The Hollow

Chapter 4 ofKnights Palatine of Ausona

Content warnings: centaur/human sex, puns

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Radiant Khurshid shone hot from a cloudless sky, but beneath the leafy forest canopy it was still cool and humid. The fresh, earthy smell of spring thunderstorms lingered even after the grey-blue rain clouds had passed on. No deer or large game had ventured yet from their sheltering gullies and thickets, as testified by the tracklessness of the muddy trail. Nothing could be heard but the warbling of red-breasted robins, the burbling of the rain-swollen stream, and the sound of distant cascades leading into and out of the hollow.

Kaskyrbai stood leaning on a fallen trunk to support his labored breathing, halfway up to his hocks in the muck. His chestnut coat was splattered chaotically with mud and coated with white lather from breast to flanks. Clear sweat streamed from his bent and reddened face, dripping down his wavy, flaxen hair and dirty-blond beard to land on long, powerful arms and the mossy trunk below. His sinewy, angular torso was slick and flushed with exertion. His blue eyes and pointed ears flicked back and forth unceasingly, searching for signs of his pursuers, or at least a way out of this trap.

Ahead the way was impassable, blocked by a steep cascade with steps too slippery with moss and narrow for him to climb. On either side lay the boulder-strewn, lightly-wooded hollow, wide but hemmed in with steep walls crowned with dense trees and vegetation. Behind were the humans come to kill him, following his upward path through the narrow channel downstream.

He'd fled into the streams to conceal his tracks, but the main tributaries he usually took had been blocked by fallen timber. He'd been funneled up without any alternate path into this dead end. Perhaps he'd offended Tisthrya somehow. He silently offered ten, no, fifteen goats if the god would deign to spare him. The humans had found him alone, unarmored, without helm, lance, or war bow. He was armed only with a hunting bow and a light, long-hafted axe. Against a knight and an armored horse archer he didn't like his chances.

But they hadn't caught him yet, and he'd discovered no sign of their arrival. He set his bow on a patch of dry gravel and plunged into the cold water up to his stifles, splashing his back, face, and torso. He filled and refilled his water skin, drinking the cool liquid down heedless of the unsettled sediment and foul taste. When his thirst was quenched at last, he poured a final skinful over his head. Nothing to do now but hide, much good as that was likely to do him. He retrieved his bow, climbed a rocky portion of the bank where his tracks would be subtle, and set off to find a suitable boulder.

He wasn't kept waiting long. Hardly had he established a position before he heard Ausonian curses and splashing steps approaching from downstream. Fear counseled him to flee, though there was nowhere to go, but he forced himself to stand firm as the footfalls grew closer. At length they halted, about where his up- and downstream tracks would have met in a confusing medley next to the water. After some hesitation, a clear, mellifluous voice rang out from the stream in bookish but fluent Kydonian.

"I am Lady Bianca d'Ippolito di Canossa of the Knights Palatine." Only songbirds chirped in answer. "I seek an audience with the princes of the White Sheep."

He watched her through the leaves. She was a pretty young human, tall for a female, wearing the dark blue surcoat of her order over bright red armor. The sides of her head were shaved in the accustomed fashion, and her reddish brown hair, a few shades darker than his coat, was wound into a long braid. She was carrying a large, heavy sack of coarse cloth over her left shoulder. His ears twitched back and forth, searching for her companion.

Receiving no answer, the human went on. "I swear by Mithra of the Covenants," she began, right hand upraised, "may he cast me out if I lie. I come alone, as a friend, without arms of war, and bearing gifts." She laid her heavy sack down on the very gravel bar where he'd kept his bow dry a little while earlier.

He considered his options. Even if he took advantage of the knight's supposed helplessness, the tactical situation even against a lone, fully-armed Shiraka horseman would be unfavorable. If she were telling the truth about being unarmed, the gods would not look favorably on her slaying. And while the Knights of the Palace were not always exactly trustworthy, he had not yet known them to violate an explicit vow.

He stepped out from his place of hiding, one hand resting on his pre-strung bow in its case. He approached her obliquely, alert for signs of danger. She followed his approach with equanimity, her arms still held out with demonstratively open palms. She bore no visible arms, and he saw that her armor consisted of only a cinnabar-colored brigandine over a long-sleeved blue gambeson, rather than the expected plate.

She stood only thigh-deep in the water, but her whole body was soaked. Only her head, with its chestnut strays framing an oval, olive-skinned face, and the upper reaches of her frizzing braid had been spared. Perhaps she'd climbed even the steeper cascades to avoid the mud, or else fallen into one of the pools. Her dignity was nevertheless rescued by an artless, confident bearing, a half-smile on her full, pink lips, and piercing, dark brown eyes that followed him closely. She was distractingly beautiful, at least from the waist up. Much more to his taste than Sir Alexios in that respect. Their eyes met, and he felt as if she could read his thoughts. He resisted the urge to look away.

"May Khurshid watch over you, most honorable Lady Bianca. I am Kaskyrbai Aibekulu Shahza of the Toraygyr." He knelt briefly on one foreleg and made a polite bow without, however, ever letting her out of his sight. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. How may I be of service?"

"And over you, Kaskyrbai Shahza," Bianca said, half-kneeling in the stream and returning his bow. She pointedly allowed him to fall out of her field of view before rising to face him. "The pleasure is mine. I come on behalf of the Grand Mistress with gifts of friendship to you most loyal subjects of our shared sovereign, and to propose a joint undertaking to our mutual benefit."

Kaskyrbai prepared a polite deflection, but Bianca spoke before he'd gotten a word out. "But first," she said, retrieving a wineskin from her sack, "to whom shall I offer the libation?" Even from a distance, his sensitive nose could discern the earthy scent of Amphipolitan wine. It had been many years.

The knight had chosen her earlier invocation well, and he continued it. "To the Lord of Wide Pastures."

Bianca waded into a patch of sunlight and whispered a prayer that made her eyes burn white like stars. She looked unflinching into the morning sun and upended the wineskin. "Carry this offering, oh waters, to the ever-watchful Lord of the Covenants, unsleeping Mithra of Wide Pastures, of the thousand ears and myriad eyes, the beautiful, the exalted, the most glorious of creations..." The familiar litany droned on in this vein as blood-red wine stained the water and swirled off downstream. At length both words and wine came to an end and the woman looked down, her eyes returning to their former hue.

"Here," she said, offering a large, heavy wineskin from her sack. "Amphipolitan black wine, undiluted, aged seven years." She had no idea what significance that held, but the commander had assured her it was good. "Courtesy of Sir Andreas Melissenos. Enjoy."

She retrieved a much smaller skin for herself and stripped the beeswax seal. Not wise to drink with his safety uncertain, but it would be intolerably rude not to take a sip if she was having some. He unsealed his own skin and caught the familiar scent of herbs and laurel. His brows furrowed at the associated memories, and he took a mouthful. It was full-bodied, strong, and spicy sweet. Far stronger than the thin, fruity wines favored in this land of exile.

"I thank you for the gift," he said with more sincerity than he'd expected.

"You're very welcome." Bianca was doing her best not to display her own feelings about the wine's unwelcome astringency. "Come, let's talk somewhere more suitable."

On a small prominence on the far side of the stream rose an ancient, moss-covered beech. Its thick, gnarled roots wove over the rocky ground like wicker in their descent to the stream. Next month it would be dark under the tree's dense foliage, but for now the leaves were still yellowed and shrunken, allowing sunlight through to warm and dry the roots. A broad, gravelly portion of the bank, if not dry then at least firm, lay enclosed between the two largest roots as they descended into the stream bank. Bianca, her skin in one hand and her newly-light sack in the other, waded over and emerged onto the gravel.

The centaur took another drink of wine and splashed over through the stream. He took the opportunity to surreptitiously clean some of the more egregious mud spots from his sides. He hadn't been expecting to have to look presentable. He gingerly tested the bank for its ability to hold his weight without shifting. He was lighter than the freakishly overgrown, stall-fed horses the humans favored, but he still weighed close to a eight hundred pounds.

He climbed out onto the bank when he was satisfied it wouldn't shift. The sun shone with pleasant heat on his wet coat, dripping with cold water. The human was leaning with crossed legs against a thick, sturdy root, her sack and wineskin at her feet, unwinding her frizzy braid.

"Do you have a comb?" He did. An interesting choice of ambassador he thought to himself as he handed over his intricately carved sheep horn comb. His mother had made it for him when he was a colt. She'd worried he wouldn't know how to make one after his coming-of-age expulsion, which was true enough.

Bianca knelt beside the stream, facing away. She wetted her waist-length hair using a glass flask and started to comb it out.

"The duke and the abbess are both well pleased with the White Sheep's service, but we've heard your reception has been more mixed with the locals."

Kaskyrbai snorted. "Zholbarys has been punished more than suitably for his transgression," he said, pawing the ground. Bitterly, he added, "As Lord Sarlo well knows, even if he has not seen fit to relay that information."

Bianca continued drinking wine and combing her hair, not breaking the awkward silence that followed this defensive outburst. "I really must know," she said after a while with a mischievous glance over her shoulder. "What happened with Sarlo?"

He met her eyes but took a moment to compose his thoughts. "Some of the bachelors seek out human women for certain services. Usually, they have to pay. But there are some amateur enthusiasts." Bianca struggled to contain her laughter at where this was going.

"Even with the anatomical constraints, It seems Lord Sarlo's wife preferred Zholbarys' services to his own, and someone brought this to his attention." She bit the inside of her cheek in an unsuccessful bid to suppress her smile. Kaskyrbai didn't notice. His face was clouded with anger. "We flogged him publicly and liquidated his flocks to pay compensation. Though the trouble could have been avoided if Sarlo would carry out his own duties satisfactorily," he said, spitting in disgust.

Bianca burst out laughing at the image of that pompous fool's wife cuckolding him with an almost literal stallion. "You should send him to Castello di Monte Ursino with that story. The lord there will compensate your friend well for his pains."

"Some feud you're a party to?"

"Feuding is Sarlo's only mode of communication. But I happen to know the lord there has both means and inclination to reward such tale from an enemy of an enemy."

"If you're in earnest, I'll tell him when I see him."

"I am," she said. "But most of the complaints have been about serfs' wives and daughters."

"I know the other captains well. None of us would tolerate the taking of anything by force." He seemed offender. "If any are plausibly accused, I at least would submit to adjudication by a representative of the duke or the order. And I would counsel the other captains to do the same."

"Seducing a virgin or a married woman is still a crime."

"Is it really? I had not observed that law to be in force among the humans here." He stroked his beard in thought. "I'll raise the issue at the spring assembly and ensure that we send a representative. Perhaps we could make arrangements that would be more acceptable to the locals."

"Perhaps." She stood and turned sharply, her long hair twirling after. She looked ravishingly feminine now that her hair was unrestrained and her side shaves covered. "We already have something planned in that regard for those who join our venture this year. Maybe the system could be expanded." He opened his mouth to ask about the 'venture,' but she forestalled him.

"I'm sure it's against some rule, but this armor is really uncomfortable when it's wet. Do you mind if I lose some of these layers?" He did not. She loosened her belt and stripped off her surcoat, wrung it out, and draped it in direct sunlight over a natural frame of thin roots. The device of a ship emblazoned on the front in silver thread glinted in the sun. She began unfastening the polished latten buckles of her brigandine.

"I trust your other affairs are going well?" she asked, loosening the upper straps on her armor. The sides pulled slightly apart, and even through her padded gambeson he easily made out the curve of full, shapely breasts. He caught himself and looked away, taking another drink as she pretended not to notice his gaze.

"Your flocks? Your health?" Her brigandine slipped off, and from the corner of his eye he saw the lovely outline of a narrow waist meeting generous hips. Her broad lower half made her look less off-putting than usual for the two-legged species. He hadn't so much as seen a centaur mare in over ten years, and he was no longer particular.

"All goes well with us." Supposing a favorable summer, his flocks might finally recover fully from the previous winter. "And with you and your brethren?"

"All's well within the order." She was fiddling now with the upper straps on her gambeson. "But Grand Prince Pashiyara's been overthrown by his niece." He was pretty sure he knew where this was going.

"You think she's going to launch a major raid?" She'd need a conspicuous success to solidify her position after a coup. He planned to do the same whenever he got around to supplanting his father. He took another drink.

"She'll have to, if she wants to hold her confederation together." She seemed to be fumbling with one of her straps. "Could you help me with this?"

His head was swimming from the wine. Not enough to interfere with walking, but enough to obscure transparent bait. She'd exposed an unusually low-cut tunic, wet and clinging erotically to her flesh and drawing attention to her cleavage. The strap in question was stretched by her large bust, but there was no obvious problem he could see.

"Could you hold this together?" she asked, indicating the spread edges of her gambeson. He was tipsy enough to oblige, pulling the rough linen together while she unbuckled the strap. When the strap was undone he let go, and her partially-clothed breasts bounced free as her jacket came apart. She hadn't worn a bandeau, and her erect nipples and areolae were clearly visible through her soaked tunic. He involuntarily curled his upper lip and sucked in air between his teeth before he could suppress the response. Her pheromones smelled favorable. His mind wasn't sure what to make of this fact with a human, but his elongating cock clearly had its own interpretation.

"Thank you." Her cheeks were slightly flushed, whether from the alcohol or not he couldn't tell. He took a step back and turned in hopes of concealing that his penis had dropped from its sheath.

"Tell me about this venture you were proposing." Her padded armor now lay with her surcoat in the sun, and he tried with mixed success not to watch her plump, half-naked tits bounce as she stumbled back. She looked even tipsier than he felt. He considered offering another goat to Tishtriya to help suppress his growing erection, possibly with a cold rain shower.

Bianca set her bags on a horizontal portion of a sturdy beech root. In a rather impressive acrobatic display, especially given her inebriation, she leapt into her chosen seat in a single fluid motion, letting her legs dangle over the side.

"Mm mm," she responded, swallowing some more wine. "We still have gifts." She produced a patterned, cast-bronze torc from her bag. She twisted the terminals apart and offered it with arms half-extended. The terminals were gold or gilded, skillfully wrought in the shape of wolf heads.

"That is too generous," he replied with a slight frown, embarrassed at being forced to show ingratitude. "I apologize, but I cannot accept."

"It's a gift freely given from your liege. It carries no obligations you haven't already sworn to." A direct insult to his overlord would be too much. He reluctantly stepped close to her and extended his head, suffering her to slide the torc onto his neck. She reached behind him with both hands to turn the terminals face forward. Her breasts, crowned with a blue stone necklace, were even closer than before, and he failed to prevent himself from stealing a glance or three. She meanwhile was making a show of twisting the bronze shaft back into position, sticking out her tongue and squinting as if performing some delicate procedure as she forced the wolf heads back into just the right position.

"There, what do you think?" Her hands were still on his chest.

"They're beautiful."

"Do you think so?" She looked directly up into his eyes, her dark irises charmingly brightened by light reflecting from the stream. A hand slipped down beneath his shoulder and she gently goaded him forward with her nails. This brought them waist to waist, his rock-hard abs pressed against her torso. In a haze he allowed her to take him by the neck and guide him in for a teasing kiss on his lower lip.

Bianca waited for a follow-up, but it didn't come. She opened her eyes and his face was still oriented down toward her with a slightly puzzled expression, eyes still closed. Rejection? That would be incredibly mortifying given the circumstances. But then he hadn't seemed to know how to react even when their lips were in contact. And he'd let himself be pulled in but hadn't tilted his head properly.

She let go of his neck momentarily and ran her fingers through the wavy blond hair by his forehead. "Have you never...?"

His eyes winced but his mouth smiled slightly. A hint of a blush spread on his pale cheeks. "Not as such."

She smiled a wide, silly drunken smile of relief and anticipation. This was going to be more fun than she'd thought. She desperately wanted to make a joke about breaking him in, but reined herself in admirably.

"Well come here," she said, replacing her hand around his neck and bringing him back in. "I'm a very good teacher, so pay attention." She planted a trio of soft kisses along his lower lip.

His blue eyes were closed again, his brows raised in a blissfully delighted expression. "I'll give you a model, you repeat." She used her cheek to tilt his head up and away. She kissed his inner collarbone, rising up between sculpted chest and shoulder muscles, and traced her way up his neck with kisses and nibbling bites.

"Your turn," she said, exposing her neck and closing her eyes. He wrapped his long, powerful arms around her and followed her example. He did an entirely creditable job for a beginner, she thought, and she rewarded him with an encouraging sigh. When she opened her eyes he was looking at her with an intense expression, like a wolf watching its prey. He tried to go in for a kiss, but she interposed a finger.