Warrior's Call (Dreamtide Book 2)

by Azalea Moone

  “Yes, but I sometimes wondered if people had mistaken me for a big red apple.”

  Chapter Seven

  Masks

  The din of the troop made it easy to locate their campsite as the sunlight fiddled away. The group of fifteen men sat around a large campfire with tents hitched all around in a circle. As was custom, their flags had been removed from their horses’ saddles and planted in the ground around the campsite, to ward away any curious passersby or raiders.

  Two guards stood by the horses; they set the typical nighttime watch to monitor the area. Sawyer led Kohaku toward them, and he hopped off his horse. “Good evening.”

  The two recognized him right away, sheathing their swords. “Sawyer Guinne?” one guard asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to speak with Fithel.” He motioned for Kohaku, who’d stayed behind. “See to it my partner gets his horse hitched.”

  As Kohaku approached, Sawyer thought to help him tie up his horse himself. “No worries, okay. I’ll find Fithel and let him know we’re here. You’re welcome to sit by the fireside with the others.”

  There was obvious trepidation in Kohaku’s posture; he wasn’t used to so many guards in one area, nor did he know a thing of the customary nighttime rest. It was two to a tent, usually, and by the size of the troop and the five tents laid about, there would be three or more men crowding tents, tonight. Fithel, as knight commander, had the biggest quarters of all, a large tent at the fore of the pack; his lieutenant would most likely sleep beside him as Sawyer often had.

  As Sawyer stepped toward the tents, behind him the men wailed out, “Is that? It’s Sawyer. And did he bring...” Though he wasn’t sure how many of the men were familiar with Kohaku just yet, at least they recognized him from their outings around the castle.

  “Fithel?” He knelt down at the front of the large, battered awning to peer inside. “Well, I’m here.”

  At the back of the tent, Sawyer could make out the outline of a face lit from the fire outside, a sunken cheek, and part of Fithel’s chin. “So you decided to join after all?” Fithel’s voice waned. Drunk, again?

  “We’re here. I found Kohaku on my way into Qeoca.” Sawyer let out a laugh. “Imagine that.”

  “Yes, imagine that,” Fithel repeated with a sigh. “Come in, please.”

  On hands and knees, Sawyer crawled inside the tent as directed. He sat near Fithel’s bedside, a bundle of soft bear hides atop the other bedding for the lieutenant. The redness in Fithel’s cheeks was clearer now, and so were the darkened circles around his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t been sleeping well either.

  “It’s been quite a while since we’ve shared a tent together.” Fithel rolled to his side; his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and intoxication.

  “Yes, well,” Sawyer breathed. If he could do something for his ex-partner, he would, but he didn’t know what. “I just wanted to let you know I’m here.”

  “Have some trouble in Raifut?”

  “It wasn’t the most pleasurable mission, but I arrested the captain and crew of a small cargo ship and dumped the suir over into the Wyst for good. You were right, though. How many more ships will we have to raid before ridding Anscien of this poison?”

  “Exactly my thought!” Fithel reached out to glide his hand across Sawyer’s leg. “You always were so keen on those types of details.”

  A lump drew into Sawyer’s throat and he scooted away from Fithel’s touch. “It-it was your idea, remember in Raifut?”

  Fithel’s hand froze in mid-air. “Of course.” His smile wavered, and he set his hand upon the bedding instead. “How could I forget?” He turned to his back, staring up at the fabric ceiling. “So how is Kohaku?”

  “He’s doing well.” A cold spell broke through Sawyer’s core. The air was too stiff and dangerous. “I should get back out there, then.”

  “Very good,” Fithel whispered. “See you in the morn.”

  Sawyer nodded, unable to speak. He crouched back down to crawl out of the tent. Next to the fire, sitting cross-legged with the other troop members, he found Kohaku being interrogated by his fellow guards about his dragon.

  “Come on, tell us what it’s like to wield a dragon?” One guard stabbed Kohaku in the arm with a pointy finger.

  “Yes, please, I’d like to know how you do it. Is it magic, or some spell?” Another guard insisted.

  “It’s a spell, I guess.” His attention drew in on Sawyer as he sat down next to him. Kohaku leaned in. “Did you find him?”

  Sawyer nodded. “He’s sleeping though.”

  “That’s a shame. It’d be nice to speak with him again,” Kohaku said.

  “Humph,” the guard next to him grumbled. “Don’t expect to get but maybe two words out of the commander. He hasn’t really been himself on this mission.”

  “Is that so?” Sawyer raised a brow. He doubted anyone knew exactly what was wrong with Fithel, given that his knight commander didn’t like to confess to anyone. “Maybe if your new lieutenant would limit your stops to the taverns—”

  “We ain’t got a lieutenant. Not after you left,” another guard answered him. “Edwyn here’s been a stand-in for second in command, but it’s not official.”

  A short, lanky man with a full red beard glared up at Sawyer. “Stubborn old Fithel, can’t tell ‘em nothing. You know that. So what if I told him not to go drinkin’, but he still does.” Edwyn shrugged. “He’d listen to you better than any of us.”

  “So do you even know where you’re going?”

  The fifteen men glanced at each other with wonder. “Jinchun,” Edwyn answered. “Is all we know.”

  Damn that Fithel... Sawyer’s heart hammered. Leading these men into battle, and yet he didn’t give them any directions. No commands. Did he expect his troops to immediately know what to do if they met trouble on the road?

  “We’re investigating the suir’ive, same as you.” Fithel’s voice made everyone go silent. Out of his tent, Fithel stood tall over them, despite in his loose underclothes, the firelight creating a reddish-orange glare on his sweat-covered body. “You can’t expect me to know everything. When the time comes, we’ll be ready to face any foe that stands in our way.”

  The troop murmured, but there was no usual battle cry Sawyer was so used to hearing after one of Fithel’s trumpet calls. It wasn’t like Fithel nor the troop to ignore duty. Sawyer shook his head, grimacing as the troop continued to whisper among themselves. This wasn’t their usual tenacity.

  Fithel must’ve noticed it, too. He huffed, then stumbled to sit next to Sawyer. “You rally them on. You’ve always been better at it than me.”

  “This is your job, now.” Sawyer motioned to the men.

  With a grunt, Fithel crossed his arms and stayed put. The whispers died, and all drew too quiet. Even the air outside was just as poisonous as the space between them. Sawyer couldn’t stand it much longer. He was used to telling tales and joking with his fellow guards.

  “I think it’s time we get some shut-eye.” Sawyer situated his bundle of covers underneath himself.

  The rest of the troop stood and scattered, disappearing into their assigned tents. He met Kohaku’s gaze, then Fithel’s on the opposite side.

  “See, they listen to you,” Fithel said. He stood and wiped off the dirt from his pants. “Suppose you’re right, though. I should be the one leading these men, but not until a good night’s rest.” He waved a hand, then stumbled back to his tent.

  Sawyer smoothed his hand over his bedding, still replaying the whole situation out in his mind. It was so much different now than it’d been when Sawyer was in the troop; Fithel had led them, ordered them, and sought their every movement. Sawyer was good with the rallies, but the troop had adorned Fithel with medals and trophies for his leadership skills.

  “Is Fithel okay?” Kohaku finally asked after so much silence between them. He was also preparing to lie down.

  “I’m sure a good night’s rest will snap him right,” Sawyer whis
pered, keeping his qualms to himself. Hopefully.

  The night air had cooled considerably; the winter’s chill was closing in on Qeoca. Sawyer wrapped himself tight in his covers, but couldn’t stop from quivering. He scooted closer to the fire, its heat soothing, the crackle of burning wood a welcome sound. It still didn’t help his restlessness.

  Loud grunts echoed all around the camp. He’d forgotten just how maddening his fellow troop member’s snores could be. Next to him, Kohaku lay so peaceful; maybe if he coddled close to him, it would drown out the deafening groans and this strange agitation.

  The tension had stayed with him since he spoke to Fithel. Now, in the dead of night, he thought back to Fithel’s position—his once overbearing status of Knight Commander had been reduced to paltry drunk. And how did things change so quickly? Fithel was never so lax and unresponsive; all those years, he’d shown pride in his title. Sure, he had joked around at times but was never the butt of them.

  Sawyer let out a pent-up breath, then turned over on his back to gaze up at the stars overhead. It was so clear above him, without a tree or a cloud to block the view of the twinkling dots. He’d stared at the stars so many times with Kohaku by his side. Never with Fithel, as there were always more important tasks at hand.

  Why can’t you just let this go, Fithel? The reasons for his commander’s awkwardness niggled at the back of his mind: they were partners so very long ago, inseparable lovers since childhood. Can’t you see it’s over?

  Slowly, the stars gave way to emptiness. Sawyer eased in a calming breath, trying hard to forget about everything that had happened for now. The cackling snores faded into the back of his mind. Sleep edged closer, but so did...

  A flash of bluish-green magic lit up the darkness, followed by the strangely painted white mask he remembered dreaming of the last time he’d slept at the castle. Only once had he dreamed of it, but still the mysterious premonition was frightening. The nervous twinge in his stomach made him open his eyes to the stars overhead again.

  Sawyer sighed deep. No sleep tonight, huh?

  A crunch in the grasses nearby caught his attention. He lifted his head, scanned across the camp, but nothing seemed disturbed. As he laid back down, another crackle stopped him. This time, he sat up for a better view. A shadow skirted across the darkness next to the farthest tent. Sawyer slowly stood and tip-toed his way around Kohaku, and the rest of the troop, until he was close to where the shadow was. In the past, he busted a man for sneaking away—the poor guy had slinked away to visit a woman. This time, with Fithel’s unconscious behavior, he was sure it could be another such incident.

  Further into the field, another rustle of grass sounded.

  “Who’s there?” he whispered.

  The gigantic shadow hopped around like a wild jack-rabbit, leading Sawyer deeper into the grassland away from camp. He ran his fingers across the hilt of his sword, quickly realizing he’d left it at his bedside. With a huff, Sawyer followed the shadow until it was standing near a latticed fence.

  Behind him, the glow of the fire marked their campsite, but it seemed so far away. The shadow weaved back and forth; Sawyer took a step closer to it, and slowly the figure of a human appeared—a long, dark wrap tied around the body like a kimono, but the hair was just as dark as the night and pinned to the back of this person’s head. Quickly, Sawyer caught the glimmer of a short blade in the person’s hand.

  “What are you doing here?” He quickly stepped back and prepared himself for an attack. “Are you a raider?”

  The figure tipped his head, then raised his arm. As if hidden by the darkness, the body moved too fast, and Sawyer felt the nick of a dagger breeze past his arm. He cringed, grabbing the bloody spot on his forearm, and his heartbeat thundered.

  Suddenly, a woman’s laugh followed. She screeching unrecognizable words as another dagger scored past his other arm.

  To dodge the attacks, he rolled on the ground and ducked his head. This woman shouldn’t be anywhere near the troop, though, not with these types of skills. He stumbled upon his knees close to her shadow in an attempt to tackle her, but she leaped back. As she avoided his assault, another blade struck his shoulder, and he bent low with a groan, his hand on the blade’s hilt.

  “Bitch,” he grumbled, pulling out the blade. A swathe of pain rolled down his arm, a peculiar tingle left in its wake. “Hold still, will you?”

  As he swooped up to catch her again, he fell to the grass. His body suddenly weak, his vision blurry with a sudden burst of smoke around him. The prickle swept through his shoulders and down his sides. He writhed with the pain; this was too much like those times he’d been controlled by Kladus’ spell.

  His pulse raced, breath heavy and heating his skin.

  “Kua ldola longan,” the woman said in her foreign accent as she knelt beside him, a sharp sting raged through his back.

  “Asaji, enough.” Another figure approached from the distance.

  Sawyer tried to lift his head, but the attack weakened his entire body. No, this wasn’t possible. He gripped the earth underneath his hands and tried to pick himself up, though his legs shaky.

  “Don’t move,” the man’s voice ordered. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “’ho ‘ou?” Sawyer snarled as he rolled to his back.

  The man stepped forward, and Sawyer took in his sheer size; appearing like a giant shadow in the inky sky, brawny and tall, he hovered over Sawyer as if he was nothing but a field mouse.

  “Sawyer Guinne, second commander of Anscien’s royal forces,” the man said without an accent, and Sawyer’s heart thundered even louder. “You have been given an unique gift. As I understand it, Kladus had a great love for you as his child.”

  Hearing of his father’s name made Sawyer groan. “what ‘ou know? Who are ‘ou?”

  “You need only call me Shusen, your master.”

  “I ‘ollow no ‘ne,” Sawyer snapped, wishing he could scream it.

  The man knelt down at his side, and Sawyer focused on his glistening white face with eyelids painted aqua blue—no, he quickly realized it to be a mask. Red streamers hung down from the side of it by the man’s ears, and pointed horns at the top of his head finished the eccentric ensemble. Exactly like in his dreams; he sucked in a breath at the realization.

  “This truly is Kladus’ work.” Shusen thumbed across his cheek, a shimmer of orange magic lit on his fingers. “He was always quite skilled.”

  Sawyer swallowed hard. Why would he dream of this strange man? And what was worse, somehow he was finding it much more difficult to control the blight while this man was around. He’d been told by the queen to keep calm while the curse pulsated through his body. If something were to happen, he could go to her for safety, but now, away from the castle and Kohaku, Sawyer wasn’t sure what to do. As Sawyer attempted to lift an arm to strike, Shusen yanked him up by his collar.

  “Don’t try to stop it. It only keeps you from unlocking your true self. Mindless killer.”

  Sawyer’s entire body jolted as Shusen unleashed him. A swirl of haze entered his mind, then in his vision a black fog so familiar that he let out a horrendous shriek. His arms ached, but he lifted himself up off the ground. His legs wobbly as he stood. As if being held like a puppet on a string, he froze there in front of Shusen, his veins glowing bright cobalt; the pain streaking down his body made him laugh.

  The rustling in the grass had awoken Kohaku before, but he drifted back to sleep in the belief it was just one of the troop members on his way to the bushes. But the distant shriek made him sit straight up to examine the area: the familiar fire, the tents set up around it like a circle, and the flickering of their country’s flags. Further in the distance, though, two shadows played in the field’s darkness.

  Sawyer was nowhere to be found.

  He stood, grasping the talisman around his neck for mental support. Walking further away from the campfire and the tents, the glow of blue veins came into view, along with the shadowed figures. One large, bulky
man, and the other...

  “Sawyer?” he whispered.

  The two figures turned toward him; Sawyer’s face now barely lit by the illumination of flames at their camp. His curse was alight, just as it’d been many times before, and Kohaku caught his breath. Full black-leather armor wrapped around his torso and up to his shoulders where his skin showed bare, and so had the spell marks running through him. The bracers around his wrists were also black metal, and the claws jutting from his fingers. His iris’ shone cobalt, flickering viciously in the light. The grin he wore just as wicked.

  The other man’s face was blurred in white. No, a mask?

  “Who are you?” Kohaku yelled.

  Sawyer fisted his hands, the claws of his bracers glistening as he stepped closer.

  “Wh-what’s happened?” Kohaku tensed. “Sawyer?”

  Suddenly, Sawyer froze in his tracks. His smile wavered, and he lowered his hands to his sides.

  The other man huffed. “How disappointing,” he said coolly. “Maybe next time.”

  Sawyer turned on heel, but the shadow was gone. “No. It’s...” He stepped forward, his marks fading along with the armor until he stood where the other shadow had been. There, he dropped to his knees with a gasp. “It’s impossible.”

  The clanking of swords and footsteps came from the campsite, followed by a rumble of voices. In the distance, a few members of the troop were awake, scanning the area.

  “Sawyer.” Kohaku leaned in.

  “... w-who was that man? That...” Sawyer covered his face in his palms.

  “What’s going on here?” Fithel dashed up to them, sword drawn, with three of his men following behind. Sawyer raised his head with wide eyes. Fithel froze. “Is that?” He glanced at his troops, and motioning with the sword, he ordered, “Search the area.”

  “How did this happen?” Kohaku asked.

  “You saw him. The man with the white mask? Calls himself Shusen.” Sawyer’s voice wavered. “He knew Kladus. Told me I... I have been given a gift.”