After stacking the woven baskets and storing the leftover food in their grass containers, Baldasarre thought about where to send us.
"The Men of the West are an option," he suggested, stroking his beard. "Darius does not openly support Naga..."
"Preposterous!" hissed Farissa. "The Men of the West are untrustworthy and filthy bastards! Do you remember when..."
Baldasarre hushed her. "Our guests are not centaurs. I'm sure they will have no trouble..."
"But King Darius's loyalty to the rebels is shaky. He could betray us at any time. We could just be delivering them to Naga in a wrapped package," said Conan.
Many "ayes" went around.
"What if they discover our hiding places? The other tribes are already willing to betray us to Naga. We cannot stay like this for long. Sending them to Daria is a mistake!"
"Then sending them will solidify his loyalties," said Baldasarre. "Our little guests are living proof that the prophecy is in action! He will see fit to help the cause. That is final."
A murmur of agreement circled the camp, along with many head nods and smiles. And so we made our way toward the center of the Sierra: to King Darius's castle.
Baldasarre chose Farissa, Pillan, Conan and Farissa's brother Marshall, to accompany us to Daria. Pillan grumbled every second of the way, even though he didn't need to carry anyone.
But as soon as the camp disappeared from view, Farissa glared at him with her bow and an arrow ready whenever so much as a peep came from his mouth.
"I've had enough of your barbarous rudeness for today, Pillan," seethed Farissa. "It embarrasses me that our young guests have to see a side of the centaurs that would normally shame any other tribe."
"In any other tribe, they would not dare carry Two-leg scum on their backs," retorted Pillan, circling back to the morning's argument.
"In any other tribe, they would be dead," said Marshall, silencing them both. He turned to me, on Farissa's back. "I hope you do not think us argumentative," he said, smiling. I shook my head.
"Just very firm," I replied. He roared with laughter. Jared squinted, pointing to the horizon.
"What's that?"
Conan's head whipped towards the front. A swiftly moving dark blob was growing bigger, approaching us. At least a dozen figures ran on the grass.
Farissa cursed. "Ogres!" she spat, readying her bow. She patiently waited until the ogres came within range, and then fired ten arrows, watching them strike their targets.
The ogres didn't even stumble, just kept lumbering on, each on hefting two long jagged spears. Marshall drew his bow also, as well as Conan. Pillan lazily dragged an arrow out of his quiver and fitted it to his bow.
Looking like porcupines now, I could clearly see the ogres' expressions. Long thick fangs dripped saliva, and a thick lower lip drooped down. Tiny eyes weighed down by bushy eyebrows stared at us with a fiery countenance. Each one wore a long loincloth and thick, heavy boots.
Then one stopped to throw his spear. It flew right past Farissa's head. Hissing, she gathered her bearings and fired three arrows right after each other straight into the ogre's scabby head.
He fell to his knees. Those shots seemed to spark a fire in his companions, because they roared and immediately began to run towards us again, twice as fast as before.
That was our signal to flee. I started to pull my sword out of its sheath, but Farissa heard the sound and shook her head as she ran.
"No, don't. Their hide is thick as well as their bones. The best thing we can do is trick them. There is a gorge up ahead. A thin bridge runs across it. If we cross quickly enough we can cut the ropes and hopefully the ogres will fall to their deaths." She nodded after I approved and told the others of her plan.
Pillan shook his head, wagging his pointed beard.
"No, Farissa. There are too many, too fast. We would just as soon fall with them, or worse, half of the beasts would escape and kill us all like sheep for the slaughter."
Marshall whickered. "It's our only chance," he said. "We have no other plan." Fallie snorted and skidded at the edge of the gorge: a pebble fell down to the very bottom, bouncing off precipices and cliffs the whole way.
Then she galloped across the narrow bridge. Conan followed soon after, but Jared had to dismount. Riding was too risky.
The ogres growled at the brink, spitting and fighting. Finally, one took a wobbly step on the bridge. By this time we had crossed have of the teetering thing, ropes and all.
I tripped on a loose board and caught the dizzying sight of the gorge's bottom. Trembling, I took Jared's hand and tried not to puke.
I hated heights. Fallie skittered over the end of the bridge. Pillan followed, then Farissa, me, Jared, Conan, Marshall. The ogres inched closer and closer, roaring when they saw us at the other side. The din grew louder when I drew my sword and started to hack at the ropes. One threw a spear: I heard a sickly sound and turned to see Conan on the ground, a gash in his flank. The spear had just skimmed him.
"Keep cutting!" he gasped, trying to stand. "Cut the bridge!" Jared tried to saw the other side with a dirk, fingers flying. I cut and cut, seeing my blade sever each individual fiber at an agonizing pace.
The ogres loomed twenty feet away. I cut harder and Helen, taking Jared's other dirk, tried to help me.
Fifteen feet. Sweat smeared on my fingers until the sword nearly slipped from my grasp. My breath came in ragged jumps.
Ten feet. Now I raced to finish. A cut welled up blood on my forefinger. I viciously hacked at the stubborn rope. Then the fibers separating, making the bridge totter dangerously.
Five feet. Helen and I raced to help Jared. I raised my sword high above my head--
Two feet. --And threw my sword into the rope, severing it. The ogres howled and clambered for a grasp on firm ground, but the bridge slipped under them and thundered down the chasm.
Jared yelled as an ogre, in a last attempt for life, nabbed his ankle. The two now tumbled towards the ground.
"Jared!" Helen and I both screamed at the same time. Jared's black cloak billowed as he stuffed it in his mouth, spread his arms out, and--
Flew. Jared's feathers slid out, widening to catch the breeze. Aloft, he slowly regained altitude and fluttered to the cliff's edge to stand beside me.
"You idiot, Jared," I said, encasing him in a hug. He laughed.
Helen smiled. "Well, that was pretty good practice."
Jared nodded. "Good to get the chinks out...Helen, isn't this the gorge where...you know?" She nodded, wiping her eyes, from Jared's near encounter with death or the sad memory still lodged in her mind.
"It's time we move on," said Marshall. Conan stood, patting the place where the spear had scraped him, where Farissa had bound it with a strip of spare cloth.
"Yes," he agreed. "Let's go."