Paul Cook - Brother of the Dragon

“Elu?” she whispered. Something rustled in the grass. She gripped her throwing stick. “El — oh! ” A rough hand grabbed her leg, pulling her down in the high grass. The hand came up to cover her mouth, and she realized it belonged to the centaur.

“Quiet. Elves.”

Mara’s green eyes widened in astonishment at hearing him speak. He removed his hand from her mouth and pointed. She turned.

A long way off, half a league or more, sat a figure on horseback. His dark cloak and hood rendered him almost invisible against the night horizon. If Elu hadn’t pointed him out, Mara knew she would never have noticed him.

“There are more,” whispered the centaur. “Four hands.” Twenty. Centaurs counted by fives, as in five-fingered hands.

A swishing in the grass announced Tiphan’s arrival. “What are you doing down there?” he asked, too loudly. Mara waved furiously for him to be quiet.

“Get down!” she hissed. “Elves!”

Tiphan dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward them. Mara told him what Elu had observed, omitting that the centaur had spoken their language.

“Are they looking for their comrades?” Mara wondered.

“Maybe, or they may simply send out patrols to keep track of intruders,” Tiphan murmured. He glanced back at their own camp. Their fire, which had always seemed so tiny, now looked like a bonfire, lighting up the sky. “We must get back to camp and safeguard my stones.”

No one objected to putting more distance between themselves and the elves. They crept back down the same path Elu had first made. Elu stomped out the campfire and covered the embers with dirt. The night was still quiet. There were no signs they’d been detected by the Silvanesti.

“I suppose we must go,” Tiphan murmured. “If the Silvanesti catch us…”

Draping their sparse gear around their necks, they stole away. Tiphan insisted on carrying the many bags of stone chips himself, though he could hardly stand upright under their combined weight. Elu tried to take some from him, but the Sensarku leader brushed his hands away with a sharp word.

The centaur took the lead. He kept his torso low. Mara followed in a crouch, and Tiphan brought up the rear, bowed down as much by his weighty load as from caution. The path led down a slight hill to a dry creekbed lined on each side with pines. As the tops of the black pines hove into view, a screech owl gave forth its weird laughing call. The clouds parted, and the white beams of Soli split the darkness.

Without warning, a rush of armed, shouting figures erupted from the trees. Moonlight glittered on bronze spear points. Mara screamed and threw off her burdens to flee. Tiphan would not abandon his precious rocks. He slung the heavy bags into the brush and dived after them.

Elu straightened, a hefty stone in each hand. He hurled them at the oncoming elf warriors, knocking down two at the front of the closely packed ranks. Eight Silvanesti on foot attacked the lone centaur, jabbing at him with their light javelins. Elu fought them off with his club, wielding the stout stick with considerable skill. He connected solidly on one elf’s shield, sending him sprawling into three others. When the Silvanesti found they couldn’t simply overwhelm Elu in a rush, they drew back and cast javelins at him. He dodged or batted aside all but the last two. One took him low in the side, near where his human torso met his equine body. He bellowed, dropped his club, and snapped the shaft with his bare hands. The second spear slashed across his neck, opening a wound that bled copiously. Rearing, Elu shoved the stump of the javelin through his side and plucked it out from behind. The elves rushed again, and he lashed out with his hooves, laying out one after another.

The valiant centaur retreated up the hill, bleeding from his grievous hurts. He threw back his head and shouted the centaurs’ distress cry — a strange ululating call designed to summon any of their kind within hearing distance. The Silvanesti knew the sound well, and they hesitated, unsure whether more centaurs would appear.

None did, but Mara rose up from her hiding place and threw her bird stick. She was behind the elves, and her weapon caught one below his brazen helmet. In the dark, his comrades did not see the slender stick or who threw it. All they saw was one of their number throw up his hands and fall facedown in the dirt. This disconcerted them more, and they fell back to the line of dark pines.

Mara ran to the staggering Elu, bolstering him up by slipping her shoulder under his blood-drenched arm.

“Come on,” she said. “Stand up! We must get away!”

“Club… spear…” Elu said.

Mara recovered his weapon and armed herself with an elven javelin.

They stumbled up the hill, crashing noisily through the high grass. When they reached the crest of the hill, instead of open land ahead, they saw a troop of Silvanesti cavalry, waiting patiently.

Mara’s knees failed at the sight, and she slid to the ground.

“Stand, Mara,” Elu said, leaning on his club. “Better to die on your feet, even if you do have only two of them.”

He held out a hand to her. She could see his teeth gleaming in a smile. She let him pull her up.

Soli broke through the clouds, bathing the savanna in chill white light. The elves swung their spears down in one motion and advanced.

Elu squeezed the girl’s hand, which had gone cold in his grasp. “Afraid?” he asked.

She licked her dry lips. “Yes.”

“Don’t be. If we die well, our enemies will speak of us, and our spirits will live in their memories!”

Clatter from behind heralded the return of the Silvanesti foot soldiers. Mara wrapped both hands around her captured javelin.

“Elu,” she whispered, never taking her eyes off the oncoming riders, “why did you stay silent so long? You speak our tongue better than Chief Miteera.”

“You can learn more by listening than by talking,” he explained. He winced, and his left foreleg buckled slightly. Gasping, he drew himself up again and grinned. “Not so dumb for a savage, yes?”

“Good-bye, Elu.”

At forty paces, the mounted elves charged.

Tiphan groveled in the sod, hugging the sacks of stones to his chest. He heard the clash of arms, followed by shouts and the terrible cry of the centaur. He shuddered. If Elu was dead, then the girl was too. It was time to save himself and get his treasure back to Yala-tene.

He worked open the drawstring on one bag and groped inside. These fragments were taken from a particular standing stone, situated in the center of the field. Unlike the other boulders, which were granite or sandstone, this monolith had been streaked with gold. Tiphan knew from his Silvanesti manuscripts that gold had a special affinity for spirit power. That was why the elves used it for priestly instruments and amulets.

He removed from the bag a large piece of stone flecked with the yellow metal and pressed it between his palms. His knowledge of conjuring was rudimentary, but he was desperate.

He heard movement in the grass nearby. The elves were coming! He closed his eyes and sent his plea to the spirit stone.

Save me! Save me! By the power of this stone, save me from my enemies!

Nothing happened. Tiphan repeated the silent, heart-felt plea again and again. Yells from the surrounding grass sent spasms of fear through his gut. He clenched the stone until it cut into his skin. Blood seeped out between his fingers, staining the grass where he lay curled into a tight ball.

A rumble, as of distant thunder, signaled the approach of mounted Silvanesti. In spite of his terror, words suddenly broke through his clenched teeth, resounding in the darkness: “Take me to Yala-tene! Save me! Take me to Yala-tene!”