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The stories say that once the world was full of music—that tree and sky and mountain all had their songs and answered each other in harmony. Some say that as the gods died, the music stuttered into silence. Others say that we simply lost the ability to hear it.
—Archemais, Treason and Truth
“All Gabalon saw in the stories of the past were examples of wizards foiling each other. He deduced that a wizard might gain ascendancy over shelts, if he did not have to worry about his own kind. As he grew older he built a powerbase of other wizards who shared his ideas and shelts who were being mistreated. Gabalon styled himself their savior and set out to conquer. He killed every wizard who did not bend the knee and many who did. The Muse saved me—plucked me into the place where time and space run together and doors open on all the worlds. I visited Earth. When I returned to Panamindorah, I was shocked at the number of years that had passed. Nearly everyone I had known was dead. As far as I could tell, there were only eight other wizards left—Gabalon, and seven loyal followers.
“He was abusing his power. Whole species of shelts and animals had disappeared, and the meaning of the Monuments had been forgotten. I worked with the rebels, fought alongside them, made their victories my own. Sometimes the Firebird showed me things, though not often. Do not ask me to explain how he chooses when to interfere. I do not know. One summer, we took a city in old Filinia that had been held by one of Gabalon’s lieutenants for a generation. In the dungeons, we found an unibus. Unibus are not like other shelts. They are shape-shifters and magic users, and they live a long life, though they are easier to kill than a wizard. Like me, she was older than she looked. She remembered things and people from long ago. We shared a past, and over the next year, we became close.
“To love is to fear. I was afraid of her dying, but more than that, I was afraid of being called away, of being required at any moment to leave her and return to find nothing but her scattered ashes. I did not know what the Firebird would say about my taking a mate. I did not ask. I was too afraid of his answer. So, I put away the flute. Previously, I had never taken it from my person, but now I hid it in a place I thought safe. I told myself that I would return for it when her life was over, but I would not be the prophet while she lived. Worst of all, I told no one. I still sat on their councils and gave my advice, but I knew that I no longer spoke with the authority of the prophet. The music no longer came to me, and the Firebird was silent.
“You were born about that time, Corellian. The shelts and I were no longer winning, but were settling into a comfortable stalemate with Gabalon. For several years, I lived quietly and loved my wife and watched my child grow. And then one day our enemies achieved a strange victory—a victory reeking of magic. I knew before I even went to look that the Muse had been stolen and by whom.
“I found also a change in my own person. A dragon is a wizard’s true form. In the beginning, dragons were all feathered, like birds, and they breathed flame—an echo of the Firebird, living Monuments. I had heard that Gabalon and his companions were under a curse—that they had lost their feathers and their flames. Now I had my own curse—the snake—which has become my true form, for a snake is but a dragon fallen. Perhaps the Creator will give me back my true form one day, but for now, whenever I reach for it, I find only the snake.
“The war went badly for us after that. The wolflings fought hardest, and we lived among them. One day your mother was killed in a foolish skirmish—shot in the dark by our own shelts.” Time had obviously deadened the wound, but some of the pain lived still in his voice.
Corry wanted to reach out to him, but he was angry—at whom, he wasn’t sure. “What about me?”
“You were thirteen. Two years later, the king of the wolves, Telsar, was captured by Gabalon on the eve of a great battle. We were close to the royal family, and you felt the loss keenly, especially as we knew he would be tortured.
“The insult was enough to galvanize the wolves. They marched on Selbis and might have taken it if Gabalon had not used the flute to catch the army in a time-fold. He broke the wood to do it, and you can still find evidence of the damage if you know where to look.
“You crept away from the army the night before we were to march on Selbis. I believe that you intended to free Telsar. You were still learning to shift and not very good at it. I went after you and escaped the fate of the Durian wolves, but I could not find you. Later, I learned that Gabalon had caught you and used the Muse to send you...somewhere. No one knew where. I searched frantically, but found nothing.
“Some hundred years later, the cliff fauns defeated Gabalon and destroyed Selbis. I searched the ruins for days, but found no trace of you. My brother used to send me mocking notes about you from time to time, but with his disappearance, even those ceased.”
“Disappearance?” interrupted Corry. “I thought he was killed.”
Archemais shook his head. “Wounded, but his body was never found. He would have had to consolidate his useful tissue and shift to something rather small, but I’m sure he lived.”
Corry frowned. He wanted to ask a dozen questions—about shifting, about his mother, about dragons, about the flute. He wanted to ask all those questions, and he wanted at the same time to walk out of this room and never speak to his father again.
Archemais handed back the flute. “Come,” he said. “We have work to do.”
* * * *
Shyshax heard the footsteps on the stairs. He’d talked to Chance before coming back up here and had expected some kind of help before now. A moment later, the wind brought him the scent of the visitors. Chance had brought Fenrah. She came and sat down on the other side of Laylan, who never stirred. After a moment, she said, “I wanted to show you something before you ran off.”
He did not look at her, though her movements must have been visible out of his peripheral vision. Fenrah drew her dagger. She raised it a hand’s breadth above the smooth stone of the castle roof, then drove down. The blade hit the stone with a dull ring. It stayed there for a moment while she continued to bear down on it. Then, slowly, the dagger began to sink into the stone. Shyshax stared. Above his head, he heard Chance catch his breath.
Laylan blinked, then looked at the dagger. It seemed almost to be melting the stone, like a hot brick on ice. When Fenrah had gotten it half buried in the roof, she pulled it out. The dagger came away smoothly, leaving a thin slit in the stone.
Laylan’s eyes flicked to her face. “Move quickly,” she said, “and it behaves like any other dagger. In a fight, you’d never know it’s special. Move slowly, though, and it will cut absolutely anything.”
“Gabalon’s dagger,” murmured Chance. “A cursed weapon.”
Fenrah tapped the clear gold jewel in the pommel. “That’s unicorn gold, nothing else it could be. I think the blade is of a piece with the pommel. The jewel is just cut and polished differently. If you polish the blade, it looks much the same color.”
Laylan spoke at last. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Nothing. I just thought you’d like to know, since the dagger is how you found us.”
Laylan looked away from her. Shyshax knew he felt tricked. But at least he’s talking.
Fenrah drew a deep breath. “I care about the wolflings. Their well-being is my first concern. What you have done or not done in the past is not of primary importance to me now. What matters is that you have a legitimate claim to the Canisarian throne, and the fauns know and trust you. They do not trust me.”
Chance leaned on his staff. “She’s right, Laylan. If you speak for the wolflings in council, you will get a better reception. You have, after all, never robbed or killed any of them.”
Laylan gave a bitter laugh. “Yes, but can the wolflings say the same? I don’t think they want me representing us.”
“What they want,” said Fenrah, “is to live—without traps or bounties or gibbets outside every town. You promised me in Selbis that if I got you out of there, you would try to do something about the bounty laws.”
Laylan’s eyes flicked to her face again, and Shyshax felt him tense.
“Yes,” she murmured, “you have given your word that far. You can’t kill yourself without doing that.”
Shyshax growled. “He wasn’t going to—”
But Laylan’s hand closed gently around his muzzle. “I’ll do what I can, Fenrah.”
