Lyli seemed to be running from him. Sham and Sevn were backing away. Fenrah held her ground a moment. Then he heard her breath one word. “Arrows!” All the wolflings turned and ran.
Next moment the world slid back into focus. Corry stood with his hand clutching his chest. “What happened?” he gasped.
Syrill was grinning at him. “Why did you wait so long?”
He was running now, and Corry had to sprint to keep up. “That horn was my soldiers looking for us. With any luck, they’ll find us before the Raiders do. Make some noise.” He began to shout, occasionally whistling between his fingers.
Very shortly, this sound was answered by a bugle-like snort. Corry nearly stumbled, but Syrill laughed aloud and whistled again. Corry heard hoof beats, and then Syrill’s stag bounded into view. Seconds later, they were on his back.
“What did you become?” asked Syrill as they bounded away. “I know you shifted, saw the blur as I turned, but at the moment I was afraid to take my eyes off Sevn.”
“Do you mean I changed shape?”
“Yes. Was it an accident? Panicked, did you?”
“I suppose. I don’t really know how I did it. You didn’t see me?”
“No.” Syrill sounded disappointed. “You still don’t know what shelt blood you carry?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Syrill didn’t seem to hear him. “Well, you’re no faun-blood. They’d never run from a deer. From their expressions, you’d think they’d seen a monster.”
“If I had faun blood, I would have shifted to a deer?” asked Corry.
“Yes, of course,” muttered Syrill, thinking. “Perhaps a bear? A very large one? No, I still can’t imagine her fleeing that way from a bear. Perhaps a…” He licked his lips in disgust. “A cat. They say an iteration lives a long life. Still, I’d have thought you too young, even for an iteration. Cat shelts were gone before my grandparents’ time.”
Corry sat silent while Syrill discussed his possible lineage. “Syrill?” he interrupted.
“Hmm?”
“I saved your life back there, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“And I helped you get the key?”
“Yes.”
“Then do me the kindness of not telling anyone that I shifted.”
“Ah. Corry, it is not necessarily a mark of dishonor to have a wizard’s talents. It’s only distrusted, because wizards mistreated shelts in the past.”
“Until shelts killed them all?” asked Corry sarcastically.
“I think they mostly killed each other.”
“Whatever. Wood fauns won’t trust me if they know I can shift. The less like a wizard I seem, the better I’ll get on here. Syrill, if I’ve been any help to you, do this for me.”
Syrill inclined his head. “I will not disclose your talents without your permission. However, you should consider the possibilities. As you’ve just seen, the ability to shift could be very useful. I would not be at all opposed to having an iteration in my army…even if your true form is a cat. Yes, come to think of it, that might be most useful of all.”
Corry laughed. “Are you inviting me to become what you accused me of being: a spy?”
“They’re only bad when they’re on the other side!” quipped Syrill. “Laylan has done some work for me. His cheetah’s tracks don’t attract attention from enemy scouts. The pay is excellent. Of course, there are drawbacks. If you think the Raiders are fierce, then the cats may give you a green turn. We got a prisoner back last red month whom they’d tortured. He died yesterday. The cats had licked all the skin off one arm.”
* * * *
Capricia Sor watched the sunrise from the window of her study, high in the tower where she’d taken Corry two days ago. A plate of breakfast sat untouched on a tray beside her. The pot of tea on her desk had received more attention. She’d drunk all of it and had not slept. Words and phrases ran together in her mind—the scholarly commentaries, so scant and confusing, the partial interpretations of the ancient language, her own notes from interviews with a few very old cliff fauns, the last to have spoken with anyone who knew the old writing.
The princess was deeply troubled. “Corellian…” She rolled the name around on her tongue. “Yes, it is possible. I thought the pronunciation different, but it is possible.”
Boom! A servant banged open the door without knocking. Capricia turned with an angry reprimand, but stopped when she saw the excitement on his face.
“They’re back!” exclaimed the servant and then remembered to bow. “Syrill has returned safely, your highness, along with your iteration friend, Corellian. All Laven-lay is talking about him. Syrill reports that he could not have escaped without Corellian’s help, and they have rescued the master trap key from Raider hands! They will enter the castle in a moment. Your father wants to greet them himself.”
Capricia frowned as the messenger scampered away. How will I ever get rid of him now?
* * * *
Corry felt giddy during the parade through Laven-lay. The whole city seemed to be attending their progress up the street. He wished Syrill would hurry inside out of the press, but Syrill was preening and kept his stag’s pace to a stately walk. They dismounted on the steps of the castle and entered the antechamber, carried along by the throng, only escaping when a cry of, “Make way for the King!” forced the crowd apart. Corry saw Meuril in the entrance to the throne room, beckoning them nearer.
Syrill strode forward, and Corry followed more hesitantly. “My dear general,” said the King, “my nation’s debt to you grows ever larger.”
Syrill bowed. “I did no more than my duty, Sire.”
“And you,” Meuril turned to Corry, “your reception into my realm makes this act even greater. If I am to believe my general’s message, he and the key would not be here but for you.”
Meuril turned to the throng. “Friends, we have averted disaster because of this young iteration. Who among you would be so prejudiced as to deny him citizenship?”
A chorus of approving cheers erupted, and Meuril smiled. “Corry, you are hereby granted citizenship of Laven-lay and all the rights of trading, traveling, and protection it affords. To ensure that all shelts honor my decision I am entrusting you with a ring bearing the sign of my own house. Wear it, and you are one of us.”
As Corry took the bit of gold from Meuril, he caught sight of two scowling brown eyes amid the smiles. Capricia.
“Do you want to get out of this?” Syrill bellowed over the noise. Corry nodded and followed him as he edged his way to one of the small side doors leading off of the antechamber. Syrill shut it, and the sound diminished instantly. “How does it feel to be a hero?”
“Safer,” said Corry, thinking of Capricia.
Syrill gave him an odd look.
“I mean,” Corry improvised, “now I don’t have to worry about fauns torturing me.”
Syrill grinned. “You had to turn the blade one more time, didn’t you? Well, that won’t happen again, Corellian of Laven-lay.”
Corry glanced at the circlet of gold. On one side it bore the leaf and buck’s head of Laven-lay, on the other side the image of a diving falcon. “The insignia of the House of Sor,” explained Syrill. “That’s Meuril’s personal sign. He’d never have given it to a faun, but prejudice against iterations is so strong, I suppose he thought it was the only way to ensure your safety.”
They were in the garden now, moving beneath the living archways of flowering vines. Corry tried to put the ring on, but found it too large to stay on his finger.
Syrill chuckled. “You’ll have to have it fitted by a goldsmith.”
They walked for a moment in silence. “What’s your deer’s name, Syrill?”
“Blix.” Corry could hear the pride in his voice. “I raised him.”
“He’s magnificent.” Corry hesitated. “What will happen to the wolflings now?”
Syrill glanced at him curiously. “Nothing, I suppose.”
; “But won’t the fauns—”
Syrill snorted. “We’re speaking of Fenrah’s Raiders, not common thieves. Of course my soldiers will try to find them, but I’m sure they’ll fail. The Raiders’ mobility is their most peculiar talent.”
“But they must have gone somewhere.”
Syrill shrugged. “The Raiders are very mobile. Some say they have no den. Others say it’s impossible to operate so efficiently, to stash plunder so well, and to disappear so completely without a permanent den.”
Corry looked thoughtful. If the Raiders were involved with Capricia’s finding the flute, perhaps their den holds more clues about my past. “I suppose everyone has searched thoroughly?”
Syrill laughed. “Of course! If the Raiders have a home, they can be trapped...along with the mountain of treasure they have supposedly accumulated. If they have a home—”
“They do.”
Faun and boy turned together. In the path behind them stood a shelt who had come up without sound of footfalls. This has to be Laylan, thought Corry. The bounty hunter had red-furred legs and black canine paws. His bushy, white-tipped tail hung a full foot below the hem of his brown leather tunic. He had red hair the color of his fur, pulled back in a loose ponytail that was oddly reminiscent of his real tail. A black, wide-brimmed hat threw a shadow across his face. From the place where other hats might have carried a feather, dangled a limp wolf tail.
“They have a den,” he said.
Syrill grinned. “Laylan! This is Corellian, the iteration who helped save your key.”
Laylan’s eyebrows rose. “You have saved me a great deal of trouble. Thank you.” He turned to Syrill. “I have news about Lexis’ movements that may interest you.”
“Certainly. Good day, Corellian.”
Corry watched them walk away—Syrill with his swinging gait and Laylan on gliding paws that never crunched a leaf.
Chapter 10. The Agreement
A promise is always a shackle. Made well, it will anchor you to life and reason. Made poorly, it will be to you a ball and chain.
—Archemais, Treason and Truth
Corry soon learned that Meuril had assigned him a suite of rooms in the castle. While he was exploring them, a servant arrived to return his backpack. Corry had not seen it since Syrill confiscated his possessions in the wood. Grinning, he brought out the orange cowry.
“Where did you get that?”
Corry turned to see Capricia in the doorway.
“I brought it from Earth. It’s money, isn’t it? You use them for money here.”
Capricia’s mouth twisted. “We…used to.”
“Ah. What do you use now?”
She didn’t say anything.
Corry sat down at a little table. “Aren’t you happy that I helped save the master trap key, Capricia? Or would you rather the Raiders have killed me?”
To Corry’s surprise, Capricia left the doorway and came to sit across the table from him. “No, of course not. You remember that I told our archers not to shoot at you.”
“It would have seemed odd to everyone if you hadn’t. Capricia, why don’t you want me here? I know that you say the flute could have given me the language, but you don’t really believe that.” He leaned closer. “Here’s something the flute won’t explain: Fenrah’s wolf recognized me! After I escaped, I ran into him in the forest. He was friendly to me. He never said a word, but I know he can talk. I remember him. Or something about him.”
Capricia looked skeptical.
“I thought,” continued Corry, “that I’d skipped forward in time. I left Panamindorah and came to Earth, and only a year passed on Earth, but hundreds of years passed here. That would explain why I know your language, and yet it sounds a little strange to me. Languages change. It would explain why everyone says my speech is old fashioned, why I think cowries ought to be money.”
Capricia nodded wearily. “I understand what you think, Corellian, but—”
“But,” he continued, “that doesn’t explain Dance. How could he know me? How could Dance possibly have been alive long enough for the language to change?”
“By all reports, Dance is just a wolf like any other. No faun has ever heard him speak. He’s large, and that’s what started the rumor that he’s a durian wolf, but Chance and Laylan don’t think so. There are many reasons why he might have seemed friendly towards you. Perhaps your scent reminded him of the wolflings. You had been with them recently, after all. Perhaps you unwittingly gave him a signal that he recognized—a hand sign or a gesture that the Raiders use.”
Corry looked out the window, annoyed. “You’re wrong.”
Capricia started to speak again, but he cut her off. “I know the Raiders had something to do with your getting the flute. Did you really ‘find’ it, Capricia? Or did you steal it?”
She stared at him. “How did you—?”
“Syrill told me you began your study of the wizards after becoming ‘lost’ in the forest during a Raider attack. He thought it was me you’d found, but I’m sure it was the flute. I want to know how you got it. I’ll tell Meuril if you don’t—”
“You’ll find I don’t respond well to threats,” snapped Capricia.
“Alright. Don’t try to force me, and I won’t try to force you.”
A heavy silence. Then Capricia laughed. “There’s not much to tell. You’ll be disappointed.”
“I’m never disappointed with the truth.”
“When the Raiders attacked our caravan, my doe bolted. We were in unfamiliar country, and by the time I stopped her, we were lost. As we were finding our way back to the road, someone dropped out of a tree and tried to pull me to the ground. It was the smallest member of the pack, the one that doesn’t speak.”
“Huali?” guessed Corry.
“Hualien, yes. In the struggle, I caught hold of something hanging around his neck. I tried to strangle him with it. In the end, he broke free and fled, leaving the thing in my fist. It was the flute. I took a day finding my scattered traveling party. You see? Not a very revealing story.”
“But it’s worth knowing.” Corry thought a moment. “Is Hualien really one of the eight? I saw him in the forest, but I thought he was only one of their children.”
Capricia shook her head. “There are only eight Raiders. Lyli and Xerous are mates, but they have no living offspring. Hualien is an orphan, thought to be about seven years old. Chance and Laylan have copious dossiers on all of them. The Raiders don’t have many secrets, except their den, of course. I’ve read everything available on them and come up with nothing to explain the flute. I concluded that Hualien found it or stole it, so I turned my attention to the wizards.”
“Do you think your father would have complied with their ransom demands?”
Capricia arched her brows. “Lift the bounty laws? Of course not. The wood fauns would revolt.”
Corry pursed his lips. “Fenrah makes these demands for her nation? There’s nothing she stands to gain, other than freedom to live in wood faun territory?”
Capricia sighed. “Fenrah Ausla is of royal blood. Chance believes she would be heir to the throne…if there was a Canid throne to claim, which of course there isn’t since the Filinian conquest.”
“I can see why Syrill seemed sympathetic to the Raiders.”
“Syrill lives for the present. He’s too young to have been involved in any of the wars with Canisaria before it fell. Wolflings and fauns have always been uneasy neighbors. My mother was killed by wolflings, but that is beside the point.”
Capricia stood and circled the table. “I spent last night looking at my books about the flute, and you will be gratified to know that there is some mention of…of stopping time, or—I don’t quite understand it—of traveling in time.”
“Then you believe me?”
“The manuscripts speak of moving forward, but never of moving back. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you are an iteration or even a wizard from Panamindorah. You certainly have a wizard’s way of meddling. P
erhaps you have known fauns and wolflings and other shelts in a time when shelts and wizards still knew the ancient script. Perhaps you lost your memories in the process of changing worlds. However, you cannot reclaim your lost place in Panamindorah. You cannot solve the riddles you want to solve, because they would have happened hundreds of years ago to people who are all dead.”
Corry’s eyes dropped. He traced an aimless design on the table top. “Capricia—”
“Hundreds of years dead,” she reiterated, “and you can’t ever go back.”
“And your point is?”
“You can’t get back your lost place, but you can make a new one. My father is impressed with you. So is Syrill. You are a hero to the citizens of Laven-lay. You’ve drawn so much public attention to yourself that it would be difficult now to explain your disappearance. Very well. Stay in Panamindorah. Make a life for yourself.” She paused. “Of course, I would like your help to translate the old script.”
Corry’s eyes brightened. “I would very much like to—”
“However, the books are mine, and you will handle them only as I allow. Is that clear?”
“Naturally. What about the flute?”
“The flute is no longer your concern.” Capricia moved towards the door. “I will help you acclimate. Money, by the way, is still called cowries, even though we use coins. Try not to appear totally ignorant. Along those lines, the public and royal libraries here in Laven-lay may be of interest to you. First, though, I’ll send someone to take your measurements. You’ve been invited to the king’s table for dinner, and the…uh…garments you’re wearing will not do.”
* * * *
When Capricia left Corry’s room, she went straight to her own chambers and shut the door. Her attendants came running, but she ordered them all away and went out to her private garden. Her hands were trembling. I had to let him stay. There’s nothing else I could do, except have him assassinated. If that’s even possible.
She’d noticed uncharacteristic vagaries in Syrill’s narrative of their escape. There’s more to that story. I need to get Syrill alone.