Sora ran all night, stepping from branch to branch, swinging across vines, climbing up and down tree trunks. After returning for their bags, she had stopped briefly to regain her bearings. Away, she had thought, touching the Cat's Eye. Away, through the swamp, to safety.
Surprisingly, the necklace had surged in response, filling her with energy, almost toppling her from her feet. Its message was a thousand times stronger now. She felt as though it had burrowed deeper into her mind, planted its roots firmly in her thoughts. The Cat's Eye knew exactly what she wanted.
She nodded to Burn, turned and continued through the trees.
Close to morning, the three travelers collapsed. Burn was exhausted from carrying Dorian's unconscious body. Sora had checked the head wound twice; it wasn't bleeding anymore. They didn't know when the thief would wake up. She asked Burn about it, but he only shook his head.
They lay down for a brief rest. Sora shut her eyes, her body dragging her right into sleep.
About two hours later, she awoke to an unfamiliar noise. She sat up, her heart quickening, looking around in the dim morning light.
Crash hovered next to her, crouching low in the branches.
Sora's mouth was open; she was shocked. “Y-you're here!” she exclaimed, and was flooded by an unexpected wave of relief. She didn't linger on it. “How did you find us so quickly?”
“You left a clear trail,” Crash said. “Come, we must continue. The Catlins might be following us. And if the ground is any indication, we are nearing the edges of the swamp.”
Sora glanced over him, surprised again. His clothes were spattered in mud and leaves, his face scratched by branches. “Aren't you tired?” she asked. “You've been running all night!”
The assassin only stared at her.
“The end of the swamp?” Burn asked, sitting up from his roost in the tree. He was nestled slightly above them, closer to the trunk. He picked a leaf from his hair. “That's strangely optimistic of you. I hope you're right. What I would give for a mug of ale,” he muttered. Then he shook his head slowly. “This is a nightmare.”
“Yes, a nightmare,” Sora murmured, staring at the trees. Dawn could barely be seen through the branches, but most of the forest was still in darkness. The canopy was so dense, sunlight usually wasn't visible until midday.
She had to admit that, in the filtered morning light, the trees appeared smaller and more widely spaced than the growth surrounding the Catlin colony. We must have covered a lot of ground, she thought, remembering the night before. Judging by the pain in her legs, she believed it.
“How is Dorian?” she suddenly asked, remembering her fallen friend. She turned, her eyes searching for him amidst the tree. He was curled up behind Burn, slightly higher in the branches, tied by a thick rope so he wouldn't fall off, still unconscious. She gazed at him in worry.
“He'll wake up,” Burn said, giving her a soft look. It wasn't very comforting, given the thief's condition. Then he climbed up to the higher branches and started to untie him. “Let's go before those beasts catch up with us.”
Sora couldn't agree more. They picked up camp and continued quickly through the trees. She was clumsier than the day before, her muscles sore and strained. Her eyes kept wandering to the ground far below them; the drop would certainly kill her. In her weakened state, she worried that she might miss a step.
Eventually, Crash stopped and turned to her. “Get on my back,” he said bluntly.
“What?” Sora asked, panting and sweaty, slightly horrified by the idea.
“You're too slow. We're moving at a snail's pace compared to the Catlins.” He knelt slightly on a large branch. “Get on.”
Burn nodded to her.
Sora looked from one to the other, then let out an irritated breath. She was outnumbered. Stiff and hesitant, she climbed onto Crash's back and gripped him around the shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist. She was suddenly self-conscious about how muddy their clothes were. She winced. She probably smelled like a mule.
They continued at a much faster pace, practically flying through the foliage. She couldn't believe the endurance of the two men. Burn, she could understand. But Crash...he was just an assassin, a regular human. Right?
That night, they stopped at the edge of a small stream. They were definitely approaching the border of Fennbog. There had been no streams in the swamp—just sinkholes and wetlands. They'd had to boil their water before drinking it.
The travelers set a small fire next to the stream and made a thin soup of tubers and wild onions. Burn found a nest of birds' eggs that they added to the mix.
At some point while they were eating, Dorian awakened.
“Ugh,” the thief groaned, his eyes slitting open. He put a hand to his head. “What happened?” He glanced around their camp, squinting against the firelight, taking in their surroundings. “I suppose we're not dead, at least,” he muttered.
Sora almost dropped her tin cup. She leapt to her feet and ran to the thief's side, kneeling close. “Are you all right? How do you feel?” she asked, the words rushing out before she could stop them.
“You took a nasty blow to the back of the skull,” Burn rumbled.
“I vaguely remember,” Dorian replied, his voice weak.
Sora put a hand behind the thief's shoulders and helped him to sit up. “Gently now,” she murmured. She tried to quench the worry inside of her. She didn't like thinking that the thief could have died—and how much that scared her.
Dorian blinked, a bemused expression crossing his face. Then he winced. “I should get hit on the head more often. You almost seem concerned, sweetness.”
Sora paused, the thief halfway in a sitting position, and almost dropped him back to the ground. What am I doing? she thought. Before their interlude with the Catlins, she had made a point of hating the three men, reminding herself again and again that they were evil, heartless scum. But now, after so much had happened, she couldn't summon her anger anymore. Somewhere along the line, her guard had fallen. She had risked her life for these men. And...they had risked their lives for her.
“Don't mention it,” she grunted, and settled him back against a log. She held out a cup of soup for him. “It's mostly water,” she said.
“Ah, grass soup, my favorite,” the thief mumbled, but downed the meal anyway. He moved slowly and stiffly, resettling his head against the hard log. “What I wouldn't give for a pot roast right now,” he murmured. “Or a loaf of bread.”
“A big, thick wedge of cheese,” Burn added from across the fire. “A warm bottle of wine.”
“I'd do with a soft bed,” Sora replied, grinning slightly. She looked up to see the three men gazing at her, their expressions something like surprise. She glanced away, self-conscious.
The evening stretched on. Burn lay down to sleep while Crash took to the trees, keeping watch. Sora sat next to Dorian for a while, staring into the fire, keeping him company. They didn't speak, but shared the same exhausted silence. Then she let out a loud yawn. She stood up, thinking she would get some much needed sleep.
Dorian's hand grabbed her wrist. He was surprisingly strong. “Wait,” he murmured. “Just a minute.”
She turned to him, wondering what this was about.
“Can you...check my head?” He gazed up at her, a peculiar expression in his eyes. Vulnerability?
Sora didn't know what to make of it. She sighed. “Dorian, I'm not a Healer....”
“No, that's not what I mean.”
She frowned, looking down at him. His effeminate features had grown on her; the sharp jaw, pointed nose and wide blue eyes. But his expression gave her pause. He looked...scared.
“Then what?” she asked, keeping her voice low. She sensed that Dorian didn't want to be overheard.
“With your Cat's Eye...can you...see if Volcrian's spell is still present?”
Oh. In all the excitement, she had almost forgotten about the mage. She glanced at Burn's sleeping form, the regular rise and fall of his breaths. Then she looked
up to the trees, wondering if Crash was watching them, if he could hear what Dorian was saying. The thief's request made her nervous. She could remember his attack in the swamp, the way he had come after her, trying to take her life. It left a cold feeling in her gut. He suddenly seemed much more dangerous than just a wounded friend.
But perhaps she was worrying for no reason. Burn said the spell was weak. Volcrian hadn't used much of Dorian's blood. Perhaps it had worn off.
“Well, what do you want me to do?” she asked, curious.
“I don't know...I think you need to touch me.”
“What?” Sora balked.
“Shhh!” Dorian glanced around, but Burn was still sleeping, and Crash was nowhere to be seen. He met her gaze and raised a finger to his head. “Touch my head. I don't know if it'll do anything, but...can you tell me if...if your Cat’s Eye senses anything wrong?”
Sora let out a long breath, considering the request. “Well, I don't know if it works like that....” she said slowly. She had already tried this method once, and it hadn't been very effective. “But I guess I can try again,” she murmured. Maybe things would be different now that her bond was stronger.
Dorian seemed relieved. He settled back against the log, waiting.
Sora wasn't sure how to begin. She wasn’t very skilled at using her Cat’s Eye—half of the time, she felt like it was using her instead. Finally, she decided to mimic what she had done last time. That is, set her fingers lightly on Dorian's temples and see what might happen. She did so, waiting for some sort of shock or revelation.
His skin was smooth and slightly clammy beneath the pads of her fingers, but Sora tried to concentrate past that, past the intensity of his eyes. She had to figure out what she was looking for, which was hard to do since she hadn’t a clue.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt something stir in the depths of her consciousness. The alien presence unwound itself, pressing into her thoughts, flowing down her body and into her fingers. The sensation was strange, electrifying. Dimly she saw Dorian’s eyes widen in wonder.
The Cat’s Eye searched, casting around for a sign of...well...anything. No, too broad; she had to narrow it down. Wolfy magic, she thought, hoping the Cat's Eye would understand. This necklace had been created back in the time of the races, right? It had to know what Wolfy magic felt like. Blood, she thought, trying to help it along. Something unnatural.
She waited for several minutes, the Cat's Eye stirring through Dorian's mind like an eel in a dark pond. But there was no sense of discovery, no magic, except for the dormant power that flowed through the Wolfy’s veins. And yet—yet I sense something....It was a mere flicker, there and gone. Like a shadow hovering over his mind, an unknown shade.
She couldn't take it anymore. The sensation was beginning to border on something like pain, and she felt a bead of sweat slip down her brow.
“Nothing,” she said, dropping her hands, though she felt like that was a lie. There was a residue of sorts. Something vague and lingering.
Dorian let out a sigh of relief, but still looked troubled. “Thanks, love,” he said. She waited for some witty remark, a teasing word. But there was none.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I don't know everything about the necklace. At least, not yet.”
Dorian grinned at this, the worry melting from his face. “Look at you, taking charge,” he remarked. “You'll be an expert in no time.”
Sora allowed herself a small smile, but it felt empty. She wished that were true...but she had a feeling it would take a long time to learn all of the necklace's secrets. Perhaps an entire lifetime.
“You should get some sleep,” she said quietly, and moved away to the fire, stretching out on the hard ground. She wished she still had her bedroll, or at least something clean to wrap herself in, but only her tattered cloak protected her against the cold.
“No,” Dorian said quietly. “You should get some sleep, love. I'll stay awake for a while yet. I've been sleeping long enough.”
She nodded, giving him another slight smile. She must have looked as tired as she felt.
Sora cushioned her head in her arms, wishing she could relax. But every snap of the fire made her jolt back awake, every subtle movement in the woods. The Catlins seemed to lurk just beyond her line of sight. She kept listening for a sign from the darkness, like the telltale shift of leaves. She couldn't quite believe that they were safe, even with Crash watching over them. They had been running for a long, long time.
But her body was exhausted. There was no fighting it. Eventually, she slipped into troubled dreams, falling through dense gray clouds, plunging into an ice-cold sleep....
Several more days passed this way. The four travelers were exhausted, Sora especially. She didn't know where the men got their endurance. Food was scarce, though as the ground grew more solid and the trees smaller, they were able to find rabbits and wild hens. Finally, the swamp seemed to have turned into a genuine forest, interrupted by brief patches of wetland.
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 th
ey 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 SIXTEEN