The Prophet of Panamindorah, Book One Fauns and Filinians by Abigail Hilton

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, help!”
    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