It was the dawning of the day, and Sir Imrie woke in a foul temper. His legs were stiff with arthritis. He felt like he hadn't had a decent night's sleep for a year. And it was true, he hadn't.

Sleeping was the worst part. He could not find a comfortable position to lay, and so he had his rest by leaning against a wall. The knights' barracks, where he lived, had become much more stable like. He thought that sleeping on scratchy straw beds had been bad enough, but now the floor was covered in straw. Flies landed on his rump frequently. He had to use his tail to swat them away. The usage of this new appendage was quite unsettling. Eerie. He could not look at himself… he was a monster.

His hair untidy, and wearing a loose tunic over his torso, he left his stall. There were two-legged boys scurrying around. Imrie never thought he would look at them in such jealousy. As he walked down the main aisle, he saw the stable boys using curry combs on the rumps of knights. The smith was there and he was hammering new shoes on knights. This sight filled him with disgust. That morning, he refused to be groomed or shoed. He would go with a matted coat again. But he would not subject himself to such humiliation.

He stepped out of the barracks and saw a world transformed, and still transforming. Buildings were enlarged to accommodate a new population of greater height and greater mass. A short distance away, there was the King's castle, in the royal city of Esperlin. It was expanded. All doorways were made taller and wider. Stained glass windows were replaced with taller, grander windows. Furniture was remade and designed for new uses. All manner of artwork was changed by order of the king. Works of art must glorify the centaur, not the two-legged man.

"The king has given up. He is accepting his new form. He doesn't even want to be reminded that he used to be human," Imrie spoke aloud, the beginnings of a disgruntled speech.

----

Nephelle so enjoyed soaring over the ocean. She stretched her forearms before her. They were covered in thick, wholly red fur. Her head, with its eagle beak, made loud shrieks. How she loved the great mass she had when she was in this beastly form. All other animals cowered from her, all humans cowered from her. She was completely alone and unhindered.

She devoured fish and squid as she made her flight over the sea. She was crossing from Iverna to Centaurlot. It was the one-year anniversary since she had cast her spell over the cruel continent. Now she wanted to see what had come of it.

As she neared land, she encountered a ship, with a billowing striped sail. The men aboard shouted and pointed when they saw her on the horizon. She shrieked at them and swooped dangerously near. Whenever she was in her griffin form, she was overcome with impulses to terrorize humans. She reached out her talon and snatched a one of their crew. There were a few arrows that someone launched at her, but she flew fast enough to escape them. She left with this one human, who was making a fuss. It reminded her of a fly, which would buzz tirelessly when it was trapped. Fortunately, this human stopped his raucous after a time.

Nephelle reached the coast of Northwestern Essyer. This coast was rocky, but romantic. Nephelle liked it. Still clutching her human hostage, she landed on the beach. She opened her talon and let the sailor tumble out of it. He seemed stunned. She also saw that she had given him a nasty cut on his arm. This brought forth some of her sympathy. Mostly she did her terrorizing to scare humans, she did not truly want to hurt them.

She flew off a ways and began to shrink. She shrunk and morphed until she was that of her human self. This left her with no clothes, so she grabbed a piece of seaweed and used her magic to turn it into a gown. It looked native to this place, one that flowed and kept the color of the brown-green seaweed. It was striking against her cloud of red hair, which billowed like flame in the wind.

She ran to the sailor, who was just beginning to get up and was looking around warily.

"Oh, you poor dear. Your arm is a bloody mess," she assumed the role of her caring human self. The sailor was in a daze as she proceeded to bandage his arm with her seaweed dress.

Nephelle day wasn’t going to be as she planned. For much of the passed year, Duke-regent Rion, had ordered the boarders of the duchy of Essyer watched. Yeomen and young boys patrolled the rocky coast and the mountains of the southwest or prowled along the open plains that touched the duchy of Prezell. What had they been ordered to watch for? Magic users and in particular, a redheaded witch, rumored to live in Iverna. Now they hadn’t turned up much, just a few mostly harmless hedge witches. These, depending on how they used magic, had been either been fined, thrown in the stocks or banished, all mild punishments given the lord’s loathing of the magical arts.

So not only was the witch watched when she deposited the sailor on the beach and transformed, by a pair of boys up on the cliffs but Sir Rion was nearby. He had been traveling out from Penbagad, with his brother’s tax collectors. In the pasted weeks, the knight had grown restless and edgy, cooped up in Atlander, the duchy’s capital, sick of dealing with the administration of his brother’s holdings, in his brother’s name.

The two boys raced away, running as fast as their short legs could take them, heading towards the coast road. If they could meet up with Duke-regent, there would be a handful of gold pennies for each of them, for news of the redhead witch. Luck was with them this day, as they spotted the rearguard of the small caravan and managed to get them to pay attention to a pair of peasants. The knight had been so eager to race off and catch the witch, he hadn’t bothered to count out the coinage but at simply thrown a purse at them, not stuffed but full of silver and gold pennies.

Rion was almost snarling, as he pounded down the narrow path to the beach. He was being reckless, in both his speed, having nearly broken one of his legs and in leaving his guards behind, as they scrambled behind him on only two feet. He wasn’t even wearing a coat of mail, just his sleeveless surcoat over a blue tunic. As his hooves tore into the sand, he clawed Herugrim from it’s sheath, gripping the hilt so hard his knuckles blanched white. This was the day he was going to catch her, the witch who had ruined everything for him. He could force her to reverse the spell, so he could bring his brother and his nieces home.

With a wordless bellow of hate, the centaur knight thundered down the beach, his eyes locked on a pair of figures and his sword held high. His twin hearts hammered, one pounding against his human chest and the other beating against his lower set of ribs. Blood surged through the large body, as he felt the feral urges in the back of his mind grow stronger.

Anwen longed for forests. It was an unfortunate product of the road she now traveled, as the northwestern coast of Centerlot seemed quite rocky. It was a sharp contrast to the part of Avalin she grew up in, which was full of mountains yes, but flourishing wild forests and secluded glens that in a way could be quite peaceful. Here everything was just so…open, and Anwen felt so exposed here. The beach did however, provided tempting fruits in the form of the mineral rich red seaweed, and costal Thespian flower that thrived on the ocean rocks, and worked well as a pain reliever in many of the tonics she made. She had only been in Centerlot for a matter of days, mainly sticking close to the coast as she searched for a road that could take her farther inland. As she had in every land she’d visited, she would visit the small poorer villages that required her help the most, and maybe she would visit a larger town with a market afterwards. As a rule, she avoided cities. Cities had ladies and knights, and all manner of peoples who would likely not want her help nor welcome her presence. Magai had told her that people from cities were strange and cruel people who were not to be trusted. Anwen supposed that was true, it had been men from cities who’d come to their village spreading hatred for Magai, and now she was dead. Yeorn may have taught her forgiveness for that betrayal, but she was not stupid, which was why she never lingered anywhere for too long.

Anwen was just finishing collecting flowers, and had started to head down the beach, when she saw a most peculiar and disturbing sight. There was a man, who seemed injured, and a woman of strange attire standing on the beach, and charging ever closer was some kind of beast, whose mal intent was obvious. From the torso up, it help the appearance of an ordinary man, albeit perhaps a handsome one, but below it had the body of a horse. Whatever it was, it looked angry and dangerous, and the pair on the beach looked defenseless in its’ wake.

“Halt your assault creature!” Anwen cried as she sent a powerful gust of wind that picked up sand like a menacing cloud at the creature, intent on knocking him back, or at least stalling his pursuit.

Sir Rion didn’t hear the woman’s voice, as he raced down the beach. He wasn’t even aware she was there, so focused was the knight on his intended target. Then came the wind. He ignored it at first but then came the swirling cloud of sand. At first it could have been written off as merely the strong wind picking up the sand that was raised beneath his hooves but within seconds, it was clear that something else was going on. The winds continued to grow and the sands scoured his face, tearing at the fur covering the mass of his newly (despite it having been over a year) acquired body.

As the centaur neared the witch and the human sailor she had assaulted, the winds pushing against him, finally grew too formidable. His eyes were forced closed and steaming tears, in an attempt to flush the sand from then, made him miss a large, slimy piece of kelp. His left front hoof slammed down on it and slide. His whole body twisted as the hoof went out from under him. The bright sword flew from his hand and with a curse, the massive combination of man and horse went crashing into the sand on it’s left side.

"Sir Rion!"

Up on the cliffs, men shouted. The tax collectors guards had finally arrived. Dressed in the bright green and yellow livery of Duke Crispian the Forth. Baring spears and kit shields, a dozen or so raced down the path to the beach, the sun shining off steel kettle helms and faces covered with sweat. Another halve dozen halted atop the cliffs and started putting sting to bow stave. Arrows were slammed into the earth, point first and ready to be put to string.

Nephelle froze when she heard the sand-muffled thudding of hooves. She almost laughed aloud. She learned in a moment how her spell had been received in this country. The speed at which they had found her seemed quite ironic and amusing. When the charging centaur came closer, she grew a little sad. He looked glorious as a centaur, why was he so angry with her? He could not gallop like that unless she had given him four legs.

She would have to reason with him later. First, she would have to defend herself and the sailor. Transforming into a griffin was a last resort, because she could not cast spells in her beast state. For the sailor's sake, she put on a worried face. She felt him trying to pull away from her and run, but she kept an iron grip on his arm.

What truly surprised Nephelle was that a spell was already cast before she had a chance. Nephelle turned her head and saw a young woman who had just released a mighty gust of sand at the centaur.

The fall of the centaur was quite a sight. Nephelle marveled at the twisting physique and the rippling of muscles, and felt a great pride in having created this combination of horse and man. Her attention turned to the sword, which was flying in midair. It landed near the feet of her sailor. Nephelle released his arm. She looked at him to see what he would do. He took the opportunity and grabbed it with his good arm.

Then there sounded the call for Sir Rion. Now that he was released by Nephelle, the sailor ran in the opposite direction of the oncoming guards. Nephelle lingered and devised an obstacle for the guards. Her greatest powers were in the transforming of animals. She looked around the sand at her feet. There was a lowly crab scuttling by. She grabbed it and murmured a spell as she held it…

The sailor ran towards the girl who had saved them. He opened his mouth to express his thanks, when there was a flash of light coming from the beach. The sand began to move in strange patterns, and then large orange-grey stones began to creep up from under the sand. They were all between six and eight feet across, and the beach was crowded with them. Then it was revealed that they were not stones, but indeed man-size crabs. Not only that, but Nephelle had instilled in them a will to attack. They began scuttling towards the guards with claws snapping.

Nephelle was pleased with her spell, and dashed after her sailor.

Anwen released the spell the instant the creature fell to the ground. She did not wish to cause it undue pain, but nor could she allow it to harm unarmed innocents on the beach. Everything else seemed to happen quickly, with armed men running out onto the beach hollering loudly. She heard the name Sir Rion, but she did not know that name, nor whom among them that was. Then came the injured man she’d seen earlier, now armed with a sword and rushing her way. Anwen took in a sharp breath of air at the sight, prepared to defend herself should he try to cut her down, but both of their attentions were soon turned elsewhere.

“She’s a sorceress?” Anwen said in surprised amazement, honestly not sure what to think. She had never met others who practiced magic besides Magai and her mother, though she obviously knew that there were others. Her opinion on the matter quickly turned to misgiving on the woman’s intentions when she felt the powerful magic she summoned, and the monstrous beasts she created. They would be formidable foes for the soldiers on the beach even armed as they were, but her eyes flew to the horseman creature who was still felled to the ground (by her own doing she could not ignore) and no longer had a sword to fight with. He would be defenseless against the monsters should they attack him, and she could not allow that while she had aid to offer.

“If you know how to use that, I suggest you defend yourself now, otherwise feel free to follow me.” Anwen said to the injured man, before taking off at a run towards the horseman on the ground. She passed the sorceress who ran the other way, with only the slightest of wary looks before she reached the horseman.

“Fear not, I shall keep the creatures at bay.” Anwen assured the horseman, before whispering a soft enchantment that weaved a protective glowing ring in the sand that the crabs would find impassable. “If those soldiers hunt you as well, I shall give you time to flee, but if you attack innocents again I cannot help you.”

The guards recoiled in horror, bunching up in a rough semi-circle as the beach they had been racing down to suddenly teemed with giant crabs. They would have charged bandits or an enemy army without pausing for breath but this was black magic, some wicked spell from the same witch, who had cursed their nobility. When the first of the crabs reached them, the guards locked shields and attempted the jab the crustacean’s carapaces with their spears. Arrows rained down from the archers, steel bodkin points bouncing off the hard shells.

“Innocents” snarled Rion, struggling to regain all four of his feet and blinking sand from his eyes, “I knew the peasants could be dumb but I did not know there were such extreme examples. Has your head been stuck in a bucket for the passed year? That is Nephelle, the thrice damned witch who cursed the entire kingdom last year!”

The last few words came out as a roar, while the knight finally stood tall. His face was set in a grim line, as he studied the wretched crabs and locked onto the witch. Without his sword he had no weapon and no hope of forcing a path to her. Well that was not true, the feral spirit of the stallion whispered in the back of his mind, pushing for control. He had iron shod hooves, he could smash his way though and bring them crashing down on the witch. He just needed to let the stallion into his mind, so the spirit could show him how to do it.

Never in a million years.

“Archers” bellowed the centaur, looking up at the cliffs, as nearby yeomen joined the uniformed archers, “The Witch! Bring Down The Witch!”

Nephelle felt a little winded after all this magic and all this running. She passed the young blond, who was running back towards the angry centaur. Nephelle's jaw dropped.

"You are out of your wits!" she cried after the girl.

Then she looked at her sailor and saw that he too was running after the girl.

"No, no, you mustn't! The centaur will not forgive you for taking his sword," Nephelle pleaded. She reached for him, but he brought the sword up between them.

Lute now recognized Nephelle as the griffin. The red of her hair was the same color of the fur on the winged beast that had plucked him from the Procopia. And now he looked at the giant crabs--a sight he had never thought he would see--and saw flashes of red. The male crabs had blue claws, but the females had that same blazing red.

Nephelle saw his distrust and stepped away from the sword. She heard cries to "Bring Down The Witch," and they were all too familiar. Escape was her best option now. She flapped her arms once and made a swift transformation into a seagull. She made a deafening shriek in her gull voice. This caused a torrent of roosting seagulls to fly up and swarm around her. She was concealed now, one among hundreds of shrieking gulls.

Lute shivered after Nephelle's startling departure. Hopefully it was the last he ever saw of her. Something compelled him to follow the younger sorceress. However, there was a wall of crabs that stood in his way. They were swarming around the barrier she had had formed, determined to get at the centaur. He saw one particular crab shuffling sideways behind the others. This crab was missing one of his claws, probably an injury he had sustained when he was small. Lute stepped behind this crab and then took a leap onto his broad carapace. The crab jerked and snapped at him with his one claw. Lute deflected the claw with the sword. Then he took another leap onto the next crab. This time two claws came up at him, but they were too short and he too small to be reached. Each carapace was like a small island.

Lute proceeded to crab hop towards the young woman and the centaur. Eye stalks swiveled and claws tried to catch him. One claw did snatch a bit of his pants, but missed his flesh. Another crab knocked into the shell he was standing on. He nearly lost his balance and almost fell into a sea of red and blue pincers.

Finally, he was one crab away from the glowing ring. This grab was particularly agitated and bucked violently when she felt him on her shell. Her claw caught the bloody sleeve of his injured arm. The sleeve was already ripped and he felt it being pulled at the shoulder seam. He fell off her shell and into the protective circle. Her claw recoiled, but it took his sleeve with it.

“I am from Avalin, I know naught of this Nephelle you speak of. What I saw was a creature of great strength charging an unarmed and injured man and woman. What conclusion would you have come to Sir?” Anwen replied tartly to the rather rude and obviously upset horseman.

Avalin was a kingdom that kept rather to themselves, protected from invasion by Centerlot by the eastern mountain range. It was also a rather self-absorbed kingdom, as the fight for control over the kingdom between the two houses of Gheridorn and Nymrell seemed endless and all consuming. So it came as no surprise to Anwen that she had not heard of this curse he referred to. She doubted that would matter much to the horseman though, and she knew that she would likely need to make a hasty retreat for her own safety once she found a way to rid them of the crabs. She had already pulled out the book of spells her mother had left her, looking for a way to either reverse of subdue the crabs, when she saw the sorceress Nephelle make her escape. She hoped that perhaps the crabs would transform back once Nephelle was gone, but the giants still remained when the injured man fell into the circle.

“Take this.” Anwen said after noticing the man’s wound, rummaging in her bag, and pulling out a small clear vial. “For your wound. You may feel a slight burn at first, but it will close the wound and keep it from infection.” She explained before turning back to her book. The transformation of animals was a powerful magic that Anwen had never dabbled in, and she doubted she could reverse the spell of Nephelle on her own, but perhaps she could work around it. She began reading off a spell from the book in a strange tongue that the man and horseman were not likely to understand, and the crabs ceased their assault. Instead, they turned their direction and scuttled towards the sea, where they soon disappeared under the waves of the water.

“Your witch was using them as a distraction, so I doubt the spell is permanent. If you are lucky they will be normal again before the next high tide.” Anwen said as she put her book away. The spell she had used, commonly referred to as the sailor’s wife, had worked better than she’d expected, as it was not a spell she used often if ever, though she had seen Magai use it once or twice. Mostly a spell requested by wives and mothers, it made the intended son or husband temporarily burn with an intense desire to be home, which in this case would be the sea for the crabs. It would hopefully last long enough to keep the crabs from being a threat until they could change back.

The air above the cliff hummed with the twanging of bow strings, as yeoman and archer put as many arrows soaring into the flock of gulls as they could. The man who could bring down the cursed witch would be well rewarded by Duke Rion (as most of the common folk and the lesser nobility, had dropped the regent from his title) in both wealth and possibly a Serjeanty. Many of the birds were slain but not a one reverted into human form and when the flock had disbanded, the bowmen were forced to admit to themselves, that they had failed to ease the suffering of their lord or earn a fat purse. One last arrow was put to the strings, as the men kept watch, hoping the witch would return for another try at mischief.

Down below, with the retreat of the wretched giant crabs, the dozen or so guards came running down the beach. There were gashes and rips in their leather faced gambesons, with strips torn from their tabards. New scars were etched into the painted wood of their shields and some of their spears were now missing the steel heads. One man had his helmet torn off and apparently carried away by the crab, who had snatched it from him. They looked rather ragtag now, very different from the professional looking soldiers of the Duke of Essyer, who had stormed down to the beach, to do battle with a witch.

"If not" grumped the centaur, as the guards formed up around the protective circle, "Then they are just another plague we can damn Nephelle for, in our nightly prayers, may God finally listen and send heavenly aid."

"You there" said Rion, turning to stand before the sailor, "Your name and from where did the witch snatch you man? And I would thank you for the return of my sword..."

Lute got to his feet and was soon handed a vial by the young sorceress. He was trusting, and so he drank it without question. Indeed, it did burn as it passed from his tongue to his throat to his belly. And the pain in his arm also flared up. He looked at his arm and his flesh closed before his eyes. The wound did not disappear, but looked more compact and clean.

Then the woman began reciting something he didn't understand. His thoughts were abruptly jerked in one direction. All he could think about was his native island, Syma. Even though he was on a beach, he wanted instead to be on a Syman beach, with its rocky cliffs and pebbled shore. He wanted to see the seals and unique shorebirds that came to Syma. He missed the flat lowlands, where the plants were stunted by the persistent wind. And most of all he felt he would give anything to be back in the squat little hovel where his rosy-faced mother was waiting for him.

He was still pining for home when the centaur addressed him. Lute was absolutely dwarfed by the tall centaur knight, but he talked to him as if he were a regular human. "Lute of Syma, sir," he answered in a slow, mellow voice. "The witch took me from my ship, the Procopia, she did. Didn't know it was her at the time, as she was a flying beast. She just grabbed me from my ship. Don't know why…"

When Rion asked for the return of his sword, Lute lifted it up without a word and offered him the handle. He didn't make excuses for his behavior, and couldn't really say why he took it. But at least he had retrieved it, and not Nephelle.

---

The beach was littered now with seagull carcasses. Nephelle was abhorred that they would shoot down all the seagulls, just to find her. The massacring of innocent animals--even shrill shorebirds--was not something she took lightly.

Her seagull self flitted away to safety. She would plot her revenge… Her eyes noted the heraldry of her attackers. And she would certainly remember the girl. She would have to learn more about her, find out her allegiances.

Nephelle flew into a thicket of brushy sea plantain and transformed into a tiny vole. She hid in the brush and waited until the party might come this way. She was on the path that lead up the cliff and into the foothills.

Anwen was more than a little disturbed by the number of armed men who now crowded around her protective circle, and for good reason, she had yet to release the spell. She did not see an easy way to simply slip away and leave the men to their work and planning. Anwen knew next to nothing about this witch Nephelle, though she was obviously quite skilled and practiced in magic. The men seemed to hate this witch, possibly for good reason, but she did not know enough about the matter to pass personal judgment. She neither supported nor condemned this Nephelle as of yet, though she found it to be a less than prudent choice to vocalize this. Anwen eyed the sword in Lute’s hands warily as he handed it over to the horseman, whom she had no way of knowing what his intentions toward her might be. It was a weapon that she was not protected against, which intended to be or not, was very threatening.

“If any amongst your men are injured, I would be willing to treat them, otherwise I would be on my way Sir.” Anwen said carefully, deciding it would not be wise to stay here long. She had little experience with soldiers of the nobility, and was used to treating the common folk who lived in the rural country, so it would not due for her to stay. She never stayed anywhere for long, it was a code she lived by, and it made it harder for people to hurt, hunt, or betray her that way.

"Something unnatural" said Rion, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his sword and easily lifting the weapon from the sailor's hand, "And damning for your soul no doubt. Some angel was at your side, when the witch was spotted by the watchers, I have on this coast. Your comrades about the Procopia more then likely think you dead, Lute of Syma. For the time being, consider yourself in the service of the Duke of Essyer. I'll have your oath later, once things get settled."

Maybe it was because the sailor was a victim of Nephelle, that the centaur took the young man into his service, instead of just letting the man try to find a village and some work. Maybe it was because the sailor had some other uses. He needed more men, then he could muster from the villages and the lesser lords sworn to his family. More to watch his brother's coast line and more men to make an expedition to Iverna. Sure he could call out the militia for the task but that would leave none to tend the crops. The harsh winter would kill many of the women and children left behind and the men would stave some spring tide. No, he needed men from the south. King's men or at the very least men from his fellow dukes.

This young sailor would prove to be a good witness, when he went to Esperlin to make a case before the king and the royal council. Not only was the witch responsible for the curse and thus justice was needed but she was attacking their trade. How long would it be, before she gave up on simply snatching sailors and changed with curse them or sinking the ships? How long would trade among the northern islands last or how long would southern merchants be willing to take the quicker and more profitable sea route to his brother's market? How long could the fishing slips ply the Straight? How long before they had to stop taxing those things?

His thoughts were interrupted though. The young woman, a user of the black.....well she had used them to aid him, so merely dark arts, wanted to be on her way.

"Hold maid of Avalin" said Rion is his most commanding voice, "You cannot leave. It is law in Essyer, that one may not practice your...arts without leave of the Duke or his vassals. While you have done so in my defense, I cannot allow you to wander about the duchy free. I make for the capital today and you are bound by law to follow me to the border of Essyer, where you will be allowed to go."

When the centaur spoke of an angel being by his side, Lute glanced at the young sorceress. He knew that he didn't have her trust, though, because she had looked at him like she expected him to cleave her in two. He was glad to return the sword, in hopes that the young woman would stop looking at him so warily.

Lute nodded his head, accepting that he was now in the service of the Essyrian Duke. Such a turn everything had taken that day. When he woke up that morning he would have never expected to be kidnapped by a witch and brought to serve a centaur on dry land. He still longed to go home. But these thoughts felt childish to him and he pushed them away.

He listened to the restrictions the Duke placed on the sorceress of Avalin. He imagined that this might be an inconvenience for the sorceress and for the Duke. "My Lord Duke," Lute piped up. "I am best in your service as a sailor. If it be your wish, you could provide me a sailing craft and I could sail her back to Avalin. It would not be a long trip. The waters are calm where the Pyren meets the Straight."

---

Nephelle stayed put in her vole form, her small heart beating rapidly. Her ears perked and caught the swift approach of a snake. Just before the snake struck at her, she transformed to save herself. She became a fox and grasped the small snake in her jaws.

Her large red ears gave her magnified hearing. She caught some of the words of the centaur.

"Hold maid of Avalin…"

"I make for the capital today…"

"… follow me to the border of Essyer…"

That was all the information she needed. In her fox form, she left the thicket and began to trot away from the beach.

"A noble offer" said Rion, keeping his eyes on the sorceress, "But one I cannot allow at this time. For one, I will need you when I go before the king, to request more men. I doubt you are the first sailor to be taken by the witch but you are the first one we've rescued and your testimony may convince the king to listen to me. For another, the witch is still free and may chose to attempt something on you or the maid. You will both come with me, although she will be allowed to leave out company at the border."

The matter was settled and the regent duke would stand for no further arguments (even though the maid herself had yet to speak up). Turning, the centaur lead the way along the beach and back up the cliffs, his guards marching behind the two newcomers, making sure that they didn't bolt off into the distance or try some sort of magic spell.

"So what do you call yourself" he said, once they had gained the top of the cliff and he could turn around to look at the sorceress again, "We can't keep calling you maid."

It seemed, that in a matter of moments, Anwen had lost her freedom. Already two men jockeyed over what was to be done with her. The man she had healed offered to take her back to Avalin, where she had no desire to return, not with the house of Gheridorn currently holding the reins of power. The King Florian had a bitter and seemingly unprovoked hatred of magic users. Living in Avalin the past two years had been dangerous, especially as Florian seemed to take a personal delight in bringing witches to his castle in Lendal to be burned in front of crowds of his courtiers. It was rumored that the displays were even a bit much for some members of the church, who had long been calling for the exile of magic users from Avalin. It was part of the reason she had decided to leave and travel about other lands to help people. Being sailed back to Avalin could well be a death sentence, so a part of her was rather glad when the centaur, whom apparently was also a Duke, rejected the idea, though part of her was also a bit annoyed about being spoken about as if she were a sheep at market.

“My name is Anwen if it please your Grace.” Anwen replied politely, though it was obvious she was not in favor of the current situation. For now, she could not escape so many men without perhaps greatly injuring someone, which was not her reason for coming to Centerlot, so she would either need to play along until she could escape, or hope the duke kept his word. “What of these lands that border Essyer your Grace? Are there similar laws I should know of?” Would she need to avoid greatly populated areas all together, or hide her identity?

Lute's suggestion to set sails was rejected. He was not looking forward to the journey across land, especially when his heart was burning for the sea and for home. Anwen, too, looked displeased. He was ignorant to Avalin's animosity towards sorcery. He still thought he had been doing her a favor, offering to take her back to her homeland.

Then it came time to march. Lute marched behind Anwen and let her do the talking with Duke Rion. He looked about the landscape and recalled what he knew about Centaurlot. He had heard before that the island was cursed--that is, the nobles and knights were turned to hybrid beasts. He had seen them before in the port towns, but not so closely as he had seen Sir Rion.

---

Nephelle scurried on in her fox form, drawn towards noise. Her paws felt the sporadic vibrations of hooves. Her nose caught a distinct muskiness. She came to the top of a hillock and looked down at a marvelous scene. It was a gathering of centaurs. Many of them were dancing around in a giant circle. There appeared to be a lot of drinking as well, and in general frolicking and celebrating. She was surprised when she saw very young centaurs, just beginning to learn to balance on their young colt legs.

These centaurs, she saw, were different from the Duke who had charged her. Clothing and the trappings of humans did not appear important to these centaurs. They all had very long, thick manes. The male centaurs had beards that went untrimmed. Women and children wore flowers in their hair.

It looked like such pleasure to Nephelle, that she decided she would try it for herself. She ducked into a large bush, far enough from the gathering that she would not be noticed. She turned from fox to human, and then from human to centaur. She chose a dappled gray horse as her lower half. She ran her hands through her red hair and turned it inky black, so she would not be recognized so easily.

It took her a moment to get used to the legs. It felt like walking on two pairs of stilts. She exited the bush and joined the outskirts of the gathering. She felt a few curious eyes on her, but otherwise she remained an outsider, observing from afar.

"To the south" said Rion, "Is the Duchy of Prezell, lands belonging to the King himself, Anwen of Avalin. When I was last in the capital, no such laws, governing the use of magic or placing restrictions on magic users, had been drafted. It has been many months, since I last visited, though. With the bestial spirit having taken over my elder brother, I have been forced to remain here in Essyer, acting as regent over his holdings and vessels. I know not of the Duchy of Abeldard though, which lays to the south and west or of those laying beyond of Prezell. When we cross the border, we will find a magistrate and find out for you."

As the Duke-regent and his two new traveling companions, walked up the cliffs and set out southward, the guards for the tax collector split into two groups. A majority marched after the heavy wagon, with a trio of archers and two men armed with spears following their lord, as he headed towards Atlander, home of the dukes of Essyer and a short distance from Esperlin, the fastness of the King. However, they did not get all that far from the other group, before the Duke-regent stopped short a top a small knoll and looked to their left.

In a goodly sized field, maybe caused by a small fire the last year, to judge from the scars on the trees ringing the place, was a herd of centaurs. Devoid of clothing or only wearing the remnants of shirt and blouse, they appeared to frolic and drink, free from the worries of the world. There appeared to be a number of foals among them, if one was to use horse terms to describe the children of the centaurs, all of whom where less then a year old. And then, there was an odd one, standing at the edge, hair like a raven's wing and a dappled gray body of a mare under her human torso. She wasn't wearing clothing but it appeared that she wasn't among the herd just yet.

Rion suddenly had a look of pain and anguish on his face. His hand clasped his temples, as if to keep his skull from bursting, which it felt like doing, as he entered into mental combat. The spirit of the stallion he was fused with, screamed a challenge across the plains of his mind and closed with his spiritual self, attempting to wrest control of the body away from his human mind. Time and time again, the spirits clashed, with each encounter ending with the horse being thrown back, a little less each time, until it was too tired to fight him directly.

With the stallion subdued for the moment, the centaur scanned the herd before them, looking for the faces of his brother, sister-in-law and his two nieces. He was forced to bite the inside of his cheek, to resist the attempts of the horse spirit to sneak into his mind. He was both relieved and saddened, not to see any of his kinfolk among the gathered centaurs but his eyes kept being drawn to the outsider. Maybe she wasn't yet turned, maybe she could be saved yet, from turning away from her humanity.

"Remain here" commanded Rion, as he turned and trotted towards the gathering. With each step, he had to concentrate a little harder on remaining who he was, as both the stallion within and the herd without called to him to release all he held dear. His hand was resting on the pummel of his sword, weary eyes watched his fellow centaurs, as he came up behind the odd one.

"Do not" said the Duke-regent, his tongue covered with the coppery taste of blood, "Allow yourself to be taken in by this curse, my lady. Remember who you are."

Nephelle was aware that there were hooves coming behind her. She did not want to seem fearful, and so she turned her head when he was close. She hid part of her face behind a lock of her dark hair. She blinked in surprise. This was the last centaur she expected--the duke who had willed to trample her earlier that day.

She would have to keep with her disguise, for the sake of her survival. She tossed the hair away from her face and turned herself around. Her face was not as disguised as her hair or body. She schooled the muscles in her face to hold differently, and be altogether tighter so she would appear younger. Although she doubted that he had gotten a good look of her face on the beach.

She widened her nostrils and could smell blood on his breath. His words intrigued her and she was excited about the prospect of discussing the repercussions of her spell with him. "I was not someone important, before… the change," she replied. She would not call it a curse, because that offended her sorceress sensibilities. "I was a peasant, a nobody. But, here in this group, it looks like everyone is equal among nobles and peasants. What does it matter who I was?" She cast an eye over the knightly trappings he still wore.