Sora's Quest (15 page)

Burn nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard the important bits," he said. "And I hear you want to cross the swamp. That's a dangerous plan; we might risk more than it's worth. Can I see the necklace?"

Sora didn't get a chance to refuse. The assassin reached around and pulled the chain out of her shirt. The small stone glinted in the noontime sun. She flinched, repulsed by his touch, by the closeness of his hand to her face.

Burn's eyes lingered on the necklace, thoughtful, one ear slightly drooped. He shifted on the back of his horse and gripped the reins, running the leather through his fingers. Sora felt uncomfortable, awkward under such intense scrutiny from a stranger. He had seemed friendly at first, but friendly didn't mean much, she was coming to realize.

Burn finally whistled between his teeth. "Imagine that," he murmured, and he raised his hand as though to touch the stone, but then let it fall back onto the horse. "I've seen a lot of rare things in my life, but nothing like this. And it works?"

"Far better than one would expect," Crash confirmed.

"Oh, yes," Dorian grunted, and raised his hand to his wounded hip. "It vanquished Volcrian's spell like...like...." His voice trailed off, obviously unable to describe the event.

Sora didn't know how she would describe it, either. She shared a glance with the thief.

"Well, then, perhaps we should give it a try," Burn consented, nodding his great head. "The swamp is not far from this town. First things first, though. I have a reservation at an inn with no money to pay for it. They are about to knock down my door and confiscate our belongings. I expected your arrival last night...." He glanced at Crash. "Shall we collect your payment and be on our way?"

Sora felt the blood drain from her face. She wavered in the saddle. Somehow, she felt she had been slapped. How could the three of them conspire to kill Lord Fallcrest and then speak of that so casually in front of her? They knew her name—did they not think it rude or insensitive?

She felt a small twinge of guilt somewhere above her stomach. And who was she to suddenly defend the man?
You hated him
, she reminded herself, thinking of his small, gray eyes, deep and narrow above a long, sloping nose. The downward slant to his mouth, teeth yellowed from pipe smoke and, in more recent years, opium.
He didn't raise you. You were merely a horse waiting to be bred.

And yet, there had been a time when she was younger...much younger, under ten...that she had desired his affection, had sought it out, time after time. Each attempt had been met with disapproval, annoyance or anger. Sora could remember his slaps across her face, his shouts for her maids to take her away.
"Take her out! Take the girl out!"
Never once calling her his daughter. An heiress, perhaps, for lack of a son as an heir. But never his daughter.

"I suppose, if we're going to cross the swamp, we'll need supplies." Dorian's voice shook Sora from her thoughts. She glanced up, her face unfurling from a tight frown. He was holding up her bag of coins, and he bounced it in his hand to show its weight.

Burn nodded again, this time thoughtful. He looked at Crash. "Why don't you pick up your payment?" he suggested. "Then we will buy supplies."

Crash shook his head slowly. "I can't until nightfall. That's the agreement."

Sora listened acutely, leaning forward, wondering who had hired him.

"Hm," Burn murmured. "Then we will split these coins; it should at least pacify the landlord. Dorian needs rest, and I need to pay for the room." He reached out, taking the bag from Dorian and opening it, then slipping out a few silver coins.

Sora watched, slightly annoyed. It didn't feel right, watching them take her money, as though they had every right in the world to it.

Burn handed the coin purse to Crash once he was done. "Why don't you take the money and the girl to buy supplies?" he suggested. "If we are going to travel through the swamp, she will need weapons."

"Is that wise?" Dorian asked, wincing and placing his hand on his wound. Sora wondered if he was in more pain than he let on. Probably.

Burn shrugged. "She's a novice at best. She won't give us any trouble. But she needs to be able to defend herself." He cast a grim look at Dorian. "You know the dangers."

The young thief looked uncomfortable, then turned away.

Sora didn't like the exchange. A weapon sounded useful—it would be that much easier to escape—but she didn't like the ominous warning about Fennbog, the way Dorian's eyes looked down. Crash shifted behind her, seeming tense.

"What's in the swamp?" she asked.

Burn glanced at her. "Enemies," he said. "Dangerous beasts. Poisonous plants. Oh yes, we will need to stock up, indeed." Then he glanced at Crash. "You're a poisons expert, no? I trust you will buy all of the proper antidotes."

"I will see to the necessities," he nodded. "And we shall get her a weapon. Though I doubt she will learn to use it." His words hung in the air, tactless, factual.

Sora felt her neck cramp. But of course he would doubt her abilities. He thought she was just some spoiled noble brat.
I'll show him.
"Is that all?" she asked, breaking the silence. "If so, can we go now? I'm getting a sunburn."

Burn threw back his head and laughed—an avalanche of sound. It startled a nearby bird, which took off from a low bush, bolting into the sky. He waved his hand, still chuckling with mirth, though Sora didn't catch the full humor.

"Get on with you," he called. "We will expect you back at sundown. We're staying at The Oaken Door, top floor."

Crash might have nodded, she didn't know, but he shifted behind her, nudging the horse. It took off in a fast trot, leaving the two Wolfies behind, though the sound of laughter followed.

"Don't worry your sweet head about anything!" Dorian called to her from behind them. She turned and leaned to the side, trying to see around Crash's form, but she couldn't. Dorian's voice reached her again. "Just be happy he's the quiet type!"

Then the dirt trail took a sharp turn, rounding a small hill, and joined with the main thoroughfare. The road became wide, well-maintained, paved in brightly hued river stone. She looked up at the distance, down a half-mile of road and across a wide bridge, straight to the red-tiled rooftops of Mayville.

Suddenly, inexplicably, she was excited. She had never been in town before. Of course, she would have preferred to be here with Lily, or perhaps on her very own. But all things considered, she had something to look forward to.

Crash shifted behind her. "If you cause any trouble...." the assassin murmured.

"You'll kill me?" she asked, ready for the threat. She turned slightly to catch his eye. She knew she was challenging him, but she felt momentarily bold. He couldn't kill her, not now. He needed her necklace. And, she suspected, he was too cowardly to wear it himself.

He met her gaze; his eyes were flat, as green as venom, serpentine. She tried to hold out, to sustain the silent confrontation, but it was impossible. Her courage shuddered and wilted, like a dying mouse.

"Don't try me," he murmured. Then the assassin reached up and pulled his cloak over his head, a black shield against the noontime sun. Even in broad daylight, he looked menacing.

She turned back toward the town, unnerved.

Mayville was the only town on her father's lands. Populated by serfs, it wasn't fully in her father's jurisdiction, as it was half-sprawled on a neighboring Lord's estate. It resided on opposite sides of a trickling stream, a border of sorts, crossed over by tiny footbridges.

The Fallcrest side had red clay-tiled roofs and whitewashed buildings. The Sinclair side favored tin roofs and brick. The villagers and farmers were just as competitive as the two families, holding a yearly festival to prove which side was better. The Tin Roofs baked the best bread and shod the best horses, or so they claimed. The Red Roofs made fancier ceramics and sewed prettier quilts.

Needless to say, a long history of tension existed within the town. Every year, there were disputes over taxes and trade laws.

Sora had met Lady Sinclair once at a tea party about three years ago. The young Lady had been a perfect specimen of country nobility—that is to say, mimicking the First Tier in every way possible. She had worn her hair in a mountain of dark curls, her cheeks pinker than even the sunniest sunburn.

As they entered town, Sora entertained the dark, horrifying thought of bumping into Lady Sinclair and being recognized.
"Dressed as a peasant in day-old clothes,"
she could almost hear.
"I'm sure her mother would be proud."
Followed by shrieks of laughter, of course. But she shook her head, trying to clear it. If she were recognized, that would lead to her rescue, which would be more than welcomed. But her rescue would return her to noble life, which she dreaded. At that moment, she wasn't sure which she preferred—the life of a captive, or the life of a Lady. They felt much the same.

She and Crash followed the cobblestone road through town. It took some time to find an inconspicuous place to tie their horse, away from traffic and yet not so far as to be stolen. Then Sora followed the assassin on foot, carving their way deeper into the marketplace. He kept a subtle grip on her hand, as though they were old friends...or worse, lovers. Sora tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"It's too crowded," she muttered, narrowly avoiding a large woman in aprons, a tray of freshly baked bread in each hand.

"Stop dawdling," Crash said sharply, dragging her through another swarm of people. She had no choice but to follow, his hand solidly on hers. She was barely able to dodge the stampede of farmers, bakers, smiths, midwives and chickens. It seemed like everyone from the surrounding countryside was at market.
Well,
she figured, thinking back on her estate studies,
it is Spring and they are clearing their barns for new crops
. Countless serfs haggled over wares, buying livestock or spending well-earned coin.

Lily had described Mayville as a "mid-sized" town; until now Sora hadn't known what that meant. It seemed pretty big to her. The vendors' carts were numerous and there was more than enough to stare at. Baskets of flowers hung from windowsills, fountains decorated each market square, and sheepdogs ran back and forth, fighting over bones or chasing cats.

Crash led her past everything, stopping only to buy a few biscuits, one of which he tossed in her direction. Sora caught the roll in midair, immediately popping it into her mouth, relieved to fill her stomach.

Then a voice burst out from her right-hand side, making her jump.

"Goddess here! Bells of the Goddess! Her Winds bring you good luck!" A skinny man leapt frantically around the crowd, a cluster of brass bells in his hand, charms of the Wind Goddess. There were several other bells of various shapes and sizes hanging from his booth.

His stand was full of miniature figurines, whittled from cheap wood. Sora glanced over them curiously. There were the two male gods, Fire and Light, and the rest were of the goddesses: Wind, Earth and Water. There was a final sixth god, that of Darkness, but it was considered bad luck to portray Him.

Each god or goddess had its own pose, its own fortune: good luck, good business, courage, wisdom, health. Their lore went back to the creation of the world and the different races. At one time, all of the gods and goddesses had been worshipped; each race had paid homage to a different deity. But now the races were gone, and the humans only worshiped their patron Goddess of the Wind.

Shrines to the other gods could still be found in rural areas, but they were small affairs, stone monuments found deep in the forest, overgrown with moss.

For a moment, she yearned for such a bell—maybe it would bring her luck on the road—but then Crash was by her side, tugging her into the crowd. He didn't seem impressed by the salesman.

They waded across to a store that read
Dried Goods
across the front window. Sora was stunned by the line of people out the door, so long it trailed into the street and around the corner. She thought Crash might try to enter anyway—barge his way to the front, step on a few toes—but no such luck. They followed the line to the end and got behind a withered old woman with two scabby children, both smudged with dirt.

Perhaps even more terrible was when the woman turned and said to them, "Did you hear?," pinning Crash with a milky-blue stare. "Lord Fallcrest is dead. And his own daughter, the culprit!"