Chapter 4 of
Knights Palatine of Ausona
Content warnings: centaur/human sex, puns
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Radiant Khurshid shone hot from a cloudless sky, but beneath the leafy forest canopy it was still cool and humid. The fresh, earthy smell of spring thunderstorms lingered even after the grey-blue rain clouds had passed on. No deer or large game had ventured yet from their sheltering gullies and thickets, as testified by the tracklessness of the muddy trail. Nothing could be heard but the warbling of red-breasted robins, the burbling of the rain-swollen stream, and the sound of distant cascades leading into and out of the hollow.
Kaskyrbai stood leaning on a fallen trunk to support his labored breathing, halfway up to his hocks in the muck. His chestnut coat was splattered chaotically with mud and coated with white lather from breast to flanks. Clear sweat streamed from his bent and reddened face, dripping down his wavy, flaxen hair and dirty-blond beard to land on long, powerful arms and the mossy trunk below. His sinewy, angular torso was slick and flushed with exertion. His blue eyes and pointed ears flicked back and forth unceasingly, searching for signs of his pursuers, or at least a way out of this trap.
Ahead the way was impassable, blocked by a steep cascade with steps too slippery with moss and narrow for him to climb. On either side lay the boulder-strewn, lightly-wooded hollow, wide but hemmed in with steep walls crowned with dense trees and vegetation. Behind were the humans come to kill him, following his upward path through the narrow channel downstream.
He'd fled into the streams to conceal his tracks, but the main tributaries he usually took had been blocked by fallen timber. He'd been funneled up without any alternate path into this dead end. Perhaps he'd offended Tisthrya somehow. He silently offered ten, no, fifteen goats if the god would deign to spare him. The humans had found him alone, unarmored, without helm, lance, or war bow. He was armed only with a hunting bow and a light, long-hafted axe. Against a knight and an armored horse archer he didn't like his chances.
But they hadn't caught him yet, and he'd discovered no sign of their arrival. He set his bow on a patch of dry gravel and plunged into the cold water up to his stifles, splashing his back, face, and torso. He filled and refilled his water skin, drinking the cool liquid down heedless of the unsettled sediment and foul taste. When his thirst was quenched at last, he poured a final skinful over his head. Nothing to do now but hide, much good as that was likely to do him. He retrieved his bow, climbed a rocky portion of the bank where his tracks would be subtle, and set off to find a suitable boulder.
He wasn't kept waiting long. Hardly had he established a position before he heard Ausonian curses and splashing steps approaching from downstream. Fear counseled him to flee, though there was nowhere to go, but he forced himself to stand firm as the footfalls grew closer. At length they halted, about where his up- and downstream tracks would have met in a confusing medley next to the water. After some hesitation, a clear, mellifluous voice rang out from the stream in bookish but fluent Kydonian.
"I am Lady Bianca d'Ippolito di Canossa of the Knights Palatine." Only songbirds chirped in answer. "I seek an audience with the princes of the White Sheep."
He watched her through the leaves. She was a pretty young human, tall for a female, wearing the dark blue surcoat of her order over bright red armor. The sides of her head were shaved in the accustomed fashion, and her reddish brown hair, a few shades darker than his coat, was wound into a long braid. She was carrying a large, heavy sack of coarse cloth over her left shoulder. His ears twitched back and forth, searching for her companion.
Receiving no answer, the human went on. "I swear by Mithra of the Covenants," she began, right hand upraised, "may he cast me out if I lie. I come alone, as a friend, without arms of war, and bearing gifts." She laid her heavy sack down on the very gravel bar where he'd kept his bow dry a little while earlier.
He considered his options. Even if he took advantage of the knight's supposed helplessness, the tactical situation even against a lone, fully-armed Shiraka horseman would be unfavorable. If she were telling the truth about being unarmed, the gods would not look favorably on her slaying. And while the Knights of the Palace were not always exactly trustworthy, he had not yet known them to violate an explicit vow.
He stepped out from his place of hiding, one hand resting on his pre-strung bow in its case. He approached her obliquely, alert for signs of danger. She followed his approach with equanimity, her arms still held out with demonstratively open palms. She bore no visible arms, and he saw that her armor consisted of only a cinnabar-colored brigandine over a long-sleeved blue gambeson, rather than the expected plate.
She stood only thigh-deep in the water, but her whole body was soaked. Only her head, with its chestnut strays framing an oval, olive-skinned face, and the upper reaches of her frizzing braid had been spared. Perhaps she'd climbed even the steeper cascades to avoid the mud, or else fallen into one of the pools. Her dignity was nevertheless rescued by an artless, confident bearing, a half-smile on her full, pink lips, and piercing, dark brown eyes that followed him closely. She was distractingly beautiful, at least from the waist up. Much more to his taste than Sir Alexios in that respect. Their eyes met, and he felt as if she could read his thoughts. He resisted the urge to look away.
"May Khurshid watch over you, most honorable Lady Bianca. I am Kaskyrbai Aibekulu Shahza of the Toraygyr." He knelt briefly on one foreleg and made a polite bow without, however, ever letting her out of his sight. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. How may I be of service?"
"And over you, Kaskyrbai Shahza," Bianca said, half-kneeling in the stream and returning his bow. She pointedly allowed him to fall out of her field of view before rising to face him. "The pleasure is mine. I come on behalf of the Grand Mistress with gifts of friendship to you most loyal subjects of our shared sovereign, and to propose a joint undertaking to our mutual benefit."
Kaskyrbai prepared a polite deflection, but Bianca spoke before he'd gotten a word out. "But first," she said, retrieving a wineskin from her sack, "to whom shall I offer the libation?" Even from a distance, his sensitive nose could discern the earthy scent of Amphipolitan wine. It had been many years.
The knight had chosen her earlier invocation well, and he continued it. "To the Lord of Wide Pastures."
Bianca waded into a patch of sunlight and whispered a prayer that made her eyes burn white like stars. She looked unflinching into the morning sun and upended the wineskin. "Carry this offering, oh waters, to the ever-watchful Lord of the Covenants, unsleeping Mithra of Wide Pastures, of the thousand ears and myriad eyes, the beautiful, the exalted, the most glorious of creations..." The familiar litany droned on in this vein as blood-red wine stained the water and swirled off downstream. At length both words and wine came to an end and the woman looked down, her eyes returning to their former hue.
"Here," she said, offering a large, heavy wineskin from her sack. "Amphipolitan black wine, undiluted, aged seven years." She had no idea what significance that held, but the commander had assured her it was good. "Courtesy of Sir Andreas Melissenos. Enjoy."
She retrieved a much smaller skin for herself and stripped the beeswax seal. Not wise to drink with his safety uncertain, but it would be intolerably rude not to take a sip if she was having some. He unsealed his own skin and caught the familiar scent of herbs and laurel. His brows furrowed at the associated memories, and he took a mouthful. It was full-bodied, strong, and spicy sweet. Far stronger than the thin, fruity wines favored in this land of exile.
