A week passed. Seven whole days. Two imp guards watched over Tyler, rotating at daybreak. He suspected the two were engaged in a competition to see who could be the most violent to him. He hated the imps. Why were they keeping him here? What was the reason for his imprisonment? Once a day he was allowed out of his cage and onto the ground. An escort of imps was always there to meet him, armed with much deadlier weapons than his usual guard. He was fed twice a day, and the meal was always the same: a slushy gruel that was the most revolting dish he had ever had the misfortune to sample. He nevertheless finished every drop to appease his constant hunger.
“Git ai wav!” the guard with his rat-teeth leered whenever he was handed his meal.
“Get a chance, and I’ll a kick you out of this tree!” retorted Tyler the first time this happened. He received a firm smack for his efforts.
His dreams continued. Tyler experienced on average three per night, but he did not meet again with the Dhimori, and for that at least he was thankful.
On the morning of the eighth day, Tyler rose and lazily propped himself onto an elbow to peer at the imps who were usually crowding about the marketplace by now. Not a midget was to be seen.
Bang! The lock to his cage door was abruptly lifted. His guard stood at the door with an escort of five of his kind. Tyler heaved himself to his feet and stepped up to meet the forest of pointing spears. He tipped an imaginary hat at the imps before descending to the ground.
Varkon was waiting at the bottom, surrounded by fifteen imps armed with long spears. Tyler nodded grimly to Varkon as they were led away. They were escorted through the trees until a well-concealed hole suddenly became apparent at the base of a low slope. Tyler could not help but admire the well-practiced subterfuge of these little creeps as they forced Varkon and him down into a gloomy passage.
They soon reached an apparent dead-end, but the spears still pressed at their backs. For a short while the confusing nature of the moment lingered, until with screech, the wall ahead of them flew up. It was a gate, and the throng of imps dug their spear tips into the companions’ backs to force them onward.
They found themselves at the bottom of an enormous, circular pit along with four snivelling imps that stood with them. Twenty feet higher, a huge crowd of imps glared down at them from the lip of the hole. When the crowed saw Tyler and Varkon, they gave a deafening, mad cry and broke into cheers. The sheer volume after days of utter silence came as a shock to Tyler.
On the opposite side of the pit was a giant, crude gate set into the mud wall. Above this stood the important imp Tyler had seen on the first day. He was smiling and waving a lazy hand at the bawling spectators. The din subsided to characteristic silence.
“Uki uh?” jeered the imp. “Ari ha ro!”
More loud cheers, and the imps beat the ground with their feet. Tyler glared about defiantly.
“Yo rok we hue man!” said the head imp, pointing at Tyler. The crowd erupted into laughter. “Yo rok we ga to!” mocked the imp, aiming his finger at Varkon. Snarling with pleasure at his own enormous wit, he gave a signal, and with that the massive gate below was wrenched open by six heavily perspiring imps.
Smoke swirled from two fires that had been built on either side of the black mouth of the gate. Varkon stepped ahead to offer his protection against the unknown. The four doomed imps to their right whimpered and drew together.
Two wolves slunk out, padding the ground with their front paws wearily before they risked applying the remainder of their weight. A snow lion followed them – Tyler’s snow lion. The imps must have caught it in one of their traps. Lastly, the most thunderous roar from the crowd yet was reserved for the arrival of a great bear. Tyler wound his fists together and clenched his teeth. Be strong, he thought. For Hargill.
The situation was hopeless. The imps cheered.
Varkon crouched low and pulled out a short stick, which had been tucked into his waist. A terrible hissing started from the watching crowd; this was not part of the day’s events. A fierce pride took Tyler then, and he felt strangely sad to see how fearless and loyal his companion was, standing between him and his enemies. How Varkon had managed to acquire a weapon under such close guard was beyond him.
The bear looked malnourished; its fur was missing, and ugly scars ran across its skin. Startled by the collective hissing of the imps, it snapped its teeth and then charged with blind rage. A wolf scampered quickly for its life, long tongue wagging reproachfully. Tyler hoped the beasts would kill each other off.
The bear let escape a roar like grinding thunder. Foam lathered its black snout as it launched itself directly at the group of doomed imps. They scattered, scrawny legs propelling them forward in a kind of rapid straddle. As they ran, bouncing off the walls like hot rubber, the wolves decided to take their chances, pouncing on the hurtling creatures as they whipped by. The crowd jeered at the plight of their fallen comrades.
All this happened as though it were far away; Tyler was otherwise engaged. His eyes were glued to the snow lion, and it in turn was focused on him as it padded aggressively close, wary of the protective ghatu.
The bear raised itself onto its back legs, slashing the air with its overbearing front claws as spittle ran from its jaws. It then dropped back on its haunches, abruptly changed direction, and charged straight towards Tyler.
But Varkon was in its way, side-stepping to meet the stampeding creature. The bear reached up one mallet-sized paw to swat the ghatu aside. Varkon ducked low with impressive reflexes and then stood with equal speed, ramming his stick with both hands into the bear’s exposed throat. Reeling, the bear staggered to the right and fell heavily on its shoulder, Varkon’s stick protruding like a toothpick from its neck. This momentary weakness lasted for only a moment, and although obviously stunned, the bear swiped wildly at Varkon again.
As soon as Varkon left Tyler’s side, the snow lion had ceased its taunting patrol and instead began to stalk towards him, heavy shoulders pushing well ahead of its slanting eyes, gathering pace. Suddenly the lion kicked its powerful legs at the ground and sprang forward with complete extension.
Tyler leapt to one side and was only just quick enough. The snow lion’s razor claws tore at Tyler’s clothes so that his shirt and jacket ripped open; three crimson scratches now contrasted against the white of his skin. Tyler was knocked back onto the sand with a crunch. The lion landed on the sand behind him and then swung around, its body coiled with rage, ready to deal the killing blow. Tyler skittered backwards on his hands and feet until his back collided with the edge of the pit. The crowd roared.
The snow lion paused, its yellow eyes staring at the grey spider-rock on Tyler’s exposed chest. The snow lion was transfixed by it. Slowly its body loosened and its breathing slowed.
The bear roared in the background, but neither Tyler nor the lion noticed. The snow lion’s eyes were changing. Its pupils contracted to the size of pepper grains, and the wildness ebbed from them. The deep yellow shifted to a hazel brown. Something was there which had been lacking before … Intelligence? That predatory gaze had now certainly vanished.
The bear roared again. Tyler looked up as it crashed through the wooden gate by which it had entered the pit. The imps above screamed with dismay – Varkon had provided a passage to freedom. The snow lion dipped its head. Tyler flinched, still expecting a final, killing blow. Instead the beast shrugged back its shoulders and crouched very low. Tyler scrambled to his feet.
One of the wolves was prowling close by, only deterred from attacking Tyler by the snow lion’s presence. Varkon was still preoccupied. The wolf was awfully close. The snow lion remained in its humbling pose.
Tyler had no choice. He placed a shaking hand on the subdued snow lion. There was no reaction. He could feel the warm beat of the creature’s heart and the softness of its fur. He cautiously lifted a leg over its body. With a grunt of approval, the snow lion rose sharply to its full height. Ca
ution forgotten, Tyler pressed himself against its massive body as tightly as he could, grabbing hold of two handfuls of fur and twisting his fingers violently around them to secure himself. Then they were off.
“Varkon!” Tyler yelled as he was carried away. The snow lion leapt through the shattered door and down a short passage, and then they burst into the open.
Tyler’s ride lasted a short while, but in that time they travelled an impressive distance at a speed unlike anything he had ever experienced. When the snow lion finally came to a halt, Tyler slipped off eagerly onto the snow and nursed his thighs, which had received a good bashing.
Varkon hurried up from behind, panting hard.
“Varkon!” called Tyler happily, but the ghatu continued past until he was standing between Tyler and the snow lion.
“What were you thinking, you fool?”
“It helped me escape from that place. Something changed when it saw this.” Tyler thrust the spider-rock ahead of him.
“Tyler, you’re mad,” Varkon growled angrily. “What difference would that—” He stopped mid-sentence.
The snow lion was lying on its side. It was foaming at the mouth, and its fur was strangely shorter. Each fibre appeared to be retracting into its skin, bit by bit receding. Suddenly its snout broke painfully out of place before squashing itself inwards, where it continued to be shrunk and sculpted. Its tail was already gone, and its other joints now clicked and snapped out of place, lengthening, twisting, and expanding. Short and stubby paws grew long and smooth.
The snow lion rose to its feet – its two feet. An old man stood in its stead, and although he was completely naked and bent from age, he still somehow managed to retain an unquestioning dignity. His hair was the same white of the snow lion’s fur, and it tumbled down in a lengthy beard. His eyes were each the same hazel brown that Tyler had seen in the snow lion’s final gaze.
“Greetings,” said the man in a steady voice. “My name is Haranio Winhund.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
UNEXPECTED COMPANY
“Who are you?” asked Varkon, his aggression unaffected.
Haranio seemed not in the least bit concerned that he was fully unclothed, and he turned to Tyler with confidence. “I think the boy knows.”
But Tyler had never seen this man before, and he shook his head with bewilderment.
“Strange. Surely Hargill must have mentioned me? Haranio? His dear friend?”
“Oh!” Tyler stepped from behind Varkon before the ghatu could prevent him. “Hargill told me I should find you in the city of Ithrim, just before he … was killed.” Haranio frowned as Tyler hurried on. “I’m sorry – you must not have known.”
“I know, child. I was there in his final moments,” said Haranio sadly. The comment caught Tyler by surprise. “But now is not the time to talk. The imps are bound to give chase.”
“How could we possibly trust … whatever you are,” Varkon snarled.
“You are not going to kill me now, are you?” asked Haranio. “So, at this stage, I think you have no choice.”
They travelled with all haste, the thought of being captured and crammed back into their tiny cages spurring them on. Varkon lent the remainder of his torn shirt to Haranio, and Tyler gave up his jacket.
Tyler laughed as he ran. His flapping shirt was ripped in half, Varkon had no shirt at all, and Haranio, an old man, donned a tight jacket and wore half of Varkon’s old shirt tied about his waist. And old man though he was, Haranio’s level of fitness was extraordinary; he appeared not to feel the snow under his feet, as though there was something more animal in him than human. Instead he pushed onwards without pause, and it was all Tyler could do to keep up.
Night soon overtook them, and the company came to rest underneath a large rock overhang. Although the ground he sat on was rough and hard, Tyler found it a welcome improvement to the splintered boards he’d endured for so long.
“Haranio, explain yourself,” said Varkon softly. The ghatu had kept a careful watch over the old man all day, eyeing him for any signs of danger and insisting that he walk ahead like a prisoner.
“Explain myself? Yes, of course,” began Haranio softly and reasonably. He was seated on a low rock not far away. “First, I apologise for the rough words I spoke earlier. I said them with haste because speed was needed. Now, you may be wondering who I am. Some would call me a shamif, or shape-shifter. Do either of you know what that means?” Varkon and Tyler shook their heads. “That is understandable. It is a skill that is not dissimilar to wizardry, but unlike that brother art, years of practice and pain lie ahead to master even the most simple of shapes. Try, if you would, to imagine the agony of a leg bone setting hard in your stomach, or a layer of skin that does not form properly so that your whole body is exposed, raw flesh. But this is beside the point. You really want to know how I came to be here, not the history of what I am.” Haranio allowed himself a breath.
“I have been searching for Hargill for longer than I can remember, for reasons that will become clear soon enough. For the moment, know that my search lead me to Ornick-hor, in the Klinha mountains. There I discovered that a large ghatuan army had marched to the west not a week before. I was intrigued; nothing of significance lies in that direction on any map. I knew I could not hope to catch up to the army in human form, and so I took the shape of a lion. It took me three full days. I did not rest or eat. I only ran, night and day, without regard for my health. When I eventually reached the army, they were casting arrows of flame at your village. Lad, I cannot imagine … I am sorry that you had to know such pain in your youth.” Haranio paused to show Tyler his sympathy.
“I investigated further and saw to my horror – and further interest – the Dhimori. Knowing it was no small matter that calls one of Her servants so far to the south, I followed as closely as I dared. Sure enough, I was led to the village hall where I found the very person I had been searching for all these many years: Hargill. I rushed though the back door in an attempt to save my old friend, but more important, to try and protect Avalon’s Heart.”
Tyler had a sudden memory of a white flash racing into the hall as he and Varkon were running away.
“Hargill recognised me instantly, and during the last moments before he was slain, he told me to look for the boy who had left the hall earlier with a ghatu – it was he who had the Heart. I escaped as the Dhimori struck Hargill down.” Haranio took a small break to regain his breath. “After that I remember nothing, until I found myself in the imps’ pit, still in my snow lion form.”
Varkon snorted with disbelief. “You cannot remember?” he scoffed. “Ha! Old man, you’ll have to do better than that. Tell me why you have been hunting the boy, or I swear that I will kill you now.”
Haranio moved his lips in silent realisation. “I tried to kill the boy? I did not know that. Your lack of trust now makes sense. You see, the reason I cannot remember is because I ceased to be human. When a shamif changes form, the first and most important lesson he must learn is to stay with himself,” said Haranio with the ease of one who has explained this many times before. “It is all too easy to start thinking like the animal that you have become. The body of another creature brings with it a strange mix of instincts, cravings, and emotions that do not fit well with the human mind. For instance, as a snow lion I have an unreasonable fear of fire. So long as I can control that fear and reason with it, then I am still human. If I succumb to my instincts, if I turn tail and flee, then I have let the beast take over. A shamif must not allow himself to become too involved with what he has become, or he will end up becoming the beast, which consumes his humanity. To prevent this, I must change back into my normal self regularly, in order not to lose my mind to the form that I have mimicked.” Haranio looked first at Tyler and then Varkon. “Can you understand this?”
Tyler nodded thoughtfully. “So, you remained in your snow lion shape for longer than it was safe for
you to do so?”
Haranio leant forward. “Precisely. I had to, in order to catch up to the army. Even then, it was not too late. Although the sense, sight, and smell of a lion were beginning to penetrate my better instincts and play havoc with my human reasoning, there still remained a chance to change back to my natural self and thus salvage my sanity. But it was not to be. When I rushed into that hall to fight alongside Hargill, all was lost. In the fury of battle, I became completely immersed with my beast-form. The transformation of my body into that of a snow lion had been quick. The transformation of my mind had taken much longer, but by the time I left that hall, I was, in effect, a wild lion.” Haranio’s eyes brooded from beneath their bushy brows. “Which is why I must have begun to hunt you, lad. You see, the last thing I heard when I was still in my human mind was Hargill instructing me to seek you out. This thought was so powerful that it must have remained in my conscience even when I had, in every other respect, changed to a beast. Because I was now an animal, the only thing that I must have considered doing once I found you was to kill you.” Haranio’s expression stiffened with irony. “Most shamifs never have a chance of regaining their humanity once they are lost to a shape. There are those who have become eagles, dolphins, or any number of forms, and they will remain that way forever. But sometimes, if they see something that was of extreme importance to their previous lives – in my case Avalon’s Heart – it can be enough to jar the memories of the natural conscience.” Haranio smiled kindly at Tyler. “I should thank you for saving my life.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
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