Qualtan and Glaive continued to run, knowing full well the elves would be unrelenting in their pursuit. Disturbed moths of yellow and brown flitted out of their path as they ran uphill, climbing over exposed roots and dewy, moist inclines. At last the two collapsed in a shallow clearing. Birds sang loudly about them and no signs of any elves were apparent. A brief feeling of peace enveloped them. "Are you all right?" Glaive asked. "You were bleeding." He pointed to the red staining on Qualtan's lower side.

"I'll live," Qualtan replied tersely, taking in his surroundings.

"Well, we are going to end up lost in this forest for sure. Without a guide, we will end up either right back where we started or dead," Glaive said, swiping at insects that buzzed round his face.

Qualtan turned to look at him. "And whose fault is that?!"

Glaive took an unusually submissive tone. "Qual, I'm sorry. I truly am. I did not mean to harm you in any way. This is all my fault, I know! But look!" he said, going through his retrieved satchel. "My wrist gauntlet and weapons! And our maps! They are all here! The King and Queen must have realized it wasn't all my fault and gave it all back. This will help!" Glaive lifted the bounded maps and waved them in the air with glee.

Qualtan rose, slapping his thighs as he confronted his friend, yanking the papers out of his hands.

"Then why did you do it?! What were you thinking? To steal from their hall and then disappear on our way to Tringolm shortly afterwards, or were you planning on stabbing me in the back when I slept?"

Glaive rose as well, meeting Qualtan face to face. "You dare to accuse me of attempted murder! You are my friend! I would sooner stab myself than you!"

"You pretty much did the same with your idiot actions!"

"I already said I was sorry!"

"That's not good enough!"

"I know!" Glaive yelled, walking away. "I know. I'm a thief, Qual! A thief and a robber, that's all I've never known."

"All of this is your fault. If we even make it to Turinthia alive, we will be probably walking into a trap to return us here! And for what? For colored rocks? For gemstones and monies?" Qualtan's eyes began to glow again with amber rage.

Glaive, somewhat concerned, took a step back. "Yes! Yes, indeed! Easy enough for you with the riches you've come from to stand there and ask me why. Try living off of your wits to eat and sleep as many do and you would see the attraction!"

"That's no excuse! You are not in such a position now."

"I know."

"You've been lying to me since the beginning! Using me as has Termenon!"

"No! That's not true! You've been the most decent sort I've ever met! I let myself fall without heed to other concerns, including you. I am truly sorry for that. You didn't deserve that and I betrayed us both."

Qualtan stepped away sighing mightily. "I should have left you there and escaped myself!"

"Dammit, Qual! Can't you see I'm being truthful? Take me to Tringolm then, and do as you like! Send me back now if you wish, and I will do as you say."

Qualtan laughed sadly. "Send you to your death? Punish you to such an extreme? No. You were as a child in a sweetmeats shop. You are to blame, most assuredly, but not for all. I will not give Termenon the satisfaction of killing you or stealing this sword."

"They could have stopped us, you know. His parents could have easily used their magic against us, but they let us escape and gave us back what was ours to aid us. They knew you were innocent of all of this."

"The fact that Termenon's greed has overcome his reason is the only reason we stand here now. Speak no more to me! We need to move on. We cannot tarry here long. You said yourself the centaurs that abound here ally with the elves. We trespass upon their lands now. When word reaches them, they will join the elves in hunting us down. We must travel eastward, and then south, that is our only hope," Qualtan said, reading through their mangled maps. He thrust them back into Glaive's hands and started to move on. Glaive quietly complied.

The forest was moist and cool. A strong, earthy scent roiled in their nostrils as spongy mats of green tinged with mushrooms of yellow and brown covered their way. They traveled thus for hours, resting little. No words were said between the two companions even as they made camp. No fire was used in order to best hide their position. They were surrounded by enemies, and knew their hope of passing through the forest uncontested was small indeed.

The three elves stood together, nursing their impatient griffons, when a sudden blaring cry brought their attention. A veritable legion of griffons appeared in the sky, homing in on their position. They landed as one, led by their Prince. Termenon's griffon was larger than the rest, older, and its golden-yellow form shimmered in the sunlight. He bounded towards the other elves, his eyes narrowed with rage.

"What happened?!" he asked. The elves nervously explained how their quarry had eluded them. "You were not supposed to combat them!" the Prince berated angrily. "You were supposed to keep pace and wear them down!" He grabbed the elf that Qualtan and Glaive had forcibly used on their journey. He shook the elf roughly. "Fool of an elf, allowing them to take you unawares!"

"But, my Prince, we had no choice! They had driven me to fly into the trees and would have been lost to sight! The others had to engage us!" he said, to the nervous nodding of the two injured riders who stood to one side. "They would have surely killed me otherwise."

The Prince nodded, accepting the explanation. He released his grip, straightening the rider's collar. "My apologies, you have done well, then. Come! Half of you follow them on foot! The rest, come with me! We must go to the centaurs and warn them! They are trapped more handedly now than before! The forest will not help them! Go!" With horns bursting, elven riders rose into the sky once more led by their Prince. The other contingent of elves, led by Escoch, charged into the forest.

Far ahead, Qualtan and Glaive paused, hearing the reverberating echoes of the elven horns. "It didn't take long!" Glaive cursed. "Urgsh's black toenail, we need to hurry!"

Qualtan nodded, as they increased their speed. They edged on as quickly as possible, taking heed of any movement, any sound, any shadow. At one point they paused, diving into a thicket as winged forms flew high overhead. They sat hidden for a time, waiting for the griffons to disappear.

"They are on to us, all right. Doubtless, making for the centaurs to warn them of our approach!" Glaive said.

"We cannot go forward and we cannot go back. Not many choices for us to take," Qualtan said, rising from their hiding spot. "Come!" The tree lines began to thicken. Both escapees felt relief, for the griffon riders would surely be unable to see them now. They struggled to climb over a high ledge, pulling at vines and clawing into the dirt. Above it at last they paused, and saw movement far below, black spots that moved through the terrain they had left behind.

"They follow us on foot now," Glaive said, straining to take in their details.

The elves indeed were closing the gap between them. Qualtan continued forward, as Glaive struggled behind. At last, when the half-orcne could run no further, Qualtan grabbed hold of him and ran. Luckily, the twisting and winding paths of the forest allowed them to maintain their edge in distance for now.

At night, they huddled closely, lighting no fire to keep their location secure. The elves had also paused to rest, and by morning Qualtan and Glaive had traveled over a wider distance. Qualtan was well aware of the speed elves could reach when in the fastness of a forest primeval. Hours behind them, Termenon's forces stopped to take in the remnants of their camp site. The Prince smiled inwardly, confident of their success. Another night followed and this time Qualtan persevered throughout, dragging an exhausted Glaive with him. After an immeasurable time spent running and hiding, Qualtan collapsed, gulping in great bouts of air.

"You can't continue at this pace, not with me draped over your shoulders like some maiden in distress!" Glaive said. He attempted to pat Qualtan's heaving back, but he pushed him away. Glaive left him alone to rest, as he looked about. How long could they maintain their speed, he thought miserably? The elves would surely kill them both now. "And all because of you, stupid pig!" Glaive said to himself angrily, kicking at a stone. As he walked about, a sudden glint of light caught his eye. "Look there!" He cried out. Qualtan, still gasping for breath, took notice and looked towards where Glaive had indicated. Glaive drew closer to the reflecting light. Pulling through the tall flowering plants that surrounded it, he picked up a long, black dagger. The blade was wickedly grooved with an icon of a bleeding eye on its handle. "This is an orcish blade," he said, showing it to Qualtan who came up from behind him.

"No surprise. Bands of orcs, goblins and hobgoblins, regularly penetrate the forest as we saw from before. The centaurs wage constant battles to protect the sanctity of their borders from such pillagers, who find easy respite within the cover of the forest to camp and launch raids on the surrounding populated lands. They come from far away, from their mountain retreats in the West and then return there when they are finished here or are rooted out, but they always return."

"So we have that much more to worry about now," Qualtan said ruefully, turning away.

Glaive dropped the knife back, sighing.

As they continued on, more weapons were found strewn about. Swords, cracked bows, and thrown about arrows that were caked with blood. Patches of flattened grasses began to appear, and Glaive drew close to inspect them.

"Hah. These bows are not orc made. They are too large. They are crafted from maple trees. Look, there are hoof prints here as well."

Qualtan bowed to observe them. "A battle has taken place here. Between centaurs and some foes."

Glaive placed his hand upon the indented hoof marks in the ground. "I wish I could tell how fresh these are, but you'd need a better woodsman than me to tell you."

Qualtan nudged Glaive. "Perhaps not. Look there, behind those bushes." A black-booted leg lay to one side, the rest of the body hidden. As they neared it, they could make out the fallen creature. The figure was laying face down, its visage obscured by bloodied plants. It was adorned with a rag tag mixture of armored pieces. Qualtan knelt close to it and rolled it over. The creature was an orcne, its chest riddled with bent and twisted arrows. Leaving it in place, Qualtan and Glaive continued on. There were more signs of battle. Gouts of earth had been torn asunder. Another orcne lay twisted in the grass. Glaive inspected one of the arrow shafts that had ended its life.

"These are centaur arrows, of that there can be no doubt. They are too large for humans to wield," he said.

Another body came about, hidden by a furry, black-collared cape. It wore a metal helmet of black ornamented with spiky protrusions. It was crushed inwards as if it had been trod upon.

"What's left of its brains must be three feet deep," Glaive said. He pried loose a leather bag held in its gloved grip. Ripping it open, he checked its contents: a few copper pieces, a gold coin, some teeth, and a dirty cigar. Scowling, Glaive threw the odds and ends away.

Suddenly a growl echoed from somewhere ahead.

"Quickly!" Qualtan said, running past Glaive.

"Wait! Don't run TOWARDS the screaming!" Glaive said, rolling his eyes in frustration.

Qualtan ran as fast as he could, as additional sounds began to be heard. Swords clanged and cries of battle ensued. He paused at a large obelisk of stone, nearly eight feet in height and five feet across. It marked the boundary of the centaurs' territory, etched with words of warning. The ground past the marker dipped down again and from his position above the scene, he could see the battle taking place.

A large, horse-like creature was surrounded by a gang of seven, maybe nine loping humanoids that struck in turns with swords and spears. Its lower body was horse but seemingly stitched by magic, a giant human torso extended from where its neck should have been, culminating with a bearded face and muscular arms. Its attackers would temporarily retreat when the great horse-beast kicked out with mighty hoofs or swept a wide arc with a large, metal-capped club. One of its hind legs was wounded, and it limped noticeably as the circle of orcs slowly pushed it back. Two of the humanoids lay in the grass, their weapons dropped from their hands. To one side lay an overturned cart filled with small game hunted by the centaurs. To another, a second horse humanoid covered in spears slumped against a tree. Three hungry orcnes hunched over it, pulling and grabbing.

As the still living centaur batted away with its war club, one of the orcne lunged forward. It stabbed into the side of the centaur, eliciting a howl of pain. In response the centaur grabbed hold of the orc and hurled it away, smashing it against a vine-covered trunk. Qualtan decided to inch his way down to aid the embattled creature.

"Stand fast, you maggots! Wear him down!" the lead orc spat out. His eyes were nearly hidden under thick, bushy eyebrows as he stared intently at their prey. His prune-like face was scarred and lined, with great curling fangs that stretched out from his lower jaw. Another orc threw a knife but the centaur blocked the blow with a small, leathery shield strapped to its arm. It reared up, again forcing the orcs back, but as it landed on its four hooves the orcs charged.

"You're not going anywhere!" the orc leader said lustfully. "You'll be feeding us well tonight!"

Spears flashed. The centaur cracked through a handful of them, but buckled under the orcs, falling under the assault. The orc leader stepped back, whooping as the others began to kick and beat at it.

"Don't kill it yet! We need the location of his fort! We'll find food and gold aplenty there! We may even find some young ones to take back with us as slaves!" A shadow crept up from behind the lead orc, but their captain didn't take notice, so focused on the centaur was he.

"Tie him down, you slugs! Chop off a hoof or two to quiet him down! We don't have all day!" he said, as the orcs continued to pummel at the stunned creature. The orc captain snorted with pleasure, hoisting up his torn pantaloons. "A fine tally for this journey indeed! I told you troll-bottoms we'd find easy pickings here!" Satisfied, he turned around, laughing with pleasure. The orc froze as he looked upon the human warrior that stood just behind him. Eyes bulging, he had little time to react before Qualtan grabbed him by his tunic and hurled him through the air, over the heads of the preoccupied orcs. He flew past them, squealing, before slamming hard into the ground. The other orcs at last took notice, spinning about to take in the stranger. They paused briefly as Qualtan removed his sword. The other three orcne that had been busy gorging upon the fallen centaur looked up from their meal, blood streaming from their faces.

"I stand alone. See how you fare against me," he said.

The orcne sneered and then smiled. They snorted and sniffed at the air, sensing no other humans about.

"Foolish Kind of Man! You will add to our larder! Take him!" one of the orcs commanded. Two responded, pulling out their rusty swords, and engaging Qualtan. He quickly fought through both, striking past their sloppy attacks and downing them quickly. Another orc, the largest and hairiest of the group, rose up, heaving a great axe. He missed Qualtan once, then twice before Qualtan lunged below his third attempt, striking deep into the orcne's armpit. It howled, releasing its axe as Qualtan followed through with the blow, slicing through his chest, and beheading the orcne as it doubled over. Two of the orcs that had been feeding on the dead centaur took stock of the human's prowess and decided their best option was to flee. Glaive, who had been following Qualtan, quickly hid behind a tree as they ran past, crying out in fear.

The third orc, however, was not intimidated by the intruder. Growling threateningly, it slowly stalked towards Qualtan, pulling free a long-handled axe from its back. Qualtan stood tall, hewing down opponent after opponent for they were no match for him. A pile of their bodies began to form beneath his feet. The lone orcne paused, hunching down as an unfortunate orcne was tossed over his head. He continued to move closer, prepping his axe. Nervously, it licked its pink-blue lips, its bloodshot eyes never leaving the human whose back was turned to him. As yet another of his brother orcs fell, the orcne raised his axe, taking aim at Qualtan's head. As the final foe collapsed, Qualtan's unseen assailant readied his strike. Suddenly it paused, its axe held high. Qualtan heard its gurgling moan, and whipped about in time to see the orcne stagger. In doing so it revealed the hilt of the dagger that had been thrown from behind, jutting from the back of its head. As it turned around to face its unknown foe, another knife flew and struck it in the forehead. The orc at last released its axe, slumping to the ground dead.

Qualtan looked at its still body and then at Glaive who suddenly appeared.

"It seems I owe you one," he said.

"It's about time," Glaive responded, smiling back. Qualtan, despite himself, returned the smile. Glaive retrieved his weapons, wincing at their removal from the dead orcne.

Behind them, the fallen centaur struggled back to its feet. It stared at the two of them with deeply set black eyes, looking from one to the other with some confusion. They were unsure of how the creature would react but it nodded at last, placing a large hand on Qualtan's shoulder.

"You have my thanks, Human-Kind. You have saved my life, both of you," he said, in a deep bass voice. The centaur paused, coughing up blood. It righted itself, limping past them towards its fallen companion. It lowered its two front legs as it burst into tears.

Qualtan and Glaive looked on silently, not wishing to intrude. Glaive, however, was anxious about any additional time spent dallying here.

"We cannot linger here, Qual. The elves..." Glaive whispered. Qualtan agreed.

Stepping forward, he addressed the mourning centaur. "Are you well enough to travel? We do not wish to leave you here if you cannot."

The centaur brushed the tears from its face. "Yes ... yes, I am."

"We will leave you then," Qualtan said. "We do not wish to trespass further."

The centaur took in a deep breath, rising to its full height. "Wait, human. What are your names?"

"I am Qualtan, and this is Glaive."

The centaur padded down its long, brown beard. He wore bracelets of beaten bronze and a leathery belt at its human waist. "Your timely intrusion has earned you the right to travel here. I am indebted to you both. What business brings you into the Gladed Forest?"

Qualtan decided to be truthful about the matter. "We flee the high elves of Hermstingle. I am to be knight of Turinthia, but we have run afoul of Prince Termenon, the Sword of Eagles."

The centaur's eyes brightened. "We of the centaur clans are allied with the elves. Our lands buffer their own from raiders such as these foul scum." He kicked over one of the dead orcne. "We were surprised by these ... creatures ... as we hunted for food. My name is Graunt." The centaur moved towards the uplifted wagon that lay to one side. with powerful arms he pulled the wagon back onto its wheels. He returned to the fallen centaur, gently raising it. "This was Naght. A good centaur was he. He now rests in the golden fields of the sacred lands that come after," he said sadly, caressing the centaur's hair. He placed him into the wagon. "So you have fled from Hermstingle, eh? Thieves, are you?" he asked, as he secured Naght's body.

"The story ... is more complicated than that," Qualtan responded.

"Hah. They must be angry indeed with you two if they have followed you here."

"We do not wish to add to your troubles," Qualtan insisted.

"Bah! Arrogant elf kind! They see us as watchdogs guarding THEIR forest! We protect their backyard and they grant us trade, arms, and assurances of assistance which rarely appears. They come and go on our lands as they please without a hint of asking! Hah, if you've done anything to stir their ire, you've already warmed yourselves to me, and that was before your timely rescue! Come, you will not find your way through the forest alone. Do not worry about the elves. If you seek quick passage we centaurians will help you get out as quickly as possible before any elf can pick up your scent!"

The centaur gestured towards the wagon as it grabbed hold of the pulling reins. Qualtan and Glaive paused, but Graunt impatiently waved them towards it again.

"Have no fear! You are safe with me! Come, come! If elves are about, we should hurry."

Relieved, Qualtan and Glaive accepted his offer, and climbed aboard the wagon. With a deep breath, the centaur stomped forward, flexing its mighty muscles as it began to pull the cart behind it.

A day's journey brought them at last to a massive walled fort. Gates of plastered tree trunks swung open and they were quickly whisked inside. Attention was immediately focused on Graunt and his fallen companion. Qualtan and Glaive were virtually ignored as the centaurs stomped angrily at the sight of their dead brother. Females of the group wept as he was taken gently away. There were many barn-like structures with wide doorways to allow the large centaurians affordable passage. Small, junior centaurs galloped close to the strangers and quickly retreated to observe them from a safe distance. Great posts twelve feet high stood in front of some of the larger structures, carved with the likenesses of centaurian gods and goddesses, their faces and bodies etched into the wood one atop the other. At last Graunt beckoned for them to follow him through one of the largest halls. "I shall bring you to Gauth, our clan leader. He shall want a full account from us."

Two guarding centaurs, wielding long, trident-like spears of gold, made way for their entrance. The chamber was dark except for small funnels of light that drifted in through open shutters on the timbered roof. There were tables and benches spread throughout, all of a size too large for Qualtan and Glaive to reach. Giant weapons lay tumbled about. A large fire pit lay in the center of the chamber, surrounded by ornately stitched mats of green and red. Four centaurs of senior stations sat about, taking notice of Graunt's escorts. The eldest of the four was their clan leader, his beard a striking grey. Smoking a long pipe amidst piles of pillows and thickened blankets, he grunted at their approach, signaling with his eyebrows for them to stand before him. Qualtan bowed quickly, followed by Glaive.

"We beg your forgiveness for trespassing upon your lands. It was not by direct intent," Qualtan said.

Graunt chuckled, drawing the centaur leader's attention to him.

"They pissed off the elves," he said with a smile, before turning deadly serious. "And they saved my life from an ambush of orcne."

The clan leader contemplated this, nodding briefly. He crinkled a long, sharpened nose as a plume of smoke left his full lips. His face was lined with many years, and his skin was that of elder bark. "You have done a great deed for my folk, Qualtan and Glaive." The two looked surprised at the mention of their names. The centaur laughed merrily. "I was already warned about you. A rider from Hermstingle arrived here two days prior to ready us for your capture. But I choose my own thoughts about this. Had you true evil purpose here you could have easily bypassed Graunt and left him to his own, but you did not. That gives you the right to tell your tale that I may decide."

Graunt gave a reassuring nudge to Qualtan who rose. Sighing heavily, he related their tale. The centaur leader's eyes grew large when Qualtan spoke of his uncle, his father, and his sword. The other centaurs shook their heads at Termenon's betrayal. "Their value is honored only amongst themselves!" the clan leader said to the rumble of the other centaurs. "You nearly bested the Prince himself in battle, an improbable feat on its own, stole a griffon, and made your way here," the leader said as the others sat, intently hearing the tale. At its end, Glaive suddenly spoke out. "The rulers of Hermstingle let us escape, because they knew Qualtan was innocent. I however, am not. It is because of me we are in this mess. Judge however you will, but judge us separately. This fine human deserves better consideration than I."

Qualtan looked at Glaive in appreciation. The centaurs spoke amongst themselves in their own husky tongue, grunting and bellowing. Gauth at last waved silent the others, and once more turned to Qualtan and Glaive.

"Your actions here are what I base my decision upon, not on the words of any elf, for their concerns are nothing to me. Other lodges will be contacted, and word may reach our great chieftain's hall. However, if you need a way through the forest, I will supply you with such. And if the elves fail in their efforts to find you because of it, the Prince himself can kiss my ass!" The other centaurs laughed wildly, leaping up and down, clapping their hands in approval. Qualtan and Glaive looked at one another, sharing a wave of relief.

That night, they rested amidst piles of warm blankets. The partitioned area they were placed in reminded Qualtan of a horse's stall. An open shutter above gave access to the sky and the stars that glittered above. Torches billowed in the breeze, illuminating the long hallways where other centaurs slept in sectioned chambers.

"Do you think they'll stay true to their word and see us safely through?" Glaive asked, lying to one side of the room.

"I think so," Qualtan whispered in reply, staring into the sky, his arms crossed beneath his head.

"We could be a powerful bargaining chip for them to barter with."

"Ever thinking in devious terms, eh?" Qualtan retorted. "That might have been the case had we just blundered through and been caught, but rescuing Graunt put us in good favor, at least for the nonce."

"The elves won't care about that if they find us. It won't matter if we are escorted by centaurs or not. That won't stop them."

"You are probably right," Qualtan agreed.

"And what happens then? If we escape, what will be waiting for us in Turinthia? Doubtless, they will be warned through magical means. What if they attempt to imprison us and send us back?"

"I don't know."

"Well, maybe me more than you. You have connections after all. Your uncle..."

"Time will tell."

Glaive was silent for a moment. His face softened, and he turned his eyes upon Qualtan.

"I owe you for this, you know. You could have left me back there to take the blame for all of this, and rightly so."

"You were just a means to getting the sword."

"I've ruined everything for you."

Qualtan sighed. "We've gone through all of that. Let it be for now."

"No, I mean it. You stood by me through and through and I've done little to deserve it."

"That is essentially true."

"I did save your life though!"

"So a point goes to you then."

Glaive propped himself up. "I will never fail you again," he said grimly.

"You mean that?" Qualtan responded, pulling himself up to look at him.

"I do. I vow to stand by you no matter what—as a comrade, and as a friend. The best I've ever known."

Qualtan smiled, reaching out to pat Glaive on the arm. "Get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow."

"In fact, I've renounced my former life! No more thievery! No more robbing!"

"Fine," Qualtan said, laying back.

"I mean it! It's a new world for me now!"

"Don't do it just yet. If things go wrong in Tringolm, you'll have to teach me those skills so we can both stay alive after all of this."

Glaive laughed, rolling back into a corner. Qualtan renewed his stargazing. For the first time in years he was unsure of what was to become of him. The words of the dreaded haegtes came back to haunt him. You will not escape. You will have fallen to evil, and you will pay for your choice. His heart began to beat nervously and his hands shook. A fury welled up within him as he reprimanded himself for being in the position he was now in, but he eventually relaxed, realizing there was nothing left to do now but continue on. No matter what happens, he thought, he knew in his heart he had done the right thing. Aurelus could not fault him for that. Part of him wished he could somehow call upon his wizard uncle for aid, but a greater part within said no, it was his turn to lead his own way. He reviewed his successes so far: his defeat of Romulax, the martichoras, the ghuls, and yes, even the haegtes. "It's not over yet," he said to himself, renewing his own faith. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to slowly sink into peaceful rest at last ... until the voluble blaring of Glaive's snoring disabused him of that notion.

Their breakfast was a riotous affair. In the main hall, the centaurs tore into bowls of wet fruit, porridge, and meal. Though noble creatures, their animalistic tendencies showed through when they ate. A musky smell permeated the crowded eating hall. Respectfully declining to join in the raucous meal, Qualtan and Glaive sat patiently waiting for the slobbering centaurs to finish, which they did after a round of loud belching. Gratefully, they were soon led out to a waiting escort of three centaurs directed by Graunt himself.

"Graunt! I didn't think you would be taking us through," Qualtan said. The squat-nosed centaur smiled, looking down at the human. "What, and lose the novelty of your presence? No elf will get you now if I have anything to say about it! My leg is well enough for travel. Into the wagon with you! I will take care of the rest."

Qualtan and Glaive obliged, placing themselves in the wooded cart that was normally used to ferry supplies.

"Grab hold, now! We will travel quickly," Graunt said, as he and the other centaurs aligned themselves with straps and reins. With a brisk whistle and a sudden jerk, Graunt and the others galloped forth. They raced past the walls of their lodge and into the forest once more, leaving a flurry of leaves and clods of upturned dirt in their wake.

Termenon inspected the dead orcne as his elves searched about the area. They had killed two orcs who had come from this direction, running through the woods in a panic, and that had led them here.

"Look at the pile of them. He was here. It was them. And look here, there are hoof marks as well." The Prince pointed to the indentations with his sword. "Centaurs. It must have been a battle. And a wagon trail goes off in that direction. Look here." Termenon impaled a dead rabbit. "Thrown larder, doubtless hunted by the centaurs."

"Do you think the centaurs fought against them?" Escoch asked.

"No. He must have aided them, for nearly all of these dead swine show the marks of human-sized strikes and not the wounds of a larger weapon wielded by a giant foe. Whether he was captured or not remains to be seen."

"But why would he have battled against the orcs and risked being caught?" Escoch said. "They were aware of our allegiance to the forest beasts. If the centaurs were in peril, why would the human risk himself in their defense?"

The Prince wheeled around, annoyed at the question. "Because he is an honorable man, you fool! Now go! The wagon trail will surely lead to one of their hunting lodges. Follow it!" he said.

"An honorable man," Termenon said softly to himself. How quickly those words had come out of his mouth, he thought. Again a quick surge of guilt came over him. He quickly shook his head, burying any feelings of remorse and refocused on his goal. Ever closer, he thought, the Goldenflame neared his grasp. It wouldn't be long now, he mused with a grunt of satisfaction.

"The path we seek is but a few days away," Graunt said. "We will reach the Gladed River, and then you will follow it. You will reach its wider mark where the Fisher People reside—they are of your Kind, and live on long narrow boats, fishing off the river and doing trade with other small ships that come through their floating village or with travelers on nearby roads. You will follow those roads and the merchant bands that travel on them to Turinthia."

After many hours of bumpy travel, the party took rest in a grassy clearing. The centaurs seemed satisfied with their rate of movement, confident the elves would be a few days behind at the least. The only concern was of possible aerial reconnaissance from their griffon riders for they were surely still present in the forest. The centaurs pulled out bags of dried meat and attacked them voraciously. Glaive attempted to hide his disgust at the display, for centaurs craved animal flesh, regardless of whether it was raw or cooked.

"So does each lodge have its own clan leader?" Qualtan asked. Graunt wiped debris off his lips onto his beard as he nodded, gulping through his portioned meal.

"We are ruled by a great chieftain, but he confers only with our lodge masters. His hall is the size of many of our lodges and he holds court once a year. Still, we centaurs value freedom above all else, and our lodges rule their own, rarely conferring with other centaur-clans except for emergency needs. Our territories are well staked out and respected by all, although we allow passage of our own, in small enough numbers. I myself have never seen our chieftain. We call him the Great One, He of the Mighty Hoof. He selects our lodge masters and a portion of our bounty is sent to him as a monthly offering."

"The elves will doubtless contact him," Glaive said.

"Perhaps. They will have contacted the closest lodges based on your direction. It matters little if they reach our chieftain for his hall is far away. Word will spread from lodge to lodge anyway. By the time the chieftain hears of you two, you will be long gone from our lands. Do not fear, he hates the elves as much as we do, or so I've been told! He holds us to an alliance with the elves because we must. But come, it is time to go."

They continued their travels, through deep green valleys and tree-covered roads. The blankets of trees overhead became so thick, though day, it seemed as dark as night. They passed through another lodge territory marker, but saw no other centaurs along the way.

"This forest is vast," Qualtan commented.

"Indeed it is. That is why the orcs come here, and the goblins, hobgoblins, and other sorts. We are always rooting their camps out! Many use the forest for food and to access supplies, and to prepare raids, like those that attacked me and Naght, alas!" Graunt's face squirmed with a mixture of anger and sadness, but he quickly regained his composure. "But there are worse threats than what sneaks here from the outside. There are older stewards of the forest, far older than we, that pay little heed to allegiances or alliances. The Green Men we call them, spirits of the root, the wood wardens, lay first claim here. We steer clear of them as they are not friendly to most that trespass upon their privacy."

Glaive started. "Will we come across any?"

"No. They live in the deepest, oldest parts of the forest, where they will not be disturbed. They are part Human-Kind, part vegetable, part animal, part wood, with leafy faces, and ancient, probing eyes. We respect them, and leave shrines of dried plants in their name. They protect the inner recesses of all elder forests, but we will not travel that way."

"Have you ever traveled to the Darklight Forest?" Qualtan asked.

The centaur's eyes bulged with fear. "Do not mention that place!"

At night they settled into a small camp as Graunt regaled them with stories. They eventually fell asleep under the watchful eyes of the centaurs. It was at this time that mailed fists pounded impatiently on the walls of Graunt's lodge home. As the doorways opened, Termenon and his assembly of troops marched in. They were brought before Gauth who shortly appeared, groggy from interrupted sleep. He took his time to settle in before the new visitors. Termenon waited with growing impatience until the elder centaur at last made himself comfortable. His retinue of guards tramped in and both elf and centaur eyed each other suspiciously.

"It is an unseemly hour to be visiting," Gauth said. "For good reason, I pray?"

Termenon nodded in agreement. "Good enough. Two escaped criminals of Hermstingle, a human warrior and his orcish companion have fled this way, thieves who abused the privileges granted to them. You have been warned?"

"Yes, your riders were here days before."

"We tracked them here. Do you have them?"

Gauth paused, smiling at the Prince.

"Well?"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean they were here as you say, but are not presently so."

"What lunacy is this?! My riders had already warned you of their threat!" The other centaurs snorted in anger at Termenon's raised voice.

"They posed no threat to us. In fact, they saved the life of one of my staunchest centaurians."

"They are fugitives of our realm. They are criminals. They have entered your lands illegally."

"Their valorous conduct paid for that misstep."

Termenon began to pace, growing heated at the discussion. "You are obligated per the rules of our alliance to consider all enemies of our country as enemies of your own, yet you let them go?!"

"I had no idea of the extent of their crimes against you."

"You knew they were criminals, you were told this, and yet you just let them walk away?"

"No, I certainly did not do that. I do not need rogue humans and orcs loitering about. I gave them escort." Some of the centaurs began to chuckle. The elves kept their hands close to their swords.

The Prince simmered. He took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Your chieftain would like to hear of this. He will take the matter seriously, as you should if you value your position here."

The elder centaur's eyes glinted with a rage of his own.

"Are you threatening me?" he asked. The other centaurs began to chomp and clop their hooves. The elves removed their swords in response.

"You will escort us to where you have sent them. You will do so now."

Gauth hissed. "An elf does not command here. This is not Hermstingle. You may petition or you may ask. That is all."

Other centaurs blocked the doorways, slowing moving in. The elves lifted their swords and spears at their approach. "My Prince!" Escoch said, looking nervously from the centaurs to Termenon.

Termenon remained unflinching. He walked up to the lodge master, who waved at his guards to keep their distance and allow the elf to come close. The centaur rose and looked down at the elf who pointed up towards him with a wagging finger.

"You will take us now or I will send my riders to your chieftain and let him know what little value his selected lodge master for this area has with regards to the treaties he himself has put forth and agreed to for the betterment of both our peoples. Judge clearly on that, centaur."

The other centaurians began to roar at the disrespect shown their leader.

"To do so would take time. You would lose your quarry."

"Perhaps. But you would lose your rank of lodge master sooner."

Both leaders stared at each other. Gauth knew, however, that despite his chieftain's lack of interest with Hermstingle, he would not risk sowing discord with them, for the elvish alliance held much value to them. Reluctant as he was to admit this, Gauth knew it was true. He had no allegiance to the two escapees, after all, and he had already paid back their debt to them by granting free entry through his lands and safe escort out. He could not lose his position over that, and both he and the elf Prince knew it.

Sighing, the lodge master backed down. "I will prepare an escort for you in the morning."

"Now," the Prince insisted, a smile of triumph upon his face.

As they stood outside Gauth's audience hall, the elves waited for the centaurs that prepped for their voyage. Escoch approached Termenon's side, a look of concern on his face.

"My Prince, you should take care! We should not raise the ire of the centaurs. They could lodge a complaint with your parents over how you spoke to Gauth."

"Bah!" Termenon said. "They are fools as are you! They need us more than we need them. As long as that holds true, they will do as we say, whenever we say it! Foul beasts!" The Prince winced in disgust at the heady odor that permeated from the male centaurs' glandular secretions. "I am Prince of the Realm! I will have my way!"

"My Prince, please lower your voice, they can hear you!"

"These centaurs will not hamper me!" Termenon added, speaking even louder. Some of the centaurs looked at him, their faces threatening, but he did not care.

"What is it about this human that he enamors all that he meets? First my parents aid in his escape and now these animals do!" He lifted up his arms in consternation.

"Quietly, my lord," Escoch persisted.

"Do not forget, your parents did not stop you from attempting to retrieve them."

"They wish him to make a fool of me, Escoch. Their own son! That is their hope!"

"No, my lord, I don't think..."

"Do not take me wrong, Escoch. He is a true and noble Human-Kind, worthy of being a knight. I will not deny this. He will do the Turinthians well, I should think. I bear him no ill will. I only care that the sword his father stole from us is returned to me! And I will not be denied this! Do you understand that, Escoch?!" the Prince said, grabbing his lieutenant's arm.

Escoch was about to remind the Prince the human's father had not actually stolen the sword but had been awarded it after Termenon's defeat, as well as the defeat of the others who had contested for it. But he had seen the growing obsession in him ever since the sword's return, and dared not to say anything. He was loyal to the Prince and would do his will, even if the end result was tantamount to thievery on Termenon's own part. It was not for him to say. Yet he worried how far the Prince would take this.

"Yes, my lord," Escoch replied softly. Termenon seemed to relax, nodding approvingly as he released his hold on the lieutenant.

Days later, Qualtan, Glaive, and their centaurian allies had reached the Gladed River. It sparkled jewel-like in the midday sun, plumes of white pollen floating gently in the air, disbursed from flowering trees. Small birds dived into the waters, skimming for fish. It was a placid scene, bringing relief to the hearts of Qualtan and Glaive.

"Follow the river. You will soon see signs of your people. After you leave the forest, it will be another ten days before you reach the outer lands of Turinthia, and a few days more, I'd gather, before you reach its capital, Tringolm. Good luck to you, Sir Knight!"

Qualtan took the centaur's massive forearm in his. "My thanks to you, Graunt, for all you have done. Perhaps we shall meet again, some day."

"And have you no words of praise for the high elves who you have wronged?" Termenon cried out from behind them. Qualtan turned around, shocked but not totally surprised. From all around them appeared a host of elvish knights, their faces tired and weary. A company of armed centaurs complimented them. They had pushed throughout the nights to gain speed, and had thus caught up with them in time.

"Our riders high above have kept watch over your position. Did you truly think you would escape our justice?" the Prince said, clearing the trees.

"Robber elf! Where is your honor now?!" Graunt said angrily, stomping his hoofs.

"No, Graunt, it is all right," Qualtan said, attempting to calm his newfound friend. "Stay your anger."

Qualtan moved towards Termenon as the elves spread out around them. Glaive followed but Qualtan motioned for him to stay back. Qualtan knew what was to come. This was not what he had envisioned for himself, upon becoming a knight, not at all. He did not want this fight. Still, he held hope words would win the day.

"Glaive did steal from you, that is true, but only because you enticed him and allowed him free access to your treasury in order to entrap him. You have entrapped us both for the sole purpose of taking this away from me." Qualtan withdrew his sword. Termenon stared at it.

"It matters not the lies you state. You were given a choice to save yourselves," the Prince said, withdrawing his own enchanted blade from its white scabbard.

"So that you could steal my sword?"

"That sword by rights is mine."

"It is not. You failed in the Trial. My father did not. The sword was bestowed upon him by right and passed down to me."

"Your father was a barbarian. A savage! He did not deserve the sword. Perhaps in time you will but not yet. My father helped to craft that weapon. No Human-Kind should wield it. It belongs to the elves! Only we are worthy enough to keep it."

"Your greed strips you of any worth to carry it."

"Bah! This is pointless! You are surrounded! You will come peacefully to Hermloate for judgment and relinquish your sword. Or, you can die where you stand."

"I shall not. Your claim is not valid. But as we have wronged you, there is a debt to be paid." Qualtan addressed himself towards all of the elves who stood watch.

"I offer you this, oh Prince! You lost to my father in mortal combat in your attempt to win this sword. I challenge you now before all those present to win it back."

"What?!"

"Face me in combat. If I win, you let us go, along with the sword. If I lose ... you may take the sword and we shall come with you peacefully."

Glaive gulped at the offer.

Termenon sneered. "Foolish man-child! Why should I do such a thing? I have you all in my grasp! There is no need to barter with you."

"Because I have challenged you, knight to knight."

Termenon considered his offer. "You are not a knight."

"Not yet, but even you have called me thus. You don't want us. You want the sword. I offer you the easiest path to getting it. As Prince of the Realm, leader of the knights of the High Forest, are you declining this petition to equal combat?"

The Prince paused, biting into his fingers. He looked around at his knights. To not accept the challenge would be a humiliation, and weaken him in the eyes of his elves. As a knight and leader of knights, his honor demanded he accept, and Qualtan knew this well. Truthfully, it was as the Human-Kind had said—he cared little for bringing them back or going through any rulings his parents would make over them. He was confident of his abilities, for had he not beaten him before?

Termenon smiled. "You know it would be to the death, for only thus would you ever stop me."

"I know," Qualtan said, returning the smile.

Termenon looked once more to his followers who stared back with curiosity. The Prince let out a great laugh, nodding in agreement.

"Very well, then. I accept your challenge. Let all present here take note! Let none interfere!"

"This is madness," Glaive said to Graunt, who placed a supporting hand on his shoulder.

Both warriors began to loosen themselves, feigning thrusts and parries with their swords as they walked about in ever tighter circles to each other.

"It would have been wiser to have come along with us. You would have had a chance to live then." The elves and centaurs pulled back to give them room.

"You know you are wrong, Prince. That is why your parents let us flee."

"Do not talk to me about my parents! Your very words offend me! I am their son, the Prince, and future ruler of Hermstingle! My word is law, equal to theirs!"

Qualtan flashed a wicked grin yet again. "Such a noble ruler, then, who rules by trickery and cupidity!"

Termenon cried out in rage and their swords met at last. As in their prior contest, their swords seemed to become dancing flickers of light as they struck with amazing speed and a terrifying prowess. They maintained their distance, respecting each other's strength. They danced and jigged, lunging and diving, prodding and plunging. The observers to this spectacle gasped at their swordplay and their finesse. Qualtan's sword slashed free Termenon's cape; the Prince's blade tore through Qualtan's belt. Sparks of sword on armor contact flashed during their fight, and their arms began to grow crimson with successful stings of metal. At last, their bodies closed, and Termenon reached out, grabbing Qualtan's arm, and with his own enhanced strength threw him far into and through a slender tree. Qualtan jumped up immediately but paused as the haegtes' words again returned to him and he wondered, was this the fate so cruelly foretold? Termenon rushed towards him, sword raised high.

"Qualtan!" Glaive cried out, seeing him frozen in place as the elf closed from behind. He raised his wrist gauntlet, taking aim, but Graunt lowered his arm.

"On the run. A criminal," Qualtan said to himself. Termenon roared out, licking his lips, as he neared him.

"Qualtan!" Glaive yelled out again in panic.

Qualtan heard him, but it was as if he was far, far away. No, he thought at last, looking down at his hands. His blade was unbroken. His vigor undiminished. He was safe.

"No!" Glaive screamed.

At the very last second, Qualtan returned his focus to the battle. Termenon lunged, sensing an easy victory. Qualtan swerved to one side, as the blade shattered through the backside of his armor, drawing blood but not death. Pieces of his golden armor shot out like pellets of rain. In his zeal to end the fight with what seemed an easy strike, Termenon was left momentarily defenseless after the great sword thrust and Qualtan took advantage of it. He pummeled the elf's head, knocking him off balance. Qualtan grabbed a fistful of Termenon's hair and slammed him off his feet onto another tree with a shocking impact. Both Prince and tree collapsed, causing elves and centaurs to scatter as the tree fell with a loud groan. Qualtan quickly grabbed hold of the fallen trunk and batted the rising elf, smacking him into the air. He fell into the river, flopping about like a rag doll.

Dropping the weapon, Qualtan ran towards the Prince who staggered. Yet the Prince was not yet done, for he quickly raised his sword in defense and again they struck back and forth at each other.

"There is no need for this fight!" Qualtan gasped as his strength began to wane.

"It's mine!" Termenon responded.

How long did the battle continue? It was hard to say. Qualtan's blows were slower, his arms growing heavy. The Prince, though he gulped for air, continued his fierce assault. His blows were hard and he began to edge through Qualtan's defenses. He struck at the torn section of Qualtan's armor, knowing that placed his opponent's focus on defending his vulnerability, rather than on attack. Though his human opponent fought bravely, he began to fall back. Despite his best efforts, the elf was like a whirlwind, thwarting his every attempt. They drew close once more, the eyes of both glowing red. Again, Qualtan took the opportunity, pushing the elf's sword away and digging deep into the Prince's side with his own. The elf cried out but struck back with a crackling fist and elbow. His attack was relentless, despite the blood dripping down his side onto his leg. At last, weakened from a dozen blows, his armor rent and exposed, Qualtan's arm faltered. They splashed through water as Qualtan was forced ever back, until with one quick blow his sword was bounced downward. Completing the movement, Termenon arced his sword, plunging it deeply into Qualtan's shoulder. It snapped through his shoulder protector and dug into flesh, stopping at the bone. Qualtan howled and collapsed to his knees as the elf wrenched his sword free. His blade tumbled into the river, his sword arm now useless. Termenon stood over him, gasping and coughing as blood trickled down his chin. He struggled to remain aloft, both hands attempting to keep his sword steady.

Glaive attempted to rush to his aid, but Graunt sadly held him back as he cursed and threatened to be released.

Qualtan held onto the gaping wound with his other hand as blood poured through. His face was white with near shock. Had the blade bit only a little deeper he would have surely lost his arm. The waters surged about his chest, for he was unable to stand.

"I told you. You are no match for me. You have forfeited the sword," Termenon said, his eyes dulling. His sword remained pointed inches away from Qualtan's face.

Qualtan looked up at the elf, who struggled to keep himself aloft.

"It is not over yet. In order to take this sword you have one task yet to do." Qualtan, grimacing in pain, called the sword out of the water and back into his other useable hand. The Prince poised himself, assuming Qualtan was attempting one final, if useless, attempt at battle, but he was not. He flipped the sword over and cleaved it into the bed of the river, its golden pommel showing just above the river line.

"You will have to kill me for it, for I have not yet admitted defeat," Qualtan groaned.

"You are defeated! Admit it!"

"Kill me then."

"Kill you?! You will not defend yourself?" the elf paused.

"You claim to have honor above my Kind, yet you have lied and played tricks to entrap me for this sword. You have faked kindness and friendship, brotherhood and comradeship. You played upon Glaive's weak nature to force this affair. You have behaved as those you put your Kind above. If such is your peoples' honor, I would have none of it, for there is none to be found. You have no honor."

Termenon growled angrily, raising his sword above his head to end the conflict once and for all. His arms shook as did his knees with the effort. Yet he paused.

"I honor my challenge to you. Kill me and take the sword," Qualtan said, looking into the eyes of the Prince, who strained to keep his sword high.

The Prince's face trembled with mounting uncertainty. "How can this be?! A Human-Kind showing more honor than an elf?" he yelled aloud.

He looked about and screamed wildly. Qualtan closed his eyes as Termenon's sword fell towards him. However, the impact Qualtan was expecting did not occur. Rather he felt the flat of the elf's blade tapping him softly on one shoulder and then the next.

"By the power given unto me as Prince of Hermstingle, heir to the royal house and by the names of Lord Veltrus and Lady Marena, I bestow upon you honorary knighthood in the Order of the High Forest. Truly your honor and courage are of such caliber I would surely destroy my own if I was to lay upon you a fatal blow. To protect my honor, I cannot. You have won. Take the sword." The Prince smiled at Qualtan, all prior lust for the sword gone from his face. The elf tottered and as his eyes rolled into his skull he fell forward, collapsing in Qualtan's arms.

The other elves rushed in immediately, prying the two combatants from each other. Escoch took Termenon in his own arms, feeling for any signs of life. The elf still breathed and Escoch sighed in relief. Glaive raced to Qualtan's side, pushing off the assisting elves.

"Help him!" Glaive demanded.

Qualtan smiled at his friend weakly, his own eyes half closed as ointments and salves were placed on his split shoulder. He moaned as the elves dressed his wound, pressing tightly against it to slow the bleeding. They undressed their unconscious Prince, removing his stained chest plate, and gently tended his own open wound that had caused him to faint.

"I apologize to you both," Escoch said, as he stroked Termenon's temple.

"Is it true, then?" Glaive demanded.

Escoch sighed uncomfortably. "The Prince had planned this since the very beginning. You have suffered much under us. And yes, I was also a part, as I did my Prince's bidding. I helped to deceive you both. I am glad the Prince saw the error of his ways. He has not been himself since the sword was returned to our country. I did not realize the ... lengths ... he would take because of its influence over him. Your friend is truly noble."

"Yes. How nice he had to nearly lose his life for your Prince to finally acknowledge it."

"He will be fine, as my Prince shall likewise be. The enchantments they carry will heal them both."

"So it's over? All of it?" Glaive said, still angry with the results.

Escoch ignored his question. "He will need rest." He rose as he commanded the other elves to summon a rider to take Termenon back to Hermloate. "Do well for your friend, half-orcne. Do not fail him again," Escoch advised, as he turned his back on Glaive and helped to carry his fallen Prince to a more comfortable setting. Graunt gently lowered himself, taking Qualtan into his arms. He carried him into their wagon as the elves and their centaur guides began to disperse back into the forest.

"We will join you yet for a little while longer, until your friend is able to walk on his own," Graunt said. "I will not abandon you in his present condition." Graunt smiled at Glaive who reluctantly returned the gesture. Calling out to his brother centaurs in their native tongue, they agreed to join him.

Glaive merely stood, looking at the spot where the battle had taken place. The elves were gone now, slipped beyond the trees, along with their centaur hosts. Silence returned, and the river took back its undisturbed nature.

"Knights and nobility and codes of honor. Pfui!" Glaive spat across the ground, frustrated by it all. So this is what separates thieves like me from thieves like them, he thought gravely. "Petty titles and courtly posturing, parade leaders and hand kissers, the crooked Lord Thule's of the Woodworm Ports, and the heroic Prince Termenon's of the high elves. They're all the same," he grumbled.

"Glaive! Are you ready?" Graunt called out as they prepared to leave.

"I am ready." He picked up and threw a small stone into the river before jogging back to sit beside the unmoving Qualtan, who now slept. With leaves crackling under moss-coated wheels, the wagon lurched forward, led by Graunt and the three other centaurs, towards the open fields ahead.