Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

"Thanks," Arhedion said as the white stallion fell back, shouting for a new weapon.

So it had gone, since the skirmish began. There was a rhythm to the battle: fight, kill, fall back, take a new weapon, then fight again. The struggle had been hard and bloody from the start, with the horsefolk so badly outnumbered, but it had been necessary: they had to hold the Skorenoi at bay until the last of them were on the river's far bank. Scores of centaurs died valiantly, but many more of the enemy went down as well. Since the battle first joined, Arhedion had killed nine of the enemy and helped his fellows slay a dozen more.

He glanced above the massed forces of the foe, and saw the air atwinkle with motes of silver: starlight flashing off the sprites' wings. The little folk moved ever forward, now almost halfway across the stream. Their bows made sweet music as they shot down the Skorenoi. Arhedion grinned. It wouldn't be long before the sprites neared the riverbank. The battle was already won; all that remained was to finish the last of the foe. In an hour, none of the enemy would remain.

He nearly didn't live that long. Staring at the sprites, he almost didn't see the hunchbacked Skorenos who lunged toward him, swinging his club with both hands. With a shout, he twisted aside, and the cudgel whistled through the air a finger's breadth from his chest. He blocked the return swing with his lance, then brought the spear down again, slashing the creature's leathery scalp with the weapon's head. The Skorenos screeched, dropping its club, and he rammed his spear into its breast. The lance splintered as he backed out of the fight one more.

"Weapon!" he bellowed.

It took longer this time for the runner to reach him. She was down the line, passing out spears as quickly as she could. He shouted a second time, waving his tattooed arms, then glanced quickly back toward the line. It was holding, but the Skorenoi continued to press, and several other centaurs had lost their weapons. He cast about, seeking something to fight with. To his left was a large rock, sunk into the muddy riverbank. He started toward it-then stopped.

Something was moving in the darkness beyond Nemeredes and Gyrtomon. He squinted, then made out a shape-a large, horse-headed Skorenos. It charged toward them out of the dark, cudgel held high.

"My lords!" he shouted. "Behind thee!"

Too late. Leodippos fell upon them as they were turning to look. He swung his club, striking Nemeredes's jaw. There was a sickening crack, and the old chieftain went limp his neck bent at an impossible angle.

"No!" Arhedion yelled, horrified.

With a roar of rage, Gyrtomon lunged, thrusting with his lance. Leodippos grabbed the spear's shaft and pulled with all his might, jerking it out of Gyrtomon's hands and tossing it away. Thrown off-balance, Gyrtomon slammed into him, and they fell together in the mud, long legs kicking. Arhedion watched for a moment, stunned, then shook himself and ran to the rock he'd spotted. Gritting his teeth, he tried to pry the stone out of the ground.

Leodippos and Gyrtomon struggled together, grappling and clutching. In the end, the Skorenos came out on top. He'd lost his cudgel, so he leaned on Gyrtomon, forcing the centaur's face into the soft mud, trying to smother him. Gyrtomon flailed, strugging desperately, but it wasn't enough. His strength began to flag, and his thrashing grew weaker. Leodippos brayed a harsh laugh as mud bubbled up around the edges of Gyrtomon's face.

Arhedion scrabbled at the rock until his fingers bled, tears of frustration on his face. Frantic, he glanced up, and saw that Gyrtomon had almost stopped struggling entirely. He hauled with all his might on the stone, deciding that if he didn't pull it out this moment, he'd attack Leodippos with his bare hands. Better to lose his arms, if it came to that, than let Gyrtomon die.

With a loud, sucking sound, the stone at last came free. Arhedion nearly fell over, then rose, hefting the massive rock. Propping it on one shoulder, he charged toward Leodippos.

The Skorenos's attention was focused on Gyrtomon; he didn't see Arhedion until the young scout was upon him. His eyes widened, then Arhedion heaved the massive rock, striking his horselike snout with a horrible crunch. Then the rock burst asunder, turning to gravel as Leodippos fell into the mud, his face a ruin. His legs twitched, then fell still.

Arhedion dashed to Gyrtomon's side and hauled him out of the mud. Gyrtomon sputtered and coughed, then glanced at Arhedion and smiled.

"Thanks," he said when he could draw breath without choking.

But Arhedion only shook his head, looking past Gyrtomon to the body that lay beside Leodippos. "Nay, don't thank me," he said. "I've failed thee, my lord-I didn't save thy father. I should have been quicker."

Gyrtomon followed his gaze, and winced in anguish when he saw Nemeredes. He bowed his head, shuddering, then turned to face the scout, blinking back tears. "Don't be a fool," he said. "Thou wert as quick as could be, and no less. But no time for that now." He offered Arhedion his hand. "Let's get back to the fight. We can grieve when the last of these beasts are slain."

Arhedion hesitated, staring at the bodies, then nodded and clasped Gyrtomon's arm. Together, they turned back toward the battle.

It was soon over. The sprites made it across the river, leaving nothing but twisted corpses in their wake. The Skorenoi line gave way, and the clash along the riverbank deteriorated to isolated skirmishes, then fell still. The centaurs spared none of the Skorenoi. Even when the battle was done, they strode across the killing ground, spears upraised as they searched for enemies who still breathed. Now and again, a shout and the sound of splintering wood marked where they found one.

When that grim business was done, they saw to their own dead. The centaurs' victory had come with a heavy cost: Of the two thousand who'd fought at the river, more than six hundred had perished. Silently, too tired to weep, the centaurs pulled their slain from the tangle of Skorenoi corpses and laid them out upon the slope.

Among the bodies, Gyrtomon and Arhedion stood over Nemeredes the Elder. They'd borne him away from Leodippos's corpse when the fighting ended, and laid him out with his weapons. His eyes were shut, his wounds washed with clean water from upstream of the ford. Gyrtomon looked dully at his father's corpse, saying nothing. Arhedion rested a hand on his shoulder.

The sound of hoofbeats drew near, and Gyrtomon looked up to see who approached. It was the rest of the Circle-the other three chiefs had survived the battle, though Pleuron had taken a deep cut across his cheek and Lanorica, Menelachos's daughter, walked with a limp, wincing with every other step. With them flew the sprites, Fanuin and Ellianthe.

Eucleia came forward to stand beside Gyrtomon, and looked down at Nemeredes, shaking her head. "This is a terrible thing," she said. "Thy father and I were often at odds, Gyrtomon, but still he was my friend." She hesitated, then gripped his shoulders, turning him away from the body. "Thou art chief now, Gyrtomon-and a hero of our people. Thou hast saved us from our doom."

He thought on this, then shook his head. "No, my lady- not just me. All of us-centaurs and winged folk both. But still it might come to nothing." He nodded past her, across the forest.

The horsefolk and sprites turned, following his gaze. In the east, over Sangelior, the stormclouds still roiled, aglow with lightning.

Hailstones as large as robin's eggs pelted down into the pass. The clamor as they rattled down the cliffsides drowned out even the bellowing thunder. The companions held cloaks and shields over their heads to protect themselves as they pushed on, their feet slipping over the ice-slick stones.