Over this expanse leapt the magnificent arc of Harn-beng: the ancient bridge of the wizards. Two stone dragons arched their heads in the center as if in combat, their noses nearly touching over the bridge, their wing tips reaching almost to either end.
Dance led as they started across, with Enden close on his heels, followed by Xerous’s wolf, Jaunt. Loaded down with two riders, Barbet came last.
A streak of lightning lit the northern sky. Laylan saw the water gushing off the stone on either side of him. Through the pouring rain, he could barely discern the opposite forest. Then he looked back and saw the hounds. They were running onto the bridge. One dog was well ahead of the others. Laylan watched it come. He had seen Anduin hounds only twice in his life. They were a little over half the size of a wolf, leaner, shorter of coat like the desert dogs.
Looking ahead, Laylan saw that the first wolflings had reached the far side. He looked back at the hound and knew he would never outdistance it. His wolf was looking over her shoulder, too. He felt her slowing, tensing for the inevitable battle. Laylan gripped his sword. I will have to stop and kill this one. He was only a little past the center of the bridge when the hound closed the gap and sprang.
* * * *
Fenrah turned Dance in a shower of muddy earth on the far side of the bridge. “Arrows!” she shouted to her pack. “Pick off as many as you can before they—”
The words died in her throat. In the fury of the storm, she could just make out the hound bearing down on the last member of their party. As the wolf turned, she caught a glimpse of the black hat with its flying wolf tail. The Raiders, now all on the far side of the bridge, watched as the hound slammed into Barbet, dislodging one rider and setting the other off balance.
Fenrah caught the brief flash of metal as Laylan lashed out at the dog, but then he was on the bridge, trying to protect Chance. Fortunately for him, the dog went for Barbet, who threw it back easily. Still, the rest of the dogs were closing in. Hurry, Laylan!
In the heat of the battle a wave of wind-driven rain completely obscured the bridge and drowned all sound in a deafening thunder clap. It cleared just in time for the Raiders to see Barbet fleeing toward them out of the tempest with the hound on her heels. Xerous shot the dog within ten paces, but Barbet was rider-less.
The other hounds had already reached the center of the bridge, but not a shelt could be seen on the pinnacle of wind-swept stone.
Fenrah heard Sham speaking, yelling to be heard. “I don’t see them!”
Xerous shook his head. “No, but I see mounted fauns coming out of the trees. Arrows are no good at this angle; the wind takes them away. Better to lay a hard trail while the storm holds.”
“Fenrah!” shouted Sham, pulling on her arm. “Fenny, they’re gone. There’s nothing we can do. We’ve got to save the pack. Fenny, come on!”
* * * *
Shortly after midday Shadock stood by a window in his palace, staring into the rain. On the windowsill lay an open letter. Absently, he crumbled bits of the wax seal between his fingers—crushing and reforming, crushing and reforming.
A clatter of hooves, and he turned to see a panting messenger. “Your Majesty?”
“Yes?”
“Lord Terrance wishes to inform you that an exceptionally large number of fauns have been sighted around Port Ory. The reports are vague, but his lordship was adamant that I—”
“How many?” The king leaned forward, his face fierce.
The messenger took a step back. “No one knows, Sire. Two runners were sent to ask their business and neither returned. The river fog was thick this morning, and it was difficult to—”
Shadock strode forward with an abruptness that surprised the messenger. The letter in the king’s hand all but vanished in his balled fist. “Tell Terrance that he has my order to evacuate Port Ory. Leave those who will not come. They have a quarter watch. Then flood the tunnels.”
The messenger gaped at him. “Sire, do you mean—?”
“I SAID FLOOD THEM!”
* * * *
The Raiders were just turning to flee when a commotion began on Harn-beng. Two dogs stumbled. One slipped off the bridge, while the second lay writhing on the stone. One of the swamp goats reared and threw its rider. A long howl floated across the gorge, and a ragged cheer went up from Fenrah’s Raiders.
“Lyli!” exclaimed Sevn. “And she’s with the River Gorge pack!”
Lyli’s party was shooting from upwind. The swamp fauns could not even return fire against the force of the gale, and the cheering Raiders did not hesitate to cut down the dogs and riders who made it across. The rest of Daren’s company lost their momentum, wavered, and finally beat an undignified retreat back the way they had come. They left behind them a trail of wounded which Lyli systematically finished off as she worked her way across the bridge to the other Raiders. When she finally reached them, the wolfling sheathed her sword and dismounted. “What was that about? What are you doing here?”
Fenrah leaned wearily against Dance. “It’s a long story. For now, I think that we’d all better find a safe hiding place.”
She glanced at the other pack, watching uncertainly from behind Lyli. Every wolfling admired the Raiders, but no one wanted to draw the attention of their hunters. “You all go home,” she told them. “Stay in your dens for the next few days. Something bad has started and it’s going to get worse. Spread the word: the fauns are fighting among themselves. They’re likely to be roaming the wood, armed in more than usual numbers. There’re cats in it, too, and perhaps centaurs. Tell the other packs.”
When they were gone the Raiders divided the results of Lyli’s hunting among the available mounts. The rain had almost stopped by the time they started away.
“What do you think, Sham?” asked Fenrah. “Will Daren give up that easily?”
Sham snorted. “I’ve heard those dogs are the pride of House Anroth. How many did we just kill? Half a dozen?”
“Eight,” said Lyli.
“It’s too bad about Laylan and Chance,” said Sevn.
A long silence. Sham looked up through the leaves in the spring twilight. “I’ve been thinking about what Daren did with that whip. Something like that could easily kill a shelt. He could have broken Chance’s back. He could have ruptured organs so that Chance would have died within minutes. He pulled just hard enough to wound, but not kill.”
Sevn looked at Sham sidelong. “What are you thinking?”
Sham shrugged. “I’m a healer. I know a lot about shelt anatomy, and even knowing what I know, I don’t think I could have done it. I think I would have killed him first try. Daren wanted his questions answered. He didn’t intend to kill Chance just then.”
Sevn pursed his lips. “You don’t think Daren was gambling. You think—”
“He’d done it before,” finished Sham.
Fenrah stirred. “I don’t see how. The swamp fauns haven’t been at war with anyone in Daren’s lifetime, so I doubt he’s interrogated prisoners.”
“What about slaves?” asked Sham.
Fenrah pursed her lips. “I think fauns occasionally sell their criminals to the swamp fauns to work the mines. I suppose he could have learned such things disciplining slaves.”
Sevn shuddered. “Harsh discipline.”
“It wasn’t discipline,” said Sham, “it was torture...and Daren is expert. Something’s wrong with that. Something is very wrong.”
He glanced at Fenrah, expecting her to comment, but she was quiet. Sham remembered the expression on her face when she’d seen the empty bridge. He cleared his throat. “The wolfling community won’t miss Laylan. Still, I always said he would have made a good Raider if things had been just a little different.”
“Yes.” Her eyes lingered on a distant star, the first to appear between the trees. “I think he would have.”
Part II
Chapter 1. Secret of the Bridge
Old shelts say there are mysteries along the Triangle Road, but mysteries without ec
onomic value are seldom remembered these days. The arm of the Triangle between Laven-lay and Danda-lay is well maintained, but unremarkable. The most interesting part of the Triangle is the leg between Laven-lay and Selbis, including Harn-beng—a magnificent structure that is falling into disrepair. If there are mysteries on that haunted road, no one wants to find them.
—Capricia Sor, A Concise History of Panamindorah
Corry and the cubs agreed that staying near the pass would invite unwanted attention, yet they could not decide which way to go. As the cubs combed the ground for clues, Corry listened to the hum of the insects and began to slap at the first stings. It was almost dark, and he could not help remembering the young minstrel’s song about the swamp monster.
“I’m going to climb that tree,” announced Leesha, “the one that’s leaning. I smell faun on it.” Quick as a squirrel, she scampered up the twisted trunk into the branches.
“Do you see anything?” called Corry.
“No, just— Oh!” Leesha came partway back down. “There’s a plank road up here.”
Seconds later they stood staring at a slender bridge, cunningly disguised among the branches, running from tree to tree as far as Corry could see in the twilight. There was nothing to do but follow it.
* * * *
When the charging hound hit Laylan on the bridge, he struck with his sword and forgot to hold onto Chance. The faun was thrown to the leeward side of the bridge. He seemed to have difficulty getting his feet under him. When Laylan leapt off Barbet, he understood Chance’s problem at once. The wind was fierce, and he skidded on the wet stone, slippery with lichen and mold. The sword clattered from his hands and went whirling into the abyss as he caught himself on the dragon’s stone claw. Laylan struggled out of his boots, trying to gain purchase. His paws helped stop his skating, but Fenrah’s rope fell from his shoulder and became tangled in his legs.
Chance saw that Laylan was having trouble and tried to get nearer. Just as he reached Laylan, the wolf and hound crashed into them along with a gust of wind and rain. Chance slipped over the edge. Grappling for some part of the statue, he got hold of Laylan’s tail instead. Laylan clutched at the air as he fell. To his surprise, his hands closed on something.
Whamp! Laylan bit his tongue and tasted blood. He opened his eyes, nose against stone. He was clutching the rope, which he realized had tangled in the claws of the statue. Laylan risked a glance over his shoulder, but turned away quickly. Far below, the Tiber-wan roared between the walls of the canyon. Pain was lancing up his flanks, and he realized what had happened to Chance. Laylan looked down again—not over his shoulder, but straight down between his arms. “Chance?”
The faun looked pale as death.
“I’ll try to climb up. Don’t let go.” He can’t hang on for long, thought Laylan. It’s a wonder he can hang on at all. At least they were in the lee of the bridge. Laylan could see they were hanging at least two-thirds of the way down the side. He realized then just how deep Harn-beng was—at least the height of six shelts.
As he started to climb, Laylan caught a blur of dogs on the bridge overhead. He heard hoof beats. If they happen to look down, all it would take is one arrow.
Chance’s voice came in a rasp. “Laylan?”
“Yes?”
“I think I could stand up.”
“What?”
“I think there’s something under my feet, just a little below me.”
Laylan felt the pressure on his tail give way. He’s gone.
But then the voice came again. “Look down, Laylan.”
Chance was standing on something. Looking to his right, Laylan saw that the dragon’s tail extended all the way down the side of the bridge at such an angle that a careful shelt might walk along it. Laylan inched down the rope until he stood on the ledge beside Chance. To his further amazement, he saw that the tip of the dragon’s tail separated from the bridge before curving out of sight below. As though it were made for someone to walk under the bridge.
He turned to Chance. The faun had closed his eyes, back flat against the stone. “Don’t move; I’ll be back.” A dog slipped off the bridge, narrowly missing them as it fell.
Moving as quickly as he dared, Laylan inched his way along the thread of stone until he came to the place where the tail separated. He bent and followed it, crawling under the bridge. Wind and rain lashed him in the face, but what he saw made him smile. A hairline crack outlined a square section on the underside of the bridge. Bracing himself against the stone tail, Laylan put his shoulder to the square and pushed upward. It gave. He pushed it aside and stood up, chest high in the still air of the space inside the bridge.
Chapter 2. The Note Brought by a Dead Messenger
The wood fauns produce crops and timber. The swamp fauns harvest gems, peat, quarry stone, and furs. Filinia and Canisaria contain salt and gold and other metals, along with vast tracts of arable land. The centaurs have their steel works and gambling dens. But what do the cliff fauns have? Only a sheer drop with villages clinging to the stone. They can grow few crops, never enough to sell. They’ve had marble for hundreds of years, but it is very difficult to harvest.
One may say the cliff fauns’ asset is their location. Throughout the centuries, they have exploited their position athwart the trade routes. No merchant takes his goods up or down the cliff without paying a toll. Tolls come in all currencies, from all lands, and naturally the cliff fauns developed into bankers. Danda-lay maintains its position by making sure that everyone owes them something. They don’t like war, because war is bad for trade.
—Lasa, Tour the Sky City
Laylan and Chance examined the inside of the bridge with interest. The thick walls muffled the sounds of the storm and the rout of Daren’s forces. As Laylan’s eyes adjusted to the dim light coming through their entrance, he saw that only their tracks marked the thick dust on the floor. Torch brackets lined the walls, but it was evident that no light had shone here for a long time.
After a rest, they started along the dark tunnel. Chance wanted to walk, and Laylan let him, stopping frequently. At last the passage narrowed and dead-ended in a flight of steps. Laylan climbed up first and found a covering similar to the one they had entered by. He pushed, but the stone cover remained firm. Something’s probably fallen on it. He knew they had long since left the bridge behind, but where they might be in the forest, he could not say. He pushed harder and succeeded in lifting the block a few inches, but it fell again with a solid chink.
Perhaps we should go back to the bridge. The idea of inching up that thread of stone was not appealing, but it might be the only way out.
“Is it stuck?” asked Chance from the bottom.
“Yes. I don’t think I can—” He stopped, ear pressed against the stone cover. “I hear something outside.”
“The hounds?”
“I...I don’t know.” Laylan heard the sound of digging and a grinding of stone over stone. He made a swift decision and pushed once more. This time the cover gave easily. Laylan brought a hand to his face against the light. He heard an exclamation of surprise, and something about the voice made him open his eyes. He saw a feline face, haloed in brilliance. It was Shyshax.
* * * *
Cliff fauns swarmed through the streets of Port Ory, galvanized by orders to evacuate. Twenty soldiers were required at each tunnel entrance just to keep the citizens from stampeding, yet within the watch, all who were willing had fled. Many chose to stay.
The rain had just stopped when a large contingent of swamp fauns stormed the gates of Port Ory. Cliff faun archers met them with a hail of arrows, but the port was not designed for defense. Within minutes, the cliff fauns abandoned the outer wall and began a measured retreat. Soon the sluice gates opened, and the Tiber-wan crashed into its flood channels. Shadock’s soldiers stood panting by the basin in Danda-lay, exhausted but satisfied. “Let them try to follow us now.”
* * * *
At the top of the waterfall bridge, Sharon-zool a
nd her officers stood watching swamp fauns soldiers herd terrified citizens back into their houses. She frowned in disgust when a runner told her the tunnels were all flooded. “We must send Shadock our terms of surrender.”
“How?” asked Rquar, one of her lieutenants and Daren’s cousin. “With the tunnels flooded, we can no more talk to him than we can attack him.”
Sharon-zool smiled. “Can’t we?”
* * * *
“Captain! Sir, please wake up!”
Jubal opened his eyes and looked blearily into the face of one of his young subordinates. “Officer Neville needs you on the north side of the basin. He says it’s urgent.”
Jubal saw morning light coming through his window and reckoned he hadn’t been asleep more than a watch, perhaps less. He glanced around for a uniform before remembering that he was still wearing one. “What’s that noise?”
“The flood tunnels, sir! His majesty ordered Port Ory evacuated around sunrise. The mud eaters took the port, but thanks to his majesty’s quick thinking, all who would take warning had fled.”
Jubal rubbed his temples. “And he hasn’t asked to see me?”
The messenger looked puzzled. “Who?”
Jubal shook his head. Quick thinking, indeed! “Never mind. Where’s Neville?”
He found his officer on the edge of the parade ground; the falls made it impossible to be heard next to the basin. Officer Neville fitted the profile of a palace guard. He was cheerful, stocky running to fat, looked intimidating in mail, and was good at keeping his mouth shut. Jubal had found that nothing much rattled Neville. The sight of him looking pale and queasy did not bode well for the morning.
“Sir, something came over the falls a little while ago. It took us a bit to fish it out, but when we did, I thought you should have a look.”
Jubal followed Neville into the spray of the falls. The opening of the tunnels had cut the quantity of water coming from above by about half, but the noise was still deafening. They walked around the basin for a while, and then Jubal spotted three more guards standing close to the wall. They were soaked from being so long in the spray, but Jubal thought they looked uncomfortable for some other reason.
The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy Page 26