Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas
Copyright © 2021 by Bethany Meyer.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact :
5935 Talbot Road, Lothian MD 20711
Edited by Angela Watts
Cover design by MiblArt
Paperback: 978-1-7375984-0-4
Ebook : 978-1-7375984-1-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021914545
First Edition: August 2021
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For the friends from the internet who loved the boys and believed that this book was good ages before it really was.
This one’s for you
Contents
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Turn the page
Soundtrack
Glossary and Term Guide
Book 2 Excerpt
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Join my mailing list
CHAPTER ONE
Stealing From
People with Horns
THEY SHOULDN’T HAVE left a window open.
Archer peered around the window frame to check for guards. There were none. He grinned to himself. Of course the satyrs wouldn't have any. He slid through the window and landed slightly crooked, sticking out his good wing to re-establish his balance.
He crept down the hallway, bare feet stepping in and out of the moonlight puddling on the floor. Ahead loomed the dark wood archway to the satyrs' hall of valuables.
Everything about the hall of valuables exuded beauty and elegance. Maybe one day he would be invited to visit and he would get to really look around. But today was not that day, so he would just have to be quick.
The hall was large, but Archer had broken in often enough to know just where to find what he was looking for. He walked through the wooden stands with the familiarity of someone who owned the place. As he passed, he gave a few of the items a faint smile. Then he faced forward toward his prize.
There in the center of the hall of valuables, lit like daylight by a round skylight above it, was another wooden stand.
On the stand shone the Satyr's Crown.
And it was big. The satyrs had spent centuries being enslaved by larger, more powerful creatures, and when they were freed, they had turned themselves a democratic territory. For that reason, the crown was made too large for anyone to ever wear. It was supposed to represent how nothing was to be done by a single leader ever again or some nonsense like that. Archer didn't care. All he cared about was taking it and getting out of the hall of valuables before someone came in.
The moonlight glinted strangely off the air surrounding the Crown.
So. They had tried to protect it.
Eyes trained on the Satyr's Crown, Archer picked up a hunk of sparkling stone off a nearby stand. As he approached the Satyr's Crown, he raised the rock high and slammed it down on the edge of the pedestal. The crack echoed through the chamber. With a splintering sound, a corner of the wood stand broke off, and the salt and sand of a mineral spell spilled out and puddled on the floor.
Just like that, the shimmer he had spotted around the Satyr's Crown vanished.
It was satisfying to know that the satyrs had updated their security after he had stolen nearly their entire collection of valuables on his last visit.
But there was no time to revel. As reached for the Satyr's Crown, he could already hear hoof beats racing down the hallway behind him.
He would not be going out the same way he came in.
He snatched the crown off the stand and fumbled for the leather bag at his side. The bag's opening was not nearly wide enough, but he had fit larger things inside it with no problem before. He pulled on the leather, and the crown slipped inside with only a little bit of trouble.
The hoof beats were getting closer, but still Archer stared at the sparkling stone. Several uncut gemstones glittered across the surface. Hefting it in his hand, he decided he wanted that as well. He tugged the bag open again and tried to fit the stone inside. The bag refused. Even as he tried to force the rock inside, the opening of the bag shrank.
“Oh, come on,” Archer muttered, trying harder than ever to jam the rock inside the bag. He only succeeded in scraping his hand. “I know you can hold it.”
Someone near the archway shouted, “Stop!” and Archer decided the stone was a lost cause. He threw it away and leaped up into one of the narrow windows along the wall. Turning and crouching on the sill, he held out the bag and shook it up and down so the satyrs could hear the crown clinking inside.
They looked horrified.
Good.
Archer looked the closest satyr full in the eye and delivered him his nastiest smile.
“I hope you took good care of it while it was here.”
Then he tipped backward out the window and was long gone before could chase him.
CHAPTER TWO
How to Deal with
Petty Arguments
The sun hitting Wick's desk had only just started to take on the color of normal morning light when someone came racing down the hall into the guest chambers. Before Wick even looked up, the flash of white fur told him the person was his host, Ambrack. Satyrs were normally very cool-headed, but Ambrack looked close to boiling over.
Any clouds that remained from working through the night vanished from Wick's head. He sat up straight in his chair. “What's wrong?”
Ambrack's hands shook with passion. “They've been bold before, but this is too far.”
“Ambrack,” Wick said in a level voice, “what happened?”
His goatlike face was still flushed, but Ambrack stood tall and inhaled deeply. “The Satyr's Crown has been stolen. By a seraph.”
“The same robber as last time?”
Ambrack spread his hands. “I don't know. Ask the messenger; he was there.”
“I'd like to. We need to know all the details before we make any decisions.” Wick said.
“Very well, but be quick.” Ambrack turned to leave. “I'm taking him with me when I go to meet with the seraphs. Someone has to confront them about what they've done.”
The severity of the situation was finally clear. Wick stood and brushed dead leaves off his legs. “Well then. I'll come with you. Just let me talk with the messenger before we leave. Where is he?”
“He's waiting outside.”
A red-haired centaur around Wick's age appeared in the doorway across from Wick's as Ambrack left. “What now?”
“Eland. It seems that someone stole the Satyr's Crown,” Wick said, fetching his small bag of traveling essentials off a
peg. “They say it was a seraph, so now Ambrack wants to go confront them about their crime.”
Eland's brow creased for the briefest moment, then he offered a smile. “Well, my mentors wanted me to start heading back today anyway. I can spare time for an extra stop if you want me to come along.”
His offer gave Wick a bit of relief. “Some company would be welcome. I don't know how well this will go.”
Eland collected his things as well, and they headed out to meet Ambrack, who stood outside the house with a smaller, thinner brown satyr. Wick recognized the little curly horns on sight. “Tamarack. You were there when the crown was stolen?”
Tamarack's eyes followed Ambrack as he left to gather supplies for the journey to the meeting place. “Yes.”
“You saw the thief, then. Can you describe them?”
Tamarack realized he wasn't paying attention and his eyes snapped back to Wick's face. “I saw him.” He cleared his throat. “It was the same robber who took all the valuables months ago. And then put them all back a week later.”
“Listen carefully,” Wick said, bending his head forward. “How do you know it was the same robber?”
“His hair and clothes were the same. And he had the same wing.”
Wick cocked his head. He hadn't heard this detail before. “What about it?”
“His right wing. It was. . . mangled.”
Wick made a mental note of the description. “Anything else?”
Tamarack opened his mouth, then shut it again. “No, nothing else.”
“You were going to say something. Go on,” Wick encouraged, standing up straight so he looked less intimidating. He wasn't a large leshy, but the treelike shape and glowing eyes tended to make some people nervous.
“It's just that. . . he knew how to take apart the spell on the pedestal. It wasn't even hard for him. He was in and out in minutes.”
“Hmm.”
Ambrack came back in, carrying a jug of water in one hand and a walking staff in the other. Slung around his neck was a canvas bag that probably held more supplies. “Are we ready?”
“Yes,” Wick said.
Eland nodded.
“Then let's go. Some of the others are waiting to come with us.” Ambrack held the gate open for the others as they went out, then shut it firmly behind himself. “We meet the seraphs at noon.”
Three hours of travel later, the satyrs and the seraphs were yelling at one another.
“It was a seraph!” one of the younger satyrs, a thick-furred buck named Ren shouted. “How can you say the seraphs had nothing to do with this?”
“Because we had nothing to do with it!” The blonde seraph girl tossed her head. “There are plenty of seraphs that don't live in our territory. Your robber might be from the other side of the mountains, or from one of our smaller territories for all we know! We only know that the robber wasn't any of us or anyone we know.”
“But you won't bring the perpetrator to justice,” Ambrack said in a masked tone.
“If it's not our fault, we don't have to fix it if we don't want to.”
One of the other satyrs leaped forward. “Not your fault!”
The shouting swelled back up again. Eland pushed between the two groups, trying to keep them from coming to blows.
Everything collapsed into chaos before Wick's eyes. They were never going to resolve anything this way.
He did his best to shut out the noise and broke the situation down to the essentials in his head.
The seraphs had brought a similar group to the satyrs. About seven, most of them teenagers. It was the teenagers who were causing the trouble. They had gotten excited by the opportunity to be offended and had come to take out their feelings on one another. Even now Eland was pulling Ren back because if they came to blows, it could cause all kinds of repercussions that neither Wick nor Eland would have any control over.
It seemed wisest to try reasoning with the adults.
Wick stepped forward and inserted himself between Tamarack and the seraph children. “I think this has gone a little too far. None of us know the full story, and we don't want to make any foolish moves here.” He sent a look to Ambrack and to one of the more sensible-looking seraph men. “Shall we discuss this whole matter in private?”
The seraph man thought, then nodded. Ambrack nodded as well.
Wick smiled inwardly. It had worked. He touched Tamarack's shoulder. “Stay calm and listen to Eland. We'll be back in a moment.”
Leaving his centaur friend in charge, Wick, Ambrack, and the seraph man moved a few dozen paces away from the others before stopping and turning to one another.
“What's your name?” Wick asked the seraph man.
“Birch,” the man said. “Of the Redbridge family.”
“Birch, the seraphs do have other, smaller territories around Aro, don't they?” Wick asked.
“We do. Many people do,” the seraph man said, sounding defensive.
Wick nodded. “So do my people. It could be possible that the robber Tamarack saw could be from another territory, and that's why none of you recognize his description. Am I right so far?”
“He could even be from the other side of the mountains,” Birch said. “We have one of Aro's larger territories. He could have come from anywhere.”
“I see. And we don't know who he is either,” Wick continued. “But we do know that whoever he is, he has the Satyr's Crown, a very valuable artifact and treasured by the satyrs. I propose a pact.” He looked back and forth between the two men. “The three of us, as well as all of our people, will keep our eyes open for this robber. We all heard his description, yes? He's dark-haired, with a mangled wing. And he had a bag with him. A leather one.”
Ambrack and Birch nodded together.
“If any of us or our people see him, he'll be arrested straight away and turned in so that the satyrs can invoke their justice upon him. As long as it's fair,” he added as the seraph man looked like he was going to argue.
“Is that agreeable to everyone?” Wick asked, looking around again.
They both nodded again, first Ambrack and then the seraph man. “I'll send out word that everyone is to watch for him,” the seraph man said. “I'm sure we'll find him in time.”
“Thank you.” Wick led the way back to where the others waited. Already Eland was keeping a side-eye on the blonde seraph girl, who looked like she wanted to strangle Ren for something he had said.
“Everything is resolved,” Ambrack announced to the satyrs.
“We can go home now,” Birch said to his group. “We came to an agreement.”
Wick watched the two groups shake hands with a warm pleasure. He loved nothing more than when something that could have been disastrous turned out well.
“Wick.”
Wick turned. Behind him stood a tall black centaur with a head full of long, twisting braids and a face creased into a smile.
“Ongel!” Wick exclaimed in surprise. “No one told me you were coming.”
“It was very last-minute,” his mentor assured him, giving him a warm hug. “And I won't be here long. I've come with an offer from myself and the other centaurs, for you.”
The expression on Eland's face mirrored the surprise that Wick felt. “Really? For me?” Wick asked.
Ongel nodded. “You'll be glad to hear that your years of hard work as a messenger have paid off. The centaurs are looking to employ several new counselors to work and live in centaur territory so that we can take care of the needs of the individual regions. The other centaurs agree with me that you should be offered the spot for the forest people.”
Wick's heart thudded. Counselor. They want me to be a counselor.
Ongel's leathery face creased once more into a smile as he grasped Wick's shoulders. “Well done, Wick. I've known for a long time that you could be doing more.”
“Thank you,” Wick managed. “It would be an honor.”
“Before you accept,”
Ongel added, “there is one minor catch. You are very dear to us in the valley, but there are a few who want to be sure we aren't just making an emotional decision.”
Wick's heart sank. “What does that mean?”
“They want to be sure that you're ready for more responsibility,” Ongel said. “A few of the other centaurs have some concerns, and they want to be sure that you are a good choice to be a counselor. They're asking you to look for some opportunity to prove yourself. We want to see you solve some significant problem without any kind of help and without any sort of undesirable consequences.”
“They. . . may have to wait a while,” Wick finally forced out. “Big problems like that don't come up often, and depending on what it is, it might take a while to work out.”
“We've taken all of that into consideration,” Ongel said. “We plan to wait for you as long as a year.” He paused and smiled. “But I don't think it will take you that long.”
Ambrack and the other satyrs prepared to go back to their own territory, but Wick and Eland had other places to be, so they said their goodbyes and headed south toward leshy territory.
On the journey, Wick tried to work out what it was that the centaurs wanted from him. He wanted to help, and he wanted the counselor job more than anything, but why have him prove himself by just doing the same thing as always?
Falling back a few steps, he matched pace with Eland. “Did you know they were planning to offer me a job as a counselor?”
Eland shook his head. “I'm not involved in the big decisions yet. I did hear your name here and there, but then that's not unusual, so I didn't have a clue.” He paused. “You're taking it, aren't you?”
“Of course,” Wick said. “I want to take it. . . and I think I might have to.”
“I don't know about 'have to', but I think you should. You deserve the recognition, and what's more, we'd get to see a lot more of each other if you lived in the valley. I feel like it's been ages since we've seen one another,” Eland said.
“It's true,” Wick admitted. “You'd think we would run into each other more often since both of us travel so much.” He faked a serious tone. “It's not that I think they're doing it on purpose, but since the centaurs decide where we travel to. . .” He trailed off.
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