Laylan’s reputation continued to grow until the day an angry young prince approached him in a quest for revenge. Chance wanted the Raiders. He would pay Laylan a handsome salary if he would concentrate on them exclusively. The offer interested Laylan—not so much for the money, but the prospect of doing what no faun had been able to do. Of course he had heard of the Raiders. He had actually taken a few tentative shots at them, but he made a comfortable living hunting less efficient outlaws, and he had no reason to exert himself over the Raiders. Chance gave him one, and he took it.
Laylan had uncovered information about Fenrah’s pack that no one else had been able to find. He learned their past, their present habits, and, as far as possible, their future plans. That’s where our problem started, thought Shyshax. He did not understand the pack instinct himself—few cats did—but he knew of its existence. Laylan was part wolfling. He could no more escape the pack instinct than Shyshax could escape the instinct to groom. He looked at the Raiders too hard for too long, thought Shyshax. They turned into his pack, and he never even knew it until that courtyard in Selbis. Laylan’s not used to guilt. Now it’s eating him alive.
Chapter 5. The Muse
The stories say that once the world was full of music—that tree and sky and mountain all had their songs and answered each other in harmony. Some say that as the gods died, the music stuttered into silence. Others say that we simply lost the ability to hear it.
—Archemais, Treason and Truth
“All Gabalon saw in the stories of the past were examples of wizards foiling each other. He deduced that a wizard might gain ascendancy over shelts, if he did not have to worry about his own kind. As he grew older he built a powerbase of other wizards who shared his ideas and shelts who were being mistreated. Gabalon styled himself their savior and set out to conquer. He killed every wizard who did not bend the knee and many who did. The Muse saved me—plucked me into the place where time and space run together and doors open on all the worlds. I visited Earth. When I returned to Panamindorah, I was shocked at the number of years that had passed. Nearly everyone I had known was dead. As far as I could tell, there were only eight other wizards left—Gabalon, and seven loyal followers.
“He was abusing his power. Whole species of shelts and animals had disappeared, and the meaning of the Monuments had been forgotten. I worked with the rebels, fought alongside them, made their victories my own. Sometimes the Firebird showed me things, though not often. Do not ask me to explain how he chooses when to interfere. I do not know. One summer, we took a city in old Filinia that had been held by one of Gabalon’s lieutenants for a generation. In the dungeons, we found an unibus. Unibus are not like other shelts. They are shape-shifters and magic users, and they live a long life, though they are easier to kill than a wizard. Like me, she was older than she looked. She remembered things and people from long ago. We shared a past, and over the next year, we became close.
“To love is to fear. I was afraid of her dying, but more than that, I was afraid of being called away, of being required at any moment to leave her and return to find nothing but her scattered ashes. I did not know what the Firebird would say about my taking a mate. I did not ask. I was too afraid of his answer. So, I put away the flute. Previously, I had never taken it from my person, but now I hid it in a place I thought safe. I told myself that I would return for it when her life was over, but I would not be the prophet while she lived. Worst of all, I told no one. I still sat on their councils and gave my advice, but I knew that I no longer spoke with the authority of the prophet. The music no longer came to me, and the Firebird was silent.
“You were born about that time, Corellian. The shelts and I were no longer winning, but were settling into a comfortable stalemate with Gabalon. For several years, I lived quietly and loved my wife and watched my child grow. And then one day our enemies achieved a strange victory—a victory reeking of magic. I knew before I even went to look that the Muse had been stolen and by whom.
“I found also a change in my own person. A dragon is a wizard’s true form. In the beginning, dragons were all feathered, like birds, and they breathed flame—an echo of the Firebird, living Monuments. I had heard that Gabalon and his companions were under a curse—that they had lost their feathers and their flames. Now I had my own curse—the snake—which has become my true form, for a snake is but a dragon fallen. Perhaps the Creator will give me back my true form one day, but for now, whenever I reach for it, I find only the snake.
“The war went badly for us after that. The wolflings fought hardest, and we lived among them. One day your mother was killed in a foolish skirmish—shot in the dark by our own shelts.” Time had obviously deadened the wound, but some of the pain lived still in his voice.
Corry wanted to reach out to him, but he was angry—at whom, he wasn’t sure. “What about me?”
“You were thirteen. Two years later, the king of the wolves, Telsar, was captured by Gabalon on the eve of a great battle. We were close to the royal family, and you felt the loss keenly, especially as we knew he would be tortured.
“The insult was enough to galvanize the wolves. They marched on Selbis and might have taken it if Gabalon had not used the flute to catch the army in a time-fold. He broke the wood to do it, and you can still find evidence of the damage if you know where to look.
“You crept away from the army the night before we were to march on Selbis. I believe that you intended to free Telsar. You were still learning to shift and not very good at it. I went after you and escaped the fate of the Durian wolves, but I could not find you. Later, I learned that Gabalon had caught you and used the Muse to send you...somewhere. No one knew where. I searched frantically, but found nothing.
“Some hundred years later, the cliff fauns defeated Gabalon and destroyed Selbis. I searched the ruins for days, but found no trace of you. My brother used to send me mocking notes about you from time to time, but with his disappearance, even those ceased.”
“Disappearance?” interrupted Corry. “I thought he was killed.”
Archemais shook his head. “Wounded, but his body was never found. He would have had to consolidate his useful tissue and shift to something rather small, but I’m sure he lived.”
Corry frowned. He wanted to ask a dozen questions—about shifting, about his mother, about dragons, about the flute. He wanted to ask all those questions, and he wanted at the same time to walk out of this room and never speak to his father again.
Archemais handed back the flute. “Come,” he said. “We have work to do.”
* * * *
Shyshax heard the footsteps on the stairs. He’d talked to Chance before coming back up here and had expected some kind of help before now. A moment later, the wind brought him the scent of the visitors. Chance had brought Fenrah. She came and sat down on the other side of Laylan, who never stirred. After a moment, she said, “I wanted to show you something before you ran off.”
He did not look at her, though her movements must have been visible out of his peripheral vision. Fenrah drew her dagger. She raised it a hand’s breadth above the smooth stone of the castle roof, then drove down. The blade hit the stone with a dull ring. It stayed there for a moment while she continued to bear down on it. Then, slowly, the dagger began to sink into the stone. Shyshax stared. Above his head, he heard Chance catch his breath.
Laylan blinked, then looked at the dagger. It seemed almost to be melting the stone, like a hot brick on ice. When Fenrah had gotten it half buried in the roof, she pulled it out. The dagger came away smoothly, leaving a thin slit in the stone.
Laylan’s eyes flicked to her face. “Move quickly,” she said, “and it behaves like any other dagger. In a fight, you’d never know it’s special. Move slowly, though, and it will cut absolutely anything.”
“Gabalon’s dagger,” murmured Chance. “A cursed weapon.”
Fenrah tapped the clear gold jewel in the pommel. “That’s unicorn gold, nothing else it could be. I think the blade is of a p
iece with the pommel. The jewel is just cut and polished differently. If you polish the blade, it looks much the same color.”
Laylan spoke at last. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Nothing. I just thought you’d like to know, since the dagger is how you found us.”
Laylan looked away from her. Shyshax knew he felt tricked. But at least he’s talking.
Fenrah drew a deep breath. “I care about the wolflings. Their well-being is my first concern. What you have done or not done in the past is not of primary importance to me now. What matters is that you have a legitimate claim to the Canisarian throne, and the fauns know and trust you. They do not trust me.”
Chance leaned on his staff. “She’s right, Laylan. If you speak for the wolflings in council, you will get a better reception. You have, after all, never robbed or killed any of them.”
Laylan gave a bitter laugh. “Yes, but can the wolflings say the same? I don’t think they want me representing us.”
“What they want,” said Fenrah, “is to live—without traps or bounties or gibbets outside every town. You promised me in Selbis that if I got you out of there, you would try to do something about the bounty laws.”
Laylan’s eyes flicked to her face again, and Shyshax felt him tense.
“Yes,” she murmured, “you have given your word that far. You can’t kill yourself without doing that.”
Shyshax growled. “He wasn’t going to—”
But Laylan’s hand closed gently around his muzzle. “I’ll do what I can, Fenrah.”
Chapter 6. Wheels Within Wheels
It is always better to have our black boxes opened by friends than by enemies.
—Archemais, Treason and Truth
In the frosty dawn, Jubal stood by the barricade and waited. He felt intensely uneasy. What is she doing? Sharon-zool had consented to the conference without argument and with no objectionable stipulations. She wanted to meet at dawn in the place he had specified. She’d even agreed to stop hanging cliff fauns until they had completed their parlay. The only odd part of her request was that all of his fauns and at least a hundred of his cats be in attendance. Jubal knew, then, that she guessed the small number of his remaining fauns, but that was hardly avoidable, once she knew she was dealing with the palace guard. He had wondered if she meant to use the conference as a diversion while she attempted a flanking attack, but that seemed impossible. The whole length of the barricade could be seen from their conference point, and Jubal knew of no other entrance to the palace. He was sure that if Sharon did, she would have used it by now.
But she’s planning something. What? Jubal turned towards a flurry of trumpets. Sharon-zool certainly did not intend to sneak into the plaza. She came mounted with a glittering escort.
Jubal stepped forward to meet them. Tavaris and Loop came with him, along with a small guard of cats. The rest of the fauns and cats stood on or just in front of the barricade, watching.
Sharon-zool rode a milk-white goat, its twisted horns crusted with jewels, its green and silver livery flashing in the morning sun. Behind her rode perhaps thirty fauns, along with a handful of lizard riders. Jubal glanced around at Tavaris. “If anything goes wrong here,” he muttered, “I want you back inside the barricade. Don’t wait for me; just go.”
Tavaris raised an eyebrow, but Jubal continued. “There aren’t many fauns left who know how to command. If she can kill or cripple us—”
They were within hailing distance now, and one of the trumpeters began listing Sharon’s titles. Jubal hardly heard. She had dismounted and was striding towards him, followed by her retinue. She was closing the distance more rapidly than Jubal and his councilors—trying to get even closer to the barricade, Jubal realized. How can this be to her advantage?
Then Jubal saw her eyes, and he knew. He could not say how or when or where, but Sharon-zool had discovered his secret. This is not a parlay, thought Jubal. This is a trial—mine.
* * * *
“It’s my mother, isn’t it?” said Chance. “The wealthy patron Laylan suspected was helping your pack.”
Sham nodded. Fenrah had given her consent, but in the meantime Chance had begun to put things together on his own. “Your mother contacted us several years after Sardor-de-lor fell, when we were still children, living on the edges of Canisaria with an outlaw band still fighting the cats. She gave us money and food, contacts among sympathetic fauns, our first spy network. Without her, we might have been caught up in some hopeless plot by the old nobility to retake our city and died as symbols of a lost cause. Instead, we burrowed deep into wood faun territory and accepted our lives as outlaws. Because of her gifts, we were able to help other wolfling packs.”
Chance frowned. “But my mother hardly ever leaves the palace, and she’s something of a recluse. How did she orchestrate all this?”
Sham hesitated. “No one ever told us, but we think your mother handles our affairs through one main contact. They’ve set up an elaborate diversion to hide the arrangement.”
* * * *
Jubal glanced at Tavaris again. “What I said,” he whispered fiercely, “remember.”
“Filinians! Fauns of Danda-lay!” Sharon-zool did not even pretend to be speaking to Jubal. She projected her voice over his head at the crowd around the barricade. “You have all been deceived! I and my shelts are here to liberate you from a wolfling plot to take over your city and wreak revenge on the cats and their allies.”
A murmur broke out along the barricade—jeers and laughter, mostly, but she had their attention. Whatever they had expected, this wasn’t it. Tavaris glanced at Jubal and realized what was coming. Don’t be a fool, Jubal. After all these years, don’t be a fool.
Sharon-zool looked at Jubal, and her mouth twisted into a smile. “It was a clever plot. It almost succeeded. But now, at this barricade, before these witnesses, it ends. Tell them, Jubal: how you used a little scandal to cover a larger one. Tell them what you’ve really been doing with Queen Istra.
* * * *
“Jubal,” said Chance softly.
“Yes,” said Sham, “We think Jubal and Istra cultivated the rumor about their affair, because they rightly assumed Shadock would be too proud to acknowledge it. He would try to cover it up as long as they were discrete. His distaste would prevent him from looking too closely at their activities.”
Chance was quiet a long moment. “When I tried to hang you, Jubal was there. I was angry about it. I knew shelts would say he came to see my victory because he was my sire.”
Sham grinned. “He came to see me. He opened the gates for Fenny and Sevn and Xerous and told them where to find the materials for the scaffold. Hualien’s rats did the rest.”
* * * *
The barricade went silent at the mention of Istra’s name. “She disagreed with Shadock’s decision to leave Sardor-de-lor to its fate,” continued Sharon-zool. “She schemed to find and aid the heir to the Canisarian throne, but she knew she could never have any direct contact with wolflings, nor would she be able to contact the network of wolfling sympathizers among the fauns. Istra needed a footpad—a clever shelt with wolfling sympathies who could mingle with all classes of fauns without arousing suspicion. She found such a person in her palace guard. She raised him to Captain in spite of his low birth and young age, and they devised a ploy to keep their activities unsuspected. In order to justify the secret notes and the private meetings, which would certainly become known in time, they spread the rumor of Jubal’s affair with the queen.”
A low rumble swept the barricade. “You cats have lived and died to make Canisaria your own,” continued Sharon-zool. “You know very well the wolflings would like nothing better than to see you all shot. Yet now you blithely follow the orders of a faun sold heart and soul to Fenrah Ausla! You fauns, do you realize that this ‘defender’ of the city once opened the gates to the Raider pack so that it could humiliate Danda-lay?”
The noise from the barricade had swollen to a roar. Sharon-zool let t
hem argue and shout, her dark eyes gleaming at Jubal’s tight-mouthed glare. Tavaris glanced at Loop. The Lynx was frowning from Jubal to Sharon-zool. They will not believe it, thought Tavaris, never. Unless... Oh, Jubal you’ve lied about this so flawlessly that not even Laylan or Chance suspects you. But, whispered a little voice in Tavaris’s head, not this way. He doesn’t know how to lie this way.
Sharon-zool let the clamor on the barricade die down.
Jubal spoke at last, “Who set fire to the library and scriptorium? Who took bread at our tables two days ago and then shed the blood of our soldiers in the streets last night? Who hung cliff faun children before their parents’ eyes? The only danger to Danda-lay in this plaza is you and your shelts. We did not come here to bandy accusations with you, Sharon-zool, but to arrange for your—” he spat out the word, “departure. Though it pains me to say so, we will let you walk out of here if you leave now. This offer will not come again.”
Sharon-zool only smiled at him. She did not answer a word until silence had returned to the plaza. “Do you deny that you have aided wolflings and their allies, Jubal? That you have pledged your services to Fenrah Ausla? Swear you have not. Swear it on your honor as a guard and defender of this city. Swear it on the Creator’s throne. Swear it, and I and all these shelts and cats will be content.” She swept the plaza with her arm as though to include herself with the watchers on the barricade.
Tavaris groaned inwardly. He watched Jubal’s mouth working in his pale face. We are lost. For five heartbeats, the barricade held its breath. When it became clear that Jubal was not going to answer, pandemonium broke loose.
Chapter 7. More Mirrors
The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy Page 40