The Centaur’s rough fingernails dug into Jenny’s scalp as he dragged her across the rough stones inside the hollowed-out chamber within the volcano. Her shoes dragged and scraped, trying to find purchase on the uneven surface, but even if she could get to her feet, it wasn’t like she could fight the Centaur.
Not without a cast iron skillet.
Or apparently a clay-roasted chicken. Those were surprisingly effective. She’d need to be sure the Josharon Minister of Defense was aware of the potential military application of steamed poultry.
Tears welled in her eyes as the Centaur wrenched her sideways. Still by the hair.
He was not a nice person.
What had they done with Barb? She’d caused quite a fuss in the main chamber where they’d arrived. Not that Jenny blamed her. She would have caused a fuss if she’d been dropped into a nest of newborn baby dragons.
Speaking of which, what?
How did the Centaurs get dragons? They hadn’t had dragons before, had they? And why did Centaur dragons have to look so scary? In all the books Jenny had read, dragons were kind, wise creatures more interested in shiny things than eating people. Sure, they could eat people if they had to, but that just didn’t sound appealing. People had too many bones to be easy to chew.
Poor dragons. Forced into eating people when all they wanted to do was lounge in a shiny mountain.
But not Centaur dragons. No, Centaur dragons seemed to only be interested in eating people. And drooling. And shrieking. And being generally awful, which probably made sense considering that they were in fact Centaur dragons. Because the nicest Centaur Jenny had ever met was T’pau, and he was only nice because he couldn’t aim to save his life.
So, maybe he wasn’t nice intentionally. He was still nicer than the other Centaurs, even if it was an accident.
Jenny squeaked as the Centaur trying to yank her hair out flung her to the floor. The hard stones bruised her knees through the layers of her skirts, and she righted herself only for the Centaur behind her to shove her down again.
Seriously. He was not a nice person.
First with the hair pulling and now with the shoving?
She didn’t know his name, but she decided then and there to call him Zarabe, after the Harna matron who had taught her sums in primary school. Zarabe had fingers like clothespins and loved to use them as incentives to focus on the numbers that swam in front of Jenny’s eyes like minnows. Zarabe the Pincher didn’t last long after Jenny confided in Meg about her discipline, but the memory of her nasal voice demanding complete attention had left its mark.
And Jenny could think of no greater insult than to name a Centaur warrior after the feeble old Josharon female.
Zarabe Grumpy-Face.
That was appropriate.
Jenny rose to her hands and knees and lifted her eyes. Across from her, four burnished black hooves shuffled restlessly on the warm stones of the floor. Carefully, she raised her head.
The large chamber stretched out around her, wide and tall, lined with burning torches and full of Centaurs all muttering in their rough, guttural language. Before her stood the tallest Centaur among them.
And he was—clean?
Most Centaurs she had ever seen never left their mountain without a healthy coating of dirt. And ash. And—probably other things too. Jenny usually didn’t think about it much. But seeing a clean Centaur—well, that was odd.
Most Centaurs usually carried the sour aroma of bad milk around with them, along with a general atmosphere very similar to her brother after they had beans for dinner.
Yeah. Not a good smell.
This Centaur was something different. His chest armor was molded, forged and shaped with tiny little mallets that left coin-sized scales across its shining surface. Most Centaur armor was thick and ungainly, easy to pierce or shatter.
Jenny glanced over her shoulder at Zarabe Grumpy-Face. His armored chest plate was the same. Now that she was thinking about it, all the other Centaurs she’d seen in Chandan Village had similar armor.
When did that happen? Did they get a blacksmith? She scowled. Probably at the same time they got dragons.
The Centaur at the head of the chamber made a sharp gesture and quietly spoke in the harsh tongue of his people. The Centaur language always sounded angry, spat from the back of their throats and ground between barred teeth.
Not that she’d ever seen a happy Centaur. Maybe when they were happy they sang instead of shouted. The whole world would be a much nicer place if everyone sang more.
Zarabe Grumpy-Face seized her hair again and pulled her to her feet. Jenny fought the urge to whine as her scalp protested at the harsh jerk.
Clop, clop, clop. The clean Centaur approached her. She could see him through the tears in her squinty eyes. Once he was close enough that she could clearly see his face, Jenny fell silent.
Horns. He had horns.
Centaurs didn’t have horns. Yet, he did. Broad, curving horns crowned the side of his head, sprouting from a thick mane of black hair. And his face, though wide and dark and grizzled like other Centaurs, had more clearly defined cheekbones and was shaved—and calm.
Maybe that was the biggest difference. He wasn’t snarling. Or spitting. Or wrinkling his lips to showcase crooked yellow teeth. He just—stared.
His eyes—cold, calculating, intelligent. Jenny had seen eyes like that before.
Cassidy. The horrible man who had kidnapped her and Mickey in San Francisco. He’d had eyes like that, so black and deep with cruelty that there seemed to be no bottom to them.
The Centaur lifted an arm, bulging with muscles broader than her neck, and snapped his fingers. One of the Centaurs standing around them handed him the hilt of Meg’s energy saber, and he held it up for her to see.
“Looking for this?” He arched a black eyebrow as he tilted the hilt back and forth. “Your Celtican weapon of great power?”
His voice was warm. Almost—amused? It was the tone many of the Josharon elders often took with Meg when she lost her temper about something they thought was petty.
Jenny swallowed and forced a smile. “It didn’t do much good.”
He lowered the hilt. “I disagree. It is you who are lacking, kusuka.”
Jenny raised her chin a bit further and held his ferocious gaze. “It’s not actually mine. It’s my sister’s. And she’ll want it back, though she’ll probably want me back more. So if I were you, I’d think about letting me go befo—ouch!”
Zarabe Grumpy-Face wrenched her hair viciously. She reached behind and swatted the beefy hand tangled in her hair.
“I’m going to go bald if you keep that up!”
“Where is the Light, human?” Clean Centaur asked, his tone still warm.
Jenny tried to twist away from Zarabe Grumpy-Face without much success. “What light?”
Clean Centaur’s expression didn’t change. “The Light. The Light.”
Jenny paused and wrinkled her lip. “In the—sky?”
Clean Centaur’s right eye twitched.
“Like the sun?” Jenny raised her eyebrows. “Or the moon? Because they’re in the sky.”
She’d thought he looked intelligent. She’d been wrong before.
“Perhaps your dark-blood mother would call it kirana?” He turned his head. “We call it Nafsi, bold kusuka.”
Jenny shrugged. “I’d love to help you out, but you’re just saying words right now. And I don’t know what they mean.”
A bit of color had begun climbing in Clean Centaur’s face.
“You try my patience, human.”
Jenny scowled. “Is that supposed to be an insult? Because it’s not.”
Clean Centaur’s features darkened.
“Now,” Jenny glanced up at Grumpy-Face, “if you really wanted to offend me, you could call me boring. That would be the worst.”
Clean Centaur took a step back, his hooves clattering on the floor, as he called calmly into the crowd of smirking Centaurs that surrounded them. The foreign words spilled off his tongue as he gestured sharply with every syllable.
Jenny squirmed as Grumpy-Face yanked her hair again.
The crowd of Centaurs parted and a red-faced Centaur with a chain mail baldric strode into sight.
Great. T’pau.
T’pau, the accidentally-nicer-than-he-could-be Captain of the Outcasts, gazed at the Boss Centaur in wonder and bowed with one arm raised level with his brow.
“Great Lord Tiron,” he spoke in a reverent growl, “how may I serve you?”
Boss Centaur—the Great Lord Tiron apparently—lifted his head regally. “You are familiar with the humans under the Kucheza Angani, yes?”
“Yes, Great Lord.”
“Familiar enough that you know their ugly faces?”
“Yes, Great Lord.”
“Ugly faces?” Jenny squeaked indignantly. “You’re one to talk.”
Tiron pointed at her. “Is this kusuka, who you all have spoken so fearfully of?” He sneered. “If it is so, my estimations of your worth have been greatly diminished.”
T’pau pinned her with a beady-eyed stare, his wide face going slack, before he bowed to Tiron again. “No, my Lord. That is her sister. She is a nondo.”
Tiron sighed. “Well, that is a relief.” He turned to her and frowned thoughtfully. “How did kusuka’s nondo fall within our ranks when I instructed you to bring me kusuka herself?”
Jenny blinked at him.
Oh. He thought she was Meg. It made sense in a weird sort of way. Their hair was a similar color. They were a similar size, even though Meg was a bit taller. And at the moment she’d been spotted, Jenny had Meg’s saber.
She raised her hand and waved. “That’s probably my fault.”
Tiron glared at her, his wordless expression surprised, before he chuckled. He turned to the room and asked something in their language, and everyone in the chamber burst into low-pitched laughter.
Tiron’s face twisted into a dark smirk. “Bring the uzushi.”
A quiet hush fell across the room.
T’pau bowed again. “Great Lord Tiron, the wielder of the uzushi fell in battle when he unleashed its power.”
Tiron sauntered to the center of the room, his long tail swaying elegantly with his motion. “And?”
“You would call upon its power again? Knowing the cost?”
Tiron kept his gaze fixed on Jenny. “Not every warrior will perish from its use. Only those unworthy. Perhaps you would wield it, Captain. Or is there another here who would earn my regard?”
A broad-shouldered Centaur with thick armor muscled out of the corner of the room and stood opposite T’pau, bowing as he had.
“I am T’val, Great Lord Tiron.” He straightened and lifted his scarred face. “I would wield the uzushi and earn your regard.”
Tiron snapped his wrist in a motion that meant something to the room as gasps and whispers filled the air. Jenny twisted around and struggled against Grumpy-Face.
Tiron spoke, and finally the bulky Centaur released her. Jenny lost her balance and nearly fell as her captor let her go. She turned to face Tiron with a petulant look.
“I would tell you what you’re asking, but I don’t know.” She dropped her hands. “Velanna hasn’t said anything about a light or a nafsi or anything like what you’re talking about. I would tell you.”
Tiron smirked. “Would you?”
“Yeah. Because then you’d go try to get it, and she’d stab you in your ugly face.” Jenny smiled brightly. “Then we’d all be happy.”
Tiron laughed.
Actually laughed, his black eyes twinkling as he backed away and settled into a large throne at the far end of the room.
“Less nondo. More jeuri.” His expression glowered in the dim light of the chamber, and the room chuckled with him. “You are bolder than I assumed, little one.”
Jenny glanced behind her. Grumpy-Face was gone. In fact, all of the Centaurs in the room had pressed themselves in the corners of the chamber. Even T’pau had fled from sight. Only the bootlicker, T’val, remained, now holding a small velvet bag which he began to untie.
“I’m sure you have your reasons for being such a generally unpleasant person,” Jenny said, focusing solely on Tiron. “But whatever you want, you won’t get it. We’ve been fighting with your people for as long as I can remember, and you’ve never won. That isn’t going to change now.”
Tiron’s smile chilled her. “Such confidence, little jerui. I assure you, you are wrong.”
T’val opened the velvet bag, and he winced as the color in his arms and face began to fade, turning to gray. The torchlight in the chamber flickered, dying. The air turned icy. Jenny’s breath puffed out of her lips.
“I shall enjoy your screams, human.” Tiron set his big hands on the arms of his throne. “But first? Let us see what you fear.”
T’val roared. A wall of shadow surged out of his hands. Just like the one in Chandan Village.
Jenny stepped back, but too late the shadow spilled onto the stone floor, millions of black tendrils snaking through the darkness like sticky tentacles. Wrapping around her legs. Jerking her feet out from under her.
The back of her head struck the stones, and the dark void whirled around her.
She’d never been skinned alive.
But that’s what this felt like. As though she were a piece of fruit and someone had a knife peeling away her skin one strip at a time. Inch by inch, consuming her in a wave of nausea and agony so all-encompassing that she couldn’t scream loud enough to dull it. She felt the shrieks torn out of her, ripped from her throat, her back arching in the desperate scrabble to escape the pain, but nothing stopped it. The slow, burning torment of the knife’s edge pierced flesh and bone and turned her inside out until all she could do was writhe and spasm in the darkness, even her screams lost to the void.
She was made of pain. Gone were her limbs and her clothes and her hair. Gone were the things she thought mattered. All she knew was how much it hurt. And the darkness, deep and uncaring and everywhere.
Then it was over.
She gasped and rolled to her stomach, desperate for something solid to grab. Her voice hitched in her throat, tears dribbling down her chin like blood. Sobs bubbled out of her.
Was she alive? Her fingers were intact. Her legs were there. She could see again.
What was it?
She wasn’t bleeding, though the dull ache of hemorrhaging could have fooled her. Her eyes burned. She couldn’t catch her breath.
What was it!?
Tiron’s black hooves appeared in her blurry vision. She couldn’t lift her head. She couldn’t move at all. It took all her strength to keep breathing.
“Intriguing,” Tiron’s voice rumbled above her.
Jenny forced herself to draw slower breaths. Opened and closed her fists, a tangible reminder that she still had them. She could feel again—something other than pain.
What did they do to me?
The rough hand tangled in her hair again and pulled her to her knees. Grumpy-Face. Had to be.
Jenny breathed. In and out. In and out. Slow and steady.
Finally, she could look up at Tiron. The muscles in her neck allowed her to move. He stood over her, pointing and directing the others in the room. The torches had been lit again—if they’d even been extinguished.
T’val lay in a charred heap beside Tiron’s throne.
“Great Lord Tiron,” T’pau spoke from somewhere in the dark, “Njano has betrayed us.”
A rumble of agreement chorus.
“Njano said the uzushi would reveal the truth in the heart of its enemies.” T’pau stepped out of the darkness at the side, spreading his arms wide. “The uzushi showed us nothing of this useless nondo. The warrior must have lied!”
An angry cheer went up around the room, and Tiron raised his hand. “Quiet.” He narrowed his eyes.
Jenny gasped for breath and fought to stay upright. “What did you do?” She whispered. “What was that thing?”
Tiron stared at her in silence for much longer than he should have. Finally, he broke his gaze and looked at Grumpy-Face. “Bind her to the wall. Bring me the other human.”
The Centaur holding her gave a start. “Great Lord? But why? We have just put her in the—”
Tiron lunched forward wiht a sword he drew from his back and sliced the Centaur’s head clean off his shoulders. Jenny crumbled to her side as the Centaur’s head bounced and rolled away into the shadows.
Whoa. Bye-bye Zarabe Grumpy-Face.
No wonder everybody was obedient. One question and Tiron starts chopping off heads?
The room spun again, and Jenny rested her face against the stones. This was bad. This was really bad.
“Is there an outcast here that will do his lord’s will?”
With a muted roar of fear, the Centaurs in the chamber all rumbled forward. Jenny winced as a strange hand grabbed her hair and hauled her across the floor, chaining her to a post beneath a boulder that jutted out into the throne room. The chains chafed against the skin on her wrists and began cutting off the circulation immediately.
“Bring me the other human!” Tiron shouted.
Several of the Centaurs scurried away, and Tiron returned to his throne. He sank into the seat with another cold smirk, his gaze resting on her again.
Jenny swallowed and shrank into the flickering light cast by the torch over her head.
There had to be a way out. She just hadn’t seen it yet.
The other human had to be Barb, but once they dragged Barb into this, things would get worse. Barb knew less about what was going on than Jenny did, and she wasn’t as polite about it. Not that politeness seemed to have gotten her anywhere, but the last thing they needed was for Barb to actually make Tiron mad.
If the guy would kill his own people to make a point, who knew what he would do to them?
“I am not inclined to believe that Njano has deceived us,” Tiron said calmly to the room. “He came to me. He enlisted my skills. He brought me from the North into your midst. I have known many warlords like Njano in my days of commanding the High Chancellor’s armies, and Njano would not have gone to such trouble if he intended to turn against us.”
The room rumbled in agreement.
“We shall test the uzushi again, on the other human.” Tiron’s smirk grew cruel, twisted, dark. “The Shadow is a mirror for fear. It is less likely that Njano has deceived us and more likely that this the little nondo is simply not affected by it.”
T’pau scoffed. “Great lord, you mean to say she is fearless?”
“Hardly, Captain.” Tiron laughed. “This strange human child is ignorant.”