The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy

by Abigail Hilton

  “It doesn’t make sense anyway,” whispered Meuril. He put his head between his hands.

  “Capricia is a resourceful fauness,” continued Shadock, although the reference to his family had taken all the warmth out of his voice.

  As if to illustrate the reason, Jubal came smartly into the room “Sire, the palace has been scoured, and Danda-lay and Port Ory are in the process of an exhaustive search. Neither Lexis nor any of his staff have been located. However, a night watchshelt saw a small group of cats leaving Port Ory early this morning. The descriptions match those of Lexis and his officers.”

  Meuril heard the news with admirable composure. “Shadock?”

  “Yes?”

  “Permission to put every Filinian in Port Ory and Danda-lay under temporary arrest?”

  “Permission granted.”

  * * * *

  At the orphanage once, Corry had seen a video of three men skydiving. He remembered how the people opened up their arms and lay spread-eagle on the air. He had asked the supervisor what would happen if their parachutes didn’t open, and she had said they would die instantly. A boy beside Corry had piped up and said that his father had jumped off a twelve-story building and he bounced. The boy wasn’t sure whether he died on the first bounce or the second. Corry had thought at the time that if he ever fell from a deadly height, it might be prudent to fall headfirst in order to die on the first bounce.

  The thought returned to him with crystal clarity as he shot from the falls over Danda-lay. He tried to tuck himself into a dive, but he wasn’t sure which way was down. Then he was in a cloud, and the world was dark and full of water.

  And then nothing happened for a while. Corry wasn’t sure if minutes or only seconds passed, but eventually his stomach started to settle. If I’m going to die, I might as well enjoy the ride. Instinctively, he uncurled in the air, reaching out and out, breathing slowly and carefully so as not to inhale water.

  Perhaps if I angle my arms like this...I could move away from the water of the falls. There, that’s better.

  Oh! A warm draft from below. His stomach did a little flip. Now he wasn’t sure whether he was falling or rising. Next moment he struck something so violently that he thought he’d hit the ground. But, no. It was some kind of air pocket. Now he was definitely rising.

  Corry giggled. He knew he was riding the cusp between panic and exhilaration. I bounced. Then the mists cleared, and he saw trees rushing up to meet him.

  Chapter 2. Selbis

  We should respect our enemies. To do otherwise is foolishness. It is when we begin to admire them that we must beware.

  —Archemais, Treason and Truth

  A pre-dawn glow had barely put a sheen on the frosty ground when Laylan woke the next morning. He had called a halt within a quarter watch’s journey of the walls of Selbis. He and Chance had made no fire with supper. He missed the fire worse now than he had the night before, but he was reasonably sure they had gone undetected.

  For a moment Laylan stared at Chance, still curled up asleep in his cape. The doe stood browsing a few yards away. She seemed at peace, and Laylan decided the two were safe alone for a moment. Walking quietly, he started into the forest. He’d not gone thirty paces before Shyshax appeared. “For shame, Laylan. Leaving our poor employer to fend for himself.”

  Laylan frowned. “You were supposed to be at watch.”

  “I stayed close. Didn’t miss you waking up, did I?”

  Laylan started to reprimand him, then decided it wasn’t worth it. “Anything stirring out there?”

  “Nothing nearby. South of the ridge, I came across the trail of some fauns—quite a few of them. I think they were headed in the same direction as we are.”

  “What’s so unusual about that? There’s a town south of here.”

  “Yes, but they weren’t headed toward the town. They were headed toward Selbis.”

  “I doubt that. How many?”

  “They were traveling in formation, so I couldn’t say exactly. Perhaps four hundred.”

  Laylan’s face registered his surprise. “Shyshax, surely—”

  “I’m only telling you what I saw and thought. You’re a better tracker than I am, so you may disagree, but I have a nose, and I know this: they were fauns, and they were not farmers. Laylan, doesn’t it strike you as odd that anyone going to Selbis wouldn’t use the old road?”

  “Shyshax, no one is going to Selbis except us...or the Raiders. Wherever that group was headed, it wasn’t Selbis. In fact, I’ll bet they give the ruins a wide berth. Any sign of wolves?”

  The cheetah grinned. “Scat and tracks. Fresh ones.”

  “Wolfling?”

  “No. Just wolves.”

  “Sounds about right. You didn’t go near the city, did you?”

  “Within sight of the walls.”

  “Shyshax!”

  “No one saw me. I was a shadow of the wind! Anyway, the outer walls are as deserted as a hermit’s grave.” Shyshax glanced towards the camp. “It’s time Chance sent that doe home. I can smell her from here. I’m surprised she hasn’t attracted wolves before now.”

  When they got back to camp, Laylan told Chance what Shyshax thought about the deer. At first Chance objected. “I’ll be without a mount. What if we need to escape quickly?”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take. The doe is large and has a strong smell and is likely to take fright at the scent of wolves. She’s more handicap than help.”

  “Very well. I’ll send her home.”

  Chance insisted on jogging the rest of the way to the city, in spite of Laylan’s offer of a ride. Shyshax didn’t look sorry about the decision.

  The forest had once been clear for a half league around Selbis, but now it grew right up to the gates. Even so, Laylan, Shyshax, and Chance were still some distance off when they sighted the crenellated parapet. They drew nearer until Laylan stopped them directly in the shadow of the walls. The main gate had been entirely demolished, giving the hunters full view into the arched tunnel that led into the city. The length of the tunnel bore mute witness to the breadth of the wall.

  “From what I remember,” said Laylan, “there are two rings to the inner wall, and three to the wall around the castle. The gates are staggered, and the corridors between are overgrown. Look for signs of wolves or wolflings, and if you see any, get my attention, but don’t make noise unless they’ve already seen us.”

  The trio moved forward under the tunnel arch into a forested corridor between the two walls. Here, if the area had been properly cleared, an intruder would face a rain of arrows as he tried to find the next gate into the city. Of course, it would not be directly across from the first. A rough game trail lead off to the right. They followed it on a winding route through the underbrush until Laylan caught sight of a gate in the far wall.

  Even after they passed into the city, visibility remained poor. The outlying buildings had been made of wood and had long since given way to forest. In three hundred years, the trees had grown quite large. Only the city roads seemed in reasonably good condition. And, of course, the wall. Its spike-like guard towers rose crumbling in the distance, smothered in vines.

  Here and there, evidence of the old inhabitants remained—bits of walls, a well, the remnants of an overgrown forge, half-visible foundation stones. As they neared the city center, more buildings appeared to have been made of stone—first their foundations, then their walls. The hunters began to glimpse frescos and etchings around the lintels and cornices of some dwellings and then on interior walls. The architecture became more elaborate, the rooms larger, until they were definitely walking, not in a forest, but in a skeletal city.

  At one point, they encountered a curious anomaly: heavy marble columns loaded on a wagon in the road. The body of a wood faun in peasant dress, half decayed, and scavenged by small animals, had been harnessed to the shafts of the cart. Laylan walked around it a few times, looking from every angle, and then motioned them to continue.

  At la
st, they snaked their way around the castle hill and arrived at the first wall. As Laylan had predicted, there were three, and this time no trails to follow through the undergrowth within the first ring. The second corridor did offer a track, but Laylan took one look at it and struck out in a different direction. It took them until nearly midday to find their way into the inner fortress atop the hill.

  They emerged into a series of courtyards and buildings, half devoured by fig trees and vines. Up here above the forest, the wind made an eerie music among the chinks and towers. Echoes carried and amplified, and ancient windows gaped like watchful eyes.

  Laylan spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “The best place for a den is here in the castle. The only way we can hope to cover enough ground to find them today is to split up.”

  “Laylan!” sputtered Shyshax.

  “Their wolves must run somewhere,” said Laylan. “It can’t all be snared.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Chance.

  Shyshax scowled at him. “There were four deadfalls back there. Didn’t you see them? And Maijhan hook snares and tripwires and Creator-only-knows what else.”

  Chance looked at Laylan. “Is this true?”

  Laylan shot Shyshax a glare that stifled his outraged snarl. “Yes, of course, and it’s good news. It means they’re here.”

  “I’m no tracker,” said Chance slowly. “Without a guide—”

  “The traps were mostly in those last two rings of wall. I didn’t see much down in the city—just one deadfall near that cart. Fauns say there’s a curse on treasure taken from Selbis. The Raiders probably set up displays like that to maintain the superstition. I suspect they have a tunnel under the castle walls. They set most of their snares in the circles of the inner wall—a place neither they nor their wolves actually go. I kept us together until now because the risk was too great, but I think we’re past the danger. Time to start covering ground.”

  Chance thought about that. “Alright.”

  “Pay attention to your feet,” warned Laylan. “If you see anything that doesn’t look three hundred years old, avoid it. Chance, take the outer ring of the wall. Shyshax, concentrate on the middle rooms, and I’ll try to find the center. If anyone gets into trouble, make as much noise as you can, and we’ll find you. We meet back here a quarter watch before sunset.”

  * * * *

  Laylan gestured off to the right and Shyshax left him without arguing, only to double back and pick up Laylan’s trail a moment later. What game are you playing, boss?

  Sending Chance around the outer wall didn’t make sense. It was the most likely place to encounter traps if there were any to encounter. Shyshax would have been the first to admit that he found the idea of Chance in a deadfall not entirely unpleasant. However, letting one’s employer die was not professional behavior. It didn’t encourage the trust of the community, and if there was one thing a Canid and a Filinian needed living among fauns, it was trust. If Chance died under remotely suspicious circumstances, there would be hell to pay.

  Besides, thought Shyshax, the wall is the longest stretch. I could search it much faster. The logical choice would have been to send Chance into the center to cover the smallest area, put Shyshax on the outside, and let Laylan search the middle where there was more likelihood of success. He’s done it all backwards. Why?

  Shyshax had a suspicion. He had been following Laylan’s trail for only a short distance when he heard voices—faint and easily confused with the moaning of the wind and the echoes of the old ruin settling. Laylan’s trail ran towards the voices. Shyshax thought he recognized them.

  “—not saying it’s useless, but—”

  “—if we were—”

  “Oh, that’s likely!”

  Someone laughed.

  Shyshax was padding along a marble walkway, the portico sagging and completely caved at one end. Laylan crouched behind the blind, peering through a chink. Shyshax slunk forward, until he was close enough to look over Laylan’s shoulder into the courtyard beyond. Fenrah and Sevn were standing there, examining something that looked like the unhappy union of a plow and a siege engine. “I admit I need to streamline it for practicality’s sake,” Sevn was saying.

  “Streamline it?” Fenrah was dressed in a loose brown tunic and no boots. Both wolflings were armed, but they looked thoroughly at ease. “Sevn, you need to put it out of its misery.”

  “No, no! It’ll be useful. Great labor-saving device: stop a whole cart full of fauns without doing any real damage.”

  “The only fauns who’ll walk up to this will be thrill-seekers wanting a free demonstration.”

  “Ah! That’s another idea. We could—”

  “No.”

  “But then we might—”

  “No.”

  “But you haven’t even—!”

  “Sevn, how are you even planning to get it to the road? Ask Xerous to toss it in with the supplies?”

  “As I said, it needs a bit of streamlining.”

  She laughed out loud. “How big are the nets again?”

  “We could use any size, but the one I’ve been playing with could easily compass a cart. My experiments lead me to believe—”

  Shyshax’s whiskers tickled Laylan’s ear, and he spun around.

  Shyshax jumped back to avoid the blade, silent, already naked in his master’s hand. They looked at each other for a moment. Then Laylan lowered his sword.

  “You already knew where they were!” hissed Shyshax.

  “I had a guess,” muttered Laylan.

  “More than a guess.”

  “Alright, yes, I heard their voices when we came in. Very faintly.”

  Shyshax sniffed. Canids had extremely good ears, even better than cats.

  Laylan turned back to the chink in the blind. Fenrah had climbed on top of Sevn’s contraption and was apparently fiddling with things best left alone. Sevn was shouting at her to get down. A second later, a net large enough to cover the floor of a cottage exploded from one end of the device and sent Sevn to the ground in a tangled heap.

  Fenrah grinned. “Alright, so it works.”

  Sevn was trying to explain through several folds of dense weave how she might have achieved better trajectory.

  “Now,” muttered Shyshax in Laylan’s ear.

  Laylan shook his head.

  “Now!” insisted the cheetah. “He’s trapped. She’s off balance on top of that thing. No better time.”

  Laylan didn’t move. He was watching Fenrah. Shafts of sunlight dappled the floor of the courtyard, making her dark hair gleam. She was free and easy and laughing. We really do have her, thought Shyshax. She has no idea we’re watching. Laylan never really thought it would happen. Maybe he never wanted it to.

  Shyshax moved his head so close to Laylan’s ear that his whiskers crinkled. “You can walk away. Chance will never know.”

  Laylan’s jaw tightened. “I was hired to do a job. I took money, and I made a promise.” He bent down and began methodically untying the crossbow.

  “He doesn’t have to know,” persisted Shyshax. “He likes his old hunt anyway. He—”

  Laylan’s fingers shot out and closed gently around Shyshax’s muzzle. “Stop.”

  You’re not talking to me, thought Shyshax. You’re talking to yourself.

  Laylan let him go. “Get Chance. Quietly.”

  Shyshax looked at him long and hard. Then he turned and went.

  Chapter 3. A Turn of Tables

  I’ll freely admit that few people’s agendas match my own. However, I’ve found that I can adapt almost anyone else’s plans to compliment mine.

  —Daren of Anroth, in a letter to Sharon-zool

  In spite of his order, Laylan had not expected Shyshax to accomplish his task very quickly. He was surprised when, only a few moments later, a small sound made him turn, and there stood Chance. He came and hunkered down beside Laylan, his breathing quick with excitement. “You’ve really done it, haven’t you?”

  “
What would you like me to do next?” asked Laylan, his hand resting on the loaded crossbow.

  Chance considered. “Shoot Fenrah. We’ll try to take Sevn for questioning. If we end with even one of the pack alive, I’ll be content.”

  Laylan turned, positioned his weapon in the chink, and sighted along the quarrel. After a moment he took the bow down, noting a slight imperfection in the fletching, and began again. Chance waited with mounting impatience.

  “Drop your weapons and stand up. Don’t turn around.” The voice came from behind them. Laylan glanced sideways at Chance. Neither of them moved.

  “I said, stand up and drop your weapons or I’ll have your heads in a basket. FENRAH! We have guests!”

  Laylan whirled so fast he nearly hit Chance with the crossbow. He saw what he had expected: Sham with his sword drawn. A few yards behind him stood Danzel and the diminutive Hualien. Laylan fired at the Raiders without bothering to aim. He didn’t hit anything, and he didn’t expect to, but the diversion gave him and Chance time to draw their swords and scramble around the blind that would have trapped them.

  Sham bounded after them, shouting another warning to Fenrah. In the instant it took Laylan and Chance to get into the open, Fenrah and Sevn had already drawn swords. Sham launched himself at Chance, leaving Sevn and Fenrah to deal with Laylan. The youngsters circled, waiting for an opening.

  Laylan engaged them with reluctance. He knew that he and Chance could never hope to outfight the whole pack. He was looking for a quick way out. He needed Shyshax, but the cheetah did not appear.

  Fenrah and Sevn had no intention of giving him space for thought, and Laylan had to turn his attention more and more to surviving the next few seconds. He retreated continually, trying to keep them from getting behind him. He would have liked for Chance to guard his back, but Sham had already worked Chance over to the far side of the courtyard.