Blood of Centaurs: Book 12 of The Witch Fairy Series (7 page)

If I was expecting a fancy soiree, I would have been sorely disappointed.  Good thing I wasn’t.  Apparently, Centaurs attend parties for the ale, not tiny little appetizers or flutes of champagne.  Nope, they like huge steins filled to the brim of the caramel colored stuff.  The large room attached to the tiered marble room is also free of tables.  I suppose the fact that their hind ends stick out several feet behind them is a good reason not to have many breakables about.  To them, a table would be a breakable item.  When my butt is that big in my Pegasus form, I knock into all kinds of things.  I try not to change anywhere near the house for this reason.

An interesting thing about the Centaurs is that their skin is
very close to the same color as their flanks.  If the horse part is blonde, the Centaur has light skin.  Centaurs with chestnut brown flanks have chestnut colored skins.  Fortunately for the speckled ones, their skin picks only one color.  They don’t have huge patches of color over their torsos and faces.

Even though the party has just begun, several of the Centaurs are already drunk
and boisterous.  The Sasquatch are a bit more reserved.  They are sitting in chairs they have clumped together along one wall and staring with pale, eerie eyes at their enemies. They are really creepy.

Kallen and I don’t drink, so we politely decline when a Faun expertly weaves his way through the Centaurs to offer us steins of ale.  Dagda and Garren partake, though.  Once they have their steins, the Faun scurries off to see if any of the Centaurs have run dry.

“Are we supposed to mingle?” I ask, staring at the Centaurs who are not even trying to be careful around the Fauns.  One of the little guys is swatted in the face with a tail and drops his tray.  Fortunately, the steins on it are empty.  The poor thing must dodge between legs taller than he is to pick them up.  I feel Kallen draw magic and suddenly the steins are all back on the Faun’s tray.  I smile up at him.

“As the night goes on,” Dagda says, “the festivities will become even more unruly.  I believe it best to let whoever wishes to speak to us come
here instead of the other way around.”  Sounds like good advice to me.

As if he heard Dagda, Pholos approaches.  “Good evening,” he says gruffly.  The ale has made his voice deeper.  “I hope your accommodations are comfortable.”  They will be once Kallen does his magic in the barn.

“Indeed they are,” Dagda tells him.  Damn it, why did he lie?  Now I have to act like I don’t have ants crawling on me.

“The Sasquatch paid you a visit,” Pholos remarks, trying to appear casual. 

Dagda is giving nothing away for the time being.  “They did.  As we were preparing for the reception, we asked them to postpone our meeting until morning.”  Technically, Kallen shoved them out of the barn and closed the door in their faces.  Semantics.

Pholos grins.  “Excellent.” 

Brows knitted, I ask, “Why is that excellent?”  Kallen pretends to cough into his hand to cover his chuckle.

Pholos tries not to glare at me.  Maybe if he was sober it would work.  “It is excellent you chose to partake in this evening’s festivities rather than talk politics long into the night.”  The ants on my arms and legs have morphed into spiders.

Noticing my growing discomfort, Kallen asks, “Are there refreshments of the non-alcoholic variety?”

Pholos looks at him like he’s nuts.  “There is a well behind the building.” 

Did he really just suggest we go outside to the well if we want something other than ale to drink?  Bastard.  Good news?  It seems anger trumps the creepy-crawlies.  I don’t feel like bugs are crawling on me anymore.

As if he read my mind, a Faun appears and says, “No, no, you stay where you are.  I will have water brought to you momentarily.”  He snaps his fingers and another Faun appears.  This Faun is sent to the well to fill
steins with water for us.

Pholos laughs
at the Faun.  “Our guests did not believe I was telling them to go to the well.”  Yes, we did.  Pounding Garren on the back, Pholos says, “Come, tell me about the Dragons.  What are they up to nowadays?”

Garren is in heaven.  He begins to regale the Centaur with tales from the Dragon realm.  He and Pholos are deep in conversation and don’t notice the rest of us ease away from them.  We’ve heard these stories before.  Once is enough.

Unfortunately, moving away from Garren and Pholos brings us closer to the Sasquatch.  Taking this as an invitation, several of them rise from their chairs and approach us.  I mentally prepare for the creepy-crawly feeling to return to my skin.

The way the middle Sasquatch is flanked by several others, I know he, or she, is someone important.  “King Dagda,
” the Sasquatch says.  “How nice to see you again so soon.”  Ants.  “I am excited to have you here to help us journey down the road to peace.”  Spiders. 

“It is our pleasure,” Dagda replies.  Giant spiders.  Most likely tarantulas.

“Of course,” the Sasquatch says.  I think he’s the King, but since they all look so much alike, I can’t be certain.  “The day we sign a peace treaty will be the greatest day in our history.”  Giant.  Freaking. Millipedes.  With at least a thousand legs apiece.

Trying to surreptitiously brush at my arms
and legs, I say quietly to Kallen, “Let’s mingle.”  Meaning, let’s find a spot to stand where no one is likely to talk to us.

He nods and holds his arm out to me.  To the others, he says, “Uncle, King Yerwen, please excuse us.” 
I’m impressed he knows who the Sasquatch is by sight.  I slip my itchy arm in his and we walk away.  The farther we get, the more the creepy-crawly feeling eases.

“We should stay out of earshot of everyone,” I say dismally.  “I don’t want to spend the evening wishing I had a vat of calamine lotion.”  Kallen tries hard not to chuckle.  I love him for trying even if he d
oes fail.

Safely tucked away in a dark corner of the room, Kallen says quietly
in my ear, “You do know Dagda is going to want you to touch as many of the Centaurs and Sasquatch as possible to determine who wants peace and who doesn’t.”

Scowling, I say, “Yes, I know that.”  I shake my head
at the idea, though.  “I don’t think it works like that.  Not everyone here has a deep, dark secret about the war.  It could be one covets another’s wife or one of the Sasquatch is in love with a Centaur or something like that.”

Kallen nods thoughtfully.  “Good point.”

“So, I’ll probably end up knowing so many personal details about them, I won’t be able to look at any of them without blushing,” I continue.  “And, even if they do have a secret opinion about the war, that doesn’t mean they intend to act on it.”

“But you are certain the Supreme Commander plans to act?” Kallen asks.

I shrug.  “I can’t say for certain.  Maybe she simply wishes she could.  Or, maybe she’s planning on it but will back down at the last minute.  I don’t know.”

Kallen goes completely still.  Half a second later, I hear it, too.  A whistle.  It barely registers in my mind because it’s not meant for Fairies to hear.  It’s like a dog whistle, to
o high of a frequency for most ears to hear it.  But the Centaurs and Sasquatch are able to hear it clearly.  Steins are dropped to the floor as ears are covered, uselessly trying to muffle the sound which is growing louder.  A Faun collapses several feet away from us and I can see the blood flowing from his ears.  It’s like the sound is bursting blood vessels in his head.  A panicked Centaur comes just inches from trampling him.  Kallen uses magic to pull the Faun out of danger.

I take on the whistle.  I can’t determine if it’s coming from inside the building or outside.  One way to find out.  I create a circle
of magic.  A huge circle that encompasses the entire perimeter of the building.  The whistle doesn’t stop.  Meaning it’s coming from somewhere inside the building.

I pull the edges of my circle closer until it only covers this room.  Thankfully,
this stops the whistle.  Turning to Kallen, I say, “Whoever did this is in the building.”

He nods.  “Can you let me out of the circle without it coming down?” he asks. 

I don’t know.  I haven’t tried something like that before.  I can walk through circle walls without bringing them down, but I’m told this is unique to me.  Maybe I could form a pocket.  That could work.  “Go to the edge of the circle.  I’m going to peel away a layer of magic and wrap it around you, enclosing you in a pouch.  When it’s sealed to the circle on the other side of you, I’ll open the other side so you can get out.

Despite the dire circumstances, Kallen grins at me with pride.  “You are amazing, my love.”

Blushing, I shoo him on.  “Go, before whoever it is gets away.  I’ll stay here and make sure nothing else happens.”

Nodding, he heads to the edge of my circle.  I
wrap him in a pouch of magic made from the walls of my circle, making certain the integrity of the wall stays intact.  Satisfied, I pull the wall in front of him apart while maintaining the area behind him as part of the circle.  My circle isn’t exactly round now, but I doubt anyone will grade me on its lack of perfection.

Dagda and Garren ar
e rushing toward me, weaving in between Centaur, Faun and Sasquatch alike who have fallen to the floor.  When he reaches me, Dagda puts his hands on my shoulders.  “Are you alright?  Where did Kallen go?”

“He went after the whistleblower,” I tell him.  I gently
pry his fingers off my shoulders.  Pretty sure I’ll have bruises where his worried fingertips dug into my skin.

“I’ll go with him,” Dagda says.

I shake my head.  “No, you can’t.  Whoever did this has no problem killing Kings and I’m not ready to be Queen.”  Garren opens his mouth to suggest he go with Kallen, but again, I shake my head.  “Kallen’s got this.  If the person blowing the whistle is still in the building, he’ll get him.  What we need to do is assess the damage done.  We need to triage everyone who was hurt.  I’ll start healing the worst off first.  Call me if you come across someone you feel needs immediate attention.”

Both men want to argue with me, but they don’t really have a choice.  All three of us know they can’t break through my circle.  Resigning themselves to this fact, they nod in agreement.  The three of us fan out through the crowd, seeking those who need immediate help.

I find Pholos on bended knee next to his father who is lying on his side on the floor.  There are tears in the younger man’s eyes as he holds the old man’s head to his chest.  Tentatively, I ask, “Is he still alive?”

Pholos looks up but I’m not certain he sees me through the tears in his eyes.  “Barely.  It will only be a matter of minutes before he is gone.”

Grief affects everyone differently.  Because of this, I’m going to pretend I didn’t notice the lack of grief in Pholos’ voice as he spoke of his father dying.  Nor the slightly hopeful undertone.  I’m beginning to believe those are crocodile tears in his eyes.  Pretty impressive he can fake tears on command like that.

Pulling myself out of my musing, I remember what I’m supposed to be doing.  I kneel down beside the Centaur King and place one hand on his withers and the other on his chest.  I can barely feel his heart beating
.  Most of his injuries seem to be in his head, though.  I believe I was right about the sound bursting blood vessels the brains of everyone but Fairies.  Pulling magic, I send it coursing through the Centaur repairing blood vessels and reversing the damage done.  The older and frailer in the group have taken the brunt of injury.

Bayard’s body bucks under the
onslaught of magic.  Pholos, not understanding what is happening, grabs my wrist and growls, “What are you doing to him?  Are you trying to hurry his death along?”

As soon as his hand touches my skin, I am in a black tunnel again.  Like the Sasquatch Supreme Commander, the walls of this tunnel are rigid. 
There is certainty here.  What I see at the end is nothing more than I expected.  Pholos wants his father to hurry up and die so he can be King.  He has been plotting Bayard’s death for some time.  He simply hadn’t chosen which method to use yet.  The fact that his work has been done for him is a great relief.

Well, sucks for him then.  I have no intention of letting Bayard die.  Using a tone as harsh as Pholos used, I growl, “I am saving his life whether you like it or not. 
If you don’t take your hand off me, I am going to use magic to break every single bone in it.”

It only takes Pholos an instant to determine I am telling the truth.  He snatches his still intact hand back.  With a last attempt to sway me, he says, “He is too far gone.”

I glare at him and shake my head.  My magic has already healed most of the damage inside Bayard.  “Lucky for the
King
,” I say, “my magic is stronger than his injuries.”

Pholos’ face turns to stone.  His father’s head is still cradled against his chest, but the fake tears are gone.  Something akin to hatred passes through
his eyes when Bayard begins to stir.

“Xandra!” Dagda calls to me.  I glance over to where he is kneeling next to a Sasquatch with bloody, matted hair near his or her ear.

Making certain Bayard is okay, I leave him to his traitorous son and cross the room to help the Sasquatch.  I do this several times.  It’s not until I’m finished healing everyone in need that I realize the only secret I saw was Pholos’.  It must be that my healing magic keeps me from experiencing the dark tunnel and secrets of those I am helping.  Pholos grabbed my arm while I was healing his father which made me see his secret.  I sigh in relief.  At least I can continue to heal people in peace.  And maybe this is a sign that I will be able to control this new ‘gift’ in the future.  Probably around the same time I finally learn to control the rest of my magic.  Damn.  I’m going to be seeing a lot of secrets.