A Centaur for Libby

by Reese Gabriel

  “I’m sure it is,” he said with utterly false sweetness. “I wonder, though, aren’t there some things that are better here?”

  She took a bite of her food from the end of the fork. “Well, I would say the sky is very clear. And near as I can tell, you don’t have any door-to-door salesmen. Do you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “That’s good.” She took a drink of sweet nectar, pausing for effect. “I don’t suppose you have atomic weapons either, do you?”

  “Atomic weapons?”

  “Yes, they are bombs. Like thunder and lightning, only it comes out of a rocket. Human governments have them. One or two of them would probably destroy your entire country.”

  The scorpion went quiet. No doubt he was doing some serious rethinking of his invasion plans.

  After dinner, Libby was allowed to lie down for a while on a very large canopied round bed, covered in red velvet with thick pillows. A trio of pretty Virgos, slender elflike creatures with gossamer gowns, waved fans over her, keeping her cool and comfortable.

  She probably shouldn’t have but she fell asleep within seconds of lying down. She didn’t trust Scorpos for a minute but she could not keep her eyes open. Anyway, she felt as safe in dreams as anywhere else. Perhaps she would dream of home, or better still, of Markos.

  Nothing came to her however, just a black and eerie silence, the beating of her own heart, the flow of her pulse, time collapsing in upon itself.

  She had no clue how much of it had passed when they woke her again.

  “It is time,” was all that the scorpion guard would say. “For the battle.”

  * * * * *

  Markos had not expected to see quite so many scorpions. It seemed Scorpos had conscripted the whole of his kind. At their best, the scorpions were dynamic, magnetic creatures—natural civil servants. At their worst however, they became full of greed and envy.

  Scorpos had certainly done his job with this lot. Thousands of them, lined up across the plain. Red and black, like checker pieces, stingers at the ready. Every so often in the ranks was a banner holder, indicating a company or detachment.

  Scorpos himself was absent so far.

  “The coward won’t show himself,” said Kalos, standing beside Markos on the ridge.

  “Or he has some trick up his sleeve, more likely,” said Markos.

  Just then a centaur rode up on the right flank. “The cavalry is prepared, Sir,” he announced with a salute.

  “Well done, General Tauresius.” Markos nodded to the black-haired centaur, who had been his friend since childhood.

  “The infantry is also prepared, Sir,” said a lion, a huge specimen with mammoth paws and a tawny mane.

  “Good work, General Ronan. Are we clear on the battle plan?” he asked them both.

  The generals answered together, in the affirmative.

  Markos’ plan was simple but he hoped effective. The lions would charge over the ridge, having the advantage of height. They would tear into the main body of scorpions, backed by a small number of centaurs. Meanwhile, the main body of centaurs, divided in two, would form pincers to crush the enemy ranks on either side.

  There was the slightest chill in the air. The pink sun of Constellia was just peering over the horizon to the east. They were some ten miles from the castle. Markos thanked the stars for their positioning. They had the high ground. Scorpos had been foolish not to claim it earlier. Perhaps he was overconfident.

  Again he felt the gnawing in his gut. There could be a trick here. What had Markos overlooked?

  As if on cue, a pair of the Piscean scouts came flying up from below the ridge.

  “Sir,” they spoke over each other, breathless. “Down there…there’s Scorpos…and…and—”

  “And what?” snapped Kalos. “You silly twits! Out with it or I’ll give you a good poke with my horns.”

  They collected themselves in unison. “Scorpos has requested to see you. He has a hostage.”

  Markos felt a rising panic.

  “A hostage? Who is it?” growled Kalos.

  “It could be Argos,” speculated Vorius, the lion on whose back Markos was riding.

  “Or Dalion,” General Ronan named Markos’ other compatriot.

  “Perhaps,” said Markos, though he did not believe it was either one of them. “Where does Scorpos wish to meet me?” he asked the Pisceans.

  “He is coming through the ranks, Sir, he wishes to meet you between the two armies.”

  Markos nodded. “Well done, brave Pisceans.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” they said as they puffed themselves up.

  “You will take an escort, Sir?” said Ronan.

  “No,” said Markos.

  “I will go with you,” said Kalos.

  “No. I go alone. This is between Scorpos and me.”

  If indeed he had Libby as Markos feared he did, he was not about to endanger anyone else. Nor would he entrust her safekeeping to anyone but himself.

  “We ride together, then,” said Vorius.

  “No.” Markos dismounted. “I will walk.”

  “But, Sir—”

  “Do not argue, Vorius.”

  “Don’t do this,” said Kalos. “There is no logic to it.”

  “War is not logical, my friend.”

  Nor is love, he might have added.

  Markos proceeded, with no further argument from his men. He descended over the ridge and climbed to the bottom. Curse these human legs, awkward and slow, he growled to himself.

  It was slow going over the plain, covered as it was in a fine covering of grass, moist with dew. His sandaled feet were well soaked by the time he reached the impending killing ground.

  Adjusting his tunic and sword belt, he stood straight, awaiting his foe. He would be an easy mark, but it would be worse to show fear. Markos could see the scorpions, still as statues, eyes trained. They seemed harmless enough but at a word they would race across this field and attack with a ferocity and venom few could comprehend.

  Markos watched as two of the scorpions stepped forward and then to the side, as if opening a gate. Indeed it was a gate, an opening for their leader.

  The trumpet’s blare announced the coming of Scorpos, full of pomp and circumstance and boundless ego. Markos noted the gleam from his golden covering. What a joke. Any true king would never adorn himself like that.

  But what was this? Behind Scorpos, a golden cage being towed by a Taurean bull. Markos clenched his fists as he identified the figure inside. A human female seated on an ornate chair, wearing a long white robe.

  Libby.

  Markos’ heart slammed in his chest. The adrenaline raced.

  Scorpos continued his approach, stopping some hundred yards away. At this point he ordered the bull to stop and continued forward on his own. Markos did not move, did not breathe. The scorpion did not stop again until he was a mere foot away.

  “I see you’ve decided to return,” said Scorpos. “Perhaps one of these times you will actually face justice.”

  “What do you know of justice, Scorpos? You are a liar, a thief and a killer.”

  “A thief?” He scoffed, not having bothered to answer the other two charges. “But what have I stolen?”

  “The hope of the people and their freedom.”

  Scorpos lowered himself for a mock bow. “Bravo, well spoken. For an escaped criminal.”

  “As you said, Scorpos, I am back.”

  “Yes you are, and let me tell you what you will now do.”

  “By all means.”

  “You are going to disband this ridiculous army of yours and then you are going to march back up to the gallows and face your death like a man, if that is what you are now.”

  “And what of Libby?”

  “You mean the creature in the cage? I haven’t decided. Surrender and I will consider letting her live.”

  “Release her,” Markos countered. “And I will consider letting you live.”

  “Bold words for a coward. To s
how you I mean business, I am going to begin doing nasty things to your little girlfriend, small things at first, one every minute or so, until you surrender. So long, for now.”

  “Scorpos, do not turn your back on me.”

  Scorpos did not bother to acknowledge. He was crawling away, off to hurt Libby.

  Markos raised his fists to the air, screaming. He had no hope of stopping the scorpion, not as a man. “By the stars,” he cried, his veins surging with energy. “Give me the strength and I will not yield, nor will I run, ever again.”

  The flash of lightning came from a clear sky. A jagged line of purple, right through Markos and into the ground. The pain was excruciating. His body felt like it was being ripped apart piece by piece. Death would have been a relief.

  But death was not Markos’ destiny. For though he collapsed a beaten man, he rose as what he was born to be, much more than human.

  “Scorpos!” he called once more, his voice booming in the air. “Did I did not tell you to not turn your back on me?”

  The scorpion leader turned back to see what had happened. “You,” he hissed, seeing the form of the centaur.

  “Yes,” said Markos. “It is I, rightful Captain of the King’s Guard.”

  “Indeed it is. But nothing has changed. I still have the woman. Attack me and she pays the price.”

  “No,” said Markos. “You alone will pay. Hear now my price.”

  “What price?” he asked.

  Markos smiled fiercely. “Your surrender and the disbandment of your army.”

  “Not likely. Sorry,” Scorpos replied.

  “This is your last warning,” said Markos.

  “What are you going to do? You are alone, you have only a sword.”

  Markos threw the sword to the ground. “Now I have only my bare hands.”

  “Kill the woman!” Scorpos called to his soldiers. It was the last mistake he would ever make.

  Markos moved so quickly the scorpion had no chance to react. Galloping up to him, he turned to the side, grasping the scorpion’s powerful stinger near the base.

  Scorpos cried out as his back end was lifted off the ground, held in the powerful hands of the centaur.

  Markos clenched his teeth. The sinews in his neck strained as he twisted. Farther and farther until he heard the squeals of the scorpion and finally the cracking sound that indicated he had broken off his tail.

  Knowing he had not a second to lose, Markos galloped forward, toward the scorpion line. Using the stinger like a lance he struck at the ones closest to the golden cage. Again and again, until a dozen corpses lay on the ground.

  With his bare hands, he ripped away the bars and reached for Libby. She took his hand, allowing him to hoist her on his back. Retrieving the broken stinger of Scorpos, he hightailed it back to the open plains, back toward the ridge, so his own troops could see the prize he bore.

  A cheer rose up and then the battle cry. The ground rumbled with the paws of a thousand lions and behind these the hooves of the centaurs. Markos longed to lead the troops, but first he had to see to the safety of Libby.

  He took her straight to the top of the ridge, where he assigned a small number of the centaur cavalry to her protection.

  She offered him a kiss on the cheek as he transferred her to the back of one of one of the others. “Good luck,” she said. “Whether you believe in it or not.”

  “I’ll take what I can get,” he said with a grin.

  By the time he reached the front, the worst of the fighting was over. With Scorpos gone, his minions had little stomach for battle. The lions ground up the hard-core elements while the centaurs chased those who sought to escape.

  The bulk surrendered, seeking the mercy their leader would never have given. “Do not mistake my forgiveness for weakness,” said Markos, sparing them. “You will not receive such clemency a second time.”

  “Was that wise?” Kalos asked afterward. “They could well live to fight us another day.”

  “I will not risk a cycle of vengeance,” said Markos.

  Kalos nodded. “You speak wisely…like a king.”

  Markos looked at him. “Stars forbid.”

  Kalos smiled. “We will handle the rest if you would like to be with Libby.”

  Markos felt the words twist like a knife. “That will not be necessary.”

  “As you wish.” Kalos eyed him strangely.

  Markos frowned, riding off. He did not look back for fear of seeing her.

  Libby, the woman he had saved but who did not want him.

  Was there a greater irony in the universe?

  Such was the price of seeking to leap between worlds. It was a mistake he would not make again.

  * * * * *

  Libby returned to the castle on the back of Vorius, the strong and kindly lion. Kalos walked beside them. Libby could tell he was yearning to say something.

  “Centaurs can behave unpredictably,” he offered at last. “But they have pure hearts. Markos cares for you deeply. I know this as surely as I know anything.”

  Libby spared him his burden right off. “It’s all right, Kalos, you are kind to want to comfort me, but the truth is I spoke cruel words to him earlier. He has no reason to ever speak to me again.”

  Kalos went silent for a while. He waited until the castle was in sight before he replied. “If I know Markos, you had your reasons. I doubt you would ever grow angry with him if you did not care for him as he does for you.”

  “It doesn’t really matter though, does it? We aren’t the same species.”

  “No,” he agreed. “You aren’t.”

  “Centaurs live to play, they crave adventure,” she said. “They aren’t made to settle down with underpaid lawyers.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  Kalos’ question caught her off guard. “No…I’ve been a little busy since I got here.”

  “You should consider it.”

  “But Markos is happy without me. This is his world. And I can’t live here, it’s not mine.”

  “If you say he is happy, it must be so,” said Kalos. “I think you know him better than any of us.”

  Libby pondered the words as they went the rest of the way, though she said nothing further, nor did he.

  To her amazement there was a large crowd waiting to welcome them.

  “Hooray to the heroes.” They cheered the long line of centaurs and lions. “Hooray to the defenders of the people!”

  The soldiers were tired, but obviously pleased.

  “Look,” said Kalos, pointing to the rampart of the castle. “It’s the queen.”

  Now it was the soldiers turn to cheer.

  Queen Aquaria raised her arm and gave a wave to her people.

  “There is a sight for sore eyes,” said Kalo. “With the threat of Scorpos gone, the queen is ready to return to her public duties.”

  “The first order of business had better be a celebration,” said Vorius. “With all the ale I can stomach and a wee bit more.”

  “I’m sure that will be arranged. There will be medals to award, as well. I trust you will be there, Libby? I’m sure the queen will want to recognize you.”

  “Of course.” She smiled weakly, knowing it would be Markos who would receive the greatest honors. “Though I hardly think I will be noticed.”

  Could she face Markos again? She had no choice. To leave Constellia now would be rude. She would do that afterward, assuming her poor twisted heart and tongue allowed her to say the magic words properly.

  * * * * *

  Markos was suitably impressed by the sight of the impending celebration. The great chamber of the castle had never been so decorated in living memory. Gold garlands were strung on every column, candelabras had been added and even special murals painted on the walls commemorating the Battle of Liberation as it had come to be called.

  He was a bit embarrassed to have so much of tonight’s attention focused on him. There were so many others more deserving. Where would he have been without Dalios and
Argos and Kalos, not to mention the Aquarians? And there were his fellow centaurs and the lions and on and on.

  There was one more too, he thought with a heavy heart. One who did not belong to any astrological species. It was she, Libby, who had done the most to set him free, body and soul.

  Markos was not the same creature as before. He had been forced to a place of humbleness and deep struggle and he had only been able to do this because of the example set by Libby.

  He had grown up thinking humans were silly fairy-tale creatures but in her he saw they were the bravest beings of all, for they persevered and triumphed without any of the special magic of Constellia.

  It was good that the queen was giving her a medal. He only wished that they were not going to receive them together, side by side.

  “Have you seen the food?” Dalios came up to him, his horns decorated with sparkles for the occasion. “I won’t eat for a week after this.”

  “Liar,” said Kalos, coming up from the other side. “You’ll be hungry an hour after like you always are.”

  “That’s because I work for a living,” said Dalion. “Unlike certain sedentary, calculating goats I know.”

  “Better to use my head for calculating than for slamming into every hard object I see,” retorted Kalos, who was wearing a golden covering that hung to his hooves.

  “Gentle beings,” Argos intervened. “Of all nights to be bickering.”

  “He started it,” the two accused in unison.

  Argos sighed, turning to Markos. “Well, my boy, we made it.”

  “Yes, thanks to all of you.” Markos ran his hand over his head, smoothing his long, tangled locks just a bit. “Argos, may I trouble you this night and ask a favor?”

  “Anything,” said Argos.

  “After the celebration, assuming Libby wishes to go home still. I assume you can accomplish that now?”

  “Yes, without the pressure of a dozen scorpions breathing down on us we should do just fine.”

  “Good. I want to make sure it goes well.”

  “You can go with her to make sure, you know.”

  Markos frowned. “I am not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s up to you,” he said with a shrug.

  Markos let the matter drop. The next hour or so passed in pleasantries, as the guests began arriving in large numbers. There was a visiting time, in which the award recipients mingled with the spectators. Markos gave little thought as he chatted. Like all centaurs, he had little use for small talk. Especially when his mind was preoccupied.