Mary Herbert: City of the Lost

It was time.

Although some people knew Varia could talk, no one but Linsha knew what a virtuoso of sound the owl truly was. As soon as the sounds of the horns dissipated, she burst into a wild cacophony of shrieks, shouts, and bloodcurdling screams that burst out of the tree line as if the very skirts of battle were about to sweep over the land. She flew from tree to tree, bellowing and screeching.

In the slave pens, chaos erupted. Prisoners ran frantically, looking for a way out. The guards drew their swords and tried to restore order, but they kept looking at the trees or back to the palace as if they didn’t know what to think about the uproar. Under the cover of the confusion and noise, the centaurs moved close to the big wooden gates.

Varia paused in her shrieking long enough to take a quick look toward the palace. She saw the mercenaries form ranks in the courtyard and march out to find the militia. Only a few guards remained behind. Oddly, she did not see any of the Brute warriors leave with them.

Giving one more ululating scream, Varia launched herself from the tree and shot like an arrow over the heads of the captives.

“Arise and flee!” she screeched. “War comes again!”

Only Leonidas and Phoulos knew who gave that eldritch shriek. Everyone else shouted and ducked as the winged shape shot overhead.

The guards at the gate also flinched and ducked from the frightening apparition. In that moment of inattention, Leonidas and Phoulos turned and proved that centaurs are well armed even without swords or crossbows. Two sets of hooves driven by powerful hind legs slammed into the wooden gate with a resounding crash. The wooden gate held through the first blow, but a third centaur joined them, and on the second strike the gates exploded open. Leonidas took out the closest guard with his throwing knife, then the centaurs wheeled and attacked the guards.

The remaining slaves saw the open gateway and bolted for freedom. Some simply kept running into the gardens or fled back toward the city. Others, especially the captured militia and fighting men, joined the centaurs in a vicious hand to hand battle with the guards.

Varia circled overhead, watching in satisfaction. The two young centaurs fought well and led their forces slowly in the direction of the palace.

Suddenly, she saw the dark centaur rear, his front legs flailing the air. A spear protruded from his neck.

“Phoulos!” Leonidas bellowed.

Varia swooped low over the centaur as he struggled toward his friend and caught Phoulos’ hand. The wounded horseman staggered to his knees.

Phoulos collapsed to his side into a growing pool of blood. The owl sadly watched Leonidas clasp his friend’s hand hard. Fighting raged around him, but Leonidas took no notice. He and Varia waited until the gleam of life faded from Phoulos’ eyes and the body sagged motionless on the ground. Only then did Leonidas pick up a sword and, with a yell of rage, plunge back into the fighting.

Varia sang a soft word of farewell to the spirit of the dead centaur then flapped her wings and rose high to view the palace. They were close, but they had to get inside. Time was moving swiftly, and the ragged forces of the militia were not strong enough to engage in an extended battle.

Beyond the collapsed stone walls, the green overgrowth, and the old ruined foundations that lay between the slave pens and the palace, Varia noticed new warriors had appeared—Brutes, many of them. They were not marching to the north to join the mercenaries but toward the palace. Grim and intent, they moved toward their goal with the same speed and efficiency they had shown in their invasion of the city.

The owl squawked and spiraled higher. More Brutes, led by their general, appeared from the south road. They strode into the palace courtyard. Swords flashed in the sunlight, and Varia heard the shouts of frightened men and the screams of the dying.

“Those vultures!” she hissed.

The Brutes were attacking their own allies.

Thunder’s massive presence filled the great chamber. He roared again and sent a bolt of lightning searing across the roof.

“Crucible! You grubby worm! You can go no further! Come out!”

He did not see the bronze hiding behind the corpse, but he spotted the egg lying on the mound and hurried toward it. He reached for it then stopped and swept his gaze over the dead dragon in the back of the cave.

“Hurry!” rasped Crucible.

Linsha, using a strength born of terror and fury, scrambled frantically up his scaled shoulder to the saddle they had rigged between his wings. She settled herself into the seat and leaned over to reach for the lance.

Azurale handed it up to her butt first so she get it seated in the pommel.

“Here he comes!” warned Crucible.

“No!” Linsha cried, still leaning over the dragon’s side. “I’m not ready!”

The heavy lance dangled precariously in her grasp. She had not yet gained a firm grip on it, and if Crucible moved now, she knew she would drop it.

Azurale knew it too, and he knew he was not tall enough to help her put it in place. All he could do was give her a moment or two. Forcing hack his terror, he yanked off his crossbow and bolted out of the shadows into the open directly in the path of the blue dragon. The war cry of his clan cut through the heavy air. He fired his crossbow in the general direction of the dragon’s head and charged around the mound.

Thunder leaped, thrusting his massive head to snatch the centaur in his crushing teeth, but Azurale was young, agile, and desperate. He swerved, and Thunder’s fangs clashed on empty air.

Linsha watched the centaur’s frantic run for just an instant, then she wasted no more of his precious gift. She closed her eyes and marshaled all of her strength, all the spiritual energy of her heart, every vestige of power she had ever had and focused it all into one final lift with her tired, aching muscles. Her hands tightened around the handle, her arm muscles cramping at the weight of the lance. The weapon rose and settled neatly into place by her right knee, the butt resting on the support by the saddle pommel, the cowl shielding her right arm, shoulder, and the right side of her torso. Now all she had to do was hold on while Crucible maneuvered them close enough to drive the point into Thunder. If it didn’t work, she didn’t think they need worry about a second chance.

“Hold on!” the bronze said.

Linsha could do little else. Holding on with all her strength, she clung to Crucible as he charged out from behind the dead brass into the open.

Thunder did not see them immediately. His attention was still on the fleeing centaur. Azurale had reached the opposite side of the sand mound from Thunder and was dashing back and forth around the base of the high mound, trying to avoid the dragon’s attack.

The blue tired of the cat and mouse game and changed tactics. Instead of lunging around the side of the mound, he threw his massive body over it. The great weight of his chest crushed the brass dragon egg into the sand, while his neck and head snaked over the edge of the mound and caught Azurale just as the young centaur wheeled to escape. The dragon’s teeth closed around his human torso and crushed him. Azurale never had time to scream.

Thunder tossed back his head and ripped the centaur in half. Blood sprayed across the sand. He swallowed, snatched up the horse half, and gulped that down too. Only then did he turn his head around to see the bronze behind him.

Linsha had only a glimpse of the blue crouched on the torn and bloody mound. She saw the blood on his muzzle and the mess on his chest that was egg albumen mixed with shards of egg, sand, and the bloody gore that was once a dragon embryo. She screamed once in fury and protest, then tightened her muscles and clamped the black lance in place as Crucible sprang on the blue. They drove the rust-red tip into the dragon’s back just below the base of his neck.