He could feel the ground trembling as the centaurs and the knights behind them launched their attack on Ossa and the army of the dead. I guess they were not affected by the shockwave. Burchard slid his knee under his chest and pushed himself up off the ground. Now that help had arrived, the army of the dead had also returned with seemingly renewed energy. Damos and Ossa were fighting off to the side, while the rest tried to push Ossa’s army away from the castle. He could see flashes of magic coming from the robed people when it dawned on him who it was. Sir Waldorf and Sir Emberwood said they had men who could help and access to Onaxx Mages.
Burchard was debating if he should slip back into the castle when another clash of dark and light power created a second shockwave. He heard a crack and twisted to look at the castle. Some of the stones were falling off the wall.
I must end this, or the castle is going to crumble. There are innocent people in there. His mind set, Burchard crawled on his hands and knees, creeping closer to Ossa and Damos. He knew it would be slow this way, but if he stood, he risked Ossa seeing him or being knocked down again if there was a third shockwave. Gritting his teeth, Burchard pressed onward, pausing as needed to ensure he wouldn’t be seen. During one of his stops, he inspected the arrowhead and was surprised to see it appeared to have been dipped in something. He raised it to his nose and sniffed, then began gagging. Desperate to keep his presence hidden, he curled into a ball, waiting for the feeling to pass. It must be some sort of poison—a guarantee that Ossa will die. Just the weapon I need. He ripped a piece of his shirt off and carefully wrapped the arrowhead in it to protect himself from the poison, hoping that would be enough.
He finally could see Ossa and Damos. The centaur had several nasty-looking slices across his chest and flanks. He was limping slightly too. Ossa’s head was slick with black blood, and pieces of his armor were missing completely, revealing that his arms underneath also sported the skull tattoos.
There was a rock outcropping not too far off, and Burchard angled himself toward it. When he reached the rocks, he stood up. Ossa’s back was to him, and he hoped that Damos would spot him and understand what he intended. Burchard fingered the broken shaft connected to the arrowhead. He knew his plan would likely result in his death, and he was OK with that. If he could get close enough, he was certain it would kill Ossa.
Burchard hunkered back down so he was hidden by the rocks but could still see. He winced in sympathy as Ossa’s blade sliced deeply into Damos’s front left leg. The centaur stumbled but used his momentum to drive Ossa back toward the rocks. Ossa took the opportunity to slice at Damos’s other leg, bringing the centaur crashing to his knees as his front legs gave out completely. Damos caught Burchard’s eye and gave the slightest nod.
Burchard lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Ossa. Ossa struggled and Burchard almost dropped the arrowhead. Damos let out a small blast of power, momentarily stunning Ossa. That was all Burchard needed. He drove the arrowhead deep into Ossa’s exposed left arm and then let go, throwing himself backward.
Ossa spun and looked at him in disbelief before he burst into a poof of black dust. Burchard threw out his arms just in time to keep himself from slamming into the rocks. Panting heavily, he stared at the spot Ossa had been moments before. He hadn’t expected the poison to work that fast. His gaze then slid to Damos. The centaur had slumped to his side; his eyes were closed, and Burchard could see blood still leaking out of his wounds.
Cautiously, Burchard stepped forward. “Damos?” he said softly.
The centaur’s eyes opened a slit. “I’m not dead.”
“You could have fooled me,” Burchard muttered, earning a chuckle followed by a groan of pain from Damos.
“I will heal,” Damos said.
Burchard kneeled beside the centaur and watched as the bleeding seemed to slow a bit. “Do you need my help?”
“Only if something else comes our way. I don’t think I can even use my magic right now,” Damos confessed.
“Are you worried that more will come after us?” Burchard said, peering out beyond where they were. He couldn’t see much. Clumps of fog blocked most of his view. He also couldn’t hear the sounds of battle.
“Umbra will come,” Damos said confidently.
“Today?” Burchard asked.
Damos coughed, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I saw Liala. I didn’t realize she could get huge,” Burchard said, awe lacing his voice.
Damos’s eyes slid shut, and Burchard wondered if the centaur was going to go to sleep. “Some druids who shapeshift can also change the size of their animal form.”
When it was clear that Damos was done speaking for now, Burchard looked down at himself. His body felt battered, and he could sense the exhaustion creeping up on him. A clip- clop of hooves had him standing defensively in front of Damos, sword raised.
A pair of centaurs appeared. A male with short-cropped bright blue hair and olive skin had horse fur that was a mix of blues and browns. The female had black hair that was in tiny braids—some were vibrant purple instead of black—and dark-brown skin. Burchard’s eyes traveled down her face to her torso and he found himself blushing. Across her chest was the strap of the baldric holding a pair of axes across her back. Other than the baldric her chest was bare, leaving her breasts quite visible. Burchard gulped audibly and forced his eyes to go back to her face. A twitch of her lips was all the indicator he had that she had noticed.
“We need to get Damos into the castle,” announced the female centaur.
“Who are you?” Burchard said. He knew that they had to be part of Damos’s group, but he didn’t want to just turn Damos over to anyone.
“I’m Thaleis, Damos’s second-in-command, and this is Charos,” the female centaur said.
Burchard was surprised that Damos’s second-in-command was female. He knew that not all cultures shared Etria’s aversion to women leading, but this was the first time he’d met a female leader in the flesh rather than just reading about one in a book.
“How do you plan to move him? I don’t think he can walk.”
Thaleis chuckled. “You didn’t think that Damos is the only one in our group who has magic, did you?”
Burchard shrugged. He honestly hadn’t spent much time considering what skills the centaurs might have, only that they had joined the fight. As he stood there, both Thaleis and Charos made small motions with their hands. Ropes of whiteish light—magic, his mind supplied—swirled around their hands, then wrapped around Damos. When Damos was covered in the white magic ropes, he rose into the air till he was about knee-height off the ground.
High enough to not hit anything lying on the ground, Burchard mused.
“Get on,” Thaleis said in a tone that was almost an order. Burchard just gave her a blank look. “Climb on my back.” She shifted closer to him.
Burchard took a hesitant step forward. “You want me to ride you?”
Thaleis nodded. “Yes, we can move much faster than if you walk. I don’t want to give Umbra a chance to get her hands on Damos…or you.”
Burchard wrapped his arm around her torso and swung himself awkwardly onto her back. It felt like being on a horse, but not quite. Then, Thaleis began moving, and he almost fell off. A tendril of white magic wrapped around him. Burchard blushed in embarrassment that the centaur felt she needed to use magic to keep him on. Then they leapt into a gallop, and he was grateful for the magic. Thaleis and Charos galloped side by side with Damos hovering in the air between them. They galloped right through the opening where the gate had been cleared and into the courtyard before coming to an abrupt halt.
Ruschmann, leading the castle staff—or what was left of them—ran forward, weapons raised. He must have recognized Damos or seen Burchard because he halted and shouted orders for weapons to be lowered. “You’re alive!”
Burchard hopped off Thaleis’s back, and Ruschmann pulled him into a hug.
“I am not sure how, but yes, I am alive. Did Armand make it back?” Burchard said into Ruschmann’s ear. He didn’t want to let go of his friend, worried if he did so that he’d wake up and be back with Ossa again.
Ruschmann took a step back, letting his arms drop. “Yes, Armand made it back, and we got him patched up.”
“Who else was wounded?” Burchard asked.
Ruschmann shook his head. “Let me show you.” Ruschmann turned to lead the way to wherever the wounded were being kept when a battle horn sounded.
