By twilight, after half a day of constant motion—they even ate on the run—the centaurs were on the lower slopes of the eastern 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.
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 Greenhands 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.”