Syrill’s eyes were fixed on the street beyond. “No time now, officer.”
Jubal wanted to shake him. Instead, he said, “Syrill, I know you lied about what happened on the roof.”
Syrill’s face went uncharacteristically blank.
Jubal continued. “Sada was killed by a sword. There were fauns on that roof other than you and Capricia.”
Syrill started walking again. Jubal strode beside him. “Listen to me, Syrill. Talk to me. I’m not denying that Lexis was involved, but there is more to it than that. If you don’t tell us, how are we supposed to find Capricia?”
“You can’t,” whispered Syrill. “No one can, except maybe me.” He started to run. Jubal shouted after him, “Syrill, where are you going?”
When he didn’t answer, Jubal continued, “As an officer in my own city, I order you to stop.”
“Arrest me!” shot Syrill over his shoulder. Jubal kicked a stone and cursed. Then he turned back towards the palace.
* * * *
The next morning Meuril left Danda-lay with some three hundred hastily assembled wood faun soldiers. “We march at speed,” he told his advisors. “I want to reach Laven-lay tonight. Send messengers ahead. I want the city alert for possible attack. Oh, and find Syrill. I haven’t seen him all morning, and I need his advice.” But no one could locate the general.
Chapter 6. Daren’s Proposal
After extensive testing, I’ve concluded that strangulation is the best way to kill a shelt without damaging the pelt. It requires no skill or blades. The slaves can do it themselves.
—Daren Anroth to his cousin, Rquar
Chance passed out three times as Daren asked the same questions. Each time he fainted, the guards beat the air back into his lungs before slowly strangling him again. By the third time, Daren was showing signs of irritation. “I offered you wealth and power,” he growled. “Now I’m only offering you your life. Talk to me about the tunnel, and I’ll let you live. If not,” he motioned for a guard to toss him a whip, “my next offer will be a speedy death. You’ll beg for it before I’m finished.”
Chance looked at him through glazed and blood-shot eyes. “There is...no...secret—”
Daren stepped well back and sent the long coil purring through the air to make several turns around Chance’s waist. He gave Chance one horrified moment to realize what he was about to do, then jerked hard with both hands on the whip. There a soft “umh” as the last ounce of air left Chance’s lungs. For one sickening moment he hung suspended, his legs dangling, pulled in three directions. Then Daren let him drop.
Chance rolled over and began to retch. The guards moved forward to loosen the cords, but the tortured muscles of his throat took a moment to release. When he finally managed to vomit, the material that burst from his lips was streaked crimson.
Daren moved a finger, and the guards hoisted the shuddering cliff faun to his feet. This time Chance could not stand, and they held him up. “Is it enough, Chance? I confess, I never thought you’d last this long. No one could look at you and think you helped us willingly.”
Chance lifted his head. He’d had no spittle before, but now he could taste blood on his tongue. He spat a mouthful of it into Daren’s face. Quick as a snake, Daren planted a fist in Chance’s belly. “So you like spitting blood? You’ll be doing a lot of it before we’re through!”
Chance didn’t hear him. He had already fainted. The guards let him drop. His pale skin was beginning to purple, and a dark line marked the place around his belly where Daren’s whip had caught him.
Daren sniffed in disgust. “You thick-skulled sheep shelt.” He gave the limp body a kick. “No matter. We will take your precious city anyway! We have another way in. Your suffering is of no consequence.” Daren waited a moment, but there was not even a twitch from the cliff faun.
Daren’s soldiers were beginning to light torches in the dusky courtyard as he turned to the rest of his captives. “Ah, the great hunter. Tell me, Laylan: where is your spotted friend?”
Laylan’s fixed gaze left Chance’s corpse-like body and settled on Daren.
Daren reached up to finger the wolf tail dangling from the edge of Laylan’s hat. “A cheetah tail might look attractive as part of a head piece. Oh, don’t look at me as if you’d never thought of it before. He’s got a beautiful pelt. Shall I keep the whole together for a rug? But I am thinking ahead. The skin cannot be half dry yet.”
He moved to stand in front of Fenrah. “So you are Fenrah Ausla. I’ve tried to contact you, but never received a reply.”
Fenrah regarded him from the fortress of her black eyes. “Perhaps that’s because we smelled something unhealthy in your advances.”
“Unhealthy?” murmured Daren. “What could be more healthy than making a good impression on the future rulers of the Endless Wood?”
“I distinctly heard you identify those as Lexis and his cats. Exactly what part of that is supposed to please me?”
Daren shrugged. “It’s true that the cats will take the wood as their prize. However, they are playing a subordinate role to Kazar. No decision has yet been reached about the wolflings. As for Lexis...” Daren gave a shrug. “I doubt he’s still alive.”
He cocked his head. “You know as well as I do that if the cats have free access to the wood, they will eradicate the rest of your race. Already, their treaty with Meuril is making heavy inroads. They can track wolflings far better than fauns can, and they hunt more frequently—for food as well as for sport. If they rule the wood, your wolflings—clinging to their existence by their fingernails—are doomed. If you make enemies of we swamp fauns, you’ll burn your last bridge. Help us, and I can arrange asylum, not just for you, but for all the wolflings.”
He watched her face carefully. “I know you feel responsible for them, Fenrah. You’re the last of the royal house. You’re the true queen. They are your people. Their fate is in your hands.”
For the first time, her eyes flickered. Daren waited a moment, then added another morsel. “I suppose your cousin would like his revenge.” He cocked an eyebrow at Sham. “Your great tormentor lies smothering in his own blood. Want to finish him? I’ll wake him up for it.”
Sham looked tempted. “Untie me.”
“First, I want proof of your loyalty. You must acquaint us with your dens in this ruin—the places where you’ve stashed weapons and supplies or set traps.”
Fenrah raised one eyebrow. “Right now?”
Daren shrugged. “I want maps. I’m sure you don’t carry those on your person. However, you can give me another show of good faith: call your pack, the wolves, too. I want them all in this courtyard. If you do this, I’ll know that you trust me and that I can trust you.”
Fenrah shrugged. “Shall I send your message now?”
“Send away.”
Fenrah gave a long howl. She followed it with several shorter ones and was still in mid-cry when Daren said sharply, “That’s enough!” He glared at her in the flickering light of the torches. “I thought rally cries were short.”
Fenrah’s face was a mask of shadows. “Who told you that?”
He stepped nearer. “Don’t tempt me, wolfling. You saw what I do to my enemies.”
“I saw,” grated Fenrah, “what you do to your friends.”
Daren slapped her.
“That smell,” said Sham loudly, “the unhealthy one—I think it was carrion. You’re nothing but a common traitor, no more friend to wolflings than any cat or wood faun.”
Something about the comparison seemed to incense Daren. His lip curled. “Are you trying to distract me, Sham?” He took a step backwards and, without even looking at her, seized Fenrah and twisted her onto her knees in front of him. Fenrah struggled, but she’d been caught by surprise. He put a knee in her back, her hands still bound behind her, then began to twist her right arm up against the pressure of his leg. Sham started forward, but the guards held him. Fenrah stopped struggling and winced. Daren jerked her arm harder and she made a t
iny sound.
“Tell me, Sham, where is your main den? Where in this city do you keep your supplies, your weapons? I’m afraid that if you don’t speak soon, her arm will break.”
Sham’s face had gone ashen. “Fenny—”
She raised burning eyes to him. “No.” Daren gave her another jerk, and she yelped, but the next words out of her mouth were, “No, Sham!”
Sham looked away, trembling.
“Are you afraid of giving away others?” asked Daren. “Whom do you value more? Them or her?”
Sham spoke in a faint voice, “Raiders do not betray Raiders.”
Everyone heard her arm break. Fenrah let out a sharp yelp, then moaned as Daren let her to crumple to the earth. “You disappoint me, Raiders. I thought that you had brains, but I see you are just as stupid as the wood fauns. Perhaps there’s a good reason you’re going extinct.”
At that moment, one of the swamp fauns bellowed in surprise. Hualien and Danzel had been sitting together, bound, and now they both shot up and away in different directions. Danzel was not quite quick enough. Two swamp fauns caught him on the parameter of the courtyard and dragged him back, but Hualien slipped through them all and into the night.
“Who searched those two?” said Daren in a soft, dangerous voice.
“I did, sir,” said one swamp faun nervously. “I’m sure they didn’t have a blade.”
Daren didn’t even look at him. “Northain, take that faun’s name. As for you,” he grabbed a handful of the Danzel’s shirt and dragged him to his feet. “Want to play the hero, eh? How does martyr sound instead?”
Fenrah spoke suddenly. She was still on her knees, but her voice had regained its icy calm. “Leave him. It’s me who’s insulted you. He’s only following the orders.”
“Do you care enough for his safety to give me what I want?” asked Daren.
Fenrah hesitated. “In the eastern corner of the city, there’s a silo with a green roof. The building has three levels of basement, and in the bottom one you’ll find supplies.”
“If you are lying,” said Daren, “you’ll fare worse than Chance.”
Chapter 7. Laylan’s Bargain
The last Wizard War did not begin, as is commonly believed, with the invasion of Port Ory. It began the day before in dilapidated Selbis. Appropriately, the first to suffer were an unlikely and mutually hostile company of wolflings, a cliff faun, the son of a gypsy fox shelt, and a cheetah.
—Capricia Sor, Prelude to War
The swamp fauns formed their prisoners into a line and searched them one last time for weapons. As they prepared to leave, Fenrah glanced at Gabalon’s dagger, lying among the confiscated items. Daren bent to retrieve it. “You should have listened when I offered my sword, Fenrah. I don’t ask twice.” He tucked the weapon into his belt.
“Better carry those two.” He motioned towards Sevn and Chance, but as the soldiers moved to obey, Chance revived and started to struggle. “Get your filthy hands off me.” He staggered to his feet, swaying. “I can walk...(cough)...by myself.”
A look of genuine astonishment flicked across Daren’s face, followed immediately by a sneer. “Let the idiot walk. Northain, lead the way with your guard. The rest of you, get to work. We’re behind schedule.”
The prisoners and their escort left the courtyard and started down one of the dark corridors. As they entered the passage, Danzel tripped over a pile of stones and staggered sideways into Daren.
Daren grabbed him by the shoulders. “Watch it, you little wretch. And that reminds me: Melcross, assemble a hunting party and go after that wolfling who escaped. When you find him cut off his head and bring it to me on a pike.” He shoved Danzel away, chuckling at his horrified expression. “Keep marching, runt! You’ll join him shortly.”
Daren consulted his stolen maps as the fauns guided their prisoners down a long flight of steps into deeper blackness. More of the soldiers lit torches, sending orange light licking across the ancient stones. Chance had a scalp wound that was turning his golden curls crimson. He had to keep shaking the blood out of his eyes, but he kept walking. His determination seemed both to annoy and fascinate Daren, who occasionally tested his tenacity with a burst of speed.
At last the party stopped in a narrow, winding tunnel with a low ceiling. One of the swamp fauns unbarred an iron door with a tiny, grated window. Daren entered the cell first and glanced around. “This will do.” There were metal rings in the walls, well above head-height. Daren ordered the prisoners’ hands tied to them. “Because we wouldn’t want you killing each other before I get around to it.”
Fenrah let out a hiss of pain when they forced her broken right arm above her head. Sevn’s body hung limp from his ring. When they went to tie Chance to the wall, Daren stopped them. “Don’t you know a freshly beaten prisoner should never be tied standing? He might be dead in the morning, and that would be unfortunate. Freshly beaten prisoners should stay down.” He gave Chance a sudden punch in the stomach. Chance crumpled like a leaf before a flame.
Daren turned and strode from the room. The cell door squealed shut, and gradually the scuttle of feet faded in the passage.
* * * *
Corellian sat up, clutching his chest. He kept dreaming he was falling. Or flying. Or both. He reached for his pillow and found only a handful of something prickly. Leaves?
He sat up. This isn’t my room.
He was in the woods, with Dragon moon full overhead and Runner not far behind. Corry tried unsuccessfully to remember how he’d gotten here. Dreamlike, he recalled the events on the roof of the hotel. I fell. Then I swam. Then— He groaned as he remembered the alligator.
Corry looked around with renewed interest. How am I alive?
Then he saw the eyes—two pairs, reflecting green from the shadows ten paces away. Corry froze. It took all his self-control to remain perfectly still until he was able to make out the silhouettes of two cats. They’re small, he reassured himself. If they had wanted to kill me, they would have done it while I was sleeping. Concentrating, he tried to smell the colors—the heat of the colors. Orange? White? Stripes?
He got unsteadily to his feet. “Who’s there?”
The eyes winked out, and Corry saw the silhouettes turn and retreat a short distance before stopping to watch him again. He heard indistinct whispers.
Gaining confidence, he called, “I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me. Did you bring me here?”
“Bring you here?” came a female voice. “You brought yourself here, monster.”
They must not like iterations. “And where is here?”
Another fierce session of whispering. This time, Corry heard some of the words.
“—should get away right now before it kills us!”
“I don’t think—”
“—wounded, that’s the only way they’re not dangerous.”
“Well, we needed an escort anyway!”
“Leesha, are you crazy?”
Leesha? “Are you Lexis’s cubs?” asked Corry. “Tolomy and Leesha?”
An abrupt silence. “You know us?” The female cub came towards him. As she passed through a sheet of moonlight, Corry saw clearly her white and black stripes.
“I’m Corellian, the iteration who lives and works in Laven-lay’s court,” he said. “I’m well-known in that city. I met you both yesterday on the stairs to my room in Danda-lay’s palace. I tried to speak to you, but you ran away.”
Leesha had come to within two paces of him now, while Tolomy still hung back. Even Leesha was taking no chances. She moved close to the ground, poised to flee.
Corry’s eyes widened. She was wearing a familiar chain around her neck. “You have it,” he whispered.
She was watching his expression. “Yeah. You gonna kill me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I’m not sure, but several others have tried today.”
“Centaurs?”
“No. Fauns.”
“Leesha, who gave you that chain?”<
br />
“My father.”
Corry felt sick. So Syrill was right. I wonder if this is a trap.
Tolomy was beginning to slink forward. Corry took a step back. “That chain and what’s hanging on it belong to the Princess Capricia, not to you and not to Lexis.”
Leesha shrugged. “Father said she gave it to him to protect, but he wasn’t sure he trusted you, because of Syrill. They went to meet you in Port Ory. Looks to me like you betrayed them.”
Corry’s mouth went dry. He was remembering something—upright shapes running out of the trees just before he fell from the roof. Fauns. Did Syrill know they were there?
Corry ran a hand through his black hair. He had thought he knew what happened on the roof. Suddenly he wasn’t sure. In his mind’s eye, he saw Lexis standing over Capricia’s motionless body. What if Lexis wasn’t attacking her? What if he was trying to protect her? He remembered Syrill, going round and round with Ounce. Could Ounce have betrayed his king? Could he have brought the fauns who were after the flute?
Aloud, he said, “You still haven’t told me where I am.”
“The wood near the edge of the cliff, just south of Danda-lay.” Leesha cocked her head. “How could you not know that?”
“The top? But— I went over the waterfall! How could I have ended up on top?”
Leesha’s voice came out dry and flat. “You flew.”
* * * *
Laylan’s head jerked up. He was not the sort of shelt to forget where he was while he slept. He’d been chasing his predicament through his dreams. I’ve got a strip of flint in the heels of my boots. Chance could take them off, strike a little flame, burn through the ropes...
He blinked hard to clear his vision. The flickering light of a single torch still fell through the barred window, and although he heard no sounds from outside, he knew there must be guards. Chance lay exactly where he’d collapsed. Sevn was still unconscious as well. Fenrah and Sham were both looking across the cell towards Danzel. Laylan followed their gaze. Danzel had flipped up and over, so that he was crouching on the wall. His arms and hands were stretched out in front of him, supporting his weight, his whole attention focused on his fingertips. Laylan saw a glint of metal. He’s got a knife!
The Prophet of Panamindorah - Complete Trilogy Page 21
