The Prophet of Panamindorah, Book One Fauns and Filinians (16 page)

Chance paced for a moment, then slumped
against a pillar. “They’re gone.” He ran a blood-stained hand
through his hair. “We can chase them all the way to Danda-lay, but
we won’t catch them today.”

In the silence Shyshax made a little cough
that sounded like “told you so.”

Chance raised his head slowly.

The cheetah grinned. “Hairball.”

Chapter
6.
The Road to Danda-lay

Fifty years ago, the wolflings competed with
the centaurs for quality of weapons. What with their iron and tin
and copper, some of it mined in cat-country. Wolflings sold some of
the best swords in Panamindorah, plenty of them still around. But
did their weapons do them any good when Demitri came calling? No,
and the worst part of it is that the wood fauns stood around with
wolfling steel in their hands and did nothing.

—Syrill in a letter to Jubal

The wolflings had escaped through a breach in
the old western gate—a blast wide enough to drive a cart through.
No one was sure how they had caused the explosions or rigged the
scaffold. Laylan prowled the broken areas, collecting samples and
sniffing. Chance set off for Danda-lay that evening, unwilling to
face the jeers and accusations of the wood faun community. Four
cliff faun guards had died fighting on the scaffold. A handful of
wood faun soldiers had been wounded, and eight civilians had been
trampled in their flight from the parade ground.

In the taverns, however, the event was hailed
a success for entertainment value and well worth attending further
installments, though perhaps at a greater distance. Syrill
certainly thought so. His mood had improved considerably, and he
chattered and joked more than Corry could remember since the feline
ambassadors arrived in court.

The snows came two days later, and traffic
through the city dwindled to a trickle. The drifts were chest-high
in the forest. Bandits, both wolfling and faun, were reported on
the roads and in the wood. The Raiders, however, were not seen
again that winter.

* * * *

Char sat at a small table, staring morosely
at a cup of tea. He had never drunk tea until last red month, and
he still found the taste unpleasant. He was wearing clothes, too—an
odd, confining sensation. His long furry tail twitched nervously
where it hung down behind the chair. He was fairly certain he was
the first slave ever to enter Daren’s private study. Beside the
fire, Daren’s anduin hound growled softly. He wasn’t used to seeing
slaves in here, either.

On the other side of the small table, Daren
sipped his tea. “I am told you are acclimating to your new
quarters. I trust the food is to your liking?”

Char’s eyes flicked away. He was unaccustomed
to looking fauns in the eyes unless he wanted their attention, and
right now Daren’s attention was making him uncomfortable.
“Yes.”

“Good. And the sleeping arrangements?”

Char nodded.

Daren frowned and toyed with his tea cup.
“Please don’t hesitate to tell me if anything is not to your
taste.”

Char met Daren’s gaze for a moment. “Why are
you doing this, sir?”

Daren smiled. “Do you really require a
reason?”

“I—” Char bit his lip. “Yes.”

A pause, then, “You see that dog?” Daren
motioned to the anduin hound.

Char nodded.

“What is he for, do you think?”

Char’s brow furrowed. “Hunting?”

“Yes, and what are you for?”

“The gem mines,” said Char meekly.

“Yes. I also have slaves for tracking, bred
for their sense of smell. They’re better than the hounds, actually,
but slow and no good at bringing down the quarry once they’ve found
it. The dogs have their purpose, and the tracking slaves have their
purpose, and you have your purpose.”

Char nodded. He could feel a familiar knot in
his stomach. He had no name for it, but he didn’t trust himself
when it was there. Unconsciously, the twitching of his tail
increased to lashing.

Daren smiled. “We breed our slaves for
docility, but you’re an aberration, Char. You have courage,
spirit.” He watched the lashing tail. “Anger. These qualities could
be put to good use.”

He stood up and leaned against the mantel.
“Many fauns disagree with me. They think it’s dangerous to breed
fighting slaves.” He glanced down at his dog. “Ah, but most useful
things are dangerous, aren’t they?”

Char shut his eyes and gripped the table. He
was seeing red. “You want me to mate with that female in my
quarters, don’t you?”

“Do you dislike her? I have a few other
specimens in—”

“It’s not that.” He was amazed Daren was
allowing him to speak this way, but the lack of reprimand made him
bolder. “It’s…it’s…”
What is it? He’s given me clean,
comfortable living quarters, better food than I’ve ever had in my
life, and a beautiful female to bed. All this when I tried to kill
him.
An image leapt into Char’s mind—his sister, dripping wet,
her eyes frantic.

“Why didn’t you include Gleam in your…your
project?”

“Because she didn’t fight back. I saw beauty,
but no spirit. Her purpose was not—”

The knot in Char’s belly had grown
unbearable. “She was my
family
!”

Daren hesitated. Char was fairly certain that
he’d never been interrupted by a slave who lived to tell about it.
Daren took a deep breath. “Quite. Perhaps I should have brought her
here. It would have been a small price to pay for your
cooperation.”

Char was stunned. It was the closest thing
he’d ever hear to an apology from a faun. He hesitated. “What is
your lordship’s
purpose
?”

Daren laughed aloud. “Very good! You are able
to think and also to attack. That is good. I want those
qualities.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Char,
but another idea had come to him. “The dog was a desert dog…or a
wolf,” he said quietly, “and you made it an anduin hound.”

“My family made it, yes, over many
generations.”

“And I am a slave, and you will make of
me…what?”

“You are a gem mine slave, and I wish to make
fighting slaves.” Daren stood up and pulled a rope by the mantle.
“You know what I want, and I’m not asking anything unpleasant. But
the breeding season for your kind will be over soon. Do you
understand?”

“My kind?” repeated Char. He thought he saw
Daren hesitate.
He didn’t mean to say it that way.
A faun
servant had appeared to take him away, but Char ignored him. He
looked straight at Daren. “What is my kind, sir?”

“A slave,” said Daren with a stiff smile.

Char shook his head. “But you just said that
was my purpose. What I
am
is something different, isn’t it?
Your purpose isn’t to
be
a faun, any more than the dog’s
purpose is to
be
a dog. My purpose can’t be the same thing
as what I
am
.”
Daren motioned at the servant. “Take him back to his quarters.”

* * * *

Corry looked up from the book he was copying.
Someone is trying to sneak up on me.
The scriptorium was
cold and quiet at night after the others went home. The shelves
were a shadowy labyrinth, his single candle the only light. He
felt, more than heard, the vibrations of footfalls through the
stone floor.
This is it. Whoever sent the centaur has sent
someone else.
He let the intruder get a little closer, then
jumped up and spun around. This time he had a sword. He’d been
practicing.

Syrill raised his hands in surprise. He’d
come in without a light, apparently following the gleam of Corry’s
candle. Corry sheathed the sword, feeling foolish. “Syrill. I
didn’t know you’d come back.”

“Got here early this evening. You’re a bit
jumpy.”

Corry didn’t try to explain. “Are you home
for a while, then?”

“Yes, I was wondering what your plans are for
Lupricasia.”

Corry raised an eyebrow. Lupricasia was the
spring festival in Danda-lay, said to be extravagant. He gathered
up his tools from the table. “Come back to my rooms and we can
talk.”

Syrill followed him, chatting about the
weather and the condition of the roads. When Corry reached his
rooms, he stirred up the fire, then rang for a servant and asked
for hot drinks. “All three moons should be full next yellow month,”
Syrill was saying as they sat down, “and the early flowers are
blooming, which should please everyone. Fauns enjoy flowers for
Lupricasia. You’re welcome to travel with me if you like.”

Corry looked at the fire. “I’ll think about
it.”

Syrill seemed surprised. “I generally get
excellent accommodations, and I know where to find all the best
food and dancing. A stranger could get lost, and shelts are a bit
leery of an iteration traveling alone.” He hesitated. “Do you have
other travel arrangements?”

Corry said nothing.

“Ahhh…” Syrill nodded knowingly. “There’s a
fauness involved. Do her parents know yet? They may not be keen on
the idea, but—”

“There’s no fauness,” snapped Corry. He
turned to look at his friend. “Syrill, I want to know why you told
Capricia about my shifting. You promised not to tell anyone; you
gave your word.” He felt a burst of relief even as his voice flamed
in anger. He’d been wanting to bring up the topic all winter, but
had never found suitable opportunity.

Syrill’s brown eyes slid away from Corry’s
angry green ones. “Oh, that.”

“Yes,
that
! I told her I couldn’t
shift, and I believed it at the time. She was very angry when I
came back, and I’m still not sure she trusts me.”

Syrill toyed with his drink. “Corellian, you
disappeared for a red month. She was frantic to find you. I thought
maybe you’d shifted and couldn’t shift back. You didn’t seem to
have much control over it. I thought maybe you were ashamed, had
run away.”

Corry sat back. It was a reasonable
conclusion.
But you still lied to me, Syrill.

“You never have told me where you went,” said
Syrill.

“I had unfinished business,” muttered
Corry.

“I thought you couldn’t remember anything
before you came here.”

“My memory is spotty. I don’t want to talk
about it. Besides, you’re the one who keeps disappearing this last
year.”

“A good point.” Syrill took a deep breath.
“So, while I may not be a good repository for secrets you hope to
keep from the princess, I do make an excellent traveling
companion.”

Corry sighed. “Alright, I don’t have any
plans for Lupricasia.”

* * * *

They left eight days later. By then,
Laven-lay was full of shelts and animals in transit. Syrill took
only two mounts and no servants, but they would clearly not be
alone on the road. It was still called the Triangle Road, although
only this arm of the triangle was in current use. The road had been
paved with large, smooth stones in the time of the wizards. It
connected Laven-lay to Port Ory, where one could take tunnels to
Danda-lay on the cliff. The third point on the triangle was
Selbis—the old wizard capital. No faun town lay closer than a day’s
journey to the ruins. Corry had heard all kinds of ghost stories.
Naturally, he was interested.

“Syrill, have you ever traveled the other
arms of the Triangle Road? I noticed that they’re not on any of the
newer maps.”

“They wouldn’t be. Fauns like to pretend that
anything pointing to Selbis doesn’t exist, but I’ve traveled parts
of them when I was in haste.”

“Are they still paved?”

“In places. When Gabalon fell, the wood fauns
broke up the road and planted trees on it for half a day’s journey
out of Laven-lay, but you can pick it up near Harn-Beng.”

Corry had heard of that place—a stone bridge,
wizard-built, that spanned the Tiber-wan River where it passed
through a deep gorge.

Syrill was still speaking. “You may have
wondered why the western gate is called the Wizards’ Gate on old
maps? Well, that’s where the road from Selbis came in.”

“I
thought
the western gate was large
for a minor gate.”

Syrill nodded. “The doors are so big we
hardly ever open them. It’s considered a weak point. Fenrah’s
raiders chose it for obvious reasons when they rescued Sham.”

That evening, Corry and Syrill stopped at an
inn. They unloaded their gear and left the deer to forage in the
lush grass, cultivated behind the inn for that purpose.

In the noisy common room, they sat down to a
meal of stew. “Syrill, I have a question,” said Corry as they ate.
“Capricia’s mother—Natalia—I’ve been trying to learn how she died,
but the clerks in the scriptorium have told me conflicting things.
They all agree that she was killed by wolflings on her way home
from a visit to her family in Ense.”

To Corry’s surprise, Syrill’s expression grew
animated. Usually, Corry had to work to get shelts to talk about
the queen, but Syrill didn’t look like he needed much prompting.
“My views probably won’t mesh with the others. Meuril,
particularly, doesn’t share my opinion and would not appreciate me
sharing it.”

But when has that ever stopped you?
Corry just waited.

“First, you should understand that this
happened about three years before I was born, during the summer of
676. As you’ve probably been told, the queen went to visit her
family in Ense and was waylaid during her return to Laven-lay. Two
interesting things about the incident: no one survived and the
bodies were not discovered until two days after the attack. This
was high summer, so you can imagine the state of the carcasses when
they
were
discovered. Two wolves and one wolfling were found
dead nearby, presumably killed by the queen’s guard. All the bodies
were accounted for except the queen herself.”

Syrill lowered his voice to a near whisper.
“Meuril has made an attempt to hush this, but his soldiers were not
the first on the scene, and there are still common shelts who can
tell you what they saw. They say there was the remains of a fire
and…
cooking
.”