Earth Borne (31 page)

She had a war to stop.

***

No opportunity remained for self-pity or the lamentation of his canceled wedding. His Great Hall transformed from a wedding reception to a war post. Thereus allowed himself one last reminiscence of Melita and Lucian, before burrowing their images deep inside his heart. Worrying about them during battle would be a weakness he could not afford. If he’d learned one lesson from his friend Arsenius, it was he who had the clearest mind won the fight.

Of course, his captain had the great advantage of his war frenzy. Beyond his control, when the frenzy seized him, Arsenius became the embodiment of violence. Cold, hard, perfectly deadly. Thereus would do well to imitate him.

He combed his fingers through his hair. Would that Arsenius were with him. The warrior was unstoppable, better than a hundred men. He paused to study the meager collection of soldiers in the Great Hall. Though Cheiron’s army was thousands strong, it required time to assemble. Most men were farmers or merchants by trade. They would have to be notified, summoned, and then travel to a Portal which would bring them here. The closest ones arrived on foot, but the Portal furiously spewed out men as fast as it could manage.

Bloody hell, Thereus wished he hadn’t sent the
Adrasteia
away. The crew of eighty would have made a huge difference. He shrugged off the hope. They were long gone. This night would never last long enough. No matter how quickly they scrambled, their army would never match Philaeus’s.

Well, not in size at least. A grin spread across his face while he scanned the Great Hall. Farmers or not, these men were bloodthirsty centaurs. They sharpened their weapons and moved through the chamber with clear purpose, making their preparations for battle. Unlike the Lapiths, war simmered in their blood. They were born knowing how to wield a sword and loose an arrow. Their size and strength, combined with their agility, lent them an enormous advantage. He’d wager one centaur against five Lapiths any day.

A good thing, since the numbers were looking that way.

Chapter 28

They’d at last managed to catch up with the villagers. How did Alkippe locate them in this labyrinth of caves? Her horse sense of smell? With more children and a few elderly, the villagers moved slower.
Praise Demeter.

Melita strode to Petraeus. “We’ll guide them from here. You must go to Westgard.”

Petraeus hesitated, but inclined his head. She sent him a smile of reassurance. A young male like him would be far more eager to go into battle than to escort women and children to safety. Besides, the wives and Alkippe were more than capable of leading them.

She gave Petraeus a quick embrace, kissing his cheek and whispering, “Be safe.”

He softened as he released her. “You, as well, Melita. I’ll watch over him, I swear.” He winked and galloped away.

Her heart tightened as once again the severity of their situation struck her. In a few hours, men would die, falling into the arms of the earth, their blood creating rivers of crimson.

Because of me.

***

Petraeus stepped into the Great Hall, his countenance worn, yet determined. Tension eased out of Thereus’s shoulders, a breath he’d been holding.

His youngest brother met each of their gazes, assuring his brothers the women were safe, and held Thereus’s stare last, nodding grimly.

Thereus’s wife and son were safe, yet the threat to them remained. Now, he would fight to extinguish that threat.

Cheiron graced the head of the table, his sons gathered around, studying a map of the area surrounding Westgard. “Philaeus has more men. Today. The longer we delay him, the larger our army will grow.” He shook his head. “If we must do this, I’ll have as few casualties as possible.” He glanced at Dryalus, a centaur warrior almost as old as Cheiron. “My friend, you are familiar with these hills, these caves. What can we use against them?”

“Sire, I would place your best archers here, and here.” Dryalus pointed to the map. “On these hilltops, they’ll not only have the greatest vantage, they’ll have cover as well.” He paused, perusing the map. “If you drew the enemy to this hill, we could create a landslide. ‘Twould trap them into a narrow valley and slow them. It would destroy those homes and farms though.”

Cheiron folded his hands on the tabletop. “Those can be rebuilt. A life cannot.”

Hector and Petraeus continued to voice their ideas, but Thereus kept silent. These men were better strategists than he. On land at least. He possessed a few tricks for naval battles, but his greatest assets lay in negotiation, and if that should fail, brute strength.

As they discussed the landslide, concerns of afterward plagued his mind. These were his lands, his people. If victory was theirs, would one day Melita be the one to mend those fields? Would they laugh together, Lucian running in the meadows as he and the village men rebuilt those homes? The women knitting blankets, weaving rugs, or bringing crisp water to soothe the thirst of the men? An image of Melita lifting a glistening ladle to his mouth flooded his mind. Pearls of liquid dripped down his chin; she rose on her tiptoes to lick them away…

“Thereus?” Hector’s voice slapped him to the present. “Does it sit well with you, brother?”

He grunted an affirmative, despite not having heard the question. How long would the battle last? He’d never been involved in something so momentous. When would he see Melita and Lucian again?
Would
he see them again?

He regarded his brothers around the table. Would they live to watch the sun set? He prayed to the gods they would.

His experience taught him that wasn’t the way of war. Some must live, many must die.

His soul agonized like a man drawn and quartered. Torn in so many directions. He yearned to protect his wife and child, yet how many would he sacrifice for them? Did he even have a choice? They’d made this decision together. He shouldn’t set such a heavy burden on his shoulders, yet there it remained.

Should any of his brothers’ blood be spilled, an equal piece of his heart would be cut out.

He glanced out the window. Still dark, yet dawn was fast approaching. How many hours remained? Three? Four?

And then, war.

***

“We’ll rest for a couple of hours,” Alkippe declared after having examined their new additions. “We’ll be safe enough in these tunnels and dawn is far away. The children must rest and we cannot carry them the entire distance.” She waved to Lucian, who’d taken residence upon her back, slumped forward and half-asleep.

“We’re at the border. In a few more hours, we’ll reach Great Meteoron.” Melita regarded the crowd. They seemed frightened and exhausted. Poor things. “Everyone, try to rest. ‘Twill be a long day.”

Alkippe barked out orders. The villagers shuffled, passing around food and water, and settling in groups on the packed earthen ground. One by one, the torches extinguished, until only Alkippe’s shone. Ignoring her own advice, the centauress stood vigil.

Melita plucked a sleepy Lucian from Alkippe’s back and settled him in her lap, reclining against the stone wall, away from the others. She’d never sleep, yet she craved rest.
How will I ever survive the coming day?
The weight of thousands of souls burdened her heart. Should even one of them fall, their death would extinguish her spirit.

A soft buzzing droned in her ear. She lifted her hand to swat the fly aside. Just as she was about to strike it, the winged insect whispered,
Melita.

Her arm froze in the air as she desperately tried to focus in the darkness.
Blast it. Useless.
A murmur of her name to the left, and overhead, circling her. More joined, and she recognized the flapping of wings. Buzzing. Bees. Only, bees did not speak. Certainly not her name.

She pinched her arm, in case this was a dream, but she winced at the pain. An explanation crept into her mind.

“Yes, come, Melita,” one bee hummed.

Carefully, she unclasped her cloak, placed it on the ground, and shifted Lucian from her lap. She brushed his hair aside as he curled onto her cloak. Tenderly, she kissed his forehead. Her heart clenched, as though awaiting that final cut, the one severing them completely. Her instincts whispered,
This is the last time I’ll hold him.

If she followed the bees, she wouldn’t return. Ever.

“Hurry,” the bees droned.

“I love you, always.” She pressed a final kiss to Lucian’s forehead and tore herself away, choking back her pain. There was no choice. If she stood by and watched good men die for her sins, it would forever haunt her. She slipped silently through the darkness, following the source of the bees’ wings.

A faint light in the distance beckoned. She quickened her footsteps. No longer stumbling blindly, she rushed toward the beacon. Her steps came to an abrupt halt as the tunnel opened into a chamber.

Melita gasped. In the center of the cavern, three maidens faced her. The light emanated from them. Their skin, eyes and gowns glowed amber, like liquid honey. They were perfect copies of each other—tall, voluptuous, irresistibly feminine.

“Melita.” They spoke as one.

Meliae.
Her mother’s people. Honey nymphs. Why were they here? Her entire life, no matter how much she’d suffered, they’d never offered comfort or aid. They’d been as absent as her mother.

“Why have you summoned me?” She met their ethereal gazes levelly.

“Melita, the centaurs and Lapiths will soon be at war,” the middle one answered for all three.

She narrowed her eyes. “I know.”

“You can stop the war.”

“You must,” the two others insisted.

An arrow of affirmation pierced her heart. They were right. Her throat too tight to speak, she simply nodded. In terror, her heart pounded against her ribs, yet she had to stop her fear from rising and taking over. She refused to let it deter her. Not now, when she needed to be in control.

“We are to help you,” the middle one hummed. “The great Earth goddess sent us to you. We had to wait, until you were out of
his
sight.”

Melita cleared her throat and found her voice. “Whose sight?”

The one on the right ignored her question, instead droning agreement, “Yes,
he
cannot see you here.”

Who?
She puffed impatiently. “How can you help me?”

“You are one of us, Melita. Search deep within yourself. When the gods created the perfection of nymphs, they fashioned us without malice or violence in our natures. They left us without defense, except for this. One way to shelter ourselves. Long ago, your mother called upon its power.”

“My mother?”

The one on the left nodded. “She was our sister. One of the most exquisite nymphs Demeter ever created. Far too much for a mortal’s eyes to bear. When the Lapith King came upon her, we sensed it would only end in tragedy. He became obsessed, blinded by lust. She hid, yet he was stronger. Relentless. Our kind is not capable of violence. We always submit, even to rape.” Pain flashed across her face. “He kept her prisoner in his dungeon and released the fury of his carnal hunger upon her until she gave birth to you. The Queen’s jealousy drove her to madness and she tried to kill your mother. To protect you both, your mother fled, seeking aid. She knew the King would not harm you, as you were of his flesh.”

The one on the left stepped forward. “In a fit of rage over your mother’s disappearance, the King killed his Queen. Then he hunted your mother. He finally caught her, so she called upon the ancient power within herself and transformed into a Manna Ash tree.”

Melita perceived true sorrow in their frowns. At last, she learned the truth. Her mother hadn’t callously abandoned her. She’d fled, terrified for her life. “Why didn’t you, any of you, ever come for me?”

“We were afraid. If your father saw any of us, our own fate would be the same as your mother’s.” The middle one scowled.

“He guarded you like a miser with his last coin.” The one on the right huffed. “We were never able to get close.”

Melita lifted a brow. She’d never guessed. “What about when I arrived to Westgard?”

The one on the left tilted her head. “You seemed content. You learned your powers on your own. You’re half-human, so we assumed this world suited you better. Ours is very different.”

“If you wish to save the centaurs you love, you must embrace your true nature.” The middle nymph opened her hand. Upon her palm, a small glowing seed. “Demeter blesses each of us with one at our births. We guard it, for to others our seeds are poison. Your mother never had the chance to give you yours.”

Melita stared at the golden seed. Dear gods.

“You must swallow it.” The right-hand nymph waved for her to accept the seed. “There is no pain, only peace as you become one with nature. You do not have to die, to suffer under Philaeus’s hand. Swallow this seed, and it will end. Your beloved centaurs, your son, your mate, they will be safe. You can protect them. With you gone, Philaeus will have no cause for a just war. The gods would never permit him.”

“There is no return.” The one in the middle spoke in a solemn tone. “The gods granted us a choice, but it is permanent. You will not die, nor will you ever take human form again.”