Tauren Tale

Chapter 7: The Trail of Woe

“I offer you your own worthless hide!” the Centaur shouted in Theodore's face. The rogue seemed unruffled by the sweaty half-man.

Sanja and her brother tightened their grip on the stones they prepared to throw. Kazbo fidgeted nervously behind the campfire.

“Leave the Tauren and walk away. Unless you would rather perish with them...”

The following moments unfolded in the blink of an eye.

The enraged Centaur foolishly lowered his spear as he shouted, and the spearhead nearly touched the sandy ground.

Theodore launched off of his right foot and brought his left boot down square on the end of the spear. The sudden leverage snapped it out of the Centaur's grip.

“Oops!” Theodore laughed, but the sound was far deeper and ominous than it should have been. He had become the beast once more, both huge and menacing.

“Wha...?” gasped the Magram, but before the Centaur could react, the Worgen had already jumped on his back and wrapped his long legs around the creature's horse-waist.

“You should have taken my deal!” the werewolf laughed. He gripped the Centaur's braid in his left hand and an unsheathed dagger in his right.

The Magram whinnied and reared up high in the air, trying to knock the rogue from his back. Sanja dashed forward. She snatched the spear and rolled out from under the Centaur's hooves in one fluid motion.

“Fifty pieces of silver!” the werewolf shouted.

He could easily have driven his knife into the terrified beast's back, but instead he slashed at the horse-flanks behind him. The steel knife had to have been razor sharp, as the gashes it opened looked both huge and deep. For a moment, it looked like some sick parody of a rider whipping his mount to go faster.

The Centaur let out a scream of pain unlike any the Tauren had heard before. It was a horrible sound, somewhere between that of a man and a horse. Sanja almost dropped the spear and covered her ears. It seemed to last for hours, and even after the man stopped screaming, the sound seemed to echo inside of her head.

The horse-man grabbed at a knife on his belt. But Theodore slid his dagger into the man's armpit and slashed viciously upward, instantly severing a number of crucial tendons. “Just look at that merchandise!” The Worgen shouted. “They would be a bargain at twice the price!”

The Magram reared up again and flopped over on its back, trying to crush his rider or at least trap the werewolf's leg under his weight. His left hand waved furiously, trying to grab on to the slippery rogue.

Theodore leapt from the beast's back at the last moment and rolled smoothly to his feet. “Why, the boy could fetch water for you.” He grinned at the wounded man.

“You bastard,” the Centaur muttered. He pulled his knife – awkwardly with his left hand – and struggled to climb back to his feet.

“So you don't like little boys?” the Worgen chuckled and slashed with his dagger. “Perhaps I guessed wrong about your tastes!”

The Centaur charged at Theodore and tried to trample him, but with one wounded haunch, he moved slowly enough to allow the leather-clad monster to slide past the crushing hooves. An outstretched dagger drew a long bloody line down the length of his horse-body.

“The girl, perhaps,” the Worgen said as the Centaur made a quick turn. “Why, she could muck out your filthy hovel.”

The Magram charged at Theodore once more. He reared up and tried to bring his hooves down on top of the beast.