Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords (31 page)

“You didn’t know how to bake bread, either,” Nessa reminded her.

“I will teach you,” said Jorian. He patted his own bow, a much longer weapon looped over his shoulder. “Come.”

Jorian led Fiona to the outskirts of the village, then beyond the shallow wall surrounding it. Fiona followed a few paces behind, confused but trusting. They climbed a gentle hill where the wildflowers rose to Fiona’s knees. Jorian looked about, satisfied with the place. The sunlight shadowed his muscular arms. Fiona caught herself staring. The bow felt wobbly in her hand.

“You see the eagle?” said Jorian suddenly, his face turned skyward. Fiona snapped out of her daydream.

“What?”

Jorian pointed into the sun. “An eagle—do you see?”

Fiona squinted, catching a glimpse of the great bird wheeling high above the valley. “I do!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t seen any birds flying so high here. Merceron says they’re afraid to fly. He says the Skylords have forbidden it.”

“Birds are safe here,” said Jorian. His smile was proud, almost arrogant. “I rule Pandera, not the Skylords.” He looked down at Fiona. “Raise your bow.”

Fiona hesitated. “Jorian, I really appreciate you making this for me, but—”

“Listen to me, Little Queen—the birds know they can fly here. They know that I will fight for them. And I will fight for you if the Skylords come, and you will fight with me. Female or male, it doesn’t matter. All centaurs know how to use a bow. Now, raise your weapon.”

Fiona nodded, shaken by his words. She raised the bow up as she imagined she should, stretching out her arm. “Like this?”

Jorian crouched behind her, sizing up her stance. “Be comfortable. Keep your back straight but not stiff. I strung your bow lightly, but it will still kick back at you.” He wrapped his arms around her, gently manipulating her. “That tree is your target,” he told her, choosing the closest pine. “Stand in line with it, both feet.”

Fiona did as he directed, trying to find a comfortable stance. “Back straight,” she repeated. “All right.”

“Now your draw arm,” said Jorian. “Elbow up. Everything in line with the target.”

This was a bit more awkward. Fiona imagined drawing back the string, keeping all her gangly limbs as straight as possible. She closed one eye and targeted the tree. “Now an arrow?”

Jorian dipped into the quiver at his side. Instead of pulling out one of the long arrows for his own bow, he chose a smaller one. “You should always nock an arrow at the same spot on your string every time,” he said. “Lay the arrow in the rest . . .”

Fiona set the arrow onto the little bump in the bow. “Okay.”

“Now nock it in the string.”

“Okay.”

She started drawing back. Jorian stopped her, adjusting her fingers with his own, then told her to continue. Fiona slowly pulled back the arrow, trying to keep form.

“Push with your bow arm and pull with your draw arm,” said Jorian. “That’s it . . . good and straight.”

Fiona felt the tautness of the bow, the arrow’s eagerness to fly.

“Aim . . .”

The tree was only a few yards away. Fiona lined up perfectly. “I got it.”

“Relax your fingers,” Jorian coached, “then let go.”

Fiona held her breath and loosed the arrow. The bowstring twanged and the recoil pushed her into Jorian’s arms. “Whoa!”

She hurried toward the tree, expecting to see the arrow dead center in its trunk. Instead she saw a gash mark along its left side. And no arrow at all.

“I missed,” she groaned. “Where’d it go?”

“We’ll find it,” Jorian assured her. He rose up, looking pleased despite her failure. “Practice. You’ll get better fast. You have an excellent teacher.”

Fiona smiled but didn’t laugh. “Jorian?”

Jorian was already pulling another arrow from his quiver. “Yes?”

“If the Skylords come, you’ll have to give me up,” said Fiona. “No one can beat them. The dragons couldn’t beat them . . .”

“Centaurs are not dragons,” boasted Jorian. “Have I not told you I would defend you?”

“Merceron told us all about the Skylords,” Fiona argued. “They hate humans. They’re not going to let you keep me here.” She shook her head. “They’ll kill you if you try.”

Jorian handed her the arrow. “Take it,” he said, then un-looped his own bow from his shoulders. “I want to show you something.”

He retrieved another arrow, this one long enough for his own weapon. He set it into his bowstring, holding it all with one hand.

“I have no fear of the Skylords,” he said. “The Skylords fear
me
. Ready your arrow the way I told you. Aim into the sky.”

“All right,” agreed Fiona, not knowing why. She nocked the arrow, got herself back into her shooting stance, and pointed the shaft skyward, waiting for instructions.

“Good,” said Jorian. “Now watch.”

He nocked his own arrow, tilted his bow skyward like Fiona, and began to pull back. As he did his draw hand started to glow, first a faint yellow, then a burning orange encasing his entire fist. Fiona watched in shock as the fire ran from his hand into the arrow, setting it alight, turning its wood into something else, something more like lightning.

Jorian closed his eyes. “Shoot your arrow.”

Fiona pulled back her bowstring, aimed for the sky, and fired. The arrow whistled into the air, higher and higher against the blue sky.

“Watch it,” said Jorian. “Don’t lose it.” He waited, waited, then he let his own shaft fly, not opening his eyes until the lightning shot from his bow.

It moved impossibly fast, catching up to Fiona’s arrow, hunting it down like a hawk to a sparrow. High over the valley the two collided in a burst of fire. Little flaming bits of wood showered down, then disappeared.

“What was
that
?” Fiona shrieked.

“That,” said Jorian, “is why the Skylords fear me.”

 

The Skylords called it “Jorian’s Lightning,” a term that delighted Jorian. He explained the gift as a magic his father and grandfather had held before him, an ability of his blood-line to call down the fire of heaven. There was nothing an arrow shot from Jorian’s hand could not hit, he told Fiona, and no living thing that could withstand it. Fiona imagined the Skylords swooping down on Pandera and how easily Jorian could pick them off—one, two, three bolts of fire, all with his eyes closed.

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon she and Jorian practiced with her bow, sharing stories about their families and the places they called home. Gradually, Fiona got better with her bow. By the middle of the day she could hit a nearby tree every time. They walked deeper into Jorian’s valley, he pointing out places he’d explored as a child, she enthralled by every word.

Finally, when the time came for them to return to the village, Fiona didn’t want to go.

“It’s a long way back,” she said. She sighed dramatically. “A very long walk. I’ve been so sick lately . . .”

Jorian looked concerned. “You feel poorly?”

“Well, no, not really. It’s just a very long walk.”

She smiled, hoping he’d get her hint.

“You mean you want to ride me?” thundered Jorian.

“Can I? I rode horses a lot back home. I know I can do it.”

“I am not a horse!”

“I’ve ridden dragons, too,” countered Fiona. “Maybe me and Moth are the only people ever to ride a dragon.”

“Ugh,” scoffed Jorian. “What a disgusting idea. No wonder the dragons lost their war. You will walk, Little Queen. I’m not a donkey.”

Fiona shrank back, sorry she’d asked. She wasn’t really too tired to walk; she just wanted to climb upon such a noble beast, to really be a part of him. Like a real centaur.

“I won’t ask again,” she promised. “You’re right, you’re not a—”

She paused, sighting something over Jorian’s shoulder, a small black mass coming toward them from the mountains. At first she thought it was a bird, or maybe a Redeemer come to find her. Then, a moment later, she realized it was something far worse.

“Oh, no . . .”

Jorian followed her gaze. “What is it?” he asked, spotting the object.

Fiona felt her old world crashing with her new. Any second now, they’d hear the two big engines.

“The
Avatar
,” she said, barely able to get the word out. “My grandfather.”

WITH ONE BLOW OF HIS HUNTING horn, Jorian called his centaurs to battle.

Out in the open, they could see the
Avatar
descending from the sky, like a great, black cloud obscuring the sun. They did not hide nor try to shield Fiona from what might come. Instead, they gathered in a meadow around their Chieftain, over two hundred strong, to defend their valley. Fiona stood at Jor-ian’s side, nestled between him and Nessa. The
Avatar
had been badly damaged somehow, the front of its carriage covered with cloth, one engine whining louder than the other. The giant airship seemed to limp into Pandera, but Fiona warned Jorian not to be fooled.

“Remember the guns,” she told him. “Once you hear ’em it’s too late.”

Surrounded by his fellow centaurs, his outsized bow clamped in his fist, Jorian watched in fascination as the airship floated earthward. He had promised to protect Fiona, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“He wants the Starfinder,” she told Jorian. “He must think I have it.”

“Then they don’t have the boy,” Jorian surmised. “Your friend would have told them he gave the Starfinder to Merceron.” He glanced at Fiona. “Right?”

“Yeah,” said Fiona. “Or no. Moth’s pretty stubborn sometimes.”

“You’re not making sense. If you’re afraid, do not be. Never let your enemies see you afraid, Little Queen.”

Fiona didn’t know what she was feeling. Her feelings were a jumble. Part of her hoped Moth was safe on the
Avatar
, but another part hoped he’d escaped somehow. Maybe he’d eluded her grandfather that night she fell into the river. Maybe he was already with Merceron. Kyros, Jorian’s friend and advisor, approached from the back ranks, muscling past young Tyrin to replace him at Jorian’s side.

“The young ones are all inside,” he announced. He’d galloped hard from the village and was short of breath.

Jorian pointed at the
Avatar
. “Look at that, Kyros,” he said, unable to hide his awe. “How can such a thing fly?”

Kyros scoffed. “Dragons fly,” he reminded his Chieftain. “What good did it do them?” He considered Fiona. “I should take you back to the village.”

Jorian looked down at Fiona. “Is that what you want? You
would
be safer there.”

“Everyone in the village is here,” said Fiona. “So this is where I belong too.”

“Little Queen,” beamed Jorian. “Good. Then we shall face your grandfather together.”

They watched as the
Avatar
’s engines slowed and the ponderous ship settled to the ground. Fiona wondered if her grandfather could see her, standing at the front of an army of centaurs. She wondered if he felt pride or fear, or anything at all. Kyros shouted for the centaurs to prepare themselves, sending them fanning out behind him. Without armor, with only bare flesh to protect them, Fiona knew the
Avatar
’s guns could cut them down like grass.

And yet they were fearless.

Fiona took Nessa’s hand. Jorian was right—she was afraid. Nessa felt the coldness of her fingers and looked down with sympathy.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “If you want to go to the village . . .”

Jorian overheard her and fixed her with an angry glare. “She’s made her choice,” he snapped. “This is her home now. Home is the one place where you don’t run from anyone.”

Embarrassed, Fiona straightened and tried to look tall, but she felt small surrounded by the centaurs. Small, like a little girl. She thought of what she would say to her grandfather when she saw him, how she might curse him or beg him to leave her alone, but when the door to the
Avatar
’s carriage dropped open, her whole brain went blank.

The centaurs fell silent as the first men appeared. Instead of swarming out like bees, they moved purposefully to flank the airship, rifles in hand. Jorian tensed. On top of the airship and along its catwalks other men appeared.

“He sees her,” said Tyrin. “They won’t shoot.”

“No girl, no Starfinder,” agreed Kyros. The old centaur let his hand hover over his quiver, itching to draw.

“Stand with me,” said Nessa softly, gathering Fiona close. But Fiona pulled away. Another figure started down the gangway, portly, unsteady on his feet, a long dark coat sweeping behind him. Despite his familiar face, Fiona almost didn’t recognize him.

“Grandfather?”

Fiona peered at him, confused. He stepped away from his wall of men, swaying as he walked, his skin pale and face wretched. A soldier hurried out to help him, but he waved the man back.

“Is that him?” Jorian asked incredulously.

“Something’s wrong,” said Fiona. “He looks sick.”

“Battle,” Kyros guessed. “Look at his ship.”

Rendor struggled toward them, not stopping until he was halfway between the centaurs and his airship. Fiona could see him clearly now, his face grooved with exhaustion, his stance weary but determined. When his eyes met Fiona’s, he reached out his hand.

“Fiona!”

Jorian galloped out a few yards, kicking up earth with his hooves. “I am Jorian, Chieftain of Pandera! This child’s protector, Rendor!”

Rendor didn’t flinch. “I came over those mountains to get her back, Centaur. If you think you can scare me, forget it.”

The soldiers behind him brought up their rifles. Jorian laughed.

“You have trapped yourself, fool!”

“We’ve got guns,” warned Rendor. “Ever see what a half-inch shell can do to a horse?”

“Stop!” screamed Fiona. She launched herself toward Jorian. “I don’t want this! I don’t want you fighting for me!”