The Last

  Coming toward us down the street were three men wearing light armor beneath tunics of snow white. Their coat of arms was terrifying: a great sword stabbing downward, surrounded by three smaller swords, each dripping blood, against a stylized black mountain. On the right side was a white bird against a field of green.

  The men in white swaggered down the street, faces red and eyes suspicious. Each carried a short stick carved with runes and topped with a red gem of impressive size.

  “The Pale Guard,” Khara whispered. “Up against the wall! And don’t look at them.”

  We all moved instantly, even Gambler. But as a mere dog, I was able to stand aside and watch the Pale Guard stalk past.

  “Watch your dog,” one of them snarled at Khara. He kicked me in my ribs with enough force to knock me over.

  I stifled my instant reaction and substituted a reasonable facsimile of a canine yelp of pain, tucking my tail like a good dog.

  “They have the power of life and death,” Khara explained when the guards were safely past. “All they have to do is touch a person with their staves to send them to be tortured, and often killed.”

  “Let’s get out of this miserable place,” Tobble said, patting my head.

  I couldn’t have agreed more. But just at that moment, I realized something had changed.

  I checked to make sure it was safe to speak. I was, after all, still a dog.

  Even before the words were out of my mouth, I knew Khara was thinking the same thing.

  “Where is Luca?” I asked.

  44.

  Attacked

  Khara scanned the crowd. When she looked at me, I saw stark fear in her eyes.

  “Move,” she said. “Now!”

  We set off at a trot, weaving and pushing our way through the press of bodies. But without Luca, we had no clear notion of the city’s layout. It wasn’t long before we ended up near the port. The pink coral inner defensive wall continued straight out into the water at that point, forming a protected harbor. I realized with a shock that the coral hadn’t been taken from the sea. It had been grown in place.

  “The natites must have—” I started, but Khara silenced me with a jerk of her hand. Ahead of us were more members of the Pale Guard.

  After veering down an alleyway to escape them, we were soon hopelessly lost in a maze of crooked streets. We pushed on into a tangle of houses and shops, down alleys so tight that sunlight never touched the cobblestones. I stopped short upon seeing a bleached and tattered handbill nailed to a door. It advertised the eumony on the isle of Ursina, a Solemn Ceremony to Mourn the Passing of a Governing Species.

  No mention of dairnes, just “a Governing Species.” I wondered darkly if the handbills would be reused for the end of the felivets.

  We turned a sharp corner and found ourselves face-to-face with a creature no bigger than me: an arratoi, a foul thing with spiky fur that seethed with fleas. It was a sort of rat, but much larger, with curved teeth and a prehensile tail that whipped back and forth like a parody of a happy dog.

  The arratoi stared at us with red, rectangular-pupiled eyes that reminded me of a goat.

  I heard Khara curse under her breath. Then she said a single word. “Gambler.”

  We were thirty feet from the arratoi, but Gambler covered the distance in a single heartbeat. He pounced, claws outstretched. The arratoi was quick and leapt aside with a screech. But Gambler wasn’t easily fooled. He caught the vermin with one paw, sank claws into flesh, and whipped the creature off its feet.

  After a frenzy of movement and a stifled cry from the arratoi, Gambler ended the creature’s life with a bite that crushed its skull. But as the arratoi breathed its last, a second one poked its snout around the corner, saw the bloody spectacle, and ran away squealing in a voice to raise the dead.

  “Was that necessary?” Tobble protested.

  “They spy for the Murdano,” Gambler said, spitting the arratoi’s blood from his mouth.

  “We have to find our way out of here and reach the north gate or we’re finished,” Khara said.

  We ran, fear lending us renewed energy. Gradually the buildings began to spread out, the streets widening. Now and then I caught glimpses of pink coral, which I fervently hoped was the north wall.

  “But aren’t we going to look for Luca?” Tobble asked breathlessly.

  “No,” Khara answered. “He’s looking for us.”

  “Yes,” Gambler said. His voice was grim. “And from the looks of it, he’s found us.”

  Two members of the Pale Guard stood directly ahead.

  A third stepped out of an alleyway behind us.

  “Ignore their sticks,” Khara said. “Beware their swords.”

  “I have the one behind us,” Gambler said.

  “Halt and surrender yourselves!” one of the men in white yelled in a booming, authoritative voice.

  I think they expected us to obey. They definitely did not expect Gambler to turn and attack the pursuing guardsman.

  Nor did they expect a young boy to draw a blade that suddenly glowed bright.

  Khara went straight at them. I drew my “sword” as well, intending at least to die fighting. I was the endling, or so it seemed. I had to make a good account of my species here at the end of our hopeless trek.

  Khara ran toward a guardsman and very nearly managed to stab her sword right through the Murdano’s insignia. But he was quick and well-trained. He spun away as he drew his own sword, and what was meant to be a killing blow merely tore his white tunic and glanced off the chainmail beneath.

  In the act of spinning he sliced horizontally at Khara. She only managed to avoid him by falling onto her rear and scuttling away, pushing herself with her heels.

  I readied my pitifully small sword, my hand shaking, my throat tight.

  But I didn’t know what to do. One man was busy with Khara, the other with Gambler.

  I heard snarls and cries of pain, both human and felivet. I smelled fresh blood.

  The remaining guardsman did not advance on me. Instead he drew something from a deep pocket in his tunic. To my shock, I realized it was a net, no different from something a fisherman might use.

  Nearby, Khara, still on her back, kicked at her assailant’s leg and knocked him off balance, but he recovered instantly.

  The other guardsman calmly walked directly toward me, the net spread between his two hands.

  He meant to take me alive.

  I stuck my sword out and said, “I will stop you!”

  “Will you?” The man laughed. “I’ve never had to fight a talking dog before.”

  He was definitely not terrified. He kept coming.

  From behind me I heard a feline screech of pain.

  Ahead, the guardsman brought his weapon down in a powerful blow. Khara raised her sword to defend herself, but the force of his strike knocked it clattering on the cobbles.

  Over soon, some part of my mind observed.

  It would all be over soon.

  45.

  Beware the Angry Wobbyk

  The guardsman twirled the net once, twice over his head, and I leapt.

  I leapt forward as Khara had taught me, aiming to slide between the guard’s legs and slice upward. But I am not Khara, and my bold attack drew no blood.

  Still, the guard must have felt the side of my sword slide along his inner thigh, for he cursed and began clutching at his tunic, pulling it back to see whether he’d been cut.

  Outraged, he threw the net and it fell over me. I tried cutting it with my sword, but I couldn’t gain any leverage.

  As I twisted and fought to free myself, and Gambler battled desperately, I saw Khara stagger from a savage blow from the hilt of a guardsman’s sword against the side of her head. Her eyes rolled up.

  It was three guardsmen now against Gambler. Not even he would survive that.

  I sobbed, flailing helplessly in the net.

  And then something happened.

  Reinforcement. In the form of Tobble.

/>   It was as if he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning and absorbed all its power.

  His fur stood on end.

  His little claws came out.

  His tiny teeth were bared.

  He was gibbering something in a language I had never heard.

  “Etz shi falk wan!” he cried.

  Tobble hurled himself with mad fury on the guardsman who had struck Khara, dug his claws into the man’s ears, and began ripping at his nose.

  The guardsman could do nothing with his sword. Frantically he tried to rid himself of Tobble, but the wobbyk had the man’s nose in his teeth. Blood flew everywhere.

  The guard who’d netted me rushed to rescue his companion. But Tobble detached himself from his first target and, with a shrill scream that should have come from some much more impressive creature, he threw himself on the second man’s neck from behind. He reached around the guard’s head and grabbed the sides of his mouth, spreading his lips in a gruesome smile. Then he began gnawing at the man’s neck like a lunatic badger.

  Finally, I found my way out of the net. I shouted at the top of my lungs: “For the dairnes!”

  And then I did what I had never wished to do, never imagined myself doing.

  I plunged my sword at Tobble’s first victim. I speared his rear end and he howled with pain.

  Staggering, my mind nearly gone, I swung around and slashed at another guardsman behind the knee, where he wore no armor.

  Both men bellowed as I headed toward Gambler’s opponent, blood pounding in my ears, my breath coming in gasps. Tobble got there first and began chewing the man’s ear with remarkable ferocity.

  Gambler, given the momentary distraction, was up in a flash. He leapt and closed his powerful jaws around the guard’s neck as the man, the cat, the wobbyk, and I all tumbled to the ground.

  I pushed free and saw Khara rising to her feet, the side of her head red with blood, fury in her eyes. Fury, which turned to amazement as she saw one of the dreaded Pale Guard soldiers on his knees clutching his rear end, a second one crawling away on his elbows dragging a crippled leg, and a third guardsman frozen beneath the paws of a fearsome-looking Gambler.

  “What the . . . ,” she began.

  Then she saw Tobble, his fur matted with blood, heaving giant breaths.

  “Vallino,” Khara said. “I’m sorry to burden you, but we need speed!”

  She grabbed her sword and swung astride the horse. She grabbed me, then Tobble, and placed us before her, reaching around to hold the reins.

  “I told you,” Tobble said, panting heavily. “We wobbyks are slow to anger, but we are not helpless!”

  “Friend wobbyk,” Khara said, “I am completely convinced.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Gambler?”

  “Coming,” he called, glancing at the terrified guardsman still pinned beneath his paws.

  Khara said a word to Vallino and we abandoned any pretense of secrecy. We dashed through the streets, trailing the blood of our enemies.

  “There she is!” a familiar voice cried as we rounded a bend.

  Ahead of us a dozen soldiers ran to block our path. Khara spun Vallino around, his hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones, but a second string of guards was right behind us.

  From the first rank of soldiers stepped Luca.

  “Take her,” he said in a confident, commanding voice. “And don’t forget her”—he gave us a cold grin—“dog.”

  46.

  The Murdano

  It’s not easy to shackle a dairne. Our wrists are not built for it. It will only work if you squeeze the manacles on very tightly.

  That was what the Murdano’s soldiers did. Supervised by Luca.

  To me, to Khara, and to Tobble.

  They did worse to Gambler. They wrapped thick rope all the way down his body, binding his legs to his torso. Then they loaded him onto a cart.

  That was how we were pushed, shoved, and dragged down marble and mirror corridors until we were finally deposited at the base of the Murdano’s throne.

  I tripped and tried to right myself. Luca shoved me down on my face. “Kneel before the Murdano, dog!” he said.

  Terrified as I was, I had a hard time taking it all in. The room was enormous, and had been made to seem even more enormous with massive mirrors. Gold was everywhere: on candle chandeliers, in wall sconces holding still more candles, in the grout between marble squares, in the frames of paintings portraying stiff, scowling, unnatural-looking humans.

  Six steps led up to a platform on which sat a massive throne. Ornate carvings on the throne featured humans, felivets, raptidons, natites, and terramants—and, in a position of surprising prominence, a very dignified dairne.

  “What is this interruption?” a voice demanded. It was a sneering, petulant voice, and it belonged to an older human male. He stood to the left side of the throne and wore a long, draping gown of darkest blue.

  On the other side of the throne was another male. He was broad and beefy, with strong arms crossed over his barrel chest. He wore a magnificent version of the soldiers’ livery, covered with medals and ribbons. His black boots were tall and polished to rival the mirrors.

  Luca spoke. “I have brought a rare gift. A gift of inestimable value.”

  “And who are you?” the man on the left, who seemed to be an adviser of some kind, asked.

  “I am Luca, a student from the the isle of Ursina. But my full name”—he paused to send a look of pure hatred toward Khara—“is Luca Corpli, second son of Fredoro Corpli.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath from Khara. She sent him an icy stare. “Treachery runs deep in your family.”

  Luca swung a backhand and hit the side of her face with a sharp report that seemed to echo off the walls.

  Khara did not react.

  The adviser started to speak, but the Murdano cut him off with a wave. “Why should I value this gaggle of nondescript creatures?”

  The Murdano seemed young by human standards. He wore a carefully trimmed beard that matched his gleaming ebony hair. Unlike the medal-bedecked soldier to his right and the fabulously attired adviser to his left, the Murdano favored simpler clothing, leggings and a tunic. They were of the finest materials, but still humble compared to the others.

  “Your Majesty,” Luca said with a bow and a sweep of his hand, “I bring you the world’s only surviving dairne. The endling of her species.”

  The dozen or more courtiers standing nearby murmured excitedly.

  The Murdano said, “Clear the chamber, all but my chamberlain and my general-in-chief.” He leaned forward and directed a hot gaze at the withdrawing courtiers. “And I warn you that if word of this escapes this room, the guilty person will rot in my dungeons until disease takes him.”

  The murmuring stopped and the courtiers quickly departed.

  “A dairne, eh?” the Murdano said, eyeing me. “It is said that a dairne can tell if a statement is true or false.” He stroked his beard. “I will put you to the test.”

  I nodded. I was quite sure I didn’t need to grant my permission.

  “This morning for breakfast I ate a cold pheasant breast and dates with yogurt. Is that true or false?”

  “True.” My voice sounded puny in the great room. “I mean, true, Your Majesty.”

  “Yesterday I attended a wrestling match.”

  “No, Your Majesty. You did not.”

  “Lucky guess,” muttered the beefy man with medals.

  “Perhaps, General.” The Murdano smiled. It was not a nice smile. “Three days ago I was shown an ancient scroll.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

  “And the day before that I watched a sword-fighting class.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “It was held in the central auditorium.”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  “The ballroom?”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  “In my private chambers?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “An
d as I watched I was joined by my daughter, Princess Coral.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “She enjoyed the demonstration.”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  The Murdano aimed a sideways glance at his general. “In fact, the princess excused herself after just a few minutes, claiming to be upset by the . . . exertions.”

  The general grimaced. “I still don’t believe her.”

  “Sir, that is not true,” I said. “You do believe me.”

  “Why would my general lie?” the Murdano demanded.

  “I don’t know, Your Majesty,” I said. “I only know whether a statement is true or—actually, Your Majesty, what I know is whether the person speaking believes what they’ve said or not. I do not know whether a thing happened, or anyone’s motives. Only whether they believe they speak truth or falsehood.”

  The Murdano’s eyes were alive with the possibilities. “General Origal, do you love your Murdano?”

  The general blinked. “I love Your Majesty with all my soldier’s heart!”

  The Murdano cocked an eyebrow at me.

  I realized how right Khara had been about the danger I could pose to other people. Including this general. Reluctantly I said, “No, you do not, General.”

  “Indeed,” the Murdano said mockingly. “Well then, General, let me ask this. Are you a loyal servant?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “True,” I said.

  The Murdano nodded. “I care nothing for love, but loyalty is something I value highly, just as I despise disloyalty.”

  “The general is loyal, Your Majesty.”

  The Murdano sat back, all the while keeping his gaze on me. Finally he said, “Lord Chamberlain. Prepare a room for our guests in the remotest tower. Treat them well. This creature will prove useful. Araktik returns tomorrow, and I shall speak with her about this expensive eumony she staged. She’ll need to explain herself in the presence of this proof that the dairnes are not quite extinct.”

  Luca spoke up. “And me, Your Majesty?”

  “You and your family will be well rewarded for this service,” the Murdano said indifferently. Then to me he added, “The general will select his best men to guard you. Men who understand that if they speak of this, I will have their tongues torn from their mouths.”