Jerked from her thoughts, Stephania tumbled from his back and rubbed her eyes.
She hadn’t realized how long she had spaced out. She pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind, but they were never really gone, simply waiting for her later. As long as she remembered, she would never be able to be rid of this shadow.
They were now at Jargon’s house, and Trojan was tossing her nice clothes to her, which collected in a pile at her feet.
“We’re here? Already?” She stumbled around as she struggled to dress herself in her absentmindedness.
“Yes, we are.” Trojan impatiently stamped his hooves. “Just hurry and let’s go. We’re going to be late. There’s only five more minutes until noon!”
At this news, Stephania was wide awake and pulling on her clothes as fast as she could. After adorning her in the miniature archery armor Aeron had crafted for her, Trojan strung her bow and slid it across her shoulders along with her quiver.
In moments, after grabbing a quick snack from Jargon’s house, they were once more rushing through the leafy boughs of the various trees that dotted the landscape and gave life to the valley.
Stephania was beginning to become anxious at the feat ahead of her, but she didn’t have much time to think about it because all too soon, they arrived at the center of Trans-Falls.
Gauyuyáwa loomed above the two children as if challenging them. It made Trojan and Stephania feel very small and even more nervous.
Stephania quickly dismounted, and they shuffled up to the door.
Trojan hesitated. Biting his lip and fighting back the butterflies that took flight in his stomach, he reached up and knocked against the mighty wooden door before stepping back to await an answer.
As always, they didn’t have to wait long.
A Centaur, one whom neither child recognized, opened the door.
“What may I do for you, Stephania and Trojan, daughter and son of Aeron and Frawnden?” The Centaur’s deep, gentle voice eased the boy and girl’s fears slightly.
Trojan cleared his throat. “We’ve come to see Artigal. He requested our presence at this time and day.” The young buckskin shifted his weight and looked the older Centaur in the eye, his eyes never straying from those of the elder.
He nodded and smiled at the confident youth. “I will summon him, Trojan.” The door shut heavily behind him.
Trojan breathed out a loud sigh of relief.
Just when the two children were beginning to think that they had been forgotten, the door swung open and Artigal’s glistening white body appeared, his black armor shimmering on his chest and glistening, much like his sleek hair, in the noon suns’ shine.
Stephania and Trojan bowed, never ceasing to be awed at the sight of their leader’s majesty.
They rose from their respectful gesture, and Trojan spoke confidently, though his tail twitched nervously. “Sir. I have trained Stephania Lavoisier, my sister, as you have instructed me to. She is ready to demonstrate her skill in archery for you here today.”
Artigal nodded solemnly. “Very good. Come with me.”
They followed him far into the woods.
No one else followed, not even Frawnden, who had just arrived. She wouldn’t know of the outcome until they came back.
They soon came to a pleasant clearing where a plethora of targets and obstacle courses dotted the landscape.
This is where Artigal personally oversaw the training of the top Centaurs, including Trojan’s own father and Jargon. It was where only the best were trained, and once again, only Trojan understood the significance of this. He sucked in a deep breath. “Wow.”
“How far do you usually shoot away from the target, Stephania?” Artigal turned to her when they had reached a few large targets. His multicolored eyes portrayed nothing of what he was feeling.
“About fifteen paces, sir.” She looked down at her feet and shifted her weight nervously.
Artigal narrowed his eyes. “Then shoot twenty paces away.” He smiled slyly, almost daringly.
Stephania’s eyes widened, and Trojan gulped before stepping out of the way.
“It’s up to you now, Steph. Good luck.”
Nodding, she took several deep breaths before she counted the distance away from the target to twenty paces.
Artigal’s silence was almost unnerving to her, but she pushed that aside and strapped the quiver to her back, drawing out her small but powerful bow.
Closing her eyes, she imagined herself alone, in the middle of a clearing, tall forest all around her, glowing red eyes peering out at her through the branches.
In her mind, she pictured an Eta. It was simple, but was terrifying all the same with its rotting flesh and oozing, black blood.
She let her hatred of those repulsive beasts fill her mind.
When she opened her eyes, her dark red irises were glowing a bright bloodred, which matched her hair—something neither Artigal nor Trojan could see.
A spirit moved inside of her—a spirit of hate and anger, of revenge and death. It consumed her and controlled her.
She pulled back her bow and aimed it at the center of the target. She no longer saw the wooden target with the red paint, only the image of the Eta she had created; its heart lay over the center of the bull’s-eye.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A few barely inaudible words in the Ancient Language subconsciously ran out of her mouth. She released the string. The arrow streaked through the air with a sinister hiss.
A loud thud marked the entrance of the arrow into the target.
Artigal gasped.
Stephania’s eyes opened. The spirit of hate and anger had left her, and her eyes had dimmed to their normal dark red. She gazed, perplexed, at the target.
Her arrow had struck the exact center of the target and had gone all the way through it, lodging itself into the solid piece of wood that held the target upright. This, however, wasn’t the cause of shock from Artigal and amazement from Trojan.
The arrow was covered in flames, and in seconds, the whole target was engulfed by the fiery substance; its heat radiated all the way to the three Ventronovians nearly twenty feet away.
Stephania had created magic.
Chapter 6
Gauyuyáwa,
Trans-Falls, Centaur Territory
This is so much worse than I had feared.” Artigal’s cold, worried voice echoed forebodingly throughout the hollow tree. “With her sudden easy and inexplicable knowledge of magic, I’m surprised that we haven’t had more visitors than just that little snake. With her magical footprint embedded more and more strongly here, even by the minute, we are putting us and her in extreme danger. I fear that New-Fars, with the power that she is channeling, may even be too close to the enemy, but that can’t be helped. It is, however, the best place for now, and we must strive to do what her parents had in mind for her. We will have to think of something else in order to keep her safe from her magic trace. However, until then, it can’t be helped.
“As much as I would have liked her to remain in the protection of Trans-Falls’ magic until she was older and traveling wouldn’t be so difficult, we cannot afford to wait any longer.”
Artigal turned his piercing gaze from his commanding officers to Frawnden, who was standing just a few feet away from the others, her face pale. She swallowed hard and fidgeted with the strand of her black mane.
Artigal’s heart softened, and he allowed her a very small smile.
“I’m afraid that we can’t wait for your mate either, Frawnden. Tomorrow, a third of us will break camp and we will leave. If Aeron is not back by then, then we must leave without him.”
Frawnden nodded miserably, tears misting in her eyes. Once again, her family would be divided and for a longer period of time than she had ever dreamed of.
“I’m sorry all this has fallen so heavily on your shoulders, Frawnden. I will do my best to ease your pain, but this will be hard on all of us. Remember, your family is not the only one that will be broken.�
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Frawnden stepped back into the shadows, the barely audible sounds of crying reaching Artigal as he shut her misery from himself.
He turned back to his military officers.
“I will need your most elite Centaurs on the job. Stephania must see as little of the skirmishes as possible. The more she knows of magical things, the more her trace will grow, putting not only her but all of us in danger. Only Dalton, being a dragon-man, can teach her who she really is while keeping her undercover with his magic until she is ready to shield herself with her own. Please prepare as best as you can. Take only what you will need. You are dismissed.”
The officers saluted their leader and hastened to ready their troops.
“Frawnden,” Artigal whispered sadly.
She bowed in reverence to her leader, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Yes, Artigal?”
Though his heart ached to say more, he had to keep his words short. “Pack up only your most prized and needed belongings. Gather up Trojan and Stephania to you and keep them safe. Our lives depend on their safety. Take comfort in the Great Emperor. He shall preserve us.”
§
“How much farther, Commander? Would it be wise for us to break camp here or to continue until midnight?” Landen shifted his pack onto his other shoulder.
“We have about another fifty miles to cover in two days.” He squinted into the sunset. “I think it would be wise to make camp here.” Aeron nodded at him, approving the sharp eye of the youth.
Soon after the command to stop, Landen began to build a fire and soon declared that he was going off to gather water for the night.
With pride, Aeron watched as the capable soldier trotted off down the small cliff in front of him to a stream that parted the miniature valley beneath them.
They were just entering the mountain range that protected their homeland, and though they only had a mere fifty miles to go, it would be hard to cross the monstrous mountains and bear through the valley’s treacherously unstable weather patterns.
So far, Aeron hadn’t regretted his choice of the young soldier in the least.
The young adult’s gift for hunting and scouting was just what Aeron had needed. Landen’s expertise with the bow was incredible, and it would give an edge to the two travelers should the need arise for fighting in this wilderness.
As the land stretched out before Aeron—the purple mountain peaks looming in the near distance with clouds dancing around their snowy tops— he couldn’t help but wonder how and why Thaddeus thought that he would be able to subjugate all of this wild land.
It wasn’t anyone’s land but its own. Not even the Centaurs had been able to tame it. Only the Dragon Riders had been able to bend the very earth to their will, and that too only because they had a shadow of the Creator’s Magic.
From where they had camped at the top of the plateau, Aeron watched a stream slithering at its base. Bubbling happily, the clear water trickled slowly across the meadow in the carved-out valley it called home.
Aeron wished, for a fleeting moment, that life was more like the stream—gentle, happy, peaceful but as he thought of it, he realized that if he were a stream, he wouldn’t be able to comprehend the beauty that he saw around him.
A smile drew across his face, and a chuckle left his lips.
It was with great fondness that Aeron looked out over this land. He remembered crossing this valley when was a young teenager years ago, when his father had decided to move back to Trans-Falls after Aeron’s mother had died. It was here that Aeron had shot his first bull elk with the bow his father had lovingly carved for him. Aeron had been hunting animals since he was Trojan’s age, but the experience of shooting his first elk was momentous. He still had the grand antlers and even the bow.
By now, Aeron could see Landen crouching by the stream and filling up the water flasks.
Suddenly, the young Centaur jumped up and drew his bow, fitting an arrow onto the string and pointing it at his target in a mere fraction of a second.
Aeron held his breath and readied his sword; all of his senses were on the alert, in case whatever might be down there would also be up here.
Landen’s gaze snapped to the grass in the direction his arrow was pointed at, and he released the string.
A sickening, unnatural scream rent the air.
Aeron kicked dirt into the fire before galloping down the side of the plateau cliff.
Landen shot a second arrow, and another scream echoed in the rocks of the nearby ledge.
Aeron dropped his burden at the base of the ledge and galloped to the young warrior’s side.
All movement ceased.
Both Centaurs stood absolutely still, ready to spring at any second, their breath held fast in their chests.
A screech tore through the silence as another one of the mysterious creatures launched itself at Landen’s back.
Aeron had no time to warn him. In one heart-stopping moment, Aeron’s sword cut through the air. It seemed as if he would be too late, but the blade slid into the abdomen of the creature, and once again the air was rent with shrill shrieks. The creature fell, twitching in the throes of death.
They waited at the ready, but no more came out.
After wiping his sword on the grass, Aeron knelt beside the first creature that had been killed and surveyed it.
“Is it a mutant with mange?” Landen shifted his stance uneasily.
Aeron slowly shook his head.
After he kicked the body into the stream, the creature’s identity became clear as a thick trail of black blood flowed into the current.
Landen’s eye widened. “Etas.”
§
Aeron galloped into the sprawling forest city; it was still dark out. It was the morning two days after Landen and he had fought the lone Etas.
Trans-Falls was deadly quiet. A gentle breeze brushed eerily through the trees. The sky was a light gray, the color it always was just before the suns began to flash their pink rays over Rasa. But the sight, usually so beautiful, now seemed dull.
Landen breathlessly caught up to his superior a few seconds later. Being an archer, he wasn’t as conditioned to running as Aeron was.
Aeron had yet to check Jargon’s house and his own, but the lack of early morning movement in the tribal city disturbed him greatly. The worst scenario filled his mind. What if the Etas had attacked and … he violently slammed his hooves into the soft dirt. However, he saw none of the damage that Etas would have left in their wake. Instead, only silence reigned in the valley.
“Come on, Landen. I’m going to check Jargon’s house.”
Landen obeyed without question, instantly knowing the route to the medic’s house. Anyone who had spent any amount of time at Trans-Falls, or had been around anyone who had, knew Jargon.
At a gallop, they reached the healer’s house in only a few minutes.
A sniffing, snarling sound was coming from a couple of bushes to their right.
In a heartbeat, Landen had his bow drawn back to his cheek.
Aeron held his breath, his sword at the ready. It could be nothing, just a rabbit or a bird.
The bushes parted. Double red eyes locked onto the Centaurs.
A scream rent the air but was abruptly cut off by a gurgle.
The Eta fell forward, an arrow protruding between its two glassy eyes.
Aeron snarled. More rouge Etas.
That explained why Trans-Falls was deserted. They must have evacuated, leaving for a nearby tribe. Stephania’s magic trace must have been too powerful here, drawing in too many demonic creatures. It was one thing for the Centaurs to easily hold off an attack, but it was much harder to defend against small things—little deadly creatures that wouldn’t be noticed as they slipped in and wreaked havoc. Better to lay low, saving their weaponry and soldiers for while living in the security of a neighboring tribe, waiting until it was safe to return.
But that would mean … Aeron galloped up to Jargon’s house, wishing and praying that
someone was still here.
The home was dark. All the shades were drawn, and the front gate, which was always open for patients and visitors, was closed and locked.
Aeron’s face hardened before he charged wordlessly down the road that led to his own home.
Landen followed at a slower pace. It was common knowledge where the Trans-Falls chief lived and so Aeron didn’t wait for him.
When Aeron reached his home, he tried the door knob. It was locked. Frawnden never left the door locked unless she and her family had to leave for a long time.
He sank to his knees and buried his head in his hands.
He was too late.
They had already left for New-Fars.
§
Frawnden looked back over the valley that she had lived in since birth. She had never left that peaceful valley for more than a few months at a time for war. She had never thought that she would be leaving for the next five years.
She imagined Aeron rushing to the camp only to find them all gone. Would he follow? Or would he go back to his army to lead them into battle?
A tear ran down her cheek. Either way, even if Aeron tried to follow them, he may not ever find them in this wild land. Artigal had left no message for Aeron of what road they would be taking. Some of the rouge Etas they had fought off in the last week had been intelligent enough to read. They didn’t want precious information falling into the wrong hands.
Artigal was at her left, Jargon at her right, Stephania on her back, and Trojan just behind them. They neared a fork in the road. The way to the left was the common road to New-Fars. Artigal chose the right.
As the two leading males silently led the bit of the tribe they had taken with them, Frawnden paused at the fork in the road.
This split in the road marked the end of the path that would lead her to her mate and the beginning of their separation.
Frawnden gazed at the valley, and a sick uneasiness settled over her. She could almost see their home from here. She strained to see better. Perhaps, just perhaps …
“Frawnden?” Jargon’s soft, comforting voice gently shook her from her thoughts, and she slowly turned to him. He reached out his hand and wiped away her tears. “Come, Frawnden. There is nothing we can do.”
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