The Jaguar Knights

by Dave Duncan

  Lynx ignored promises of beans and tortillas, demanded meat now, raw if necessary. He shrank to his old height when he sat on a stool with his cat feet under the table, and when he also tucked his forepaws out of sight he could almost have been a human being with his head inside a huge pard mask. The illusion disappeared as soon as he began to eat. Young Night-fisher held the meat for him and he tore off chunks with his side teeth, swallowing without chewing.

  The object strapped on his back was Ratter, securely tied in her scabbard so she would not fly out when he performed the sort of gymnastics he had demonstrated earlier. He must be carrying her only as a talisman, for he had no need of a sword and could not have wielded one with both hands. Forepaws. Oh, Lynx! Did he not even care what they had done to him? Wolf wanted to scream.

  The Jaguar consumed most of a standing rib roast, raw. Night-fisher was his squire, or possibly nursemaid, for he wiped Lynx’s muzzle and chest to clean him up after the meal. Then the boy was free to finish his master’s leftovers, which he did eagerly. It was common knowledge that the native diet offered little meat—

  venison, turkey, rabbit, and dog—and almost all of that went to the nobility. Human flesh was a privilege of the very highest, meaning the most honored warriors. Other intruders had been ransacking the larder and almost came to blows over some pork ribs they found there.

  Leaving the feast in progress, Wolf went in search of Dolores and found her being helped into her traveling clothes by Megan. Obviously she was bound on going to El Dorado no matter what he said or did. A trek of eighty leagues or so over mountain ranges seemed utterly impossible in his condition. He doubted he could walk as far as the river bank. If the Emperor wanted him so badly, why didn’t he send an Eagle?

  He found a shirt and sank down shakily on the edge of the bed. “You, my beloved, must stay here and see the others safely home to Chivial.”

  Before Dolores could protest, Megan bristled. She changed her posture, her voice, and her age, transforming into a lady. “Since the death of my husband the count,” she announced haughtily, “I have decided to return to Chivial with my entourage. Do you imply that I am incapable, Sir Wolf?”

  Dolores laughed. Wolf apologized and pulled on the shirt. In the next few minutes each one of the sailors appeared in turn, offering to go to El Dorado with him, but they spoke little Tlixilian and he refused to lead them into a stewpot.

  “Flicker left us three stamina bracelets,” Dolores announced. “You want one now?”

  “I’ll save them for later.” What else did he need? “Medicine chest?”

  “It’s too big,” she said. “And we can’t know what we might need from it. Leave it all.”

  Probably only an hour intervened between the first tangle mat scream and the click of the gate being bolted behind them as they left the villa. Wolf took nothing with him except Diligence. He was too weak to lift a bedroll off the floor and knew better than to ask a warrior to be a porter. By then it had become obvious that the real leader of the expedition was Blood-mirror-walks, for it was he who assigned them positions—Lynx, Dolores, and Wolf in the center, six Tlixilians around them. However much Lynx looked the part, he lacked a knight’s authority.

  The eastern sky was just starting to brighten, but Sigisa never slept. As the expedition emerged from the hacienda, a sailor reeled past with his arm around a woman. Neither seemed to notice anything amiss. Nor did any of the other people they passed on their way to the river. A were-jaguar might be disregarded as illusion—mushroom eaters saw much stranger things than that—but feather-decked killers carrying obsidian-toothed spears and swords around in the middle of the night should be attracting suspicion.

  “You are conjuring us?” Wolf asked.

  “We have been blessed,” his brother said softly.

  There were always many dugout canoes moored along the riverbank. Their owners slept or even lived in them, for no one in Sigisa left anything of value unattended. The intruders had brought one of their own and left three men to guard it. Exhausted already, Wolf collapsed into the stern. Lynx shoved in behind him as if that were his place; Dolores went in front of him. The warriors pushed off and scrambled aboard without tipping the Chivians out, which was undoubtedly trickier than they made it look. Soon the craft was racing upstream, driven by powerful paddle strokes.

  The sky over the treetops began turning blue, birds and monkeys were wakening in the forest. The Tlixilians began chuckling and cracking quiet jokes, as if they thought they had made a clean getaway. Blood-mirror-walks chirped once and silence fell. Sound traveled well over water, of course, and his caution was justified almost before they rounded the first bend. Another chirped order sent the canoe veering sharply to the right. It drifted in under trailing vegetation; strong hands took hold of roots or creepers and brought it to rest against the bank. Wolf tried not to think of snakes and poisonous spiders. Then he detected sounds the warriors had noticed much sooner.

  A large canoe came into view, heading downstream. Paddles were much quieter than oars and no one aboard was speaking, but a man at the stern beat stroke with a maddening monotonous tap. There was also a muted clinking sound. The canoe swept past, clearly visible in midstream, carrying a cargo of prisoners, at least some of whom were being compelled to paddle their way to exile and slavery; the clinking came from their chains. Wolf expected Blood-mirror-walks to order an attack, for the slavers were few and could have been speared before they even knew they were being watched, but no one moved or made a sound, and the evil sight glided on its way unmolested. A few minutes later two more canoes followed it.

  Some time after that, the warriors resumed their journey, but the luxury of effortless travel did not last long. Alerted by no landmark Wolf could see, they swung the canoe into the bank, passing under a leafy drapery into a tiny creek; also into renewed darkness, a fog of insects, and air ripe with vegetable odors. A paw tapped his shoulder and whiskers tickled his ear—

  Lynx whispered, “Salt-ax-otter is royalty. Do not look at him.”

  Interesting, no doubt, if one knew what it meant. Wolf passed the word on to Dolores, who gave him an odd look, checking for delirium.

  They passed within arm’s length of logs that plunged into the water and swam away. A creeper extending downward changed its mind and slithered back up onto its branch again. The creek soon dwindled, grounding the canoe at the edge of a tiny clearing, not far from a tumbledown thatch cottage, well hidden from river traffic. There were no people in sight. Had the original owners of the boat been paid for its rental or just slaughtered out of hand? There had been law in that country before the Distlish came and might be some in the future, but there was none at the moment.

  The travelers scrambled out and set off in single file along a barely detectable track, slick and ankle-deep in rotting leaves—huge leaves, like heaps of old clothes. The ground on either hand was mossy and fungoid, half hidden under fallen trunks and roots that coiled and looped as constant reminders of snakes. Life rioted amid the odors of decay, with every tree a colony of lesser plants, suckers and parasites, all draped with vines and constantly dripping in the steamy air. Far overhead the forest soared in shadowed vaults, inhabited by flocks of raucous, improbably colorful birds.

  Wolf managed to keep up only because he was wearing a stamina bracelet, but it would not support him for long at that pace. He staggered and sweated rivulets. They came at last to a place that was a little more open, although not truly a clearing, and Blood-mirror-walks stopped without warning. He dropped. So did everyone else, and Lynx’s great paw pressed hard on Wolf’s shoulder. He crouched in the weeds like the others.

  Blood-mirror-walks touched a hand to the ground and his lips. “I kiss the feet of my lord.”

  Only then was Wolf allowed to see the jaguar knight posed in their path. He had not been invisible, exactly, just hidden by a few trailing fronds and dappled shadows that should not have concealed anything at all. Back in Chivial the Dark Chamber’s spiritual toolbox inc
luded an invisibility cloak, but it was unreliable and required long training in a type of mental gymnastics most people found extremely difficult. What Salt-ax-otter had just done did not seem any harder than blinking. There was another warrior behind him, holding spear and shield. And another off to the left…there must be at least a dozen of them.

  The knight was magnificent, towering seven feet or more from his furry toes to the tips of his spotted ears. He wore an embroidered loincloth and a sumptuous full-length feathered cloak, which hung equally from both shoulders, exposing a jaguar pendant of jade and silver on his chest. Plumed-pillar would have looked like this before his battle with Fell and Lynx.

  “Speak,” he said.

  “As my lord commanded, so it is.”

  “You are valorous and worthy, having been dutiful when there was no honor to be gained.” The knight’s voice was distorted like Lynx’s, yet it carried resonance and power.

  “Glorious are the words of my lord.” Blood-mirror-walks rose. One by one his men performed the touch-ground-and-kiss-hand gesture, then stood up, keeping eyes respectfully lowered. And so, when it was their turn, did Dolores and Wolf. The only exception was Lynx, who had remained standing all along.

  “This is my father’s son, terror of the night,” he said, “and his wife, the acolyte.”

  The man-cat did not answer. It must be Wolf’s turn.

  “We are honored to meet the dread Salt-ax-otter, and bring greetings from our king.”

  The Jaguar looked to Blood-mirror-walks. “We could hear them coming all the way from the river. Carry them both.”

  “As my lord commands.”

  Wolf flopped down on the soggy ground to rest. Dolores joined him and Lynx squatted on his heels, which left him as high as he would be on a chair.

  “What is the problem?” Wolf asked.

  Lynx growled. “Enemies everywhere.”

  “Those prisoners we saw—there has been a battle?”

  “Many battles. Fighting’s going on everywhere from the coast to El Dorado.”

  So much for Flicker and Heron-jade. This was no time for non-combatants to be wandering around Tlixilia.

  “You can’t just whistle up an Eagle?”

  Lynx said, “Don’t want to attract attention. The enemy has Eagles too.”

  “That’s a good second reason. What’s the first reason?”

  Silence. Cat eyes stared at Wolf as if their owner was planning how to skin him. How much of the old Lynx was left inside the new Jaguar?

  Unnerved, Wolf said, “Not enough prisoners, maybe?”

  Lynx licked the back of a paw and wiped his whiskers. “Don’t ask too many questions, my lord Ambassador. The Pirate’s Son can’t protect you here.” He rose and stalked away.

  Wolf looked at Dolores. She bit her lip and said nothing.

  Four men were already weaving creepers and others had begun chopping down saplings with flint axes. In minutes they completed two hammocks, slung under poles for carrying. However humiliating the prospect of being treated as baggage, Wolf did not protest when he was ordered aboard. Lynx traveled under his own power on his grotesquely elongated legs, but this was not a noble moment in the history of the King’s Blades.

  3

  For several days thereafter, Wolf saw nothing but walls of jungle enclosing the tracks the Eldoradoans followed. He knew they never strayed far from cultivation, because they could always provide an evening meal. Lynx insisted the food was obtained by honest barter, because otherwise the locals would report marauders to the authorities, and even if “honest barter” meant a gift to the headman and nothing for anyone else, that would ensure that mouths stayed shut. Their road zigzagged between Zolica and Yazotlan, in territory now loyal to the Distlish, in a steamy heat unbelievable by Chivian standards.

  In the second week, the country changed from lowland jungle to foothills, with the great white peak of Sky-is-frowning looming ever closer. The weather grew more bearable and each day Wolf walked part of the way, managing better as his strength returned. At some point they began encountering patches of territory still loyal to the Empire and could spend nights in villages instead of huddled together in camps. Loyal and rebel villages formed an irregular patchwork, and even Lynx could not say how Salt-ax-otter knew in advance which was which. None of the settlements were large, usually just a dozen or so thatched adobe cottages, but the friendly natives were eager to serve. They provided shelter and bedding, plentiful beans, maize flour, and sometimes small amounts of dog meat.

  Day by day Lynx told more of his story, but some questions he always parried. Obviously he was not the equal of Salt-ax-otter. Among the warriors, only Corn-fang and Night-fisher were his vassals and only Salt-ax-otter was wielding spiritual power. The Chivians rarely saw the knight, but the others spoke of him as if he were nearby, not present and invisible—jaguars were solitary hunters. That a lord of his stature should have come to fetch them in person was a huge honor, Lynx said.

  In the villages the knight was never visible and even Lynx became strangely inconspicuous, so Wolf would jump when he spoke and realize he had been present all along. The locals either did not register his inhuman appearance or failed to notice him at all.

  One night Dolores pointed out that a full moon was shining in through the doorway, so it must be exactly twelve months since the attack on Quondam. Lynx declared that this anniversary should be commemorated and demanded pulque from the villagers. The Chivians drank to the memory of the fallen and toasted Celeste’s release from imprisonment. Wolf was not at all sure that he would have wanted to celebrate, were he in his brother’s place, but Lynx had always looked at life on the bright side.

  They had been assigned a hut of their own, surprisingly clean and spacious because the owners owned no furniture. Outside, in the moon-bright street, the locals were singing and dancing to honor their visitors. After Night-fisher had wiped Lynx’s muzzle for him, Lynx dismissed him, telling him to go off and have some fun.

  The youth said, “My lord is bountiful as the clouds,” and vanished out the door, leaving the Chivians alone.

  “You don’t fancy striking up some friendships of your own?” Wolf asked. He felt much stronger now, and was anxious to demonstrate this for Dolores. It seemed a long time since he had been uxorious.

  Lynx made a sound somewhere between a chortle and a cough. “I think one kiss would blow my cover.” He lifted a gourd between two paws and slurped pulque, spilling as much as he drank. He had drunk enough to become jovial and talkative, which was rare for a bound Blade, but his ward was too far away at the moment for temporary fuzziness to matter. Or perhaps his shape-change had weakened his binding.

  Dolores had noticed an opportunity to ask questions. “Tell me, how eager is El Dorado to buy our aid?”

  He set down the gourd with care. “Very. The Distlish are gaining. If they can pen the Eldoradoans up in the floating city, they can starve them. Starve them of food, but also deny them captives. No prisoners, no hearts; no hearts, no power; no power, no defense except brute muscle. Oh, I think you can make a deal!”

  “What are your plans?” Wolf asked.

  The big cat eyes fixed their menacing stare on him. “Can you see me back in Chivial? A cozy cage in the Bastion zoo?”

  There was no answer to that.

  He uttered a chilling growl. “I stay with my ward. As long as Celeste lives, I’m bound to El Dorado. Why do you think I’m racing around the countryside instead of following her? Because this is the best thing I can do to defend her. And I do help! I’m Lord High Admiral. We must have boats to keep the invaders from bypassing the drawbridges on the causeways. But, burn it, Wolfie, I need tools! Lathes, pulleys, ropes. You get me some of that. And some shipwrights.” He crouched to lap pulque directly from the bowl.

  “You’re not visible to the locals, are you?” Dolores said. “Warriors can see in the dark and move without making any sound, even see conjuration on things. How are these ‘blessings’ done? With ritual o
n the pyramids?”

  Lynx sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees, his huge furry feet protruding in front of him. He favored her with his disconcerting silent stare for a while, as if he had to translate his thoughts into Chivian. “Depends. Some blessings are done that way.”

  “All the major rituals are performed on the pyramids?”

  “You’ll have to ask the acolytes. They’re the real conjurers.”

  “Stow it!” Wolf had had enough. He knew what Dolores was after. She had already established from Lynx that the murders on the pyramids were committed by the acolytes under the eyes of the knights, but she suspected that the eating of human flesh was another part of the process. Granted that Lynx had been trapped into the change he called the Flowering without meaning to be, and had been driven to persist by self-preservation and loyalty to his ward, had he accepted more than the bare minimum needed to survive?

  Wolf was not about to let his wife ask his brother if he was a cannibal. “I’m ready for bed!” he announced. “How about you, darling?”

  Lynx took the hint instantly—his way of thinking might have changed, but he had not lost his wits. He purred his odd laugh. “Think I’ll go and hunt some mice.” He flowed out the door and was gone.

  Wrapped in llama-wool ponchos, they made their way over a bleak pass where icy winds cut like a thousand machetes, under a shoulder of the great volcano, down into a wide and verdant valley that they traversed by moonlight over several nights. Beyond the next range lay the valley of El Dorado, but to cross that one they needed camping gear and villagers to carry it. By then Wolf’s strength had returned enough that he could keep up with the plodding porters and no longer needed his litter. They spent two nights in a frozen desert, so high that it was impossible to sleep properly and everyone huddled together for warmth.