She laughed and took the arrow from him.
All the rest of that day, they both shot the bow and arrows until neither of them could lift their arms and they resorted to staring at the smooth, blue sky while lying in the lush summer grass.
Chapter 5
North of Trans-Falls, Centaur Territory
Outskirts of the Cavos Desert
Aeron held up the letter he had received from Artigal. His face was masked, so his closest advisor and second-in-command couldn’t read the leader’s wave of emotions.
“Artigal sends for me, Flandor. Gather my armies and set yourself up to lead them into battle tomorrow against the human army in Nor. I will go alone back to the tribe. When you attack Nor, leave no survivors and make sure there is nothing left for Thaddeus to take. We will rebuild the city later.” Aeron’s solemn, deep voice penetrated through the silent tent.
Flandor, a gleaming black Centaur with a cold but thoughtful and wise personality, bowed low. “It will be done, Aeron, though I do not advise you to go alone. For whatever reason Artigal sent for you, it can’t be safe for you to travel alone, even if you think you could go faster that way.”
Aeron nodded, considering his friend’s wise words.
“I will consider your argument, Flandor. For now, go tell the leaders of the divisions of my departure. I will be gone by sundown tonight.” His harsh, commanding voice ended the conversation, and Flandor bowed once more before exiting the tent.
Standing at the table in the center of the room, Aeron laid out the letter. It read:
Addressed to the First-in-command, Aeron, High Chief of Trans-Falls and second command to Igentis.
I bring to you news of your family. Stephania was recently attacked by a young Susahu Viper. Thankfully, Trojan slayed the beast before it did your daughter any harm.
Her skills in weaponry are progressing rapidly with help from Trojan, and her Duvarharian powers are growing at an alarming rate.
Thaddeus’ allies are already searching for her, and I fear it won’t be long before the more dangerous followers catch wind of her. I only hope they haven’t already.
As for you and your army, be prepared to leave your camp by tomorrow. In one week, I am taking some of the Trans-Falls tribe to go with us to New-Fars for protection. You must be here by then. If you are not, we will leave you.
Give orders to Flandor to take over the mission against the human army at Nor. They are a threat to us and may be the source of the Susahu Viper. Take the city and leave nothing behind. We will rebuild the city at a later date.
After this, they are to travel to the Sankyz tribe of Centaurs with reinforcements. There have been five sightings of approximately 500 Etas outside of the Sankyz tribe of the Cavos desert. Their army has been weakened by a series of attacks from Veltrix and his Eta army over the last few months, and I fear for their demise.
Make haste to Trans-falls. It is time.
The Igentis, Artigal
The letter left Aeron worried and empty. Secretly, he had hoped that they wouldn’t have to take Stephania to New-Fars for quite some time, or even ever. He had hardly been able to spend any time with her, and this seemed so sudden.
It would take nearly two years to reach New-Fars; with mountain ranges, skirmishes, and other detours and delays, it could possibly take even longer.
Rolling up the letter carefully and tying it back in the silky ribbon it had arrived in, the gray-bodied Centaur placed it in his satchel before drawing out a fresh blank piece of paper.
Dipping his writing quill into the black ink, he then proceeded to carefully write out detailed orders for the battles at Nor and Sankyz along with directions for travel. He then gingerly folded the letter and dabbed a bit of hot wax on it before pressing his signet ring into the wax to seal the message.
He grabbed his satchel, which held all he had taken to war except for his armor and weapons, and took one last look around the large tent. A heavy sigh left his lips, and his shoulders sagged a bit.
Flandor would take care of everything, but Aeron hated to miss being in the heat of the battle. However, he was sure he would get to do plenty of fighting when he began his travels back to Trans-Falls and from there to New-Fars.
Trotting out of the leather tent, he proudly gazed out over the hill at his army, which resided in the valley and stretched across the hills of the grassy, sloping land.
Cantering down the side of the hill, he pondered the roads that he would take along with what short cuts would make his travels quicker and easier and those which would make it more dangerous. He also mused about whom to take with him.
He mourned that he couldn’t take Flandor with him; the black Centaur was his brother in war and had trained the hard and grueling war courses with Aeron, even since a very young age.
Just as Frawnden was with Jargon, Aeron and Flandor were in-separable. Aeron knew that it could be nearly five years before he could ever hope to see his friend again; a lot could happen in that span of time, especially when one’s life was on the battlefield.
Just as he was reaching the bottom of the mountain, he made up his mind. He would take Landen, a young, light brown Centaur, who was beginning to display a talent for shooting the bow and who was quickly rising to the top of the best archers in Aeron’s army. Not to mention, the younger Centaur was also proving to be a wonderful healer.
Landen reminded the high leader of his mate, Frawnden.
Before Frawnden had gone into the schooling of medicine, she had top scores in the elite archery class; it was in that class that Aeron had met her and they had fallen in love.
The battle hardened Centaur smiled at the memory.
Although he relished the life of war, he deeply missed his small family, readily awaited the day when he would be back with them.
Trotting amongst his troops, as all of them saluted their formidable leader, he searched until he came to the group of archers where he knew Landen would be.
All the Centaurs, male and female alike, came to attention.
“Landen! Come forth!” Aeron’s deep voice echoed in the land, and the quiet but sharp-eyed Centaur stepped forward.
“Pack up your things and meet me at the edge of camp to the south. You and I will leave by sunset.”
Though surprise lit the obedient Centaur’s face, he bowed respectfully and answered in his quiet drawl. “Of course, commander. I will be there.”
Aeron nodded, satisfied that the young soldier would indeed be there.
Trotting back through the camp, he came to a small tent that was pitched farther away from the rest and that was positioned next to another much like it. It wasn’t the main meeting tent he had been in moments before; it was Flandor’s personal tent. Aeron’s was the one just beside it.
Ducking under the deerskin flap that covered the door, the commander began to pack up the rest of the things he needed, including his armor and weaponry, along with a short supply of food.
In only a few moments, he completed the packing of his meager supplies. He could only hope that Landen would be just as fast and thorough with his packing and wouldn’t cause Aeron’s pace to be any slower than needed.
He wasn’t disappointed.
Landen was already waiting at the desired meeting place. Aeron breathed a sigh of relief.
He motioned to Landen that he would be a few minutes before trotting off again to find Flandor.
The black second-in-command was inspecting the weaponry of a small blacksmithing division. Some sort of fight seemed to be ensuing between Flandor and another Centaur who apparently wasn’t doing the best he could at sharpening the swords.
The barbaric growls of the two Centaurs quickly filled the small camp, and the other warriors backed off as the younger Centaur challenged his superior.
Aeron stifled a chuckle as he watched a sly smile spread across Flandor’s scarred, chiseled face.
The two Centaurs locked together in a gripping fight, their hooves striking out viciously at each other, their muscles
stretching and flexing, their skin shining in the bright sun as sweat collected on their sleek bodies.
In less than five minutes, the blacksmith was thrown and pinned to the ground.
“If your hand-to-hand combat is really this pathetic, solider,” Flandor sneered mockingly, “then I expect those swords to be sharp enough to do some sort of damage.”
Panting, his eyes wide with defeat, the bested Centaur nodded quickly, and after Flandor let him go, struggled to his feet before limping away and into the arms of his laughing friends.
Flandor only allowed himself a broad smile when he was beside Aeron.
“Such fire. I wish half our army had the spunk he did. We’d have Thaddeus’ elu whipped in a matter of days.”
Aeron roared with laughter and slapped his hand on his friend’s back. “You old fálaz! You’ve still got it.”
Flandor shrugged and brushed himself off. An amused smile spread across his face as he drawled out in his rich, exotic accent, “Don’t think I ever lost it, my friend.”
Aeron shook his head. “No, of course you didn’t.”
They were suddenly both grave as their eyes met. There was so much to be said, but nothing that they really needed to speak out loud.
Flandor clasped Aeron’s shoulder and they merely stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. “Take care, brother. May the suns smile upon your presence.”
Aeron nodded. “As do the stars sing upon yours. Take care of my army, will you?”
“On my honor.”
“Until I see you again, fom.”
Flandor nodded slightly. “Until then, Aeron.”
Each quickly clasped the other’s forearms, small smiles lifting their lips before they parted, neither looking back.
Consumed by the heavy emotions that flowed through him, Aeron motioned to Landen. “Come, son. We must move quickly if we are to reach Trans-Falls in seven days.” With a heavy sigh, Aeron traced the path of the setting suns with his hand to determine the time of day.
Landen nodded and shouldered his pack, his armor on him, and weapons across his back and around his waist.
As they started off at a brisk trot, neither spoke a word, and much to Aeron’s gratitude, the lad never asked a single question but only did exactly as he was told the instant he was ordered to, only giving input after he had completed the task or had seen a better way to proceed. Aeron observed that the young male had great potential to become a leader, and he knew he had picked an excellent companion for his long journey.
The army commander hoped that the young Centaur would keep up the good work. It was a hard and long road ahead, and they had only just begun.
§
“Trojan hurry!” Frawnden’s motherly voice rang out after her son as the excited youth galloped around the house, franticly gathering the things he needed to take into the main camp today.
It was exactly one week since the day the Susahu Viper had attacked him and Stephania, which meant it was the day that Artigal had wanted to see her shoot her bow and arrow.
They had been practicing every day from sunrise to sunset, and Stephania could now shoot the middle of the target three out of five times; Trojan was fiercely proud to be her teacher.
He knew that he would be looked upon as a marvelous teacher—a revered position in the tribes. They believed that the greatest warrior was he who braved the insolence of youth to pass his knowledge on.
Therefore Trojan also felt very responsible for how well Stephania would do today, and he was making sure everything would be perfect for her.
On the other hand though, Stephania wasn’t the least bit worried. She knew that she would do just as well today as she had been doing, if not better. She mostly considered it amusing how seriously Trojan was taking this; she had yet to realize just how special this occasion was.
“I know, Mother! I’m just trying to find Stephania’s armguard! I know I put it here somewhere!”
Frawnden chuckled at her son. She was proud of her children and knew they would do splendidly in the demonstration Artigal had requested.
“Tro, I have it already.” Stephania’s light, amused voice came from behind a doorway, and her head popped out around the corner.
“What?” Trojan exasperatedly raced to her, running his fingers frantically through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? You know I’ve been looking for it!” he growled angrily at her, swiping the leather armguard from her outstretched hand before shoving it in the small bag he was carrying.
Stephania shrugged and smiled slyly. “It was funny to watch you run around for it.” Her giggle parted her delicate red lips and displayed twin dimples in each cheek.
Trojan groaned and shouldered the leather pack he was carrying.
“Stephania, you mustn’t tease your brother like that, even if you think it amusing to watch. He is working very hard to get you ready for this day, and the lessons he has given you are the sole reason that we are going today. Do not treat him so lightly. Do not laugh casually at another’s struggle.” Frawnden placed her hands sternly on her hips.
Stephania bowed her curly, red-haired head. “Yes, Mother. I’m sorry for teasing you, Trojan. I should be more considerate of you. Please accept my apology.” A nervous smile raised her lips. She hated doing anything that caused her mother to scold her.
Trojan smiled and placed a reassuring hand on her small shoulder. “I accept. Now are we ready to go?”
She lifted her face and smiled her bright, elated smile. “Yes!” She hopped astride his back, wrapping her thin arms around his waist.
Trojan galloped out of the house, knowing that his mother would catch up later.
While they still had plenty of time before when Artigal had designated they met, Trojan had projected a desired departure time so he and Stephania could stop by one of the streams. They were merely going to be late for their opportunity to take the small detour for a swim in the hot hours of the morning. He had figured it would be relaxing and help ease their stress over the demonstration, but he now realized that only he was anxious.
Trees flew by in a blur as they hastily made their way to the peaceful, rushing stream, which happily bubbled its way over the smooth stones it had polished with its sparkling, blue waters.
When they reached their destination, Stephania swiftly jumped from her brother’s strong, broad back and took off her boots and cloak, along with her top-shirt and small over-pants, leaving her in a simple brown undershirt and tight, black shorts.
Trojan threw off his belt and the knives with it, dropping his carrying bag at the edge of the stream before leaping over the ten-foot ledge and into the slow-moving waters beneath him.
Stephania quickly followed suit, and they were both soon splashing and swimming around in the four-to-five-feet deep waters, cooling themselves off after the hot run. Though Stephania had proved to be a fairly decent swimmer, Trojan made sure that he kept an eye on her at all times.
Soon the waters would recede to their normal, more shallow depth, but until then the children took advantage of the cooling waters whenever they could. Both loved the solitude of the quiet, secluded stream.
After nearly half an hour of swimming, Trojan measured the path of the suns and realized that it was time for them to go or else they would actually be late this time.
“Come on, Steph. We’d better get going.” Though he knew they had to leave, he still let out a mournful sigh.
Hurrying out of the chilling water, they did their best to dry themselves off with the little they had.
After stuffing Stephania’s clothes in the bag, Trojan clipped his belt back on and slipped the quiver over her back.
They would put their dry clothes back on when they reached Jargon’s house and the wind had sufficiently dried them off.
For most of the trip, they moved in silence—something that often reigned while they were together. They were so close, they hardly had to exchange words to be understood; they were most often simply content to
be in each other’s company.
Trojan persistently unbuckled and buckled the small piece of leather on his chest, his tail swishing erratically and nervously. Something that sounded like a whispered prayer hoping that he had trained her well enough poured from his lips.
Stephania hardly paid any attention, however. She was brooding over something much deeper and pressing—something that troubled her young mind and haunted her thoughts continually—her real parents.
She often wondered about her biological parents, Andromeda and Drox. That night, she had seen more death than anyone should ever have to see. She had seen the disgusting bloodiness of war, had smelled the rankness of death and Etas, and had heard the screaming cries of the dying and the wounded.
Sometimes, she wanted to talk to someone about it, to tell someone what it felt like to wake up screaming, thinking she was in the mist of the battle once again, but she didn’t know how. She had no way of expressing her emotions or feelings, and she didn’t know how to ask for help.
Instead, it festered inside her, fueling her hate and anger, hanging over her like a constant, rank cloud, driving her further and further into seclusion.
She knew Trojan had come close to understanding those few times she had let a thought slip out, but he never pushed her past what she was comfortable sharing. More often, he was simply quiet, letting the silence and the gentleness of their love sooth her pain.
She didn’t fully understand the trauma that surrounded her and followed her. She wasn’t like the other children, like Trojan’s friends. Their eyes were bright, youthful, happy—the opposite of what she always felt. She didn’t know how to talk to or see the Centaurs without the slaughter of that day overcoming her, drowning her in blood. That’s why she avoided them, staying with Trojan. It was too hard and too confusing to deal with. Somehow, Trojan had felt like home—the only place she had felt safe. She was removed from everyone else. She was like no other. She was alone—alone in her pain and alone with her hate and anger.
Tears collected in her eyes, her little hands balling into fists.
“Stephania. Stephania!” Trojan yelled at his sister until he got her attention.
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