by Dragon Lance
Verhanna raised an eyebrow at her kender scout. “Jackberries, eh?”
Rufus gave her an ingratiating smile. “Well, there were only a few —”
“This is excellent,” Kith-Kanan said. “Are you willing to carry us all the way to Qualinost?”
Koth scratched behind one ear. The stiff brown hair that fringed it grated loudly on his callused fingers. “Well, cousin Speaker, where might this Kaal-nos be?”
Kith-Kanan said, “By horse, it’s an eight-day ride from here.”
“Horse!”
Koth snorted, and the band of centaurs at his back laughed loudly. “The sun and moons all know no horse can run like the Kothlolo,” he boasted. “If it pleases you, cousin Speaker, we will have you in your Kaal-nos in six days.”
This claim set the warriors buzzing with speculation. Kith-Kanan held up a hand for quiet. “Uncle Koth, if you can put me in my capital in six days, I will give you a reward such as no centaur ever dreamed of.”
The centaur’s eyes narrowed with thought. “Reward is good. I’ll think on it, cousin, and so should you. When we get to Kaalnos, I’ll find out if you think as big as Koth!”
There were only eight centaurs. Since it was claimed that ordinary horses would not be able to keep up, only the Speaker and his close party rode them. The rest of the warriors were told to proceed on horseback to Pax Tharkas, where relief and refreshment would be given them.
“Are we bypassing the fortress, Father?” asked Verhanna.
“If the centaurs can get us back to the city in six days, there’s no reason to detour to Pax Tharkas,” he replied. Verhanna looked at Ulvian and frowned but said no more.
There was much rough laughter and nervousness as the party climbed on the centaurs. Kith-Kanan rode Koth. Without saddles or stirrups or reins, the riders were worried about maintaining their balance as they rode. Rufus supplied the answer. His mount was a dapple-gray lady centaur who wore a buckskin halter over her small breasts. The kender took the wide sash belt from his formerly fine suit of clothes and tied it loosely around her human waist. This gave him something to cling to from behind, and it didn’t impede the centaur’s movements. In fact, she stroked the dirty yellow belt fondly, admiring its silky smoothness. The rest of the party quickly copied the kender’s invention with whatever belts or braces they owned, and they were soon set.
“Ready, cousins?” boomed Koth. Together the centaurs chorused their assent. “You have a firm hold, cousin Speaker?”
Kith-Kanan shifted his seat slightly. “I’m ready,” he said, gripping the leather baldric he’d converted to a centaur harness. Koth gave a wild, wavering yell and galloped down the road at breakneck speed. The rest of the centaur band thundered after him.
The Speaker had ridden some strange creatures in his life. His royal griffon, Arcuballis, had possessed breathtaking strength in flight and had once performed a complete loop in the air, but this! The riders’ weight didn’t seem to hinder the centaurs much; they bounded over low obstacles and careened around large ones with absolute abandon.
Kith-Kanan was above yelling from fright or excitement, but his followers were not so restrained. Verhanna, whose long legs nearly scraped the ground when astride her short-legged centaur, yelped involuntarily at every wild bump and turn. Rufus whooped and shouted from the back of his lady centaur and waved his big hat. Kemian tried to emulate the Speaker’s dignity, but an occasional startled shout escaped his lips from time to time. Ulvian was tight-lipped, his thoughts on distant things. Only Greenhands seemed to take the ride with perfect equanimity. Despite the pounding pace, he held on with one relaxed hand and studied the scenery with total attention.
The landscape swept past at an astonishing rate. As surefooted as goats, the centaurs raced near the sheer drop that bounded the mountain road. Kith-Kanan gradually relaxed his death grip on the baldric and sat more erect.
“How long can you maintain such a pace?” he said loudly in Koth’s ear.
“I shall be winded in a few hours,” shouted the centaur. “Of course, I am old. My young cousins can run longer than I!”
Kith-Kanan cast a glance back over his shoulder. His children and friends bounced and yelped on the centaurs’ backs. Red topknot streaming in the wind, Rufus flipped him a salute. Verhanna gave her father an uncertain smile as she glanced at the cliff’s edge almost below her feet. Greenhands waved casually.
The wind sang in Kith-Kanan’s ears, and the day was fair and warm. He would soon be home in his beloved city, arriving on the back of a wild centaur. Throwing back his head, the Speaker of the Sun laughed out loud. His merriment echoed through the hills against a rhythm of centaurs’ hooves.
*
By twilight, after half a day of constant motion – they even ate on the run – the centaurs were on the lower slopes of the eastem Kharolis, with the wide plain spread out at their feet. Kith-Kanan remarked on the abundance of flowers and the tall green grass, none of which had been present when he and his party passed through a week before.
“The flowers bloomed for Greenhands,” Rufus said. He bit a wild apple, then offered the rest of the fruit to his mount. She reached back with one sun-browned arm and deftly took the fruit.
Kith-Kanan looked over Koth’s human shoulder at the field of blooming flowers. He remembered a time long ago when he and his young friend Mackeli had journeyed to Silvanost through a land bursting with life. Pollen and flower petals had filled the sun-washed air, and everywhere there was a vibrancy above and beyond the usual growth of spring. It had happened because his wife Anaya had metamorphosed into an oak tree – she had joined the power that she served so faithfully. The ancient power had showed its rejoicing in an explosion of fertility. Now Greenhands’ passage through the countryside was provoking the same reaction. It was one more bit of confirmation that Greenhands was indeed his and Anaya’s child. Not that he needed much convincing. He saw his beloved every time he looked into his son’s innocent green eyes and smiling face.
“Majesty? Majesty?”
Kith-Kanan snapped back to the present. “Yes?”
Rufus had guided his mount next to the Speaker’s. “Your Mightiness, the others want to know if we can stop and stretch our legs.”
The Speaker rubbed his numb thighs. “Yes, an excellent idea. Stop, uncle, if you please.”
The centaurs drew up, and their riders stiffly dismounted. With many groans, they stretched their sore muscles. Kith-Kanan went to speak quietly with Greenhands. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ulvian stalking down the slope toward the plain, deeply shadowed now that the sun had set.
“Shall I fetch him back?” Verhanna asked, hand on her sword hilt.
“No. He won’t get far.” Kith-Kanan sighed. His delight in the fine day and his new son were tinged with worry for the problems of his other son. “Your people can catch up to him, can’t they, uncle?”
A wide grin split the centaur’s face. “No doubt, cousin Speaker!” Koth declared. “No two-legs can outrun the Kothlolo!”
They delayed a while longer, then everyone mounted up and Kith-Kanan pointed the way to distant Qualinost.
Chapter 17
A HOME NEVER SEEN
Ulvian kicked his way through the waist-high weeds, batting heavy-headed flowers aside in clouds of yellow pollen. It was easy to see which way his father’s mind was turning. Kith-Kanan was so solicitous of this newcomer, this upstart who claimed to be his son. Not once had he asked after Ulvian’s health, asked how he had fared with the scum of Pax Tharkas. All his attention was for Greenhands. And the power this elf wielded! He’d defeated a wyvern, healed Lord Ambrodel, called a band of centaurs.
The prince didn’t care whether Greenhands was truly his brother or not. All Ulvian was concerned about was making sure he received what he considered to be rightfully his – the throne of Qualinesti. The prince could see where this was leading – it was out with Ulvian, in with Greenhands. No wonder his father hadn’t insisted he return to Pax Tharkas. With Gre
enhands in the picture, it hardly mattered now where Prince Ulvian went.
By now it was fully night, but the red moon, Lunitari, had risen and shone over the flowering plain, lighting his way. Ulvian knew that his father and the others, mounted on those mad centaurs, would catch up with him. He wasn’t trying to run away; he just couldn’t stand the sight of his father fawning over his supposed son. Ulvian was a prince of the blood, by Astra! Let the Speaker try to favor that green-fingered elf over him. Let him try! Ulvian had friends in Qualinost, powerful friends who wouldn’t stand for such a usurpation.
He halted. Green-fingered elf. Elf. Greenhands was a pure-blooded elf, half Silvanesti, half Kagonesti. Humans, elves, and dwarves all lived together in peace now in Qualinesti, but there were always tensions among them. Ancient prejudices were hard to erase. What if Greenhands found favor among a majority of senators because of his purely elven heritage?
Ulvian realized he was stroking his bearded chin. The beard was just one more sign of his mixed blood, of the human heritage that flowed from the mother he had idolized.
If Greenhands were gone, everything would be all right.
So get rid of him.
Ulvian shook his head. It was as if someone had said those words in his mind.
Someone did.
“Stop it!” he said aloud. “What is happening to me? Am I bewitched?”
No, it is I who speaks to you.
“Who are you?” he yelled at the star-laden sky.
We spoke once before. The night Drulethen died, remember? You saved me from the fire.
The voice. Low and softly feminine. Inserting a hand into his shirt, Ulvian felt the onyx amulet there. It was warm from being next to his skin. He drew it out and stared at it in the red moonlight.
“Are you a spirit imprisoned in the amulet?”
I am the amulet itself. Once I served Drulethen. Now I serve you.
A slow smile spread over the prince’s face. His fingers closed tightly around the stone. “Yes! Then your power is mine?”
It will be in time.
“Tell me what to —” Ulvian broke off suddenly. He heard loud swishing noises, as if made by many legs striding through the grass. He shoved the amulet back inside his shirt.
A pair of riderless centaurs appeared. The black one who had been Ulvian’s mount said, “Ho, little cousin. We were sent to look for you. Uncle Speaker wants you back. Will you come?”
Ulvian regarded them with distaste but replied, “I will come.”
The centaur approached him, and the prince climbed on his back. They went bounding away in the grass until they caught up to the rest of the party, hardly a mile distant. The other riders were slumped forward, sleeping. Only Kith-Kanan was awake.
“There’s no reason to run away, Ullie,” he said softly. “I’m not taking you back to punish you.”
Ulvian gripped the belt that formed his centaur’s harness. He forced himself to ask the difficult question. “Why are you taking me to the city, Father?”
“Because I want you there. Putting you in prison only taught you to make friends with criminals like Drulethen. I shall try to give you the guidance I should have given you when you were younger.”
Guidance. He would give Ulvian guidance while installing that rustic on the Throne of the Sun. “That won’t be necessary, Father.” Ulvian’s voice was firm in the darkness. “I intend to pursue a different course once we get back home.” Kith-Kanan studied his son. Darkness and distance separated them from each other, and it was hard to read Ulvian’s expression.
*
Verhanna and Rufus had ridden ahead to prepare Qualinost for the Speaker’s return and to quell any panic at the sight of wild centaurs entering the city. Kith-Kanan, Kemian, and Ulvian rode together at the head of the little column. Behind them walked Greenhands and the other, riderless centaurs. The green-fingered elf had dismounted several hours earlier, claiming he needed the touch of the living soil on his bare feet.
They topped a treeless rise. Without being told to do so, Koth stopped. Kith-Kanan asked, “What’s the matter, my friend?”
“That place yonder. Is that your city?” asked the awed centaur, pointing ahead.
“That is Qualinost,” the Speaker replied proudly. “Have you never been to a city before?”
“Nay – the smell of so many two-legs is hard for us to bear.”
Kemian raised his hand to cover his mouth and smiled. Five days with centaurs hadn’t made any of them more used to the powerful aroma the creatures gave off.
In the clear air, the capital city of the western elves seemed close enough to touch. The soaring, arched bridges hung from the sky like silver rainbows. The Tower of the Sun was a molten gold spire, a flame leaping from the trees on the plateau. Kith-Kanan could feel the centaur’s muscles tensing.
The sight of Qualinost had brought silence to the boisterous band. A feeling of joy filled the Speaker’s heart.
“Onward, cousins,” said Koth at last, lurching into motion. They descended the rise and soon entered a band of forest land. The centaur leader broke out into song. Rufus and Verhanna would have recognized it, for they had heard it before:
“Child of oak, newly born,
Walks among the mortals mild...”
Kith-Kanan was intrigued. He let the centaurs sing through the entire song once before he interrupted to ask, “Did you just make that up?”
“An ancient ode, it is,” replied Koth. “Sung by uncles who died before I was a colt. Do you like it?”
“Very much.”
The forest had given way to rolling hills, many tilled by farmers. The dirt road suddenly became paved with pounded cobbles. Other travelers on the road gave the caravan of centaurs wide berth. When they recognized Kith-Kanan, many set up a cheer.
The people grew more numerous. By the time the party reached the high cliffs overlooking the river that formed the city’s eastern boundary, throngs of people had turned out to see the return of the Speaker of the Sun. The added spectacle of their Speaker riding on a centaur only increased their excitement.
The Qualinesti cheered and waved. Amused, the centaurs bellowed back their own hearty greetings. They came to the central bridge over the river, and the Guards of the Sun were drawn up in two lines, holding back the enthusiastic crowds.
“Hail, Speaker of the Sun! Hail, Kith-Kanan!”
Koth’s front left hoof stepped down on the hundred-foot-long, suspended rope bridge. It swayed dizzyingly. He looked down into the deep river gorge and rolled his dark eyes. “Not good, cousin! We Kothlolo are not squirrels, to scamper on high!”
“The bridge is quite safe,” Kith-Kanan countered. “It’s used by hundreds daily.”
“Two-legs are too foolish to be afraid,” he muttered. “But a bargain is a bargain! He threw wide his thick arms and let out a bellow that silenced the assembled Qualinesti. Kith-Kanan tightened his grip on the strap around the centaur’s waist, wondering what this yelling portended.
Still bellowing, Koth tore across the bridge at a blistering gallop, with Kith-Kanan holding on for dear life. The other centaurs set up a similar roar and, one by one, dashed across the bridge. By the time the last one reached the plateau and city gate, the crowds were cheering them on wildly.
“Who is brave? Who is strong? Who is fast?” roared Koth.
“Kothlolo!” answered the massed centaurs in deafening shouts.
Kith-Kanan slid off the horse-man’s back. “My friend, I would walk to the Speaker’s house now to be among my people. Will you follow?”
“Of course! There is a reward waiting. We traveled from Kharolis to city in five days!”
Kemian and Ulvian dismounted also. Flower petals and whole bouquets fell around them. Smiling broadly, Kith-Kanan drew Greenhands forward. “Walk with me,” he said in his son’s ear. Ulvian waited for a similar invitation, but none was forthcoming.
Arm in arm, Kith-Kanan and Greenhands went down the street, trailed by Kemian, Ulvian, and the cen
taurs. The upper windows in every tower stood open, and elven and human women waved white linens as the Speaker strode past. The falling flower petals became so thick on the pavement that the underlying cobbles were lost from view. Elves, humans, half-humans, dwarves, and a kender or two cheered and waved all along the sweeping route to the Speaker’s house. Kith-Kanan waved back.
He looked at Greenhands. The younger elf seemed dazzled by the sheer size and magnitude of the greeting. The Speaker realized his son had never seen so many people before at once. The noise and outpouring of affection drew them on.
“Majesty, did Lady Verhanna announce the coming of your newfound son?” asked Kemian. Kith-Kanan shook his head. “Then why are they cheering him?”
“My people know who he is,” said the Speaker confidently. “They can see it in his face, in his bearing. They are cheering the next Speaker of the Sun.”
Lord Ambrodel grinned. Ulvian, just behind the general, heard every word his father said, but he plodded resolutely onward. Every joyous cry, every tossed bouquet, was yet another nail driven into the coffin of his desires.
They paraded past the Hall of the Sky. The slopes of the hill were likewise covered with Qualinesti, shouting and cheering. Each tree boasted several children who had climbed up for a better view.
In the square before the Speaker’s house, Verhanna, Rufus, and Tamanier Ambrodel waited, flanked on both sides by the household servants and the remaining Guards of the Sun. Kith-Kanan went ahead of Greenhands, who hesitated at the foot of the steps. The Speaker stepped briskly up to the landing in front of the polished mahogany doors. He clasped arms with Tamanier Ambrodel and received a salute from Lord Parnigar, who had kept order in his absence. Kith-Kanan turned and faced the crowd, which gradually fell silent in expectation of a speech.
“People of Qualinost,” he proclaimed, “I thank you for the warmth of your greeting. I am weary, and your affection makes me strong again.
“I have been to the high mountains, first to inspect the Fortress of Peace, later to put an end to an evil sorcerer who had long plagued those regions. Now that I have returned, I do not plan to leave you again any time soon.”
