Capricia didn’t seem remotely interested in how Earthlings told time. “I will meet with you in the library.”
Corry caught a movement beyond Capricia’s shoulder. Glancing towards the door, he saw the tip of a shadow fall across the threshold.
Capricia continued. “Otherwise, I advise you to spend your time learning a useful trade, since you seem so anxious to settle down in Laven-lay.”
The shadow moved in a little further, then stopped. The door was open, but the shadow came across the threshold obliquely, and the creature casting it remained out of sight.
“Your knowledge of reading and writing would make you an excellent scribe, and I am willing to employ you here at the castle—”
Corry stood up and walked past her towards the door. The shadow disappeared. He quickened his steps, but by the time he reached the door the hallway was empty. He thought he heard the clop of heavy hoof beats on the stone floor. A centaur?
He turned to find Capricia at his elbow.
“There was someone in the hall listening to us. I saw the shadow.”
“Probably just a nosy servant.” But Capricia’s voice had a nervous edge. She glanced up and down the hall.
“Why did you leave the door open?” asked Corry.
“I didn’t.” Capricia reached out and swung the door. The hinges were well-oiled and soundless.
For a moment, they both stood silent. The eavesdropper had been no casual passerby. He had taken the trouble to ease the door open. “I’ll get you a different suit of rooms,” said Capricia.
“That’s not necessary. I think it may have been a centaur. Aren’t they leaving soon?”
Capricia nodded. She didn’t say anything.
“What about your records? You said you would let me see them so that I could try to calculate the exact time that passed in Panamindorah while I was on Earth.”
“Oh, will you leave that alone!” snapped Capricia and strode from the room.
Corry glared after her. Outside his window, a group of soldiers passed through the garden, their long spears catching the sunlight. Perhaps I should volunteer to go with Syrill. He was friendly to me, and he is a friend of Laylan, who knows more about the Raiders. With Capricia, it’s all guessing and prying. She doesn’t want me to understand.
Corry left his apartments and started in the general direction of the garden. He wasn’t sure where to find Syrill, but he was hoping to catch up with the group of soldiers and ask them. I wonder if I know how to use a sword or spear. The idea of making such a discovery amused Corry. Perhaps I should find out before I actually apply to fight.
Corry took a passage that looked familiar. The further he went, the more certain he became that he had walked this way before, and yet he thought that the hall was angling away from the garden. Then he came to a flight of stairs. This is the way to Capricia’s study.
THUD! BOOM! A distant noise, probably from the top of the tower. Corry was pretty sure he was hearing it through his feet—his vibration sense—and not with his ears. What is she doing up there? He listened intently, but heard nothing else. Corry suddenly remembered Capricia’s hunted expression when she realized they’d been overheard. Maybe she was right. Maybe I’m the fool for not thinking it’s important. On an impulse, he started up the stairs.
He was panting by the time he came to the landing at the top. He saw that the study door was ajar and started to open it. Too late, he noticed the splintered wood around the broken bolt. By then, he was already staring up into the face of the creature coming out.
A centaur. Corry’s head came only to his horse chest. Looking up into his face, Corry saw a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. Behind the centaur, Corry caught a glimpse of the study in disarray, papers and books strewn across the floor, a roaring fire in the hearth, bits of paper fluttering like wounded moths.
The centaur was holding something. Corry recognized the gold chain. With a swiftness that surprised even him, Corry’s hand darted upward, seized the chain, and jerked. The force of his successful snatch made him stumble backward to the head of the stairs. The flute swung and struck the wall of the tower. It rang like a bell.
Corry would have been surprised if he’d had time. He whirled and raced down the stairs. “Help! Thief! Help!” With a sinking feeling, he remembered the muted boom he’d heard earlier. That was the sound of the door breaking. If it carried so poorly, how will anyone hear me?
He could hear the sharp report of the centaur’s hooves against the stone behind him. They sounded close, though the huge animal must be having difficulty in the narrow space. Corry could hear something else, too—a note on the edge of sound, throbbing. It seemed to bend unpleasantly in the ear. The flute swung against his arm, and Corry realized that it was still vibrating.
Something whistled past Corry’s head and slapped against the curved wall of the tower. What’s he throwing at me? Then it hit the side of his leg and tangled in his feet. Too late, Corry realized what was happening. With a cry, he pitched forward. As the centaur’s whip jerked his feet from under him, Corry’s own momentum sent him sprawling headfirst down the steep staircase. Pain exploded in his chest, and he tasted blood.
Chapter 13. The End of a War and the Beginning of a Grudge
Syrill has done an admirable job of winning this war, which made the blow of my decision harder. But I did what was best.
—King’s Annals, Meuril Sor, Summer 1700
Corry opened his eyes. He could not tell whether he’d only just shut them or whether he’d been asleep for ages. He felt a little like both.
Somewhere off in the gloom, he could see the centaur. It looked uncertain. “What have you done?” it hissed.
“I don’t know. Where are we?”
“You are as nearly nowhere as it is possible to be,” said a new voice.
Corry turned and saw a wolf, big as Dance, his voice somehow as gray as his coat. Corry’s eyes were beginning to adjust to the dim light. He thought he saw trees. Almost, he thought they might be back in the orange grove. “Am I dreaming?”
“You may call it dreaming,” said the wolf, “but those who dream thus never wake.” Behind the first wolf, Corry saw more wolves than he could count. They slunk towards him through the gray world, their eyes sad and hungry, though not, Corry thought, for food.
“Wizard spawn!” roared the centaur suddenly. “Lift your curse, or I will crush your bones!” He sent his battle whip snaking through the air, but to Corry’s amazement, the whip passed right through him.
“You can hurt no one here,” said the gray wolf. “You cannot hurt or be hurt. You cannot die; you cannot live; you can only be and barely that.”
The centaur gave a little moan. He pranced wildly for a moment, then fled, as though he might outrun the gray world.
“What is this place?” whispered Corry.
“It is his dungeon, the Otherwhere,” said the wolf, “but we thought it was forgotten. Has he returned to claim more victims, then?”
“Who?”
“Gabalon, the great wizard.”
Corry shook his head. “You’re them, aren’t you? The ones who disappeared—the durian wolves.”
Something like hope stirred in the wolf’s eyes. “Has our king sent you?”
“I…I don’t think so.”
Corry was becoming increasingly aware that he carried a nimbus of golden light around his person. It was very faint, but it was disturbing his night vision. Corry looked down and saw that the light was coming from something he’d clutched in his fist. He opened his hand.
Corry’s breath caught. He could see the flute. It was translucent gold, glowing faintly. As he opened his hand, the light increased, and a gasp went up from the wolves. Corry heard a hiss and looked down to see, not a wolf, but a child-sized shelt, staring up at him with dark, malevolent eyes. It had a hairless tail and skeletal feet. Corry jerked back with a cry of disgust.
He heard a muttering. “He has it! Help us, help us, give it to us, give it, help, hel
p!”
Corry ran. The creatures ran with him, crying out in their many voices. The golden light struck a glint off something ahead—glass? He thought he saw a window standing unsupported in a frame, and beyond it a crumbling castle room.
Then he stumbled into a hole. He was sinking, drowning. The gray world vanished.
* * * *
Shyshax the cheetah was not having a good morning. In the small hours, he and Laylan had come upon Filinian tracks while scouting. This was nothing unusual. Filinians were deserting their camp in a steady trickle as the morning’s slaughter approached.
But these tracks were different. Shyshax recognized at least two scent signatures and suspected he knew the others. These tracks were left by Lexis and his officers. They had snuck through the lines in the dead of night and were heading towards Laven-lay. Shyshax wanted to be off at once to tell Syrill, but Laylan had insisted they follow the trail for a short distance to be certain of the direction.
As it turned out, Ounce had lingered behind to discourage pursuit. Shyshax had always found the snow leopard the most intimidating member of Lexis’s cabinet. He was not the biggest, but he had a reputation as the most ruthless. He’d been lieutenant to Demitri, Lexis’s father, during the bloodiest years of Filinian conquest of wolfling Canisaria. Everyone knew he detested shelts and liked small cats hardly any better. Shyshax could only imagine what Ounce would do to a cheetah who worked with a shelt and spied on other cats.
He put on a burst of speed when he saw Ounce, but suspected he’d only escaped because the snow leopard did not want to get too far from his king. Shyshax and Laylan raced back to Syrill’s camp to bring the news of Lexis’s flight. Coming and going from Syrill’s camp was a chore in itself. The fauns humored Laylan, but never entirely trusted him. They liked to nudge Shyshax with spears and make nasty jokes, and Shyshax tried to grin and joke back while the smell of the blood from the skinning made his hair stand on end. Capricia had finally succeeded in lifting the embargo on Filinian pelts. They were the loot of the battlefield.
When Shyshax and Laylan finally found Syrill and told him their story, he leapt up in a frenzy and galloped from the camp with only the barest escort. And of course, Shyshax and Laylan had to follow him, even though they’d been up all night. Syrill was their protection. They weren’t entirely safe in the camp without him. At least Laylan managed to get a deer to ride so that Shyshax could travel a bit lighter.
As they were nearing the castle, they found a boy shivering beside a stream. He was apparently an iteration. Syrill knew him and decided they couldn’t leave him alone in the forest. The boy didn’t know how to ride a deer, and since Shyshax could at least give instructions, he had to carry the creature. All in all, not a good morning.
“Aren’t you the one who helped rescue our trap key?” Laylan asked the iteration. They were now in the very rear of the party and falling further behind.
The boy nodded. He was soaking wet in the chilly fall air and seemed dazed. “How far are we from Laven-lay?”
“At this rate?” Shyshax shrugged. “Maybe half a watch. What were you doing out here?”
Corry didn’t answer. He was fingering something on a chain round his neck.
“You left the palace without telling anyone,” said Laylan. “I heard the princess was…concerned.”
“Oh?” Corry seemed about to say something else, then decided against it. Shyshax felt a twinge of sympathy. Being an iteration among shelts must be a little like being a cat and a foxling among fauns.
* * * *
Corry’s mind seethed. How long have I been gone? Dare I ask? Capricia must be alright from what Laylan said, but she could be in danger. Does Syrill suspect me again? He seemed very angry. Corry tried again to get comfortable on Shyshax’s bony ribs. The cat seemed friendly enough. Every now and then, he tried to coax Corry into conversation, but Corry couldn’t concentrate. Why is Syrill in such a hurry? What’s happened?
They arrived at the gates of Laven-lay just at dawn. According to the guards, they were only a little behind Syrill’s party. As they approached the castle, Corry rehearsed in his mind what he was going to say to Capricia. His thoughts were interrupted as they approached the castle doors. “That’s not possible! I demand to speak to him!” It was Syrill’s voice. Corry caught sight of a small cadre of fauns in leather armor, clustered around the front steps.
“I’m sorry, but his majesty ordered that no one be admitted—”
“Do you really think he meant to bar me?” thundered Syrill. He managed to somehow loom, in spite of being a head shorter than the guard.
“Actually, he mentioned your name specifically.”
At that moment, the door opened a crack, and a sentry inside whispered something to the one outside. “His majesty says that he will see you now,” said the outer sentry, “but he asks that you go around to the west entrance and wait in the council chamber there.”
Syrill exploded. “Come in by the backdoor? Like an urchin looking for handouts? Deer dung!” He leapt forward and forced his shoulder into the crack in the door with such force that it flew open in the sentry’s face. Syrill’s officers, who had been watching uneasily from the bottom of the steps, looked at each other. Syrill, perhaps, had license for insolence, but they weren’t about to risk a flogging. Corry, Laylan, and Shyshax, standing on the edge of the group, waited a moment. Then, when the sentries didn’t seem to be shutting the doors, Corry slipped off Shyshax and went in.
Syrill was standing unnaturally still in the middle of the antechamber. The door to the throne room was opening, and already creatures were issuing from it. At the head of the party paced a cat who could only be Lexis—a white tiger, with eyes as blue as a summer sky. He glided over the marble floor like ice over hot stone. King Meuril strolled beside him. They were chatting amiably.
Lexis’s eyes met Syrill’s, and Corry saw the trace of a tiger smile. As he passed, Lexis’s tail flicked sideways to caress the faun’s leg. “Morning, Syrill.”
Syrill turned and drew his sword in the same movement, but a growl close to his ear brought him up short. Syrill had been so intent on Lexis that he had not noticed the snow leopard coming behind his king.
Meuril and Lexis turned at the sound of Ounce’s growl. Meuril sighed. “Syrill, I told you to come around to the—”
“Sire—” grated his general, his voice shaking with rage.
“Go to my chamber and wait.”
“How dare—!”
“I said go, Syrill!”
Meuril turned away. Lexis lingered for an instant, his eyes like a purr. Syrill mouthed something at him. Corry was certain it was not a customary response to “good morning.” Ounce glided around Syrill without a backward glance, but he stopped near the doorway. Corry saw that Laylan and Shyshax had ventured inside. Ounce hesitated to growl something at the cheetah. Corry heard the words, “Faun-loving little dog-cat,” to which Shyshax said something about “ice for brains.” Lexis growled, and Ounce moved away. Then they were gone.
Syrill stood clenching and unclenching his free fist until the door closed. Then he sheathed his sword with unnecessary force and stormed into the throne room.
“Corellian!”
Corry looked up to see Capricia, last to emerge from the conference. “So the thief has returned!”
“Thief?” Corry glanced at Laylan and Shyshax, who were taking an interest in the conversation. The sentry at the inner door also looked interested.
Capricia reached Corry. “Where have you been?” she hissed. “Or, more appropriate, what have you been?”
“I didn’t steal it,” muttered Corry. “I’ll explain later. How long have I been gone?”
He was surprised and somewhat alarmed to see a delicate, but very sharp looking dagger in her hand. She shook her head at him, eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ve no idea what it’s like. Every deer that stops by my window, every burro in the streets, every bird, every rodent…! I had a perfectly good hawk shot be
cause he was sitting in suspicious attitude on my garden wall!”
“Why?” He was looking at the dagger.
“Syrill told me,” she whispered between clenched teeth. “You can shift.”
Corry’s mouth fell open.
“I’d like to know just one thing before I throw you in the dungeon. Why did you burn my books?” She looked at him with an expression of pain. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I didn’t! Capricia, there was a centaur—”
She shook her head. “Sentry,” she raised her voice, “fetch me four or five guards, large ones.” She glanced at Laylan and Shyshax. “What are you two looking at? You weren’t invited to audience. You may wait outside for Syrill.”
“Capricia, no!” Corry thought quickly. He fumbled in his pocket.
She took a step back, raising the dagger. “Keep your hands in front of you, iteration.”
Corry raised the chain and extended it towards her. He noticed that the flute was invisible again. “Capricia, I didn’t steal it,” he whispered. “I caught a centaur trying to, and I got it back, and I ended up in…another place, the gray world. They called it the Otherwhere.”
Capricia snatched the flute. She looked at Corry suspiciously. She’s only trying to scare me, he thought. And another part of his mind answered miserably, It’s working.
“Who called it the Otherwhere?”
“The durian wolves.”
At that moment, the castle doors opened, and Meuril and his cabinet came clicking and murmuring back into the antechamber, this time without the cats. A few of the fauns glanced at Corry and Capricia, but they seemed preoccupied, and Capricia had lowered the dagger beneath a fold of her cape. Glancing towards the throne room, Corry saw that the door was half open. He was startled to see Syrill sprawled insolently on the throne, one leg tossed over an arm of the seat, drumming his fingers impatiently.
The courtiers saw it too and began muttering disapproval, but Meuril held up his hands. “Friends, councilors, please leave us.” Capricia, who evidently did not think such orders applied to her, remained. Meuril went into his throne room and shut the door. At that moment, the five requested guards entered and looked askance at Capricia. She hesitated, then shook her head. “There was a mistake. You are dismissed…for now.”
Corry breathed a sigh of relief. “Capricia—”