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

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 rescued 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