Capricia glanced at the Monument in the center of her garden—a white pillar about waist-high, crowned with golden wings arched in a protective shield around a kneeling fauness. Flames licked at the wings, kept alight by an invisible feed of oil from beneath. She had specifically requested that it remain unadorned with words. The servants said that she did so because she was pious, and she let them say it. In reality, Capricia disliked inscriptions about the Creator. She’d never felt safe since her mother died, and the protective wings of the statue seemed like a mockery to her.
Capricia turned away from the Monument. Probably the name in the old text is not Corellian’s. Likely he is just the son of some wizard that Gabalon deposed. In that case, I think I can handle him. I think.
Chapter 11. Aspects of a Dinner Conversation
This is a bright day for my enemy and for me one of the blackest.
—journal of Syrill of Undrun, Summer, 1700
Corry woke to see late afternoon sunshine streaming through his window. Capricia had sent an army of tailors, who’d measured him and taken away his clothes. He hoped they planned to bring more by the time he was expected at supper. Corry’s eyes strayed to a leather-bound book beside his bed.
A Concise History of Panamindorah by Capricia Sor. He reached for it and began flipping through the pages. The characters were not the same as that of the old book in Capricia’s study, yet he found he could read them.
A Note on Terminology
Presently, the sentient beings of Panamindorah are divided into three groups: beasts, shelts, and iterations. These terms are more-or-less universal and require no explanation. More problematic are the terms for the three groups of shelts: fauns, nauns, and panauns. These are known by various slang throughout Middle Panamindorah. For this text, I will define a faun as a hoofed shelt, a panaun as a pawed shelt, and a naun as a shelt with neither hoof nor paw.
At the date of this writing, the only common panauns in Middle Panamindorah are wolflings. Fox shelts have grown uncommon, and cat shelts (known as fealidae) are extinct. In Kazar, one may still find alligator shelts, but they rarely venture out of the swamp. For practical purposes, the word “panaun” has become nearly synonymous with wolfling and has fallen out of use. However, when writing of times when other types of pawed shelts were in abundance, it is necessary to use the word in its original meaning.
Likewise, naun has become redundant with manatee shelt, because these are the only non-hoofed, non-pawed shelts living in Middle Panamindorah, and even they are an import. However, in the past, there was a greater variety. Even today, merchants from the western sea talk of selkies—seal shelts—living on the far beaches.
The term faun is still in common circulation, since three types of hoofed shelt are in abundance—the deer shelts (wood fauns), the sheep shelts (cliff fauns), and the goat shelts (swamp fauns). Centaurs are a source of dispute among taxonomists, but are generally classified with the fauns, as they do have hooves.
The Beginning of Things
Unfortunately, the age of accurate scholarship in the middle kingdoms begins around the year 1440, after the great fire in Danda-lay. Stories of our history before this are based largely on oral tradition and grow more uncertain the further back one goes.
The reason is simple. The knowledge of the ancient picture language has been lost. It is said that this language was old even in the time of the wizards. The more wieldy phonetic letters were replacing it in both common and scholarly use in Gabalon’s day. Sometime after his defeat, scholars in Danda-lay grew concerned that the knowledge of the old script was fading, and they translated large portions of important texts into the phonetic script. However, the great fire in Danda-lay destroyed the library in 1438.
Some of the originals of the very old texts were kept here, in Laven-lay. However, all of the translations burned. I have a few partially legible commentaries salvaged from the fire, but they are badly damaged, and no shelt whom I have been able to contact has a full knowledge of the ancient characters.
Corry drew a deep breath. “Yes, a picture language. What I was reading in Capricia’s study had only partial clues to pronunciation. The rest was memorized.” He glanced at the front of the book and found the year, 1695. “The library burned two hundred and fifty-seven years before she wrote this book, and I must have lived before that.”
He had just settled down to read again, when there came a knock at the door. Corry found a servant on the threshold with something made of brown cloth over one arm. The servant bowed. “King Meuril requests your presence at dinner.” He pressed the clothes into Corry’s hands. “The tailors have made you fresh garments. I will show you to the banquet hall when you are ready.”
Corry was impressed. He’d been dreading the arrival of the kind of long tunic the fauns wore, but instead he’d been sent linen trousers and shirt. There were no shoes, but it was warm enough to go without. “It’s the kind of clothes wizards were said to have worn,” explained the servant.
In the dining hall, smells of bread and spices mingled with the scent of flowers. Harpers were making music in one corner. Long, low windows looked out onto a garden winking with fireflies. Half a dozen fauns already sat near the head of the long table, and servants were coming and going, setting out the food. Corry’s escort ushered him to the seated group. He recognized Syrill and was relieved when the servant directed him to a seat at the general’s side. Capricia sat opposite Corry, although he didn’t recognize her for a moment with her hair piled on top of her head, braided with tiny pink flowers and two enormous lilies. Her ivory robes were sleeveless, exposing her flawless mocha skin to perfection. He wondered if he would have dared to argue with her if she’d come into his room this morning looking like that.
Syrill was deep in conversation with Laylan, who appeared to be building something from his eating utensils. On Corry’s left sat Chance, the pale, golden-haired cliff faun prince who had exchanged angry words with Sham yesterday in Meuril’s antechamber. Looking at him more closely, Corry realized that Chance was younger than he’d first thought, surely not much over twenty. He was talking to Meuril at the head of the table. Capricia appeared to be listening to their conversation, though a faun to her left kept attempting politely to attract her attention.
“Shadock believes it might have been an assassination,” Corry heard Chance say to Meuril. “The centaurs have never been democratic.”
Meuril shook his head. “You speak as though it were a coup.”
“But that’s just it! Targon was elected based on military prowess. He—”
Meuril held up his hand. “Hush now; here they come.”
Centaurs were coming through the doorway. They were so tall they had to bend their human waists and stoop to enter. Their glossy bodies shone in the torchlight, muscled like draft horses, with heavily furred fetlocks. Their human bodies were dark olive, their ears small and round like Corry’s. Unlike the fauns, the males had facial hair, which they wore in pointed beards. The mares wore a garment of a single piece of cloth, rather like a large scarf, brightly colored and tied in elaborate twists round their bodies. The stallions wore leather vests or nothing at all. Stallions and mares alike wore a variety of jewelry and practical items—gem-studded collars, bracelets on their fetlocks and wrists, belts with jeweled daggers and scimitars.
As the centaurs entered the room, the faun servants directed them to a section of the table without chairs, where they first knelt. This brought them low enough to eat from the table, though they were still head and shoulders above the fauns.
Servants began setting food before the diners. Syrill, who seemed to have finally noticed Corry’s presence, leaned over and spoke in his ear. “See their battle whips?” Corry did, although he hadn’t understood until now what he was looking at—long leather coils, with elaborately carved handles. “Good for bringing a cat to the ground,” continued Syrill, “before you put a spear in him. I’m trying to negotiate for mercenaries. The centaurs have been in conf
erence all day with Meuril. There’s a new king in Iron Mountain, and he—”
“Eh-hummm!” The faun on the other side of Capricia cleared his throat loudly. “Your highness, I realize that the matter with the centaurs has kept you out of court this morning, but I have been waiting for some days to bring this item to your attention—”
Capricia turned away from Chance and Meuril’s conversation with a bored expression. “Minister Erser, if this has anything to do with the furrier’s guild, then you needn’t bother. I’ve already ruled against the proposed tariff.”
“But your Highness! Do you know how many cowries our furriers lost last year alone because of the swamp fauns?”
“I do. I also know what kind of fur I choose to have my own capes trimmed with. Two years ago, you were demanding royal guards for merchant caravans entering Kazar because of their swamp monster.”
The minister reddened. “Only because that one incident threatened to strangle important trade routes with—”
“I would think,” continued Capricia, “that contending with a swamp monster would prove more than enough handicap for merchants attempting to trade furs out of Kazar.”
“But your Highness!”
“If our furriers want better business, tell them to work more in their tanneries and less in my courtroom. I will not pass a tariff to protect a vastly inferior product. However, I am working on a deal with the furriers guild in Danda-lay that would remove the embargo on cat pelts. That should please you.”
Syrill had stopped to listen to their conversation. “What are they talking about?” whispered Corry.
Syrill shrugged. “A few years ago, the swamp fauns began exporting the fur of some small creature—a shayshoo—from Kazar. It’s lovely stuff, nearly as good as lynx or leopard pelts. The cats had agreements with all the fauns at one time that forbade the trade of cat pelts, and those concessions have died hard, even after the war started.” Syrill’s expression turned bitter. “No one wants to make an enemy of the cats if they’re going to win. Shayshoo fur sold so well, the swamp fauns established breeding colonies to increase their pelt yield. The wood fauns’ guild used to have almost a monopoly on furs, and they’ve been complaining loudly. They have cat furs by the cartload right now, but so far no one’s buying.”
Corry shook his head. “No, I meant the part about Capricia in court.”
Syrill raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t you know? As civil regent, Capricia has handled all of the internal affairs of the realm since the war with Filinia began. These days, I don’t think Meuril does anything except work with me as we attempt to drive out Lexis and his cats.”
Corry blinked. “Then how does she have time to go wandering around in the forest?”
Syrill gave him an odd look. “She doesn’t.”
At that moment a messenger came trotting in with a worried expression on his face. He went straight to the king, leaned over, and whispered something in his ear. Meuril rose and tapped the table for silence. “I have just received important news.” He waited until he had their full attention. “Demitri of Alainya is dead. Lexis of Alainya takes his place as king of Filinia,” he hesitated a moment and then added, “and all Filinian conquests.”
A babble of talking erupted. Corry turned to look at Syrill. The general sat very still, eyes fixed on something far away. Abruptly, he rose and left the hall.
Meuril followed him. Capricia hesitated for an instant, then got up to go after them. “Well this explains the lull in their fighting,” commented Chance, looking over Corry at Laylan. “Perhaps Lexis grew impatient.”
Laylan shook his head. “Demitri was ill. Lexis is too intelligent to risk his birthright when it was so obviously about to fall between his paws.”
Corry only half heard them. He leapt up and ran after Capricia. He caught up with her, already half way down the corridor outside. “Capricia, when did you meet me?”
She glanced at him, still walking fast. “Pardon?”
He lowered his voice. “If you’ve been holding court here while your father fights cats, how did you have time to go wandering around the forest with the flute? Or to write a history book? That day by the lake when I first saw you, and you ran from me…when was it?”
Capricia shot him a suspicious glance. “About three years ago, before the war started.”
“But it was only days ago to me!”
Capricia’s only response was to walk a little faster.
“Don’t you see?” asked Corry, trotting to keep up. “This shows that time really does pass more slowly on Earth than in Panamindorah. This explains how I might have been gone for only a year of Earth’s time, while hundreds of years passed here!”
“Will you please keep your voice down?” she hissed.
“We could figure out when I left…when I was stolen the first time. We could calculate it, you see? Figure out how much time passed in Panamindorah between our first two meetings and how much time passed on Earth. Capricia, don’t you want to know who I am?”
She said nothing.
Corry’s mouth opened slowly. “Or do you already know?”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Corellian, listen to me: I have already made my decision—”
“Passed your judgment, you mean? This isn’t your courtroom, Capricia.”
“Do you know what would happen to most shelts if they spoke that way to me?”
“Well, you’ve already threatened twice to kill me. What’s a third time?”
She rounded on him with a snarl. “I have told you: the past cannot be reclaimed. What if you found you were someone bad? Someone evil?”
“Was I?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that you are keeping me from an important conference.”
“Will you at least tell me the date we met?”
“I’ll check my records tomorrow, when you come to work on those translations.”
Chapter 12. Thief
I learned today that Corellian is missing. I wish I could help look for him, but as usual Lexis vexes me by consuming all my attention.
—journal of Syrill of Undrun, Summer 1700
Corry waited next morning for Capricia’s summons. He had dreamed all night of wolves in dungeons and felt singularly unrested and irritable. While he waited, he read her book:
Since I wish to write a scholarly work, I will omit details of the events before the fire until I am able to better understand the old manuscripts. The legend, then, in brief:
Some say the wizards came across the sea and our years are numbered from their coming. Others say they were always in Panamindorah, but they were not always evil. Some say that they are with us still, others that they are gone.
All say this: that a wizard called Gabalon gathered to himself the support of many nations, that he made his capital in Selbis, that he made it mighty. They say he invited his fellow wizards to a great feast, and at the feast he poisoned all but seven of them. Those seven formed his inner circle.
It is said that Gabalon hated beasts and robbed them of speech, but that the cats were stronger and fiercer and Filinia too vast for his armies. He could not master them, and so they speak still.
It is said that Gabalon possessed a weapon of magic that allowed him to perform such feats. His weapon protected him during rebellions, the largest of which involved the last of the talking wolves, the durians. The legend goes that they entered the Endless Wood and vanished, and that is why the wood faun kingdom is called Endless, because it swallowed them without a trace.
The cliff fauns and their allies finally overthrew the tyrant in 1388 (this date is well documented). In myth, they say the Creator sent a bird of fire, which went before the armies of the cliff fauns and terrified their enemies. Historians speculate that the fauns may have had the help of pegasus, perhaps the first pegasus to appear in middle Panamindorah. Others say they had the help of the Unibus, who figure prominently in old stories, but purportedly disappeared into the Snow Mountains of Filinia during the tim
e of Gabalon’s tyranny. It is not now certain that Unibus ever existed. Their legends call them shape-shifters, and they may, in fact, have been some form of iteration.
That Gabalon actually existed is a matter of no dispute. The ruin of Selbis is with us still, and many manuscripts mention him. However, the details of his reign and fall are subjects of speculation, and it is this area to which I will attempt to bring real scholarship in my next work.
Meanwhile, we concern ourselves with the events since the great fire of Danda-lay.
Chapter 1. The Swamp Fauns
As any faun child knows, the swamp fauns figure prominently in stories of Gabalon’s atrocities. They were the footshelts of his army and the muscle of his secret police. At the time of the Great Fire, the swamp fauns were still under the military supervision of Danda-lay. Their monarchy was in exile, having fled across the desert.
A number of nasty uprisings convinced the cliff fauns that they ought either to annihilate the swamp fauns or set them on their feet again. Having no real stomach for genocide, the then-king of Danda-lay, Sansuel, began a gradual process of reinstating them—
“You concentrate too sharply when you read.”
Corry looked up. Capricia was standing on the other side of the table. “What happened to Gabalon?” he asked.
The princess shrugged. “No one knows. Some of the legends feature him flying away in the form of a dragon. Some say he fought the fire bird and was wounded. Others say he vanished before the armies even got inside the city. No story claims he was killed.”
Corry nodded. “So that’s why you tried to abandon the flute. You’re afraid he’ll come back for it.”
Capricia didn’t answer him. “My father is moving to the castle at Pyn-lay nearer the Canid border, so that he may help rally the troops there. I will be busy. I would like, however, to spend a quarter watch with you each morning working on the translation.”
“How long is a quarter watch?”
“There are four watches of the day and two of the night.”
Corry thought about that. “About four hours of Earth time in one watch, then.”