It was Leonidas. Accompanied by a half-dozen other centaurs, the buckskin galloped up to join them, his bearded face beaming. Greetings were passed around, and the other centaurs gathered around Falaius talking all at once about the gathering of the clans and tribes.
Mariana fell back to ride with Linsha and talk to Leonidas.
“Many have already come,” he told them excitedly. “Wanderer has brought his band. The Ereshu are here, and even many of the Windwalkers have come, and there are more on the way!”
Linsha turned to smile at his exuberance. “Wait! Slow down. Who is Wanderer? Who are the Ereshu? What are you doing here? I thought you went to talk to some of the northern clans?”
“We did! But most of them were already here, so we came here, too. They had a gathering just a few days ago, called by some the northern chiefs. Wanderer was trying to convince them that the Tarmaks meant war. Then Sir Hugh showed up last night and talked to the chiefs. They have agreed that they must fight the Tarmak together. They will not give up the Plains without a fight.”
“Do they understand the nature of the Brutes they will face?” Mariana asked.
“Of course. They have talked to me, to the other centaurs with me, to Sir Hugh, and they have an amazing network of spies themselves. Oh,” he took a quick breath and plunged on, “Horemheb is there. He’s been helping Wanderer gather information about the Tarmak.”
“Wanderer.” Linsha had to say again. “Who is this Wanderer?”
Leonidas looked at her curiously. “I thought you’d know. I just assumed you know of him.”
“Why should I?”
“Because he is the son of Goldmoon and Riverwind. Weren’t they companions of your grandparents?”
A flood of surprise swept through Linsha’s mind. Wanderer! He would be about her father’s age, and now that she thought about it, she vaguely remembered hearing her father mention a young tribesman named Wanderer. But there was something tragic connected to his name. She wondered what it was. “No,” she answered softly. “I don’t know him.”
The young centaur shrugged and went on talking about the tribes and the army that was gathering to face the threat of the Tarmak. The third group of militia that had split off to warn the tribes north of the King’s Road had gathered as many warriors as they could and were moving west to join the tribal confederation at the Grandfather Tree. Other tribes were coming, too, including the more settled Wan-kali and the southern nomadic tribes of the Kordath who had suffered much under the lordship of the dragon, Thunder. The population of the Plains of Dust was such a hodgepodge of nomadic barbarian tribes, centaur clans, and scattered human villages that gathering them all for an immediate offensive was impossible. All the leaders hoped for at this point was to gather enough warriors to defend the borders and drive the Tarmaks out should the blue-skinned Brutes decide to invade. From all indications, the invasion was just a matter of time.
After a while, Leonidas reached the end of his news, and Linsha and Mariana told him about the attack on their camp and the possibility that the Tarmaks had put a bounty on Linsha. He waved off the danger of any more bandits.
“Not this close to the Tree. This area is too well patrolled. If anyone wants to get close to Linsha, they will have to go through half the Plains tribes to reach her.” He chuckled. “When I saw Sir Hugh last night, I wondered what had happened to him. Fought a draconian barefisted, did he? He looks like he went through a sausage grinder. And you,” he said to Linsha, “don’t look much better. There is a mystic healer in Wanderer’s band who is very good. I will ask if he will see you.”
“You don’t have to,” she hastened to say. “I don’t need a healer.”
He tilted his head to look at the owl on her shoulder. “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. But you would like him anyway. He is a good man. He has a kestrel.”
Although the kestrel piqued her interest, Linsha did not give the tribesman much more thought. There were too many other things to think about and see. As they had talked and the miles had passed, the Grandfather Tree loomed larger and larger in the distance. At first she thought it was just a large cottonwood or a willow or something indigenous to the Plains, but the closer the troop drew to the Tree, the more familiar its shape became. They were still miles away when all at once recognition came to her mind with sharp, poignant clarity. It was a vallenwood tree, as shapely and lush as any vallenwood that grew in Solace. She almost cried. Here at last was something dearly familiar, something on the Plains she could embrace and call home.
Falaius glanced back, saw the look on her face, and dropped back to ride beside her. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.
She heard the reverence in his voice and responded in kind. It was beautiful. In fact it was enormous. It was the largest, most magnificent vallenwood she had ever seen.
“They say one hundred grown men can spread their arms and link their hands and just barely encircle it,” Leonidas told her.
“Just do not cut wood from it,” Falaius warned, “or tear down its nuts or leaves. It is a symbol to our people of life and the ancient ways, and we take these things very seriously.”
It was nearly dusk before Falaius and his riders reached the Grandfather Tree and rode under its branches. Awed, they gazed up into the canopy of huge limbs and spreading leaves gleaming in the last light of the day. Dusk had already crept in under the tree’s skirt, and small gold lamps glowed like fireflies where various groups camped under the branches.
Linsha stared in delight. She sat for so long, mesmerized by the beauty and comfort of the vallenwood that she did not notice Sir Hugh approach her.
“There you go, sleeping again. Why is it every time I come to look for you, you’re gazing off into the distance like a stunned kender?”
Before she could make a witty retort, he took her horse’s reins and led her to a site just under the fringes of the great tree where the refugees from Missing City were regrouping and setting up a camp. He helped her down from the horse, helped her unsaddle it, and led her to a seat on an old tree trunk that had been hauled in for that purpose. He left her there while he took her mount to the picket lines and gave it some food.
She noticed a pot of liquid heating on a small cooking fire and inhaled with deep appreciation. Someone had found some kefre.
“That’s for later, for the sentries,” Mariana told her, catching her look of yearning at the pot. “Wanderer has invited us to a meal in his camp. Food before business. It’s an old tribal custom.”
Linsha felt her stomach rumble. It had been too long since she’d had a warm meal that filled her belly. “I appreciate old tribal customs,” she replied heartily.
“Good,” Sir Hugh said behind her. “And you can get there on your own. I am not carrying you all over this camp.” He walked around beside Mariana and tossed Linsha a walking stick he had cut and shaped to her height. “No, it is not vallenwood. If you look carefully at the grain you will see it is olive. There is a grove of wild olive not far from here.”
Linsha tried it and found she could hobble around well enough to ease the pain in her ankle. Her expression of gratitude was thanks enough for Sir Hugh. She winked at the Knight and, using her stick, limped away to take a closer look at the Grandfather Tree’s huge trunk. She glanced over her shoulder just once and saw the half-elf and the Knight sitting close together on the old log and quietly talking. It was as it should be.
20
The Feast of Dragon Blood
Crucible paced at the end of his chain and snorted a deep, rumbling rush of anger. The chain infuriated him. It was only bolted around one leg and it certainly was not strong enough to hold him, but it was the principle of the matter. The Tarmaks had put it on him to make a point, that he was chained to them and that he was not going to leave until they decided to let him go. He whipped his tail around in an agitated fit of rage, nearly squashing three inattentive guards, and stamped back to the tree that held the other end of the chain.