The Whistling Arrow

Vesta was examining an arrow with close, careful attention. Its tip was blunt, incapable of wounding anyone, and it looked as though a tiny musical instrument had been fastened to the shaft.

"They called it a whistling arrow, didn't they?"

It was the arrow the Khan had used back when the camels had caused that commotion.

"Think I could play it like a flute?"

"Probably not. Hah..."

At the sound of panting, he turned his head and found Rahan sprawled out on the ground.

"You look comfortable, Rahan."

"I'm exhausted."

Hearing him answer in that easy, familiar tone, Vesta found himself wondering when the two of them had grown so close.

There had been a reason, of course.

It had happened not long ago, after the Khan returned from a tribal council. She had seemed a little different from usual.

When he asked why, she said it was because of the orcs.

Figuring the orcs must be running rampant, he had dutifully stayed put and idled away his days within the tribe—only for Rahan to come to him first.

"Um, Lord Vesta? Do you have a moment?"

That had been the start of it.

He had already known that the strange impression Rahan had given at their first meeting was not the young man's true nature. It had been something like a shell a timid person wraps around himself, hadn't it?

Now they were close enough to drop all formality. They were around the same age, so growing close had come naturally.

I don't even know exactly how old I am, though.

Vesta had learned numbers themselves rather late in life. He'd never had the luxury of caring about something like age. Back in the Empire, his unit of time had been the bout—the kind you meant when you said how many bouts, how many wins, how many draws. When he asked himself how much he had grown, he had simply lived by thinking, well, that's about thirty bouts already.

Thinking about it now, it's absurd.

But looking at appearances, he didn't think there was that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much difference between himself and Rahan. At most, Vesta was probably a few years older.

"What do you think? Have I gotten any better?"

Rahan held up a well-whittled wooden branch as he asked.

"Hard to say..."

He was talking about his swordsmanship. From the day Rahan had first approached him, Vesta had been teaching him the sword.

As Vesta saw it, this peer of his had a tendency of wanting to look manly. He had come looking for Vesta for that very reason—because he wanted to swing a blade and look impressive doing it. He'd wanted to talk to him ever since he learned that Vesta was a swordsman strong enough to take down a werewolf with his own hands.

"I want to learn swordsmanship!"

I turned him down at the time.

It wasn't that he had found Rahan unpleasant. He had simply thought his own sword was one that had picked up bad habits—not something he ought to pass on to anyone else.

At first, he had recommended Aruk.

"Miss Aruk is a little... intimidating. Her eyes are kind of scary, too."

That was a hard thing to relate to. Vesta had known plenty of vicious old men in the Empire, and by that measure Aruk's face struck him as remarkably gentle.

"More than anything, Amur would hate it."

That, at least, made him nod. And from Rahan's words, he also learned that the young man called Asmur by a pet name.

Amur. Just hearing it was enough to make him squirm a little.

At any rate, that was when Vesta had started teaching him the sword. They had met any number of times since, and the connection had lasted through today.

Rahan watched the sky drift slowly overhead.

"I want to go outside."

Vesta tucked the arrow away as he answered.

"Why don't you ask Asmur to take you out?"

"I don't want to act like a child around her."

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was a rather unexpected answer. Frustration and something like anguish ran through Rahan's voice. Vesta was still wondering what advice he could possibly offer when he spotted the Khan approaching in the distance.

"The Khan's coming."

"What?"

Rahan shot to his feet. He looked suddenly tense.

"That nervous, huh?"

"Easy for you to say. For me, it's only natural."

Rahan bowed his head deeply as the Khan drew near. Once she acknowledged the greeting, the young man glanced around, then slunk away by degrees. He really did seem to find her difficult to face.

Fair enough. She's supposed to be a hard person to approach. I was the same, at first.

Thinking that, Vesta waited for the Khan.

"You're lifting the outing ban?"

"...I never banned anything in the first place. I merely asked you to refrain."

Even so, her voice grew a little quieter, uncharacteristically so—as if she knew perfectly well it had amounted to a ban in all but name.

"It's like a rotten tooth finally pulled. The Keshik handled things well."

Uushun and Aruk, who had been sent out to the hinterlands, had distinguished themselves enormously. Aruk in particular, having been reunited with her fiancé, had been a force of nature. Bia and Ahor had not racked up any great military honors, but they had taken good care of the weaker clans. They had swept out wandering werewolves and Empire-bred goblins who made a living at petty thievery.

The orcs' momentum had been broken in a serious way.

Beast-like creatures that they were, they would lose heart now and slink into hiding. That was typical orc behavior. They had not been exterminated—but no one had expected that from the start. Orcs were a tenacious breed. Tough as weeds: they could be cut down, but never pulled up by the roots.

"I suppose I made more fuss than I needed to."

"I see."

"Truth be told, it's all your fault."

"That's a bit..."

Vesta looked awkward. The Khan seemed to be grumbling in a peculiar sort of way.

"Have you felt cooped up?"

"No. I actually enjoyed it. I got to become friends with Rahan."

"I'm glad to hear it. People of the steppe find being confined indoors terribly stifling, you know."

Even someone who didn't go out much, she said, would sour in a hurry once they were actually forbidden from leaving.

Not that I can't understand it.

They were in the middle of the steppe, after all, open in every direction—and there were horses standing right there to ride. One's eyes could hardly help but drift toward that wide, free-looking outside.

The Khan pointed at Arin with her chin.

"Honestly. That's exactly the problem."

Vesta followed her gaze. Unlike her usual self, Arin was looking thoroughly wilted, groaning under her breath. It was an unkind thing to think about a person, but she looked for all the world like a dog that hadn't been taken for a walk in far too long. While Vesta had been idling inside the tribe, she had guarded him almost like a bodyguard.

"It must have been torture for a centaur. I did her a disservice."

Hearing that, Vesta found himself curious about the Khan's reasoning. If she had known Arin would hate it, why go out of her way to assign a centaur to him? Arin was an outstanding talent, as any centaur warrior would be—but even if they fell a little short of her, there were plenty of elf warriors who could have served as a guard.

At his question, the Khan nodded.

"I was merely preparing for the worst."

"The worst..."

"If things went wrong—if I were away, or if you broke your word and went outside. I wanted to prevent what would happen then."

She looked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at him as she spoke.

"Arin could throw you on her back and run if it came to that, couldn't she?"

"Ah. So that's what you meant."

"Humans and elves lose all mobility the moment they lose their horses. But she is a cavalrywoman of the highest caliber all on her own."

No matter how superb one's horsemanship, it could never match a centaur's. For a centaur, horsemanship was no different from walking was for a human.

"Asking a centaur to carry a man who isn't her own is a bit much—but Arin would do it."

If she would only do that much, the Khan said, she could have managed the rest somehow.

If it were Arin, she said.

Perhaps the Khan had even taken the three centaurs' temperaments into account when she chose Arin. Vesta did not think Bia or Aishil would abandon him in an emergency—but the Khan would have needed certainty. Certainty that Arin would not hesitate to put him on her back.

"Centaurs don't let just anyone on their backs, then."

The Khan gave a faint laugh.

"Of course not. It's only natural, if you think about it. Centaurs are strong as wild beasts, but against anyone on their back, their own anatomy leaves them utterly defenseless."

She was right. A human could at least fall over backwards. A centaur could not even do that. If that heavy body went over, they might break not only their legs but their back as well.

"You're essentially placing your life in their hands. You need at least that much trust."

"Doesn't that feel like a waste?"

"In what way?"

"If every elf could ride a centaur's back, they'd make extraordinarily powerful soldiers."

"Haha. True enough. Imagine Uushun doing that."

The thought alone was terrifying. If such a thing ever actually came to pass, every orc would pack up and head for the cliffs. Who on the open plain could possibly stop her?

"I don't even think you'd need to go as far as Uushun. Even with you riding behind, it would look plenty fearsome."

"Haha. You might be right."

Just imagining it was enough to make him feel steadier.

"Well, that's great! So we can go outside now?"

"Yes. Though she did say I have to stick close to you."

"That's more than enough. What a relief."

Some of the restlessness seemed to have left her; Arin stretched her arms high over her head. Centaurs were a remarkably flexible people, and for a moment it even felt as though her height had shot up.

"Want to go out tomorrow?"

"Well, I don't mind—but we'd need a reason to go."

"We can only go if there's work, huh."

"Even so, we should be careful for a while."

"I guess that's fair. All right. So we go when something comes up?"

Vesta nodded, and Arin lifted one leg—her horse's leg, that is. He stared for a beat, then caught her meaning and huffed a laugh. He bumped his fist against her hoof.

"Oh, quick on the uptake!"

He was still talking with Arin—who had grown considerably closer to him over the confinement—when he saw her long ears prick up.

"Hm? Hey, your friend's coming."

"Friend? Ah, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Rahan."

He looked where she pointed with a horse's leg and saw Rahan approaching, his manner timid, as if he were reading the room around him.

"What?"

"Um—could you take me along too?"

Rahan had come with a rather unexpected request.