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“No, the original Ixion was a demigod, a son of Ares, the god of war. His issue from Nephele were centaurs. There are many of his progeny who are named Ixion in his honor. These centaurs are wilder, easy to rage, uncontrolled in their emotions. Over time, they migrated to these mountains, took control of the Pelion centaur stronghold. There are still the children of Centaurus within the herd, but they are not as aggressive and as ruthless as the children of Ixion.”
“How so?” It was the ever-silent Sorin who asked.
Andros addressed him in answer.
“For one, the centaurs of Ixion gathered herds of mares and bred with them, while the centaurs of Centaurus preferred their own company with the exception of mating for life. For Ixion centaurs, males challenged one another for the right to those mares. Only the strongest could breed them. The loser often sustained serious injuries and was forced to leave the herd at best, or incurred death at worst.”
“Brutal,” Ere murmured.
“It is the way of many wild horse herds. Survival of the fittest.”
“But you are more than animal,” Ere pointed out.
Andros flexed his jaw.
“You must understand. Even as men, we are untamed.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Divina shivered.
Was it from fear? He wished he could reassure her thathewould never hurt her.
“Second, Ixion centaurs would stomp to death any male child of rival centaurs,” he continued.
“Like you?” Divina whispered, indicating overtly, for the first time during the night, that she was paying close attention, even if she refused to look at him for longer than a few seconds.
“Yes,” he replied. “My mother told me that I am destined to take the rule back from the Ixion centaurs. To bring balance and peace to the herd. To forge a truce with the Thessalians. She hid me with the Magnesian mares as one of their colts, hoping Ixion wouldn’t find me…”
“But he did,” Ere said.
Andros released a long, shuddering breath, the terrible memories threatening to overwhelm him anew.
“Aye.”
“How could a mother just leave her child like that?” Divina suddenly huffed with outrage. “And what of that bastard god Apollo? Why doesn’t he take responsibility and help his children?”
Andros looked into her eyes, seeing the crackling ire, fierce enough to rival lightning bolts.
“They are gods and demigods,” he stated matter-of-factly. “They create heroes, monsters and destinies. Attachment is a human concern. I think my mother cared for me. But a centaur son has no place with the river nymphs or on Olympus with the gods. I do not blame her.”
“You should,” Divina spat as she bristled.
The bear-like dog raised his great head and growled, as if sympathizing with her sentiments.
“What would holding a grudge change?” Andros asked quietly. “I would rather depend on myself than be disappointed in the expectations of others.”
He had been alone all of his life, never fitting in. Not even in his right skin. He’d always known that his path was separate from others.
Never let them see you hurt, my son. Never bow down.
Your Destiny awaits. Have courage.
“So this Ixion,” Ere inserted, “the usurper, baby-killer Ixion…what do you know about him? If we are to help you storm the mountain and regain the centaur throne, we need to arm ourselves with foreknowledge. And before we actually embark on a two-man campaign—because I’ll be no help in battle—we need to gather some real ammunition. Right now, all we have are the sword and whip from your captors. This Ixion sounds like a ruthless piece of work. We need a plan.”
“My mother did not tell me much about him,” Andros said, frowning in thought. “Only that he is the bloodline of Ares. He is made for war.”
“How many centaurs are in those mountains?”
“More than a hundred. Less than a thousand.”
