gabalon actually existed is a matter of no dispute. The ruin of Selbis is with us still, and many manuscripts mention him. However, the details of his reign and fall are subjects of speculation, and it is this area to which I will attempt to bring real scholarship in my next work.

  Meanwhile, we concern ourselves with the events since the great fire of Danda-lay.

  Chapter 1. The Swamp Fauns

  As any faun child knows, the swamp fauns figure prominently in stories of Gabalon’s atrocities. They were the footshelts of his army and the muscle of his secret police. At the time of the Great Fire, the swamp fauns were still under the military supervision of Danda-lay. Their monarchy was in exile, having fled across the desert.

  A number of nasty uprisings convinced the cliff fauns that they ought either to annihilate the swamp fauns or set them on their feet again. Having no real stomach for genocide, the then-king of Danda-lay, Sansuel, began a gradual process of reinstating them—

  “You concentrate too sharply when you read.”

  Corry looked up. Capricia was standing on the other side of the table. “What happened to Gabalon?” he asked.

  The princess shrugged. “No one knows. Some of the legends feature him flying away in the form of a dragon. Some say he fought the fire bird and was wounded. Others say he vanished before the armies even got inside the city. No story claims he was killed.”

  Corry nodded. “So that’s why you tried to abandon the flute. You’re afraid he’ll come back for it.”

  Capricia didn’t answer him. “My father is moving to the castle at Pyn-lay nearer the Canid border, so that he may help rally the troops there. I will be busy. I would like, however, to spend a quarter watch with you each morning working on the translation.”

  “How long is a quarter watch?”

  “There are four watches of the day and two of the night.”

  Corry thought about that. “About four hours of Earth time in one watch, then.”

  Capricia didn’t seem remotely interested in how Earthlings told time. “I will meet with you in the library.”

  Corry caught a movement beyond Capricia’s shoulder. Glancing towards the door, he saw the tip of a shadow fall across the threshold.

  Capricia continued. “Otherwise, I advise you to spend your time learning a useful trade, since you seem so anxious to settle down in Laven-lay.”

  The shadow moved in a little further, then stopped. The door was open, but the shadow came across th
e threshold obliquely, and the creature casting it remained out of sight.

  “Your knowledge of reading and writing would make you an excellent scribe, and I am willing to employ you here at the castle—”

  Corry stood up and walked past her towards the door. The shadow disappeared. He quickened his steps, but by the time he reached the door the hallway was empty. He thought he heard the clop of heavy hoof beats on the stone floor. A centaur?

  He turned to find Capricia at his elbow.

  “There was someone in the hall listening to us. I saw the shadow.”

  “Probably just a nosy servant.” But Capricia’s voice had a nervous edge. She glanced up and down the hall.

  “Why did you leave the door open?” asked Corry.

  “I didn’t.” Capricia reached out and swung the door. The hinges were well-oiled and soundless.

  For a moment, they both stood silent. The eavesdropper had been no casual passerby. He had taken the trouble to ease the door open. “I’ll get you a different suit of rooms,” said Capricia.

  “That’s not necessary. I think it may have been a centaur. Aren’t they leaving soon?”

  Capricia nodded. She didn’t say anything.

  “What about your records? You said you would let me see them so that I could try to calculate the exact time that passed in Panamindorah while I was on Earth.”

  “Oh, will you leave that alone!” snapped Capricia and strode from the room.

  Corry glared after her. Outside his window, a group of soldiers passed through the garden, their long spears catching the sunlight. Perhaps I should volunteer to go with Syrill. He was friendly to me, and he is a friend of Laylan, who knows more about the Raiders. With Capricia, it’s all guessing and prying. She doesn’t want me to understand.

  Corry left his apartments and started in the general direction of the garden. He wasn’t sure where to find Syrill, but he was hoping to catch up with the group of soldiers and ask them. I wonder if I know how to use a sword or spear. The idea of making such a discovery amused Corry. Perhaps I should find out before I actually apply to fight.

  Corry took a passage that looked familiar. The further he went, the more certain he became that he had walked this way before, and yet he thought that the hall was angling away from the garden. Then he came to a flight of stairs. This is the way to Capricia’s study.

  THUD! BOOM! A distant noise, probably from the top of the tower. Corry was pretty sure he was hearing it through his feet—his vibration sense—and not with his ears. What is she doing up there? He listened intently, but heard nothing else. Corry suddenly remembered Capricia’s hunted expression when she realized they’d been overheard. Maybe she was right. Maybe I’m the fool for not thinking it’s important. On an impulse, he started up the stairs.

  He was panting by the time he came to the landing at the top. He saw that the study door was ajar and started to open it. Too late, he noticed the splintered wood around the broken bolt. By then, he was already staring up into the face of the creature coming out.

  A centaur. Corry’s head came only to his horse chest. Looking up into his face, Corry saw a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. Behind the centaur, Corry caught a glimpse of the study in disarray, papers and books strewn across the floor, a roaring fire in the hearth, bits of paper fluttering like wounded moths.

  The centaur was holding something. Corry recognized the gold chain. With a swiftness that surprised even him, 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 as 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. Filinian
s 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.