by Faith Naff
He continued north, passing out of the faerie lands and along the border separating the territories of the elves and centaurs. If hiding was the intention, he figured this border to be his best chance of doing so. The centaurian village of Ironhoof was far to the west, and the centaurs were a rather private race. They didn’t care much for the company of their neighbors, so they tended to stay away from their borders. Likewise, the elves did most of their dealings with either the faeries to the south, or the dwarves to the northeast. There was little reason for them to venture this far west of Moon-hollow.
Indeed, this borderland was his best chance. He would have less chance of discovery in the Savage Lands, but the actions of the wild tribes were unpredictable. A stray band of goblins, trolls, or whatever else may happen to stroll by may not have any interest in capturing him, but they wouldn’t have any in keeping him alive either. Sunrise kept his camp simple. He wanted it difficult to spot and quick to pack up should he have to run. Anything of great importance he kept on his person at all times.
Sunrise began to notice large indentations in the dirt along the path. The foliage was broken and smashed, with swabs of blood staining the low leaves. His meal was stumbling. It wouldn’t be long now before he found it lying on the ground. Then, he would take his meat and return to his camp. The buck had fine antlers, too. Perhaps he would fashion himself a new dagger as he gazed at the stars tonight.
As Sunrise rounded a wide tree and descend the small hill beyond, the sound of voices filled his long, pointed ears. Holding his breath, he pressed his back against the tree and peered around the trunk. He could see his deer. The animal lay motionless on its side in a small patch of ivy. But he hadn’t found it first. Standing around his intended meal were two centaurs. The horse-men were glaring down at his deer, with special attention focused on the arrow protruding from its side.
Sunrise placed a hand on the tree and leaned farther around it, trying to get a better view. They were both male centaurs, but this didn’t surprise him. The centaur’s barbaric culture left little freedom to roam for their women. They each had long, full beards, one fully black and the other brown. The black-bearded centaur had a short, spiky cut to his hair, while the other wore his long and straight, draping down over his right shoulder. Their skin was a leathery color, nearly indistinguishable from the garments they wore. Each had a long sword strapped to a belt around their waist.
Still undetected by the centaurs, Sunrise weighed his options. He couldn’t just stay still until they left. The discovery of the deer carcass already told them someone was in the area. Trying to run away from a centaur would be pointless. Their speed was simply unbeatable by any other civilized creature, but they were unable to climb trees, and this was the greatest advantage he had over them.
Sunrise made one more look before formulating his plan. The centaurs had no weapons that could reach him up in the trees unless they decided to throw their swords. The climb would make noise, but he was swift enough to be out of reach before they discovered him. He kept watch on the centaurs until they were both facing away, then quickly leaped up onto the lowest branch of the tree. His actions shook the leaves and the centaurs turned. Moving fast, Sunrise hopped up as high as he could into the foliage.
“Hey!” the black-haired centaur shouted as they both drew their swords. Their hooves struck loudly against the dirt and underbrush below as they marched to the base of the tree. Convinced that he was well out of reach, Sunrise freed his bow from his back and made his way along a wide branch that extended out towards the west. It held his weight easily, and gave him a clear view of both the centaurs and his fallen deer. He didn’t retrieve an arrow from his quiver yet. The idea was to appear ready, but not hostile.
“Who are you?” the other centaur demanded. His sword was raised high into the air, but all the action proved was just how out of range he was.
“Just a lonely traveler trying to have supper,” Sunrise answered.
“You are hunting in centaurian lands,” the centaur continued. “Without permission from the lord of Ironhoof, such an act is…”
“I’m well aware of the law,” Sunrise butted in, resisting the urge to add that he likely knew it better than either of them. “It’s easy to tell that the deer ran her from the east after being shot and the border is quite close. All the evidence suggests I’ve been hunting in elven territory, which I need no permission to do.”
“Your game is not on elven land now, is it?” the black-haired centaur said with a sneer. “Perhaps it didn’t wish to be devoured by such a weak creature.”
“Well, I’d ask it, but I don’t think it would do any good,” Sunrise said sarcastically. “Either way the kill is mine, which earns me the right to the spoils. I understand enough about your culture to believe you know I’m right.”
The two centaurs looked at each other. They made no sounds, but the sinister smiles on their faces showed they were both thinking the same thing. “Very well, elf,” the brown-haired centaur said as he twirled his sword in his hand. “We won’t touch your kill.”
“But you still have to get to it to eat it,” the other added. They stepped apart from each other, as though opening a path between Sunrise and his supper. He knew better. This was a taunt. He’d have two centaurian swords buried in his chest the moment his feet hit the ground. Unfortunately, he was also quite sure the same fate would befall him if he jumped down the other side and ran away without the deer.
It was moments like this he missed his magic the most. A couple of lightning bolts would dispatch these two troublesome centaurs with little effort. Exile had showed him just how much he’d come to rely on the Lady’s magic to get him through his daily struggles. Still, he wasn’t without other skills. Sunrise kept the grip on his bow firm as he turned his back to the centaurs. “I see I won’t be eating tonight,” he said calmly. Sunrise walked back across the branch and moved behind the trunk. “Farewell.”
“You think you can just leave?!” the black-haired centaur bellowed. His front legs kicked up in the air. Up and out of sight, Sunrise freed the satchel tied to his waist. He could hear the centaur’s hooves striking the ground as they moved around the tree. Before the duo rounded the trunk, Sunrise balled up the satchel and threw it down into a nearby bush. It struck the bush loudly, rustling the leaves and disturbing a small bird that flew away in response.
“Over there!” the other centaur shouted. The two held out their weapons and charged at the bush. Their swords hacked at the small leaves and gnarled branches, but found no elven flesh to pierce.
As the centaurs stood in confusion, Sunrise dropped from a low branch and rolled across the forest floor. He rose to a crouching position as he retrieved an arrow from his quiver. Before the centaurs could turn around, Sunrise fired the bolt into the hind leg of the black-haired centaur. Just like an injured horse, the centaur toppled over. The brown-haired centaur shouted angrily as he finished turning, but Sunrise was a fast archer. Before the centaur could make his first step towards him, Sunrise already had another arrow nocked and aimed at his heart. Though still driven by rage, the centaur knew he’d lost the upper hand.
“I’m not here to kill two centaurs,” Sunrise said confidently, though his voice shook from stress and fatigue. He rose to his feet again, keeping his arrow trained on the still healthy assailant. “I just want to take my meal and go back home.” The brown-haired centaur said nothing, though his companion made several low curses as he struggled to stand again. The brown-haired centaur reached down and plucked the arrow from his friend’s flesh with all the gentleness and care of a rockslide. A trail of blood ran down the centaur’s hind leg as he wearily stood up.
“Go,” Sunrise commanded.
Both centaurs scoffed and mumbled, but obeyed. With one badly limping, the two made their way west through the forest towards their home city. Sunrise kept the tension on his bow tight long after he could no longer see or hear them. Once he was satisfied he was alone again, he retrieved his satc
hel from the bush and went to his deer. There would be no time to dress it here. He’d have to shoulder it back through the forest to his campsite. Tonight would be less peaceful than he thought. Rest would not come easily knowing that Ironhoof would soon know of his general whereabouts. Tomorrow would be an earlier rise than usual. He’d have to go out in search of a new camp.
Chapter 3
For Sparrow, like all other faeries, the treetop city of Windsong was more than just a home. It was a haven, a place where they could live without the constant reminder that the rest of the forest was simply too big for them. The twig and straw huts lining the branches of the old, wide oak holding the city aloft were a symbol of their place in Her forest. It let them forget the world of the large races. In Windsong, a faerie never had to feel insignificant or forgettable. More than a city, it was a spell cast over the minds of its inhabitants, and that spell was what the Rose Thorns fought to preserve.
There were also practical reasons to keep outsiders away. A city built solely to serve the needs of faeries couldn’t hope to accommodate any other creature. Even the shortest dwarf would eat a faerie family of eleven into poverty after one meal. Windsong had no roofs to shelter them, no beds to hold them. There was nothing there for any other creature to take comfort in, and their presence disturbed the serenity enjoyed by its inhabitants.
Before the Blight, before the Great War, and dating back past the boundaries of recorded history, no direct road to Windsong had ever been cut through the trees. The Tri-leaf Safe Roads ventured close, but kept travelers far enough away to never let them glimpse the city, even when the torches were lit at night. The Thorns’ patrols were constant and dedicated. No creature ever passed through the faerie forest without the Thorns knowing about it. It was a centuries old tradition, and one Sparrow was proud to be a part of.
It was late at night when she and her patrol were finally able to return to the Treetop City. Strings of small lanterns crisscrossed the branches like threads of a spider web. Lights could be seen flickering in the windows of hundreds of faerie homes lining the branches. At the center, where the branches met, a large platform built from sticks and rope encircled the trunk of the tree like a halo. The circular platform was four feet wide, and upon it sat the common areas. There were merchant shops which made up the fey marketplace as well as stages where all manner of performances could be enjoyed.
Like most nights when the weather was clear, the city was alive with activity. Even before her feet landed on the platform, she could hear the music playing and the joyous cries of her fellow faeries as they danced and sang. Of course, more than the audible sensations, Sparrow loved the colors of Windsong. Streamers of brilliant, vibrant colors hung down from the branches and danced gently in the wind. There were flowers almost everywhere, and where there could be no flowers, images of flowers were painted onto the surfaces. A dusting of glittering crystal flakes covered the floor of the platform, making it sparkle like the night sky above.
Sparrow smiled. It was good to be home.
She tucked her butterfly-like wings in closely as she made her way through the crowds of faeries dancing about the platform. The shops were all closed for the day, and the entire city was alive with celebration. She knew none of these faeries were even aware that, only hours ago, a group of large creatures from Tranquility were attempting to enter their sacred space, and thanks to her, they never would. Such was the sworn duty of a Rose Thorn.
Her fellow Thorns landed one by one and followed her through the crowd. The Thorns were men and women from all walks of life, but the extensive training and discipline required to reach their position was something they all shared. Sparrow had spent years training alongside many of these faeries, making her all the more in tune with their tactics and signals. These were more than her squadron mates, they were her friends.
Sparrow’s purposeful steps through the celebration gradually slowed as she moved deeper into the crowd. All day, her mind had been focused on her mission. She’d spent hours in a situation where tensions were high and nerves were pressed to their limits. Now that she was home, the smiles and laughter of those around her were intoxicating.
“Captain,” called a voice from behind her.
As if awakened from a trance, Sparrow shook her head and turned around. Another in her squadron—a young man with caramel skin and wild, sandy-blond hair—gave her a puzzled look. “What is it, Mantis?”
Mantis looked even more baffled. “I was about to ask you that,” he responded.
“Why so?”
“You stopped, Captain,” Mantis answered. “Is something the matter?” His four dragonfly-like wings shook slightly behind him.
It wasn’t until her squad mate mentioned it that Sparrow even realized she’s stopped her march through the crowd. Her untold desire to let it all go was drawing her in, clearing the mission from her mind and calling her to join the festivities. Without realizing, she’d stopped dead in her tracks, letting the energy of the moment take her away. She tried to think of some excuse, something that would keep him from realizing his captain could be so easily distracted. “I...I was…”
Mantis smiled. “You don’t have to try so hard,” he said with a laugh. The music was louder here, causing them to lean closer to one another and raise their voices. “I completely understand. We’ve not had a day off since the demons marched through here. You need a break.”
Sparrow sighed, and couldn’t help but smile. The problem with knowing her squadron mates so well was that they knew her just as completely. They had done more than train and fight together. Many times, they had danced, laughed, and sang together at festivities just like this. They’d become drunk on berry wine and made fools of themselves. She knew them. She knew their families. They were a family. “Am I that obvious?”
“You sent a powerful message to Tranquility today, and they backed down,” Mantis said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Once the Rose hears our report, I’m sure she’ll reward you with a few days away from active duty.”
It was a nice thought, but Sparrow wasn’t as sure as her optimistic friend. Things were only getting more chaotic with each passing day. “I need to get my report to the Rose as soon as possible,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t press further.
“We’ll follow you there,” Mantis replied.
Sparrow smiled warmly as an idea came to her mind. “No,” she said calmly. “I need no audience to give my report. You all should stay and enjoy the festivities.” She laughed at Mantis’s obvious attempt to hide his excitement.
“Are you sure, Captain?” he asked.
She laughed. “I’m quite sure. You’re all officially released from duty until called again.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Mantis said.
Sparrow nodded. “Go find Dragonfly. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere and would enjoy a dance.”
After a quick but respectful display of the Hands of Grace by the both of them, Mantis bounded away into the crowd like an excited child. Sparrow could only hope he would remember to tell the rest of the squadron before running off to find his beloved. With her fellow Thorns gone, Sparrow pushed on through the crowd. The faeries were packed tightly together, making each step a challenge. The vibrant colors of their garments made them look like spring flowers swaying in the wind. The same crystal powder on the floor was rubbed into their skin, making them shine like diamonds beneath the torches. Their faces were painted artfully as well. Each faerie was a colorful masterpiece, and she wanted to be a part of it.
She shook her head. This was not the time to be daydreaming. Sparrow kept her head down as she marched through the crowd with great purpose. The sooner she got to the Rose, the sooner she could complete her mission.
Usually, the Rose would be in her palace sitting high atop the tallest branches of the tree. However, when the night was perfect for celebration and her people were dancing under the stars, the queen of the faeries liked to let her presence be known. She didn’t join in the commo
ner’s festivities, but a special stage had been built towards the inner rim of the platform. Atop the platform sat her magnificent throne. The regal seat was carved from a dark, sparkling stone. A wall of roses and ivy vines was erected behind it. An awning laced together from wide oak leaves was draped high over her head. At each corner of the stage, a lone sentry stood ready and alert with a long spear tucked under his or her right arm.
From this perch, the Rose watched her subjects carry on in their merriment. Her exposed skin was powdered a brilliant white. Dark red coloring made her lips and long, wavy hair look like the freshest roses in the spring. By contrast, her blue and white wings resembled puffy clouds passing over a perfect, afternoon sky. Her large, ornate dress was an exquisite forest green, trimmed with gold embroidery. With just a glance, the appearance of the Rose conveyed absolute beauty, and absolute power.
Sparrow emerged from the crowd and ascended the steps of the stage. The guards looked at her, but made no other movements. Sparrow was both known to them and expected. Her body was erect as she walked, with hands down to her sides and her chin held high. Her wings were lowered, making them appear like a cape draped over her shoulders.
“Welcome back, Sparrow, Captain of the Thorns,” the Rose said.
At the foot of the throne, Sparrow dropped to one knee. Her hands came together in front of her face, displaying the Wings of Grace before falling back to her sides. “My Rose,” she said formally. “Our mission is complete.”
“Please report,” the Rose insisted.
