by Richard Due
Lily tried to stand a little taller. “What do you want me to do?”
Lily felt Roan lower his body to the ground.
“You must . . . ride me,” said Roan, the last two words nearly catching in his throat.
Lily had photos of herself in diapers, sitting bareback on old Thor, her father’s hands holding her in place. Her mother was fond of saying she’d learned to ride before she could walk. Which wasn’t really true, but it was close.
It’s just like riding Hello Kitty, she told herself. Only if she were a cat, and bigger, and could talk.
Lily reached up and shoved her hands into Roan’s thick fur. His flesh was very warm and wet with sweat. She felt for the ridge of his spine and twined two huge handfuls of hair about her fists. Roan’s skin shivered reflexively, like a cat whose fur has been brushed the wrong way.
“Does that hurt?” said Lily, suddenly alarmed.
Roan made a low, deep sound that Lily didn’t realize was laughter.
“Quickly, little cub,” he said. “This is not the time nor place for jests.”
Lily hauled herself into a sitting position. Once upright, she grabbed and twined new handfuls of hair.
“Hold tight!” commanded Roan, rising lightly to his feet. His back was wider than her horse’s, and his skin wrinkled and twitched as she adjusted her position.
From her perch, even in the darkness, Lily realized she could anticipate Roan’s course by reading slight movements of his body. First to the right, then straight. As he picked up speed, a rush of air filled her ears, tossing her hair.
Lily squinted against the wind. “Are you sure you can you see all right in this?” she shouted.
Roan laughed. “For me, it is like the clearest day, little cub.”
“Please, call me Lily.” And then, after a moment’s hesitation, “What should I call you?”
After careful consideration, Roan said, “You, Lily, may call me Roan.”
“Where are we going, Roan?” she shouted.
From high above rang the voice of Greydor. “Rout them! Rout them! Rout them!”
Roan slowed some.
“Who was that?” asked Lily.
“That is my king, Greydor, Pride of the Rinn. He is emptying the city. He has chosen to fight.”
Lily bent her attention to the sounds around her. Even far off, the Rinn descending from the Ridgegate sounded like a herd of charging buffalo. A short time later Roan stopped.
“What’s the matter?” asked Lily.
“They are gathering at the foot of the switchbacks.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I’d rather we not be seen. There is a narrow path that ascends next to the switchbacks. It is much steeper and used by runners. I don’t see anyone on it at the moment.”
“Why don’t you want to be seen?” asked Lily. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Roan didn’t answer.
There was a nearly constant ringing sound, like steel striking stone. The Rinn descending the switchbacks came close at times, and several hailed Roan as he climbed the steep path, but he ignored them. Lily was amazed by Roan’s stamina; a horse would have tired long ago from such a labor.
“Lily, we are coming to the Ridgegate. If you would, please say nothing.”
She strained to hear. The noise from the switchbacks had faded. Now that they were at the Ridgegate itself, she could hear hardly anything, until, from a distance, a voice rang out.
“Roan! You made it! We feared the worst.” It was an old-sounding Rinn. “So! It’s true! It was out with the bugs? By the moons! What is it doing on your back?”
“I picked her up within the ring, but I can’t stop to explain. Listen, old-paw, is that cub with you from Dewlicks’ litter?”
“Yes, that’s the scent! Very good, Roan, you do have an excellent nose. You should come visit and see my Dewlicks. She’s all on her own now, you know.”
“Yes, my condolences.”
“Head of her own clutter.”
“I’ve heard, and very good at it, I understand, but listen—”
“This little one, Swatfur, was number six. He’s helping me make my rounds. I’m gathering the wagons. It’s going to be a long night.” Then the old Rinn’s voice turned nostalgic, “We’ve been told it will be a lovely night for bug swatting.”
Lily felt Roan lower his head to look at Swatfur.
“Is this your first hunt?” Roan asked.
“Eat bugs!” shouted the enthusiastic cub.
“Good!” laughed Roan. “Very good!” He continued. “Old-paw, I may have need of a runner who knows the way from the palace tower to the Ridgegate. I wouldn’t need him for long—do you know of anyone I could borrow?”
“Hmm, I don’t know . . . would it be important?”
“If, as I suspect, I do need such a runner, he would be delivering a message for Greydor—”
Lily heard the small Rinn gasp.
“I know the way to the Ridgegate! Old-paw! I know the way!”
“Are you sure?” asked the old Rinn. “You wouldn’t get lost?”
“I’m sure!”
The old Rinn chuckled. “Then maybe it’s a runner you’ll grow up to be.”
“No, old-paw, I want to be a warrior Rinn, like you and Mama.”
“Thank you, old-paw,” said Roan. “I’ll send him to you shortly. Where will you be?”
“Gathering the wagons on the west ridge, but navigating them down the switchbacks will be tiring, and if you’ll only be a short time, we’ll be resting at the bottom before journeying on.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Swatfur, we must be on the move. There is more to do this night than I have time to do it.”
And with that, Roan took off at a fast pace, only this time on level ground. Lily’s arms ached from holding on, but, unable to see, she dared not adjust her grip. From time to time, She heard the smaller, softer padding of Swatfur, keeping pace a little behind and to the left of them. Swatfur’s breathing and pawsteps were very fast compared to Roan’s steady gait and deep breaths.
Before long they were hailed again.
“Roan! What news have you? How did you do it? I saw it come from your circle. I saw it with my own eyes!” There was a pause, and when the Rinn spoke again, his voice was tinged with awe. “A Dain cub. So it’s true—but how?”
“Do you have word for me, gatekeep?” said Roan gruffly.
“Why—yes! Yes, of course! You must meet Greydor in the Great Hall. And if he is not present, then you are to take your orders from Nimlinn. But I fear I have taken too much of your time already.”
“It is all right. Matless fur requires no combing.”
Roan increased his pace, and Lily was sure that Swatfur would be lost, but every so often she heard the quick pads of his paws keeping up.
Lily shouted to be heard as they rushed on.
“Who is Nimlinn, Roan?”
“Nimlinn is Greydor’s mate and Queen. She is most powerful and very wise. When we meet with her, it would be best if you were to speak only when spoken to and not before.”
“Will do,” shouted Lily.
“And, Lily, you need not scream so loudly. I have excellent hearing. In fact, if you were to whisper, I would still hear you perfectly.”
“Oh!” Lily said too loudly. Then, feeling a bit stupid, she said, less loudly, “I mean, oh.”
They rounded a sweeping curve, Lily leaning to one side. A few seconds later, she heard Roan make a chuckling sound.
“Roan, what is it?” she whispered, testing Roan’s ears.
“Ha! There are two wyflings on wirtles just inside the palace tower. They are peering into the darkness—at us—but they see nothing. They will be very surprised by our entran
ce. Hold tight, Lily. Your vision will clear once we are within the palace keep, and we are almost there.”
Lily felt Roan bunch up his haunches. As they flew through the gate, two high-pitched screams sounded like sirens. The wyflings, each mounted atop one of the horrible-looking six-legged creatures, didn’t even have the presence of mind to duck for cover.
The corridor they were in now was lit by tremendous lanterns, suspended from the tall ceiling by great loops of black iron chain. Red decorations were painted high along the sandstone walls. Now that Lily could see, her horse-riding skills took over, and she immediately sat in a more upright and commanding position. Roan’s head and ears were fantastically larger than a horse’s, but he kept his head low as they streaked down the corridor, and Lily couldn’t help but notice, with some wonder, that Roan’s long eyebrow whiskers rose nearly half as high as his ears.
Behind them, Swatfur, who Lily judged to be the size of a grizzly bear, ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Behind Swatfur, Lily could just make out the retreating black archway through which they had come.
Ahead, the passage widened enough for many Rinn to walk side by side, and the ceiling, made of beautifully carved stone, rose taller still. The lanterns here were larger, too, casting a warm yellow light throughout.
Roan seemed to know exactly where he was going, and he kept his pace quick. Lily wanted to take in everything, but it was going by too fast for that. In many places, the walls were draped with rich tapestries, which Lily was certain told tales she wanted to know.
Many of the hallways they passed led to rooms, but several led into what looked like cavernous halls. Soon, they began climbing a curved stairway that hugged the outer walls of the great keep. From time to time, they passed a window, but Lily could see nothing outside but inky darkness. Roan, however, glanced out of each one as they sped past.
“What is it, Roan? What do you see?”
“I see an entire valley full of scaramann, and someone is up to mischief in Fangdelve.”
Lily didn’t like the sound of that. “Mischief?”
“I know not what, but I assure you, great evil will come of it.” They rushed through many floors of the tower, leaving one room behind while emerging through the floor of another. On and on Roan climbed. How tall could this tower possibly be, Lily began to wonder.
“How much farther, Roan?”
But he didn’t answer.
And then, finally, they emerged into the Great Hall of the Rinn. A single room ringed with massive pillars, it was as big around as the tower was wide. Lily gasped.
“What is it?” asked Roan, and he spoke more quietly than she thought possible for a creature so large.
“It’s just, well . . . it’s complicated. I’ve never seen my Uncle’s actual painting . . . just a photo.”
“A photo?”
“It’s like a painting, only a lot smaller. But still breathtaking. And now to finally see it in person . . . I just—I just thought I’d see the painting first, you know. I mean, not that I ever thought I’d see it . . . in person.”
“Your . . . uncle?” said Roan. He swiveled his massive head as far as he could, and Lily loosened her hold on his fur, lest she be pulled off his back. The great Rinn settled a single narrowed emerald eye on her. “Ah, now I catch the scent.”
Chapter Eight
Greydor’s Decision
Awarm daytime breeze wafted through the hall, but the dim lighting, combined with Roan’s darkness outside, infused the room with the feeling of deepest night. The archways between the pillars were black, unlike in Uncle Ebb’s painting. She knew the image so well that she could almost see what would have been between the pillars: the tree-lined streets of Sea Denn, the nearby Tower of Clawforge, the sparkling ocean; on the other side, the valley and the distant Tower of Fangdelve. Then, without even trying, the images in her mind changed: a dead moon appeared; black ropes looped down to ensnare Fangdelve; a black army of scaramann blotted the floor of the valley.
Turning back to where the sea should be, Lily tried to push the image of the dead moon and scaramann out of her mind. She imagined what it would have been like to walk out on the balcony on the day in Ebb’s painting. She’d see if the sea town of Foam was actually visible from the Great Hall of the Rinn, thereby settling a old bet with Jasper. Ebb had a wonderful painting of Foam’s docks in his kitchen, with the gigantic wooden ships of the Rinn being loaded and unloaded. But the bet would have to wait for another day.
The hall’s floor was cut from several types of stone whose names Lily did not know (although she wanted to), polished and shot through with thin veins of what looked like gold, silver, and copper. The shallow-domed ceiling was painted with scenes of majestic mountains, broad plains, valleys, tall forests, and oceans along its outer rim. In the center of the room lay a massive bronze brazier, twenty-five feet across. The air about the coals was wavy with heat, but Lily could see several figures waiting on the opposite side.
Roan padded around the brazier, delivering Lily to a raised dais, where a majestic orange-colored Rinn reclined like a sphinx. This Rinn’s fur was no thicker than Roan’s, but it had a luster and depth that suggested many hours of combing and grooming. A wyfling stood to either side of the Rinn, who Lily suspected was Nimlinn. The wyflings looked nearly identical, and if not for the different colored vests they wore, Lily would have been hard-pressed to tell them apart. Behind the dais, another staircase rose through the floor, and unlike the one they had come up, it continued up along the curve of the wall and through the ceiling.
Roan lowered his great bulk before the dais, allowing Lily to slide off his back. For a few futile moments, Lily tried to straighten and re-fluff Roan’s fur, where her sweaty hands, twisting and pulling, had ruined it. But she knew it would need a good combing to get it right again. Roan moved off to one side, leaving Lily alone before Nimlinn’s calm gaze.
Lily heard a soft snoring behind her. She turned, and instantly, her hand shot to her mouth. She let out a little shriek as she realized that a pile of wirtles were sleeping together on this side of the warm brazier, not ten feet from where she stood. They were a jumble of legs, fur, lolling tongues, tails, claws, teeth, and many pairs of bulging eyes, now closed. At her shriek, a dozen long ears lazily popped to attention and pointed in every direction. Seconds later, they flopped down again, one by one. A single pair of eyes opened to slits, then closed with a muffled sigh. It was not easy for Lily to turn away from them, but she felt it would be disrespectful to remain with her back to Nimlinn, so she summoned her strength and looked at Roan, thinking, it’s okay, he’s got my back.
Nimlinn stared long at Lily and narrowed her enormous eyes. Lily thought she detected what passed for a tight-lipped smile forming on Nimlinn’s face. It was an oddly approving look. At least, Lily hoped it was. Lily wondered if maybe the expressions of the Rinn were not all that different from humans, just larger and covered with lots of fur.
“What is your name, cub?” asked Nimlinn.
“Lily, your . . . highness?” said Lily meekly.
“What is your full name—what is your clan?”
“My name is Lily Vervain Winter.”
“Lily Vervain . . . of the clan Winter,” said Nimlinn, smiling graciously. “I am Nimlinn Goldenclif, of the clan Broadpaw. My husband is Greydor Goldenclif, of the clan Foamchaser, Lord of the Valley Rinn,” said Nimlinn. “But you may simply address me as Nimlinn.”
A distant boom sounded, and Nimlinn’s gaze momentarily shifted to one of the open archways. “Now, tell me, how is it that you speak our language so well? It is an uncommon gift for a Dain cub, is it not?” Nimlinn’s tail swished from one side to the other. “And, more importantly, how came you to be the bearer of Ebbram the Wanderer’s moon coin?”
“‘The Wanderer?’” Lily mouthed silently, her fingers protectively enci
rcling the pendant.
“I—I don’t—” Lily tried hard to think of what to say next, but no words came. Start at the beginning, she thought. “This . . . ah, this is my uncle’s necklace, but that isn’t his name . . . though it is similar.”
“How did you come by it?” said Nimlinn quickly, leaning forward a tiny bit.
“I—I found it.” Lily thought of Uncle Ebb’s house, running with Oscar and Jasper through the hallways, laughing—earlier that very day, right?
“You found it?” said Nimlinn.
“Well, yes,” said Lily. “You see . . . he’s missing.”
Nimlinn’s great, amber eyes flicked to Roan, then back again.
“But you have been instructed in its use, yes? You are here, after all.”
Lily looked down at the pendant, suddenly feeling very stupid.
“Well, I remember part of what I did to get here . . . but not exactly.” She looked up at Nimlinn. Lily felt like a child again, trying to explain to her parents about the freak accident in the barn that caused her to end up bareback . . . on her pony . . . wearing faerie wings and a tutu. Faerie business is serious business! “For example, I don’t know how to get back home.”
Nimlinn’s eyes widened in surprise. “Lily,” she said, suddenly sounding more concerned, “have you ever been to Barreth before?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been anywhere within our realm?”
“No.”
“I see. I thought as much. Well, Lily, I have very little knowledge of that device in your hand, and most of what I’ve learned I know by observation. However, I suspect time is not on our side. Lily, I want you to think very carefully about what I’m going to ask you next. All right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Have you turned the circle of moons since you arrived here?”
“Yes!” said Lily excitedly, happy to finally answer one of Nimlinn’s questions with a yes. “Shortly after I arrived, I tried to use it to get back, but the moons wouldn’t light up and it just spun around and around.”
