Crusade - James Lowder [89]
"You're being a fool," the centaur said sharply. Jad pranced back and forth, towering over the dwarven king and his two guards. "I can help you."
Torg pushed the gold-bound black forks of his beard aside and folded his arms across his chest. "I've tried to be polite about this, centaur. Obviously that doesn't work." Spreading his feet apart a little, he said, "Let's try this, then: the dwarves of Earthfast don't need help from creatures like you."
Jad exhaled sharply, making a sound that reminded Alusair of nothing so much as a horse snorting angrily. She was angry herself as she moved to the centaur's side. "Why, Torg?" she asked. "The centaurs can make this journey easier for us, but you-"
"I won't have my troops allying with forest-bound riffraff like him," the ironlord growled, his face growing red beneath his beard.
Jad looked down at Alusair, then at Torg. "Race is no guide to character," he said, trying to subdue his anger. "I've known dwarves who were intelligent and wise. Nothing like you at all." Without another word, he reared on his hind legs and headed away from Torg at a canter.
"Wait!" Alusair called. She glanced over her shoulder at Torg. The ironlord was scowling into his beard, muttering something in Dwarvish. Alusair raced after the centaur chieftain.
As she made her way to the edge of the camp, the princess saw the centaur in the bright moonlight. Jad kneeled where he'd set up the falcon's perch. He was struggling with the heavy leather glove when Alusair reached his side.
The centaur turned at her approach. "That-that-" Bowing his head, he breathed deeply. When Jad looked up again, Alusair saw that some calm was reflected in his eyes. "He's made me so angry I can't even talk!"
"I'm sorry," Alusair offered.
"It's not your place to apologize for Torg, Princess." The centaur glanced back toward the camp, then pulled on the leather hawking glove. "To be honest, I don't know why your father called on him for assistance."
"Father has stranger allies than the dwarves of Earthfast," Alusair mumbled, a little bitterness creeping into her voice.
"The orcs you told me about?" Jad asked as he attempted to nudge the drowsy falcon onto his gloved hand. The hawk cried out irritably, and the centaur paused. "Perhaps," he ventured. "Though I'd be willing to guess the King Azoun I've heard so much about had good reason for accepting their aid."
Alusair let the subject drop, more for the feeling of guilt that was beginning to plague her than for any disagreement with Jad's observations. This latest, most puzzling display of Torg's narrow-mindedness was weighing upon her heavily. "I'm just sorry Torg wouldn't allow you to help us," she said after a moment.
Jad snorted. "When I offered the guide to him, the buffoon asked why we weren't coming along to fight. I told him that we're obligated to protect the forest, that we couldn't just leave. Anyway, we'll be here to help if the battle ranges this far west. And I offered supplies, too."
"And he wouldn't hear of it," Alusair concluded.
"Worse still," Jad said, the anger rising in his voice again, "he insulted me, said that I was just laying a trap for them, that I was probably allied with elves or orcs or worse." He clenched his fists and tried to relax.
Alusair rested a hand on the centaur's arm. "I'll tell Azoun of your generosity, Jad," she said. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the offer."
The chieftain looked down at the falcon, which was fidgeting nervously on its perch. "Perhaps there is something I can do to help," he said. He smiled and added, "but I'm sure Torg will think I'm doing it to spy on you."
"You can't give me the hawk." Alusair motioned toward the bird. "You need it to patrol your borders."
"Not really," Jad said, handing the hawking glove to the princess. "We know the woods better than anyone, so it's easy for us to creep close to camps and spy."
When Alusair hesitated, Jad pushed the glove toward her. Eventually