The Prophet of Panamindorah, Book One Fauns and Filinians (5 page)

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-wolfing, 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 not 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, their teeth as long as Corry’s fingers, flashing in their
panting mouths. 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 site 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 about 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 two 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?”