Crusade

10

Malmondes of Suzail dangled from a rope on a makeshift scaffold south of Telflamm for eight days, a stark example of military justice. In that time, Alusair and the dwarven army made their way south across the green rolling hills of the Great Dale. Now, ten days and almost seventy miles after parting with King Azoun, Torg's soldiers stood on the edge of Lethyr Forest.

As he had each evening of the march, Torg traveled from clan to clan, marked in camp by their different standards. Before the soldiers went about their duties or to sleep, the ironlord gave them a short, direct speech about the crusade. The orcs, he told the army, were an evil they would put up with until the battle was over. Then the Zhentish beasts, or whatever was left of them, would answer to the troops of Earthfast for their insult.

As the soldiers from Earthfast silently set up camp for the night, Princess Alusair studied the dark edge of the forest to the east. The area the dwarves had been crossing was grassland, generally devoid of trees, so the huge expanse of woods presented an imposing front. And though the most direct route to the location where they would join up with the Army of the Alliance was through the forest, Torg refused to consider taking his troops that way.

"Only elves and other such questionable creatures lurk in forests," the ironlord had told Alusair. "I'll not put my soldiers in danger needlessly by taking a shortcut through an obvious haven for traps. We'll go south, then skirt the forest and head east."

Alusair wasn't quite sure who the ironlord thought would set a trap for the dwarves, but she really didn't care. Torg's inflexibility on the matter only fostered a vague but growing dissatisfaction the princess felt with the ironlord's army. Nine months past, in the middle of autumn, Alusair had gone to the Earthfast Mountains in search of a lost artifact. Instead, she found a small but proud group of dwarves defending their decaying underground city against a seemingly endless onslaught of evil orcs and goblins. Always searching for a worthy cause, the princess joined the fight. Her knowledge of military strategy, gained from her father when she was still a child, proved invaluable to the dwarves of Earthfast. The orcs were routed, and the crumbling city was saved.

Most of the time Alusair had spent with the dwarves had been taken up with battles against orcs and goblins. The princess had never felt anything for the soldiers other than respect or the camaraderie one has for an ally in battle. Until now.

Torg cared little for the tremendous confusion Alusair felt. She'd tried to speak to the ironlord about her father on the first day's march, but he had simply dismissed the topic as idle chatter. The princess knew that few of the dwarves had families; the orcs and goblins had slain most of the women and children in Earthfast years ago. Even Torg's queen had been killed in a battle fifteen years past.

That shouldn't make them so cold, Alusair decided as she watched a lone falcon soar up into the twilight. It moved out from the forest's edge and circled idly over the camp. Occasionally, the bird of prey shrieked. The noise echoed mournfully in the warm early summer's night.

The princess sighed and turned toward her tent, wondering over the fact that Torg had sent a letter to Azoun agreeing to supply troops to the crusade at the end of winter, almost four months past. The year was soaring by as quickly as the bird overhead.

The dwarven sentry that Alusair passed on the way to camp only nodded. Apart from a few softly spoken orders and the unavoidable noise made setting up tents and building watchfires, the camp was silent. Once, Alusair had found the peace and quiet relaxing; now it left her too much time to think. That was the last thing she wanted.

Azoun's actions had puzzled the princess and made her, perhaps, a bit sad. She'd certainly expected the conflict over her leaving home. However, Alusair hadn't believed it possible her father would admit she had control of her own life. She had been ready to take the moral high ground in the dispute, ready to prove to the king how her actions weren't so very different from his own as a youth. She looked at the signet ring Azoun had left with her and cursed.

Her father's less dogmatic attitude toward her independence might have meant an easy reconciliation a few months ago, but not after what Alusair had seen in the dwarves' camp. Her father had openly allied with orcs, creatures of evil. She saw the alliance as the unpardonable product of moral backsliding for political ends. Now Alusair wasn't even sure she wanted to be reconciled with Azoun; he really didn't seem like the good, noble man she remembered from four years ago.

What should I do? she wondered, reviewing the painful question in her mind. No easy answer came.

The princess finally reached her darkened tent. For a moment, she considered contacting Vangerdahast and Azoun using the ring, but decided against it. Instead, she lay on her blankets and listened to the falcon cry out in the growing darkness. Alusair concluded from the lessening sound that the bird was moving back toward the forest. She could still hear the shrill sounds of its call as she drifted off to sleep.

The rain that fell that night didn't wake Alusair, but she felt the cold and damp in her joints when she awoke the next morning. The day dawned gray and cloudy, and a light drizzle fell over the camp. With as little emotion as they showed at most other times, the troops from Earthfast broke camp and moved on. Alusair joined them, sullenly and silently.

The next three days and nights passed the same way. The dwarves marched anywhere from ten to fifteen miles a day, quite a feat for a group of two thousand soldiers and a train of supplies. Alusair was certain that Azoun's troops would cover no more than five miles in the same time. The dwarves were much better organized and rarely stopped to rest or to eat. They used fewer wagons than the humans, too, which allowed them greater mobility. The few stout wooden conveyances they did have were pulled by hearty little mountain ponies or mules. Most of the dwarves carried heavy loads in addition to their weapons and armor.

By the second tenday of what she considered a forced march, Alusair started to wonder if she'd be able to keep up. She did, though she paid for the pace every night in sore muscles and blistered feet.

Each night, the princess wearily studied the woods to the east before collapsing into a deep sleep. Falcons seemed to follow the camp, and Alusair found that watching the beautiful birds of prey soar in the sky was quite relaxing. It made her feel free and, more importantly, allowed her to forget her troubles, if only for a little while.

On one particular night, the princess sat in the warm darkness a hundred yards from the edge of camp, closer to the trees. A falcon lofted overhead. She wondered for a moment if the bird was the same one she'd seen on the first night they camped outside the forest. It's possible, Alusair decided after watching the bird turn lazy circles in the sky. The dwarves were scaring up enough field mice and rabbits in their trek across the rolling farmlands to keep a dozen such birds well fed.

Without warning, Alusair's signet ring began to glow brightly. The princess shielded the light with her hand; in the growing darkness, the ring might be an unwanted beacon to creatures prowling around the camp. Every camp attracted scavengers-wolves, jackals, and other, more exotic monsters. Alusair had enough campaign experience to know that it was very unwise to underestimate such creatures.

Allie?

The princess looked at the ring, puzzled. She had heard her father's voice in her head. Usually Alusair was comfortable with magic, but this was something she had never experienced before.

Princess? Can you hear us? This time the words were Vangerdahast's. An annoying buzzing took hold in Alusair's ears. She dismissed it as a side effect of the spell on the ring.

Holding the gold ring close to her mouth, the princess said, "Yes, I can hear you." She spoke the words softly, so no one or no creature could hear.

What? I can't hear you. Are you all right? Alusair heard her father ask. She didn't like to admit it, but she was happy to hear the concern in his voice.

Vangerdahast sighed in annoyance inside the princess's head. You are trying to talk into the ring, I'd imagine, the mage said sharply, his patience fleeing. Well, that won't work. Just concentrate. I can sense your mind through my scrying spell, but we won't have full contact until you concentrate on us.

Alusair focused her mind on the sound of the wizard's voice, and the buzz in her ears vanished. Ah, there you are, Allie, she heard her father say happily.

She could almost picture Azoun, sitting in his tent with Vangerdahast, hovering over some scrying mirror or crystal ball. Without realizing it, the princess pictured her father five years younger, more as she remembered him from their days in Suzail. His brown beard was less sprinkled with silver, and the deep wrinkles around his eyes were barely noticeable.

We can see you, Princess, but the ring will only allow you to hear us, Vangerdahast explained. As long as you-

I'm sure she's figured out how this works by now, Azoun said, abruptly ending the wizard's lecture. There was a brief but pregnant silence, then the king said, Where are you, Allie? How are Torg's troops holding up?

Alusair quickly and succinctly reported on the dwarven army's disposition. At the rate we're moving, the princess concluded, we should meet up with you in about twenty-five days.

That soon? Azoun asked, surprise evident in his voice.

We're about halfway to the meeting spot ourselves, with two more tendays march ahead of us. I was hoping to have some time to drill the troops before we met up.

You'll have about five days, then, Father, the princess thought. A short silence followed, so Alusair assumed there was nothing more to say. With little prelude, she bid her father and Vangerdahast good night and pulled the ring from her finger. The light from the gold ring faded, then winked out.

Studying the expertly engraved dragon on the signet, Alusair rose to her feet. The falcon overhead cried out, and the princess looked up to see it diving toward the trees. The bird shrieked again. This time, however, Alusair thought she heard a shrill whistle from the forest answer the cry.

Now a dark speck against the darker sky, the falcon disappeared into the trees. Alusair paused for a moment and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to see into the murky outline of the woods. After a time, she dismissed the whistle as a product of her imagination or an aftereffect of the spell. With a single glance over her shoulder, she turned from Lethyr Forest and made her way to her bed.

The next day started warm, bright, and sunny-in fact, a rather typical day for the early summer month of Kythorn-but an almost palpable uneasiness hung over the dwarven camp. Alusair learned from Torg that the sentries had reported possible movement by mounted troops at the edge of the wood during the night. The ironlord had passed word through the ranks that every soldier was to be prepared for battle, and the princess assumed correctly that this was the source of the army's restlessness.

Despite Torg's orders, Alusair didn't wear her armor that day, donning instead a clean doublet, rough leather leggings, and high leather boots. She found it far easier to march dressed that way, though perspiration still plastered her short blond hair to her head. The ironlord scowled at Alusair, but made no comment on her dress.

Clouds rolled across the sky far to the south as the dwarves began their march, but the sun still shone cheerily overhead. Torg paid little attention to the fine weather, forcing his soldiers to march through their noon meal. They stopped at dusk, and as soon as the column halted to set up camp, soldiers spotted a horseman leaving Lethyr Forest.

At least he appeared to be a mounted rider from a long way off. As the creature got closer, Torg was surprised to find that a centaur, not a man, raced toward the dwarves at a full gallop. He carried a banner in one hand and seemed to be unarmed.

"Load bows!" Torg growled. A young dwarf at his side dipped the ironlord's standard. The standard-bearers for each clan mirrored the movement, and all along the column, packs were dropped and crossbows cranked to the ready.

Alusair, too, dropped her pack, but she didn't draw a weapon. Centaurs were often very reasonable creatures, dedicated to guarding their forest homes. She doubted that the messenger galloping toward the dwarven king was bringing tidings of war. Even though the princess stood right next to Torg, she didn't bother to tell him this; Alusair knew he wouldn't listen.

The centaur headed straight for Torg's banner. The cloth standard, embroidered with the phoenix and hammer symbol of Earthfast, was the largest banner and flew in the army's front rank. It was reasonable to assume it belonged to the soldiers' commander.

"Hail, dwarves of Earthfast," the centaur called in Common when he got close. Many of Torg's troops shifted uneasily. They had never seen anything like this half-man, half-horse before.

The crossbowmen in Torg's bodyguard aimed their weapons at the herald. "State your business," the ironlord replied crossly.

Alusair and the herald both frowned at the clipped, insulting reply. The centaur stopped abruptly, kicking up clods from the field with his large hooves. He glanced over the column, and a trace of discomfort crossed his tanned, heavily bearded face. "I am the speaker for Tribe Pastilar of the Forest of Lethyr," he said formally, fear edging his voice. "You fly the banner of Earthfast. Are you-"

"Yes, yes," Torg said impatiently. "I am Torg mac Cei, Ironlord of Earthfast. What do you want?"

The centaur herald's massive, muscular chest heaved slightly as he let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, he had thought the scouts had mistakenly identified the dwarves' standard. "You are passing close to our territory," the herald continued, a bit more relaxed, "and we simply wish to know your intentions."

Torg paused and eyed the centaur coolly. Alusair knew that a curt reply here might draw suspicion to the troops, so she stepped forward and spoke up. "We are moving past your forest on the way to Thesk. There we rendezvous with King Azoun of Cormyr to fight a barbarian incursion from the east."

The herald's sunburned face brightened visibly. "We hear much good about Azoun of Cormyr, even in this isolated part of Faerun." He dipped his standard twice in quick succession. It was obviously a signal to centaur troops waiting at the fringes of the forest, and many of the dwarves cast nervous glances at the tree line, waiting for an attack.

Torg, annoyed at Alusair for presuming to speak for him, moved next to the human princess and scowled at the herald. "Now that you know where we're headed, can we be on our way? We stayed out of your woods, so we expect you to leave us alone."

The herald's face betrayed his confusion. "We do not intend to delay your troops, Ironlord. We know how urgently the humans in Thesk need your assistance. But are you not ready to camp for the night?"

"We haven't decided that yet," Torg snapped. He glanced at his standard-bearer and muttered something in Dwarvish. Before the young dwarf could send the signal for the new orders, Torg grabbed the standard's pole and held it straight.

Alusair was stewing quietly about the ironlord's foolish antipathy toward the centaur. She noted that Torg was staring past the herald and turned to see for herself what attracted his attention so fully. There, charging across the field, was a group of four more centaurs.

"Is this some kind of trick?" Torg growled.

The herald swished his tail around his chestnut-brown rump to chase away a horsefly that had settled there. Turning at the waist, he glanced behind him, then looked back at the ironlord. "No. That is our tribal leader. He simply wishes to meet you before you move on."

Torg grumbled a curse in Dwarvish, then let go of the standard. He nodded curtly to the standard-bearer, who signaled the rest of the army to lower their weapons. The army, slowly but steadily broke into small groups and started to set up their tents. Alusair and two guards stayed by Torg. The princess thanked whatever god gave Torg enough sense not to openly insult the chieftain of Lethyr's centaurs by meeting him with loaded weapons.

As the four centaurs got closer, Alusair saw that three of them were armed. Whereas the herald carried the tall standard of his tribe, the chieftain's escort hefted long lances. The leader of the centaurs had no weapons himself, but wore a vest of treated animal skins and a broad black belt with a pouch around his waist. A long, thin rod of silver, wrapped with thick twine in the middle, hung from the belt, too.

"Hail, Ironlord of Earthfast," the centaur chieftain said brightly and clattered to a stop. Alusair, who was herself only average height for a human, noted with some amusement that the man-horses from Lethyr were almost twice as tall as Torg and his soldiers. The grass, which came to the dwarves' waists, climbed only a little way up the centaurs' legs.

Torg gave the chieftain a formal, if rather cold, greeting, and the centaur introduced himself as Jad Eyesbright. Before the dwarven lord could say anything in reply, a beautiful falcon dove out of the darkening sky and skimmed the grass a few yards ahead of the ironlord. Alusair held her breath and found her eyes riveted to the beautiful black, gray, and white predator. Torg, too, watched the graceful bird as it gyred back up in the purple evening sky.

The centaur chieftain noted the looks on Torg's and Alusair's faces, then smiled. "You have an appreciation for birds of prey," he noted. "That is good. They are beautiful creatures. That one serves our tribe." He pointed to the falcon as it wheeled above the army.

"It's been following us," Alusair said, her eyes still on the falcon. She let her gaze drift to the centaurs and added, "I noticed it, and another falcon, circling the camp. I thought they followed us for the small birds we frightened into the open."

Jad Eyesbright shook a lock of his long black hair out of his eyes. He thrust his distinctive, almost square chin forward a little as he studied Alusair closely. "Very observant," he said. "How do you know that bird was a falcon? Most humans simply call all raptors 'hawks.' "

"I grew up in a castle that had a very large mew, with hawks, falcons, and owls," the princess said. "I spent a lot of time with the falconers, learning about the birds." A happy memory of helping the hawkmaster train a young black hawk came unbidden to Alusair's mind, and a slight smile crept to her lips.

Torg crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the ground. Had the dwarf been in a close cave of stone, as he often was, his action would have loudly signaled his impatience. In the field, the ironlord's steel-shod boot thudded dully and almost silently against the fertile earth.

Jad Eyesbright had launched into an animated discussion of birds of prey with Princess Alusair, so he missed Torg's none-too-subtle expression of annoyance. The herald, however, did not. The brown-haired centaur cleared his throat noisily, producing a sound much like a whinny.

"The ironlord has been marching all day, Chieftain," the centaur herald said, bowing his head slightly. "Perhaps it would be best-"

"How thoughtless of me!" Jad Eyesbright exclaimed, tossing his hands into the air. He nodded to Torg. "Forgive me, Ironlord. You must want to rest."

Torg stopped tapping his foot. "Indeed," he mumbled. "We have a long march tomorrow, so we'd best get some sleep." He glanced at Alusair, hoping she would agree. The princess, however, was too pleased to be talking to the centaurs to want the meeting to end so quickly. After days of the dwarves' silence, the garrulous centaurs were a most welcome change.

Jad grinned a broad, large-toothed smile. He pawed the ground with his front hooves and bowed slightly. "I'll have some fresh food sent out for your troops. I'm sure you're tired of rations of dried meat." He nodded to one of his escorts, who dashed back toward the forest. "Is there anything else you need?"

Torg, who really hadn't expected the centaur chieftain's generosity, stood fidgeting. "No," he said, a bit nonplussed. After dismissing his guards with a wave of his hand, Torg mumbled, "Come, Alusair. We have battle strategies to go over."

"Alusair?" Jad asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at the princess. "The daughter of Azoun of Cormyr?"

Frowning slightly, Alusair nodded an affirmation.

"Well," Jad said happily, "we must have a talk. I've heard a great deal about you." The chieftain turned to his guards. "You may go. I'll stay here with Torg and the princess awhile." As the guards braced their lances and cantered about, preparing for the run back to the woods, Jad added, "And make sure that food I asked for gets out here quickly."

Torg sighed, resigning himself to having a guest in camp, at least for a short time. He, however, was going to beg out of entertaining the centaur. "I have things to see to, Chief," the dwarven king began.

Before Torg could add any embellishment to his excuse, Jad nodded and smiled. "Of course, Ironlord. No insult taken." The man-horse twisted at the waist and glanced at Alusair. "I hope, however, that the princess has time to talk."

"Certainly," Alusair said quickly. And a bit too enthusiastically, she noted with a twinge of guilt when she saw Torg furrow his brows. The feeling lasted only a second, as the seemingly endless days of silence with the dwarves pushed back into her consciousness.

Torg shuffled his feet uncomfortably for a moment, then bid Jad and Alusair good night and stalked off to his tent.

"Torg is everything I'd been led to believe," Jad said, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. He looked at Alusair, gauging her reaction. His tail twitched nervously behind him.

The princess smothered a short laugh. "And more, I'm sure," she noted, her voice lowered to match the chief's. After pausing for an instant, Alusair tilted her head. "You've 'heard' quite a lot for someone living in a rather isolated part of the world."

For a moment, Jad Eyesbright was silent. He removed a large brown glove that hung at his belt and slid it over his left hand. When the glove was in place, he said, "Information is easy to come by. We stop many travelers in and around the forest, and some of them are friendly enough to tell us the news in Faerun." He motioned toward the ground with his empty right hand.

Alusair understood the gesture and nodded. She took a seat as Jad folded his beautifully muscled black legs under him. The centaur sat with a slight grunt, then squirmed for a moment to get comfortable. "I've heard a great deal about your father from various mercenaries and traders, the same folk who warned me about King Torg's short temper and distrust of anything non-dwarven," the centaur explained casually.

Alusair swatted away a bug. "And me?" she asked.

"Bounty hunters spoke of you most frequently," the chieftain replied. He paused again, then lifted his left hand. Putting his right hand to his mouth, Jad whistled. Alusair started, and two dwarven sentries stationed nearby came running at a trot.

"Oh, dear," Jad said when he noticed them coming toward him. "You'd best tell them there's nothing-"

Before the centaur chieftain could finish his sentence, the falcon arced down from the twilight and swooped onto his gloved, outstretched left hand. Alusair said a few words in Dwarvish. The two sentries silently returned to their posts, pushing through the tall grass.

As Jad grabbed the jesses attached to the bird's legs, the falcon tightened its grip on the glove. The centaur deftly snatched the leather straps with his right hand and slid them into the grip of his left. The bird's sharp talons bit into the leather glove, and it squeaked a short, piercing note. "Yes, yes," Jad said paternally, moving his face close to the falcon's. "You've done your job well." He pulled a small piece of food from his pouch and fed it to the bird.

"He's very beautiful," Alusair said. She studied the falcon's plumage-its darkly hooded head and yellow legs. "A peregrine, if I know my hunting birds."

Jad nodded appreciatively. "Right again, Princess," he chimed.

"And you can communicate with him somehow, if he's been spying for you."

The centaur chieftain held up his right hand. For the first time, Alusair noticed a thin silver bracelet around his wrist. "A present from a mage my tribe once helped. It has a spell on it that lets me talk to, even see through the eyes of, any bird I choose. With the bracelet and the falcons, I've been watching the dwarves for the last few days."

Alusair pulled up a thin stalk of grass and twirled it between her thumb and index finger. She watched the hawk's bright, steady eyes and wondered what it was like to see the world soar underneath as you lofted over trees and lakes and armies. "The freedom must be wonderful," she said after a while.

Jad only nodded. "But what of you, Princess?" he asked. "From the stories I'd heard, I didn't expect to find you going off to fight alongside your father." When Alusair paused and stopped twirling the grass, the centaur offered an apologetic smile. "Forgive me," he said sincerely. "I shouldn't pry."

Alusair smiled weakly, but the direct question had shocked her into uneasiness. "Now I see how you learn so much," she said, a bit sarcastically. "You interrogate anyone who'll talk to you." When she saw the pained expression on the chieftain's face, she added, "I never expected to be fighting beside my father either."

Relief spread over Jad's face. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small leather hood, decorated with tiny gems. The precious stones reflected the last rays of the setting sun as the centaur held it out to the princess. "Could you help me with this?" he asked.

As Alusair carefully hooded the falcon for the night, Jad reached for the long piece of metal. "And this," he said when the hood was secure, "is his perch." The princess took the rod and bent it into a U. She stuck the ends into the ground, and Jad coaxed the falcon onto the twined area, where its talons could find a comfortable purchase.

The centaur rubbed his arms. "Much better," he sighed. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, marching off to war."

Alusair and the chieftain talked casually for over an hour, until even the last, faint traces of the sun had disappeared in the western sky. The moon came out, trailed by the cluster of stars that always hung behind it in the sky. The bright orb of Selune lit up the field, casting a frosty radiance over the lines of tents and the dark outline of the forest. Jad's troops returned with baskets of nuts and berries and even some freshly baked bread. After taking a little for themselves, Jad and Alusair sent the rest of the food to Torg.

As the evening passed, the princess studied the dark-maned centaur chieftain. His friendly, sincere smile and captivatingly dark eyes seemed to reveal him as an honest, kindhearted soul. As they walked slowly around the camp's perimeter, Alusair found herself discussing much about her father and the upcoming battle, though she certainly never intended to do so. Jad, for his part, listened with interest, asking a few questions and relating the little he knew of the Tuigan.

Eventually the strain of the long day's march started to show on Alusair's face. "Perhaps you should get some rest," Jad told her after her third yawn in as many minutes.

The princess could only agree. "We do have a long march ahead of us. The spot on the Golden Way where we're meeting my father is some distance from here."

Jad tossed his head to again remove an unruly lock of hair from his eyes. "I have a wonderful idea," he said brightly. "I can offer Torg a guide, one who could take you through the forest. There are many more direct routes to your meeting place, and that will cut days off your trek."

Shaking her head, Alusair frowned slightly. "I don't think so." She motioned to the forest. "Torg won't go through there, with or without a guide. I think it's a fine idea, too, but Torg simply won't see past his mistrust of, well, everything."

"We'll see about that," the centaur exclaimed. He trotted off, leaving Alusair to walk briskly in his wake just to catch up. She attempted to stop Jad, but he rushed down the lines of darkened tents toward the open central area. Once there, he easily spotted Torg's tent, larger than the others, with the standard of Earthfast posted at the door.

The guards wouldn't let the centaur enter, but Jad made enough of a racket to draw Torg out. When Alusair finally reached the ironlord's tent, a heated discussion was already underway.

"You're being a fool," the centaur said sharply. Jad pranced back and forth, towering over the dwarven king and his two guards. "I can help you."

Torg pushed the gold-bound black forks of his beard aside and folded his arms across his chest. "I've tried to be polite about this, centaur. Obviously that doesn't work." Spreading his feet apart a little, he said, "Let's try this, then: the dwarves of Earthfast don't need help from creatures like you."

Jad exhaled sharply, making a sound that reminded Alusair of nothing so much as a horse snorting angrily. She was angry herself as she moved to the centaur's side. "Why, Torg?" she asked. "The centaurs can make this journey easier for us, but you-"

"I won't have my troops allying with forest-bound riffraff like him," the ironlord growled, his face growing red beneath his beard.

Jad looked down at Alusair, then at Torg. "Race is no guide to character," he said, trying to subdue his anger. "I've known dwarves who were intelligent and wise. Nothing like you at all." Without another word, he reared on his hind legs and headed away from Torg at a canter.

"Wait!" Alusair called. She glanced over her shoulder at Torg. The ironlord was scowling into his beard, muttering something in Dwarvish. Alusair raced after the centaur chieftain.

As she made her way to the edge of the camp, the princess saw the centaur in the bright moonlight. Jad kneeled where he'd set up the falcon's perch. He was struggling with the heavy leather glove when Alusair reached his side.

The centaur turned at her approach. "That-that-" Bowing his head, he breathed deeply. When Jad looked up again, Alusair saw that some calm was reflected in his eyes. "He's made me so angry I can't even talk!"

"I'm sorry," Alusair offered.

"It's not your place to apologize for Torg, Princess." The centaur glanced back toward the camp, then pulled on the leather hawking glove. "To be honest, I don't know why your father called on him for assistance."

"Father has stranger allies than the dwarves of Earthfast," Alusair mumbled, a little bitterness creeping into her voice.

"The orcs you told me about?" Jad asked as he attempted to nudge the drowsy falcon onto his gloved hand. The hawk cried out irritably, and the centaur paused. "Perhaps," he ventured. "Though I'd be willing to guess the King Azoun I've heard so much about had good reason for accepting their aid."

Alusair let the subject drop, more for the feeling of guilt that was beginning to plague her than for any disagreement with Jad's observations. This latest, most puzzling display of Torg's narrow-mindedness was weighing upon her heavily. "I'm just sorry Torg wouldn't allow you to help us," she said after a moment.

Jad snorted. "When I offered the guide to him, the buffoon asked why we weren't coming along to fight. I told him that we're obligated to protect the forest, that we couldn't just leave. Anyway, we'll be here to help if the battle ranges this far west. And I offered supplies, too."

"And he wouldn't hear of it," Alusair concluded.

"Worse still," Jad said, the anger rising in his voice again, "he insulted me, said that I was just laying a trap for them, that I was probably allied with elves or orcs or worse." He clenched his fists and tried to relax.

Alusair rested a hand on the centaur's arm. "I'll tell Azoun of your generosity, Jad," she said. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the offer."

The chieftain looked down at the falcon, which was fidgeting nervously on its perch. "Perhaps there is something I can do to help," he said. He smiled and added, "but I'm sure Torg will think I'm doing it to spy on you."

"You can't give me the hawk." Alusair motioned toward the bird. "You need it to patrol your borders."

"Not really," Jad said, handing the hawking glove to the princess. "We know the woods better than anyone, so it's easy for us to creep close to camps and spy."

When Alusair hesitated, Jad pushed the glove toward her. Eventually he took her hand in his own and placed the leather glove in her fingers. Finally, he unclasped the thin silver bracelet and put it around Alusair's wrist. It was much looser on her arm than it had been on Jad's thick wrist; Alusair held her arm high, and the silver ring slid halfway to her elbow.

Jad briefly explained how the bracelet worked. All Alusair had to do was concentrate on a particular bird, and the bracelet would allow her to see through its eyes for as long as she wanted. The chieftain then added a few cautions about delving too deeply into any bird's mind, and the lesson was over. The princess listened, but her eyes wandered often to the peregrine, now sitting comfortably on the perch, its head tucked down for sleep.

"And I'll expect the bracelet and the falcon returned after you take care of the barbarians," Jad noted, only half in jest. Alusair agreed, and with little further ado, the centaur stood. "My regards to your father," he said as he turned to go. "I hope to meet him someday."

Alusair watched sadly as the centaur chieftain galloped toward the forest. Though the moonlight was bright, she lost sight of Jad Eyesbright in the tall grass long before he reached the tree line. However, even after she could no longer see the centaur, Alusair stood in the field, studying the dark, uneven edge of Lethyr Forest, After a while, she looked around at the silent rows of tents in the dark dwarven camp.

Quickly she coaxed the falcon onto her gloved hand and pulled up his perch. The bird cried noisily, but the unnerving sound was music to Alusair. By the time she headed for her tent, the princess was already anxious for tomorrow to dawn so she could let the falcon soar. The bird shrieked again, and a dwarven sentry frowned at the peregrine as Alusair carried it past. It was clear that the dour soldiers from Earthfast would not appreciate the centaur chieftain's gift.

The princess smiled when she realized they wouldn't.