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“Why have you invaded our territory?” one of the centaurs demanded, stamping a hoof in anger. He was chestnut brown with a black tail. Long black hair flowed from his scalp, almost reaching his withers. The dark fur on the horse part of his body merged with the tanned brown skin of his human part just below the waist. His well toned bare chest glistened in the moonlight, though whether this was due to oil or sweat, Sam could not tell.
She looked up at his unsmiling face. It was completely hairless, with not even eyebrows above his dark eyes. A deep scar ran down one cheek, creasing as he spoke. In one hand he held a shield, while the other contained a long spear, the tip of which was pointed towards Tor.
The Prince stood up slowly and bowed. “We wish no disrespect,” he said loud enough for all of the centaurs that were encircling them to hear. “We are merely passing through. We did not know this was your territory. We did not even know centaurs lived in this part of the world.”
The centaur grunted. “Ignorance is no excuse.”
“Let us introduce ourselves,” Brodin suggested, as he rose to his feet, keeping his movements as slow and unthreatening as possible. “I am Prince Brodin from Remeny and this is my brother, Tor.” Tor nodded his head as his name was spoken.
Brodin continued. “The young lady is my cousin, Dal, and the gentleman holding her hand is her husband, Seth. The others are Ria, Patrick and Sam.”
“I do not care what your names are or where you are from. You are trespassing and therefore must pay the penalty.”
“What is the penalty?” Tor asked.
For the first time since waking the group, a smile appeared on the centaur’s face. “I am training this group of young warriors how to hunt. Now we have some prey.”
“You cannot do that,” Brodin protested. “We have done nothing wrong. We are of no threat to you.”
The centaur sneered at him. “You carry weapons.” He raised his leg and kicked the sword hanging from Brodin’s belt. “Therefore you are a danger to us.”
“Our weapons are for our own protection only,” the Prince insisted. “We are on a quest which will take us over the mountains and we have no idea what is on the other side.”
“It appears you do not know much. Are all humans this ignorant?” the centaur asked. The prisoners remained silent and the question was not repeated. The centaur looked into the sky. “I will be generous,” he informed them. “You have until first light before we will start to track you down. I suggest you split up, but it is up to you.”
“Please,” Ria begged. “Do not do this. This will be murder. One of our group is in no condition to run.” As she helped Sam to her feet, gasps sounded in all directions.
“She is with child?” the centaur who had done all of the talking so far asked.
“She is,” Ria confirmed.
A look of concern flashed across the centaur’s face. “This changes things. Centaurs have never knowingly harmed a child and do not intend to do so now.” He paused to consider what he should do next. His announcement did not please any of the prisoners. “You will be taken to our city where our chief will decide your fate.”
He turned away from the humans and addressed his people. “Find rope and bind these creatures together. They can walk to our city.”
“Yes Kantharos,” they all replied in unison.
“How long will it take us to get there?” Tor enquired, angered by both their treatment and the unwanted delay in finding Orion.
“A few days,” came the reply. Before Tor could protest, the centaur turned his back on the Prince and addressed Sam. “Will you do me the honour of riding upon my back my lady? The journey will be long and hard and I do not wish to see you tire.”
Sam looked at Tor, unsure what she should do. He nodded, so she gratefully accepted the offer. She felt strong arms grab her from behind and she was gently lifted onto the centaur’s back, the arms holding her in place until she confirmed that she was comfortable.
If the others had been expecting to have their hands tied, they were pleasantly surprised, but only temporarily. Instead, the rope was placed around their necks so they were strung together like cattle. The rope was not tight, but it was heavy and uncomfortable and they risked being strangled if they fell. To make matters worse, they were tied quite closely together, so if one person stumbled, they would tighten the rope around the necks of the people on either side of them. When Ria pointed this out to the centaur who was tying her to Patrick, he laughed and told her to make sure she didn’t fall.
The centaurs soon left the path the humans had been following and made their way across the mountain. The ground became treacherous and soon it was obvious why the prisoners’ hands had been left untied. They traversed the rocky outcrops close to the edge and without their hands to guide and steady themselves, they would have fallen to their deaths. On more than one occasion, Sam was forced to hold on tight to her ride’s neck, burying her face in his hair and closing her eyes. She kept expecting to hear a scream as one of her friends lost their footing, but thankfully never did.
They walked all day, not stopping for food and only pausing for brief periods to drink from their water skins. Sam started to fall asleep, so she was tied in place as carefully as possible. The ropes cut into her skin, but she did not complain; at least she felt safe and secure.
When the sun began to set, the lead centaur instructed his platoon to halt. “We will stay here for the night,” he called out as the humans sank wearily to the ground. The centaurs were obviously well trained; they started to organise the makeshift campsite without any orders being issued.
The prisoners where shackled at the ankles and tied to metal stakes which the centaurs drove into the rocks. Only Sam was left unbound and she was politely informed that the situation could easily be changed if she attempted to free her friends. Their hands were left free until after they had eaten a meagre meal of nuts and berries, washed down with warm water. The ground was hard and uncomfortable and no space could be found which was large enough to accommodate a body without sharp rocks sticking in, but despite this, they all quickly fell asleep, too exhausted to notice.
While her companions slept, Sam remained awake, unable to settle. She was cold, she was uncomfortable, she was scared for the safety of her friends and her baby had decided to wake up and move around.
Seeing the unhappy look on her face, one of the younger centaurs lay down beside her. “Things are not as bad as they seem,” he said in a friendly tone. “This is Kantharos’s first command and he is trying to prove himself to his father.”
“His father?” Sam asked.
The centaur smiled. “Our chief.”
“That explains a lot,” Sam muttered. She looked at the centaur curiously. “Are you busy?” she enquired.
He looked around, probably making sure that Kantharos was not in sight, before responding. “I can spare you some time. How may I be of service?”
“Where I come from, centaurs are just mythical creatures. They do not really exist. I know nothing of your people or your history. Will you tell me about your race?”
“I would be delighted. However, would you first please explain where it is that you come from? I cannot imagine a country where our existence is not known.”
Sam groaned, regretting her words. It was going to be a long while before she got to hear about the centaurs. She tried to keep her tale brief, but the young buck was so intrigued by all she said that he kept asking questions and requesting more details. Eventually he was satisfied and agreed to talk about his people, much to Sam’s relief.
As he started to speak, she leaned back against his flanks. His fur was soft and warm and she soon found herself struggling to keep her eyes open as she listened to his voice.
He explained that centaurs live in tribes and are very protective of their lands. While not an aggressive people, they have seen the sort of destruction other races cause to the land and will not permit anyone or anything to enter their territory without good reason.
Each tribe is run by a chief. While the position is usually handed down from father to son, if the majority of the tribe are not pleased with their current leader, he is forced to abdicate and a new one selected. Although the chiefs meet up in council every few years, the tribes are completely autonomous and the chief of one has no say over what another tribe does.
The chief’s wife is head of the females, so careful consideration has to be given by the chief’s eldest son before selecting a mate. He has to choose one that will keep the entire tribe happy, not just himself. While the chief is supposedly the one in control, it is common knowledge that it is often his wife that guides him to make the right decisions.
“Are you nomadic?” Sam asked. “Do you constantly move around or do you stay in the same place permanently?”
The centaur seemed confused by the question. “Why would we build our homes then abandon them? Those of us who have joined the Protectors must spend much of our time patrolling the mountain, but it is always good to return to our city.”
“What is your city like?” Sam asked.
As requested, the centaur started to describe his home. He went into great detail, most of which Sam missed as her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep. She looked so contented that the centaur did not dare to disturb her, so he continued speaking softly until he was certain she would not wake, then he fell silent. She was still leaning on him, so he did not attempt to move, even though he knew he had spent too much time away from his duties already.
Kantharos, who had been leading a patrol, returned a short while later and was surprised to find one of his unit lying on the ground near the prisoners. He was about to voice a reprimand when the young centaur shocked him by putting his fingers to his lips then pointing downwards. He dropped his gaze and saw Sam leaning against the centaur’s side, fast asleep. Smiling, he nodded his head at his subordinate and left to check on those who were on watch. He would speak to the young centaur later about his actions, but he understood why he behaved as he did and would not go too hard on him.
Sam slept until sunrise and felt refreshed when she awoke. “Good morning,” a voice said behind her and she realised that the pillow she thought she had been resting her head against was, in fact, one of her captors. She quickly stood up.
“I am so sorry. I did not mean to make you stay here all night.”
“That is quite alright. I was comfortable enough to fall asleep and my commander gave me permission to remain.”
“That is not how I would put it,” a gruff voice sounded behind them. The young centaur gulped, but Kantharos was smiling as he sent him away to help prepare food for the prisoners. It was nuts and berries again.
“Do you not eat meat?” Sam complained, looking at the contents of the wooden bowl which was handed to her.
“Of course. That is one of the reasons we are on patrol at the moment. But everything we kill must be returned to the tribe and distributed fairly.” As he spoke, Sam noticed that some of the other centaurs sitting nearby were dismembering a large deer, wrapping the meat in cloth and tying the bundles up with rope before securing the packages to each other’s backs.
Sam asked to be allowed to speak with her friends before moving away from Kantharos. She had been given no reason to believe she was deliberately being separated from them, but decided that, under the circumstances, it was best to ask permission beforehand rather than forgiveness afterwards. They were all well, though stiff, hungry and irritable. The food that had been supplied was enough to keep them alive, but did not adequately fill their stomaches. She told them all that she had learned the previous evening and, though much of it was already known by the others, the fact the centaurs lived in a city surprised even Tor. When told they would be taken to the centaur’s city, he had not taken the statement literally.
Before Kantharos gave the order to start moving, he made sure the prisoners were once more secured by their necks and that their feet had been untied. Sam was again placed on his back and the journey continued.
The humans were ragged looking by the time they arrived at their destination, even Patrick. They had not been permitted to bathe or change their clothes since being captured and they were beginning to feel as bad as they looked. Despite this, they stopped walking as soon as the city came into view and it was not until they were prodded in the back by spears that they were able to get their legs moving once more.
“Why did they stop?” Kantharos asked Sam, turning his head around to look at her.
“You really don’t know?” He shook his head. “Your city is magnificent. We were expecting tents or basic dwellings, not something this, well, permanent I suppose is the best word.”
Kantharos frowned. “Why?”
Sam went red with embarrassment before answering. “I can’t speak for the others, but I was expecting your houses to look more like stables.”
Kantharos stared at her, unable to believe what she had just said. Then he threw his head back and laughed. He found the comment so amusing he told the nearest centaurs. It was passed from centaur to centaur and soon the entire platoon was laughing.
“So you think we are horses do you?” he asked Sam when he finally regained control of himself.
“You have to admit,” she said nervously, “you do look like a cross between a man and a horse.”
Again the centaur laughed. “I like to think that makes us better than both species. We have the strength of a horse and the dexterity of a man. We can use our arms to build and create, yet we retain the stamina and endurance to travel long distances without tiring.”
Sam was forced to concede that he had a good point. Humans always considered themselves the superior race, but maybe centaurs did have a better body design. She did not voice her thoughts, however, as her attention was drawn to the buildings they were passing. From a distance, the city looked much like a human one, full of large, single storey, stone buildings with brightly coloured walls and roofs. Once she was close enough to see the detail she realised that all of the stonework was covered with detailed paintings depicting scenes of forests and lakes. The quality of the artwork was amazing. She had never seen its like on canvas, let alone on the side of a building.
“The mountain is not a pretty place, especially this high up,” Kantharos explained when he saw what had captured Sam’s attention. “We paint our houses to remind ourselves of how much beauty there is in the world.”
The roof of each building appeared to be made from wood. “Where do you get the wood from?” Sam enquired. “There are no trees nearby.”
“There are plenty at the base of the mountain; more than enough for our needs.”
“But how do you get it all the way up here?”
“We are strong, remember. We simply chop down as many trees as we require, then drag them up the side of the mountain.” Sam was awestruck. She could not even begin to imagine how long that must take and how tiring the journey would be. The more she learned of this race, the more she admired them.
Kantharos led the prisoners through the streets towards the middle of the city. Female centaurs were performing household chores, much the same as human women did, and stopped to stare as the strangers passed. Tor noticed Seth staring back and slapped him on the head. “Keep your eyes to yourself,” he instructed.
“But they are not wearing any clothes. Their chests are completely bare. How can I not look?” he protested.
“The rest of us are managing,” Tor informed him. “We are in enough trouble already. I do not want you making it any worse.”
“But if you do not glance below the waist, they look like normal women. Some of them are young and extremely attractive.”
Dal was tied in front of Seth so she could not see his roving eye. Tor kept his voice low so she would not overhear. “I am sure your wife will appreciate knowing what you are doing. Will you keep your eyes looking forward or should I have a quiet word with her?”
Tor thought his young friend said, “Alright”, but the mumble was so quiet it could have been anything. He did, however, turn his head to stare at Dal’s back instead of the female centaurs. Kantharos had overheard the exchange and chuckled quietly to himself.
They were approaching what appeared to be a large circular building with no roof. The gates were opened from the inside as they drew near and Kantharos entered, instructing the other centaurs who had accompanied him to report to the duty master before heading to the bath house. Sam’s ears pricked up when she heard the word bath, but soon decided she was not really that dirty when she remembered how bad wet fur could smell.
Kantharos had led them into an arena. As Sam looked around her she could see tier upon tier, much the same as human stadiums looked, but without any seats. ‘Standing room only’ she thought to herself.
In the centre of the arena, a number of centaurs were standing around a large table. They turned around as the group approached and Sam noticed that one was wearing a thick gold chain. Kantharos bowed to the group, bending one of his front legs at the knee and lowering his human body from the waist. The movement looked awkward and painful, yet he managed it with fluid grace. Somehow Sam stayed on his back without being unseated.
“Father,” Kantharos said respectfully. “I caught some humans invading our lands and have brought the prisoners to you.”
The chief stared at his son. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted in absolute fury, gesticulating towards Sam. “Why do you demean yourself? You are a centaur, not a pony.”
If Kantharos was unsettled by the unfriendly welcome, he did not show it. “She is with child father. She could not have walked here unaided.”
“Then you should have left her there.” He looked towards the humans as if noticing them for the first time. “Untie them,” he ordered. “I will deal with them later, once they have witnessed how justice works in our lands.”
One of the centaurs standing with the chief approached Brodin, who was at the front of the line, and removed the rope from around his neck before attending to the rest.
“Thank you,” Tor said once everyone had been released.
“I did not give you permission to speak,” the chief growled at him, before turning his attention back to his son. “Kantharos, you have embarrassed me and shamed our people by your deeds. I therefore order you to be whipped. You will receive ten lashes.”
“Yes father,” he replied with no hint of protest in his voice.
“Remove the human from his back then tie him to the post.”
Sam felt rough hands grab her and haul her upwards, depositing her gently on the ground next to Tor, who took her arm to prevent her from overbalancing. Once he was free of his burden, Kantharos walked up to a long metal post that stood to one side of the table and held out his hands, which were then bound securely to the post with rope. His long black hair was moved across one shoulder so as not to obscure the bare skin on his back. A long whip was produced from under the table and handed to the chief. He swung it a few times, cracking it in the air loudly. With horror, Sam realised he was going to whip his own son.
“Stop,” she cried out. “You cannot do this. All he did was help me. He does not deserve this sort of punishment.”
The chief looked at her coldly. “I decide what he does and does not deserve, not you.”
“Please, I beg you. I never would have ridden on him if I knew this would be the outcome.”
Ignoring her pleas, the chief walked up to his son and raised the whip. Sam felt something rush past her and saw Ria vault onto Kantharos’s back. The whip had already begun its descent and the chief could do nothing to prevent it from cutting deeply into Ria’s back. She screamed and fell to the ground, landing with a loud thud and the snap of a bone breaking reverberated around the arena. She lay on the ground, unmoving, as the rip in her blouse became stained with blood.