Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

There was laughter and tears when the companions appeared before the Circle: old Nemeredes wept openly as he embraced his youngest son, and all the chiefs-including Lanorica, Menelachos's ivory-coated daughter, who'd succeeded her father as head of the Ebon Lance tribe-bowed to the returning heroes.

Caramon stammered awkwardly, trying to shrug off the horsefolk's appreciation, but the centaurs would have none of it. They lifted him up, and Dezra and Borlos as well, and bore them three times around the village, waving torches and aspen branches in the air. Trephas walked with them, surrounded by cheering warriors.

Several hours after the companions' return, the sun began to set, and the feasting began. The horsefolk gathered in their new Yard, bearing baskets of food and huge pots of wine. Pipers and drummers capered, playing jovial songs; Borlos joined them eagerly, plucking his lyre and singing along.

The wine was strong, flavored with pine resin. The horsefolk poured libations to Chislev, the Forestmaster, and their slain kinsfolk, then drank, smashing the amphoras on the ground when they were empty. When the celebration reached a pitch, the centaurs began to pass the food around. The feast was sumptuous by any standard-all the more so considering the horsefolk had been driven from their home a month ago. There was flat bread laden with herbs, and soft, crumbling cheese. With these came meaty black and green olives, pastries stuffed with spinach and dill, and joints of lamb and venison. There were other dishes too, which would never be found on a human table: concoctions of grass, shoots and leaves that the centaurs devoured by the fistful. Afterward came apples and small, dark-skinned plums, and more pastries soaked in honey.

And, all through the meal, wine, wine and wine.

Finally, when the eating was done-but not the drinking, of course-the centaurs parted to form a circle of open grass in the Yard's midst. Torches held high, they began to stamp their hooves upon the ground. It started slowly, then gained in speed, faster and faster, thundering like a stampede. As the centaurs worked themselves into a frenzy, the Circle of Four entered the clearing.

The chiefs came masked, as they had to young Nemeredes's funeral: young Lanorica now wore her father's stag mask. On closer inspection, though, the masks proved subtly different: instead of weeping, the animals' faces were glad, their mouths hanging open in silent laughter. The crowd fell silent as the Circle moved to stand in the middle of the Yard.

Eucleia stepped forward, her grinning wolf mask gleaming with moonlight. She stood with shoulders squared and chin raised proudly, and lifted her arms. The stamping and shouting ceased.

"The questers have returned," she proclaimed, her voice ringing within her mask. "With them, they bear a mighty treasure, which, Chislev willing, shall be our salvation, after so many years of suffering. I ask Trephas, son of Nemeredes, to bring forward Soulsplitter."

Beaming, Trephas made his way through the crowd. The centaurs yelled and whistled as he stopped before the Circle, Peldarin's axe raised above his head. Its blade shone golden in the torchlight, then he lowered it again and, kneeling, proffered it to Eucleia.

"My lady," he said solemnly. "I give this axe to thee, in the hopes that with it, the scourge might be lifted from this wood."

Eucleia inclined her masked head and, reverently, took the axe from Trephas's hands. The centaurs cheered even louder, raising their wine-jugs as she lifted it high.

"With this axe," she shouted, "Grimbough shall fall! And then woe unto the Skorenoi, and all who worship the daemon tree!"

She swung Soulsplitter in a wide circle, to whoops and bellows from the horsefolk, then lowered it again and gestured toward the back of the crowd. At her beckoning, a pair of stern, gray stallions strode through the throngs and knelt before her.

"Phenestis, Xaor, my sons," Eucleia said, extending the axe. "Take this to the caves north of this vale. Keep it safe."

The high chief's sons rose, their heads bowed. Phenestis took the axe from his mother's hands, and Xaor clasped her hands in his. "We shall guard it with our lives," he declared solemnly.

Together, they wheeled and strode back through the crowd, which parted to let them pass. Bearing the axe, they rode north into the darkness.

Eucleia stared after them, then turned to Trephas. "Now, son of Nemeredes," she said, "tell us thy tale. How didst thou retrieve this treasure from the fey folk?"

Trephas hesitated, then bowed his head. "My lady," he said, "I first ask thy leave to call forward the humans who traveled with me."

Eucleia's eyes, shadowed by her mask, flicked toward the crowd, where Caramon, Dezra and Borlos stood. Caramon's cheeks reddened as the horsefolk turned to stare. It took both Borlos and Dezra, pulling his arms, to get him through the crowd, to the center of the Yard.

The centaurs cheered as the humans took their place beside Trephas. Flashing a toothy grin, Trephas bowed to Eucleia. "Thou wilt hear our story," he said loudly, "but not from me. There is one of us who is better suited at spinning stories."

Borlos's head jerked up. "Uh-oh," he murmured.

"This man," Trephas continued, undaunted, "is a bard. He left Solace seeking a tale to tell, and now he has it. Borlos, wilt thou do this for us?"

The bard hesitated, but the rapt stares on the centaurs' faces overcame his reluctance. Smiling in spite of himself, he unslung his lyre. Someone passed up a half-full jug of wine. He took it and downed a long draught, then handed it to Dezra and set his fingers to his strings.

"It began in Solace on the day of the Spring Dawning fair," he proclaimed, plucking a ringing chord. "A horse-man came, asking for aid… ."

When Borlos plucked the final chord from his lyre, the centaurs were silent a moment, then, slowly, began to stamp their hooves upon the ground. Beaming with pride as they shouted and whistled, he lifted his wine-jar, poured a measure on the ground, then took a long, deep drink.

Eucleia came forward once more, to stand behind him. She doffed her mask-the other chiefs followed suit-and flung up her hands, reaching toward the starry sky.

"Let the revels begin!"

At that, the shouting centaurs surged forward, filling the clearing they'd made for the Circle. Other musicians began to play, on lyres and pipes, hand-drums and tambourines. Laughing, Borlos joined them.

The dancing was was wild and boisterous, gleefully anarchic. The centaurs reeled in ones and twos, lines and circles, hooves clomping on the grass. More wine flowed, strong and plentiful. Shouts and laughter carried out into the darkness.

Dezra was finishing her second flask of resin-wine, light-headed and laughing as she watched the centaurs cavort, when she turned to her father and grinned crookedly. "Dance with me," she said.

Caramon, almost the only one in the Yard who was still sober, looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Dance with me!" she shouted, tugging his hand. "You always used to, when I was a girl."

Caramon's face twitched with memory, then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dez," he said. "I'd love to, but… I'm just so tired."

Dezra's face fell. Her father had changed since the fight at Ithax ruins. He seemed smaller somehow, weaker and wearier. There were dark smudges under his eyes, standing out against the pallor of his face. His hand felt clammy in her grasp; the other strayed to his shoulder and rubbed it absently.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Caramon tensed, his hand dropping into his lap. "Fine. A bit stiff, that's all." He looked past her and grinned. "Here comes someone who'll be your partner."

Surprised, Dezra turned to see a tattooed, piebald centaur lunge toward her, arms outstretched. She had enough time to drop her wine-jar and yelp in surprise before Arhedion grabbed her about the waist and hoisted her off the ground.