Paul Cook - Brother of the Dragon

The clatter of loose rocks ahead woke her from her reverie. She drew her arm back, ready to throw her stick at whatever was moving up ahead. Listening, she heard something else: the rhythmic fall of hooves.

Mara turned and sprinted back up the trail. Topping an outcropping of rock, she spied Tiphan and Penzar in the distance and ran even harder. When she was close enough, she gasped her warning.

“Tosen! Horses!”

Horses meant nomads or elves. In either case, the trio was in no position to meet hostile strangers. They hastily quit the trail, taking shelter between two boulders. Penzar stood with spear ready as the others peered around the rocks to see what was coming.

Four swarthy heads appeared, bobbing as they came. They had leathery faces and shoulder-length black hair, lank and woven through with vines and leaves. They weren’t elves or humans, and as they drew nearer, it became plain they were not riding on horses. They were horses below the waist.

“Centaurs,” Tiphan whispered.

The four leaders were followed by a crowd of others, all weighed down with baggage — furs, hides, bedrolls, tools, and woven willow panniers. Mara counted twenty-two centaurs in sight, with more coming over the ridge. This was no hunting party. This was an entire tribe on the move.

The lead man-horse reached the spot where Tiphan, Mara, and Penzar had left the trail. In their haste to hide, they hadn’t obscured their tracks, and the centaur saw the signs of their passage. He held up a hand, shouted something in a guttural tongue, and the whole tribe halted. Gray-haired elders cantered forward to confer with the scout. With much gesturing of arms and stamping of hooves, the scout made his point. Bending his forelegs, he knelt and sniffed the stony ground. Slowly he raised his head until he was staring directly at the humans’ hiding place.

“Tosen?” Penzar whispered, gripping his spear.

“Be still. I’ll deal with them.”

Tiphan stepped from the crevice. The centaurs spotted him and began an excited babble. Four of them galloped up, flanking the Sensarku leader.

“Mara! Penzar! Come out,” he said evenly. “Penzar, leave your spear.”

“But Tosen — ”

“Do as I say!”

Mara emerged from the cleft in the rock and stood confidently by her leader. Penzar came out more slowly, eyeing the fierce-looking centaurs with obvious suspicion.

One centaur, whose hair was liberally streaked with gray and whose dark horse’s body was likewise dappled with silver, approached Tiphan. He scrutinized the Sensarku and uttered a short sentence in his own tongue.

Back in the rocks, Tiphan had thought he recognized this centaur. Now it was time to test his memory.

“Miteera?” he ventured. “Miteera?”

The centaurs pranced and muttered, obviously startled to hear the word from human lips.

“Miteera,” said the gray-dappled centaur. “Your face I not know.”

“I am Tiphan, Konza’s son. Peace to you, Miteera, and to your people.”

“Know you me… how?”

“I know many things,” Tiphan said, smiling. “I am chief of the Sensarku, the Servants of the Dragon.”

“Ah!” Miteera turned to his people and gave them a rapid explanation in their own tongue. To Tiphan, he said, “From Arku-peli?” Tiphan admitted they were. “Your chief Arkuden?”

The smile faded from Tiphan’s face. He forced it to return. “Yes, the head of our village is the Arkuden,” he said. “What brings you and your people to the high mountains, Miteera?”

The old centaur’s face darkened, his gray eyes narrowing. “Pushed out eight suns ago. By B’leef.”

It took Tiphan a moment to realize Miteera was saying “Balif.” To be certain he asked, “The Silvanesti drove you out? The elves?”

Miteera nodded and spat on the ground. “Old Ones with fire and metal drive Miteera people out. Many die. We go to sunset. Leave B’leef.”

With a few more questions, Tiphan pieced together the rest of the story. For some time, the Silvanesti had been systematically driving the centaurs from of the woodland between the two branches of the Thon-Tanjan. Eight days ago, Miteera’s tribe had fought a pitched battle against Balif’s army and lost. Many centaur warriors were killed. All that remained of Miteera’s tribe was now fleeing west to escape the conquering elves.

“Long’go, Arkuden save Miteera from yevi. Arkuden friend. We find Arku-peli this way?” asked the old centaur.

“Yes, the high trail will take you to the Lake of the Falls,” Tiphan replied.

“Where you go? To sunbirth?”

Tiphan admitted they were heading east. The centaur shook his head and twitched his long, gray-streaked tail. “Bad. Bad to go,” he said. “You meet Old Ones. Meet death.” He mimed a sword thrust into Tiphan’s gut.

“We go on the Arkuden’s business,” Tiphan said. Mara arched an eyebrow at her leader’s easy lie. “Would you lend us one of your warriors, to go with us and help us avoid the elves?”

Miteera looked doubtful, but he put the question to his band. Several centaurs seemed willing, and the chief chose a youthful one with a russet-colored horse’s body and like-colored hair, who stepped forward from the crowd.

“Elu,” said Miteera, “most brave and strong. He go with you.”

“Why does he want to go?” Penzar blurted, suspicious still.

Miteera pointed a gnarled finger at Mara. “Elu like two-leg girl. He go for her.”

Mara blushed, and Penzar sputtered, “Tosen, you can’t — ”

“We humbly accept your help, Miteera,” Tiphan said, silencing his acolyte with a glare. “Welcome, Elu.”

“Him not talk,” Miteera said. “You point, he know.”

Elu shouldered his bundle of belongings and took his place at Tiphan’s side. The rest of the centaur band trotted past the humans. Miteera remained until the last of his people was gone then bade the humans good-bye. To Elu, Miteera addressed an elaborate farewell, which involved much stamping of hooves and clasping of arms. At last, the chief cantered away. Elu raised his club in salute.

Keeping his voice level, Penzar asked, “Tosen, why did you ask for this savage to accompany us?”

“Isn’t it obvious? A centaur is the next best thing to a pack animal.”

“But he has designs on Mara!”

“Then he’ll work hard to please her.” Tiphan took the heavy packs from the acolytes and draped them over the unresisting Elu’s withers and back. The centaur’s bright green eyes widened slightly, but he accepted the new burdens without complaint.

“Tosen, will we encounter elves, do you think?” asked Mara.

“I doubt it. We’re not going so far east as the Tanjan woods. Once we get to flatter land, we will have to keep sharp watch for Silvanesti, I’m sure, but I don’t expect to meet them in strength.”

Long clouds from the east overtook the sun. A cold wind rose with the shadows and teased wisps from Mara’s thick braid. She pointedly ignored the admiring look the centaur gave her.

“Come,” said Tiphan. “We ought to reach the tree line before dark.”

Penzar retrieved his spear, saying, “I’ll scout again.”

“Let Mara,” said Tiphan smugly. “She can be the carrot for our centaur friend.”

Mara was not amused, but she took the lead, and they resumed their march. Fifty paces behind her came Tiphan and Penzar. Elu, silent and strong, walked patiently at the rear, laden with the baggage.

Amero knelt by the water’s edge and dipped his hands in the cold lake. Mud and dried blood loosened from his sore fingers, clouding the clear water.

Across the lake, smoke rose from scores of small fires between the rows of seedlings. It had taken two days of back-breaking labor to clear the ice from the orchard, swathe the tender seedlings in mounds of straw, and get the warming fires going. It was too early to tell whether their efforts to save the orchard would be successful.