Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

Thenidor, meanwhile, had followed Dezra's glance. He turned, watched Caramon's lurching approach, then threw back his head, braying with laughter.

"Looking for a fight, old man?" he scoffed. He shook his head, turning toward Caramon. "Very well. I'll give thee one."

Caramon saw Thenidor coming and winced. He shifted his grip on his shield and prepared to fight. Thenidor laughed again as he pulled his halberd from his harness.

The duel lasted three blows. Thenidor swung his halberd, and Caramon deflected it with his shield. Caramon swung back with Borlos's mace, and Thenidor parried easily. Then the Skorenos reared and lashed out with his forehooves, kicking Caramon in the chest.

Caramon's armor kept Thenidor's hooves from crushing his ribs as they hammered him flat. He lay still, stunned, gasping for breath that wouldn't come. Looming above him and laughing, Thenidor raised his halberd high. Caramon closed his eyes, awaiting the killing blow.

Instead, he heard the distant thrum of a bowstring, and Thenidor let out a grunt of surprise and pain. Looking up, Caramon saw the Skorenos stumble sideways, an arrow in his shoulder. Thenidor stared at the shaft in amazement, then grabbed it and broke it off, leaving the head embedded in its flesh. Another shaft cut across his arm, and he dropped his halberd, eyes widening as he looked toward the river.

Confused, Caramon twisted and looked back at the Dark-water. The stream's far bank swarmed with horsefolk: a score, maybe more. Half held their bows ready; the rest were knee-deep in the river, wading across. They were real centaurs, not misshapen Skorenoi.

A rescue. Caramon could hardly believe it.

Four more archers fired. Their shots arced overhead, dropping among the Skorenoi who fought Dezra and Trephas. Two of those fell, and the rest faltered, casting about in astonishment. Trephas stabbed one with his lance, which splintered as it pierced the creature's heart.

Regaining his wits, Thenidor gestured sharply and galloped away. His surviving minions followed, vanishing into the shadows of Darken Wood. Trephas watched them go, then saw one of the arrows the centaurs had fired. He studied its fletching-two blue feathers, one white-then turned toward the river, grinning.

"Gyrtomon!" he called.

The leader of the centaurs-a blond-maned chestnut who was the image of Trephas, only slightly older-finished fording the river. He raised his lance in salute as he climbed onto the grassy bank. "Hail, Trephas," he replied, smiling. "And well met, I'd say."

They stayed by the Darkwater long enough for the centaurs to sling Uwen's body and Borlos's senseless form across their backs, and for an older horse-man to salve Caramon, Trephas and Dezra's wounds.

Trephas clapped Gyrtomon on the back. "Brother!" he exclaimed heartily. "What art thou doing in this part of the woods?"

"Looking for thee," Gyrtomon replied. "Our outriders caught sight of Thenidor's lot, riding this way. I had a feeling it was because thou had returned, so I rode out last night with my warriors. I see," he added, regarding Caramon, "that thy quest was successful."

Trephas nodded. "Aye-but it nearly ended here. I owe thee a great debt."

Gyrtomon waved dismissively. "We should leave this place," he declared. "Thenidor is beaten, but these lands are still dangerous. Lord Chrethon has taken a great deal more of the forest since thou left, Brother. The war goes poorly-all the more reason to get these humans to Ithax swiftly."

While Gyrtomon arranged for two of his warriors to serve as mounts, Dezra looked at her father, her eyes narrow. He was rubbing his left shoulder absently. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Flushing, Caramon let his hand drop to his side. "I'm fine. I'm not turning back."

Dezra nodded. "I thought not."

Two centaurs came forward and knelt before them. As they climbed onto the horse-men's backs, Dezra's gaze fell upon Uwen's body. She winced.

"Poor kid," she said as the company fell into line behind Trephas and Gyrtomon. "You never should have let him come."

Caramon nodded, his lips tight. "You're probably right, girl."

They rode south, following the river.

Lord Chrethon stood atop a ridge overlooking Sangelior, a shadow against the waning moon. The wind was frigid, but Chrethon cared nothing about the cold. He tossed his head, his lipless mouth curling into a smile.

The town below seethed with activity. Firelight flickered among the Skorenoi's skin tents. A cacophony of sounds rose: wild laughter, bestial howls, strangled screams. Through it all threaded tangled, dissonant music-lyres, drums and pipes that made no attempt to play in time or time. It was the sound of damned souls.

Chrethon didn't turn at Leodippos's approach. The horse-headed Skorenos halted behind him, his harness jingling. "A fine sight," Leodippos declared. "It makes the blood sing in my veins."

Chrethon's smile shifted into a scowl. "What is it, Leodippos?"

Leodippos, once Chrethon's peer in Circle, bowed deferentially. "Thenidor and his company have returned," he said. "He has captives, lord."

Chrethon glanced back. "Where?"

"Below. I bade him wait while I fetched thee."

Chrethon's gaze lingered on Sangelior a moment longer, then he turned away. "Very well," he said. "Take me to him."

Blood flew as Chrethon's fist struck Thenidor's jaw. Though his flesh was wasted, the lord of the Skorenoi was no weakling; the hulking warrior reeled, then swayed unsteadily, shaking his head.

"This?" Chrethon raged, gesturing behind Thenidor. A dozen centaurs stood in chains, under the watchful eyes of the huge bay's warriors. "Thou wert gone nigh a week, and all thou hast to show for it is this?"

Thenidor lowered his eyes. "I had them in my grasp, lord," he declared. "Trephas, and the humans he went to fetch. We slew one-"

"One?" Chrethon raged. "I commanded thee, when I sent thee to Prayer's Eye Peak, to bring back either Trephas or his head. Instead, what dost thou give me? Twelve mere common warriors!"

"I thought-"

Chrethon shook his head, silencing him. "Thou hast failed me, Thenidor."

The hulking bay's face colored, but he met Chrethon's gaze steadily. "So. Kill me, if thou wilt."

Chrethon reached for the sword on his harness, then checked himself. "No," he said. "I've had good use from thee in the past, Thenidor. I'm not so disappointed that I would rob myself of one of my finest warriors."

"I thank thee, lord." Thenidor bowed again. A dark bruise blossomed where Chrethon had struck him.

But Chrethon wasn't finished. He signaled to a pair of Skorenoi, who came forward and seized Thenidor's arms. As the hulking bay struggled, Chrethon drew his dagger and slashed Thenidor's face-once, twice, opening both his cheeks. Thenidor gasped in pain, clutching at the bloody wounds.

"Bear those scars for thy shame," Chrethon declared. "Next time, I'll cut thee far worse."

Thenidor nodded, trying to stanch the flow of blood. "I won't fail thee again, lord," he groaned.

"Aye," Chrethon agreed. "Thou won't. Now, let's see to thy captives. Bring them to the vale."

Thenidor's prisoners screamed a long time. Lying at the base of Grimbough's trunk, held fast by the oak's clutching roots, their bodies contorted as the daemon tree slowly changed them into Skorenoi.

Four were dead when the screaming stopped. Not everyone survived the Crossing. Two others were warped so badly that Leodippos had to kill them with his cudgel. They were the lucky ones. The remaining six survived, their bodies swelling and distorting. Bones cracked and bent. Muscles tore, then reformed into new shapes. Flesh ran like candle wax. Teeth fell out, fangs and tusks sprouting in their place. The horsefolk whimpered and howled, their minds breaking. It was a kind of mercy when, finally, their eyes blackened into empty voids.