Roger followed the elf out of the grove and across the few forested miles back to the village. Juraviel set off as soon as Roger was out of sight, half running, half flying back to find the centaur.
Bradwarden had marked his trail well for the elf, and so Juraviel had little trouble locating him on a long ridge of birch, overlooking a wide field. Below, a herd of wild horses, including the magnificent black, white-booted stallion, grazed. Soon after Juraviel arrived beside the centaur, Symphony picked his head up and turned their way, and the elf caught the glimmer of turquoise set in the stallion's chest, a magical gemstone Avelyn Desbris had placed there to heighten the connection between rider and mount.
"I told him ye mean to take him," Bradwarden remarked. Even as he finished, Symphony galloped their way, skidded to a stbp, and reared, front legs pawing the air. Then the horse swung about and thundered off, and the whole herd took up the charge in his wake.
"I'm not thinkin' he's likin' the idea," Bradwarden added dryly.
Juraviel studied the running horse for a moment, the seeming urgency in Symphony's long and thundering stride.
"Symphony's pickin' his own course," Bradwarden went on. "He might be thinkin' that there's work to be done about here."
"Would Symphony consider the fate of his own herd above my needs?" Juraviel asked.
"Sounds like an elf," Bradwarden quipped with a snort.
Juraviel eyed him sternly, which, of course, only made the centaur laugh harder. "Whatever Symphony might be thinking or feeling, his path is his own to choose, and I'll not try to drag him to Andur'Blough Inninness," Juraviel announced.
Bradwarden snorted all the louder, as if the mere thought of that was absurd-which indeed, Juraviel knew, it was. Even in the days when Nightbird rode Symphony, the stallion knew no master. "Have you any other prospects? " Juraviel asked.
"Symphony showed me one," Bradwarden explained, pointing down the line to a small, muscular sorrel stallion running near the back of the herd, and not in tight formation like the rest, but lagging and ranging out wide, this way and that. "A two-year-old, and getting a bit edgy."
"Symphony showed you?" Juraviel asked. The elf really didn't doubt that Symphony and Bradwarden were capable of such communication, but he had to wonder at the stallion's intent, if there was any, in picking out one of its own herd.
"He's got the mare smell in his nose," Bradwarden explained, "and it's takin' out all his senses. He even took a run at Symphony. Ye'll be takin' him away or Symphony'11 be kickin' him deep into the forest. If the little one's lucky, Symphony won't kill him."
Juraviel nodded, for now it made sense. There were other stallions in the herd besides Symphony, but not many, and apparently none in competition with the great stallion. Juraviel had reservations, though-would this spirited young stallion be too much for young Brynn? — and they showed clearly in his expression.
"Ye take him away from the mare smell, and he'll be a fine one," the centaur said, obviously catching the elf's drift. "Ye might be geldin' him, o' course, though I've never been fond o' that treatment!" "Will Symphony help us secure him? "
"Oh, I'll get him for ye," the centaur assured him. "I'll have him this very night, though it'll take a couple o' days for me and Roger to break him."
The image brought on by Bradwarden's choice of partners brought a smile to Juraviel. Roger had never been mudi of a rider, and if this young stallion was as spirited and strong as he appeared, the young man might be finding getting out of bed each morning a bit of a trial. "Same hill?" Bradwarden asked.
"Sheila will be bright tonight," Juraviel replied. "I will meet you there when she passes her midpoint."
The centaur reached down and hoisted a long length of strong rope, slinging it over one shoulder. He gave a quick salute to Juraviel, then trotted down along the ridgeline, paralleling the course of Symphony and the herd. "I'm hopin' none o' them mares're hot with the smell," he remarked quietly.
"For the stallion's sake or for your own?" Juraviel asked with a laugh, and Bradwarden joined in.
Juraviel thought to go directly to the outskirts of Dundalis then, to listen in on the conversations of unwitting humans and learn what he might about events since the fall of Markwart and also to discern any further information about Jilseponie's progress to the north. He found himself sidetracked, though. Again he found himself standing in the grove before the two stone cairns. Whatever words Juraviel might find, like n'Touel'alfar, they did little to relieve his pain at that moment. He remembered Mather, and the man's gallant fall while saving the young Bradwarden from the clutches of a goblin horde-no wonder that the centaur insisted upon returning Tempest to Mather's side. Mostly, though, Juraviel explored the newer, raw wound-the loss of Elbryan. He remembered all his days with the young man, training him, bringing him along in his understanding of the elven way of seeing the world, and teaching him bi'nelle dasada. He remembered the night of Elbryan's naming, when the young man became Nightbird the ranger, under a starry sky in Caer'alfar. He contrasted that event with Dasslerond's continuing anger at the man and at Jilseponie, and considered his own initial reaction, anger, upon learning that Nightbird had taught the woman the sword dance. But then Juraviel remembered the first time he had seen the two fighting together within bi'nelle dasada, battling goblins on a hillock above a trapped wagon caravan. How beautiful they had been together, how complementary to each other's movements, and how deadly to the goblins. Watching that display, Belli'mar Juraviel had thrown away his anger at Nightbird, had then considered the man's instruction of Jilseponie a gift upon the elven gift, heightening the value of that the elves had given to him.
If only Lady Dasslerond been able to witness such a display!
But she had not, and Juraviel's description of the scene could hardly sway her.
"Rest well, my fallen friend," the elf said. "Keep Hawkwing close to your side until the day that your son comes to claim it."
That last statement brought a smile to Juraviel's face, as he turned and started for Dundalis, but how much wider that smile would have been, he realized, if he were allowed to play some role in tutoring the child of Nightbird.
The elf spent the rest of the day about the outskirts of Dundalis, resting on high branches, and listening to conversations of some of the townsfolk. He fell asleep to dreams of his lost friend and didn't awaken until the moon was high in the clear night sky.
He arrived at the base of the hillock, serenaded by Bradwarden's piping, a short while later. The young stallion was there, tethered to a tree, grazing easily and not even lifting its head to mark the approach of the quiet elf.
He found Roger reclining beside the centaur, much in the same position as the night before. "Got him," Bradwarden remarked. "Oh, but he's a spirited beastie. Yer little ranger friend is in for some wild ridin'."
"And what about my little friend Roger? " Juraviel asked with a smile.
Roger, who obviously had already been informed of his role, put on a sour look that the elf knew was mostly bluster.
"He'll be sittin' funny for a bit, don't ye doubt," the centaur said with a laugh. "But we'll get the stallion so he'll take a saddle, at least."
"A week? " Juraviel asked. "For I've some business to attend to."
Bradwarden nodded. "I'll break 'em both by then," he said, glancing wryly sidelong at Roger.
The three spent the rest of the night relaxing on the hillock. After Roger had fallen asleep, Juraviel wandered down to the stallion to better inspect him.