Calavia stepped back, exhausted and dizzy; her guilt, the goodbye, and the constant fight had sapped more of her energy than she thought.
As she was about to right herself and steal the last thing left of her mother, a terrible, lacerating pain exploded out from her lower belly.
A scream tore from Calavia’s throat as her eyes widened with hysterical clarity. She looked down to see the handle of her ritual dagger sticking out of her. She stumbled back against her altar in agonizing shock, barely catching herself on its side before she fell to her knees.
“Why?” She coughed as she clutched the weapon with shaky hands. She barely noticed as her mother stepped in front of her and dislodged Calavia’s grip, sliding the dagger back out of her. Blood poured from the wound.
Calavia forced her eyes up as she felt the last of her strength seep away.
“Why?” she gasped. But her mother didn’t answer, didn’t acknowledge her question. Regret filled her as she stared at her mother, hearing Astegur roar somewhere nearby.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, but no sound came out.
Her vision grew dark. The green aura of her magic dissipated in the air, and the last thing she saw before her eyes closed was her mother using the dagger upon herself, stabbing out her own heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
Astegur stepped into the early morning light and into the reeking clouds of smoke released by the bonfires surrounding Prayer. A trail of fire lined the path of the centaur approaching him, and glinting seashells caught his eyes, reflecting the fires off the centaur’s decorative armor.
The centaur stopped several feet before the temple steps on which Astegur now stood, looking down upon him. They glared at each other, sizing the other up, looking for the other’s weaknesses. Astegur’s nostrils flared, unable to contain the rising power brewing inside him.
The horsebeast wore a mix of leather and chainmail armor, reworked together to fit his lumbering frame. His belly and sexual organs were covered with it, meaning Astegur couldn’t directly go for a gutting. The centaur’s legs, shins, and hooves were also guarded with plates and poleyns to protect his joints. Thick leather draped over his back, held in place by straps cinched out of sight, with another large leather piece draped in the front, protecting where man met horse. Above that, a humanoid breastplate covered the rest. The centaur also wore a helmet that shielded his cheeks and had an opening at the top to so that his hair spilled out like a plume.
None of the other centaurs around wore nearly as much armor, and Astegur knew from the horsebeast’s confident bearing and easy gait this warhorse had fought many times at the labyrinth wall and survived. The warrior carried a spear that’s head was engulfed in flame, and a sturdy round, wooden shield hanging from his other arm.
Astegur’s hands tightened on the shafts of his own weapons.
A worthy opponent.
Behind the warhorse, who was baring his teeth in anger, gathered the few centaurs who had managed to break through the barrier and make it across the settlement in one piece.
The warchief pointed his spearhead in his direction. “Stand down, for you have lost, bull, and I promise a quick death.”
Astegur rolled his shoulders. “I have never wanted a quick death.”
“You are outnumbered.”
“If that is what you truly think, then come up here and engage me.”
The centaur sneered, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in the horseman’s eyes as he looked past Astegur to the darkened temple entrance at the minotaur’s back.
The warchief lifted one hoof and pawed the ground. “I know there is a mist witch slinking about and casting spells. I know there are thralls here under her command. I do not fear her, nor you, nor them, for I am Kryiakos Enios, purifier of the Enios coast, and war general to my people. Unlike you, I do not hide behind dark magic to win my battles.” He waved his flaming spear in an arch above his head. “This is your last chance. Surrender, minotaur. Your kind are a parasite to these lands, and I shall root you out like the ticks you are.”
Astegur’s lips tugged up into a twisted smile, feeling the smoke in his belly seep through the cracks of his teeth to rise in the air. Excitement mounted in his skull with the upcoming battle, and the threats of the centaur general only ignited it further. Astegur’s only thoughts as he roamed his eyes over his opponent was whether he should kill him quickly to return to Calavia sooner, or to draw the fight out, giving her more time. Surely the other centaurs would attack when their leader fell. He could hold off one much easier than a score.
Rising up on his back legs, Kryiakos bellowed, “Your smile damns you!” The other centaurs did the same.
But as the warchief rose, Astegur saw it, his opening, just behind the general’s legs, at the crux of where they attached to its body, a soft opening where the armor did not cover him. Astegur’s taunting smile grew, and the anger of the centaurs increased with it.
Kryiakos snarled. “I will drag the witch that has ensorcelled you out by her ankle and break her as your blood feeds this putrid swamp. Her wretched body, being ravaged by horsecock and spears, will be the last thing you see before the bloatflies feast on your corpse!”
Astegur’s smile turned cold. He stepped down the broken temple steps. Fire and fury lit his face up as he deeply inhaled the bonfire smoke, his body priming for action.
“Quickly,” he said. He would kill this horsebeast quickly.
Kryiakos narrowed his eyes. “So be it!”
Astegur rushed him, swinging the battleaxe in his right hand to meet Kryiakos’s spear as it thrust down at his approach. Their weapons met and held. He braced against the sudden flood of tension as they pushed against each other, feeling out the centaur’s strength.
