Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords (26 page)

“My husband,” said Nessa with a grin. The younger centaur had gotten up again, grappling with Jorian. The bigger centaur tossed him aside.

“Why are they fighting?” asked Fiona.

“Because there are females around,” joked Nessa. “Don’t human males show off?”

Fiona had to laugh. “Yes!”

Nessa put her hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “He’ll want to see you.”

The moment they stepped out of the shadows together, the other centaurs fell silent. Jorian turned from his opponent, rearing back like a stallion when he noticed Fiona.

“The child!” he bellowed.

The centaur chieftain galloped toward them, stopping short of Fiona, towering over her with the moon behind his wild outline. His human skin was the color of ash, his animal coat a lustrous charcoal. He wore no shirt, only silver bands around his upper arms and the remnant of scars across his downy chest. His eyes were like Nessa’s eyes, as sparkly as diamonds, and a long jet mane ran down his back like the fin of a sea monster. With the grace of a savage king, he bowed.

“I am Jorian.”

All Fiona wanted was to touch him. She could barely stay her hand. Jorian was the dream she’d had, the very vision of the constellation twinkling now above her head. Like Merceron he seemed godlike, as though he’d lived forever, as though nothing could harm him, not sword, nor arrow, nor Skylord.

“Fiona’s my name,” replied Fiona. “From Capital City. I . . . we . . . my friend Moth and me. We came to find you.”

Nessa said to her husband, “The one I told you about. The one that was with her.”

The Chieftain nodded. “Your friend is gone,” he said, not unkindly.

“What?”

“Jorian knows what you told me about the boy, Fiona,” said Nessa. “He sent scouts looking for him past the mountains.”

“Your friend. The one named Moth,” explained Jorian. “My scouts searched the river where Tyrin found you. The shoals too. There was no one else.”

Fiona couldn’t breathe. “Then they got him.”

Nessa’s hand remained on her shoulder. “Who, child? Tell us who was chasing you.”

“Tell us all,” said Jorian. He moved aside so that Fiona could join the rest of them. “You have a story everyone wants to hear.”

FIONA SAT ON A SMALL WOODEN box near the fire, seeing the awe she felt reflected back in the eyes of the centaurs. Jorian gathered his people around the well, calling to the smaller ones who were playing to come and see the human child. A female hurried a plate of food into Fiona’s lap, and a gigantic mug of wine was set at her feet. Nessa stood beside Fiona, hovering in her maternal way while the other centaurs made a circle around them. The younger, honey-skinned centaur who’d been wrestling Jorian muscled his way to the front.

“This is Tyrin,” announced Jorian. “The one who found you.”

Tyrin might have been a teenager, or he might have been a hundred years old. It was impossible for Fiona to know. His sharp features beamed as he lowered to face Fiona.

“Nessa said you would be all right,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, Fiona of Capital City.”

A few chortled good-naturedly at her name. Fiona grinned, feeling stupid.

“Uhm, thank you,” she said. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Eat,” said Jorian. “And tell us your story.”

“She can’t eat that,” said Nessa, taking away Fiona’s plate. “She’s been sick.” The plate was piled high with meat, and Fiona was glad to have it gone. “I can bring you bread. Would you like bread?”

Fiona shook her head. “No, ma’am, not now,” she said politely, wanting only to be back in her bed of straw. A small female centaur went from staring intensely to finally reaching out her hand. Fiona grimaced as the creature fingered her hair.

“Look!” declared the girl centaur. “Such a color!”

The others nodded, and for the first time Fiona noticed that none of them—despite their rainbow of colors—were red-haired. She blushed as the centaur combed her fingers through her tangled locks. The girl, whose own hair was wonderfully golden, sighed.

“So pretty,” she chirped. “Like summer.”

“Thanks,” said Fiona stiffly.

“Tell us your story now,” said Jorian. “We’re listening.”

They were more than just listening. They were rapt. Fiona shifted as the centaur girl continued combing her hair. How could she begin, when there was so much she didn’t understand?

“Go on,” Nessa urged her gently.

Jorian knelt down on one of his forelegs. “Who was chasing you? The Redeemers?”

“Yes,” said Fiona. “And others, too. I was with my friend, Moth. We came through the Reach together.”

“Why?” asked Jorian. He seemed genuinely perplexed, as if the news of the Starfinder hadn’t reached Pandera.

“Moth brought something important with him,” said Fiona. “Something some other people wanted.” She bit her lip, then asked, “Lord Jorian, do you know about the Starfinder?”

The centaurs gave a collective gasp. The girl stopped combing Fiona’s hair.

“The boy—your friend—he has the
Starfinder
?” asked Jorian.

“No,” said Fiona. “Not anymore. He did, but . . . Oh, it’s hard to explain!” she snorted. “He had the Starfinder when we left Calio. That’s the city across the Reach where we come from. The Starfinder was there. A man named Leroux gave it to Moth. He—”

“Leroux,” rumbled Jorian, glancing darkly at his fellow centaurs. “We know Leroux, girl. The dragon lover.”

“Huh?”

“He came during the Skylords’ war with the dragons. The dragons gladly took the help of a human, but wouldn’t dirty their hands making friends with a centaur.” Jorian’s chest puffed out. “You know this man Leroux? Was he chasing you as well?”

“Leroux’s dead,” said Fiona. “And he was a good man. He gave Moth the Starfinder so that he could help Lady Esme.”

“Esme? The Skylord?” thundered Jorian.

“Let her finish,” scolded Nessa. “You’re scaring her.”

“I’m not scared,” said Fiona. She hopped off her little box to face Jorian. “Your pardon, Lord Jorian, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. Leroux loved Esme. All either of them wanted was to help the dragons.”

“Don’t tell us our history, girl,” Jorian warned.

“Someone has to, ’cause you got it all wrong. I know you hate the Skylords, but Lady Esme isn’t like the rest of them. She’s the one that stole the Starfinder, just so everyone could be free.” Fiona stood her ground. “Centaurs, too.”

The gathered faces looked on, waiting for Jorian to erupt. The Chieftain bristled as he spoke.

“Before Lady Esme ever stole the Starfinder, before your friend Leroux even set foot here, we centaurs offered our help,” he said. “But we weren’t good enough for the dragons. We couldn’t fly. We weren’t as pure or beautiful or wise as them, they said. And do you know what happened to them?”

“Yes,” said Fiona sadly.

“They were driven from their city. But not us, girl. We’re still safe here in our valley.”

The circle of centaurs nodded. Jorian himself grew pensive. He gestured to the makeshift chair.

“Sit,” he told Fiona.

Fiona did as he asked. In the light of the moon and the crackling fire, she looked at the proud faces of her hosts. Merceron had said the centaurs were brave. He didn’t much like them, but he’d spoken the truth about them. Fiona decided to tell the truth too.

“Me and Moth came here because a dragon told us to,” she said. “A dragon named Merceron. He said we’d be safe here. He’s the one who has the Starfinder now.”

“You gave the Starfinder to Merceron?” asked Nessa.

“He’s still alive?” chimed Tyrin. “He must be older than time by now!”

“Merceron was Leroux’s friend,” grumbled Jorian. “And a friend to that other one, too.”

Fiona blanched. “Other one?”

Nessa thought for a moment. “Rendor!” she recalled.

“Rendor,” Jorian muttered.

“My grandfather,” said Fiona.

All the centaurs gaped at her.

“I guess you know him,” said Fiona sheepishly.

Jorian looked astonished. “Rendor is your grandfather?” he asked. “Rendor is the one who came here with Leroux to help the dragons fight the Skylords.”

“No,” said Fiona. “That’s not true. They came to spy on the Skylords, that’s all. They came because they wanted to know what was here on the other side of the Reach. They didn’t mean to get caught up in the war. It just happened.”

Jorian scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. Your grandfather, your friend Leroux—they were outlaws. If the Skylords had found them, they would now be Redeemers.”

“Lord Jorian, it’s my grandfather who’s chasing us,” said Fiona. “It’s not just the Redeemers. My grandfather wants the Starfinder too. He’s come with an airship. I think he has my friend Moth.”

“Why?” asked Jorian. “And why did you give the Starfinder to Merceron?”

“Moth knows how to use the Starfinder,” said Fiona. “Nobody else can make it work, just Moth and the Skylords. If my grandfather finds that out . . .”

Jorian swished his tail in agitation. “And Merceron?”

“A friend,” said Fiona. “The Redeemers were after us. He led them away. He told Moth and me that you’d protect us from them.”

The big centaur sniffed at the compliment, but Fiona could tell he was pleased. “Dragons are cowards, and if the Skylords catch that old bone-bag Merceron they’ll blow him out of the sky. But . . .” Jorian sighed. “He did the right thing sending you to us.”

“What about the Starfinder?” asked another of the centaurs, a dignified male with a greenish-white mane and a chain of office around his neck. “Why does Merceron have it? Did he steal it?”

“No,” disagreed Fiona. “He took it so that he could find a way to destroy it. He took it to find the other dragons.”

“There is no way to destroy the Starfinder,” said Jorian. He looked pensive as he rubbed a clenched fist. “Merceron is wasting his time. And if the Skylords find him first . . .”

His voice trailed off. The centaur with the greenish-white mane took the hint and shooed the others away.

“Go,” he told them. “Let us think.”

After some grumbling the centaurs broke their circle, leaving only Jorian, Nessa, and their strange green advisor around the fire well. The girl who’d been toying with Fiona’s hair giggled a good-bye into her ear, and young Tyrin smiled as he trotted off, winking at Fiona before going. Weak and exhausted, Fiona rose from her seat.

“I think I should rest some more,” she said wearily. “I don’t feel too good.”

Nessa’s hand went to her shoulder again. “Wait.”

Fiona looked at each of them. “What’s wrong?”

Jorian’s brow thickened into a ridge. He turned to the other male. “Kyros?”

“They’ll come for her,” said Kyros without hesitation. “First they’ll take Merceron and the Starfinder, then the boy, then her.”

“The Skylords?” asked Fiona.

“Don’t worry,” said Jorian. “We’ll protect you.”

“What about my grandfather?”

“Rendor?” Jorian frowned. “What of him? The Skylords will deal with him, too.”

Fiona almost laughed. “You don’t know him, Lord Jorian. He’s smart. And he’s got a ship with him, a flying ship with guns, weapons. He won’t give up. He’s a powerful man where I came from, a Governor.”

“What’s a Governor?” asked Nessa. “Some sort of ruler?”

“Like a king?” asked Kyros.

“Well . . .”

“That would make you a princess,” said Jorian with a smile. “You look like a princess.”

“I do?”

“Like a queen,” said Nessa. “A little queen.”

Fiona was baffled. With stitches in her head and her hair in tangles, she felt more like a beggar than a queen. “I’m just a girl,” she told them. “And I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. My grandfather will find me. Maybe before the Skylords do, maybe not, but either way there’s gonna be trouble for you all.”

“Child, we do understand,” said Kyros calmly.

“But we are centaurs!” said Jorian. “The Skylords have more sense than to come attack us, and if your grandfather is dumb enough to try, we will fight him.” The Chieftain of Pandera folded his arms over his battle-scarred chest.

“No one will take you, Little Queen. As long as you are our guest, you are safe.”

THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT and all the next day, Artaios’ chariot carried Moth north. Aided by some unseen magic and pulled by the team of ethereal horses, the craft moved swiftly across the sky, never buffeted by the wind or troubled by cold. The mist and fire of the strange horses made an envelope around the chariot, protecting its angelic driver and his small human captive. They had flown higher than any airship had ever gone, higher than Moth’s imagination; the world below them was a blur of green forests and rivers. The Redeemer named Alisaundra flew alongside them, never tiring or complaining as she kept up with the chariot, her wings beating with unending strength.

Artaios held the golden reins of his team, guiding them across the sky. They were called “cloud horses,” the Skylord had explained, creatures made of both air and flesh that somehow existed in both realms. Only Skylords could command them, Artaios boasted, for the beasts were far too noble to serve lesser beings. Moth spent hours watching the cloud horses, fascinated by the fire sparking from their hooves, the way their limbs dissipated into vapor. He wondered what would happen if he touched one, if his hand would pass right through it or if his skin would burn.

Most of all, Moth marveled at the thrill of flight. Being in Artaios’ chariot wasn’t like flying a dragonfly or looking down at the world from an airship. Those things were wonderful too, but they were unnatural. The chariot was like the air itself. It flew the way a bird flew, riding the wind.

Born to it,
thought Moth.
Like Artaios.