Sora's Quest (30 page)

They walked long distances, stopping for brief rests, eating what they could find, special kinds of flowers or weeds or tubers. The occasional rodent. They slept in short, tense spurts, unable to fully relax; stopping was dangerous and left them open for attack.

She didn't know if the Catlins were following. At first, she had been certain that the beasts were only a league behind them. Her Cat's Eye had tingled occasionally, warning her of unseen magic, though she hadn't bothered to warn her friends. The magic would sweep over them, casting about like a net, and she always touched the necklace, certain of its protection. Each day, its presence grew stronger in her mind.

Now that they were out of the swamp proper, she felt more confident. She doubted the wild beasts would risk discovery. If she had learned one thing, it's that Catlins valued their privacy.

Almost a week later, four figures stumbled wearily out of the woods bordering the swamp. If a passerby had seen them, it would have seemed that four amazingly human-shaped rocks had appeared next to the road. They were covered in so much mud and dirt, they were almost unrecognizable. Luckily, no one was on the road to see them. The sun had almost set behind the hills and the countryside was deserted.

Sora sat with her head in the crook of Burn's arm, somewhere between dozing and sleeping. Crash, sitting next to her, had his eyes closed and seemed to be in a meditative state. On the other side of him was Dorian, his sweaty forehead resting against his knees. All four travelers were exhausted, on the verge of sleep.

After a few minutes, Burn looked off into the distance and squinted, his eyes narrowed against the glare of the setting sun.

"Crash?" The Wolfy glanced at his smaller companion. "Do you see that town?"

"Hmmm?"

"That town, over there across the field."

Crash opened his eyes. "Yes, I see it.”

Sora listened with half an ear.

"We can make it by nightfall, get a room at an inn," the Wolfy mercenary suggested. "It looks about three miles away."

"Too far," Dorian said. “We'll never make it.”

Sora grinned at the irony. She was surprised that she could still smile.

“You're welcome to stay here,” Crash replied.

Dorian sighed and rose slowly to his feet, picking up one of their bags. Sora didn't know why they had kept the satchels—they were almost all empty. “The sooner we start, the sooner we get there,” he said.

Burn stood up as well, disrupting Sora's resting place. Then the mercenary reached down and pulled her to her feet. He gave her a slight grin, then turned toward town, Dorian by his side. “We'll take the lead,” he said. “No rush now—save your energy.”

Sora nodded, too tired to care, and watched the two Wolfies set off across the fields: Burn, his hair flaring gold with the light of the setting sun, Dorian trotting along next to him. They were speaking to each other but she couldn't hear what was being said, and they walked quickly. The town was still some ways in the distance. She knew they were as eager for a soft bed and a warm meal as she was.

Crash hung back, lifting the other bags. Sora fell into step next to him, an uneasy silence between them. She had saved his life twice now, but she still had mixed feelings about it. What happened when they reached the town? Would he release her? Volcrian was far behind them—they didn't need her anymore, right?

She didn't want to bring that up quite yet; it seemed like bad timing. Reminding the assassin of her captive state might cause more problems than it would solve.

With each step they took away from the woods, Sora felt her heart lighten slightly.
We made it,
she finally thought in relief. That phrase kept repeating over and over in her mind until she smiled. She had survived her first journey, her first venture into peril. She couldn't believe how far she had come, how much she had learned.

Her thoughts drifted back to Mayville, to her father's manor, to the price on her head. Lord Seabourne would never find her this far away, and she doubted the King's men were still looking for her. It had to have been over a month. A year from now, they might have forgotten everything.

What now?
she thought. She hoped fervently that they would let her go. Given their journey together, the Wolfies seemed to look at her more like a friend. Crash was the only one she had to convince. She glanced sideways at him, wondering if he was considering the same thing. Perhaps she would bring it up tomorrow, after a warm meal and a good night's sleep. Then maybe...she could begin her quest to find her mother.

* * *

Volcrian woke up with a start. He was wedged between an old widow and a greasy farmer who smoked incessantly on a corncob pipe. Falling asleep had been a problem in the cramped carriage, so he brewed a sleeping tonic at the last home station, preparing his own herbs, hoping it would make the hours go by faster. He had just dozed off...but waking up was far worse.

The mage gritted his teeth as a rush of pain shot through his crippled hand. He groaned, trying to ease his fingers open, to loosen the cramped muscles. Then another shock of pain ripped through him. He almost cried out.

Outside, early evening light rolled past, the sunset dotted with vague clouds. The woodland was dense and wild, with low scrub oaks and dense boysenberries. They were miles past the Sinclair lands, far from the Fallcrest estate, heading steadily Northwest. He checked his pocketwatch. It was a little after four.

He had switched carriages at the last home station, boarding a coach to the City of Crowns, disgruntled to learn that it would take them almost a month to arrive. That was the driver's best estimate, trusting that the mud wagon didn't fall apart, that the horses stayed in good shape, and that thieves didn't attack them on the road.

He hadn't expected the pain. It rolled around his body like a ball of fire, coming to rest somewhere deep in his gut.

Volcrian frowned, placing a hand on his chest. The ache grew and dimmed like an ocean wave. A horrible suspicion crept into his thoughts. The pain nestled there for a moment, then seemed to fade away, leaving him cold and shaky.

He grimaced. This was no ordinary ache.

He closed his eyes again, his forehead throbbing, sweat sprouting above his brow. Somewhere beneath the pain, he felt a strange sensation. A certain darkness, like a gaping hole splitting his stomach open, draining him of life.
What is happening?
he thought, trying not to panic.

He was suddenly certain that this pain had something to do with his spell. He wondered about the four travelers lost in the swamp. Had the wraiths found them? Somehow, this pain stemmed from his magic. It left a dark residue on his thoughts. He needed to know what was happening.

Trying to stay calm, Volcrian took deep breaths and closed his eyes, seeking the quiet place in his mind where he could access his creations. Usually, a Wolfy mage was tied to his minions through blood, and so sinking into their minds was relatively easy. But this time, it was different. The bond was strange, unstable, like trying to grasp a snake. He received no clear picture of what the wraiths were doing. They seemed far more autonomous than his other creations. A moment of doubt entered his thoughts. Perhaps they would not be so easy to control.

Volcrian shifted, adjusting his back against the hard seat. His nose wrinkled from the smoke of the corncob pipe.
Focus,
he told himself. He had other ways of spying on his prey. Better ways, perhaps.

He tried again, sinking deeper into his meditation until the pain subsided, until the smoke was gone and his mind was filled with cold mist. Then he cast out, searching for Dorian, for a brief glimpse through his eyes. But there was nothing.

Nothing? He searched again.

Only blackness.

Another wave of pain struck him, and Volcrian smashed his hand down on the seat. The farmer next to him jumped, gave him a queer look, then turned back to the window.

Volcrian glared at the man, as though this was all his fault. The blood bond had been weak from the beginning. Perhaps it had worn off.
Blast it all,
he thought viciously.
The Winds take you!
His bond with the thief was broken. He would be unable to spy on them, to learn what his prey was doing.

The assassin had outfoxed him again, and there was nothing he could do.

The carriage rolled onward, up a slight hill, then down into rougher terrain. The seats jolted and rocked. The floorboards quivered. The wheels squeaked. Somewhere up ahead, he heard the driver call to the horses, slowing the team, moving steadily over the uneven ground. The inside of the carriage became suffocatingly hot, filled with the stench of human bodies.

Volcrian could do no more than seethe in anger, the pain rolling and subsiding like an ocean wave.

Chapter 16

Sora looked at the distant box-like shapes of the houses, the sloping roofs, barely a few lumps on the horizon. She could already feel the soft feather mattress against her sore muscles. And fresh food! Warm bread, thick stew, vegetables, apples dipped in sugar, oranges and cream....

She had never before appreciated true hunger. She was practically drooling on her shirt. She couldn't wait to stuff her face.

She sighed in longing, her mind full of warm butter and scones. They were still a mile from town. The field stretched before her, the sun sinking slowly. Peaceful silence lay over the grass, only disturbed by a slight wind. She had never been on this side of the swamp before. It was drier and warmer than she remembered by her manor.

"Sora! Get down!"

Abruptly Crash tackled her to the ground.

A black shape whizzed over their heads. Sora, who was lying face down in the tall grass, looked up in surprise.
What?
At first she thought it was a large bird. She scanned the field desperately, trying to figure out had happened. Why was Crash so alarmed?

Distantly, she could see a flying object hurtling toward the two Wolfies. It was far too big to be a bird or a rock. A horse? She squinted, unable to see its legs. It wasn't shaped like any animals she knew....

Then the shape paused a short distance from her Wolfy friends. Now that she could see it more clearly, she could hardly believe her eyes. The shape was...floating?

An insubstantial black cloak drifted around the dark figure, blurring and blending like smoke. She couldn't see it clearly no matter how long she stared—her eyes seemed to slide over it, unable to focus. It shifted and flickered, forever subtly different, changing shape over and over again.

The wind gusted across the clearing, picking up force. The figure shimmered and appeared in a new position. There was a glint of light. A blade emerged out of the mist-like clothing, long and thin, like a sword—no, narrower—almost like a giant needle. Sora recognized it from her old fencing lessons. A rapier.

Then the creature threw back its head and screamed into the twilight. It was a bone-chilling sound, racing over her skin, shooting down her spine.

Crash leapt from the ground a second later, sprinting toward the Wolfies, his sword drawn. Sora watched, dumbstruck. Then she scrambled to her feet and dashed after him.

Dorian and Burn were more than a hundred feet ahead of her. She charged at full speed. Whatever this thing was, it was definitely no Catlin, and it definitely meant them harm. She was so tired though—exhausted—it felt like she was running through thick water.

Light glinted as Burn drew his massive sword. The steel was thick, sharp and easily visible, almost as long as he was tall. Burn launched himself at the apparition, the blade whirling through the air, creating a sound like a wind tunnel.

The wraith screamed again and raised its skinny rapier. The two clashed together, tendrils of fire leaping up from the blades. Sora's mouth was wide open and she almost came to a stop. There was no way the rapier could last against such a huge sword. And yet it held. Magic, it had to be. She touched her necklace, but no sound came from her Cat's Eye, no alarm.

Sora could see Dorian behind Burn, his silver hair whipping back and forth. The wind picked up again, blowing stronger and stronger, as though engaging in the fight. The smaller Wolfy dodged around to the other side of the creature, daggers out. He tried to take a knife to the apparition, slashing at its cloak, but to no effect. The wraith screamed again in outrage, turning to swat at the thief with its sword.

Sora wished she knew what was happening, how she could help, but she could only watch uselessly. She wasn't as skilled as the men and knew that she would get in the way—or get her head cleaved off by Burn's sword.

Finally the Cat's Eye woke up. She heard a faint jingle at the edge of her hearing, like wind chimes—but the necklace seemed confused. The sound faded in and out with the wind. Magic, but something else, something different. The necklace sampled the creature's energy, and she could feel a strange resistance, like a rock against sand, a dark cloud in an empty sky, or...or a drop of blood in water.

Blood.

Information flooded her, sudden knowledge. The core of this magic was blood. Only Wolfies used blood. This was Volcrian's creation. The very thought made her heart stop.

Crash flung himself into the fray ahead of her. The assassin leapt out of the grass almost as suddenly as the wraith had. Three against one, and still the creature was holding its own.

The assassin attacked from behind, his sword slashing through the air. The mercenary blocked from the front, meeting the phantom blow for blow...and yet...nothing happened. The apparition seemed as inconsistent as air, fading and reappearing, like smoke in the wind. Crash's blade swung left and right, striking nothing.

The creature's sword, however, was solid and real, deadly sharp.

Burn blocked a jab and swung in riposte, coming from an unexpected angle. The Wolfy's giant blade plunged through the cloak and into the creature, a killing blow—except that the sword passed through the phantom as though slicing fog. A creature of mist. Nothing more.

Sora was stunned. It was magic, it had to be—and yet it seemed a part of nature, a figment of their minds.

There was an unearthly scream that arose from the ground, shaking through the grass. The creature struck out with some sort of energy force, like a gust of darkness; it knocked Burn from his feet.
Whooompphh!
The giant Wolfy tumbled backwards as easily as a child, landing in the grass.

Crash dove to his side, seeking to shield the mercenary. But as the assassin moved, the wraith's sword swung down. It was perfectly aimed, too fast to dodge. Inescapable....

“No!” Dorian threw himself in front of Crash and Burn, taking the blow head on. His two daggers crossed above his head to block the sword. Sora watched helplessly. Two puny daggers couldn't contend with a strike like that....

It happened too fast for her to scream. The wraith's sword fell downward in a perfect arc, slicing Dorian's daggers in half as though they were made of paper. She couldn't look away. The sword pierced the thief, striking him clean across the chest. Blood sprayed the air.

Then Sora was moving, though she didn't know it at the time. No sound reached her ears and she couldn't feel the ground. She charged forward, an inhuman sound ripping from her throat. Her Cat's Eye jingled madly in her ears, interrupted by the pounding of her heart. She sped across the grass in a blur, her staff forgotten.

"Dorian!" she screamed, a millisecond before she hit him. Her small body tackled the Wolfy with amazing force and sent him flying limply away from the wraith—she didn't know if he was alive or dead. Almost immediately there was a blinding flash. When Sora's eyes cleared, she found herself standing with arms outstretched, a dome of light around her, the Cat's Eye's shield. It engulfed both her body and her friends, who were lying in the grass at her back, unable to do anything.

This time, however, the shield wasn't perfect. The wraith screamed in rage and slammed its weapon down. The blow bounced back, energy crackling in the air. The shield trembled and shook.

The wraith kept pounding against it.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sword rang out in the chill air. Every time the weapons collided, a flash of brilliant light burst around them. Sora flinched with every blow. Fear lurched inside of her. Somehow, the wraith was breaking through.

She gripped the necklace in her hand desperately, focusing all of her mind on it.

The wraith drew its sword back, let out a terrifying scream, then plunged the blade down in a two-handed swing. The rapier struck the barrier of energy and pressed into it, denting it. The dome flickered around her dangerously.
No!

The Cat's Eye made a static popping sound.

Crack!

The shield popped. A ripple of energy moved outward, like a small explosion.

Sora tried to throw herself out of the way—too late.

Her upper body exposed, the wraith jammed its sword deep between her ribs. The air left her in a sudden rush. Pain. Silence.

Then a dull whining in her ears. An enraged ringing from the Cat's Eye....

Energy surged forward, shooting from her body up through the blade, into the creature before her. The wraith screamed.

For a moment, the sound of clanging bells was heard by all of her companions. Then the Cat's Eye erupted in a whirlwind of green and yellow light, attacking the wraith with the fury of a tempest. The creature continued to scream, its voice carrying unnaturally across the fields, on and on and on. The wind whipped Sora's hair around her face. The necklace drained the phantom of life; it flickered like a dying fire. The black robes seemed to break apart, turning to dust, blown away piece by piece.

Finally, there was nothing left but a stain of blood upon the grass.

Sora continued to hold her necklace, stunned, staring at the empty grass, the open fields. Then she looked down at a larger stain, spreading across her shirt. Strangely, she hadn't felt any pain beside the initial pinch of the blade. It was as though she was staring at someone else's body.

She turned to look down at her two companions. Crash was the first she saw, and he stared back at her, his eyes wide. Burn, too, seemed frozen to the ground; his hands were wedged into the grass. He stared at her in disbelief.

Then her gaze slowly traveled to Dorian's silent form, a pool of blood around his body. His face was turned down toward the earth, his eyes open, sightless—vacant. Was he breathing?

She already knew the answer. The sight would have unnerved her, but at the moment, she seemed incapable of feeling anything.

A small stream of fluid entered her mouth, salty and thick. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her lip. She tried to swallow but her throat wouldn't work. She felt like her body was slowly solidifying, becoming stiff and useless.

Suddenly she was afraid. She looked back at her companions and recognized the look on their faces. A wave of nausea hit. Suddenly, she knew this was not a wound she would be recovering from.

Sora took a step toward her companions. It took a great amount of effort. Her boot bumped against Dorian's still hand.

Her hands found the blade of the sword that protruded from between her ribs, just to assure herself that she wasn't dreaming.

Her movement snapped the men into action. With her next step, Crash was up from the ground. He grabbed the hilt of the blade, giving it a fierce tug. Sora felt like the air had been sucked out of her. A scream found its way out of her throat—the pain was consuming, intense, unlike anything she had ever felt before. Like her body was splitting in two.

As soon as the blade was fully out, it flickered in the air, wavering before her eyes.

Then it disintegrated in the wind, blowing away just as the wraith had, leaving only the black hilt.

Dizziness overcame her. Sora collapsed forward with a shudder, the pain too intense to stand. The assassin caught her.

"Are you both all right?" she managed to whisper. It was barely audible.

Crash lowered her to the ground and laid her out, his expression darker than she had ever seen. He wiped the blood from her mouth with his muddy sleeve and allowed her eyes to rove over his face, studying his cunning, sharp features, following the scar into his shirt.

"Idiot girl...." he murmured. "You should have stayed put."

"But you would have died," Sora whispered.
You all would have died.

Crash continued to gaze at her, his mouth slightly open. No words came. Was he surprised?

It was too late to wonder. His face swam before her. Slowly her vision blurred, her ears dimmed.

Darkness.

* * *

Crash's mouth was open. He felt like his heart had just stopped. What had she said? Her last words? Not a heroic speech or the desperate promises of a fading friend. No, she had said her thoughts plainly, directly, and yet they changed everything. This girl—this spoiled, rich, infuriating girl—had given her life for his. She had saved him.

He had never felt anything like this before.

He watched her go limp on the ground, and suddenly his heart hammered against his ribs, his lungs seized. He felt like he was choking on air. Ice flowed through him. His hands gripped Sora's shoulders in an effort to regain himself.
What is happening to me?
he thought furiously.
Why am I suddenly so- so....?
Abruptly, the assassin blinked.
Could this be...fear?

Worse than that—terror. He had never known it before. Since he was a child, he had been trained in the ways of his people, to think beyond death, to live with removed indifference, to see the world through eyes of stone. He had first killed at the age of fourteen. He had known violence his entire life. Fear was not even a word in his original tongue.

But there was no other explanation. He had never experienced such helplessness, the way his blood raced and his stomach clenched—it couldn't be anything else. Couldn't be, and yet....He closed his eyes in pain, touching the girl's golden hair.
Why now?
he wondered.
Why do I feel this now?