Tarscenian didn't answer.
Mynx shrugged and wet the soap from a dish of water. She rubbed the brush in it until lather festooned the bristles. Then, brush in one hand, long-handled razor in the other, she bent over Tarscenian and set to work.
Chapter 15
"Leave this place! These trees are sacred!"
Halfway between Solace and Erolydon, five centaurs milled agitatedly around ten burly men wielding axes. The men continued to laugh and joke as they chopped away at the base of a vallenwood, which shaded them from the heartless midday sun.
"Horse," one of the men yelled, "if we doesn't cut this tree, Hederick don't pay us none. An' we got families to feed."
"As do I, humans," countered one of the centaurs, the violet-eyed, white one named Phytos. "But thou dost not find me slaying nature's children to feed my young."
The man waved him away. "Don't you love the way they talk?" the woodcutter said to a comrade. They shared a derisive laugh and continued their hacking efforts.
"Stop!" Although the centaurs, two females and three males, held clubs and bows, they did not use them. Shoul shy;dering their way into the circle of woodcutters, they shoved three of the men aside, knocking them off their feet.
"These vallenwoods have flourished here since the days of the Old Gods," shouted Phytos as the trio of humans rose slowly to their feet, retrieving their axes. "We warn thee, wrong-headed humans. Dare not to harm them, lest thou wish to feel our wrath!"
"How about our wrath, horse?" one of the humans cried. All ten, swinging their axes, waded into the cen shy;taurs.
Too late the horse-men brought their clubs into play. A male centaur, hit squarely between the eyes with the dull side of an axehead, collapsed without a sound and did not rise. One of the two female centaurs had just nocked an arrow and fitted it to her bow when a woodcutter's axe blade bit into her neck. She went down screaming, blood spurting, flailing hooves catching a comrade in the leg, arrow wedged uselessly in the vallenwood's bark.
"Retreat!" Phytos called. The centaurs withdrew to the shade of another vallenwood.
The woodcutters did not pursue them, but simply returned to work. "Damned tree lovers," one of the men spat out, hewing at the vallenwood with renewed energy. "If the High Theocrat says we're supposed to chop a tree for his new pavilion, then we does it. What are we sup shy;posed to do?"
The wounded female centaur kicked feebly, gave a sob shy;bing cry, and lay still.
"Phytos, please thou let me slay the bastards with arrows," cried the remaining female centaur, who from her lilac eyes and silvery hair looked to be a close relative of the centaur leader. "I can do it easily from here. They have naught but those axes. It would be quick work."
Phytos shook his head. "Nay, Feelding. The Seekers have long sought reasons to send their minions against the centaur community. We have harmed none of Heder-ick's people yet, given them no real reason to badger us. Let things remain that way for now."
"But they killed two of our own!" Feelding protested.
Phytos closed his eyes, nodded, and bowed his head in mute prayer. After a moment the two other centaurs fol shy;lowed suit. When they lifted their heads, their angular faces were wet but resolute. "We will go directly to Heder-ick of the Seekers," Phytos said. "Perhaps he does not know what his men do in his name."
"He knows, all right," the female centaur said ven shy;omously. "And he encourages it."
Phytos regarded her with sad violet eyes. "Perhaps. But we will not provoke war if we can avoid it. I would fear to see our small community in the woods take on an entire city of humans. Feelding, Salomar," he said, addressing his companions, "I cannot order thee about like servants. Wilt thou, friends, go with me to this Erolydon to petition the High Theocrat, or wilt thou wait here or, perhaps, pro shy;ceed home?"
"Go with thee, of course," both replied. Phytos and the others turned as one to go.
Just then, the axes bit a crucial portion from the trunk of the vallenwood. The men scattered, shouting. The huge tree teetered and creaked, and for an instant those on the ground could not tell which way the behemoth would fall. There was a moment of breathless suspense, then the enormous tree fell-hesitantly at first, then gaining speed-toward the east.
Suddenly the clearing that had been shaded was flooded with the jarring light of noonday. The three centaurs looked on, faces pained, their lips moving in silent prayer. The ten humans, however, cheered as they tossed their sweat-drenched handkerchiefs into the air in jubilation.
As the trunk of the vallenwood smashed into the ground, a wailing split the air. The woodcutters ceased their celebration and stood stunned.
"What is it?" the centaur Salomar cried.
"The tree, I believe," Phytos replied with a frown. "It does not die easily."
At that instant, as men and centaurs stared, a mist arose from the form of the dying tree. A pale image of the tree, the fog hovered ghostlike above the vallenwood. The woodcutters dropped their axes and backed away, fear in their faces.
Then a misty figure rose from the vaporous tree, like a corpse sitting up in a coffin. The men cried out and ran, but the centaurs continued to stand where they had, bow shy;ing their heads. "We honor thee, o specter of the wood," Phytos murmured. "We witness thy pain and feel it."
The figure's face was contorted, its limbs drawn up against its torso as if it were in agony. Suddenly it reached trembling hands toward the sky, as if to beseech some unseen force. A moan reverberated through the clearing. Feliton kay … The wraith faltered, pressed a hand to its brow, and tried again. I, Calcidon … Feliton kay…
Then the apparition clenched its fists and slumped for shy;ward. Both it and the mist above the fallen vallenwood dissipated.
"Phytos, what was that?" Salomar repeated.
Phytos shook his head.
"Its face was elven," Feelding said softly, "and it wore a robe. A mage? But what was a wizard doing in a …?" She fell silent. The three exchanged uneasy looks before she spoke again. "Friends, I am newly frightened."
The others said nothing, but all three pivoted on swift hooves, then broke into a canter. They headed north, toward Erolydon.
Kifflewit Burrthistle stood in the shadows of a vallen-wood, across from the gate of Erolydon, and pondered what to do. He wasn't exactly in the good graces of the temple guards anymore. He'd led them in a delightful chase all around Solace for an hour last night before tiring of the game and losing them with ease.
Tarscenian had spoken so feelingly of the Diamond Dragon. Kifflewit just had to see it. Just one look, he promised himself, and then he would put it back where he'd found it. Honest.
Unless, of course, where he'd found it wasn't handy or safe anymore. In some cases such an artifact would be safer with someone who would guard it zealously. Some shy;one like Kifflewit Burrthistle.
But how to get into the temple? He was still musing about the problem and absentmindedly running his fin shy;gers through his brown topknot when three centaurs can shy;tered up to the gate. His brown eyes narrowed. He tipped his head and pricked up his ears.
"We are here to see Hederick," Phytos called firmly to the guard. "I am Phytos, chieftain of the Fyr-Kenti cen shy;taurs, and these are my ministers. Thou wilt admit us and announce our presence to the High Theocrat directly."
The guard didn't move. "Hederick's holding his witches' court. He's busy. And I never heard of no Fyr-Kenti nothin', anyway."
" "Us our home glade, north of here," Feelding put in.
"No one but humans passes through these gates," the guard snapped. "Temple Erolydon is a holy place."
"We have news that Hederick must hear," Salomar added.
"What news could a trio of ponies have for the High Theocrat of Solace? Although, truly, I could find good use for the female, there." The guard motioned lewdly at Feelding, who, like most centaurs, saw no more point in clothing her human torso than in donning garments for her horselike body. The centaurs wore only the wide bands that held their quivers of arrows and leather bags that contained goods from the Solace markets.