Sora's Quest (The Cat's Eye Chronicles #1)

by T. L. Shreffler

They rode at a breakneck pace for several hours, until the rim of dawn seeped across the sky. Sora could barely cling to her horse. She felt more like a saddlebag than a rider. Her steed was tethered to the back of Burn's saddle; she didn't even need to use the reins.

  They dashed down forest paths, through winding streams and deep brush, then plunged past muddy meadows and giant ferns. The forest was rich and deep, the air moist; the only illumination was the moon. Sora couldn't believe how long they traveled on. Would they ever rest?

  When they finally slowed the horses, it was a half-hour before sunrise. Birds were waking in the trees, fluttering across the ground. They came to a halt and dismounted.

  “Half an hour,” Burn said, his voice like a thundercloud. “A half-hour's rest and we go on.”

  Sora slid from the saddle, stiff and weary. They distributed food from their bags and sat under the trees, allowing the horses to graze in the small clearing. A stream of clear water trickled nearby; she splashed some on her face, trying to stay alert, then leaned back in the cold morning dew and closed her eyes, the fringes of sleep pulling at her, coaxing her to lie down on the wet grass.

  “So how does it feel to be an outlaw?” Dorian asked. His ears twitched cheekily.

  Sora opened her eyes and glared at him. She couldn't seem to lift her head from the soft grass, and was too exhausted to care. “I'm innocent, and you all deserved to be hanged,” she said.

  “Hanged?” Dorian repeated with mock offense. He sank down next her, only a few feet away. “We just saved you from a long, cold trip to prison! You should be thanking us!”

  “For what? Killing my father? Abducting me?” Sora almost choked on her outrage, wishing she could fling a knife right between his eyes. “You just want my necklace. You're disgusting.”

  “I'm sorry you feel that way, sweetness.” Dorian munched for a moment on his travel bread, then frowned, putting his hand to his head. He blinked his eyes strangely.

  “What?” Sora asked, wondering if there was something wrong with the food.

  “Nothing,” he said, “just a headache. Not enough sleep.” Then he glanced over her, his eyes lingering on her face. “I daresay, your cheek is turning a glorious shade of purple. How is your eye?”

  Sora didn't respond. She was too angry, and the reminder of her injuries only made them hurt worse. The swelling had gone down and she could see better now, but touching the side of her face brought a throb of pain through her nose and teeth.

  “Leave the girl alone, Dorian,” Burn said quietly. “I think she's been through enough.”

  Sora looked at the giant Wolfy, surprised. There was a softness on his face, unexpected kindness. After a moment, she said, “Thank you.”

  Burn cocked his head thoughtfully, gazing at her with gentle, warm eyes. Something about his expression beckoned her to talk. She bit her lip, the words pressing to come out of her mouth.

  “I can't go back now,” she finally said. “I can never be seen in my manor again.” That thought wrenched her heart. She had wanted to run away, to leave her life behind...but not in ruins. Not with such finality. She would always be remembered as a murderer. A complete disgrace.

  Burn edged closer and reached out a long, long arm. He patted her shoulder, a friendly gesture, though it only served to make her head throb.

  “Come with us,” he said quietly.

  “I am coming with you,” she sniffed, and gave him another angry glance.

  “No, my dear,” Burn said softly. His gentleness was disarming, and Sora wondered who he really was, how he had come into league with someone as evil and terrible as Crash. “We have dragged you with us. But you don't have to be a captive. You could join us.”

  It was an unexpected offer—so clear and straightforward. She was an exile now; returning home meant committing herself to the noose. She had no friends in court. Her arrest and execution would be a quick matter indeed.

  And now Burn was offering her a different option. A better option, perhaps. Something more than threats and coercion. Yet the thought made her ill. This entire mess was their fault. She couldn't forget that. Some deeds were unforgivable—like murder and kidnapping.

  “Never,” she snapped.

  “Think on it, then,” Burn said, his voice deep and smooth. She didn't want to be persuaded, yet his show of kindness was incredibly alluring, especially after so much tension. “Why be alone, when you can have friends like us?”

  Sora snorted, unable to help herself. She was choked by bitterness. With friends like these, who needs enemies? “That's a laugh.”

  “This isn't the end of the world, you know. Though it might seem like it,” Burn continued, unperturbed by her reaction. “Tomorrow is a new day. Surely there is something more you want? Something worth traveling for?”

  Sora looked away and stared at a tall birch tree, smooth and white in the pale morning. The horses snorted softly in the gray dawn, roaming across the grass, their noses to the ground. The stream's trickle was almost peaceful. What do I have worth traveling for? Her thoughts went back to her birthday, to the evening sunset and the musicbox. The mystery of the Cat's Eye. My mother. It was her original quest...and perhaps now her only direction.

  But she couldn't tell them that. She couldn't let them take it away. Even if Burn was trustworthy—a small chance of that—her other captors were not. She could see Crash out of the corner of her eye, lingering in the shadows beneath the trees, tending his horse. He looked like he wasn't listening, but she knew he was.

  “No,” she said softly. “I have nothing.”

  Burn frowned, his yellow-hued eyes searching her face. His brow furrowed. Was it sympathy?

  “All the more reason to come with us!” Dorian cut in. His small, soft hand landed on her other shoulder, in vast contrast to Burn's rough palm. “What have you left to lose? And it's mighty inconvenient, always having to keep an eye on you. It won't do in the swamp. We need to be able to trust each other. Look, we even bought you weapons.” Dorian nodded to his saddlebags, where her staff and daggers rested, tied to the side of the horse. “If that's not a show of good faith, I don't know what is.”

  Sora glared at him, his almost offensive words ringing in her head. What have I left to lose? As though, just because she had no other option, she should willingly and thankfully join their party? She thought of her manor, her ruined family name. How can I join them? They're despicable. She had more honor than that, and she raised her chin stiffly, her jaw so tight she couldn't speak. She saw Burn cast a mean glance over her head at Dorian.

  Dorian raised an eyebrow, one ear flicking upward like a confused dog.

  “Enough,” Crash said, breaking into their conversation. He crossed the small clearing quickly, pausing above them, his black cloak swirling to a stop. “Volcrian is behind us and Fennbog ahead. Soldiers scour the woods while we speak. We must learn to use the necklace while there is still time.”

  Sora looked up at the hard angles of his face, the sharpness of his jaw, the way his black hair swept across his forehead. He seemed tireless, full of strength, despite another sleepless night.Her anger was renewed. “And what if I don't? What if I refuse?”

  Crash raised an eyebrow. He didn't need to reach for the knives at his belt; the blades glinted dangerously in the thin morning light. She thought she already knew his answer, but when he spoke, it was unexpected. “The King's guard is after you. Not us. You.” He nodded to the necklace concealed beneath her shirt. “I think you need to consider who your true allies are.”

  Sora snorted in surprise. “Now that's rich! You kidnap me, threaten me, drag me around the countryside against my will—and you are supposed to be my allies?” She looked around at the Wolfies incredulously. “You're all insane!”

  “Think what you want,” Dorian said. “But we have a squad of soldiers and a blood-mage on our trail. Whatever you decide, sweetness—do so quickly.”

  Sora blinked and looked at the three men. She hated them—but they had a point. So fa
r, they were the only ones who hadn't tried to kill her or throw her in jail. She let out a sigh of annoyance. “And how am I supposed to use the necklace?” she snapped. “I didn't even believe in magic until yesterday! I don't know anything about it. I'm useless.”

  Crash gave her a cold stare. “Then make yourself not useless,” he said bluntly.

  Sora stared at him, her mouth dry. She waited, half-hoping that one of the Wolfies would stand up in her defense, but they just watched the silent confrontation. She couldn't believe it. They were using logic against her—and it was working.

  She thought of the King's prisons, of her own beheading. Then she thought of Volcrian and the monster in the forest. She cleared her throat. “Right,” she finally said. “I'll try.”

  Dorian approached her, reaching out with a gentle hand, but she stepped back, not wanting to be touched just then. The Wolfy gave her a slow smile instead. “Hurry, love. We don't have much time.”

  She nodded and put a shaky hand on her necklace. And then, slowly, realization dawned. It was strange to think about, almost out-of-body, but what if...what if this was just another day to them? Another day trying to survive? She looked around the group, reading that message in their eyes.

  “We need you, Sora,” Burn said, breaking the silence.

  Sora nodded again. She knew what Burn meant. Her captors were in a far worse predicament, and now she was in it with them.

  With a breath of resignation, she gripped the necklace and closed her eyes, thinking back to what the mapmaker had said. A bearer need keep firm control of their thoughts and desires. He must be completely loyal to the cause. Any thoughts of doubt or deceit, or a desire to run from battle, can lead the entire army in aimless circles. Above all, the bearer must be disciplined.

  Disciplined.

  She let out a deeper breath and tried to forget the three men around her, the soldiers on their trail, the looming threat of Volcrian. There were plenty of reasons to panic...but she couldn't let panic disrupt her concentration. She had to communicate with the necklace. She wasn't sure how, but as she thought back on the encounter with the fox-corpse, she started to form a few ideas. The necklace seemed to exist entirely within her mind; it would nudge her thoughts, however fleetingly.

  When she sat down next to the stream, it was unexpectedly easy to slip into a meditative state. Sora had only meditated a few times before, when a tutor suggested that meditation would help her studies. But she was blessedly close to falling asleep, so her mind quickly relaxed. She let the tension flow from her shoulders, down her neck and spine and into the ground.

  She spent several minutes like that, breathing calmly, allowing herself to be still. Then she ran her smooth finger over the surface of the stone. Help me, she thought, quelling the sense of foolishness that arose with her words. We need to pass through Fennbog to the other side. She tried to envision the other side of the swamp, the warmer climate of the lowlands, the fields of grass and the merciless winds. She focused on her message as clearly as possible, trying to make it pointed and precise. Take me to the other side of the swamp.

  But it was difficult to control her thoughts, and worries and concerns slipped through the message. She thought of her mother, wondering where she might live, or if she was even still alive. She thought of her own death, of the terrible creatures that lived in Fennbog, of the coming nights in the wilderness. She thought of Lord Seabourne and her arrest. And...she thought of Crash.Abruptly, there was a murmur from the necklace. A slight movement of thought. But when she focused, it whisked away like a passing cloud.

  “Hey!” a voice disrupted her meditation. “Did you see that?”

  Sora blinked, coming out of her relaxed state. She glanced up, noticing that her companions were now all standing around her, looking at her with strange, surprised expressions. Except for Crash. He had his arms crossed, watching her closely, observant.

  When she looked down at her hand, she saw the Cat's-Eye stone glowing through the cracks of her fingers. As she watched, the green light slowly dimmed and disappeared. But it left something in its wake—a warm feeling, like honey drizzled on her chest.

  When she looked back to the three men, she wasn't afraid anymore, but rather filled with a sense of strength and confidence. She met each of their gazes head-on.

  “Well?” Dorian asked. “Did it work?”

  Sora nodded. Honestly, she didn't know what had changed. There had been no words, no instructions, no bells. But the glowing green light seemed an indicator. “Yes,” she said simply. And then she looked up, her head turning toward the forest, a sense of urgency passing through her. “Wait, I think...I think they're coming.”

  At that moment, a long, wailing howl split the morning silence. A hound. It was still at a distance, but as they listened, several other hounds picked up the call. An entire pack...had found their trail.

  “Move,” Burn said. “Hurry!” They quickly packed away the food and climbed back up on the horses. For a moment the four hesitated, pacing about the small clearing, uncertain of which direction to travel. But suddenly Sora felt a nudge inside her—like a finger prodding her back. That way.

  She pointed to a deer path to their right. No need for words. Burn leapt onto the trail and Sora followed suit, her small pinto charging into the woods. Dorian and Crash brought up the rear. With hardly a backward glance, they raced through the forest, the horses leaping nimbly over ferns and rocks.

  It worked, Sora thought, amazed at herself, at the necklace, at the whole damned thing. By Goddess, it worked! A small, satisfied grin came to her lips. The necklace wasn't as hard to control as she had thought. Perhaps she wasn't useless after all.

  As they rode, the ground became noticeably less and less firm. The morning stretched on, but the sky didn't grow lighter. Sora felt like it was late evening, as though night had never truly left. Heavy clouds the color of wet stone hung above them, close to the ground. The air was thick with moisture that saturated their clothes. Bursts of drizzle fell, but never full rain. The clouds withheld their downpour, content to sit heavily on top of the trees, watching the mad race below.

  The four travelers stayed true to the deer trails and woodland paths. The land off the path was soft and muddy, and sucked heavily at the horses' hooves. Plants thrived in this part of the forest, growing thick and lush, bright emerald against dark wood. The foliage was clumped together, covered in moss and ivy. She saw more and more pools of stagnant water. Trickling streams wended through ditches, overgrown by tall ferns.

  “Have we entered the swamp already?” she called out.

  “No, but we are at its border. Mayville isn't far from the fringes of Fennbog,” Burn explained. “These lands are a giant river basin. The rain flows into the Crown's Rush.”

  Sora nodded at that. The Crown's Rush was the longest river this side of the royal city. She had studied a bit of geography; if one followed the Rush, it would lead straight to the City of Crowns. She also knew that the Rush disappeared into the sludgy mire of Fennbog swamp, nigh impassible. It had never been traveled to the ocean. Boats had a way of vanishing into the bog.

  Close to mid-morning, Burn finally eased up on his horse, bringing the small party to a stop. The barks and yelps of the hounds sounded occasionally, a reminder that they were still being hunted. Speed was of the essence. Only a fool would follow them into the swamp. Only a fool would go there in the first place.

  Burn brought them up short, raising his hand. Then he sat atop his horse, half-obscured by a ridge of thick blackberry bushes. Dorian trotted up to his side, nudging past Sora's horse. Crash followed him, treading carefully across the soft ground.

  Sora could tell that their steeds didn't like the mud. They kept shifting their weight, lifting one hoof and then another, uncomfortable.

  “Why have we stopped?” Crash called.

  “An obstruction,” Dorian said sarcastically. “However minor.”

  Sora frowned at this. Curious, she led her horse through the remaini
ng bramble to Dorian's side. The trees fell behind them. She looked up, her view no longer obscured by leaves and branches. Her jaw dropped.

  A river.

  No, worse than a river. A slough. The land dipped down into a wide stretch of brackish water, interrupted by lumps of rust-brown wetland covered in cattails, weeds and Goddess-only-knew-what. Far, far away, on the very edges of her vision, she could see the smooth, towering eucalyptus trees of Fennbog swamp, partially shrouded in a veil of gray mist. Several birds flew back and forth across the open stretch of land, large creatures with long, wide beaks and dangling yellow legs.

  “That's not so bad,” she said, looking across the flatland to the tall trees, several miles away. “At least there's no roughage. We should be able to cross in no time.” She shifted her hips and urged her horse down the hill, but Burn reached out and grabbed her reins, stopping her.

  “That's not land,” he said, indicating the broad basin.

  “No,” Dorian chimed in. “It's mud, the likes of which you have never seen. Enough to swallow our horses and everything else.” The silver-haired man turned to look at her, his brows drawn low. “Nice work, sweetness. That Cat's Eye is certainly useful. We've only reached a dead end.” Then he looked at Crash. “This was a brilliant idea....”

  “Quiet, Wolfy,” Crash said darkly. He didn't seem disturbed by the stretch of wetland, but watched coolly from atop his steed, gazing into the distance. The calls of the hounds were growing closer, lighting up the air with eager yelps. Sora felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. They didn't have long to make a decision.

  Finally, Crash turned to look at her. “Girl,” he said, “you take the lead.” Then he withdrew a dagger from his belt. He cut the rope connecting her horse to Burn's.

  “What?” Sora demanded. She felt as though she had swallowed a handful of dirt.

  “You heard me,” he said, sheathing the dagger. “Quickly, use the necklace to get us across this bog. There is no time for doubt.” He watched her with that same cold look, as though she was already disappointing him. Strangely, it reminded her of her father. And even stranger, it lit a small fire inside of her, one of radiant defiance.

  “Fine,” Sora snapped, and touched her necklace, hoping it could read her intentions. When she looked out across the wetland, she only felt numb. “Follow me!”

  She kicked her steed a little harder than intended. The horse leapt into action, skidding down the hill with a frightened whinny. On its first step into the slough, it plunged knee-deep into the mud. Sora let out a short scream, barely staying in the saddle. She could see the truth of the swamp now. Everything that she had thought was grass—solid ground—was really a soupy, putrid substance that sucked down like quicksand.

  “Hyyah!” she shouted, and urged her horse forward. It maneuvered sideways, away from the deep mud. She touched her necklace again. Perhaps it was her adrenaline or the sudden urgency of the situation, but the Cat's Eye responded immediately, nudged by her thoughts.

  Sora directed her horse to the right, where the ground was more solid, clumped together by grassroots and shrubbery. Her steed regained its footing, and then they were off, charging across the slough, weaving along a route of long grass, reeds and rotted logs, her Cat's Eye their only guide. Crash and the Wolfies stayed close behind, following her step for step, turn for turn. Countless times she almost lost her footing, but Sora was a keen rider, well-studied, and was able to right her horse.

  Perhaps a half-hour into the wetlands, the hounds burst from the forest, howling and yapping in victory, their prey finally in sight. They were big dogs, wolfhounds or larger. Some might have been mutts, mixed with shaggy herding dogs, almost the size of ponies. Sora glanced over her shoulder in horror. The fleeting gray shapes flew down the hill and entered the mire. She hoped that the dogs would plunge straight into the bog.

  The pack leader did just that, falling into a well-disguised sinkhole. But a new leader took its place, snapping and snarling, and the hounds quickly regrouped. They followed Sora's trail perfectly. They weren't faster than the horses, but they could certainly keep pace, and the terrain was unpredictable. Her heart sank. She urged her horse faster, praying they didn't plunge into the mud.

  Then a hollow, moaning sound floated eerily across the marsh, blending with the mist. A horn. More riders appeared at the hilltop, red uniforms starkly visible against the low, gray clouds. They paused, their horses dancing back and forth, and Sora could imagine their conversation. Doubtless they were looking at the muck, wondering how to cross.

  “Follow the hounds!” she heard. The voice was distant and muffled, carried by the empty wind. “Step only where they step! Careful now! Cautious!” A team broke off to follow, albeit at a slower pace. A small group stayed on top of the hill.

  Sora smirked at that. Cowards. Their captains had kept to the woods, scared of getting their boots wet. She wondered if Lord Seabourne was among them.

  “Watch your backs!” Crash yelled, shaking her from her thoughts. He was several dozen yards behind her, farthest in the rear. “Lean down! Close to your horses!”

  “What?” Sora exclaimed, confused. But she saw Dorian and Burn obey. She bent across the saddle, pressing herself to her horse's neck, not a moment too soon. With a quick ffftttp!, a black arrow flew past her head, quicker than a bolting sparrow. A shriek escaped her lips despite the warning.

  “Blast!” Dorian cried. “They have archers!”

  “Run!” Crash's voice reached them. “Faster!”

  Sora pressed her horse again, though it was already at its limit. A rain of arrows followed them. Their only hope was to outdistance the archers, but with the ground growing ever softer, it was difficult to maintain her pace. The Cat's Eye's directions came in short bursts and prompts, and she could barely lead her horse, first one way, then the other. Twice she almost plunged into the mire, barely correcting her steed in time. They needed to slow down, step more carefully—but that was far too great a risk.

  Then, suddenly, there was no more ground. Sora's horse came to a skidding halt, snorting and whuffing, digging its hooves into the soft earth. She leaned backward, struggling to control her mount. When they finally stopped, she could only stare at the sight before her, mouth slightly open, helpless.

  The slough dissolved into an outright river—the Crown's Rush, she assumed. It moved at a sluggish pace, perhaps a half-mile across. Sora had the feeling that this river wasn't normally so wide, but it was the rainy season. The slough was swollen with water from the recently melted snow.

  And there, slightly to their left, was a rotted, broken bridge. The water had risen so much that the bridge floated on the river's surface, pieces of it completely submerged. Large stakes protruded from the river every couple of paces, but to Sora's eyes, they looked half-rotted and the ropes well-worn. She doubted any maintenance had been done in the last few years. It was a wonder that thing still stood.

  It also appeared to be the only way to cross the river. A coincidence? Or had the Cat's Eye led her straight to it?

  If the necklace led me here, then it must be passable, she thought, gripping the stone. But that was a long shot. She didn't know if that was true; she wasn't experienced enough.

  But it was too late to turn back and search for a better route. She could hear the baying of the hounds on their trail, frantic wails and vicious snarls. And the soldiers hadn't given up yet. She leapt from her steed just as another series of arrows rained down upon them, speckling the ground, narrowly missing their horses. Luckily, the arrows were losing their accuracy because of the distance.

  Dorian and Burn arrived next to her, immediately fanning out, jumping from their horses and ducking low to the brush. They were both breathing hard, full of adrenaline. The howling had grown to a fever pitch; the dogs could sense they were close to their prey. The horses pawed the ground, panicked, the whites of their eyes showing. Sora knew her mare was one second from bolting. She held on firmly to its reins, staying to one side so she
wouldn't get kicked.

  She wasn't normally afraid of dogs, but hearing the primitive, brutal snarls struck terror in her heart. These animals weren't just dogs anymore. No, they were hunters fully consumed by the chase. Who knew what a frenzied pack would do?

  Crash arrived a second later, leaping from his horse while still in canter. He landed smoothly, running toward them, his sword drawn.

  “Should we cross the bridge?” Sora asked, wincing. It sounded more like, Can I go home now?

  “Yes,” Burn said. The response was grim and immediate. “I'll go first. I'm the heaviest. If the supports give, then it'll be under my weight.”

  Sora's mouth gaped. “But you'll fall into the river!”

  “Sweetness, he's a warrior,” Dorian cut her off. “And a Wolfy at that. Do you really think mud will swallow him?”

  Sora pushed Dorian away from her, shaking her head. “You'll need the Cat's Eye,” she tried again.

  “I doubt I'll get lost on a bridge,” Burn said, humor in his eyes. “I've crossed more treacherous rivers than this.” He turned back to the sludgy water, feet planted on firm earth, tall and strong. Sora gazed at his muscular back, as wide as a bear, the greatsword reaching almost down to his knees. She raised an eyebrow.

  Dorian spoke up, his tone sharp and urgent. “Hurry, Burn, I feel a dog gnawing at my ankle....”

  As though summoned by his words, a giant, black wolfhound jumped from the bushes to their right, its coat matted with mud and reeds. Sora gasped, stumbling backwards. The hound turned and snapped at her, its vicious fangs glinting with saliva. It lunged, mouth wide open, flying at her throat.

  The shing! of steel pierced the air, the glint of a blade. The assassin dodged in front of her, an unexpectedly valiant move, and his blade caught the hound's jaw. It cleaved halfway through its muzzle before lodging into the bone. Crash pulled the hound toward him and rammed a knife into its throat, then tossed the body to one side, dumping it into the slough.

  Sora stared in horror, unable to believe the swiftness of the battle. More hounds leapt from the bushes, perhaps over a dozen, though some hung back, obscured by clots of grass. They kept their distance, circling and snapping from just beyond Crash's reach. The assassin faced the pack in a half-circle, his sword in one hand, a short knife in the other. Every time one got too close, he lunged forward, slashing with his blade.

  When Sora turned back to the bridge, she saw that Burn had mounted the first planks and was starting across, coaxing his horse behind him. The horse trod gingerly on the half-submerged planks, its ears back. Sora marveled at the horse's training, following its master into such dire straits. The bridge swayed and jerked in the heavy, sluggish water.

  Dorian followed with his horse, but stopped just before the bridge. He waited until Burn had reached almost midway across the planks. But by that point, Sora could hear the shouts of human voices, the squish of unseen hooves. The soldiers would be upon them soon.

  “Dorian, take my horse,” Crash called, and indicated the tall gray steed. Dorian nodded and caught the reins, then tied it to the back of his horse.

  Crash turned back to the hounds, swinging his sword several times to back them off.

  Dorian turned to Sora and nodded curtly. “You're next,” he said. “Should anything happen, just call my name.” And he winked, a terribly roguish look. “I'll come back for you.”

  Sora balked at that. Come back for her? Unlikely, especially if the bridge collapsed. She was about to say something, but the thief had already started across the expanse, the two horses stepping lightly after him. They were smaller steeds with long, delicate legs. The ropes strained. The boards creaked. So far, the bridge held.

  Another hound leapt from the brush, drawing her attention. Crash hacked it down with his sword just as quickly. The dog whined pathetically, writhing on the ground, blood spurting from a wound at its neck. The other dogs paced back and forth, even more excited by the scent of blood, then skittered away to avoid Crash's blade. They paced just beyond the fringe of grass, looking for an opening.

  Sora waited for Dorian to make some headway across the bridge. She felt a nervous knot form in her stomach. I'm next. She looked back across the drizzling wetland to the distant shapes on the hill. The clouds had moved lower, if that was possible, and the soldiers were filmy on the horizon.

  “They've stopped shooting,” she said, relief in her voice. “Maybe they'll give up...?”

  “No,” Crash replied darkly. “The other soldiers are too close. They won't risk hitting their own men.” Then he turned and started moving her toward the bridge, one eye on the dogs, his sword still at the ready. Sora led her horse toward the platform, following Crash's direction, unable to protest. She tried to hide the tremor in her knees. The river might appear slow and sluggish, but she was certain that it had a nasty undertow, and that the water might be too thick to swim against.

  “Prepare yourself,” Crash said. Then he headed her onto the bridge.

  Sora started across carefully. Burn was almost to the other side, and this gave her hope. Dorian was just past the halfway point. The smaller Wolfy shouted back to her occasionally, pointing out rotted beams or loose ropes, but she could barely concentrate. She was too busy gripping her necklace in one hand and the horse's reins in the other, her eyes trained on her feet.

  Burn reached the other side. Dorian was two-thirds of the way across. Where he stood, the water was shallow and the bridge was supported by thick mud, much more secure. Sora felt a bit of tension loosen. With less weight on the bridge, she was certain it would hold. She started stepping more boldly, leading her horse as quickly as she could. The water flowed over her boots, icy cold, seeping through the leather and freezing her toes. At times, the bridge dipped downward, submerged. She was almost waist-deep in water, her clothes soaked. Her horse balked, and she had to pause for a moment, coaxing it forward, cautiously testing each beam before putting weight on it. It was painfully slow going.

  Finally Dorian made it to the other side. After securing his two horses, he returned to the bridge and waited for her, standing lightly on the planks, watching her progress. Sora, grateful for his vigilance, felt more secure.

  “Here they come,” Crash called. He was only a few paces behind her.

  Sora glanced back and spotted the shiny helmets through the tall grass. The dogs had noticeably calmed. Her heart lurched. The soldiers were right behind them and would probably try to cross the bridge too....What can we do?

  Crash raised his shortbow and fired a few arrows into the brush. One of them caught flesh and a gurgling scream split the air, along with the howl of a few dogs. Her horse paused at the sound, legs stiff, ears back. No! Sora tried to coax the mare forward, clicking her tongue, pulling on the reins. But her steed would not budge.

  “Ugh, stupid horse,” Sora snapped, trying to drag it forward. She could sense Crash's impatience. He fired off an arrow, striking yet another soldier. She cursed the steed and hoped that the soldiers didn't return fire. She and her steed were helplessly exposed in the center of the bridge.

  Then a sudden, terrible snapping sound reached her ears. Distracted, she looked down at her foot. The planks were bound by a frayed rope, and as she watched, the last strands split apart. The bridge sagged abruptly under her weight. Then, with several twists and snaps, the ropes broke apart in a chain reaction, one plank after the next.

  “Dorian!” she cried, suddenly sick. She looked up to see him a few dozen feet away, lingering on the bridge, watching her. He could make it to her side if he moved fast. “Dorian! Help! The bridge!”

  She waited for him to rush to her, or at least reply. But when she met his eyes, they were strangely dark. He watched her blankly, inquisitively, and for a moment...just a moment...she thought his face looked different. Like someone else.

  Then the center of the bridge dissolved under her feet. The water leapt up to claim her. Sludgy and thick, it felt like falling into ice-cold porridge. Rocks and twigs propelled b
y the vicious current snagged her skin, cutting and bruising it. Her horse screamed in terror, sinking up to its saddle, hooves buried in the muddy bottom of the slough.

  The horse bucked and kicked, dancing to one side. Its harness became entangled with a fallen tree branch, knocking Sora even further into the water. The current rushed up to grab her, twisting her away from the bridge and the ropes, dragging her downstream mercilessly. The river was much stronger than she had thought. Before she knew it, she was fully submerged, the water swallowing her whole.

  She fought her way back up to the surface, struggling against the current. “Help!” she screamed, kicking her legs and propelling her arms, trying to stay afloat. The water was impossibly deep, with no sense of a bottom, and she was quickly swept downstream. She grabbed hold of the rope that had once held the bridge, hoping it was tied to something at the other end.

  Luckily, the rope caught, and she tried to pull her way back. But the current was powerful and the rope tenuous, and her head kept going underwater. She was far away from the bridge, with no way back. She opened her mouth and inhaled mud, choking. She couldn't stop coughing, with the water splashing up in her face.

  The water was so cold, her fingers became numb. Her hands tired and slipped. Her head went under again, and this time the river yanked her downward, catching her foot in an undertow. She couldn't hold on anymore. She didn't even know if the rope was still in her hands.

  Then suddenly, strong, rough fingers snagged her shirt.

  She was dragged upward against a strong, toned body. Held tightly against a broad chest as the water rushed against her, trying to press her down. A rope was looped around her wrist, binding her tightly to her rescuer's belt. He started pulling her back to the bridge, fighting the fierce current and lots of debris.

  Relief surged through her. Dorian, it has to be! He had been paralyzed back there on the riverbank, perhaps by panic or fear. But he had come for her, just like he had promised.

  Her head broke the surface of the water and Sora gasped brokenly, weak and drained. She clung to Dorian's hard torso like a squirrel to a branch, digging her fingers into his skin, wrapping her legs around his waist, half-squeezing the breath out of him, terrified. A second rope was tossed to them; he grabbed it in two firm hands. Arm-length by arm-length, she was pulled toward the opposite side of the river, where Burn and the horses were gathered. It was all she could do to keep her head above water. Dirt muddied her eyes and mouth, twigs were caught in her hair, her clothes were heavy and tangled.

  It seemed to take an hour to reach solid land. Finally she felt the soft bank beneath her, but didn't have the strength to use her limbs. She was pushed and lifted through the water, propelling herself clumsily with her legs, too numb and weak to do much else.

  Once the water was shallow enough, her rescuer cut the rope between them and stood, lifting her into his arms, settling her partway over his shoulder. Then he carried her through the waist-deep water much as one might carry a child, her legs around his waist, her arms tight at his neck.

  She hugged Dorian tightly, still choking, spitting out sludge from the back of her throat. She wiped her face across his shoulder, blinking the grit from her eyes, then buried herself against his wet black hair.

  Wait! Black hair?

  “Burn! Bring a saddle blanket!” her rescuer called. It was not Dorian's voice, but deeper, stronger, carrying the weight of authority.

  Crash!

  Sora wanted to care, but she was too exhausted. She hadn't the strength to thrust him away. All she could do was cling and shiver.

  She was carried a short ways from the riverbank behind a thin copse of trees, then easily maneuvered to the ground. Although it was soft and sludgy, it was solid, not the quicksand of the slough. She wanted to stand up, but her limbs shook. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. And, she suddenly realized, it was raining.

  When she looked up, the assassin knelt above her, his eyes the color of moss, his black hair bristling with water. He briefly checked her for injuries, silently and efficiently, his hands running over her body in a brusque manner. She tried to protest by pushing him away, but he deftly avoided her attempts.

  “Do you feel pain?” he asked, stretching out her arms and legs, pressing at her ribs.

  “No,” she gasped, then coughed again, spitting out a shard of leaf.

  “Good.” Then he reached up and took the saddle blanket that Burn offered. “We have to continue for a ways, but not far, just out of range of the soldiers. Can you stand?”

  Sora nodded and pulled the saddle blanket around her. It was rough and heavy, and not immediately warm. She couldn't stop shivering. Still, she managed to climb to her feet and pull her wet hair away from her face. She was surprised that Crash stayed there by her side, assisting with her balance. She slowly tugged off her leather boots and dumped out the icy water. He didn't release her arm until she was able to stand on her own.

  Dorian appeared, leading their horses. Somehow, they had managed to rescue her mare. They had lost several bags of supplies to the river, but the majority was still intact, if a bit damp. Sora looked at Dorian strangely, but he avoided her eyes, focusing solely on the beasts.

  “I called for you,” she said, thinking back to the sinking bridge. “Did you ignore me?”

  Dorian still didn't meet her eyes. It seemed as if he hadn't even heard her words. He acted very interested in the saddlebags, untying a few to check their contents. Sora watched him, her hands tight on the rough blanket, speechless. It's like he doesn't even care! She would have expected this from the assassin, but not Dorian. He, at least, had acted like a friend.

  When she turned back to Crash, he was watching the Wolfy with a searching gaze. From the set of his jaw, he was definitely tense. His eyes flickered over Dorian's lean form, from his face to his boots.

  “You left her to drown,” he said shortly, then grabbed the reins of his gray steed, pulling the horse away from the Wolfy. “You left both of us to drown.”

  Dorian raised an eyebrow, unable to avoid the assassin. “I froze up! I didn't know what to do,” he said irritatedly. “I don't know what happened. I mean, I heard her....” He glanced to Sora, then looked away again, glaring at the horses.

  Burn took his steed as well, his gaze full of concern. Then he glanced to Crash, and the two shared a strained look that Sora couldn't interpret. “How are your wounds, Dorian?” Burn asked suddenly. It seemed like an odd question, given the context. “From the attack in the woods?”

  “They're healing,” Dorian grunted, and briefly lifted his shirt, showing the long red scabs. Then he winced. “Another week and they'll be gone.”

  Burn nodded slowly, thoughtfully. Then he looked to Sora. “Whatever just happened,” he said, “we can discuss it later. Come, let's find a place to set up camp and dry our things. I think a big fire is in order.”

  For once, no one argued. The rain became an honest downpour. Everyone took charge of their mounts and started into the swamp proper, eager to find shelter from the storm. The ground was much firmer between the massive tree roots, and the horses were able to walk easily. Sora looked up at the tall eucalyptus trees, the naked trunks that wove in and out of each other like thick tendons. The trees had wide, high branches, fanning out into a perfect canopy. The air was dense with noise: pattering raindrops, croaks and bird calls, rustles in the underbrush, chirping crickets.

  Sora gazed into the depths of Fennbog. She wondered what other surprises—what other horrors—awaited.

  Volcrian looked up at the sound of bodies crashing through the underbrush. Bold and confident footsteps, perhaps a party of three, careless about whether they were being overheard.

  But why should they care? They were deep in the forest and evening was closing in. The woods were damp and slick with rain, glittering in the fragile twilight. In a sense, it was exactly what he had been waiting for.

  The spell using Dorian's blood was almost a complete failure, but at least he knew that the
three travelers had entered the swamp. And that following them would have been a waste of time. His power over the Wolfy was dismally weak. He had been able to slip into Dorian's thoughts during a moment of distraction and panic, but he couldn't keep his hold and had caused only a slight hesitation in Dorian's actions, nothing more.

  He would need a new plan. Something stronger. Some sort of magic that could resist the Cat's Eye. Perhaps something that wasn't entirely magic at all.

  There was only one spell like that he could think of. But it was a dark spell, black-blooded. Forbidden magic, or so his great-grandfather's journal said. But what other choice did he have? He faced an entire journey across the mountains, a year before he could catch his prey on the other side, if they didn't make it to the coast before he did. No, he would need something to track and catch them—something more powerful than fox-corpses or sleight-of-hand.

  Which is why the footsteps in the underbrush attracted his attention.

  Next, he heard people speaking.

  “Twelve men, gone. Swept up by the river when the bridge broke. It's a shame. Too many rookies; they should've been better trained.”

  “They needed a Captain,” a deeper voice grunted. “They had no one to give them orders. It was a mistake.”

  “Is that what the King's army has come to? Mindless imbeciles waiting for orders?” the first voice demanded.

  “Well, that's how we train them.”

  There was a pause. The voices sounded familiar. Volcrian remembered the brief conversation in the guardhouse between Lord Seabourne and his commanding officers.

  “What are we going to say in our report? That we abandoned our men to the swamp?” the first voice asked.

  There was a brief, derisive snort. “Well, Lord Seabourne recommended that a few men die in the chase. He must be expecting this.”

  “Perhaps. But still it's our jobs on the line.”

  Volcrian slipped behind the three men, leaving his horse tethered to the bushes. It was easy to approach them, since they were making enough noise to drown out the crickets and evening owls. He followed the three captains a short distance until they came to a halt, bickering in the woods.

  “Since you're the senior officer, you should file the report,” one was saying.

  “We should all file separate reports, as regulations dictate,” the older one growled.

  “Then we need to decide on a story!”

  “Honesty, lads,” the third man broke in. “Honesty is always best when dealing with the Crown.”

  “Says the Captain with the lowest salary,” the first muttered.

  Volcrian slid through the underbrush like an eel. He was now close enough to see their boots, their red tunics through the underbrush. He watched them closely.

  “Damn,” the older man said. “It's starting to rain.”

  The third one sighed. “Lads, let's set up camp and eat a hot meal. The answer will come to us.”

  “Right,” the first one said.

  They rummaged about in a small area between the trees, clearing the ground of sticks and rocks. Volcrian waited. He was good at waiting. He didn't move until the camp was set up, a fire struck, and rations passed around the circle.

  The night deepened. Rain drenched his clothes. A low mist rose from the ground, but Volcrian didn't mind. Rarely did such an excellent opportunity present itself.

  He waited until the soldiers had constructed three tiny tents and stretched out their bedrolls, relatively sheltered from the rain. A half-hour later, he heard deep breaths rise and fall, soft grunts and snores. One of the officers was on watch, but he wasn't watching very closely. He stretched out on the ground with a book, reading close to the firelight.

  Volcrian whipped out a knife. He ran his tongue along it, senses heightened, eager for the taste of blood. His eyes dilated in excitement.

  Then he launched himself onto the watchman. Plunged the knife into his back, through the kidneys. With a loud, piercing wail, the man rolled on the ground, screaming in pain.

  Volcrian was prepared for the next man. Another officer jumped from his bedroll, entangled in his sleeping tents. The Wolfy leapt on the man, plunging his dagger straight through his heart. Or at least, that was his intention. He missed a few times before he struck it exactly.

  Then he scooped up a pool of blood into his hands, whispered a word of power, and threw it onto the last officer. The blood struck the old man in the face, burning and hissing like potent acid. His screams lit up the night, filtering through the darkness like music. The man died in pain. Horrible, blistering pain.

  The mage stood still for a moment, panting, staring at the bodies. He had his sacrifices. There was no time to lose. Now he would work his spell.

  Volcrian was up for hours afterward. He removed his clothes so as not to get them dirty, preparing the bodies by the light of the fire. He ran his knife smoothly under each man's skin, stripping it piece by piece, then spread the blood across his arms and chest, letting it dribble over his tight stomach. It was warm. Thick.

  He pressed his hands against their quivering organs, the bloated mounds of stomach and intestines, down to the various muscles weeping fat. One by one, he cut out their hearts, still slippery, jittery in his grasp, a mimicry of life.

  It was a three-day ritual, one for each of the wraiths, one for each of the spirits he would tie to his will. Using ceremonial herbs, the bodies would be burned, each at a different hour of the day; the skin would be sewn into cloaks and new suits, ready for the use of magic. There were countless spells he would have to chant, ensuring that the soul did not remember its previous identity, or its own autonomy.

  It would take a large toll on him, but in the end, he would create minions that were all but invincible. Then he would send them after the assassin and his companions. He doubted the Cat's Eye would be able to affect them, not with the amount of blood and physical matter that they were comprised of. Spirits rode in the magical shells, ghosts were made flesh, solid and real—and they were at his complete command.

  Volcrian began building a bonfire, his crippled hand clamped tight against the cold.

  CHAPTER NINE