Part Twelve: Changing Circumstances

  Fifty years ago:

  “The Goldmeadow clan is asking for aid, Princess… I mean, General,” the messenger said, quickly correcting herself as Kelviana gave her a withering glare. They were standing in the war tent along with Kelviana’s commanders, both Fey and Centaur, going over the plan one last time.

  “We can’t, I’m afraid,” she replied, sighing heavily as she returned her attention to the large table in the center of the tent. “We are too far away, and can’t spare the troops besides. We have to destroy this portal.”

  “We did promise to aid them if needed, General,” Thane reminded her.

  “My mother made that promise,” Kelviana said, pointedly keeping her eyes on the map laid out before them. “I never would have made such a foolish commitment. We’re spread too thin. It’s a diversion anyway. The Goldmeadows have nothing Acrimony wants. He’s just doing this to try and draw us away from what’s important.”

  “Regardless of the circumstances, they are your kin,” Thane said. “Would you abandon them so easily?”

  “This is war, Commander, nothing about it is easy.” She took a deep breath and tried to refocus her thoughts. It had been three days since they arrived at the portal’s suspected location, a small human village about thirty miles north of the Wastelands, and it had been three days since she’d had a full night’s rest. It was starting to wear on her. “Send a reply to the Goldmeadows,” she said to the messenger, a pretty, golden-haired young fey that was still green around the wings – little more than a fairy, really. “Tell them to retreat, give up their fields and orchards if needed. They should hide in the forest and wait for Acrimony to leave. Once he realizes his ruse didn’t work, he’ll give up the attack and send his troops here, where the real fight is.”

  “Yes, Princess… er… General,” the young messenger stammered before turning and flying off.

  Thane watched her leave, stroking his dark, tightly braided beard. Kelviana found herself longing for the simpler days of their youth, when she used to sneak out of her chambers at night to help him braid his mane and tail since there were no mares at Darkwood Palace to do it for him. “What if they choose to fight instead?” he asked, bringing her back to the present. “I have spent most of my life among you fey. One thing I’ve learned is that you are a stubborn lot.”

  “And centaurs aren’t?” Kelviana asked.

  Thane chuckled, shaking the tent as his head scraped the ceiling. The war tent was the largest in camp, but he and the other centaurs still barely fit inside it. “Centaurs are very stubborn; that is how we come to so easily recognize it in others.” His expression turned solemn. “You are a capable warrior, General, but still young as a leader. Take care that you are making the right decisions.”

  “And take care that you don’t overstep your bounds, Commander,” Kelviana replied sternly. Thane clasped his hand over his chest and bowed his head slightly in deference. “The Goldmeadows are all arborists and florists,” she continued. “There’s not a warrior among them. When they learn we’re not coming, they’ll heed my word and retreat. They’re my kin, like you said, which means they’re not stupid.”

  “They’re your kin,” Thane agreed. “Which is why I’m worried.”

  “This is the right decision,” she assured him — and herself. It had to be. The fate of two worlds rested on it.

  Kelviana woke with a painful jolt as she landed hard on the ground. Jonathan grunted as he, too, was roughly dropped from the Tempest’s claws and landed beside her. She started to open her eyes, but was forced to shut them again when a powerful gust of wind engulfed her as the Tempest landed beside them. “Good morning,” Chrysanthemum cheerfully called from her perch on the beast’s back. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Kelviana didn’t respond. Not that she could have even if she had been inclined to, with Chrysanthemum’s magic still binding her tight.

  “Where are we?” asked Jonathan, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  “Welcome to Darkwood Palace,” Chrysanthemum said as she slid off the Tempest’s back, using her wings to slow her fall. It was only a short drop, but she still wobbled a bit before landing somewhat less than gracefully. Kelviana wondered, not for the first time, why her injured wing was still not healed even though nearly a week had passed since Tyler pierced it with his slingshot. It should only have taken a day or two at most to heal. “Pardon the mess,” Chrysanthemum said with a dramatic sweep of her arms. “It’s under new management, and we’re doing some remodeling.”

  Kelviana stretched and craned her neck to look around as best she could. They seemed to be in the central courtyard, which made sense. It was the only spot large enough for a Tempest to land. Bits of rubble littered the ground, and the outer walls seemed to have been broken in several places. She struggled against her bonds, furious at what she saw.

  “What’s that, Darkwood?” Chrysanthemum asked, “You have something to say?” She waved a hand, and the dust covering Kelviana’s mouth dissolved away.

  “What have you done, traitor?” Kelviana immediately demanded as she tried in vain to break free of the rest of her bonds.

  “I told you,” Chrysanthemum answered, strolling over to where Kelviana lay. “I reminded your people that their little war is far from over. They didn’t take the news particularly well.”

  “Where is everyone? If you’ve hurt them…”

  “You’ll what?” Chrysanthemum asked, cutting her off. “Leave them to fend for themselves, as you did my clan?” Chrysanthemum leaned in close and lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “Don’t think I haven’t learned who made that call, Darkwood.”

  Jonathan gasped softly and turned to Kelviana in shock. “That was you?”

  Kelviana stopped struggling as a pit settled in her stomach. “We were at war,” she said weakly, avoiding Jonathan’s gaze. “Choices had to be made…”

  “As I reminded your clan,” Chrysanthemum replied, standing back up and replacing the magical band around Kelviana’s mouth, “you’re still at war. And your side is losing.” She gestured at some stormclouds that were clustered nearby. “Put them in the VIP room. And be sure to use the iron shackles, we don’t need Darkwood getting fancy with her magic, now do we? I’m going to let Lord Acrimony know I have his prize.”

  One of the stormclouds chittered something, and Chrysanthemum waved it off irritably. “I know we’re low on iron shackles. Don’t bother with the boy. Just make sure the door’s locked tight behind you. He’s only a human. That’ll be enough to hold him.”

  Kelviana shuddered at the thought of cold iron against her skin. Iron and salt were both sure ways of stopping a fey from using magic, and neither could be found anywhere in Darkwood Palace, except in the dungeons.

  Chrysanthemum stalked away toward the throne room while the stormclouds herded Kelviana and Jonathan in the opposite direction. Kelviana was still wrapped in Chrysanthemum’s magical bonds, which made walking difficult and forced her to shuffle along slowly. Jonathan tried to protest, but was rewarded with a whip to his back instead. After that, they plodded along in silence, though Jonathan kept glancing her way.

  It was odd for Kelviana, being escorted as a prisoner down the same hallways she had walked freely her entire life. It gave the corridors a new and alien feeling; the walls that were once so familiar and comforting suddenly felt cold and hostile. She saw no fey or any other nymphs around – not even a hobgoblin, which could often be seen scurrying about on one errand or another. Always present, but rarely noticed.

  It wasn’t long before they entered the path that led to the dungeons. Kelviana was less familiar with this part of the palace. She knew the way, of course — she had lived in the palace for most of her life and was to be the next queen, after all — but she very rarely ever went that way. The stormclouds led the two of them down a long flight of stairs and into a narrow, dimly-lit corridor lined with several heavy wooden doors, each with a narrow slit partway up that had a sliding cover over it. There were no keyholes, as the locks operated by magic. They stopped after only passing a few of the doors. The lead stormcloud wrapped a tendril about the handle, and after a slight pause, there was a click and the door swung open, revealing a dank and musty-smelling room beyond. A single, shadowy occupant rose to greet them, standing straight and confident, despite being only three feet tall. Kelviana could tell it was a fey, though the figure’s wings drooped behind their back and no discernible dust swirled about them, but before she could get any more of a clear view, she was shoved roughly inside along with Jonathan, who cried out in pain at the smoke creature's burning touch. The door slammed closed behind them.

  The lead stormcloud pulled out a small leather pouch and carefully poured a white, granular substance on the ground, surrounding Kelviana in a ring before sprinkling a bit more over her head. The magic binding her immediately dissipated, but so did her own magical dust. She suddenly felt weak and heavy and struggled to fight down a primal fear that was building inside her at the feeling of such helplessness. Was this how humans felt all the time? She couldn’t imagine such a life. She had been exposed to salt once before, during her early schooling. All fairies were, to instill in them a healthy understanding of its dangers. She had hoped to never feel its effects again. “What are you doing?” Jonathan cried, noticing her distress. “That’s hurting her!”

  The stormclouds hissed and pushed him roughly aside. He fell at the feet of the cell’s other occupant. One stormcloud grabbed a pair of iron shackles from the wall and clamped them around Kelviana’s wrists. The metal was shockingly cold against her skin, but it did not sting or burn. It was heavy, however, and left her feeling drained and weak even after the stormclouds led her out of the ring of salt and attached the chain to a metal loop set into the stone walls of the cell. Jonathan pushed himself up and lunged forward. He managed to wrap his arms around one of the smoke creatures and held it tight in a bear hug, gritting his teeth against the pain of touching it. The other stormcloud hissed and whipped at him until he fell to the ground again, then the two creatures backed out of the room and shut the door, chittering angrily as they did.

  “A brave display, boy, but stupid. What did you hope to accomplish?” their companion asked. Kelviana instantly recognized the voice.

  “I don’t know,” Jonathan replied, getting slowly up and wincing in pain. “Anything, I guess. I had to try.”

  “And now you are injured with no means of being healed, for I am denied my magic. You would have been better off saving your strength and waiting for a more opportune time to act. Humans are not known for thinking through their actions, though, so I suppose such should have been expected.”

  “Hello, Mother,” Kelviana said, fighting down an impulse to defend Jonathan’s actions. “It’s been a while. Do you have no words for me?”

  “What would you have me say?” Queen Melody asked, turning to look at her for the first time. Kelviana could make out her mother’s features better now that her eyes were adjusting to the dark. Her golden hair, usually impeccably styled, hung loose and ragged about her narrow shoulders. Her face was as sharp and severe as always, but there was a weariness in her green eyes that Kelviana had only ever seen once before, on the day she took command of the fey army and left for war. She wore a silk nightgown and dressing robe, stained dark by what Kelvina hoped was nothing more disturbing than dirt. “Would you have me greet you with joy, hugging and kissing you?” the Queen continued. “Those sentiments are for humans and centaurs, not the fey. Besides, these shackles prevent such actions, even if I were inclined toward such foolishness. You have been away for many years, Kelviana, but your return is not an occasion for celebration — nor does it appear to have been on your own terms.”

  “Neither was my leaving,” Kelviana replied. The fey were long-lived nymphs. But with long life also came long memories, and her mother, it seemed, had not forgotten the terms on which they had parted ways.

  “Your exile to the human world may not have been by choice, Daughter,” Melody answered as her face hardened, “but your actions upon returning were your own doing.”

  “You made it clear that I was no longer welcome here,” Kelviana said. “You may not have told me to leave, but what choice did I have?”

  “The choice was clear, I thought. You needed to give up your war-mongering ways and return to life at court. You needed to fulfill your duty as my heir.”

  “My duty is to protect our people. The war wasn’t over simply because the portals were destroyed. As long as Acrimony lives, the war will never be over. But then, you never wanted to fight to begin with, did you?”

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  “What queen wishes war for her people? Look what it has brought us to. We should have negotiated and helped Acrimony achieve his goal. Then he would have left us in peace and been the human's problem to deal with, as he should be.”

  “It’ll tear the Fey Realm to shreds if Acrimony leaves. You know this as well as I do, Mother. The magic is absolute. He ate our food and is bound to this world forever. That’s the way it works.”

  “There’s always a way,” Melody said. “If there’s one thing the fey know, it’s that every rule can be broken if you look hard enough.”

  “Well, I’m not willing to risk our existence on a legal loophole,” Kelviana said, feeling like their old argument had gone full circle once again. Jonathan stood rooted in place, uncomfortably watching the exchange as he tried to keep up. He seemed to have forgotten all about his fresh wounds. The kid was tough, if nothing else. “How did this happen, anyway?” Kelviana asked, trying to change the subject. “Did you not have guards keeping watch?”

  “Of course we did,” Melody answered with annoyance. “But we’ve had fifty years of peace. No one would have expected an attack such as this. Especially not from a fey leading an army of Acrimony’s creations. Why does this stranger with an ill name direct her ire at you? She promised that if we gave you up, she would leave us in peace.”

  Kelviana sighed heavily. “The name Vendetta is of her own choosing. Her true name is Chrysanthemum, of the Goldmeadow clan.”

  Melody’s face paled, then hardened again, reflecting both understanding and anger. “This is what comes of breaking faith, Daughter,” she said quietly, then looked at Jonathan, as if suddenly remembering that he was in the room with them. “A human accompanies you. I assume this is the one Acrimony seeks?”

  “One of them, yes,” Kelviana replied, defeated. She could no longer deny that it was her fault Chrysanthemum had turned traitor. She felt sick.

  “There are more?” Melody asked, shocked. “Is the Fey Realm a tourist attraction now? You assured us the portals were all closed.”

  “One remained, it seems. I was promised it had been destroyed, but the human who told me that must have lied, or was misled herself. This boy gained my favor and negotiated passage here along with his friend so they could seek his sister, who found her way into our realm through other means.”

  “Wait — what?” Jonathan said, speaking up suddenly. “She didn’t use the mirror? You never told us that.”

  “You never asked,” Kelviana snapped. “Now shut it. Let the grown-ups talk.”

  “You gave a human child your favor?” Melody asked. “Where is the gold he bought such a valuable thing with. I hope it was a substantial amount, to be worth the risk of our very existence.”

  “There is no gold,” Kelviana admitted. “The boy won my favor through force of will alone. I did not know about Chrysanthemum at the time, or that Acrimony was aware of the girl’s presence. If I had, I would have been much more cautious.”

  “You spent far too much time among the humans to be bought so cheaply,” her mother scoffed. “I chose you out of all the other fairies in the nursery because you showed the most potential. Alas, I chose poorly, it seems. The damage is done, and Acrimony has his prize. With this human, he can bridge the gap between worlds, destroying ours and raining down destruction on the other. It matters not if Vendetta spares our gardens now. You have doomed us all, Daughter. No. Your return does not give cause for celebration.” With that, the Queen turned away and settled back down onto the filthy floor, her once beautiful, silvery wings drooping wearily behind her. Kelviana opened her mouth to say something in protest, but caught sight of Jonathan looking at her, confusion and disappointment on his face, and she turned away.

  After leaving Zoe at the palace, Sangar and the other centaurs took Tyler back to their barracks. Sangar showed him to a small room with a bed fit for human-shaped creatures, and he gratefully settled into it, too proud to admit that he had been completely exhausted after their ordeal the previous day. When he awoke several hours later, he followed the sounds of clanging metal and cracking wood to an outside courtyard where he found a crowd of centaurs watching as two warriors slashed away at each other with swords, kicking up a cloud of dust as their hooves pounded against the hard-packed dirt. One of them was Dalir, but he didn’t recognize the other. Dalir was dressed as always — bare-chested with only a helmet and shield as protection — but his opponent was done up in full plate armor, his face obscured by a helmet and visor. He had no shield, but his sword was much larger than Dalir’s and required two hands to hold. His armor was ornate, highly polished, and heavy-looking, even though the warrior was smaller and slimmer of build than Dalir. Despite that, he seemed to be giving Dalir a good challenge. Taraan stood nearby, watching closely with arms crossed over his chest. Tyler spied Sangar in the crowd of onlookers and came up alongside him. “What’s happening?” he asked, almost having to shout to be heard over the din.

  “Young Warrior,” Sangar said with a smile, looking down on Tyler. “I was beginning to wonder how long you would sleep.” The centaur nodded towards the fighting soldiers. “They are sparring. It is a chance to gain experience and hone one’s skills with a limited chance of injury or death.”

  “You mean no chance, right?” Tyler asked, hoping he had misheard. Sangar chuckled.

  “There is never no chance, Cousin. Life alone is risk enough. The weapons are real, and there is danger in that alone. Though we take measures to lessen the danger. The swords are not sharp, for one.”

  “Is that why the smaller one is wearing armor? So Dalir won’t hurt him?” Tyler had seen the young warrior in battle and knew firsthand how dangerous he was.

  Sangar laughed so hard that Tyler wondered what he had said wrong. “No, young Cousin,” Sangar said after he regained his composure. “Dalir is the one who should be careful. He faces Andriana, of the Queensguards. She is young still, but few can match her in a sparring match. The armor is standard attire for their corps.” As if on cue, the smaller warrior suddenly lunged forward with their sword, slipping it past Dalir’s shield and jabbing him hard in the chest. He stumbled back with an angry shout, bringing his shield up and covering his torso more carefully. He crouched down, holding his elbows tight to his sides and keeping as much of himself behind the shield as he could, his sword tip pointed straight out, ready to jab if Andriana chose to press the attack. A nasty bruise could already be seen forming where her blow had landed.

  “That’s a woman?” Tyler asked, surprised. “I didn’t know you had women warriors.”

  “The Queensguards aren’t warriors,” a familiar voice said from Tyler’s other side. He turned and saw that Turva had joined them. “They like to dress up and play with weapons, but whenever a battle arises, they do not join. Instead, they hide in the woods and guard trees.”

  “That is their sworn duty, Brother,” Sangar said. “They must protect the Queen. Do not let Captain Thane hear you speak thus, or you’ll be oiling leathers for a month.”

  “I do not question their duty or their honor,” Turva replied, turning his gaze to the contest. “I only say that they are not true warriors.” Dalir had recovered and was now trying to use his superior size to press Andriana back, kicking at her with his front legs and shoving her with his shield. She, in turn, was letting her heavy armor take the brunt of his attacks so she could get in close and slip behind his defenses. She landed a hard hit on his ribs, though he managed to bash his shield against her helmet at the same time. They broke off, each backing up a few steps to recover their senses.

  “I don’t know,” said Tyler, doubtfully. “She sure looks like a warrior to me.”

  “Winning games and winning wars are two separate matters, young Cousin,” Turva responded. Sangar glanced at his squadmate, frowning, but did not say any more. In the sparring ring, the two warriors charged each other once again. Dalir swung at her with his heavy shield, hoping to knock her off balance, but she suddenly shuffled back a step before continuing the charge. Dalir’s shield missed its mark by an inch, hitting nothing but empty air. Andriana brought her sword down in a long overhead sweep, its larger size extending her effective reach enough to make up for her smaller size. Dalir managed to get his sword up to block the attack, but the heavy sword pushed his smaller one aside with ease. Her sword crashed down on Dalir’s left shoulder, near the base of his neck. Something cracked, and he cried out in pain. His arm went limp, and he dropped his shield. With a primal cry, Andriana drew her sword back for another attack.

  “HOLD!” Taraan called out, speaking for the first time since Tyler had arrived. He was only slightly bigger than Andriana, yet his voice could easily be heard over the noise of both the battle and the spectators.

  Immediately, Andriana withdrew, backing away a few paces and resting her sword tip-first in the dirt, leaning on it and breathing heavily. Sangar and Turva left Tyler and hurried to Dalir’s side, removing his helmet and examining his injured shoulder. A few other centaurs — all women, Tyler noted — converged on Andriana, also removing her helmet and handing her a cup of water and some rags to wipe her sweaty face with. They smiled and pounded the armor on her back, clearly congratulating her on her win. Andriana smiled back appreciatively, though she seemed a bit embarrassed by the praise. Tyler turned his attention back to Dalir, who was grimacing in pain, and started making his way over to him. The crowd was dispersing now that the contest was over, and Tyler had to duck around some centaurs that had formed up in pairs to begin smaller sparring matches of their own under Taraan’s instruction.

  “Fancy footwork will not win wars,” Turva was saying as Tyler reached them. He was wrapping a strip of cloth tightly around Dalir’s shoulder, and his voice carried a trace of anger in it. “Such displays are better left for festivals and dancing than a battlefield.”

  “Leave it be, Turva,” said Dalir, wincing as the other warrior pulled the cloth tight. “She won fairly. Captain Thane should be proud.”

  “If my daughter dishonored her family by defying my wishes, proud would be the last thing I felt,” Turva grumbled.

  “You go too far, Brother,” Sangar said with an edge to his voice.

  Turva looked up sharply and seemed to realize his mistake. “Of course,” he said. “I mean no disrespect to the Captain or his family.”

  “Andriana is Thane’s daughter?” Tyler asked. Suddenly, it made sense that she was able to defeat Dalir.

  “I am, young Cousin,” said Andriana as she walked over to them, her brown hair still plastered to her forehead by sweat. He had assumed she would have blond hair, since that was the color of her tail. She was the first centaur he had seen whose hair and tail were different colors. She nodded respectfully at Dalir, who returned the gesture. “You fought well, Brother,” she said. “I thought you had me more than once.”

  “You are a worthy opponent, Sister,” Dalir responded. “Though next time the victory will be mine.”

  “You are welcome to try anytime,” she answered with a grin, then turned to Tyler. “You must be the Princess’s human companion. Well met, Warrior. I thank you for bringing her safely to us.”

  Tyler nodded in greeting as he had seen the other centaurs do several times now. Handshaking didn’t seem to be a thing they did. “I’m Tyler, it’s an honor to meet you,” he said, trying to sound as formal as he could. “You know she’s as human as I am, though. And she doesn’t want to be anyone’s princess.”

  Andriana looked confused for a moment, then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She nodded to herself, as if confirming her thoughts. “Forgive me, Cousin,” she said. “I have never met a human before you. Now that I have, there can be no mistake. The princess is most definitely a dryad. Your scents cannot lie. That is why it is unwise to depend on sight alone.”

  Dalir nodded in agreement. “I told the princess’s brother the same when we first met.”

  Tyler groaned inside, noting how they had conveniently ignored his reminder that Zoe just wanted to be a normal kid. Andriana’s comment about her scent did trigger another thought, though. “Does that mean you’ve seen her?” he asked the young woman. “Is she doing ok?”

  “I have been assigned to guard the Princess alongside Captain Kaira,” she confirmed. “She is sleeping now, surrounded by the Queen’s handmaids. Captain Kaira is standing watch outside her chambers while I train. Tonight we will both guard her as she goes to see the Queen.”

  “Shouldn’t Thane’s men be doing that?” Tyler asked. Beside him, Turva was unable to contain a snort of agreement. “And me? I mean, we all got this far together.”

  Andriana shook her head. Not unkindly, but there was also no room for argument in the gesture. “No man is allowed in the Queen’s presence. It’s her oldest and most unyielding rule.”

  “What about Jonathan?” Tyler asked. “Would he get to see her? She is his grandma, after all.”

  Andriana’s brow furrowed. “I do not know. That would be for the Queen to decide. The question is moot, regardless, since he is not here.”

  “Yeah…” Tyler said. “We need to do something about that, by the way.” He found Jonathan annoying, and it drove him nuts how the kid seemed to think he was invincible, despite being so puny. But he didn’t wish him any harm, either. Besides, Zoe would be absolutely crushed if anything happened to her brother, and he couldn’t stand the thought of that.

  “We are, Cousin,” Andriana assured him. “My father is meeting with the other captains now to make their plans. We will rescue the Princess’s brother and liberate the Darkwood clan. We have been allies for far too long to stand idly by in their hour of need.”

  “And what of the Queensguard?” Sangar asked. “Where is your place in the plan?”

  “We will go where the Queen orders, of course,” she replied with confidence. “But our duty is to ensure her safety, and that of the Princess, above all else.”

  “Even if her grandson is held prisoner?” asked Tyler, a bit bitterly. “Daphne’s an immortal, magical queen. Can’t she do something about all this?”

  “Dryads do not involve themselves in outside affairs,” Andriana answered. “And besides, her grandson is not a dryad.”

  “That’s complete…” Tyler began, but was interrupted by Sangar’s hand on his shoulder, which was just as well. His thoughts were better left unsaid, anyway.

  “There is little we can do until the captains make their plan and the Princess meets with Queen Daphne,” the centaur said. “In the meantime, we should put a spear in your hands and begin your training, don’t you think?”

  “That is good,” Andriana said. “I have heard about your warrior’s heart, Cousin. I would be honored to test myself against you one day. Now, I should go and rest. I have a long night before me.” She nodded respectfully once more, then turned and rejoined the other female centaurs across the sparring ring. More of the Queensguards, Tyler guessed. The confidence she had displayed while talking with the men dissolved around her squadmates, and she seemed almost bashful and timid as her friends led her out of the courtyard. It suddenly struck Tyler how young she looked. “How old is Andriana, anyway?” he asked, almost to himself.

  “This is her sixteenth spring,” answered Dalir, who was also watching her departure.

  “Really?” asked Tyler. “That’s only two years older than me.”

  “And four years Dalir’s junior,” Sangar said with a chuckle. “Some of us are wondering if they will soon begin letting foals join our ranks before their first haircut.”

  “She has proven her worth as a warrior many times over,” said Dalir, sounding a bit defensive.

  “You say that because she is the Captain’s daughter,” said Turva with a snort.

  “No,” replied Sangar, slapping Dalir on his back. “He says that because he pines for her. The Captain would never let you court one of his daughters, Brother. Especially his youngest.”

  Before Dalir could respond, Taraan called out to them from across the courtyard. “Turva, Dalir, give me twenty miles at full gallop, since Dalir’s shoulder is injured and he cannot spar again today. Be back before supper, or you’ll clean up after it yourselves. Sangar, give the colt a spear and show him the basic drills. I want him up to speed before our next battle.”

  The centaurs all stiffened at once and saluted, with their fists against their bare chests. Tyler tried to copy them, but his attempt left him feeling foolish and inadequate. Without another word, Dalir and Turva turned and ran off, hooves pounding against the hard-packed dirt. Sangar looked down at Tyler, who was frowning from his failed attempt at a salute, and smiled. “Come, Cousin. You look as if you need to hit something. Let me show you the proper way to do it.”