Fenrah’s head shot up. “No more bounty laws. No more traps. A place in Canisaria. A place on your council.”
Meuril smiled faintly. “Few fauns will deign to council with you, my lady of shadows.”
“I’ll speak for them,” said Laylan. “You know me.”
Meuril raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Laylan sighed. “Apparently, I’m their king.”
Chapter 10. Departure
It’s no accident that Gabalon was never defeated until the cliff fauns decided to enter the war. Historians remember the victory. What they often forget is how long Danda-lay waited, watching the wolflings and others break their teeth on Selbis. The cliff fauns were thought to be as much the wizard’s creatures as the swamp fauns.
—Archemais, A Wizard’s History of Panamindorah
Shadock was glaring at Archemais. “Who are you,” he spat, “that we should listen to any of this? We have not even tried to parlay with this Targon. Perhaps no battles need be fought. We have no proof that he is a wizard, but we know that you are. It was always the way of such creatures to make shelts fight their wars.”
“I was the prophet of Panamindorah,” said Archemais. “I was the first to stand against Gabalon. I am also his brother. This is my son. Corellian, show them the Muse.”
Corry held up the flute on its chain. He passed it around, let them touch it. “A curiosity,” said Shadock. “It means nothing.”
“It means everything,” said Capricia. “Six years ago, I took it from Hualien in a fight when the Raiders attacked our caravan. With it, I found Corellian, trapped in another world. A centaur demolished my study in search of it during their visit last summer. It was the real reason I was kidnapped at Lupricasia. Syrill helped in my kidnapping because he thought it would rid the wood of cats. Liliana helped in order to be rid of Lexis. The swamp fauns and centaurs helped in order to frame the cats and remove them from the coming battle. But Targon set it in motion, and he did it for the flute.”
“Of what use is it,” asked Meuril, “this thing my daughter was tortured for?”
“None to us,” said Archemais. “The Muse is visible only in the hand of the prophet, and no new prophet has been revealed. It was never intended for use by anyone else. The most we can do with it right now is to keep it safe.”
“Is it true,” said Chance suddenly, “that there are cat shelts in Kazar Swamp and that they helped to save Danda-lay?”
“It is true,” said Archemais. “I suspect that at some point during Gabalon’s reign, he participated in their extermination, but sold a few to his lackeys, the swamp fauns. They were kept as slaves and their existence eventually forgotten by the rest of Panamindorah. When the wizard fell, the swamp fauns continued to hide them, even during their occupation. I was appointed their governor during that period, and even I knew nothing of the fealidae until later.”
“You were governor of Kazar during the occupation?” asked Meuril with interest.
“Yes, but shelts became suspicious of me. I was a wizard, and I was no longer the prophet, and when Danda-lay’s library burned, I was blamed. They ordered me to council to face charges of conspiracy. I disappeared into the swamp. I washed my hands of Panamindorah and never intended to involve myself with shelts again. Some years after that, house Anroth began an aggressive breeding program with their fealidae. They became bolder with their slaves, and I found out about them. I did nothing, because I told myself that if I came out of retirement every time I saw shelts being cruel to one another, I would never rest. But then someone brought my son back.” He glanced at Capricia. “And I changed my mind.”
* * * *
Corry watched the Raiders with hungry eyes. He’d considered visiting their quarters late last night when he and the rest of Archemais’s company reached Laven-lay. They’d ridden hard and fast to get here so quickly, and he was very tired. He’d decided to wait until today. Patience, he kept telling himself. You can get them alone. Not here in front of everyone. Just wait.
Corry listened with half an ear as Meuril, Shadock, Lexis, and his father wrangled about how many shelts could be collected to march against Selbis and how, when, and where they ought to be deployed. Fealidae and cats did not figure largely in the calculations. Most had remained in Danda-lay to make sure the city was not retaken. A few were expected to trickle into Laven-lay over the next few days.
“Speed is more important than numbers,” Archemais kept saying. “I suggest you take the remains of Danda-lay’s army and every able-bodied wood faun in Laven-lay and march tomorrow. Never mind that you have only a few hundred. If Gabalon is allowed to repair his defenses and gather his wizards, even a hundred thousand may fail.”
“Where is Syrill?” demanded Meuril at last. “He knows our army and its officers better than anyone.”
“He’s here,” said Lexis quietly, “but he didn’t think you’d want to see him.”
“He’s right,” growled Meuril. Capricia murmured something in his ear, and he sighed. “Syrill’s sentencing will be postponed until this is over. If you would take a message to him, tell him to organize our troops for departure tomorrow.”
Corry was mildly surprised to discover that he was expected to accompany the Raiders to Selbis. “Our attack should be three pronged,” said Archemais, “the Raiders to deal with the city, the faun armies to deal with the centaurs, and Corellian and I to deal with the wizard.”
Fenrah, Laylan, and Sham seemed to be having an argument among themselves. After a few minutes, Laylan cleared his throat. “Sires, if the council has nothing else to say to the wolflings, then we’d like to begin planning our task.”
Finally! Corry followed them out of the throne room. His heart was beating hard. His hands felt clammy. “I need to know,” he said as soon as the doors closed. “What did I shift to in the wood?”
The wolflings stopped talking and looked at him. “You flickered,” said Fenrah at last. “You didn’t hold your shape, but what we saw—”
“You were a dragon,” said Sham, “perhaps twice the size of a wolf, and you had feathers. They were the color of pearl, iridescent, and the light struck rainbows from them. You were the most beautiful and the most terrible thing I’ve ever seen. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“Yes,” whispered Corry.
The wolflings walked away and resumed their argument. Corry stood still in the antechamber for a long time.
* * * *
Sham sat on the edge of his bed in the infirmary. He felt very tired. Attending the council had put a strain on him. Two of his arrow wounds were bleeding again, and he redressed them, moving stiffly and painfully. Talis had been with him earlier, but now she’d gone to be with the rest of the Raiders when Fenrah talked to them about their mission. If all went as planned, they would leave tonight.
Laylan wanted to go with them to Selbis, and Fenrah had objected. She said that if he was killed, the faun treaty with the wolflings might fall apart. Laylan had pointed out that wolfling cooperation might do the same if anything happened to her. They argued until Sham spoke up. “I think you ought to let him go, Fenny. I can’t. I’m not well enough, and you might need the extra hands. Your arm’s broken, and half the pack have minor injuries.”
They’d looked at each other. He had an idea that she’d been dreading telling him he couldn’t come, and she was relieved that he wasn’t going to argue. Still, he half hoped she’d disagree with him. Never in their long partnership had there been a major risk they’d not shared. They were each other’s only family and closest friends. She was the leader by right of blood and by temperament, but he was the elder. He’d looked after her, protected her.
Tell me I’m wrong, cousin. Tell me you need me. Tell me I’m not being replaced.
But she only nodded. “Alright, Sham. Get well.”
Sham watched them go. You’d better take care of her, Laylan, or you’d better not come back.
Towards evening, Fenrah returned, and this time the whole Raider pac
k came with her. They were dressed in travel cloaks and outfitted with fine new weapons. Sham told them each good-bye. He exchanged a few jokes with Sevn. Talis hugged him, and he gave her more tips on what to do with various wounds the Raiders had acquired from Daren’s attack. Danzel came last holding something behind his back. It was a violin.
Sham could have cried. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”
Danzel shook his head. “I asked Chance. He got it for me.”
Sham was still turning the instrument over when they all filed out. Fenrah lingered a moment, then hugged him. The violin twanged discordantly as she pushed it out of the way. “I’m sorry, Sham.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s alright.”
“We’ll come back.”
But not to me. He sat in his little room in the dark for a long time after they had gone. Finally, he picked up the violin and started to play.
Chapter 11. Violins
Music is to a group of wolflings what a howl is to a pack of wolves.
—Lasa, Tour of Canisaria
Sham locked his door and played until late that evening. When he woke the next morning, he started to play again. Several times he heard knocks, but he paid them no mind. Once someone shouted and beat on the door, but he ignored that too. Late in the afternoon he was startled by the sound of another violin. It surprised him enough to make him pause. The other carried on for a few notes and stopped. When Sham started again, so did the other.
At first they tested each other like two strange dogs circling. Sham found that the other player could not only keep up with him, but could often anticipate him. He was just beginning to really enjoy himself when the other violin began to change the game. Sham wanted to play “Tears of Moon”; the other kept turning it into “Leaf Dance.” Sham wanted to play “The Stone Wolves of Lym”; the other wanted “Blue and the Unicorn.” The violins half argued and half danced for the better part of a watch until yellow moon stood bright over the windowsill.
Finally, Sham stopped playing. He was curious and he was tired. He walked over to the door and opened it. “Ah,” he said, “I might have guessed.”
Chance looked up at him. He’d dragged a chair into the hall. “I had no idea you could play so well. However, I’ve been asked to get you to stop.”
Sham looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Because your music isn’t good for morale. Do you have a stack of the saddest songs ever written in there?”
“Just what I know,” muttered Sham.
Chance got up and came into the room. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
Sham thought about it. “I suppose not.”
“Come down to the kitchens. You’re not confined here anymore.”
Sham shook his head. “I’ll just go to bed. I’m sorry I upset the fauns. I didn’t realize.”
Chance frowned. “The Raiders aren’t dead, Sham. They’re coming back.”
Sham said nothing.
Chance tried again. “Apparently, I should have been bating my traps with violins. I thought I knew everything about you. Why didn’t I know you played?”
Sham shrugged. “Anything that makes noise isn’t safe for wolflings. I used to play in the catacombs in Selbis—no one to hear down there. I’ve made several violins—none of them very good. I tried to get one during a raid once, but it was damaged. Danzel stole a very nice one for me during our last raid on Laven-lay. He got so caught up that he forgot to do his job, which is why Talis and I ended up dropping through the roof of Meuril’s antechamber and taking hostages. I had to make Danzel understand what he’d done, so I broke the violin.”
He glanced at the instrument lying on his bedside table. “It wasn’t as fine as that one, though. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You play it better than I do.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Come, we’re going to the kitchens.” Chance took Sham by the shoulder and propelled him out of the room and down the hall.
It was well past the evening meal, but Laven-lay’s cooks always kept stew over the fire, and there was always deer cheese and bread. Chance also managed to find a cask of the local thistle brandy, made with a great deal besides thistles. Sham sniffed at it cautiously. “Smells like rat poison.”
“Yes,” said Chance cheerfully and poured him a large mug.
Sham made a face. “Tastes like it, too.”
“You don’t drink much, do you?”
“Not much and not often,” said Sham. “Can’t afford to when a moment’s indiscretion might get us killed.”
“Not here,” said Chance, dropping a half loaf of bread and a huge slice of deer cheese onto Sham’s plate. “Here only the food itself will kill you. Eat.”
Sham smiled. “A sense of humor is the last thing I would have credited to you.”
“I only bring it out for special occasions.”
Sham tipped his mug. “Already had some of this, have you?”
“Alcohol and music—they go together like blood and politics.”
“Ah-ha!” said a new voice. “The orchestra has moved downstairs. And started drinking. Very good.” Sham and Chance looked round to see Shyshax coming into the kitchen. “I thought I heard you say you had a sense of humor,” continued Shyshax to Chance.
Chance jerked his finger at Sham. “He said it, not me.”
“Ah,” said Shyshax, “because I was about to disagree.”
“You would.”
Shyshax came over to the table. “Did I ever mention that I dislike you?” he asked Chance.
“Have you ever stopped mentioning it?”
“Although I will admit,” continued Shyshax, “that you’re one of the only shelts who can play anything with strings without making my hair stand on end.” He looked at Sham. “And now there’s another one! Who’d have guessed?”
“I can’t believe Laylan left you,” said Chance.
“Me neither.” Shyshax laid his head on the table and gave a great sigh. “My ribs are too sore for riding, and my tail is broken so my balance is poor, and he said I couldn’t come.”
Sham reached out and stroked his dark ruff. “Well, that makes two of us. Have a bowl of rat poison.”
“I still want to know the rest of this violin story,” said Chance. “If music is so dangerous for you, why did you keep trying to play? Why did you learn to begin with?”
Sham looked at the table. “Most wolflings like music. It’s in our blood.”
“And?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Sham thought for a moment. “My father taught me to play as a child in Sardor-day-lor. He was a healer—a teacher at the academy. When the city fell he was treating the wounded in one of the deep subbasements of the inner keep. The old shelts, the ladies, and the children had been sent there as well. It was a defensible place. We could hear the fighting getting nearer, the cats coming. Everyone was terrified.
“Then my father took out his violin and played. The room got quiet, and we stopped shaking. Even the wounded shelts stopped crying. We all listened to him play while the cats broke down the door, and we weren’t afraid anymore. My father was a competent swordshelt, but he didn’t die with a sword in his hand, only a violin.”
There was a moment’s silence. Even the cook washing dishes had stopped clinking. “If he had not played,” continued Sham, “I’m not sure that I would have been thinking calmly and clearly enough to get Fenny and myself out of that room while the cats were busy with the adults. I’m not sure I would have thought of using the privy hole as an escape route, leading to the drains beneath the streets. Somehow, his music drove all the sadness out of my mind, and I could think of the things I needed to do. Music has always done that for me. That’s why I kept playing, even though it was dangerous.”
Chance examined his hands. “I have a few violins even better than the one in your room. I collect them, actually, the really good ones. My best are in Danda-lay.”
S
ham smiled. “You’ve already given me enough, Chance.”
“What I was going to say is that you’d be welcome to one if you’d come play with me now and then.”
Shyshax cleared his voice. “So. On a lighter note—pun intended: Fenrah and Laylan. Bets?”
Chance gave him a severe expression.
Shyshax stuck out his tongue. “Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. Or maybe you don’t know him as well as I do, but I saw his face in that courtyard when he thought he had to shoot her for you. He’s gotten over-attached to the Raider pack, but it was more than that.”
Sham swirled his drink. “She was rather upset when she thought he fell off that bridge.”
Chance quirked an eyebrow. “Haven’t we established that they’re related?”
“Third cousins,” said Sham. “In old Canisaria, it was common even for second cousins to marry, especially in the royal family. Nothing strange about that.”
“It would solve some problems,” mused Chance. “The fauns trust Laylan—most of them, anyway—and the wolflings trust Fenrah.”
“That’s the real reason you’re depressed,” chirped Shyshax to Sham. “Not because you got left behind, but because you think you’re about to lose your best friend.”
Chance swatted him on the side of the head. “A sense of humor you may have, but you’ve got all the tact of a ram in rutting season.”
“He’s probably right,” said Sham.
“But,” continued Shyshax, “Laylan doesn’t want to replace you. He doesn’t just want Fenrah, either. He wants to be part of a pack. He needs to. It’s the wolfling in him. Except he doesn’t know how, because he’s always been alone. Or with me. I’m the one being replaced.”
Sham smiled. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“A blue month,” said Chance, “that’s what—seventy days right now?” They both looked at him. “Well, you asked for bets,” said Chance.
“Red month,” said Sham immediately.
The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy Page 43