Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas

by Bethany Meyer

  Rather than Wick's voice, his own voice took over. “It's not really your bag. It's where it belongs now. You just want it so you can go back to stealing.”

  “And what's so wrong with that?” he asked aloud, then quickly shushed himself.

  The little voice in his head didn't bother to answer.

  Archer's fingers twiddled in the air, wanting to grasp the handle of the bag but not taking it. He wanted the bag back, he wanted his life back, what was wrong with that? But the voice refused to give him an answer.

  Another flash of lightning lit up the sky outside, reminding him once again that they needed to get the stones and get to the cave before the storm let up.

  He sighed his loudest sigh and walked away, leaving the Unfillable Bag on the hook.

  “I can't let you take these,” Eland said.

  Wick eased the Door in the Wall down beside the doors and faced his friend. “Eland, I need you to trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

  “No, you don't!” Eland exclaimed. “You don't know how hard we've looked, Wick. All of us expended precious power looking in every corner of the visions for even a hint of what you think is coming. We saw nothing.”

  “Eland–” Wick started to say.

  “I saw nothing. Are you saying that I missed it?” Eland's eyes were ringed in red. His breath came in panicked bursts. Wick realized that this had been eating at Eland for a long time.

  “I don't think anyone missed anything,” Wick said gently. “I'm saying you may have been fooled. Maybe the Scorch found a way to mask itself from your visions.”

  “We couldn't see it, but we could see you. You trying to steal all the pieces. You coming here right now.”

  “But it wasn't in the right order, was it?” Wick asked. He knew how cruel the words would sound. “We fooled you. Archer was supposed to be here, not me. You couldn't see us clearly in the visions because we found a way around them. That's why you're here, where Archer was supposed to be, because your mentors thought if you met me at any point, you would give me the pieces.”

  “I won't,” Eland said, visibly trying to cover up his pain.

  Wick had to convince Eland. He needed someone to understand. Because if he couldn't convince Eland, he couldn't convince anyone.

  He took a step toward Eland.

  “Keep back!” Eland threw out his arms to shield the table. His earthy green apprentice's tunic flapped with the harsh movement. “Have you ever thought that he might be tricking you? The Heather Stone can do more powerful things than just put up a spell to protect Aro. You know that. That seraph could have all kinds of reasons for wanting them.”

  “What about my reasons?” Wick asked. “Would I steal things if I didn't have a good reason? What if I thought I had to?”

  “Even if you thought that,” Eland said, “how do you know the seraph boy thinks the same thing? He could be lying to you. He could be planning to use the stones for all sorts of dark plans! How can you help him? You know nothing about him!” Eland's eyes were wide. “I'm afraid for you, Wick.”

  “You don't have to be,” Wick said in a comforting voice. “It's true that I don't know Archer that well. But I know enough. I know I'm doing the right thing.” Maybe earlier in the journey, he hadn't been so sure, but now, having seen Archer give up chances to be selfish over and over again, having watched him do things that someone out to destroy things wouldn't do, he was certain. Certain enough to die for it.

  This was the right thing to do.

  Someone pounded against the door. They were trying to break the door in.

  “Please,” Wick begged, “just listen to me for a moment. I do have proof to back up my claim if you'd just listen.”

  At first, Eland didn't move. After a long moment of agony, he lowered his protecting arms back to his sides and nodded. “For all the good times we've had, I'll give you this chance. What proof do you have?”

  Here, Wick was ready. “When was the last time you looked outside?”

  “What?”

  “Outside the valley, over the mountains. The trees are turning to ash. The rain is going black. The birds are abandoning us. All the signs are there. If you'd stopped trying to see and just looked, you would have seen it too. I don't know how or why, but the Scorch is coming back much sooner than we thought. If we aren't ready, this time it could destroy us. And I can't stand by and watch that happen, no matter what it costs me. Please, Eland,” Wick begged, “I don't have much more time. I have to meet Archer at the cavern. Please, I need the stones.”

  Wick took a step forward, and Eland's posture went defensive again. The look on Eland's face said that he was starting to consider Wick's argument, but he still seemed unsure.

  “You're my friend, Eland,” Wick said. “You know me. Would I lie to you? Would I break a single rule unless I thought it was my only choice?”

  Eland struggled with words for a long moment. A cracking noise came from behind Wick. The gold doors were splintering.

  Eland's eyes flashed to Wick's face. “No. You aren't a liar. You wouldn't lie to me.”

  “Then please. I won't let anything bad happen to the stones. I promise.”

  Eland suffered. “How can you promise? You don't know what will happen.”

  Wick offered a smile. “No offense, but neither do you. We can only make the best choices we can.”

  “Fine,” Eland said suddenly. He turned quickly and scooped up the stones one by one, dropping them into little silk bags to keep them apart before he swept them all into a canvas sack.

  “Thank you,” Wick said, overwhelmed with relief.

  Eland turned to him and held out the bag. “If you don't get arrested, come back sometime and tell me the whole story. It had better be good.”

  “Oh, it is.”

  Eland's face broke into a smile. “And if you do get arrested, I'll come to see you in jail, and you can tell me the story anyway.”

  Wick grinned. Hefting the door in the wall up off the floor, he propped it against the wall opposite the gilded table and slipped through. A few walls later, he stepped out into the open air again, and he took off running toward the meeting place.

  Chapter eighteen

  Everyone is Predictable

  Tinor waited for Wick. The bag that held the centaur's piece of the Heather Stone weighed heavily around his neck. He would not let the stone go easily, or rather, at all. Even for Wick, as much as Tinor had grown fond of him, he would not give it up.

  Something jumped through the open window and landed on the wet floor with a thump. A shadow moved in the corner.

  Tinor turned toward the sound. “Don't hide from me, Wick. I knew you would be here.”

  Wick moved a little closer, looking tentative.

  “I'm not angry,” Tinor said. “But I am disappointed. I thought you were better than thievery and bribery. I came to get you from the manghar when the nixies turned you over to them. They had to admit to me that you had bribed them for your release.”

  Wick still didn't move from the corner.

  “I suppose if you're here, you're more serious about this than I thought,” Tinor said calmly. “That seraph boy has brought you down to his level. But it's not too late. Turn him in, and I'll do whatever I can to see that your slate is wiped clean.” His eyes softened. “I still trust you. Give it up and turn in the seraph boy, and we'll help the both of you sort everything out.”

  Wick stepped out of the shadows, and the torchlight hit his face.

  And Tinor saw it was not Wick.

  The seraph boy stepped closer to Tinor, too close to be comfortable. Raising his hand in front of his face, he wiggled his fingers in a little wave. “Sorry I'm a little late. I was in the building, but someone locked your door and I had to come in through the window.” His expression darkened. “And I'm glad he wasn't here to hear all that crap you said. That was pathetic.”

  Tinor's mind raced, trying to unravel what had gone wrong. “I saw
this! Wick comes to me, not you!”

  “Well, see, here's the thing,” Archer said, collapsing into a comfortable attitude again. “What you saw was our original plan. The one that we talked about all the way here, the one we've been planning for days.”

  Tinor's brow furrowed.

  “Your visions are good for predicting things that are far away, but not things that are just about to happen,” Archer said. “Right before we came through the Door, I realized we had to make a last-minute change to throw you off. Even Wick didn't know I was going to change anything. Now, because I changed the plan, your predictions won't be accurate anymore.” He grinned without a shred of guilt. “That's what you get for letting your star player work with a thief. He knew all your secrets, and now I do too.”

  Tinor's face hardened. “You'll ruin him. Everything he is now was given to him by the people who live in this valley. This will ruin everything for him.”

  “He knows,” Archer said evenly.

  “You won't get away with this. The odds are against you. You're going to be captured and made into a spectacle, and you're dragging him down with you. You'll have ruined his life for nothing.”

  Archer cocked his head to the side. “It's not for nothing if we're right.”

  “You aren't right,” Tinor said. “We looked long and hard, and we saw nothing.”

  “How about the trees? Did you see the trees?” Archer asked. “Or how about that?” He turned and pointed at the black rain pouring through the open window. He turned to face Tinor again. “That seems pretty serious to me, or did you not notice that?”

  “Appearances can be manipulated,” Tinor said flippantly. Leshy could change their own appearances with their magic, satyrs could cast spells to shield objects from the eye, and since the boys had found the Door in the Wall, who knew what other magics from the human sorcerers had survived?

  Archer pursed his lips. “I hate to break it to you, but your visions can be manipulated, too, remember? That's how we got in here.”

  “Enough of this,” Tinor snapped. “You are a thief and a criminal. I can try to save Wick, but there is nothing I can or will do for you. When you're caught, you will be handed over to a council to face the justice of all the races combined for the things you've done. And when you face them, remember that you did this to yourself, and you did it to Wick.”

  “It sounds you don't think we'll succeed,” Archer said.

  “You won't. You'll be caught, and you'll be punished. You won't get any of the stones, and you certainly will not get the centaur stone.”

  “The stones? The stones.” Archer scratched his head, feigning confusion. “That rings a bell. Why does that make me think of? Oh yeah. The pieces like this one?” He held up a smooth green stone. The same stone that Tinor could have sworn was still hanging around his neck. “Don't let me stand so close if you don't want to get robbed.”

  Tinor clutched at the pouch around his neck, but it was empty. He made a halfhearted grab for the stone, but Archer danced back, grinning.

  “Stop!” Tinor cried. “You won't get away with this!”

  Archer stopped with one leg hanging out of the window. “Actually, I think we stand a pretty good chance.” Then he slid down one of the pavilion's pillars and landed in a deep puddle of black rain. He was about to leave, but then he remembered something. He turned back and called to Tinor, “Oh, and if it makes you feel any better, he was going to turn me in originally. He wrote you a letter and everything explaining himself. But he changed his mind because he realized I was right. Anyway, thank you!” He waved and started running again.

  He'd done his part. If Wick was competent enough, he would have gotten all the other pieces by now. Archer raced toward the meeting place with dozens of enemies on his tail.

  Wick had better be there.

  Wick spotted Archer racing across the field. Another flash of lightning lit up the valley, and Archer spotted him, too. Archer had a head start for the caves where the stones had come from. But then, he was a much faster runner than Wick. Wick glanced over his shoulder and saw the people behind him were getting closer. A manghar swooped down from above. Wick barely managed to dodge. The entrance to the cave he was going for was just ahead. It wasn't far. But as the manghar dove again, he knew he wasn't going to make it.

  Wick dug through the bag as he ran, clawing out two of the fine wraps that held the stones. He stopped running and turned to face the crowd chasing him. The manghar dove toward his face. As they raced toward him, he held the stones up in the air. It was helpful that the centaurs had taken all the stones out of their settings. It made them much easier to use.

  He clicked the stones together.

  The following explosion was even worse than he remembered. He skidded backward across the grass and mud as the people who had been the closest behind him collapsed under the force of the blast. Halfway to the cavern, he realized he had dropped the Door in the Wall.

  He slid through the entrance to the cave and stopped. Archer was the one catching up now. Wick scrambled up out of the mud, wincing over the pain in his back, and beckoned wildly for Archer to hurry up.

  Archer looked irked, but he poured on more speed, racing through the cave entrance a full twenty paces ahead of everyone else. “Give me those,” he gasped, and snatched the stones from Wick's hands.

  Bracing one of them against the rocks at the entrance of the cave, he swiped the other one across it as quickly as a man with a pair of flints. The impact made the whole cave tremble. Wick glanced up just in time to leap aside as rocks filled the entrance.

  “Come on!” Archer cried, racing further into the caves. Wick wasn't far behind him. As they ran, Wick took a quick look back. The glance told Wick exactly what he didn't want to hear.

  “The collapse didn't block off the entrance,” he said to Archer. “It just filled part of it.”

  Archer hissed under his breath. “We'll just have to hope it slows them down, then.”

  They fled further into the cavern.

  The stone pathway they ran down led deep into the caves, appearing to be carved from the rock instead of built. On either side, past where the edges of the pathway dropped off into the black, stalagmites and stalagmites clustered into the empty space between boulders and ledges. Scattered among them were statues of ancient historical figures, people from every race who had done great things for Aro. Most of them were life-sized. Far ahead of them, the pathway widened, leading into a round stone chamber lit by torchlight. Wick could see some sort of ornate gold stands scattered in a circle inside the chamber. Somewhere in that chamber waited the last piece of the Heather Stone.

  Archer and Wick raced side by side down the pathway. He tried not to look down. If they fell, nothing would keep them from slipping off the walkway and plunging who knew how far down.

  “Are they still coming?” he asked Archer.

  Archer looked behind them. “They're still coming.”

  An earsplitting crack echoed through the cavern, followed by the sound of a hundred rocks falling. Wick stopped running and spun around. A dozen yards behind them, a mountain of loose stone dropped from the roof, breaking the pathway and creating a huge gap between them and the crowd behind them.

  What on earth could have caused it? Wick squinted at the ceiling above the break. The remnants of some sort of spell dangled from the stone. The centaurs must have placed it there in case there was ever a risk of something happening to the Heather Stone. But who would trigger it after the thieves were already safe on the other side?

  Eland.

  “This is our opening, tree! Get moving!” Archer yanked on Wick's arm, and they raced through the doorway. As they skidded to a stop in the center, Wick saw what he should have spotted from the pathway, and his jaw dropped.

  In the center of the round chamber, buried in the floor, was a vast, glistening green stone.

  The final piece of the Heather Stone.

  Only the centaurs
were allowed to enter this chamber, so Wick had long ago accepted that he would never see it. He had, however, asked a lot of questions, and the centaurs had been happy to tell him everything he wanted to know. Thanks to their descriptions, he had formed an idea of what the chamber looked like. But now that he was here, he realized that even in his imagination the Heather Stone had never been so huge. It took up almost the entire floor of the round chamber, and he couldn't guess how deep it went into the mountain. It was bigger than his house in leshy territory. It was bigger than the Crowned Head's throne room. So big he almost couldn't wrap his head around it.

  Spread out around the edge of the stone stood eight stands, shaped like slim pillars. Three gleaming ribbons of gold twined around each base, twisting over and round each other to the top of the stand, where the three pieces split open like a flower to hold the pieces of the Heather Stone.

  The commotion of the others as they tried to find a way across the gap in the pathway brought Wick back to the present.

  “They'll get across the gap soon,” he said to Archer. “Here, take the bag. There must be some way to close the chamber off from the rest of the cave.”

  Archer grabbed the bag from Wick and dumped all the little silk sacks out onto the floor. Wick busied himself with searching the entryway to the chamber. The centaurs were good people, and they did their best to make sure no one felt unwelcome in their territory, but they were not foolish. They knew they would need to keep valuable things like the Heather Stone away from thieves and vandals. The centaurs had created a way to break the walkway and keep trouble from reaching the chamber. They had placed countless spells on the holding room to keep unwanted visitors out. They had to have created a way to close off the chamber itself.

  Somewhere, there had to be a door.

  Wick ran his hands across the walls, looking for an inconsistency. He checked the floor. Nothing. Then he looked up. There, above his head, at the place where the centaurs could reach it with their extra height, was a round carving or the same symbol that had been stamped inside the flap of the Unfillable Bag.