The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy

by Abigail Hilton

  Fenrah stepped back suddenly and gave two brief, but ear-splitting howls: a rally call. We’ve got to get out of here soon. Otherwise, she’ll have the whole pack on us.

  Then Laylan tripped over a twisted root, lost his balance, and fell backward. He caught himself with his hands, but nearly dropped his sword. Fenrah brought her paw down on the flat of the blade, pinning it to the ground.

  They were all panting. Laylan froze, looking at Fenrah. Slowly he released the sword hilt. Fenrah’s eyes narrowed as she wiped her brow with the back of her hand and then retrieved the weapon without taking her eyes off Laylan. “Tie him,” she said to Sevn, “tightly.”

  “With what?”

  She glanced around, saw a bit of netting from the ungainly weapon, and tossed it to him.

  Sevn pulled Laylan’s arms behind him and jerked him to his feet. He reached to take the netting from Fenrah, but stopped with a gasp. Fenrah saw the expression on Sevn’s face and darted forward, but Laylan caught the wolfling as he fell and swung him around in front. He supported the limp body in one hand and held a slender dagger in the other. He brought the drugged weapon against the unconscious wolfling’s throat.

  “Stay!” he warned, and Fenrah stopped, eyes snapping. “Tell Sham to hold off,” continued Laylan, “and give me back my sword.”

  Fenrah didn’t move. “Did you really think you could come in here and take us alone? That was stupid, Laylan. The fauns will never know what happened to you. Wolves will consume your body, and their pups will carry away the bones.”

  “Then they’ll have Sevn’s bones as well. Come on, hand it over. SHAM AUSLA!” he barked across the courtyard. “Lay down your weapon, if you value your friend’s life.”

  Sham and Chance paused to look at Laylan. Chance’s mouth twisted into a smile. He watched Sham with undisguised pleasure as he looked from Fenrah to Laylan. Finally Sham took a step back and lowered his sword.

  Chance leapt towards him, but Sham’s blade came up in an instant. “Not so fast! You may have bought your own lives, but that’s all.”

  “You heard him,” growled Chance. “Lay down your sword.”

  Sham gave a tight little smile. “Ah, but you see: if I lay down my sword, you’ll kill me, and then you’ll kill Sevn. If I don’t lay down my sword and you still kill Sevn, I’ll be very sad, and then I’ll gut you and leave you for the wolves. Either way, I lose Sevn, but at least the second way I get the consolation prize of your teeth on a chain.”

  A noise from the walkway made them all jump. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

  Hunters and hunted watched in astonishment as a shelt in a pale blue tunic and rippling black cape stepped from the eaves and strolled toward them, smiling and clapping black-gloved hands. A long, curiously wrought scimitar sword hung at his side.

  “And we end in a draw!” crowed the newcomer. “Beautifully done. Very pretty fighting. However, this is where I take over.” He removed one glove, snapped his fingers, and armed swamp fauns stepped from every doorway.

  Their leader spoke again, “Put your weapons on the ground, and keep your hands in sight. Anyone who resists will lose their hands, feet, and head in that order. Any questions?”

  Chapter 4. Another Interrogation

  One must admire courage where one finds it.

  —Archemais, Treason and Truth

  Chance frowned. “Daren? Daren Anroth? We were told that you were sick and unable to attend Lupricasia.” He blinked as a swamp faun took his sword.

  Daren gave a bow. “A brief illness. Fortunately, I am fully recovered.”

  Behind him, the swamp fauns were tying Laylan, Fenrah, and Sham, and even Sevn where he lay unconscious. Two more soldiers appeared, each dragging a small wolfling. Danzel was cursing and growling as he fought. Hualien made no noise at all, but his guard had been bitten rather badly.

  Daren waved his hand. “Tie them.”

  He turned back to Chance. “Our meeting here was unplanned, but not unwelcome. The fact is that I’ve been interested in you for some time.”

  Chance eyed him warily. “In that case, you would make a better impression by returning my sword.”

  Daren smiled. “All in good time. You’ve missed a few Lupricasias of your own. Let me see, the last time I saw you was...ah, yes, three years ago at your decoration for bravery during the cat wars. I seem to recall something unfortunate happened to your statue.” He gestured at the wolflings. “I suppose that is what this is about?”

  “This is about the honor of my city,” snapped Chance, “and about bringing outlaws to justice. Your help is not needed, and if you plan to take them from me and claim the reward—”

  Daren’s laughter cut him short. “Peace, dear prince. I’m not here to steal your glory. Not that there’s much to steal from a queen’s bastard.”

  Chance’s body went rigid.

  Daren continued in a lazy drawl. “The first time I was in Danda-lay, I remember you were about six, and I saw you in the royal train. They made you march with your mother...even though princes of Danda-lay normally join the king in the procession at age four. Ah, I see in your eyes that you haven’t forgotten that slight. You were an angry little thing even then.

  “And later, when your father couldn’t tuck you in corners any longer, standing up there with all those dark heads, well, you stood out. You’ve provided the minstrels with an entire new genre of jokes! And after that incident with the hanging—”

  “Are you coming to a point?” snarled Chance.

  “Your city?” purred Daren. “You call it your city? I wonder if she misses you just now? Out here risking your life for her honor.”

  He leaned forward. “Chance, your city despises you, and nothing—no military feat, no risk, certainly no capture of outlaws—will ever change that. At best, you’re a joke, at worst an embarrassment. The ballads and rhymes and ribaldry—those are what last. The rest is chaff in the wind of history.”

  Chance hit him. He hit him so hard that Daren staggered, and then he followed it up with a punch to the gut that made the swamp faun double over. The guards were on Chance in an instant, and might have killed him, but Daren, still half-bent and coughing, held up a hand and shook his head. They held Chance tightly while their leader got his wind back.

  Daren was chuckling through his grimace. “I invited that.” Finally, he straightened up, massaging his jaw. “So... We know what we think of one another. But you know I’m right, Chance. You don’t belong in Danda-lay any more than I do. You don’t belong anywhere.”

  Chance was panting with rage and stood tense in the grip of the guards.

  “If you die out here, they won’t even notice you’re missing for days. Do you think Shadock would even bother to mount a search? Do you think even Jubal would come looking?”

  Chance looked like he might try another punch. Instead, he made an effort to control his voice. “You presume too much, mud-eater.”

  Daren smiled. “More than you dream. But not without good reasons. I know more about you than you do. I know that this,” he gestured towards the Raiders, “isn’t about statues or hangings or honor. This is about Shadock turning his back on the wolflings and your mother wanting to help them. If your mother and your king hadn’t disagreed so violently, she might never have gone to Jubal, and you might never have been born.”

  “Shut up,” spat Chance.

  Daren glanced at the bound Raiders and rocked on his heels. “Wolflings. Can’t live with them. Couldn’t have been without them.”

  “Shut up!” Chance elbowed one of his guards in the belly and almost got loose.

  Daren looked pleased. “You’re angry because I said it to your face, but isn’t that better than saying it behind your back? Like everyone else?” He hit Chance suddenly—hard, but without anger, across the face. The shock made Chance still for a moment.

  “Wake up! You can never win. You can never prove your birthright by fighting wolflings. No one will ever give it to you. If you want it, you’ve got to take it.�
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  Chance stared at him. “Don’t understand,” he said thickly.

  “You want to call Danda-lay your own?” asked Daren. “Want to defend and improve her? Want to save her honor and preserve her treasures? You’ve got no chance at that throne by succession, but Danda-lay’s luck is coming to an end. While Shadock drinks at the festival, swamp faun armies are gathering to invade. We have many allies, but we could use another.”

  Chance almost sneered. “Don’t waste your breath.”

  The corner of Daren’s mouth twitched. “Look around you, Chance. Does this look like a hunting party?” He leaned closer. “We have cats. Do you think they’ve given up on owning the wood? From the Snow Mountains all the way to the edge of the cliff? A true empire?”

  Chance’s face looked a little paler. He shook his head. “I would never turn traitor.”

  “Traitor to what?” sniffed Daren. “Chance, you’ve nothing to betray! You have negative value to your king, and your country despises you. I’ll tell you something else: if we take Danda-lay by force with cats and swamp fauns, it will be bloody slaughter. More than half of the citizens will die, and we’ll sell most of the rest to the centaurs and to our own gem merchants for the mines. Ah, but if we had a cliff faun to put on the throne—someone of at least arguably royal descent, things might be different. The cliff fauns might be more cooperative. You could save thousands, Chance, to say nothing of the civic buildings, the art galleries, the libraries. Without a defender, they’ll all go up in flames.”

  Chance shook his head. “I don’t believe you have the army you claim...and even if you did, I will not write myself into the history books as the faun who betrayed Danda-lay.”

  Daren shrugged. “You of all shelts should know the little ways in which reputations are built and maintained. Be a tyrant, rather than a savior, if you prefer. Be feared by every faun this side of the desert. At least, they will not be laughing at you.”

  “I don’t believe you have an army that could take Danda-lay. The city is impregnable.”

  Daren cocked his head. “Oh? Not only do we have an army, Chance. We have a way in. Or, at least, we have a good idea.” He took out a couple of vellum sheets from an inside pocket of his jacket and showed them to Chance. “A book was discovered before Lupricasia. It had some useful maps of Selbis.”

  Chance eyed the maps uneasily. “I see you’re a thief. That proves nothing.”

  “We know the book was found in a room that marks a secret entrance into Danda-lay—an entrance that bypasses the water tunnels. We even know the approximate location of the tunnel’s exit in the forest. We know that you, as one of the royal family—despised though you are—were privy to that information.”

  He leaned so close that Chance could smell the light scent of mint on his breath. “So, what will it be, Chance? Will you write yourself into the history books? Or will you be the bitter, self-absorbed weakling that everyone takes you for?”

  For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Chance’s eyes. He opened his mouth—and kicked Daren with both hooves. It caught all the swamp fauns off guard, not least the two who were holding him. They staggered under his full weight, and he twisted free. For one moment he was clear, backing away, looking for an escape.

  Daren had one hand on his solar plexus, and this time he did not look amused. “I had hoped the potential advantages of your situation would be evident to you. Perhaps I need to make clear the potential disadvantages.”

  He gave a slight nod, and a faun behind Chance let fall a long coil of whip. He stepped forward, sent the lash curling around Chance’s legs, and brought him to the ground with one jerk. One guard pulled him to his feet and two others started to hit him. The first punch brought a yelp, but after that they knocked the breath from him. The faun with the whip had been joined, meanwhile, by another. After a few moments, Daren stopped the beating. The guards tied Chance’s hands behind his back, then let the other two fauns toss coils of whip around Chance’s neck from either side.

  Chance remained unsteadily on his feet, fighting for breath and balance. Daren shook his head. “The street performers were right about you.” He flicked the clasp of Chance’s cloak, then jerked it off his shoulders. He took a handful of Chance’s tunic and sliced it open. In seconds, the cliff faun stood naked and shivering in the evening twilight.

  Daren sneered. “No prince of Windar ever looked so pitiful. I asked you nicely, and now I’ll command you, bastard: where is the secret entrance to Danda-lay?”

  Chance said nothing. The fauns with the whips were beginning to pull in opposite directions. Chance’s face was going red with blood. “You should have done your executions our way,” quipped Daren, “not so much equipment to malfunction.”

  Chance’s breathing had become an audible wheeze. His blue eyes looked fever bright in his red face.

  “Where is the secret entrance to Danda-lay?” asked Daren. “Trouble talking? Just nod when you’re ready.”

  Chance didn’t move. Suddenly his knees sagged, and he sank to the ground. Daren waved a hand at the guards. “Loosen those cords; get him up again.”

  Chapter 5. Jubal Investigates

  A suspicious mind can be the most priceless of assets.

  —Archemais, private reflections

  In a dusky courtyard that adjoined the outer wall of Danda-lay’s palace, queen Istra stood alone, hands knotted in her handkerchief. She’d bitten one nail to the quick, and it was bleeding into the white silk. She turned as light spilled from an opening door. Jubal stood there, his officer’s hat in one hand. “M’lady, I am sorry. I tried to come yesterday, but my duties—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She came to him quick as a cat across the courtyard. “Tell me. What’s happening? Have they arrested anyone? Does this have anything to do with—?”

  Jubal’s face looked drawn. “With us? No. But the news is bad all the same.”

  She drew him to a bench, and they sat down. Jubal told her the official line: that Lexis had taken Capricia to complete his conquest of the wood via a bargain. It was feared because of his silence that Capricia had been accidentally killed during the abduction. Meuril had declared war after the search yesterday produced neither his daughter nor Lexis. Only one of Lexis’s officers had been taken—Loop the lynx, and so far he wasn’t talking. The festival was disintegrating amid the disaster. Many guests had left, including Targon and his centaurs, along with the swamp faun queen and her entourage.

  Gossip had replaced singing in the half empty taverns. Fauns were arguing over what should be done with the four hundred plus cats now imprisoned in Danda-lay’s dungeons. Some thought that they should be summarily executed. Others urged they be kept for bargaining.

  “And what do you think?” asked Istra.

  Jubal hesitated. “I think if you look at a shadow thinking of cats, that’s what you’ll see. I visited the moratorium where they’re holding the body of Capricia’s white doe, Sada. They’re preparing her for burial in Laven-lay—a burial fit for a queen, based on the assumption that she died defending Capricia.”

  “You don’t think that’s what happened?”

  “Perhaps, but not from cats. I examined her throat carefully. It had been mangled by teeth and the whole body mauled by claws. The wounds were so obviously cat-inflicted that I don’t think the wood fauns looked any farther. I did, and I can assure you: Sada died from a cut to the throat—deep and smooth. Cats never slice so clean. A sword did that.”

  * * * *

  For several hours Leesha and Tolomy kept up a steady jog, traveling deeper into the forest away from Port Ory. Tolomy thought he detected his father’s scent on the ground and grew hopeful that they might actually meet. Then the pair encountered what looked like the scene of a fight: bloody earth, cat tracks, hoof prints, and four dead leopards. “Leesha,” whispered Tolomy, nosing carefully over the grass, “you have to tell me what’s happening. I smell Father here and...swamp fauns, I think, and perhaps a few centaurs? Leesha,
those leopards were part of the royal guard, and those are sword wounds.”

  “I know, Tol.” She sounded a little panicky, running back and forth among the bodies. “Can you tell which way he went? Father, I mean?”

  Tolomy tried, but neither of them could find a clear trail. At last, Leesha said, “Father wanted us to keep going.”

  “Where? To whom?”

  “Home.”

  Tolomy stopped and stared at her. “Home? You think we can go all the way back to Filinia? By ourselves? With no guards through faun country? With shelts trying to kill us?”

  “Tol, we don’t have a choice! Father said—”

  “No!” he snarled. “Father would never have said that! You— You’re playing with me! Or someone else is. They’re probably making our supper right now. With a warm fire and soft pillows. They’re probably looking for us, Leesha.”

  “Yes, so they can kill us! All because of this thing.”

  “What thing?” demanded Tolomy.

  “This— Oh, you can’t see it. Come here.”

  “I’m not coming anywhere near you. You’re acting crazy.”

  They were still arguing when something large passed over their heads and plummeted into the forest.

  * * * *

  Jubal took several hours to track down Syrill. He was not in his apartment in the palace, and the newly appointed wood faun guard declined to comment on his whereabouts. Fortunately, Jubal had known Syrill long enough to have several guesses at where he might be.

  Three satyrs’ homes later, Jubal found him—just leaving. Syrill was wearing a heavy travel cloak, and he stared at Jubal for a moment as though he didn’t recognize him. Then he gave a brisk nod and shouldered past. “Evening, Jubal. I’m surprised to see you on this street. Thought you got everything you wanted in the palace.”

  Jubal stifled a retort. It wasn’t like Syrill to make remarks like that. He’s trying to provoke me. Jubal took a few swift steps and got in front of him. “Syrill, we need to talk.”