With a few more questions, Tiphan pieced together the rest of the story. For some time, the Silvanesti had been systematically driving the centaurs from of the woodland between the two branches of the Thon-Tanjan. Eight days ago, Miteera’s tribe had fought a pitched battle against Balif’s army and lost. Many centaur warriors were killed. All that remained of Miteera’s tribe was now fleeing west to escape the conquering elves.
“Long’go, Arkuden save Miteera from yevi. Arkuden friend. We find Arku-peli this way?” asked the old centaur.
“Yes, the high trail will take you to the Lake of the Falls,” Tiphan replied.
“Where you go? To sunbirth?”
Tiphan admitted they were heading east. The centaur shook his head and twitched his long, gray-streaked tail. “Bad. Bad to go,” he said. “You meet Old Ones. Meet death.” He mimed a sword thrust into Tiphan’s gut.
“We go on the Arkuden’s business,” Tiphan said. Mara arched an eyebrow at her leader’s easy lie. “Would you lend us one of your warriors, to go with us and help us avoid the elves?”
Miteera looked doubtful, but he put the question to his band. Several centaurs seemed willing, and the chief chose a youthful one with a russet-colored horse’s body and like-colored hair, who stepped forward from the crowd.
“Elu,” said Miteera, “most brave and strong. He go with you.”
“Why does he want to go?” Penzar blurted, suspicious still.
Miteera pointed a gnarled finger at Mara. “Elu like two-leg girl. He go for her.”
Mara blushed, and Penzar sputtered, “Tosen, you can’t — ”
“We humbly accept your help, Miteera,” Tiphan said, silencing his acolyte with a glare. “Welcome, Elu.”
“Him not talk,” Miteera said. “You point, he know.”
Elu shouldered his bundle of belongings and took his place at Tiphan’s side. The rest of the centaur band trotted past the humans. Miteera remained until the last of his people was gone then bade the humans good-bye. To Elu, Miteera addressed an elaborate farewell, which involved much stamping of hooves and clasping of arms. At last, the chief cantered away. Elu raised his club in salute.
Keeping his voice level, Penzar asked, “Tosen, why did you ask for this savage to accompany us?”
“Isn’t it obvious? A centaur is the next best thing to a pack animal.”
“But he has designs on Mara!”
“Then he’ll work hard to please her.” Tiphan took the heavy packs from the acolytes and draped them over the unresisting Elu’s withers and back. The centaur’s bright green eyes widened slightly, but he accepted the new burdens without complaint.
“Tosen, will we encounter elves, do you think?” asked Mara.
“I doubt it. We’re not going so far east as the Tanjan woods. Once we get to flatter land, we will have to keep sharp watch for Silvanesti, I’m sure, but I don’t expect to meet them in strength.”
Long clouds from the east overtook the sun. A cold wind rose with the shadows and teased wisps from Mara’s thick braid. She pointedly ignored the admiring look the centaur gave her.
“Come,” said Tiphan. “We ought to reach the tree line before dark.”
Penzar retrieved his spear, saying, “I’ll scout again.”
“Let Mara,” said Tiphan smugly. “She can be the carrot for our centaur friend.”
Mara was not amused, but she took the lead, and they resumed their march. Fifty paces behind her came Tiphan and Penzar. Elu, silent and strong, walked patiently at the rear, laden with the baggage.
Amero knelt by the water’s edge and dipped his hands in the cold lake. Mud and dried blood loosened from his sore fingers, clouding the clear water.
Across the lake, smoke rose from scores of small fires between the rows of seedlings. It had taken two days of back-breaking labor to clear the ice from the orchard, swathe the tender seedlings in mounds of straw, and get the warming fires going. It was too early to tell whether their efforts to save the orchard would be successful.
Like everyone else, Amero tore at the frozen soil with his bare hands, pulling sharp shards of ice away from the delicate plants. As he looked at his cut and bleeding hands, he dreamed of metal tools for every villager — bronze that would cut through ice and frozen turf, turning hard land into garden. More than ever he knew the future of humankind lay in the mastery of metal.
“You’ll get chilblains if you stay out here with wet hands.”
He turned, recognizing the voice. Lyopi draped a fur cape over his shoulders and held out a steaming mug of tea. Rising, Amero took the clay cup from her hands. Its warmth against his sore palms was just the solace he needed.
“Thanks,” he said. “I sometimes wonder how I lived so long without you to take care of me.”
She laughed. “So do I.”
They strolled back to the unfinished section of the town wall. Even before they reached it, Amero could hear chimes and sistra ringing inside the Offertory. The Sensarku made their instruments from Duranix’s cast-off scales. Amero considered it a waste of good metal, but the Sensarku were devoted to their ceremonies and repeated them every day.
“I wonder what happened to that fool Tiphan,” said Lyopi with characteristic bluntness. “I didn’t think he was the type to run away because of a single blunder. He was too proud for that.”
Amero sipped his tea. “He hasn’t run away. He’s on some quest.”
“How do you know?”
“Anari, who sleeps near Mara, told me Tiphan came in the night and woke Mara to tell her they were going on a journey. He also took Penzar, who’s a good tracker. They left before any of us knew about the danger to the orchards. He’s gone to the east to find something.”
Lyopi crossed her arms, burying her hands beneath her arms to keep them warm. “Find what, do you think?”
“Common sense, I hope.”
Flames flickered up above the walls of the town and Offertory. Lyopi drew in breath loudly. “They’re ‘purifying’ the cairn because it was touched by your unclean self,” she said. When Amero didn’t reply she added, “Aren’t you offended?”
“Why should I be? I don’t care what beliefs the Sensarku follow as long as they do their work and mind the village elders.”
“Very wise,” she said, with mild irony. She knew when Amero said “village elders” he really meant “the Arkuden.”
A new, more distant sound drowned out the chanting from the Offertory: the sound of rams’ horns blown by sentinels high on the cliff above Yala-tene. It was a danger signal, warning of an impending attack.
Amero and Lyopi raced to her house. Whenever an alarm was raised, all able-bodied adults in the village gathered at the north end of Yala-tene armed with sword, axe, or spear. Amero found Lyopi’s injured brother Unar trying to rise from his sickbed in answer to the call.
“Down, down,” Amero said, pushing the wounded man back on his pallet. “No one expects you to fight.”
“But, Arkuden — ”
“Lie still, Unar, or I’ll have your sister sit on you.”
“Ugh, threaten me with anything but that!”
Lyopi glared at them. “Shut your mouths, or I’ll raise lumps on both your heads!” She brandished a stone- headed axe. “I’m not so stout that you should fear me sitting on you, brother!”
“True, you weigh less than the dragon,” Amero quipped. He found a hunting spear and tested its heft.
“She’s more like a sturdy calf,” Unar said.
“Quiet you, or I’ll have your other eye out!”
Unar subsided at last. Lyopi tied a heavy leather cap around her head and went to the door.
“Are you ready, Arkuden?”
He shouldered the spear. “I am. Lead on.”
Barely two score villagers had gathered by the unfinished wall. The rest were out hunting or working in the orchards on the other side of the lake. The horns continued to blow, but now they were sounding from the mouth of Cedarsplit Gap. The strangers were moving fast, right down the path to Yala-tene.
The armed villagers chattered nervously among themselves. What sort of danger was bearing down on them?
