Crusade - James Lowder [85]
The centaur headed straight for Torg's banner. The cloth standard, embroidered with the phoenix and hammer symbol of Earthfast, was the largest banner and flew in the army's front rank. It was reasonable to assume it belonged to the soldiers' commander.
"Hail, dwarves of Earthfast," the centaur called in Common when he got close. Many of Torg's troops shifted uneasily. They had never seen anything like this half-man, half-horse before.
The crossbowmen in Torg's bodyguard aimed their weapons at the herald.
"State your business," the ironlord replied crossly.
Alusair and the herald both frowned at the clipped, insulting reply. The centaur stopped abruptly, kicking up clods from the field with his large hooves.
He glanced over the column, and a trace of discomfort crossed his tanned, heavily bearded face. "I am the speaker for Tribe Pastilar of the Forest of Lethyr," he said formally, fear edging his voice. "You fly the banner of Earthfast. Are you-"
"Yes, yes," Torg said impatiently. "I am Torg mac Cei, Ironlord of Earthfast.
What do you want?"
The centaur herald's massive, muscular chest heaved slightly as he let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, he had thought the scouts had mistakenly identified the dwarves' standard. "You are passing close to our territory," the herald continued, a bit more relaxed, "and we simply wish to know your intentions."
Torg paused and eyed the centaur coolly. Alusair knew that a curt reply here might draw suspicion to the troops, so she stepped forward and spoke up. "We are moving past your forest on the way to Thesk. There we rendezvous with King Azoun of Cormyr to fight a barbarian incursion from the east."
The herald's sunburned face brightened visibly. "We hear much good about Azoun of Cormyr, even in this isolated part of Faerun." He dipped his standard twice in quick succession. It was obviously a signal to centaur troops waiting at the fringes of the forest, and many of the dwarves cast nervous glances at the tree line, waiting for an attack.
Torg, annoyed at Alusair for presuming to speak for him, moved next to the human princess and scowled at the herald. "Now that you know where we're headed, can we be on our way? We stayed out of your woods, so we expect you to leave us alone."
The herald's face betrayed his confusion. "We do not intend to delay your troops, Ironlord. We know how urgently the humans in Thesk need your assistance. But are you not ready to camp for the night?"
"We haven't decided that yet," Torg snapped. He glanced at his standardbearer and muttered something in Dwarvish. Before the young dwarf could send the signal for the new orders, Torg grabbed the standard's pole and held it straight.
Alusair was stewing quietly about the ironlord's foolish antipathy toward the centaur. She noted that Torg was staring past the herald and turned to see for herself what attracted his attention so fully. There, charging across the field, was a group of four more centaurs.
"Is this some kind of trick?" Torg growled.
The herald swished his tail around his chestnut-brown rump to chase away a horsefly that had settled there. Turning at the waist, he glanced behind him, then looked back at the ironlord. "No. That is our tribal leader. He simply wishes to meet you before you move on."
Torg grumbled a curse in Dwarvish, then let go of the standard. He nodded curtly to the standard-bearer, who signaled the rest of the army to lower their weapons. The army, slowly but steadily broke into small groups and started to set up their tents. Alusair and two guards stayed by Torg. The princess thanked whatever god gave Torg enough sense not to openly insult the chieftain of Lethyr's centaurs by meeting him with loaded weapons.
As the four centaurs got closer, Alusair saw that three of them were armed.
Whereas