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

by T. L. Shreffler

  He had never dealt with such a necklace before. In all of his years of practice, he had never come across one. By what he had read, they had supposedly all been destroyed shortly after the War... but of course, history books were inaccurate about these things. He didn't like the feel of it, the way it had consumed his blood-magic, slurped it up like warm milk. He didn't like the rawness of the stone, either; it felt wild, untamed, unharnessed. The girl didn't have a clue what she was doing; she was just as undisciplined and unpredictable as a force of nature, as the necklace itself. He was an experienced magic user and he knew the danger of an untrained hand. The stone was using her like a rag doll. Magic was not something to be used lightly, like a simple toy. It had consequences, side-effects... each and every spell had a price.

  This was more than a sliver in his side, more than just a thorn. He had to get rid of the necklace, which meant killing the girl as soon as possible. No wonder the assassin had seduced her. Volcrian began tearing moss up from the ground with his scarred hand, bent fingers raking the dirt. He relished the pain; it helped him think. The girl would be easily killed, with or without the Cat's Eye — a dagger in the night should do the trick, if he could get close enough. But that would be a challenge in and of itself.

  He could handle a challenge, especially a sixteen-year-old challenge with the brains of a tulip. He was a Wolfy mage after all, the most powerful of the races and well studied in the blood arts; he could handle some worthless girl and her shiny stone. I’ll just have to use magic that is not magic.... Something solid and real. No, no more dead animals brought back to life. He would need something larger, heavier. Something the Cat's Eye could not swallow.

  A sneer pulled across his thin lips, and Volcrian flexed his hand, attempting to straighten the fingers, an act now impossible. He pulled at them one by one with his good hand, plucking at the blackened nails, wincing, anticipating the pain; it helped to clear his mind. He needed blood — no, more than blood. He needed souls.

  The sorcerer stood up and started towards the road. Anyone would do, really — an old woman or a child, someone weak who he could easily overpower. Ideally a traveler far from home, who no one would miss. There was a town nearby where doubtlessly his prey was headed. There would be farms surrounding the town, small communities, perhaps a schoolhouse. He would find one and lay his trap.... And begin a far more ancient ritual, a spell from a time long before this one, a time of battlefields and war, when magic was something to be feared.

  He would call upon his wraiths.

  Chapter 5

  Sora awoke in the gray dawn. It was slightly warmer than the previous morning and she wasn't as stiff and damp. She sat up with a yawn and stretched out her arms, rolling her shoulders and neck. Then she looked around their camp. All was in order, except for a few scuffs in the dirt where the monster had appeared the night before. The memories flooded back to her and she shuddered. They had thrown the corpse to the trees shortly before falling asleep. Dorian had been reluctant to touch it and had used a pair of sticks to move the body. She hadn't asked why. Her hand traveled to her necklace, touching the small, warm stone.

  A Cat's Eye, huh? To think, all of her life she had thought it merely a pretty bauble and nothing more. Why had her mother left it to her, and with no warning of its powers? Maybe she wasn't supposed to have found it; maybe it wasn't meant for her at all. Maybe the necklace wasn't even her mother's. No, it has to be. She could remember the handwriting on the note....

  Sora sighed. There were no answers, and she wasn't about to tell her captors about her true quest. They might watch her more closely if they knew that she was looking for her mother, then she would forfeit all chance of escape.

  Her eyes wandered around the camp to Dorian’s resting form and the freshly lit fire. Crash must be up, she thought, watching the smoke blend with the fog. The surrounding woods were hushed and subdued, and she couldn't imagine a more eerie place, the fog lingering between the trees like lacy curtains. She stretched one last time, rubbed her arms, then stood and walked over to the sleeping Wolfy. She grinned as she got nearer.

  “Wakey, wakey. . .” she whispered into one of his long, elegant ears. Immediately Dorian jolted awake. He shot upright and Sora jumped back, a shriek on her lips, but he grabbed her before she could scream and pulled her back to the ground. Within a minute, she was lying on the dirt by his side, a rock in her back and pine needles in her hair.

  “Good morning," he said pleasantly.

  She giggled, unable to contain the sound. Dorian grinned too and sat up, apparently in a good mood. Then he winced, and she was reminded of his wounds from the night before. He stretched his right side where the monster had clawed him.

  “I can mend that for you,” Sora said, indicating the ripped hole in his shirt.

  Dorian's ears twitched in response. “What's this? Offering to help?” he asked in amusement. “Sure, sweetness — but do you have a needle and thread?”

  Sora felt her cheeks turn red, but she kept eye contact. She shrugged. “Well, no, but we can get some in town. We should be arriving there today, right?”

  “Right....”

  “Then it's a deal, I'll mend your shirt if you let me buy the supplies. How is your side? Does it hurt?”

  Dorian seemed surprised by her question, and Sora was a little surprised at herself, too. Why should she care? And why be friendly with the thief? But she felt comfortable with him, and more than a little concerned by his wound. She had never seen such a deep gash before, though it was nowhere near lethal. Maybe it was his easy manner or sense of humor, she couldn't tell, but the Wolfy had definitely grown on her. She wondered if they were becoming friends — if friendship was even possible between a captor and captive.

  “Yes — like a bloody son of a bitch,” Dorian grimaced, answering her question. “Not that you should care, love. I’m just a cold-hearted thief and I deserve what I get.” He winked at her. “Now let me ask — how did you sleep?”

  Sora snorted. “Fine.”

  “Any nightmares?”

  “Nope, surprisingly,” she said with slight humor. Then she muttered, “The only nightmare around here is Crash.”

  Dorian's eyes widened, then he laughed outright. “Ha! You don't mean that, sweetheart. He's not such a bad sort....”

  “Bad sort? The man is as rotten as they get. I don't know why you defend him. He killed my father.”

  “We've all done our share of bad things.”

  “He is a murderer and should be hung.”

  “Now that's a strong opinion for a child,” came a soft voice from the trees.

  Sora gasped and sat up. She turned, her eyes combing the deep shadows between the tree trunks. Crash was standing in the deepest shade, watching them, his arms crossed and one boot propped up on a tree root. Who knew how long he had been standing there; perhaps since she had awakened. She felt a blush begin under the collar of her shirt and climb up to her forehead — the second one of the morning.

  He turned to look at Dorian, ignoring her completely. “Mayville is only a short ways away. I didn’t see Burn.”

  Dorian cocked an eyebrow at this. “Probably because he didn't want to be seen.”

  “What?” Sora heard herself say. “Who's Burn?”

  No one answered her. On some silent cue, Dorian stood and started clearing their campsite. Bags were packed and ashes scattered from the fire. They threw pine needles and leaves around, arranging branches so it looked like no one had ever stopped there. Sora was struck again by the suspicion that they were being followed. She remembered a name from the night before — Volcrian. She could taste it on her tongue like bitter medicine. She wanted to ask about the name but was hesitant to say it, as though it were a curse. She doubted the two men would answer her questions. They were open about some things and very secretive about others.

  Finally they were ready to ride, and Sora followed Dorian to his horse, which was tethered a little ways into the trees. Dorian climbed into the saddle
with some difficulty, favoring his wounded arm, then he knocked her hands away when she tried to climb up behind him.

  “Change of plans, sweetheart,” he said, moving his horse away from her.

  Sora was puzzled and a little hurt by the sudden rejection. She hoped it didn't show. “Are you letting me go?” she asked instead.

  He grinned, ears twitching. “An opportunist! I like that, too. But no, sweetness, quite the opposite. I can't have you in the saddle with my wounded arm. What if you were to get some crazy idea in your head about running away? You might just knock me off the horse.”

  “What? I wouldn't!” Sora exclaimed, though she knew it was a lie. She felt capable of just about anything by now. She liked Dorian... but she liked the idea of escaping a lot better.

  The thief raised an eyebrow, as though he could see right through her. “Nope, can't risk it. You're riding with Crash today.”

  Sora was nonplussed. It must have shown on her face, because Dorian laughed again. He nodded to where Crash was saddling his steed a few yards away. “Go on now. Be good.”

  She glared, but obeyed anyway. She had no real choice. If she argued too much they might tie her up again, and she really didn't want that. She walked over to Crash's horse, dragging her feet, and waited for him to finish tightening the saddle. Her eyes traveled around the forest as she waited, counting pine cones, taking note of a few bird nests. She wondered if they would eat breakfast any time soon. She had a sudden longing for her manor's kitchen, for the warm tiles and the smell of pastries. If there was one thing she missed, it was her usual thick slice of toast in the morning, smothered with butter. Mmmm butter. Or a fresh bowl of porridge with blueberries. Or fruit from her orchard. Or scones and jam. Yes, scones and jam, fresh from the oven! The smell would drift from the kitchen through the whole bottom floor of the manor. She could remember being a small child bent over her math book, thoroughly distracted by the smell of warm, sweet honey scones seeping under the door....

  Sora snapped out of her reverie; had someone asked her a question? She wiped a bit of drool from her mouth and looked around.

  Crash was staring at her with an annoyed frown.

  “W-what?” she asked.

  “Get on,” he said. It sounded like he had repeated himself several times.

  “Oh.” Sora stepped up to the horse and put her foot in the stirrup. She was a little uncertain. She had expected to ride behind him, not in front of him; she wanted to protest but also didn't want to look the assassin in the eye. She mounted the horse after a slight hesitation. Crash swung up behind her, silent. She sat forward, her back ridged, loathe to touch the man in any way, but he had to reach his arms around her for the reigns. She could feel the press of his thighs against hers. They were warm, firm with muscle. She closed her eyes and thought again of her manor, of the breakfast table, of a delicious fresh scone....

  Crash turned the horse, steering almost completely with his legs, and they headed for the road. Sora's stomach growled but she pretended not to hear it. The sun was bright although it was still early in the morning, and they followed the road to the right, where it dipped down the side of a steep hill covered in loose shale. The countryside had become notably more rocky since the previous day, the grass tough and dry, the dirt mixed with a myriad of rocks and pebbles. It held a dull red sheen, rich with iron. They kicked up small clouds of the red dirt as they made their way forward.

  The horse picked its way carefully down the hill, treading slowly over the rocks. Sora had to lean against Crash to keep her balance, and she hated the feeling of his chest against her back. It reminded her of her wedding night and their panicked ride through the woods. She felt sick. Today was going to be very long and silent; she wasn't going to say one word to the killer. Not. One. Word.

  “Ow!” Sora yelped as the horse stumbled over a rock.

  “Pay attention,” Crash grunted.

  Sora shot a glare over her shoulder. There. Glaring doesn't count as speaking, she thought. Then she winced as the horse stumbled over another rock; her back was still sore from the previous day's ride, and her stiff position wasn't helping. I’d sell my soul for my own horse right about now, she thought. She wondered if Crash felt the same way. He probably didn't like sharing his horse either – or who knew, maybe he was getting a sick satisfaction out of torturing her. He didn't seem concerned that she was in pain. It occurred to her that perhaps he was jarring the horse on purpose. She wondered if he felt the same dislike for her that she felt towards him, and she decided that he must. I'm not imagining it. He definitely doesn't like me. Feelings this strong have to be mutual!

  “Ouch,” Sora grunted again when the horse jolted beneath her, taking an uneven step. She was so sore!

  "Try not to damage her, Crash,” Dorian called from behind them, once they reached the bottom of the hill. His little brown steed passed them in no time, having scaled the hill much faster. “I'll scout ahead."

  The Wolfy rode past them, leaving them in a cloud of red dust. Crash didn't reply but picked up the pace, rocking gently in the saddle. Sora kept waiting for the next surprising jolt, the next misstep, but it never came; now that they were on flat land, the dirt became more hard-packed and most of the rocks were pushed to the side of the road. The horse took off at a fast trot, and she was surprised by its amazingly smooth gait. She hardly felt the shift from trot to canter. Over time she grew accustomed to the motion of the horse and began to relax. Her shoulders slouched, the tension running out of her. The thin morning mist soon evaporated as the sun rose higher in the sky, but the spring weather stayed cool and refreshing with a brisk wind.

  “Are we there yet?” Sora asked after a while, breaking her promise to herself. She spoke out of sheer boredom. The countryside was nothing but blasé scrub grass and iron rich dirt, and she was tired of thinking about her Cat's Eye necklace and the possible journey through the swamp.

  Crash didn't reply until almost ten minutes later, when he finally said, “Burn is approaching. We're almost there.”

  Sora felt the horse pick up speed; she was taken off guard and wobbled in the saddle, close to falling. Crash grabbed her arm and jerked her upright. “You don’t ride often, do you?” he sneered.

  Sora recovered quickly from her slip. “Of course I ride!” she snapped back. “Just on creatures with higher breeding than this.”

  “Well obviously your ‘well bred’ creatures make no difference. You're a terrible rider.”

  “How dare you!” Sora growled, half-turning in the saddle. “I'm an expert rider! I can jump any fence or wall! I was instructed by the finest teacher, a gold medalist-!”

  “Ah, here's Burn.”

  Crash's dismissal was obvious. Sora's mouth snapped shut, and she turned to look ahead of them, her cheeks still hot with anger. The nerve! she thought, disgusted at the man behind her. She disliked him even more now.

  Their steed trotted around a bend in the road and she was finally able to see the last member of their group — he was a ways ahead, talking to Dorian. Sora's breath caught in her throat. She had expected someone like the Wolfy mage: small and slender with silver hair and pointed ears. Instead she found herself looking at quite the opposite. This man was huge, even at a distance, probably close to seven feet tall. His hair trailed past his shoulders freely, a tawny golden brown, and she could see two long, elegant ears protruding from it. Another Wolfy? Could it be? Sora stared in fascination at the strong, high cheekbones and square jaw; she couldn't see much else at this distance. He wore a dull, dented chest plate over his clothes, his only piece of armor, and a heavy scabbard across his back, almost as long as she was tall.

  “Mayville is just ahead,” she heard the man’s voice boom. It was a deep baritone that carried easily over the countryside; she couldn't imagine him speaking softly. “Been waiting here for a day or more. What took you two so long?”

  She watched the man lean down to hear whatever Dorian was saying. Then that large, exotic head swung around. He was st
ill a distance away, but he stared at her with shocking gold eyes, the color of the sun, and she felt her mouth go dry.

  Sora wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the broad, welcoming smile that split across his face. She fidgeted nervously in the saddle. Was this a good sign, or did she look more like a warm meal?

  Finally they drew up alongside the other two. Burn continued to gaze at her. It was difficult to judge his age by his toughened appearance, but he was definitely the oldest of the lot.

  “And just who do we have here?” he said cheerfully. His smile was non-threatening despite his long fangs, but Sora still had the urge to cringe away. The sheer size of the man was overwhelming.

  “S-Sora,” she introduced herself, wincing when she heard the tremor in her voice. She cleared her throat. “My name is Sora.”

  Abruptly she found herself shaking hands. Her own disappeared in his massive grip. “Just splendid!” the giant boomed. “I’m Burn, the mercenary and honest worker of this lot!” He leaned down and whispered, “Tough crowd, eh? They don't know how to treat a lady. I bet you haven't even had breakfast yet.”

  Sora found herself smiling. She liked this guy. Yes, very much so.

  Crash maneuvered his horse so that she was carried away from the jovial Burn. “No time for breakfast,” he said shortly. “Did Dorian fill you in about last night? Volcrian has found us again.”

  Burn nodded thoughtfully. “I've heard the important bits,” he said. “And I hear you want to cross the swamp. That's a dangerous plan, especially for two Wolfies.... Can I see the necklace?”

  Sora wanted to ask what he meant by that, but found herself pulling out her necklace instead. “It's a... a Cat's Eye,” she said lamely. She hardly knew what that meant.