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

his finger.
    Syrill chuckled. “You’ll have to have it
fitted by a goldsmith.”
    They walked for a moment in silence. “What’s
your deer’s name, Syrill?”
    “Blix.” Corry could hear the pride in his
voice. “I raised him.”
    “He’s magnificent.” Corry hesitated. “What
will happen to the wolflings now?”
    Syrill glanced at him curiously. “Nothing, I
suppose.”
    “But won’t the fauns—”
    Syrill snorted. “We’re speaking of Fenrah’s
Raiders, not common thieves. Of course my soldiers will follow our
path of retreat and try to find them, but I’m sure they’ll fail.
The Raider’s mobility is their most peculiar talent.”
    “But they must have gone somewhere.”
    Syrill shrugged. “The Raiders are very
mobile. Some say they have no den. Others say it’s impossible to
operate so efficiently, to stash plunder so well, and to disappear
so completely without a permanent den.”
    Corry looked thoughtful. If the Raiders
were involved with Capricia’s finding the flute, perhaps their den
holds more clues about my past. “I suppose everyone has
searched thoroughly?”
    Syrill laughed. “Of course! If the Raiders
have a home, they can be trapped...along with the mountain of
treasure they have supposedly accumulated. If they have a
home—”
    “They do.”
    Faun and boy turned together. In the path
behind them stood a shelt who had come up without sound of
footfalls. This has to be Laylan , thought Corry. The bounty
hunter had red-furred legs and black canine paws. His bushy,
white-tipped tail hung a full foot below the hem of his brown
leather tunic. He had red hair the color of his fur, pulled back in
a loose ponytail that was oddly reminiscent of his real tail. A
black, wide-brimmed hat threw a shadow across his face. From the
place where other hats might have carried a feather, dangled a limp
wolf tail.
    “They have a den,” he said.
    Syrill grinned. “Laylan! This is Corellian,
the iteration who helped save your key.”
    Laylan’s eyebrows rose. “You have saved me a
great deal of trouble. Thank you.” He turned to Syrill. “I have
news about Lexis’ movements that may interest you.”
    “Certainly. Good day, Corellian.”
    Corry watched them walk away—Syrill with his
swinging gait and Laylan on gliding paws that never crunched a
leaf.

Chapter 10. The
Agreement
    A promise is always a shackle. Made well, it
will anchor you to life and reason. Made poorly, it will be to you
a ball and chain.
    —Archemais, Treason and Truth
    Corry soon learned that Meuril had assigned
him a suit of rooms in the castle. While he was exploring them, a
servant arrived to return his backpack. Corry had not seen it since
Syrill confiscated his possessions in the wood. Grinning, he
brought out the orange cowry.
    “Where did you get that?”
    Corry turned to see Capricia in the
doorway.
    “I brought it from Earth. It’s money, isn’t
it? You use them for money here.”
    Capricia’s mouth twisted. “We…used to.”
    “Ah. What do you use now?”
    She didn’t say anything.
    Corry sat down at a little table. “Aren’t you
happy that I helped save the master trap key, Capricia? Or would
you rather the Raiders have killed me?”
    To Corry’s surprise, Capricia left the
doorway and came to sit across the table from him. “No, of course
not. You remember that I told our archers not to shoot at you.”
    “It would have seemed odd to everyone if you
hadn’t. Capricia, why don’t you want me here? I know that you say
the flute could have given me the language, but you don’t really
believe that.” He leaned closer. “Here’s something the flute won’t
explain: Fenrah’s wolf recognized me! After I escaped, I ran into
him in the forest. He was friendly to me. He never said a word, but
I know he can talk. I remember him. Or something about him.”
    Capricia looked skeptical.
    “I thought,” continued Corry, “that I’d
skipped forward in time. I left Panamindorah and came to Earth,