The blue-eyed boy is in a boat floating on a river. He rides with what is probably his mother, and in her lap is a very tiny swamp cat. They are racing another boat that carries the boy’s father and brother.
The boy and his mother win, and they hit their palms together in celebration.
All four of them guide their boats into a cave and climb out. They are laughing with one another as they retrieve their supplies.
And then the earth begins to shake violently. The family members look panicked and afraid, and grasp at one another desperately—
Arabelle jolted awake, a scream caught in her throat.
Say it isn’t so. Please don’t let it be…
She accessed her inner sight, praying to find the boy floating overhead as she always had before.
She found him. He was alive. But he wasn’t overhead.
Her inner sight pointed north.
A Major Decision
The gray mare nudged past the other horses, trying to grab at the quizoa in Grisham’s hand. She was always a pushy one.
“Wait your turn, you greedy beast.”
He pushed her nose gently away and fed the quizoa to a white mare that had been waiting patiently.
“Grisham!”
Nicholas was hobbling toward the corral, heavily favoring his splinted leg.
Grisham pushed through the horses and met his friend at the edge of the corral. “Good to see you walking about! How are you doing?”
Nicholas smiled. “As well as can be expected.” He nodded toward the horses. “I see you’ve made some friends.”
Grisham absentmindedly patted a nose that had placed itself on his shoulder. “They enjoy their treats, and they especially seem to appreciate the person who grooms them.”
“Many of us are the same way.” Nicholas winked. “Well, I just thought I’d say hello as I’m passing by. I promised to report to Khalid as soon as I was walking. If you can call this walking.”
“You’re doing great, Nicholas.”
“Thanks. I feel even older than I am.” He grinned and hobbled off.
Grisham was still entertaining the horses when he heard a commotion. He turned to find a group of harried soldiers chasing after Arabelle, who ran toward the corral with her hair and robes flapping wildly behind her. She leaped over the corral gate and nearly collided with him as she came to a stop.
“What in the…?” Grisham said.
Arabelle laughed hysterically, then whispered in his ear, “He’s here.”
Arabelle’s smile was so infectious, he couldn’t help but smile in response. “Who’s here?”
“The boy in my visions. He’s north of here. Not far at all.”
The guards had stopped at the corral gate, but it was Tabor himself who pushed through and entered the corral. “Princess, we’ve talked about this. For your own safety, you must stay within sight of your escorts. Your father asked me to notify him the next time you escaped them. I pray you don’t force my hand in this.”
“I’m sorry, Tabor,” Arabelle said, though she didn’t look sorry at all. “I was just excited to talk to my friend. I wasn’t trying to avoid your men.”
Tabor was clearly exasperated. “Regardless of what you were trying to do, please understand that your guardians have a job to do. And that they are not as… fleet-footed as you. If not for your own sake, please do it for them. Or for me.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Tabor.”
With a shake of his head, the soldier left the corral.
Arabelle immediately turned back to Grisham. “Can you believe it? He’s here!”
Grisham only vaguely recalled the story she’d told him about the blue-eyed teenager in a dream, and didn’t understand why this was such thrilling news. “I mean… that’s great. But why did you come running at me like a demon was chasing you?”
She glanced back at the soldiers and spoke in a low voice. “Because I need your help. I’m going to take two horses north, find him, and bring him back here. I need you to create a distraction that will allow me and the horses to slip out of the caravan unnoticed. Can you do that?”
“Princess, are you sure? Why not take an escort? Certainly your father would allow that.”
Arabelle shook her head. “Father is gone with a scouting party this morning, and Tabor would never allow me to leave the caravan without my father’s explicit permission. This is a case of me having to ask forgiveness instead of permission.”
“You seem to do that a lot lately.” Grisham scratched at his thin beard, then sighed. “Fine. When do you need this… distraction?”
Arabelle grinned. “Give me ten minutes. I’m going to meet Maggie at the clothing tents. I’ll lose my escorts there, then return here. Thank you, Grisham. Thank you so much!” She leaned in, kissed him on the cheek, and abruptly ran off once more, her escorts hurrying to keep up.
Before the princess returned, Grisham cleared the corral of anything that might cause injury to the horses. Then he patted the nose of his mountain pony. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I owe her much. I cannot deny her this.”
He was just finishing up when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around to find Arabelle standing right behind him, in the same outfit she’d worn on the night she rescued him.
“Impressive. I didn’t even hear you enter the corral.” He nodded toward the horses. “Go ahead and take your choice; they’re all good beasts. Except my mountain pony. I’m somewhat partial to him.”
Arabelle placed her fingers to her lips and touched his forehead with them. “Thanks.”
She selected two stallions, both nearly sixteen hands tall. She readied them quickly, cinched their saddles tight, and then with a quick wave to Grisham she hurried them through the corral gate and turned toward the residential quarter.
A princess, cook, master horsewoman, and assassin. I hope this blue-eyed boy is worthy of her.
Now it was time for Grisham’s distraction. He unlatched the corral’s gate and let it remain ajar, but just barely. Then he walked to the back of the corral, reached into his pool of energy, and pictured the black swamp cat, Midnight.
The familiar painful sensations tore through his body as joints popped out of place, bones elongated, and fur grew.
As expected, the horses panicked when they saw the swamp cat in their corral. Grisham had to leap out of the way to avoid being kicked or trampled. The horses tore toward the gate, and one well-placed hoof broke it open. The herd raced out of the corral and scattered throughout the caravan.
That would keep the soldiers busy for a while, though it would do little for Grisham’s reputation for taking good care of his four-legged charges.
He was about to transform back into himself when his cat eyes caught sight of a very large man standing some fifty feet away. He was the only person around who wasn’t watching the escaping horses; instead he stared intently at the residential quarter.
The hair on Grisham’s nape stood on end. He knew this man. Knew him… and hated him. Though he wracked his memory to recall why.
And then it hit him. This was the man who had accompanied Azazel on the fateful day his father was murdered. This was the man who had smelled young Grisham’s fear as he hid in the cave behind the spell his father had cast.
And now he was here, in the middle of the caravan that Grisham called home.
Grisham roared in anger and defiance.
The man turned to him, snarled, and drew his sword.
Grisham extended his claws. I am no longer defenseless, no-tail.
His cat mind wanted desperately to fight, to seek his revenge. But his Ta’ah mind was still faintly present, and uttered a warning.
If this creature is here, Azazel might be present too. And I will die.
Grisham’s heart beat rapidly in his great chest, and every beat told him the same thing.
I must escape.
And not just escape this one no-tail. He had to escape all of them. No-tails were dangerous in numbers.
The swamps.
Grisham’s shoulders ached with fatigue. He’d managed to leave the no-tails far behind, and his nose picked up the musty smells of the swamp ahead.
He sniffed for marked trees and detected the scent of another cat, but it wasn’t recent.
Abandoned territory?
He didn’t want to cause trouble and assert himself without knowing more about this place. And he was too tired to fight. So he roared a query, sat back on his haunches, and waited.
Soon a dark shape appeared from within the swamp.
It’s her.
The familiar female slinked closer and snarled a greeting. “It is good to see you. Have you finished walking with the no-tails?”
She had sleek lines and a healthy build, and he felt a purr rumbling deep within his chest.
“I wanted to see if the swamp was a good place for me. Also, I remembered what you said, and I want to talk to you and the family leader.”
The female bumped her shoulder against his. “You cannot. After I left you, I found my mate as you described. He died before reaching the swamp. He was our leader, and when he died, what remained of his family dispersed. But… if you are willing, you and I could form a new family. I’m ready for cubs.”
Instinctively, he nudged her, nipped at her neck, and rubbed his cheek against hers. She purred.
“We must make our territory out of reach of the no-tails,” he said, growling.
She rubbed against him. “Follow me. I know a place we can go.”
As they jumped across patches of water, she asked, “What should I call you?”
He paused. For some reason, he couldn’t recall his no-tail name. But he did remember the name of the prior leader.
“Call me Midnight.”
Blue-Eyed Boy
Arabelle had taken the two largest horses she could find; they would need long strides to handle the pace she had planned for them. She was walking them through the residential quarter when she heard a commotion behind her. Whinnying horses, the splintering of wood, and the yowl of a swamp cat.
She suppressed a laugh as she realized the ploy Grisham had used for his distraction.
As soldiers raced past her to investigate, she patted at herself to make sure she had everything she needed—only to realize that she did not. In her excitement and hurry, she’d left behind her eye drops and powders.
She would have to go back for them.
She tied up her horses and snuck back to her tent. Only one guard was watching her quarters, and he was distracted by some crumbly morsel he was enjoying, picking bits of it out of his beard.
Arabelle slipped past him, and inside her tent she found Maggie sitting at her desk, reading a book of poetry. Arabelle put a finger to her lips and whispered. “I forgot something. Don’t worry, I wasn’t seen. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you for doing this.”
She snatched up her things, slipped back out, and returned to the horses.
Soon she was taking advantage of the turmoil in the camp to slip out a side gate. And then she was off in the grasslands, following her inner sight to the blue-eyed boy.
Arabelle’s path led her through the grasslands of Trimoria. Her only companions, apart from the two horses, were the occasional pack of scavenging blink dogs. She steered wide of villages, since they often hid bandits and unsavory characters, and she didn’t want to chance anyone following her.
She rode throughout the day, switching mounts periodically. The land was beautiful, and the ground level, but the heat of summer was oppressive, even as the sun began to meet the horizon. She pulled on the reins, allowing the horses to slow to a walk, and steered them to a stream where they could drink and cool off.
She needed to cool off, too. She was sweating profusely, and the tight mesh of her outfit grabbed at her sweaty limbs. It was not only uncomfortable, it might slow her movements. She made up her mind. Drawing out her dagger, she carefully cut the sleeves off her outfit, then did the same with her pant legs. A cool breeze blew across her exposed skin, and her relief was immediate.
But now she had a new problem: her pale skin would be far too visible at night. That, too, could be solved. Dipping her hand into the stream, she came back with a finger full of fine clay, which she rubbed on her leg. Yes, this would work perfectly. She continued coating her exposed skin until both arms and both legs were covered in a thin layer of clay.
Cool and camouflaged.
She remounted and continued on her journey. She was nearing the swamps to the north, but her inner sight told her she was also drawing closer to her target—much closer. She’d practiced such tracking for months now, and was getting skilled at gauging the distances indicated by her inner sight. She continued forward until she estimated she was a mere half mile away. Then she dismounted and tied her horses to a tree.
She took a deep breath. She was actually about to see the blue-eyed boy from her visions. Her hands shook with nervousness and excitement. She had to will herself to slow her breathing and calm down.
By now, darkness had fallen, and her night vision allowed her to see the outlines of many creatures. But in addition, there was one bright dot of light that would have been visible to anyone.
A campfire.
That was where the blue-eyed boy was.
Why did they create a campfire so near the swamps and wastelands? Don’t they realize the dangers?
Arabelle applied her eye drops, and the world brightened. Now the campfire appeared much closer, and she could make out than one dark dot sitting around the campfire.
Arabelle crept forward silently, making sure not to betray her location. She didn’t how the boy had gotten here or who had brought him. Would there be enemies? Resistance?
And then another thought dawned on her.
What am I going to say?
“Hello, I saw you in my dreams, and I think we’re destined to be together.”
He’d probably run away screaming.
Arabelle continued forward and saw more detail. There were four distinct shapes huddled around the fire. Three were lying down, and one was sitting up. Was this the boy’s family?
It was easy enough to find out.
She concentrated on the four images from her visions, picturing, one by one, the mother, the brother, and the father. Her inner sight unfailingly pointed straight to the campfire each time. And of course, the blue-eyed boy was there as well.
Movement in the darkness caught her eye. A group of figures quietly approaching the campfire from off to her right. She focused her vision, and gasped.
They wore the black armor of Azazel’s enforcers. All were armed with glistening black daggers, and two had crossbows strapped to their backs.
Arabelle remembered what she’d seen written in the tent of the man she’d attacked.
Seeking Strangers To Trimoria.
Send a Quad to patrol the border of the cursed swamp.
She had to stop them. But how? Killing a single slaver from behind was one thing. Now she was facing four of Azazel’s trained assassins. She had the element of surprise… but not much else.
She silently prayed. But no hidden wisdom appeared in the sky, and no visions flashed in her mind.
She was on her own.
As the wind picked up, she caught snatches of conversation among the men and saw their heads huddled together. They were debating their next move.
An idea dawned on her.
She withdrew one of her pouches of powders, loosened the drawstrings, and hefted it in her hand.
Yes. This will do nicely.
With practiced steps she crept toward the men, silent as the night, the opened pouch in one hand, one of her mother’s daggers in the other. She adjusted her approach slightly to make sure the wind wouldn’t betray
her position.
Soon she heard their argument clearly.
“We already know them to be fools. Who creates a campfire so close to the swamp? They deserve to be skewered.”
“Kirag said we are to try to extract information.”
“I don’t care what Kirag said. It’s too much trouble capturing people and interrogating them.”
Arabelle lobbed the bag of memory-loss powder right into the middle of their huddled conversation. It struck the ground, sending a cloud of powder right up into their faces.
The men staggered back—and one of them spotted her. Arabelle acted quickly before he could alert the others.
She launched herself forward, dagger extended, and sliced deeply across the front of his throat. She felt a slight resistance as skin and muscle parted, then the scraping of her blade as it ripped through cartilage, and a plume of hot, sticky blood erupted from the wound.
Arabelle didn’t pause; she kept running. In fact she sprinted for her life, expecting a crossbow bolt in her back at any moment. But there was none, and when she looked back over her shoulder, a hundred yards later, all four men lay on the ground, motionless.
She returned to the scene. The man she’d attacked was clearly dead, and lying in an unbelievably large pool of blood. The others still breathed, their chests rising and falling. If the powder worked as intended, they’d remember nothing of this when they awoke.
If it worked as intended.
She paused for a long moment.
I can’t risk it.
The dagger still in her hand, Arabelle used the technique Tabor had taught her. She sliced each man’s neck open and watched as their lifeblood drained from their bodies.
When she was done, she stood. Her hands were covered in gore. Four men lay dead before her—three had never even had a chance to fight back. She looked down at what she’d wrought, and was overwhelmed. She collapsed to her knees and cried silently for the men she’d just murdered in cold blood.
Agent of Prophecy Page 19
