Richard Wayne was in big trouble this time.
He was supposed to have been watching his little sister Donna, but the call of the village festival had been stronger than the desire to insure that Donna's boyfriend didn't take improper advantage of the smitten young woman. And she was a woman, old enough to take care of herself, as she had told her brother on numerous occasions.
Fool that he was, he'd believed her.
No, that wasn't fair. Their parents, Sir Bruce and Lady Diana, had plenty of enemies, enough that their children had been taught at an early age to defend themselves against common threats. Donna had been able to hold her own in all her practice sessions, every bit as good as he.
But it was impossible to defend oneself against a teleportation spell.
Castle Wayne was well-warded against magicks, but this was no petty casting. Whoever had snatched Donna from the midst of her home was a powerful, deadly adversary; one that young Richard most likely was unprepared to face alone. Not that he had a choice; his parents were away at Prince Clark's court, and were not due back until month's end. He couldn't allow Donna to be held for so long, even if Roy hadn't been frantic to get her back.
Richard glanced over at the man who rode next to him. Roy Harper was not of noble enough blood to satisfy his mother, who had frowned on her daughter's liaison from the moment of its inception. His soul, however, was noble where his blood was not, and he was as determined as Richard to see Donna safe in her own home again, even at the cost of his own life. For that, at least, Richard thought well of him.
They had prepared for a lengthy quest, as the range of a teleportation spell was limited only by the strength of the one casting it, and presently, that was an unknown. Roy had insisted on bringing his own supply of arrows, covering his pride with the truthful claim that the familiar shafts wouldn't hamper his aim in the hunt for game. Not that Richard had known anything to hamper Roy's aim; peasant though he was, he was unmatched in his archery skills. He had every right to be proud.
If only such skill alone was sufficient to make him a suitable suitor to a noblewoman.
Fortunately, Donna hadn't been wearing her amulet at the time. The eagle-shaped pendant was imbued with magicks that would guide them to her, though it would offer no protection against the perils of the journey.
Perils such as they currently faced.
True to their nature, the creatures had stalked them for days and surrounded them silently, waiting until they were well into the woods and away from any chance at help to strike. Richard had sensed something amiss, and had halted his horse even as the dark shape dropped down from the trees to pounce on the spot where he would have been had he kept on. The feline creature switched targets in mid-spring and raked razor-sharp claws down his mount's neck, severing blood vessels and muscle connections instantly. Richard leapt from his saddle, sword drawn, as his dying steed crumpled to the ground.
Feral eyes glowed in the darkness, excited by the smell of fresh blood. They were outnumbered eight to one; poor odds against vicious predators, but they still had a chance...
"Roy," he whispered up at his still-mounted companion, "these are the Catwoman's clan. To them, we're as much prey as the horses we ride. Our only chance is to take out the Catwoman herself. That will show we're a force to be reckoned with, and they may let us pass."
"You point her out, and I'll kill her for you," Roy murmured back.
Richard shook his head. "No killing. We only have to injure her, to let her know that we could have killed her if we'd wanted to." He scanned the furred shapes lurking around them and cursed silently. "She's holding back. This must be a hunting exercise for the cubs."
"Then we're in luck," Roy noted sardonically, looking down at Richard's dead horse. Roy's own mount was growing increasingly restless, scenting the predators, the blood, and the tension of her rider.
The cubs, in turn, smelled her apprehension, and moved in for another kill. Richard brandished his sword, ready to defend them but knowing not to waste his energy in making the first move. Having a distance weapon, Roy was less hesitant about wading into battle, and fired an arrow through the ribs of an advancing cub before Richard could stop him.
Hunting exercises were only performed with essentially harmless prey, and with that one act, they had proven themselves to be far too deadly to be left to the cubs. The adults poured forth from the shadows as the snarling cubs retreated, sizing up their opposition. Mere animals they may have been, despite their humanoid forms, but they knew enough to recognize Roy as the major threat. Their attack was a rush of flying teeth and claws, converging on the two humans and their terrified horse.
Roy got off three more shots before his horse reared, throwing him to the ground. It bolted, but didn't get far; the cubs converged on it and it disappeared under a pile of furry bodies. Richard stood by the fallen archer, wielding his sword to deadly effect, but keeping up a 360-degree vigil was nearly impossible, and one of the felines managed to breach his defenses. Claws slashed across his back and down his arm, the weight of his attacker driving him to the ground and knocking the sword from his grasp.
He felt a rush of air across him and the feline went flying, tumbling head over tail into the bushes. Looking up, Richard saw the underbelly of a palomino stallion, its pale grey hooves carefully placed around his sprawled form. From his vantage point, he could see no rider, but something had frightened the catclan, for the attack had ceased with the arrival of his deliverer. The adults were backing away, hissing, clearly not wanting to abandon their kills but unwilling to fight the new arrival for them.
The end of a wooden staff pressed into the ground beside him and a large hand reached down, grabbing a hold of his good arm and hauling him up onto the back of the stallion. Roy joined him an instant later; Richard's surprise that there was room for Roy triggered the realization that he and Roy were the only ones riding the stallion.
Their savior was a centaur.
Pulling a knife from his belt scabbard, the centaur cut loose Richard's saddle bags and tugged them free of the horse's carcass. Handing the bags back to Richard, he sheathed his dagger, hoisted Richard's fallen sword, and began to back away from the scene, brandishing his staff and the sword in a gesture to the felines to keep their distance. They needed no such warning; centaurs were warriors, their size and strength making them formidable enemies even in the face of daunting odds. When he was far enough, the stallion turned his back on the catclan and galloped away.
They rode in silence for the better part of an hour, whereupon the centaur slowed his pace and came to a halt beside a stream, one of many that eventually found its way down into the Gotham River that wound through the heart of the valley. The two men slid off, sore from the rough bareback ride as much as from the vicious battle.
Richard studied the centaur, who returned both his sword and his inquisitive gaze. He wasn't the largest stallion Richard had seen, but he was by no means a leggy colt, standing a good two feet taller than either of the men. It was not his size but his coloration that made him stand out; most centaurs were chestnuts or bays, others black, a few mostly white. A rich golden palomino with white socks was, if not completely unheard of, definitely rare.
His mane of white-blonde curls was pulled back by a woven leather band dyed a deep blue, a match for the leather belt and cuffs he wore over his loose white shirt. The equally-light tail was braided into dozens of tiny rows, a festive look which concealed the fact that the braids would sting like a whip if used as a weapon. But it was his wide-set eyes, a light blue-green reminiscent of sea water, that caught Richard's attention and held it. They were gentle, beautiful eyes, totally out of place with the image of a fearsome warrior that was usually associated with centaurs.
At length, Richard found his voice. "I'm Richard Wayne, son of Sir Bruce Wayne, who is lord over all the Gotham Valley. This is my companion, Roy Harper. We thank you for your timely rescue, and are in your debt."
The centaur continued to stare down at them curiously. It occurred to Richard that the stallion had probably never seen humans before; certainly he had no fear of them, nor, from his expression, any hatred. Odd, considering the history between humans and centaurs, but not impossible.
"Well?" Roy blurted into the silence. "Aren't you going to tell us your name?"
Laughter echoed through the branches above them. "Silly man," a female voice chuckled, "can it be that you don't know centaurs can't speak your tongue?"
Larger than any eagle, the harpy glided down from the trees, settling herself on the centaur's broad golden back. He seemed unsurprised by her presence, unlike the two humans, who gawked at her in amazement. Her iridescent black plumage was glossy, the long, soft feathers on her head falling down her neck like hair. She wore no clothes to cover her exposed breasts, which her plumage left bare; it was less startling than it might have been, as harpies were always very modestly endowed.
"I am Raven," the harpy informed them, "and you may count yourselves lucky that my people can speak all languages. Jericho here is limited by his people's physiology, which prevents them from such convoluted speech as you humans have developed."
"So he has no idea what we're saying?" Roy asked. The question earned him a glare from Jericho, accompanied by an offended snort.
Raven cocked her head. "Would this be your first time in the forest, young Roy Harper? I had thought by now you humans knew that centaurs could understand you."
Roy shrugged. "I've never met one before; I wouldn't know."
"If I may be so bold, why are you in the forest to begin with? There are perfectly good roads leading out of your valley, and you seem unprepared to deal with the realities of life outside of your village."
"Anyone can see who's coming and going on those roads," Richard said quietly. "Our mission requires stealth."
Harpy and centaur glanced at each other, then back at Richard. "There are greater perils to contend with than the catclan," she commented, casually stretching each wing in turn. "Perhaps we should accompany you, seeing as that you no longer have even your mounts."
Richard couldn't argue with that logic, but he hesitated to accept the harpy's offer. "How can we be certain of your loyalties? This mission is too important to jeopardize on unwise alliances."
A deep rumbling sound that even Roy recognized as laughter came from the centaur. Raven, too, grinned at Richard's obstinacy, nodding as Jericho communicated something to her via his native sign language. "I see you are both novices to the ways of others," she smiled. "Centaurs and harpies don't concern themselves with human politics. If we offer our company to you, it is only because of your current plight; were you capable of continuing on your own, we would certainly encourage you to do so."
"They got you there, Rich," Roy agreed.
"Not 'Rich'," Richard corrected him. "My friends call me 'Robin'."
"Robin it is." Roy thumped his friend's shoulder. "My friends call me... well, if they're being polite, they call me Roy."
Richard sighed and sat gingerly on the mossy ground near the bank. "My sister was abducted by someone well-versed in magic. We're trying to find her without letting anyone know that's what we're doing, so we acted as though we were off on a hunt. We didn't want to alert her captor, but we also didn't want the entire village to know that Castle Wayne is now unattended except for the servants, since my parents are away at the Prince's court." He picked listlessly at the tie of his saddle bag. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"It is a good idea," Roy insisted, dropping to his knees beside Richard and tugging at the remnants of his friend's torn sleeve. "Quit fussing, Robin," he muttered when Richard tried to pull away, "you need your arm bandaged." He ripped the fabric into strips and began winding them around Richard's arm. "You still have all your supplies, and I have most of my arrows. Even if we have to walk the whole way, we'll get to Donna eventually. That's what's important right now, not some little setback like having the catclan eat our horses." He finished the bandage and glanced at Richard's back. "You're lucky you wear your sword scabbard across your back; it kept the claws from slicing you open there, too. You'll need a new scabbard soon, though."
Jericho signed something to Raven, who nodded and took to the sky. She hadn't gone far before she vanished in a puff of black smoke. Richard didn't comment, but teleportation explained why no one had ever been able to capture a harpy before. In fact, until Raven had landed right in front of them, he hadn't really believed in the existence of harpies.
"Where'd she go?" Roy wondered aloud.
Richard looked at Jericho, who seemed surprised that either of them would try to converse with him. He sat next to them, lowering himself on his fore knees first before settling his hindquarters on the ground. His signs were slow and somewhat varied from the ones he'd used with Raven, but they were descriptive enough that Richard felt he understood the general message. "You sent her to retrieve something?" he asked.
Jericho nodded in confirmation and smiled. Richard thought nothing of the fact that the smile was close-lipped; to horses, baring the teeth was a threat, not a welcome. That triggered the realization that centaurs weren't exactly horses... a novel concept to him. It hadn't really struck him prior to this, but this creature -- this individual, rather -- who had saved his life was no mere animal. He wasn't human, that much was obvious, but he was sentient and much kinder than his race was given credit for. But that meant --
Richard pushed the thought from his mind. It was a concern for when they returned to Castle Wayne... if they returned. There was certainly nothing he could do about it now.
The light of the day had turned golden, a sign of the setting sun. Evidently they were going to bed down by the stream for the night, as Jericho showed no inclination to do anything other than eat the leaves off nearby bushes while he waited for Raven to return.
Roy got to his feet and wandered around the area collecting firewood. Just to have something to do, Richard joined him, though his one arm hurt too much to do any substantial carrying.
"Do you think he'll spook if we make a fire?" Roy whispered.
Richard shrugged. "I don't think so, but we'll have to wait and see. There's no way I'm sleeping in these woods without one -- not with the Catwoman's clan on the prowl."
"You'd think two horses would hold them for a while."
"A dozen growing cubs eat a lot, and get hungry again soon; better safe than sorry."
Raven had returned when they got back to their campsite. She had brought Jericho a travel bag containing a large blanket and a leather tarp that could be tied to overhead branches to act as a rain shield. Apparently, centaurs didn't believe in carting many luxuries along with them when they travelled; not too surprising, since they acted as their own pack animals, and didn't want to carry more than they had to.
Roy dumped the firewood into a pile and looked around for some rocks to form the edges of a firepit. Unfortunately, there were none to be found outside of the ones in the middle of the treacherously slippery stream bed.
"You won't need them," Richard assured him. "If you set the fire with a spell, all you have to do is define its limits, and it won't burn beyond them."
Roy glanced away, embarrassed. "Dad doesn't like magic; he says it messes with the natural order of things. I build fires by hand."
"Nothing wrong with that, if you like hard work," Richard grinned. "Allow me, then." The spell made little sense to those who were unfamiliar with magic, but its results were evident to all; the wood pile burst into flames, the fire rearing high as though it had been going for some time.
Neither Raven nor Jericho appeared concerned by the fire, though they made no move to approach it. Most likely Jericho had no need of it; a body as large as his would be slow to lose heat to the night. As for Raven, perhaps harpy metabolism was not as delicate as a bird's, for she showed no indication of suffering from a chill. Then again, it was still summer, so there wasn't much of a chill in the air to begin with.
It was full dark now, and with the moon hidden behind patchy clouds, the fire was their sole source of light. The woods weren't any darker than they had been two nights ago, but that was before the attack of the cat people, when the two humans had been more assured of their invulnerability. Now that they were no longer so sure, spending the night in the woods was a more daunting prospect.
Jericho, at least, wasn't at all bothered by the idea of spending the night away from the rest of his herd. Removing his cuffs, belt, and shirt, he rolled them up and stored them in the bag Raven had brought, then spread the blanket over himself and promptly went to sleep.
"Wish I could do that," Roy said quietly, setting up the tent that he and Richard would share.
"Donna's not here, so what's stopping you?" Richard quipped.
Roy blushed. "Look, Robin... I mean, I know it's hard, since she's your sister and all, but she's not a little kid, and this isn't some cheap fling for us. I know I'm not blue-blooded enough to be worthy of her in your eyes, but it might surprise you to know that there can be more important things than breeding when judging someone's worth."
Richard laid a hand on Roy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Roy; I didn't mean that like it sounded. I know how my mother views you, but -- and I shouldn't be telling you this, mind you -- my father isn't at all concerned that your social status is beneath Donna's. He can see your true worth, and it must be enough or he never would have let you keep coming back. And I wouldn't have agreed to let you accompany me, if I didn't trust that your heart was as true as your aim."
Roy clasped Richard's hand briefly. "Thank you," he murmured.
They surprised themselves by being able to sleep through the night, awakening to the predawn songs of territorial birds. Richard crawled out of the tent, noticing that Raven was nowhere to be seen. She must have left after sundown, when her smoky black teleportation would be hidden by the darkness. Where she spent the night was a mystery that she had not yet chosen to share with them.
Jericho had found a deep spot in the stream and was submerged up to his ribs in the water. Richard smiled to himself; seen like that, no one would know that he was a centaur instead of a human. His smile vanished when the stallion suddenly disappeared underwater, but he reappeared a moment later, turning to toss a fish at Richard. Stunned, Richard watched as Jericho caught a second fish barehanded and emerged, dripping, from the water. Centaurs were vegetarians, so the fish were for him and Roy, though why Jericho had taken it upon himself to get their breakfast he had no idea.
Without the shirt to cover him, Richard could clearly see the thin scar that circled Jericho's neck. He'd seen scars like that before, on the ankles of peasant children who had carelessly stepped into a rabbit snare. The snare wire was designed to bite deeply, and always left a scar. For the scar to be around the centaur's neck indicated that he'd been much smaller, a young foal out foraging where human hunters had planted snares. His dam must have been nearby, else he would have garroted himself with his efforts to pull free of the trap. Obviously, he had made no connection between the pain and fear of that event and human beings, else he would not be so trusting as he was of them.
Richard thanked Jericho for the fish and set about cleaning them while Roy broke down the tent and went in search of new firewood. Jericho got dressed and wandered over to a bramble patch, ignoring the sharp thorns of the bushes as he plucked handfuls of berries to eat. By the time the fish was cooked and eaten, the bramble bushes were completely devoid of berries and had even lost a fair number of leaves.
Roy glanced at Jericho and looked back at Richard, hesitating to voice his question since he knew the centaur could comprehend him. Richard shrugged in response. He understood that Roy was asking about their future mode of transportation, but he, too, didn't want to offend their new friend by suggesting that he should serve as their new horse. If they had to walk the rest of the way, then so be it.
Jericho picked up his nearly-empty travel bag and slung it over his withers, securing it in place with a strap he tied around his waist. He then folded his blanket and draped it over his back, looking over at the two humans and chuckling. Apparently he had remembered their initial condition upon dismounting the night before, and was willing to make concessions for their delicate anatomy.
Richard laughed and vaulted up onto the centaur's back. "Much better," he sighed. "Your bony spine is like riding on the edge of a sword blade," he joked, ruffling Jericho's mane. The stallion swatted him playfully with the tip of his tail, then stood still so that Roy could hand Richard's saddlebags to him and climb up behind him.
Noticing that he had no reins by which to control their direction, Richard reached over Jericho's shoulder and handed Donna's amulet to him. "This is our guide to Donna; the eagle will glow when turned in the proper direction, and will darken when we go astray. Northeast seems to be our current course." Jericho hung the amulet from his belt and set off at a canter, making Richard even more thankful for the cushioning blanket.
They travelled nonstop for half a day, diverting from their course only once, when Jericho chased a young buck across a meadow in a contest of speed. The deer won, but not by much; Richard suspected that if Jericho hadn't been laden down with two humans, he would have won the race easily. Having been victorious, the deer promptly ignored them and returned to its foraging, and they resumed their journey.
A short while later they came across what Richard assumed to be another deer until it moved into open view. Far from being a common animal, it was another centaur, a dark female. He guessed her to be about Jericho's age, given the youthful spring in her step and her petite stature.
The bay mare looked up at them as they approached, her expression changing from joy to concern as she spotted the two humans. She flashed signs at Jericho, the meaning of which was lost on Richard and Roy without the benefit of Raven's interpretations. When they had gotten close enough, Richard could see that the mare was much older than he'd thought; she was probably Jericho's dam, and not at all pleased to see her son being used as a human's mount, like any common horse.
Roy was distracted by a little silver-grey filly who was staring at him from the bushes, her pale grey eyes taking in the wonder of the two-legged creatures. Her light color suggested kinship to Jericho, but before he could ask her, Richard nudged him with an elbow, bringing his attention back to their current situation.
The mare had stopped signing and was moving to gather up her errant filly as another centaur trotted into view. He was a huge white stallion, scarred from numerous battles and missing his right eye, and Richard would have guessed him to be the chief stallion even if Jericho hadn't shrunken down almost a foot as he arrived. Perhaps such submissive behavior was standard in centaur culture, but he had a feeling that there was more to it than mere obeisance to rank; the terse conversation preceding the stallion's appearance suggested that bringing humans to the centaur settlement was strictly forbidden, and doing so had put Jericho in very serious trouble.
His suspicions were confirmed as the white stallion's gaze met his. Pure hatred burned in his single blue eye as he charged, a fierce battle cry issuing from his throat. Richard turned and grabbed Roy's arm before the archer could even begin to reach for his bow; flinging arrows would certainly get them killed, not to mention being a poor return on Jericho's kindness in saving them.
Jericho straightened up and faced his sire squarely, returning his battle cry in a challenge so unexpected it brought the larger stallion to a halt. It also brought every centaur in the area, though none of them ventured close enough to interfere with the two stallions.
It was a bit of a quandary. Richard had no desire to stay seated on a centaur about to go into battle, but he knew that dismounting would bring an instant attack from the chief stallion, which he would have no way of deflecting without resorting to lethal means -- which would in turn bring an instant attack from the rest of the herd. Maybe, if they were very lucky, Jericho could talk some sense into his sire and everything would settle down peaceably.
That didn't seem to be happening, though. The white centaur made a few swift gestures in response to whatever Jericho had said, but the look on his face hadn't changed. It was a look that frightened even Richard, so he wasn't surprised to feel Jericho's body trembling underneath him. The situation was rapidly going from bad to worse, and any outcome he could predict didn't look good for any of them.
Suddenly, the chief centaur charged, and Jericho sprang backward a good ten feet, surprising both of the men on his back. His sire pulled up short, having proven to everyone there that his son was not his equal in battle, and repeated the gestures he had made previously. Jericho's only response was a pertinacious snort, coupled with a impetuous toss of his long, white-gold mane.
It was not the answer his sire expected, nor was it one that pleased him. He pointed sharply back the way they had come in a gesture even humans could understand. Jericho flinched, but hesitated only briefly before backing away slowly, his head down. When he had cleared the ring of watching centaurs, he turned and walked away, both hands gripping his staff so tightly that his knuckles were white. A soft, plaintive whinny trailed after them from the little grey filly, which spurred Jericho into a furious gallop, his hooves tearing up the ground as he raced away from his former home.