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The young man frowned.
“We aren’t certain, since none of us have ventured into the mountains and returned in one piece to boast about it. But at the very least they carry our womenfolk off on their backs. We never see them again.”
“Legend has it that the centaurs rut upon our women to produce their spawn,” the older man continued.
“Those that look like them they keep. Those that are only beasts they release into the wild. You might have encountered the herds that roam the southern and eastern coasts. Some of those horses are said to be descended from the centaurs.”
Ere gazed upon the two men in rapt attention, enthralled by their story.
“You don’t know for certain?”
The young man shook his head.
“We only know that the centaurs are real. If you stay here long enough to witness the Rite, you’ll see them for yourself.”
“There won’t be a sacrifice this year,” a new voice entered their group.
It was the soldier. He’d waded close enough to listen to their talk and be heard, though he kept a polite distance away, leaning against the far edge of the pool.
Likely Sorin’s hard stare had something to do with his reticence.
The older man frowned.
“Blasphemy. The last time we refused the sacrifice, remember what happened?”
“Aye,” the soldier grunted. “I was a boy then. But I recall perfectly.”
“It was a bloodbath,” the older man rasped as a fearful shiver shook through his frame.
“The centaurs killed half of the men in this city. They only spared the rest when the Archons submitted and vowed never to attempt such rebellion again.”
“This time will be different,” the soldier stated stalwartly. “We have horses of our own now. Armor and weapons. We’ve been training for this battle for decades. I will not stand by to watch those monsters carry off another of our own. Not when there is breath left in this body.”
“Just how long has this Rite thing been going on?” Ere interjected.
“Ages and ages,” the older man replied.
“It has always been this way. But the storytellers talk of the first king of Thessaly, Pirithous of the Lapiths, who made their home in the Peneus Valley and on the Pelion mountains. The monstrous centaurs were somehow invited to the wedding between the king and the maiden Hippodameia, whereupon they got drunk on wine and tried to abduct and rape the women.”
“That’s not the story I heard,” the young man interjected. “There is a version of the tale where King Pirithous committed a crime against the centaurs first. He stole the Horn of Plenty from the centaur ruler Eurytion.”
“The Horn, you say?”
Now, Ere wasreallypaying attention.
The lad nodded.
“The centaurs and Lapiths both descended from the god Apollo and the river nymph Stilbe. Our Lapiths ancestors were bequeathed with rich, fertile lands to farm and cultivate, while the centaurs were gifted with the Horn to help them survive the sometimes harsh climate of the mountains. For many years, in the beginning, there was peace. But then, there was one generation where a severe drought, followed by endless floods and rain, destroyed all of our crops. The leader of the Lapiths stole the Horn to feed his people, and the leader of the centaurs retaliated by stealing the women.”
“Bullshit,” the soldier spat. “It was the centaurs who started the war unprovoked. The Horn is a myth.”
“Humor me for a moment,” Ere insisted, latching on to this small lead.
“Ifthe Horn exists, where is it now?”
“The leader of the centaurs has it,” the boy answered quickly. “That’s why we have the Rite every four years. To exchange the women for the blessing of a bountiful harvest from the Horn.”
“We have the Rite because we cannot withstand the carnage that would ensue otherwise,” the older man said.
