Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas

by Bethany Meyer

  This is amazing.

  “The stew's not so good, but they grew some good carrots,” Archer commented, digging another one out of his soup to munch on. “They're very sweet.”

  Wick dug one out of his bowl and brought it straight to his mouth. So this was what sweet was like. It was like the first touch of light when the sun was starting to come up. It was the way cold water felt when it bit into your hands. It was just as perfect as the meat had been.

  Archer seemed to be enjoying Wick's first time experiencing real food more than Wick was. He tried not to laugh as he handed a chunk of the loaf over to Wick. “Try the bread, too. It's good.”

  Wick took a chunk out of the bread with his teeth. It was chewy, chewier than the meat, not sweet like the carrot had been. It bit into the taste buds next to his jaw muscle, right between his ears. It was almost like pain, but delicious. He could have eaten the entire loaf. He glanced over to where they still had four more pieces of the bread.

  “You can't eat all of it.” Archer tucked most of the delicious pieces back into his bag. “They'll keep for a few more days, and I don't plan on starving after eating everything in one shot.”

  Wick made his piece of the bread last as long as he could and then polished off the last of his soup as well. Now that he had tasted the bread, he could see what Archer had been saying about the soup being a little bland. But it was still more flavorful than all the nothing he had tasted before.

  They each got another large helping of the soup, finishing off what was left in the pot. Archer pulled the pot off the fire to wash it out before they broke camp and then suddenly stopped. “Do you hear that?”

  Wick listened. Somewhere off in the distance, there was a faint noise, repeating itself. He couldn't tell what it was, but someone was catching up with them.

  “I knew the fire was a bad idea,” Archer hissed under his breath. He stomped the flames out with vengeance. “Get the horse. We'll have to ride to get some distance between us and them.”

  Wick took off to fetch Sasha. She stood under a nearby tree, trying to eat the leaves off the branches, and looked almost offended when he took her by the bridle to lead her back to their camp. “Sorry, girl, we have to go now,” Wick murmured to her, and she came without making a big fuss.

  Archer had stuffed everything back in his unfillable bag by the time Wick made it back with Sasha. “Let's get moving,” Archer said quickly, slinging his bag around his neck and jumping onto Sasha's back. Wick climbed up behind him, and they took off.

  Wick remembered again why he didn't like riding. There was too much bumping, and everything was altogether too fast. He liked to walk fast, but nothing like the speed of the horse, and he had to constantly duck and dodge to avoid tree branches and vines.

  They rode for several hours, until the mountains on the border of centaur territory had well come into sight and they were riding along the border of them. The country was hilly, and they had to skirt more than one large body of water.

  The coast was still a good distance away, but with Sasha's help, they had closed the distance a little. In time, Archer made the horse slow down, and he swung off. “She's tired out. I love her death, but she can't run very far without wearing out. Come on, Wick, get off.”

  Wick didn't have to be told twice. He loved Sasha dearly, and she may have put some more distance between them and their pursuers, but he didn't enjoy riding at all.

  Archer patted the horse affectionately on the nose, then dunked the unfillable bag over her head and she disappeared. Archer wrapped the strap of the bag back around his shoulder. “Now we can walk for a while.” He snickered. “Your face when you got on the horse. . .”

  Wick took a quick look behind them just to make sure that no one had still managed to keep up with them while they were on horseback. “You missed the face I was making while I was on the horse.”

  “That's true. That must have been much worse.” Archer laughed mercilessly.

  Wick kept looking over his shoulder as they traveled. They were practically climbing across the side of the mountain range between themselves and the centaurs' territory to make their route as short as possible. The route was good for their journey and for keeping ahead of anyone following them, but bad if someone were to decide to cut across the mountains to cut them off. A very specific set of someones.

  “What are you doing?” Archer demanded as Wick checked the sky for manghar for the thousandth time. “There's no way they could have kept up with us. Sasha's fast, and manghar don't have horses the last time I checked.”

  “But they do have wings,” Wick pointed out. “And they don't have to go around things like we do if they're flying. I'm just being cautious. Besides,” he continued, “I'm more worried about the centaurs. We're walking straight past their territory. They may not have seen anything about the Scorch coming, but they might still be able to see us and what we're doing. If they find out that we're passing just by their territory, they might send someone out to capture us or send word to the manghar about where we are. Just because one thing is hidden from their visions doesn't mean that they're not still the most intelligent people in Aro.”

  “I don't know about 'most intelligent.'” Archer rolled his eyes. “They haven't caught us yet. I think if they planned to catch us, they would have done it ages ago, at a moment where we were less prepared and more vulnerable. Like when we were thrown out of Eri. Or when we were separated in manghar territory and you had all the pieces.”

  “That's true,” Wick admitted, glancing up at the sky again. “But I've worked for the centaurs for most of my life. They didn't get to be the leaders of Aro for nothing. They're very wise. And I've never known them to just turn a blind eye on anything.”

  Archer shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe they're just losing their touch. They can run out of seeing power, can't they? Maybe they're just all running out and they didn't want to tell you.”

  “The centaurs' visions have equipped them to prevent more disasters than any of us will ever know,” Wick said. “You had better hope they aren't losing their power, for all of our sakes.”

  The sun descended toward the horizon. A brief conversation amongst themselves decided that they weren't yet tired enough to stop for the night, not yet at least, and besides, they were trying to keep ahead of any likely pursuers, so they kept going. After midnight, Archer finally said, “Okay, let's stop and get some sleep.”

  Wick settled with his back against a tree, his messenger's bag in his lap. Archer flopped across the grass, using the unfillable bag as a pillow. They both stared up at the huge full moon that had risen overhead.

  “Full moon,” Archer murmured. "That means it's been a full three weeks since I stole the fair folk's piece of the Heather Stone. Three weeks since this whole song and dance started."

  Wick's brow furrowed, remembering something. "When I had to dig through the bag to get all your things out, the fair folk piece was hiding inside a cooking stove."

  "Yeah." Wick could hear the grin in Archer's voice. "The stupid things were using the Heather Stone to cook with. It's supposed to be this huge relic and everything, and it was in their stove! I didn't have time to fish it out of there, so I just took the whole thing."

  "Now there's a family of fair folk out there that don't have a stove to cook with," Wick said in a monotone.

  "Well, yeah, but they can build another one. They build things all the time. What's another stove?"

  A lot. Wick adjusted his position against the tree and said nothing.

  The stars trickled across the sky. A wisp of a cloud floated across the moon like a ghost.

  Wick's eyes drifted down from the sky to the ground. The grass waved gently in the breeze. Being autumn, it was too cool to be completely comfortable, but he found he could stand it, even if being human made him feel the cold much faster than he ever had in a leshy body.

  He glanced over at Archer, who lay on his back, both wings stretched out across
the grass. The bad wing faced Wick, just as twisted and mutilated as ever. The curve across the bone looked so wrong. How had it got that way?

  Archer caught him looking and tucked the wing back against his side, hiding most of the broken part. "It's rude to stare."

  Wick looked back up at the sky, watching the branches of the trees move in the wind. "So. 'I could never fly?' What was that supposed to mean?"

  Archer adjusted his position again, uncomfortably. "I really wish I hadn't said that.”

  Wick said nothing.

  At last, too uncomfortable with the silence, Archer said, "I just. . . I can't. I can't talk about it right now. There's too much, and it's too hard. I don't like to say that things are too much for me, I guess I don't like having limits, but this. . . is too hard. Right now. Right now, this is too hard.” He paused. “Sorry.”

  “No, there's nothing wrong with that.” The ease of Wick's response surprised even him. “If you don't want to talk about it right now, I'm not going to make you.”

  “Hmm.” The stars kept on their slow and steady course. “Thank you.”

  Wick fell asleep only a few minutes later.

  “Let go!”

  Wick jolted upright as something whacked him in the stomach. He was instantly thrown into chaos. Four figures fought in front of him in the dark, grabbing and shouting. Two of them tugged at some lumpy object.

  “Don't just sit there, help me!” Archer shouted. One of the other figures turned toward Wick, gripping a wooden staff. Wick finally understood what was going on.

  It was the three men who had followed them to manghar territory. Somehow the three had tracked them down again, and the one with the full beard was trying to wrestle the unfillable bag from Archer's hands.

  Wick scrambled up from the ground to help Archer. But just as he did, something fell from the bag and tumbled to the ground.

  The humans saw it too. One of them snatched up the stone that had fallen and took off into the forest.

  “You bring that back here!” Archer bellowed as he struggled with the other two. He gave the bag another mighty heave.

  Archer wouldn't get the bag back in time to catch the runner. Leaving Archer to take care of the other two, Wick raced after the third man, deep into the dark forest.

  The man was a much faster runner than Wick. Already Wick's legs and chest burned.

  But losing the pieces was not an option. He didn't want to imagine what would happen if they lost even one.

  The man looked over his shoulder and poured on more speed. It was all Wick could do to keep up, let alone overtake him. He needed a new plan.

  But it was just then that the man looked behind him again.

  And he tripped.

  The man fell to his hands and knees, and Wick raced to catch up to him. As he approached he could see that the man was pawing through the twigs and leaves on the forest floor. He had dropped the piece.

  The scales were tipped even now; Wick had to take the upper hand.

  He was only steps away when the man uttered a desperate cry of excitement and started scrambling up.

  “No!” Wick leaped forward, tackling the man and driving him to the ground. A small piece of green flew from the man's grip and bounced into the leaves.

  The piece would have to wait a moment. Getting the enemy under control took priority. Wick drove one knee into the center of the man's back. “If I let you up, you won't run. Agreed?”

  He hoped he didn't sound uncertain.

  The man hesitated a moment but suddenly squirmed. Wick almost fell off. But before he could get his balance solid again, someone shouted from the camp.

  Wick looked behind him.

  A way back, Archer stood in the middle of the camp with the strap of the unfillable bag cinched tight around the bearded man's neck. The bearded man had already fallen to his knees, his face turning a deep purple-red as he scrabbled at the bag strap around his windpipe.

  “Come on back,” Archer called. “We have an agreement to make.”

  The stone would have to wait for a moment more. Wick made a mental note of where the stone had fallen and got up, pulling the runner up with him. Together they made their way back to the camp.

  “Now look,” Archer said, tightening his grip on the strap of the unfillable bag. The bearded man's face deepened to a darker and puffier shade of red. “If you two don't want your friend to be choked to death by a bag strap, I'd suggest you do as I say. There's a cave over there, just past the rocks. There should be plenty of room for the three of you to fit. You two go first, he'll be right behind you.”

  The other two men hesitated, but what else could they do? Archer seemed sincere enough. Even Wick wondered what would happen if the other two men didn't listen to Archer. He just might kill him.

  Archer, Wick, and their prisoner followed the other two men as they crossed to the other side of the clearing and lowered themselves into the little cave. Once the other two were inside, Archer pushed the bearded man to the edge of the hole. In one swift movement, he whipped the strap of the bag over the man's head and kicked him down into the hole.

  “Come on, help me!” Archer darted over to the pile of rocks next to the hole. The better part of the pile was made up of loose gravel, only kept from collapsing by some larger rocks at the base of the pile. Archer dug into the pile, pulling the larger rocks out of the way. The gravel was already starting to cascade. Wick wasn't certain how this plan would turn out for the three men, but he leaned across and dug too. The more they dug, the looser the rocks became, until the gravel showered down. The rocks flooded the hole at a terrifying rate. The men yelped and scrambled back, but soon the cave was filled with rocks.

  Once the dust had cleared, Archer slung the bag over his shoulder. “There are tunnels down there that lead back to the surface somewhere, and if they don't find any of the tunnels, that's on them. Where's the last piece?”

  Wick retraced his footsteps back to where the man had dropped the piece into the leaves. A quick look around yielded no sign of a green rock anywhere. “Where did it go?”

  Archer looked murderous. “Good question, Wick, where did it go?”

  They dug through the leaves for the stone. Wick went through the bushes and peered under trees.

  “If we can't find it, that's it. You know that, right?” Archer demanded. “If we lose any of these, it's all over.” He got up to look further off.

  “I know, I know.” Wick stuck his arm inside a cobwebby gap between some tree roots. His fingertips brushed something round and smooth, and a breath of relief gushed out of him as he drew the stone out from between the roots. “I found it.”

  Archer ran a hand across his eyes and took a deep breath. “Well, at least it isn't gone. For a moment there I thought maybe someone else had come and snatched it while we were distracted.”

  Wick ripped a piece of moss off a stone to wrap the piece in since they seemed to have lost the cloth, and they tucked it inside the bag once again.

  Wick took a look up at the descending moon. “Since we're already awake, what do you say we just start walking again?”

  “We might as well,” Archer agreed. “I'm not going to fall back asleep now.”

  They watched their backs carefully after that. They thought they heard someone following them multiple times, but no one ever came into view no matter how many times they looked behind them. Twice they heard voices coming through the trees. Probably other travelers. But once Wick saw a messenger and they were forced to hide in the only piece of shelter nearby– the unfillable bag.

  With the bag's magic rapidly fading and no river in it to make extra room, the inside of the bag was all knees and elbows. Archer's right wing dug into Wick's ribs, and he thought he could feel Sasha's rump up against his back, but that could have been the back of the bag as well. He was certain he was stepping on the Satyr's Crown.

  “Your shoulder is in my eye!” Archer hissed.

  “The
n maybe you shouldn't have crouched so low!” Wick whispered back. “Now stop squirming or they'll be able to see you moving from the outside of the bag!”

  They and Sasha stood stock still for several minutes, waiting until the sound of crunching leaves had long since passed. Finally, Wick gave one more listen and said, “I think he's gone.”

  “He's been gone!” Archer muttered, and Wick gave him a boost up and out of the bag. From there, he could pull Wick up, and the two of them got moving again.

  They approached the coast in the early evening. The temperature was just starting to drop, but the sun wasn't ready to go down just yet.

  They traveled down the coast and through the river delta for several hours, and as soon as the nixie palace came within view, they found a group of rocks to hide behind as they evaluated what they saw.

  The nixies were ready for them.

  Knowing that only their and the centaurs' pieces of the Heather Stone were left, the nixies had rallied their forces. Squadrons of pale-skinned, scale-encrusted soldiers raced in circuits through the water around the nixie palace and back and forth across the coast, and by the glints they could see off the water, they had weapons on them. Standing around the palisades of stone and glittering glass and on the tall, winding spindle towers of the palace, Wick could spot more glittering green scales and flying hair. Even from here, they could see shadows moving across the open windows.

  But that was not the worst of it.

  Wheeling around the towers of the palace and patrolling the air along the coast were two, three, four manghar soldiers.

  The Crowned Head had sent some of his people after them after all.

  Wick took it all in and ducked back down and out of sight again. Crouching, he twisted to look at Archer. “What do you think?”