Abruptly she straightened up; her keen ears had heard a sound on the breeze. Her eyes combed the fields around her, listening intently. There was no sign of movement, but a sudden shiver ran down her spine.
Purely out of instinct, she threw herself to one side. A long, thin blade whipped past her, almost invisible against the grass.
She brought her staff down, but the sword was no longer there. Then she spun around, her heart in her throat—and gasped. A man stood at her back, as though he had risen from the very earth. For just a second, she thought it was Crash. Her eyes flickered over him in shock. His hair was the same perfect black, though longer and shaggier. One eye was closed by a permanent scar, a gruesome deformity that twisted down the left side of his face, while the other eye glinted with a malicious green light.
"Playing hero?" he hissed, and the sword moved like lightning. She brought up her staff, deflecting the blow. It was a clumsy block; she was completely unprepared.
He laughed at her, and in sudden anger, Sora kicked out her leg, attempting to trip him. Her foot passed through empty air as the man leapt up and over her, spinning expertly, landing perfectly on her other side.
Her mouth dropped open. Gods, he's like a cat! She had never seen a move like that before.
"And just what is a pretty morsel like you doing out here?” he asked, serpent-like. “Are you frightened? Yes, I think so."
“Don't flatter yourself,” Sora growled. Then she touched the necklace under her shirt and gave herself over to the Cat’s Eye, summoning its power with a tendril of thought.
The necklace roared to life. She felt its energy run through her limbs, making her loose and confident. The spirits of past warriors still existed within the necklace, snatches of skill and technique. As her muscles tightened with several lifetimes' worth of experience, she attacked him, twirling her staff with ease.
The man dodged her first thrust and brought his sword down to cleave off her hand—but she pulled back, lashing out, missing his throat by a quarter of an inch. She kept at him, attacking with a volley of blows and jabs; she struck his chest, his knee, his arms. Finally, with a firm whack to his hand, she forced him to drop his sword to the ground.
"Not what I was expecting, I'll admit,” he said, rubbing the injured limb. His eyes slid over her in an oily way that made her gut churn. His gaze was unnerving, sickly, like poison. “You wouldn't make a bad outlaw, you know. Would you consider joining us?"
Sora glared at him, disgusted. “Let Laina go,” she said.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, my dear,” he murmured. “But she has a price to pay.”
Sora lunged at him, infuriated. “Bastard!” she yelled. “She's just a child!”
The Raven was ready for her. He ducked under her staff, smooth as water, and grabbed her arms. Then, before she could react, he spun her around and bodily shoved her into the grass, falling with her, pinning her to the ground face-first. Sora let out a shriek of outrage, but it was useless—he was strong, far more powerful than she, and heavy against her back. He slammed her face into the dirt with one hand. She could imagine the grin on his twisted, scarred face.
“Beautiful girls are hard to come by,” the man mused. “Maybe I'll take you with me.”
Panic bloomed, tightening around her lungs, her heart skittering. It was hard to breathe with a mouth full of dirt, and her nose was smashed by the pressure on her head. Sora bucked and writhed, trying to break free, but the Raven's grip was rock-hard. “Mmm,” he murmured hoarsely. “Keep moving.”
Wham! Suddenly, some unseen force struck the bandit, knocking him sideways. He leapt off her, a curse on his lips.
Instantly freed, Sora rolled over and leapt to her feet, reaching for her staff, prepared for another attack.
Her eyes searched the grass.
She spun around, dragging in breath after desperate breath, expecting an attack from any side... but nothing happened. She kept turning, looking, waiting for the blow of a fist or the swing of a sword....
But the man was gone.
What happened...?
There was a large rock in the grass that hadn't been there before. Sora could imagine that someone had thrown it, but when she looked around at the fields again, she was alone. Except....
“I figured you could handle yourself,” Crash's voice reached her.
She whirled again, her heart in her throat. The assassin was kneeling in the grass nearby. How had she missed him? It was as though he had been invisible just a few seconds before. She could have sworn that her eyes had passed over that very spot.
He was inspecting something in the dirt—the sword dropped by the bandit. He picked up the thin blade, rolling it over in his hands, then threw it to one side. “Worthless,” he grunted.
Sora finally regained her breath. She frowned, staring at the sword in the grass. It was rusty and looked like it hadn't been sharpened in a while.
“Who was that?” she finally asked. The question tumbled out of her mouth before she could think about it. Then she murmured, “He... he looked like you.”
Crash sat back, his face impassive. “Did he?”
“Yeah.” She recognized that tone. Guarded. She grinned instead, trying to make light of the question. “Any lost relatives hanging around here? A brother, perhaps?”
Crash shrugged. “Family's complicated,” he said. “You could say mine are mostly cousins.”
“So, a cousin of yours, then?”
“No,” he said flatly, and left it at that.
Sora was too tired to pursue the topic. Sweat poured down her face. She felt as though the sun was blistering her forehead. With a heavy sigh, she sank down in the grass next to him, wishing she could just lie flat in the dirt and take a nap.
Surprisingly, Crash shifted closer to her. “Are you injured?” he asked.
“No,” she said, slightly irritated.
“I didn't think so.”
“Good.”
There was an awkward silence. Sora wondered why he was there. He had admitted letting her handle the fight on her own. Who knew how long he had watched before he had intervened... but now he worried that she was injured? She wanted to smack him in frustration. He had no faith in her abilities. How many times would she have to prove herself?
The grass hissed and shushed. She tensed. A moment later, Burn appeared nearby, his massive sword slung over one shoulder. “Well?” he demanded, panting. “They disappeared, ran off into the brush before I could stop them. Did we get her?”
Sora blinked and looked at Crash. “No...?”
He shook his head wordlessly.
“Dammit,” Burn muttered. “Damn it all!”
Sora echoed the sentiment. “I agree,” she growled. “We need to rescue her....”
“Why?” Unsurprisingly, it was Crash who spoke. “She's a nuisance anyway. Just let her go back to her kind.”
“You're kidding, right?” Sora spit out the words. “It's not that simple!” He must not know, she thought, trying to calm herself. He can't be so heartless. “They see her as a traitor. They're going to kill her.”
“Worse than that,” Burn said. “She had your satchel with her.”
“What?”
“Your bag.”
“What?” Sora's eyes widened. “With the hilt?”
Burn nodded silently.
Sora sat in stunned silence. She could remember tying the bag onto her horse that morning. How had Laina gotten her hands on it? Was that on purpose? Were the Ravens somehow after the hilt, too? No, that didn't add up; it had to be a coincidence. She shared a strained look with Burn, momentarily overwhelmed. “Then that does it. We have to go after her!”
Crash didn't say anything. Sora had the horrible feeling that he had known the Ravens' plot; he didn't seem surprised by the news at all. She wanted to scream at him in frustration. She could remember moments from their last adventure when they had traveled through the swamp. Secrets he had kept. Manipulation. He was terrible at times, ne
edlessly cold—inhumanly so.
“I'm the one who got her in this mess,” Sora said. “She's counting on me....”
“How?” Crash asked abruptly. “How is this your fault? She's the one who joined them. And what if she's lying about the whole thing? Do you know for a fact that they will kill her? She took the hilt with her, after all. She knows now what it is. You don't know if she's telling the truth.”
Sora shot him a fierce glare. Of course the assassin would say that. “Shocking, coming from a murderer,” she grunted.
Crash looked at her steadily, his face like stone. Harder than stone.
Sora stared back. She didn't turn away, but something about his gaze made her shiver, made her grow cold under the sun. She wanted to cave, certainly. His presence had always made her want to relent, to give in and follow his command.
Then again, he was usually the one to pull them out of trouble. She knew she could trust his judgment, that she was being stubborn and foolhardy. He didn't have any reason to help Laina, no reason at all, and from what she could tell, they didn't like each other. Could she blame him?
He had treated her much the same when they had met, more than a year ago... even though he had been the one to kidnap her, to seduce her into the unknown....
“Well, we need to get the hilt back, either way. I say we follow them,” Burn interjected, breaking the tense silence. “Have a look at their camp, see what they're up to. If Laina's lying, then we'll grab the hilt and continue on our way. But if not....” His eyes hardened. “I won't let a child be killed.”
Crash looked at the Wolfy. Sora had the feeling that he wasn't used to being ganged up against. “We're wasting time,” he said harshly. “Volcrian is right behind us. If he catches us with Laina, then she'll be dead anyway. We need to get the hilt, but rescuing her will take too long. We need to get to Delbar and get off the mainland.”
Burn stared back at him evenly. “We save the girl first,” he said. “She's just a child. We're not leaving anyone behind.”
It seemed that Crash didn't know what to say to that. Sora could hear the gravity in Burn's tone. It was the voice of age, of experience, of someone who didn't argue. She wanted to taunt the assassin, point a finger in his face, stick out her tongue... but she abstained. Maybe he would finally grow a heart. Maybe he would understand.
But when he turned back to her, his expression was unmistakable.
He'll never change.
“Fine,” Crash grunted, as though it had been his decision all along. “We follow.” Then he picked up the bandit's sword and snapped it over his knee.
Chapter 9
The Ravens' camp was spread out before them.
It was close to twilight, the sun a fragile arc on the horizon. They had followed the trail left in the grass to a long-dried river basin, where the plains dipped down into a rocky strip of earth. Bonfires and broad tents were scattered everywhere. The outlaws strode back and forth, pausing to chat with friends, passing around wine skins and chewing on legs of meat. To the left was a series of large wagons, probably from merchants they had killed. This is a successful band of thieves, she thought, surveying the items spread throughout the camp. Chests, crates, barrels, piles of cheap jewelry and furs, abandoned furniture—a loom? What could they possibly need a loom for, of all things?
There were many more bandits than Sora had expected. She tried to count them from where she crouched on the ridge above the camp, obscured by a large bush, but gave up after reaching one-hundred. A few mismatched flags waved above their tents. They looked like town flags or folded bedsheets, sewn over with the rough symbol of a flying bird. Appropriate for a bunch of jailbirds, Sora thought, and snickered to herself. Their clothes were so shoddy, she could practically feel the uneven stitches with her fingers. They obviously didn't know much about sewing—or how to use a loom.
Besides that, the camp seemed fairly organized, at least for a group of homeless criminals. For some reason she had pictured muddy, starving hooligans fighting over bowls of slop and sleeping in their own filth. Instead, the horses were corralled on the far side, the cooking area was separate from the sleeping tents. There were spurts of laughter and the occasional strum of a guitar.
Then the wind shifted, and she caught the foul scent of the latrines. She rescinded any credit she had given them, as small as it might have been. Ugh, gross! She resisted the urge to gag. Burn had been rubbing his nose earlier—with his heightened sense of smell, it was a wonder he could stand it. She returned her attention to the camp below, nonchalantly pulling her shirt over her nose.
A large group milled about the center of the camp, calling animatedly to each other. Sora could catch snatches of conversation. “Make it slow this time... think she'll scream... hope she lasts long, the last one died in an hour.”
Were they going to torture Laina before killing her? That's what it sounded like. She shuddered.
The Ravens were an even mix of men and women, though strangely enough, most of the women were far older than she. Perhaps widows or divorceés forced into poverty, nowhere else to go. Some even had children. She wondered why anyone would turn to such a life. Surely there were better alternatives...?
It was plain to see where Laina was kept. For one thing, there was a large cage off in the distance where a ragged girl lay, curled into a ball. A large crowd surrounded her, almost as large as the group in the center of the camp. As Sora watched, she saw several bandits throw rocks at the cage, yelling and taunting, but a few guards pushed them back. Their hatred seemed genuine. They were building a large pile of wood and debris in the center of the camp. Were they going to burn her at the stake?
Sora banished any doubt of the girl's honesty; Laina was definitely a victim. Her eyes scanned the camp, wondering where her satchel might be, but it was impossible to spot.
Crash and Burn had decided on a rough plan before approaching the camp. “Simple is best,” Burn had said knowingly. Sora didn't know if she agreed with that, but at least it was easy to remember. The two men would create a distraction, then search for her lost bag. When Laina was left alone, Sora would make her move and break the girl out.
She shifted so her knees were touching Crash, then asked quietly, "What's the signal?"
"I doubt you'll need one," he said. His eyes didn't leave the scene before them. "When everyone leaves the cage, then go to her. You might have to take out a few guards, but I don't think that'll be a problem.”
He cast her a glance and Sora felt strangely happy. Perhaps he recognized her skill after all. "Remember," he continued, "in and out. Nothing fancy, and don't stick around waiting for us. As soon as you get her, take the horses and leave. You remember our rendezvous point?"
"Yeah...." she gripped her staff in sweaty hands. They had decided on a copse of trees several miles away, in the opposite direction that the bandits would expect them to travel. "You'll be okay?"
Amusement flashed across his eyes and he arched an elegant black brow. The rest of his face was hidden behind a black veil, the mark of his trade. She hadn't seen him wear it since he had kidnapped her from her manor, almost a year ago. "You have to ask?"
Now it was her turn to snort. "Of course, I forgot. You're invincible. And immortal, I might add. Did I mention infallible?" She grinned in turn. "It's not like I've ever saved you from drowning...."
"Did you?" he said dryly. "I seem to remember that. You should get going. Burn will be in position by now."
Sora looked around and saw that, indeed, Burn had disappeared. Darn, I forgot to wish him luck. She stood, still hunched below the rim of grass, and turned to go. "Watch out for that guy with the scar,” she said over her shoulder, a last-minute thought. “He knows what he's doing.”
“Hmm,” Crash murmured.
Sora started along the top of the ridge. Blend! she thought to herself, trying to stay low and inconspicuous. If she stood up too straight, her presence would be as obvious as a lighthouse.
"Be careful," the assassin's voic
e trailed after her.
She turned back, unsure if she had heard correctly—am I imagining things? It seemed almost sentimental coming from someone like him.
But he was gone, nothing but weeds and rocks in his place.
"I will," she muttered, if only to the wind. Then she scuttled on her way, crawling around the outskirts of the large encampment, making sure to avoid the firelight. The sun was setting; it was perhaps a half-hour before full darkness. Shadows were everywhere, the landscape smeared with gray, so she blended in perfectly. She reached the side of the camp closest to Laina's cage and hunched low in the bushes, only a few dozen yards away. At this distance, she could clearly see her friend's tiny form, the men who paced around her prison, old knives shoved into belts, and the firelight that glinted off the eyes of the crowd.
It seemed like no more than a minute later, there was a shout from across the camp. Heads turned. Murmurs of confusion. She squinted, trying to see what was happening on the opposite end of the river basin.
Then a shuddering, echoing roar split the air; it could have been a bear or a lion, though Sora knew it was Burn's battle cry. There was a chorus of terrified whinnies followed by more and more shouts, the thunder of horses' hooves and a cloud of thick dust. She grinned, licking her lips in anticipation. The horses had broken loose from the corral—or had been set loose by her companions—and were stampeding through the camp, panicked eyes rolling, smashing into boxes and tearing through tents.
Chaos exploded. Screams shattered the lazy twilight. She could already see fires spreading, taking easily to the dry grass and wood, trailed by the maddened horses. The Ravens scattered, screeching to one another, leaving Laina's cage and running to put out the fires. There were perhaps fifty horses in all and the mess was catastrophic.
Only one guard remained at the cage. He fidgeted uncertainly, watching the camp disintegrate into panic, turning a blade nervously in his hands. Sora waited impatiently, hoping he would leave, but she couldn't waste too much time. She had to move while the chaos was at its peak. Finally, she decided it was time to act. Lifting her staff in one hand, she slunk down the hill, dashing swiftly from bush to scrubby bush.