The Prophet of Panamindorah, Book One Fauns and Filinians (13 page)

Char shut his eyes. At Daren’s feet lay a
girl shelt, tears of fright mingling with the grime on her face.
She wore a ragged shirt, colorless with dirt. Her fur and hair
might have been white.

Daren looked at the overseer. “What is
this?”

The overseer fidgeted. “It appears to be a
girl, sir.”

Daren sneered. “’It appears to be a girl,
sir.’ I can see why you’re still working traffic. Cart-puller, come
here.” Char could not move. Two guards stepped forward, took him by
both arms, and dragged him before Daren. “Why was this creature
hiding in your cart?”

Char gulped. He opened his mouth, but no
sound came.

Daren turned and prodded the female with his
hoof. “On your feet.” She obeyed shakily. “Now clean up this mess.
You over there, give her a shovel.”

The girl tried, but at the first step her
lips parted in a gasp of pain. She hobbled forward, favoring one
leg. Daren knelt and felt the leg. “It’s broken. She’s
useless.”

Char found his voice at last. “She broke it
in the mine! She was following orders, and a section of the roof
gave way. It won’t take long to heal. She’s a very good worker.
Just let her rest a few days, and she’ll work harder than
anyone!”

“Yes!” interjected the girl. “I work hard.
Please give me a few days. You won’t be sorry.”

“That leg won’t heal before mid-winter,”
murmured Daren as he crouched next to the trembling girl. He ran a
hand over her dirty fur, then snapped his fingers. “Water!” Someone
jumped forward with a bucket, and Daren doused her with it. He
stood back, examining the dripping results. The girl’s fur and hair
were now a pale cream. She had a pattern of leopard-like spots,
broken only on one flank by a mark that looked like a bull’s eye.
Like Char, she had a dog-shaped tattoo. “Beautiful! Really lovely,”
said Daren. “Take her to block seventeen.”

“NO!” Char leapt against the fauns. His
sudden courage took them by surprise, and he slipped loose. Char
ripped the sword from the sheath of one guard and stabbed the
other. Suddenly everything was noise and blood. Fauns tried to pin
him, but Char was not finished. With strength forged in a lifetime
of hard labor, he charged through the guards, knocking them aside
like toys, and lunged at Daren. The royal consort watched the scene
calmly and drew his sword as the slave charged. For a few seconds
Daren parried the onslaught. Then he turned his sword at an angle,
allowing Char’s weapon to enter the hole in the steel. He wrenched
his sword to the side, jerking Char’s blade from his hands and
sending it soaring into the undergrowth.

Char stood blinking, weaponless. Then the
soldiers swarmed forward and bound him. Char did not struggle. As
suddenly as it had come, the rage went out of him, leaving him cold
and frightened. He watched as they tossed the girl into a cart
headed in the right direction.

“Who was she?”

Char dragged his eyes back to Daren. He had
nothing left to lose. “My sister. Her name is Gleam.” His own voice
sounded tiny in his ears.

Daren nodded to an overseer, who raised his
short lash and began whipping Char in the manner of a mildly bored
professional. Daren continued speaking softly. “How long do you
think you could have hidden her? Ninety days until that leg healed?
Impossible. In the end all of your risks are for nothing, and you
share in her fate. You would do better to obey our rules and turn
her over to the guards. Do you think slaves can outwit their
masters?”

Char did not answer. He felt the whip, but
his mind was on the sword.
Where will he strike? How long will
he play with me?

Daren took a couple of steps back and forth.
Blood trickled down Char’s back and dribbled onto the wood. “So you
will cut me to pieces? You do not have intelligence, yet you have
courage—a rare thing in a race of groveling cowards. Tell me...did
you really think that you could kill me?”

Char met his gaze, and for a moment his fear
left him. “I didn’t think. I
knew
.”

Char expected Daren to kill him then, but the
swamp faun only smiled. When the earth was beginning to swim before
Char’s eyes, Daren held up his hand. “Enough.” The whipping
stopped, and the slave swayed on his feet. Daren reached out to
steady him with the tip of his sword. “Take him to block eleven,”
he said to one of the guards.

“But, sir, he’s killed a guard!”

Daren raised an eyebrow. “Do you think
yourself more expensive than a mine slave?”

Char did not hear what the guard replied. He
could hardly believe what Daren had said.
He’ll not kill me
immediately? What is he planning?
Char raised his eyes again as
the fauns fitted a noose around his neck and fastened a restraint
on his feet.

“What do they call you?” asked Daren.

“Char.”

“Well, Char.” Daren’s sword flicked out like
a snake’s tongue and left a line of blood on Char’s cheek. “We’ll
meet again. Try not to be so stupid next time.”

Chapter 2. Laylan’s
Success

My nemesis seems to hold a peculiar power
over everything that he touches. First Meuril, now Capricia!

—journal of Syrill of Undrun, 43rd day of
summer, 700

“Poor Syrill.” Corry glanced at Capricia, who
stood frowning at the floor. “Did you hear what I said about the
centaur?”

She nodded.

“Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know. Why didn’t you tell me you
could shift?”

“Because I didn’t know! I shifted in front of
the Raiders because I was frightened. Syrill should never have told
you; he promised he wouldn’t.” Before she could respond, Corry
said, “What did Syrill mean: ‘This is about Natalia’?”

Capricia’s eyes flickered away. “My
mother.”

“And why would the treaty with the cats have
anything to do with your mother?”

Capricia sighed. “She was killed by
wolflings, Corry…shortly before Sarder-de-lor fell to Demitri.
That’s part of the reason father would never do anything to help
them.”

“I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, Capricia laughed.
“
You’re
sorry for
me
?” Before he could answer, she
turned and left the archer’s box. “I believe you. I have to go
now.”

* * * *

True to their former agreement, Capricia
found employment for Corry as a royal clerk, an occupation he
discovered he enjoyed, because it gave him access to the royal
library. Unfortunately, the publicly available texts only went back
about five hundred years, and Corry wanted to look into the more
distant past. Capricia, however, said that most of her books in the
old picture language had been burned the day he disappeared, and
she would not let him view the salvage from the fire. Capricia
herself spent little time in her study these days. Her efforts
seemed all consumed in the tasks of the new Filinian alliance, in
the political maneuvering between her father and Lexis as they
worked out the practical details of splitting the former wolfing
kingdom between them. Capricia spoke to Corry more and more rarely
as he settled into his life at court, and there were times when he
even fancied she was still angry with him.

However, Capricia’s coolness towards Corry
was nothing compared with Syrill’s attitude towards the new
Filinian alliance. He fumed. He raged. He argued. Corry concluded
that Meuril must be either very fond of Syrill indeed, or else he
felt at least a little guilty about the circumstances of the
Filinian treaty, for his patience seemed out of all proportion to
Syrill’s worth to the kingdom. Laven-lay was not a big or formal
place, and in time of peace, the city had no standing army. Syrill
was nominally the caption of the castle guard, but he was so
unfailingly rude to feline emissaries that Meuril did not encourage
him to fill his role at political functions, and Syrill often did
not volunteer.

For better or for worse, cats were becoming
more and more common in Laven-lay. Corry saw them drifting in and
out of the castle, and the feel of their eyes on him made his skin
prickle. Lexis himself visited Laven-lay several times and stayed
once for an entire red month.

He seemed to take a special interest in
Capricia. One evening Corry was crossing a courtyard, when he saw
the graceful bulk of the tiger approaching along the parapet above
and to his right. A shelt was standing there, watching the sunset.
Not until she turned her head, did Corry recognize Capricia.
Curious, he backed into the shadow of the walkway and placed both
hands on the wall. Their voices should have been inaudible at that
distance, but contact with the stone brought them into sharp focus
for Corry.

“Something troubles you, Highness.”

“Trouble is in the air, Lexis.”

“Do you discuss your troubles?”

“No.”

“Monsters grow largest when hidden.”

“Not my monsters.”

A soft laugh. “Do you keep them on leashes,
then? Personal pets? I hope that tigers are not among them.”

Capricia’s rare laugh broke the evening’s
quiet. “No tigers, Lexis.”

“Would you walk with one then? I am excellent
protection against monsters.”

“Yes. I will walk with you.”

“Perhaps even talk?”

“Perhaps.”

Their voices grew fainter as they moved away,
and Corry did not try to follow them. He had an idea that
Capricia’s “monsters” had something to do with himself, and he was
vaguely affronted that she would choose a recent enemy to confide
in.

Capricia’s new confidence in Lexis was not
lost on Syrill. He began disappearing for long periods into the
forest. It was after one of Syrill’s prolonged absences in early
winter that Corry woke to a bustle of excitement in the castle. The
servant who usually brought his breakfast was late, and Corry could
hear shelts whispering as they passed in the hall. He left his
rooms early and went to the scriptorium, but he found only a half
dozen of the usual thirty plus clerks.

“What’s happened?” asked Corry, approaching
the conspiratory knot by the fire.

Several excited voices answered him at once.
Corry caught the word “hanging.” “Whose hanging?”

“Sham Ausla.”

Corry was surprised. “The Raider? Fenrah’s
cousin?”

“The same,” said the eldest scribe. “Laylan
caught him in a trap and brought him here last night. Chance came
thundering in this morning.”

“Does Fenrah know?” asked Corry.

Several fauns shrugged. “They say Sham was
alone when Laylan took him, and the trap was drugged, so there was
no struggle. Laven-lay was closer than Danda-lay.”

“Chance wanted to take the villain to
Danda-lay and make the execution a big affair,” said another, “but
Laylan says trying to take Sham through the forest would be as good
as releasing him, so Chance agreed to have the execution here.
Cliff fauns been working on the scaffold since before dawn! There’s
to be a great spectacle.”

Another faun harrumphed. “This will be bad
for us if Fenrah retaliates.”

The elder scribe nodded. “I heard that Laylan
advised against the show, but Chance is determined to make it
public, since he feels the Raiders humiliated
him
publicly.”

Someone drew a delicate breath. “I heard
Jubal came, and Shadock didn’t.”

Corry looked from one face to another. “Who’s
Jubal?”

“You don’t know?” asked someone, but another
held up a hand.
“He hasn’t been here long enough.”

“It’s an old scandal,” began the eldest
scribe. He hadn’t laughed with the others. “And an unproven one. No
need to keep blackening the prince’s name after all these
years.”

“Prince?” mocked one fauness. “You mean,
might-be-prince?”

The older faun shot the others a reproving
glare, but they continued anyway. “The cliff faun queen, Istra,
didn’t approve of her lord’s treatment of the wolflings, said it
was immoral how no one came to their rescue when the cats took
Sarder-de-lor. Some of the royal advisors sided with the king, some
with the queen. The court in Danda-lay was almost split over it.
Rumor has it that she took refuge in the arms of a sympathetic
young officer of the guard, Jubal.”

“Pure conjecture,” interrupted the old
clerk.

“Barely!” exclaimed someone else. “Rumor is,
they’re still lovers. Everyone knows the king and queen haven’t
shared the same bed in years.”

“Court gossip,” muttered the elder scribe,
but all the others were nodding.

“I don’t see what this has to do with
Chance,” said Corry.

“Doesn’t his name say it all? That’s what
Shadock called him, anyway. Good
chance
he’s not even of
royal blood. Many say he’s Jubal’s get.”

“Apparently there’s also a
chance
that
he isn’t,” said someone else. “If Shadock knew the child could not
be his, surely he would have had the queen banished and Jubal hung.
But apparently, there was some doubt. Shadock really can’t do
anything without making the situation look worse than it already
does. Cliff fauns put considerable stock in appearances.”

“And Jubal has come to the hanging?” asked
Corry.

“Yes, leading a mob of cliff fauns. Meuril
wants armed support. He’s afraid of what Fenrah might do to
Laven-lay in revenge.”

Corry had a sudden thought. “Do you know
where they’re keeping Sham?”

Chapter 3. Interrogation

If you wish to discover
the
what
of a creature, find out what he lives for. To know
the
who
, you must discover what he would die for.

—Archemais,
Treason and Truth

As he left the scriptorium, Corry almost ran
into Syrill. “I haven’t seen you in a yellow month, Syrill.”

Syrill offered no greeting and didn’t slow
down. “I don’t know what Meuril is thinking to let Chance execute
Sham here.”