The Prophesy: Book 2 - The Right Hand of Destiny

 

While the Centaur lay on its side waiting for the healing to complete itself, the boys sat on carpets Harp materialized.

"I wonder why you bothered putting a carpet on the ground, Harp. We might as well sit directly on the ground," commented Thorsten. "The carpets do not do much in protecting us from lumps!"

"They aren't there to protect your cute arse from lumps, my love, but to protect it from worms found in the sand. I do not want to have to extract six-inch long white worms out of your bum!"

"But he's laying on his side in the dirt!" replied Paschal, pointing at the Centaur.

"His hide is thicker than Thorsten's, and his thick hair protects it somewhat. And I notice he does have some infection from these worms already. I'll have to ask Francesca and the healers to check them out before we even consider moving them to the Elvin Kingdom."

«The other men-horses are converging on this position from all directions.»

«How many groups are we facing?» asked Sitar.

«Six. Each group is about the same size as the one we are encircling.»

«So, something around two hundred per group. That makes for something like one thousand two hundred. Dad, what about the group of youngsters and the females we saw?»

«They are across the dry riverbed, hiding in a valley parallel to its flow. We have kept an eye out for predators. A pride of lions is on the prowl, and we have managed to keep them away from the herd. There is also a couple of other cats.»

«Capture the lions and the cats for the Ark project, dad. We are short on cats anyway,» Paschal recommended.

«Are they of the sabre-tooth variety?» enquired Sitar.

«No, they are of the type documented by the Ancients.»

«All the more reason to capture them, they are very rare,» Paschal commented.

«OK. We have a group of dwarfs with blowguns flying dragons at low altitude. The Fairies have developed a new form of chemical that puts an animal to sleep almost instantly. They just arrived with the last wing.»

«That's neat. I think teleportation is traumatic for most big animals,» stated Enron.

«The biggest advantage is there is no need to take control of their brain while we treat them. It's a lot less tiring for us!» Harp added.

"Ian, little brother, there is one question that has been bugging me."

"What, Harp?"

"How did you manage to communicate with that Centaur?"

"I am not sure. I figured that, they being herds, must possess a Conscience, like all herds."

"I figured as much, but how do we contact them?"

"Maybe it's like when I want to talk to the wolves, I set myself to the wolf mental set, and I become part of the Wolf Conscience. When I want to talk to the Equines, it's the same. I'm still trying to find the mental set for the Dragons, Elves, Humans, and potentially, orcs. For the Centaurs, it's another mental set, combining Equine and Humans, and yet not really that either. It's like they are 'in-between'."

"That sounds like one of the things the Ancients did. They had this long-distance thing that let them talk to each other, that used 'frequencies'; to talk to a person you had to set a box to a certain 'frequency'," Paschal commented. "They even had boxes that could listen to more than one 'frequency', literally millions at the same time. Maybe each Conscience has its own 'frequency'."

"OK. Let's try this intentionally. We have been doing it on instinct alone, without giving much thought to the process. It's time we formalise it," decided Harp. "By the way, Ian, you did find the mental set for the dragons. After all they came at your command."

After some thought, Ian did a back flip, and landed on Silver Moon. "You are right! It's only now I realize I can hear them! And they me!"

"Harp, one of these days, we will need to teach Ian how to get on a horse properly. Can you imagine the reaction of a poor, unsuspecting, war horse should he land on its back like this?"

"Enron, that's nothing! Imagine the mess if he does it while taking a pee!"

"I did it once. Do you want to see?"

"No!" exclaimed the other princes.

***

Harp was sitting on the carpet when, suddenly, he jumped!

"I think I found out how to get access to the Centaurs' Conscience. It's not a simple question of changing 'frequency' it's also a question of width. Remember, Paschal, the Ancients mentioned something called 'bandwidth' in their book, something we could not figure out, no more than we figured out what they meant by frequency. Then I remembered my discovery about magic, and the string theory we worked on. It too called upon the notion of frequency, and we noticed that a magic string not only vibrates in one but eleven dimensions. I may be off, but I think I understand how we tune in to different species."

"How so?" asked Paschal, interested.

"Well, we change the frequency of the magic string, but in more than one dimension. That is why we have the capacity to tune in to different Consciences, instead of being stuck with only one. Now, what are Centaurs?"

"A mix of two species, probably artificially produced by another collection of cracked pots immediately after the Cataclysm."

"That is exactly what they are. Their 'frequency' is not limited to the Equines' or the Humans', but a mix of the two; they are playing on two strings, part of their thoughts on one, and another part on the other; and probably their higher-order thoughts are played by harmonizing the strings to a third registry!"

"But what gives, out of this theory?"

"Elementary, my dear Enron, elementary! If we want to talk to them and listen into the Conscience, we must use the same method, that is play on more than one string, and listen to more than one. It is only by combining the dual information from both that we will be able to figure out what their Conscience dictates them to do."

"That should not be too difficult since we can already play a whole orchestra of sorts!"

"Sitar, you are right, it will be easy to do once we figure out what are their frequency. If only Ian was fully telepathic. He could guide us to the proper range, like we have been guiding each other to the different Equine and Canine species and Human species."

"I have a suggestion."

"Go ahead, Thorsten. So far, each time you have proposed something, only good came out of it."

"Why not begin scanning the magic field from both ends, taking two frequencies at a time? I think I said it wrong. Let me rephrase this." After taking a few minutes to organise his idea, Thorsten began explaining. "See, the Centaurs are both human and horse or, more generally, equine. Humans have a range that is unique to them, at least the ones we have been able to communicate telepathically with. This also goes for the Equines, and, for that matter, the Canines. If we compare the respective range of each species, the lowest frequency is found in the donkeys, and the highest frequency in the Atlanteans. The Canines have a somewhat higher frequency than the Horses, starting with the new species we just found, the hyenas at the lowest range of the Canines, and the Wolves at the highest range, indistinguishable from the Dogs, which are simply family wolves. Now, Humans represent the high-end of the spectrum, with Atlanteans at the highest, and the Legionnaires at the lower end. It should be possible to begin exploring the spectrum from the lowest to the highest range, but I think it is possible to limit the extent of the exploration."

"That analysis is very interesting Thorsten, but how do you plan to reduce the range?"

"First, Ian is at our lower end of human range, and then, only during listening. I have yet to receive a human telepathic transmission from him, but he has managed to impose his will to the Centaurs. This means that they are lower than humans on the high-end part."

"That holds. What about the lower end?"

"Let me see. This species is new, and probably has been focussing its Conscience to reduce the span between its lowest and highest frequency. If, and I mean if, they have moved their lowest frequency by a similar amount that they have been lowering their high-end frequency, we should find their lower end somewhat above the Horses, but below the lowest Canines, Harp."

"That still gives us a wide range!"

"True, Sitar. But let's test something. We can focus our own listening to detect not a clear message, but a level of noise. A partial transmission would create noise that would make clear transmission in the specific band difficult. We know what are the 'quiet' bands between species. If one of these bands is suddenly noisy, we have an indication that some species is transmitting on that band. On the other hand if what was once a clear transmission band suddenly becomes noisy, we also have another indication of a transmission band."

"What if they use one to transmit and the other to listen?"

"Enron, that doesn't withstand analysis. If you only listen and never transmit, how do you get any message across?"

Enron blushed. "Me and my big mouth!"

"Oh, it doesn't look any bigger than anyone else's! Harp, I think you have the most power and control of telepathy of all of us. How about doing a first scan from low to high frequency? You need to take particular attention to the usually blank frequencies found between species. The moment you hear excessive noise tell us and we will tune in to look into it more in depth. Remember that any base frequency has harmonics. But who am I to remind you of this basic fact?"

"No offence taken, love. Let me focus. It's a wide range we are talking about, some of which we knew are occupied by as yet unidentified species."

Harp began and progressed up, trying to remember if that particular frequency was showing abnormal activity. He found no new band, being occupied in the low-noise frequencies. This had to be expected. After all the Centaurs had been in existence for far longer than Harp had and therefore, it would have been surprising that they would have taken over an empty zone suddenly.

"I have no luck with the empty frequencies. They still are."

"What about a sudden peak of activity in known bands?"

"I am doing that, Thorsten. Ian, can you maintain a running banter with the stallion? I will focus on your brain activity to find your transmission frequencies."

"I have been doing that to reassure him. I am telling him where we are from, and other things that seem to interest him. He is particularly interested in your dealings with the crocodile priests and Thorsten's disposal of the Banned Ones."

"Ah. I think I did catch a bit of that exchange in the low frequencies, a very narrow band located at the upper edge of the Horses. Continue; I have at least a starting point."

Another half-hour passed before Harp finally began to sense what Ian and the Centaur were talking about telepathically. He fine-tuned his listening to the point he could see himself and Harp through the Centaur's eyes. He noticed that, contrary to horses, the Centaurs saw in colour, and that their visual range included the near infrared. Finally relatively assured of understanding the Centaur's telepathic language, he began learning their vocal language. It was made up of clicks and long syllables, that combined human, probably Bushman, and equine languages. Then Harp began studying the contents of the Centaur's memory, more to understand their culture and origins.

"Ok. I think I have a fair understanding of what we are up against, brothers. The Centaurs are the result of Ancients, but not the same group as the crocodile priests. A group of people, probably some rogue scientific group, decided to test the possibility of inter-species genetic mixing. They were so self-assured of their superiority they used humans of ancestral stock, the people that lived here, as genetic source for human material; they also used what they considered the best horses of the time, the Arabian breed, to supply the horse side of the genetic material. When the Cataclysm hit, they had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, but they could not make it public because they would have been hunted down as criminals. The disintegration of social structures during the Cataclysm put an end to the project, and the scientists, rather than kill what they were so proud of, let the budding herd out in the wild. It's the result of seven thousand years or so of natural selection we see here. From what I gained from the Centaur's Conscience, the species was much smaller initially. The combination of horse and human was difficult to birth, and females needed to adjust internally before they could bring colts to fruition safely. In fact the Centaur colt is much like the human infant, unable to run or walk for at least a year. During that time they are extremely vulnerable to predators."

"That is interesting. What else have you learned?" enquired Thorsten.

"One thing that is vital to our project. The Centaurs are organised into seven tribes. Each tribe is best at one weapon, and the only one a tribe will follow is the best at its chosen weapon. It is not a fight to the death match; it is a test of competence and ability. They share a Council of the Seven, which decides of common good, and resolves conflicts."

"That is even more interesting. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, Sitar. No one can occupy all seven stalls at the same time."

"Stalls?"

"Yes, Enron, they do not have seats, but stalls at their hall of meeting, which they call the Haras, Paschal. I can understand. Sitting down or lying down puts them in an extremely vulnerable situation, and they, like any horse, sleep standing, ready to run at the mere indication of a predator."

"What have you learned about the convergence of the tribes to our current location?"

"They are here to expel us, Sitar, but also to see who will replace the stallion we healed. Since he was brought down by the panther, he has to fight for his seat or lose it to a competitor."

"That gives me an idea. We need to gain obedience from them so we can move them to the Elvin Kingdom, right?"

"Well, cooperation would be a better word, but obedience can be used for the needs of the discussion," replied Enron.

"Ok, Enron, cooperation it is. We need their cooperation. We could simply try to use their laws against them. What are the competitions involved, Harp?"

"Let me see. Bow and arrow; hunting lance, battle axe, knife, hand to hand fighting, swords, and stave."

"OK. Enron, I've seen you with a bow and arrow; I leave to you dethroning their champion. Harp, you are unbeatable with Bata, deal with whomever they throw at us as stave champion; Paschal, you have Mitsuko, you do the fencing. Sitar, do you think you can handle hand to hand fighting?"

"I don't see why not. I've given lessons in that art to veteran legionnaires."

"OK, now we need to find who will handle the battle axe, the knife, and hunting lance."

"I'll handle the knife, if they let me ride Silver Moon."

The other princes looked at Ian wide-eyed, then nodded.

"And Gold says he will deal with the hunting lance," added Ian.

"How? He has no hands!" exclaimed Thorsten.

"Well, I do not know, but if he says he can, I believe him."

"OK, that leaves the battle axe to me," concluded Thorsten.

"This is going to be interesting. While we are waiting for the other tribes to collide with our advanced scouts, could you teach us how to communicate with the Centaurs, Harp?"

"Certainly, Enron. We may need your experience as diplomat here to explain why we want to defy their leadership."

"I was thinking along the same line."

«When will the first tribe be arriving on our position, dad?» asked Sitar, always weary of the military situation.

«Expect them around sext, son. They are still three hours away. They are trying to find a way to progress toward your position undetected, and that means travelling under cover for the most part.»

«OK. Keep me informed of their progress.» Turning to Harp, Sitar informed him of the situation.

"I see, I think a gesture of good will would help with this tribe. I feel they are parched and in need of both water and food. I wonder what they eat? Ah, mostly human food, with a supplement of alfalfa. I can make that. Let's add apples by the bucket, water, fresh whole-grain bread, some meats, cooked on the grill, and we have a good breakfast for all." As he enumerated the things he thought about, Harp materialised them on tables about waist high for the Centaurs. He did the same for his friends, and also for the canines and equines that were encircling the Centaur camp.

"Ten tons of food, out of thin air. You will always amaze me, Harp."

"Try it, Thorsten, it's fun! Let's start eating, guys. The Centaurs are a bit scared and haven't touched anything yet. Let's show them this is safe."

The boys sat, and began eating, along with Silver Moon and Greywolf. The other canines and equines followed suit, and shortly, after tentatively tasting the water and the food, the Centaurs joined in the morning meal.

***

As the meal progressed, things relaxed between the visitors and the Centaurs. The packs of hyenas moved off to patrol further afield since they knew the land better than the wolves or the dogs. The zebra herd mingled with the Thompson gazelles and buffalo herds that roamed near the water holes, surviving on thin, dry grass. Baboons and other monkeys travelled from tree to tree, trying to reach water without getting eaten by roaming predators. Crocodiles were competing with hippopotamuses for space in what was left of the water. Acacia trees offered poor shade cover from the rising sun and the temperature was climbing steadily.

"We have to ready the recovery of the African wildlife. They may appear numerous, but I suspect they have suffered as much as American wildlife from the Cataclysm," commented Enron.

"I know. We have already put into prolonged stasis quite a vast number of animals, and their ecosystem. Africa is on our list, but it is a big continent. It has suffered a lot of damage along the coast, but the interior seems relatively pristine, and productive," replied Harp.

"The question is for how long? Great extents of Africa have suffered from renewed volcanic activity, mostly in the Rift. I think the situation there is near a breaking point, if only from how deserted it is now."

«One of the hyena packs has spotted a tribe of Centaurs over the next hill. They are less than ten minutes out.» commented Greywolf. «What are your orders?»

«Funnel them to us. Do not let them regroup with the others that are coming,» Sitar replied. «Zebras, open a passage so they can get in without feeling the trap! We need to give them the impression they have control of their movement until the noose is closed.»

"What are you planning, Sitar?"

"I'm counting on the fear of predators to push them to head right through the gap the zebras will open in the herds of gazelle and buffalos. The occasional dragonling peeking over a hillside will reinforce their panic, and they will come charging in here, only to find themselves encircled."

"Shouldn't we use their Conscience to direct them to proper action?"

"Thorsten, did it work with you? Dwarfs are strong-headed, but nothing compared to Centaurs! They use the Conscience only to communicate on long-distance; they have stubbornly refused to form a strong herd mentality, much like humans have refused for so long to become one with their own species; they always keep trying to find a stupid reason for another fight, another division. They only unite when faced with a common enemy. I think it's more than time they learn that unity in all circumstances is best."

As the sun reached its zenith, the tribe of Centaurs came over the hill and rushed down toward the one found in the valley. The presence of the royals in the midst of the waiting Centaurs had completely escaped the leading Stallion, and he headed straight for the leader of the waiting group.

"I heard you were attacked by a panther and you were dying! You sure seem fit for an almost dead!"

"Why, thank you. Your information is correct and incorrect. I was attacked, bitten and clawed, but I got healed. And no, I'm not on my death couch. In fact, I've never felt so good."

"I do not believe in miracles. Something is up. You better come out straight!"

"Oh, I am as straight as my lance! And no, you are wrong. It is a miracle. Come with me, I need to show you something. By the way, you must be thirsty, after that run?"

"Yes, we all are. The dry season has been particularly harsh this year."

"Then come along, with your tribe. I guess we have enough to share."

The Centaurs, all of which were carrying swords on both sides of their flanks, followed their leader amongst the members of the Lance tribe. Suddenly, their leader spotted Silver Moon amongst them.

"You got yourself a slave? I thought they had disappeared."

"No, it is not a slave. He is a Stallion of the Horse tribe. He is a visitor."

"A visitor? You mean an invader?"

"Well, the invaders are those that have healed me and disposed of the panther, if you want to know, Swords Master."

"And you did what after that? Invited them to lunch?"

"No, it is they that invited us to lunch, breakfast, to be exact. Lunch is coming up, I have been informed by the little one you see there beside the Stallion."

The Sword Master had not seen Ian, sitting on the ground near Silver Moon.

"Is he deformed? He should have been disposed of at birth!"

«I am no more deformed than you are, Centaur! I am an Atlantean, not one of your species!» thundered Ian, insulted. «I suggest you get over your prejudices before things degenerate!»

The enraged Centaur charged Ian, only to find himself faced with a very furious Timor, which had jumped over Silver Moon and Ian to stand protectively between the Sword Master and Ian.

«Stop now or face me in battle!» thundered the young Troll Prince, which stood about as tall as the Centaur, as he smashed his battle mace on the ground, raising a cloud of dust, sand, and insects as it hit the earth with a thunderous boom.

"I should have known! Timor is at the lower range of Humans just between Canines and us on the frequency range for telepathy. He had been growing in power without our noticing. Boy, am I glad of this surprise!" whispered Harp to Thorsten.

"I wonder how many more surprises will pop up today?" replied Thorsten on the same tone. "I wonder how good he is with it?"

"Good enough to handle dual frequency transmission since he can talk clearly to that stubborn jerk. I think he has been growing on us, or more precisely, learning from us. Telepathy is innate in herds, if rarely developed, and they are tribal in nature."

Shocked, the Sword Master looked at the other leader of the Centaurs, questioningly.

"That is yet another visitor. I suggest you shove your temper where the sun never shines, if you want to stay alive. I have yet to present to you the rest of them, and from how they dispatched the panther, I believe they could do us serious damage if they so wished."

"That is high treason, Lance Master! You know our laws! Kill intruders, no questions asked!"

"Maybe so, but I prefer being a living traitor than a dead dumb ass. Your pick! Just look around rather than contemplate your belly button, and pull your own conclusions."

The Sword Master looked around and saw the presence of the wolves and horses around them, as well as some huge animals he had not noticed or thought only occurred in children's nightmares, the dragonlings.

"This is a trap!"

"Yes, indeed, and you fell for it, as much as we did. I suggest we take things in stride!"

"But we have hostages!"

«Think twice, fool! We have you hostage, not the other way around. Your families are unprotected, and this is only half of our forces. Consider your options carefully!» informed Sitar. «We have been monitoring your families, keeping predators away. Unfortunately, we are unable to supply water to them until this situation gets resolved. The valley you choose was not the best pick. It is drier than the back of my hand.»

«And charging across our lines would be folly. What you see is only part of what is. The rest are below line of sight!» completed Harp.

«Now, since the facts have been made clear, how about taking a drink of fresh water, and eating something?» proposed Enron.

"I will not accept water from an enemy!"

«Suit yourself, but I can tell you in three days, you will be begging for it!» replied Paschal.

"I can tell you that their water is the coldest and sweetest I ever tasted since I drank my mother's milk, Sword Master. You are missing on something."

"Piss off!" huffed the Sword Master.

"Why, thank you, but don't worry, I have already, and I won't be dry anytime soon!"

The smell of water was making the Sword tribe sick in the stomach and, less than an hour later the ranks broke for the buckets! However hard the Sword Master tried to impose discipline, he could not be everywhere, and even some of his lieutenants couldn't resist the call of nature. Running all night long and part of the day had dried them up. Finally, only a handful of the Swords tribe held back for more than two hours, including the very furious Sword Master.

«Another group is coming in the funnel, princes.» Greywolf informed the royals. «They carry bows and arrows in quivers. Expect them to crest in ten minutes.»

"Let's hope that their master is not as stubborn as the Sword Master," quipped Thorsten.

"Ah, according to the Lance Master, this is one of their closest ally in the eternal fights that oppose the Centaur tribes. I gather the Swords tribe was in an opposing camp," replied Harp.

Things went much better when it came to introducing the royals to the Bow Master, as he at least listened to the Lance Master before blowing his top. The next group that got funnelled by the hyenas were the Knife tribe, a neutral Centaur group that tried to stay out of the feuds. The next group was the Battle Axe tribe and then the Stave tribes, also neutral. The last group was the Hand-to-Hand fighters, allied to the Sword tribe. These were huge Centaurs, well around fifty percent taller than the others. Their Master was a huge white Stallion, which stood over all other by at least a full torso. The horse limbs were impressive, and the arms were monstrous. Their arrival created a running shiver through the other Centaurs, which spontaneously created an empty space around the tribe, with good reason. Their temper was vicious, and they kept trying to kick other Centaurs in the genitals.

"That group seems particularly vicious, Ian. Be very careful."

"Don't worry, I can defend myself, Harp."

"I know you can, but don't be a cock. Play it safe."

The Fighters, as they liked to call their tribe, were behaving more and more like bullies on a playground. They had superbly snubbed everyone, pushed and shoved every Centaur that did not move out of their way fast enough. Ian was watching their misbehaviour from the back of Silver Moon, while the Gold dragonling and the Troll prince stayed nearby. At one point, one of the Centaurs tried to kick Blackie Dog in the ribs, only to be confronted by a mad Greywolf.

«Make my day! Try again and die!» snarled Greywolf, as a good fifty canines encircled the culprit.

The surprise of the Centaur Fighters tribe was complete. It was the first time they had faced a canine pack that could talk and effectively threaten them back.

«Let me deal with this asshole, Duke Greywolf. It is about time they learn what a true Stallion of the Line of Agramon can do,» intervened Silver Moon.

"What? A puny horse, not even out of his baby coat, defies me? Come get killed!"

"Yes, I put you on notice. This is a trial by death. You have defied the Heir of the Wolf and Equine Thrones! I have seen what you and your tribe have been doing, and you have greatly displeased our Lord. I, Silver Moon, Prince of Agramon, call to battle one lousy flea-infested Centaur of unknown, and doubtful ascent!"

"A horse that talks, now? What next? Dragons?"

«Since you mention us, here I am, Prince dragonling, heir to the Dragon Throne, if my people judge me worthy of the title!» exclaimed the gold dragonling, as he stood up, revealing that what looked like a small rocky mount was in fact a resting dragon!

"I told you we were in for more surprises," whispered Harp to Thorsten.

"It's getting to be a habit around you, love."

«I think I heard a call for judgement by arms, from an insulted party to you, Centaur. Will you take it or is your mouth bigger than your guts? Or is it that your courage is the size of the peanuts I see as your family jewels?» asked the dragonling prince, adding oil on the fire.

"And I thought I was badmouthed!" whispered Harp to the other princes.

"Is it that you met your master, Harp?" replied Enron, grinning.

"He is at least as diplomatic as Harp. Harp loves water, he loves fire!" Sitar added.

"Fighters Master!" thundered Ian, in a powerful voice that rebounded on the side of the wide valley. "Report to the centre of the camp or renounce your title! I so call you to witness a battle as Heir to the Wolf and Horse Thrones!" Another shock for the entire Centaur group: not only was the prince able to understand them, but also speak their language, the Sacred Language of the True Centaurs!

***

The Master of Fighters crossed the camp in response to Ian's convocation. He had gone to the periphery to check on the possibility to break out of the encirclement. Much to his chagrin, he had found himself faced with many strange animals, some of which he had never seen before. Coming face to face with the cerulean eyes of a green dragon shocked him more than he was willing to admit.

"What is the problem?"

"That puny one insulted me!"

«Liar!» exclaimed the gold dragonling, as fire escaped his nostrils.

"Anyway, the question is not the cause. I summoned you so you can bear witness to a battle! Silver Moon, Stallion and direct heir of Agramon, Master of the First Herd of Equines, has called this Centaur to the test for attacking one of my best friends, Duke Blackie Dog, master of the Royal Dog Guards, leader of the Dog Pack Army. In such situations, according to Rules of Battle established by Agramon himself some sixty million years ago, none shall intervene under penalty of death! You are here to insure that this rule is followed, on your life. I, Prince Ian, as Liege Lord of the Equines, stand on my life for the respect of the Rules of Battle! So states Ian, Prince Heir to the Throne of the Wolves and Equines, Liege lord of the Dwarfs, Elves, Humans, Fairies, and Unicorns, bonded of Prince Gold of the Dragons! The battle is to the death of one of the opponents. Do you agree to these terms or forfeit?"

As the titles came to light, the level of the insult became apparent to the other Masters. The combined howls of the dogs, wolves and hyenas convinced them, if need be, that the situation was not to their advantage.

The Fighters master looked at the offending party, shocked.

"I told you to keep your temper under control, fool! I have been protecting your arse for way too long, son. Now I cannot do anything but let this play out! Win or lose, we have been dishonoured by your stupidity!"

"I do not see why we should worry about the rules set up by a long-dead horse! We are above horses! We are Centaurs!"

"So we believe, but in any case, son, the rules are always set by the insulted party. And knowing you, I can rest assured you did your best to provoke a fight. This time, you will have to bear the consequences. If any Centaur tries to intervene in this battle, I will kill you personally. Is this clear to all? As of now, you have no friends but your own strength. May the wind blow in your favour!" hollered the Master.

The centre of the shallow valley was cleared of all occupants except for Silver Moon his opponent, Ian and the Master of the Fighters tribe. The Centaurs occupied the lower slopes of the valley, while the dragonlings and the Equines occupied the upper part. The Canines occupied the lowest rises of the valley floor. Each group had a clear view of the arena.

"The battle will begin when my brother Paschal whistles. Move to each end of the Arena. Beyond the line drawn in the grass by the fire of the dragon! Do you agree to these terms, Master?"

"I find them honourable. I agree to them. Move to your end of the arena, son."

"Without any weapon?"

"Does Prince Silver Moon have any? If he is willing to fight you with only hooves, at least have the decency to accept these terms! Your whining shames me! You have an advantage in size and number of members, and you want more? Get into position, before I kill you on the spot!"

The Centaur, fuming, moved to his position, as did Silver Moon.

«Beware, Ian. I smell foul play in Silver Moon's opponent,» commented Greywolf. «I have also informed Silver Moon of this.»

«Thank you.» Ian moved to stand beside the Centaur Master, slightly closer to the end occupied by the pawing Centaur, whose mouth dripped of saliva like an enraged animal!

"Master, are you ready? Is everything according to your liking?"

"Yes."

"So am I, Master. Please be ready for anything. I am human, wolf, and horse. I have the senses of each. I can smell when some animal has lost reason and, sadly, it is so with your son."

"I noticed."

"Paschal is bringing his whistle to his mouth. Ha! Here it blows!"

The two opponents came running down the long runway, headed straight for each other. The gallop of Silver Moon was a sight to behold; it gave the impression a white lance was headed straight toward the Centaur. The Centaur, albeit fast, seemed like a lumbering giant that had yet to learn how to run without tripping on his laces. As the two came within reach of each other, Silver Moon took a giant leap over the Centaur and savagely kicked him in the rump as he landed behind the Centaur, who took a severe nosedive. Silver Moon ran up to the other end of the runway and waited for his opponent to stand up. The centaur, severely bruised in the face and torso, clambered back on four feet, and limped to the other end.

"I have never seen a horse jump so high so far!" exclaimed the amazed Centaur Master.

"Me neither, but I remember my chats with him. His ancestry was the stock from which came the Pegasus breed, of long lost memory."

"And what are they?"

"Flying horses. Let's change place. I sense your son has lost any decency and reason."

As soon as Ian was back beside the Centaur Master, Paschal blew his whistle again. This time, Silver Moon actually strode down the runway, rather than come barrelling down like on the previous occasion. The Centaur came running at full speed, even if his left hind leg seemed to have issues keeping the rhythm required from a full gallop. As the Centaur neared the witnesses, he noticed Silver Moon was still far off and he decided to make his move. At the last moment, he tuned and charged headfirst into Ian. Ian had been expecting this and teleported right across the runway, just as, faster than ever before, Silver Moon slammed the Centaur's side, sending him flying in a grotesque arc to the feet of the spectators, some sixty yards away. The Master of Fighters had barely felt a slight breeze on his exposed flank as the head of his son brushed against it before Silver Moon had sent him flying by lifting the Centaur off the ground with his head.

«That was close.»

"Too close for comfort, Silver Moon, but move to the other end, while the Fighter Master and I verify the state of your opponent.»

«He is dead. I heard his neck snap on the fall.»

"Nonetheless, the rules are the rules."

«Agreed. I will await the verdict at the other end,» Silver Moon replied, as he proceeded to the end of the runway.

"Shall we go see how things stand?" Ian asked, as he turned toward the Master.

"Yes, as you said, rules are rules."

The two proceeded toward the crumpled figure of the fallen Centaur at a stately pace. It was apparent to anyone with a clear view that the head was positioned in an unnatural manner, and that the eyes, glassy, were open. Under the stallion the sand was wet from urine and released faecal matter. The nose and the mouth were bleeding, as well as the ear they could see.

"Healer!" Ian commanded.

One of the dwarfs moved closer to the fallen Centaur and touched the jugular, checking for a pulse. After a few seconds he stood up, and shook his head negatively. "I am sorry, prince Ian, he has left this cycle, to begin a new one. His body is already cooling off; his sphincters have relaxed, his nose and fingers are turning bluish, indicating cardiac arrest, and his body is showing signs of rigor mortis²⁷²⁷ ("Cadaveric rigidity, which begins in the extremities, spreads rapidly to the more massive muscles of the body. It is caused by the hydrolysis of ATP in the muscles. An animal on the run is processing vast amounts of ATP and therefore begins to rigidify a lot faster than an animal at rest. Cramps and contractures are also a manifestation of excessive ATP hydrolysis.") in the extremities. And you just heard his last breath, as the lungs collapsed."

"I am sorry, Centaur, your son is no more."

"I figured as much. We will burn him at dusk, as is our custom."

"May I offer some alternatives? Given how dry the savannah is, it might not be wise to start a funeral pyre."

"What are they?"

"We can convert his body to a falling star. It will burn in the atmosphere, without putting us at risk, or, alternatively, I can ask one of the dragonling to drop him into the lava lake on top of Mount Kilimanjaro."

"The lava lake is satisfactory. I do not want to be reminded of him each time a falling star appears in the night sky."

"So be it."

As one of the red dragonlings was leaving with the corpse, Harp turned to the Fighters Master.

"Do you wish to notify his mother of his passing in person?"

"She died during foaling. He was raised by a nanny."

"I see. Did he have any siblings?"

"Yes, but they are all here. He was the eldest of them." Taking a deep breath, the Fighters Master turned to look around, and setting his eyes on the diminutive figure of Ian, concluded. "I must concede that all went according to protocol on your side. I must also admit that my son tried to attack you, thus breaking the rules of engagement of a duel. Had he not died, I would have been obliged to kill him. I hereby recognize the verdict."

"Thank you."

"Now, this being resolved, I must enquire as to the reason of your presence on our lands."

"I think best that all hear what we have to say, especially the leaders of the Centaurs. To the best of our knowledge, you meet in the Haras to deliberate of issues. However, given the gravity of what we have to reveal, my brothers and I would prefer that all Centaurs hear from us why we are here. We also saw that your tribes have suffered greatly from the prolonged dry season. The reason of this will be brought to light as well as other consequences you may yet be unaware of. First, let us move to where your mares and foals are, so we can help them until the rainy season comes."

"A lot to tell from such a young human. Our foals are far less knowledgeable."

"The reality is that I am much older than I look. It is the case for all of us. Maybe, one day, the Centaurs will gain access to their own Collective Memory, and understand what I mean. You are close. We will do our best to help you, if you wish. Look at the Troll prince, he has gained a lot from constant contact with us, and so did the wolves, the equines, and other species. It is up to you and your species to decide if you prefer to stay ferociously independent and forego this or if you wish to join and become part of all that lives. But first, let's go take care of your families."

***

"Why are you considering bringing these strangers to our families? They are our enemies!" hissed the Swords Master.

"I have eyes to see, Sword Master. Their dealings with us have been honourable, much more so than my own tribe or, for that matter, yours have been! And that little one has shown to me a respect I have problem getting from any Centaur."

"Given his size, I could squash him and not even get a pool of blood!"

"Sure! Try it! I cannot forget the miracle I saw when my stubborn son tried to ram him. But maybe you are blinded by your temper, as was my son?"

"Before we proceed and you two decide to have a fight, may I ask a question?"

"Sure, Prince Ian, what is it?" replied the Fighters Master.

"How many tribes are there? Our information was that there were seven."

"Why, yes, your information is correct."

"Then what is the group that seems to be roam your lands?"

"There is one group, which we have expelled for their repeated violations of our laws, the Renegades. They are composed mostly of males and a few females they have stolen from our harems."

"Is their leader a grey and beige stallion that is about your size, Fighters Master?"

"Yes, why?"

"The group is headed toward the valley that shelters your families. We need to get moving, if you want to have families."

"How do you know that?"

"What you see is only part of our forces. Most are outside of your territory but some are flying overhead. They have spotted the group and informed us. This is one example of what you can gain from joining us. Let's get moving. We have a long distance to travel to get to your families." Ian then jumped on the back of Silver Moon, who took off toward the now opening ring that encircled the Centaurs.

"Follow them!" ordered the Fighters' Master. Immediately the other Masters repeated the order, until only the Sword Master was left behind with his tribe.

"So, Sword Master, are we going to leave the protection of our families to the other tribes?" asked his second in command.

"I do not trust strangers! I never have and I never will!"

"Do not be stupid and stubborn, or you may find yourself without a tribe! This is the attitude that led to the exclusion of the Renegades! Are you willing to join them?"

"Are you defying me?"

"I do not need to. I only need to walk away. They have fed us and watered us, something you have been unable to lead us to for the past month. In case you are unaware of basic politics, Sword Master, the stomach talks louder than the sword. We are tired of dried grass, roots, and muddy water we have to fight over."

"Have any of the other Masters done any better?"

"No, they have not, and this too adds to our discontent. Staying put against all odds just because this is our ancestral land smacks of incompetence and pathological stubbornness. We should have tried to find greener pastures."

"But this is our sacred land!"

"There is one thing more sacred than land! It is life! We have lost too many foals to your narrow views!"

The other members of the tribe were listening to the exchange between the second in command and the Sword Master. Some agreed with the Sword Master, but most thought the lieutenant was closer to their needs.

"Who says they offer better? I have not heard any offer!"

"Maybe they have not offered because they are waiting for all to hear their proposal! And I am curious as to why the weather has changed so dramatically over the past three years. Maybe they know something we do not! It is time we hear them out before declaring their presence unwelcomed!"

"I agree with the second in command. I worry about my mother and my little sister, and I, for one, am breaking rank! I will not let the Renegades take my mother and sister away, Sword Master! Lead the way, lieutenant, enough talking!"

"Who told you that you could barge into a discussion about what to do, warrior? You should know your place!"

"I do know my place, contrary to you Sword Master! It is beside my family!"

A substantial amount of warriors approved the last intervention of one of their youngest members.

"Is this a mutiny?" thundered the Sword Master.

"See it any way you wish! I am leaving!" With that, the young warrior took off to catch up with the dust cloud that marked the passage of the Centaurs and other herds on the dry plain. He was followed by an increasing number of the Swords tribe, until, finally, a select few stayed with the two leaders.

"See what your insubordination has produced!"

"My insubordination is nothing compared to the rejection of your leadership. You and your followers are now Renegades of the Sword tribe. Let those that agree with this decision follow me to protect our families!"

The lieutenant left the shocked side of the Sword Master, and all save one of those that had stayed behind followed him. The stay back was an old and conservative Centaur, suffering from advanced emphysema.

"Why did you stay, Old One?"

"Because my time has come. I cannot run anymore, and coming here was my last one. Leave. You have dishonoured our tribe. I will walk the sands of death alone. I only regret my swords will not be given to my eldest son by an honourable Centaur."

The ex-sword master left the valley, enraged and vowing revenge. The old Centaur, on the other hand left to reach the dying grounds of his tribe. He knew he stood little chance of reaching them given the number of predators roaming the parched plains in search of a weakened meal to put down.

High above, invisible to the weakened eyes of the old Centaur, a lone dragon carrying Harold circled above him, keeping a close watch on his progress, and, as soon as predators were spotted, they were removed to the Ark. Water appeared miraculously every few miles, helping the old Centaur survive the heat.

The Centaur was surprised to make it to the death fields of his tribe alive and intact. He moved to the centre of the Valley of Bones, as it was called, and lay down under the shade of a single, lone acacia.

"If only my swords could reach my son!"

«Remove them and put them beside yourself. You will not need them anymore.»

The Centaur, too tired to even question where that voice came from, did as requested. He was amazed to see the family weapons disappear from sight.

«Do now worry, your son has received them as a gift from the gold dragonling.»

"Thank you. Who will take care of my funerary pyre?"

«I will, Centaur.» replied a giant dragon, or so thought the weakening Centaur, as he lay on his side, too weak to stand up anymore.

"Tell my son I love him."

«I already did, Centaur. Rest now, your days amongst us, your sufferings, are over. Rest until we meet again in another life.»

Slowly the breathing of the Centaur grew shallower, and his vision blurred.

"I feel so cold! So cold!"

Harold materialised a blanket over the dying Centaur, as the dragon kept the vultures at bay, roasting a few to make his point. Shortly before sunset, the Centaur let out his last breath. Harold ported the body high in the atmosphere and another falling star shone in the darkening sky.