When he reopened his eyes a moment later, the torment bursting through his chest had dulled to a throbbing ache. He found his battleaxe again and gripped it tight. This time when he slowly began to rise, he made it to his hooves, only wavering slightly from side-to-side. He clenched his left hand but found it unusable, nearly limp with weakness.
Astegur turned toward the temple; the centaurs were breaking the last of the pieces that blocked their path and were stumbling forward. The thralls at his side moved with him.
He pointed his axehead forward and rasped, “Attack.”
The thralls breezed by him like a gust of air and swarmed the first centaur.
“Behind!” a horsebeast yelled.
Astegur lumbered up the first temple step, hunched over, as the thralls moved from the first horse to the next. By the time he made it up the last step, there were only three centaurs remaining, stabbing with their spears, with their backs to the broken barricade, screaming out for reinforcements.
Several arrows flew by his side, one grazed his skin, two more embedded into the muscles of his back, and he fell heavily to his knee. He gritted his teeth and forced himself back up, wobbling forward. What he at first thought were six thralls working their way up the centaur’s spears were only three when his vision cleared itself.
“Take down the minotaur!” another one of them screamed, but it was too late.
Astegur braced his shoulder against the stone wall and roared.
Fire erupted from his throat again, straight through the thralls, melting the skin from their bones, up the spears that held them off, and over the centaurs. It caught the scattered blisterbark and burst everything into brilliant flames.
More screams filled his ears.
He didn’t wait. Pushing himself off the sidewall, he walked through the fire that had incinerated the broken crates and caught the edges of vilevines that hadn’t moved fast enough. He rounded the burning corpses as much as he could and raised his axe to break the last of the barricade to pieces. The fire licked at his flesh, the tip of his horns, and singed the fur on his legs and the edges of his loincloth. The flames sparked the blisterbark on the other side as it fell to embers at his hooves, lighting up the normally gloomy passageway beyond.
The sounds from outside died down as he caught sight of Calavia lying in a pool of blood on the other end. He fought his way forward, fear and unease seizing his soul as he made his way to her side. Pure and tainted blood alike filled his nostrils as he fell to his knees beside her.
Her eyes were open wide, frightened and staring at him as he bent over her.
“Calavia,” he rasped, reaching his right hand toward her face to wipe her plastered hair from it. “We did well.”
She gazed up at him, her throat moving, as if she was trying to respond. Astegur leaned forward as her lips moved. Her breath was cold and weak against his skin.
“She’s dead.”
It took him a moment to realize she spoke of her mother. “Yes, she’s dead.”
Calavia’s eyes closed as tears budded her lashes. He continued to pet her forehead as she came to terms with that knowledge.
Weariness overcame him as he waited, unsure if she would even live through the next several minutes—ifhewould live. It pained him to realize their time together had been so short. When she reopened her eyes, his hearts beat with the excitement of having another few moments left in her presence.
Her eyes dipped down, and he followed her gaze, lifting her hand from where it lay on her lower stomach. A wound much like his own revealed itself. His throat tightened.
“It will be okay,” he said, petting her cheek, bringing her gaze back up to him.
She nodded and dropped her shaking hand.
Astegur watched her for another moment, then lowering himself closer to her side, reached down to pull the wax out of his chest. Bloodied and loose in his hand, he pressed it to the wound in her stomach. A weak moan escaped her lips.
“See, hag? All will be well.”
Astegur dropped the rest of his way beside her and closed his eyes, listening to the noises outside. The screams of centaurs, the wails of the remaining thralls, the distant roar and blaze of the bonfires, and finally Calavia’s shallow breaths and heartbeat. She moved at his side, and he nuzzled her arm in submission.
“All will be okay,” a firm, feminine, familiar voice sounded in his ear. “Astegur?” the voice said louder, and he was shoved onto his back.
He forced his eyes back open with one last spark of strength. His mouth parted as Calavia rose over him. His eyelids fell shut.
“Astegur, wake up!”
He lifted his right arm, but his strength failed, and it dropped back down.
