Chapter Nineteen

Chrethon plunged through the dark, twisted forest, laughing wildly. There was blood on the wind. It maddened him, more intoxicating than strong wine. He understood what the smell meant. One of the new Skorenoi had wounded its quarry.

It was a thing he always did, whenever new centaurs Crossed. From the beginning, he'd taken the newest Skorenoi into the woods to hunt. It was the best way to test his followers' prowess. Those who caught the first prey became leaders in his growing horde.

He glanced over his shoulder, grinning. Thenidor ran behind, halberd upraised, his coat dark with sweat. "They're close!" Chrethon bellowed. "They'll have their first kill soon!"

Thenidor nodded enthusiastically. Before either of them could say anything more, however, someone called out ahead of them. The pounding of hooves stopped, then turned right. A bowstring thrummed, followed by a squeal of pain. The blood-scent grew stronger, headier as the Skorenoi pursued the boar up a craggy hill. With a glance to make sure Thenidor was still with them, Chrethon followed.

They clambered upward for more then half a mile. The hillside was more sparsely wooded than the valley below, and Chrethon caught glimpses of the hunters in the silver moonlight. He squinted past them, but couldn't see the boar. He kept going, slowly gaining ground on the Skorenoi. One of the hunters raised a bow and let fly. The boar answered with an even more furious shriek than before, then changed direction again, angling downhill.

They cornered it soon after, driving the panicked beast into a rocky cleft near the hill's bottom. Trapped, it turned to face them. When Chrethon and Thenidor caught up, the Skorenoi had formed a half-circle about the cleft's mouth. One shot his bow, feathering the boar’s neck. It screamed and thrashed, stubbornly refusing to go down.

The Skorenoi turned at Chrethon's approach. The one who'd fired held up a hand, and the others lowered their bows. He strode toward Chrethon, bowing.

Chrethon looked him up and down: Grimbough had done worse than usual with this one. His face was neither human nor horse, but a mass of leathery skin so malformed that it was all but impossible to make out his features. His forelegs ended not with hooves, but with fat, stubby-fingered hands that gripped the rock beneath.

The faceless Skorenos bowed. "We have it trapped, my lord. The killing blow is thine, if thou wish it."

Chrethon stared into the black pits of the creature's eyes, then strode past, toward the boar. The animal snorted fiercely, drawing back. Its tusks glistened: if Chrethon got too close, it would surely try to run underneath him, gore him from below. He kept his distance: he'd been hunting boar since long before he Crossed.

He extended his lance one-handed toward the boar, raising his other arm over his head and waving to distract the wounded beast. It froze, its small eyes squinting, and he lunged, driving the spear into its neck.

The boar shrieked and thrashed. Chrethon bore down, twisting the weapon and shoving the animal back with all his strength. It backed against a boulder, collapsed, and died. Satisfied it wasn't going to get back up again, he jerked the spear free, wiped its head on the animal's hide, and turned back toward the other Skorenoi. Without a word, he strode up to their leader and smashed its shapeless face with the butt of his spear.

There was a satisfying crunch. The Skorenos dropped its bow and clutched its face, howling. Blood sprayed between its fingers. Without hesitating, Chrethon brought his spear-butt up again and struck it in the gut. It doubled over, sinking to its knees.

"Never give up a kill!" Chrethon snarled. "Not even to me. Finish, and don't hesitate. Dost thou understand?"

The Skorenos managed to nod, whimpering. "My lord… I'm sorry… ."

Chrethon turned away in disgust. He glared at the other five Skorenoi. "I still hunger for the chase," he said. "Continue the hunt."

The Skorenoi wheeled, bows in hand, and charged out of the gully. Chrethon followed, Thenidor coming behind. They left the faceless one lying on the ground with the dead boar.

An hour later, a wolf-eared Skorenos stopped at the crest of a low, wooded hillock and raised its head to sniff the air. Somehow, though Chrethon could smell nothing, he picked up a spoor. Nostrils flared, he turned east, cantering down the hill. The others followed.

They tracked the scent for miles, moving east in a more or less straight line. Finally, the wolfish Skorenos held up a hand, bringing the company to a halt. Without a glance at Chrethon, it crept toward a clump of blackthorns, whose branches drooped with shriveled fruit. The shadows around the bushes were deep enough to hide a large animal—a wolf, perhaps. Chrethon squinted, trying to see what the Skorenos was stalking, but the darkness was too thick to make anything out.

Twenty paces from the bushes, the hunter stopped again, raising his bow. The bow's limbs creaked as he pulled back the string.

"Wait!" a voice bleated. "Don't shoot!"

Chrethon drew up, his eyes widening. "Hurach?"

The shadows seemed to solidify, revealing the shape of a one-horned satyr. "My lord!" the goat-man yelped.

The wolfish Skorenos hesitated, confused. He risked a look at Chrethon.

"It's all right," Chrethon said. "He's a friend. Put up thy bow."

With a nod, the Skorenos relaxed his pull. As soon as he was no longer in danger of getting shot, Hurach crept out of the shadows and strode forward to kneel before Chrethon.

"What art thou doing out here, Hurach?" Chrethon snarled.

"I was on my way to Sangelior, lord," Hurach answered. "I thought you'd be there, not out hunting. I surely didn't think you'd be hunting me."

Chrethon smiled slightly. "Thou hast news? Thou hast been to Ithax?"

"Aye, lord," the satyr said. "I spied upon the Circle itself. The sons of Nemeredes were there, too, and the humans."

Thenidor snarled a curse, reminded of his failure by the Darkwater. His hand strayed to the bandaged arrow-wound Gyrtomon had dealt him.

"Be still!" Chrethon barked, not bothering to turn. "What then, Hurach? What didst thou hear?"

The satyr hesitated. "My lord… I think it would be better if I told you without so many ears about." He nodded toward the other Skorenoi.

Chrethon glowered, but finally he relented. "Very well, Hurach." He gestured past the blackthorns. "Come—let us walk together, alone."

Leodippos was dicing with his tribesmen, a jug of wine at hand, when the runners galloped through Sangelior, shouting that Lord Chrethon's party was returning. Leodippos stiffened, glancing at the sky. The moon and stars confirmed his suspicions: The hunters were early. He tossed the dice away, drawing dismayed groans from his fellow players.

"Whist, idiots!" he growled. "There's trouble afoot."

The other Skorenoi fell silent. He took a long, deep quaff from the jug, then dropped it on the ground. It cracked in half, wine soaking into the trampled earth.

"I want twenty archers to meet me at the western road," he said. "Lord Chrethon may have need of us."

Obediently, his warriors dispersed. Leodippos cantered through Sangelior alone. The town was an anarchy of dancing, feasting, rutting and fighting. Laughter and screams rose into the sky amid the firelight. He made his way to the town's outskirts, where a trail wound toward the heart of Darken Wood. His escort joined him as he'd ordered, and together they waited, watching the shadows.

Soon he heard the thud of hooves, the rattle of war harnesses. He recognized Chrethon's gait in particular. He tightened his grip on his lance, glancing at his escort to make sure they were alert. A minute passed, then another, then a lone figure came trotting out of the darkness: Thenidor. He held his bow half-drawn. The weapon rose when he saw Leodippos, then recognition flickered across his face and he lowered it again.

"Stand aside!" Thenidor roared, gesturing with his arrowhead. "He's right behind me! If he finds thee blocking his way—"

"Back!" Leodippos shouted to his men, herding them off the path. He stared past Thenidor, into the darkness, listening as the rest of the party approached. Before long they rode out of the gloom, Chrethon in their midst. Hurach ran with them.

"My lord!" Leodippos called. "What's the trouble?"

"No time!" Chrethon shot back. "I go to Grimbough's grove. Come with me. I'll tell thee when we're there."

Then he was past, riding on toward Sangelior. Leodippos hesitated, stunned, then snorted and waved his men after the hunting party. He rode behind, his brow furrowed. He'd seen something on Lord Chrethon's face—something that filled his belly with ice. For the first time Leodippos could recall, the lord of the Skorenoi was worried.

"I have never believed the legends," Chrethon finished, his gaze fast on Grimbough's mossy trunk. "Yet, if what Hurach says is true, they have located the axe and are sending a band of humans to retrieve it."

"They mean to chop me down," Grimbough rumbled.

… down, whispered the dark leaves overhead.

Chrethon lowered his gaze. "Aye."

The daemon tree stirred, its massive limbs creaking and groaning. "Could this Soulsplitter do me harm?"

… harm?

"I don't know," Chrethon replied, swallowing. "I've only heard tales. But there is a danger, aye."

"Then stop them!" Grimbough thundered. "The centaurs must not be allowed to regain this wood. I am too close to claiming it to fail."

…fail…

"It shall be done," Chrethon swore, bowing.

The daemon tree's branches straightened. It fell still, leaves rattling in the wind.

Thenidor, standing with Leodippos behind Chrethon, stepped forward and bowed. "Let me go, lord. The humans escaped me before; it won't happen again."

Chrethon didn't answer. He stared into the night, stroking his hairless, bony chin.

"Lord," Thenidor ventured again.

"I heard thee the first time."

Chrethon pondered a moment longer, then nodded. He strode past the others, motioning for them to follow. "Come," he said. "We'll discuss this further."

Thenidor exchanged glances with Leodippos, who shrugged. They followed Chrethon away from the daemon tree, and soon they stood before the seething thicket that held the Forestmaster. Chrethon stepped forward, reaching toward the brambles to clear them away from the unicorn's head. He stroked her muzzle, and she shuddered, her eyes rolling.

"Menelachos and his lot can't be allowed to use the axe as they hope to," he said. "But we shouldn't stop the humans from retrieving it."

"What?" Leodippos exclaimed. He glanced over his shoulder, toward the daemon tree. "But Grimbough said—"

"I know what Grimbough said," Chrethon interrupted. He blew out his lips impatiently. "I have my own reason for wanting the axe, though. A very good reason."

Leodippos stared at the Forestmaster, eyes wide. "Of course," he breathed.

Chrethon nodded. "We'll let the humans retrieve Peldarin's axe," he said. "But we'll take it from them before they can use it. We'll bring it here, and then, finally… ." He trailed off, caressing the unicorn's silvery horn.

Thenidor grinned cruelly. "How will we do it?"

"Later," Chrethon replied. "Go back to Sangelior. We'll discuss this more when I'm done here."

Thenidor and Leodippos bowed and withdrew, leaving him alone with the Forestmaster. He stood over her, his hand on her horn. A cruel smile twisted his lips.

"Ironic, isn't it, my lady?" he asked quietly. "All these years, I've sought vengeance against thee, and now the Circle itself shall give me the means." He chuckled. "Ah, but that's the future. For now, I'll take my pleasure from thee as I've always done."

He cleared more of the brambles away, baring her wasted flank. Then, leering hatefully, he pulled his cudgel from his harness and raised it above the helpless unicorn.

He didn't return to Sangelior for some time.