Once, I served Skerrit, God of centaurs, Lord of woodlands and community. A god of peace. We, his people, lived a tranquil existence, one with the nature around us. When I was small. When days were bright and my young eyes saw nothing in the world but sun and rain and seasons growing one into the other. This was
life. And I served Skerrit then. But no longer.
On the eve of the Equus Moon in my ninth year, we centaurs were holding our most sacred of festivals. As we danced and sang and sought to catch a glimpse of Skerrit as he galloped across the skies, the forces of Duke Larrion descended upon our forests in the thousands. Deep in our revelry they caught us completely unawares. The human soldiers were in among us, killing warriors, capturing women and children. My mother and I were taken back to the Duke's keep with all the rest. We were separated, I being penned in with the rest of the young males. I didn't know then where they took her.
We were fed and bathed, but no one spoke to us or told us anything. Some of us fought against the guards or tried to rally the others to attempt escape. These were taken away and did not return. Once a day we were led from our pen out into a central courtyard and made to run by knights on horseback while fancy-dressed nobleman watched from the battlements. After running to the brink of exhaustion, we were put back in our cage.
For that first month, this became our routine, with never a word from our captors. We began to wonder what would happen to us. We wondered why they kept us and made us run. Worst of all, we began to forget what life had been before our capture.
Then a day came when we were led out into the courtyard. A large number of unfamiliar centaurs was already there, and we were placed in ranks next to them. We totaled about 150. Then the duke came out riding a massive black warhorse. He began to address us. He told us how strong we were. How magnificent and beautiful. He told us that we were the envy of all his knights. And then he announced that he wanted to give us a bit of entertainment after our long stay.
For our benefit, he had set up a jousting tournament. We watched as seven armor-clad knights rode into the courtyard. The first pair entered the lists, charged at each other, and both managed to miss.
The duke booed loudly and called to us "You see how clumsy these fools are?" He called for the next pair. They too charged down the lists, lances aimed at the other. This time one knight's lance smashed against the shield of the other, knocking him from his horse.
The duke called out again, " Good--but sloppy! You see how nearly he fell himself?"
The third group entered the lists. This time both lances glanced off shields, and the two knights remained mounted.
"Pathetic!" called the duke. "Bring out Kerred!"
We watched as the final knight, clad in green, entered his end of the list, but it seemed that there was no opponent. And then the great door beneath the keep opened and a knight came riding out. Encased in black armor and easily eight feet tall, he was a centaur. This was Kerred.
He took his place opposite the green knight and with the drop of the duke's kerchief, the two charged down the line. Kerred's lance fluidly settled into attack position. The green knight too lowered his lance with perfect aim. It seemed the two would be evenly matched. But as they neared one another, Kerred juked to the right and then slid in past the green knight's lance to plunge his own straight through the breastplate of his opponent. The force of the impact wrenched the green knight from his mount with Kerred's lance extending from his back. The centaur carried the impaled knight for several strides before dropping the lance, letting it fall to the dirt with its new owner.
He finished his charge with a long slow loop bringing him to face our host, no few of whom had taken up an exultant cheer.
"Centaurs!" called out the duke in a voice ringing across the courtyard. The cheers were silenced. "Centaurs," he continued, "are the greatest cavalry to ever live!" With this Kerred let out a triumphant bellow and began banging on his shield. I could not help joining in as the youths around me began to cheer.
"It is time to fulfill your destiny!" screamed the duke, and we, oblivious to what lay in store, cheered all the louder.
Thus begun our "training." In a practical sense, it was proper training. We practiced with the lance, the sword, the bow. We learned the charge and studied advanced martial tactics. But in a more subtle sense, our true training, was the slow takeover of our hearts and minds. Taken out of our native culture before we could fully understand it, the duke and his sergeants indoctrinated us into becoming mindless soldiers. We lived for combat. We were weapons. And few were more deadly than I.
In the years following I proved myself to be among the most martially talented of my brethren, and was soon placed in a position of leadership. Our first major battle was against a rival duke: Larrion had royal aspirations, and this was one of his last obstacles.
We rode through the enemy host like scythes through wheat. The destructive power of our cavalry was such that very few of us were even killed. We gloried in our strength. And the duke began his final consolidation of power.
It was shortly after this, when I was full of my own success and prowess, that I met Rath, the cleric of St. Cuthbert who would become my salvation. He came to me with news that my mother was alive and seeking for me. The cleric passed me a small symbol of Skerrit that she had always treasured. He told me that while we had been training for battle, our mothers and sisters had been bred like common livestock, producing a horde of Kerred's offspring, destined to fill the ranks of Larrion's armies.
I became incensed and vowed to kill everyone who had harmed my mother. But Rath bade me be silent and made me realize the futility of such an action in my current position. He told me to wait for the proper time, and then he left.
Several nights later, I woke to the cleric shaking me and warning me to keep silent. He led me through the darkened castle and out a side gate. We rode through the night until we were out of sight of the castle, and there we rested. Rath told me that upon hearing that I was alive and had become one of the duke's soldiers, my mother had risen up against her captors and tried to break free. In a violent struggle with her guards, she found herself spitted on no more than four spears. She was not long in dying. Knowing how my reaction would be, the cleric secreted me out of the castle.
"Why would you help me?" I asked him. "What does any of this have to do with you?"
He told me that once the duke had been a lawful and fair-minded ruler, but that the lust for power had warped his mind. The cleric had slowly been gathering strength to overcome him, but his position had been compromised. His only choice was to leave.
"And that's where we can help each other" he told me. So began my training as a hand of St. Cuthbert, the law-bringer. I have become that law. Justice comes in the tip of my lance, recognizing neither good nor evil, but seeking out wickedness wherever it resides. Retribution is at hand.
