He spoke to Dorian, ignoring her completely. “Mayville is only a short way off. I didn’t see Burn.”
Dorian cocked an eyebrow at this. “Probably because he didn't want to be seen.”
“What?” Sora blurted, forcing herself into the conversation. “Who's Burn?”
No one answered her. On some silent cue, Dorian got up 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 reminded that they were being followed. Hunted. She remembered the name—Volcrian—and shuddered, suddenly afraid, glancing over her shoulder into the trees.
Finally they were ready to ride. Sora waited in the middle of the campsite, crossing her arms defiantly, her empty satchel slung over one shoulder. She would wait to be directed. It was a small rebellion, but the best she could manage.
Dorian climbed into his saddle with some difficulty, favoring his wounds, then shot her a pointed look. “You're being a nuisance, sweetheart,” he said. Then he nodded over her shoulder. “Go with him.”
Sora was puzzled at first. Not about being a nuisance, but the second part. “With Crash?” she asked, to clarify. Her heart sank even lower at the mention of his name. “Can't I just walk behind your horse?”
He grinned at her expression, ears twitching. “An opportunist! I like that. But no, sweetness, quite the opposite. You've already slowed us down too much. Volcrian is on our heels. And we can't have you running away....”
“What? I wouldn't!” Sora exclaimed. The lie was so transparent, she almost laughed at herself.
The thief raised an eyebrow. “You're riding with Crash today,” he repeated, and she caught the wryness around his soft lips.
Sora let out a long, expressive sigh, definitely nonplussed.
Dorian nodded again to where Crash was saddling his steed a few yards away. “Go on now. Be good.”
She glared, ruffled by his words. Be good. She had never been condescended to before, not like this. It was even more infuriating than the sneers of the city nobility. This man was a common peasant and a thief at that! How dare he....
She turned, seething quietly, adjusting the cloak on her shoulders. Then she stalked towards Crash's horse, fists clenched, and stood waiting for him to finish with the saddle.
Her eyes traveled around the forest, counting pine cones, taking note of a few birds' nests. She wondered if they would be eating breakfast any time soon. She had a sudden longing for the manor's kitchen, for the warm tiles and smell of pastries. If there was one thing she missed, it was her usual thick slice of toast in the morning, smothered in 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?
Crash was staring at her with an annoyed frown.
“What?” she asked.
“Get on,” he said, as if he had repeated himself several times.
“Oh,” Sora grunted, then wiped her mouth, surprised at a bit of drool on her lips. Goddess! Was she really so hungry?
She stepped up to the horse and put her foot in the stirrup, a little uncertain. She had expected to ride behind him, not in front of him. She wanted to protest, but she also didn't want to look the assassin in the eye. She mounted the horse after a slight hesitation, expecting him to whip out another cloth and try to drug her. But he made no move toward her.
In fact, he completely ignored her as he swung up into the saddle. She sat forward, her back rigid, loathe to touch the man in any way, but he reached his arms around her for the reins. 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....
He 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. They followed the road as it wandered 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 rocks and pebbles. It had 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 rocks. Sora had to lean back against Crash to keep her balance, and she hated the feeling of his chest against her shoulder blades. It reminded her of her birthday 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 growled.
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 the stiff, awkward 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—or who knew, maybe he got a sick satisfaction out of torturing her. He didn't seem concerned that she was in any sort of discomfort. It occurred to her that perhaps he was jarring the horse on purpose.
“Ouch,” Sora flinched again when the horse jolted beneath her, taking an uneven step. She was so sore!
"Try not to damage her, Crash,” Dorian called. “I'll scout ahead!”
His little brown steed sped past them, having scaled the hill much faster with only one rider. They were left in a cloud of red dust. Dorian took the lead.
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 was firm 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 smooth gait. She hardly felt the shift from trot to canter. Well...this is much better, she amended.
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 evaporated as the sun rose higher in the sky, but the spring weather stayed cool and refreshing with a brisk wind.
“Ugh, how much longer?” Sora groaned after a while, breaking her promise to herself. She spoke out of sheer boredom, more to herself than to the man behind her. The countryside was nothing but stubborn scrub grass and iron-rich dirt, and she was tired of thinking about her Cat's-Eye necklace and the terrifying Fennbog swamp.
Crash didn't reply until almost ten minutes later, when he finally said, “Burn is approaching. Mayville is just beyond that rise.”
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.
She recovered quickly from her slip. “Of course I ride!” she snapped back. “By myself! And on finer beasts than this.”
“Well, obviously your ‘fine' beasts make no difference. You're a terrible rider.”
“How dare you!” Sora growled, half-turning in the saddle, fully rising to the occasion. “I'm an expert rider! I can jump any fence or wall! I was instructed by the finest of horsemasters, straight from the City of Crowns!”
“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, even more disgusted a
t the man behind her, if that was possible.
The steed trotted around a bend in the road and she was finally able to see the last member of their group—he was up ahead, talking to Dorian. Sora's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't truly known what to expect from a man named "Burn." Perhaps someone like the Wolfy mage: small and slender, with nimble hands.
But this man was huge, even at a distance; probably close to seven feet tall. He sat upon a giant Clydesdale, chestnut in color with a white blaze down its nose. Burn's hair trailed freely past his shoulders, a tawny golden-brown, and she could see two long, elegant ears protruding. Another Wolfy? Could it be? Sora stared in fascination at the strong, square jaw, the shoulders as wide as an oak. She couldn't see much else at this distance. He wore a dull, dented chestplate over his clothes, his only piece of armor, and a heavy scabbard across his back, 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, like an avalanche of rocks. “Been waiting here for a day or more. What took you so long?”
She watched the man lean down to hear whatever Dorian was saying. Then that large, square head swung around. He was a distance away, but she could still see the gleam of his eyes, bright gold in the sun, and his long, long fangs. Longer than Dorian's, and broader; lion's teeth. She felt her mouth go dry.
Sora braced herself, but she couldn't prepare for the broad, welcoming smile that split his canine face. She fidgeted nervously in the saddle. Was it a good sign, or did she look more like a warm meal?
Finally Crash drew up alongside the two. It was difficult to judge Burn's age by his toughened appearance, but he definitely looked the oldest of the lot. He continued to gaze at her with close interest, not at all concerned with her discomfort. Yet his curiosity wasn't threatening. She felt more like a source of entertainment, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes.
“What vision is this?” he said, confirming her thoughts, and he glanced up at Crash. “A beautiful lady, in the arms of our assassin? A prize?”
“Her necklace.” Crash ignored the comment. “A powerful tool against Volcrian.”
“I can see that,” Burn replied. His voice was several leagues deep, like the bottom of a great crater. Every time he spoke, she felt a cascade of water fall over her ears, echoing into a rocky basin. She couldn't imagine him speaking softly. His height, too, was overwhelming, and he was as wide and encompassing as a mountain.
“Your name, child?” he spoke.
“S-Sora,” she introduced herself, wincing when she heard the tremor in her voice. She cleared her throat. “My name is Sora.”
“Sora Fallcrest,” Dorian mentioned, with a wink.
Burn took her hand unexpectedly, clasping it in a very large palm. Her hand was fully engulfed in his, and yet his hold was surprisingly delicate. She felt like he was trying very hard not to grip too tightly. His skin was so thick and calloused, she doubted she could puncture it with a needle.
“Well met,” he said, and didn't make any mention of her family name. “I am Burn, mercenary by trade, at least for the time being.” He leaned down and murmured, “Honestly, I prefer more mundane pursuits, like bookkeeping. Have you eaten breakfast yet? I'm starving.”
Sora found herself smiling.
Crash maneuvered his horse, carrying her away from the gentle warrior. “No time for breakfast,” he said shortly. “Did Dorian fill you in about last night? Volcrian has found us.”
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; we might risk more than it's worth. Can I see the necklace?”
Sora didn't get a chance to refuse. The assassin reached around and pulled the chain out of her shirt. The small stone glinted in the noontime sun. She flinched, repulsed by his touch, by the closeness of his hand to her face.
Burn's eyes lingered on the necklace, thoughtful, one ear slightly drooped. He shifted on the back of his horse and gripped the reins, running the leather through his fingers. Sora felt uncomfortable, awkward under such intense scrutiny from a stranger. He had seemed friendly at first, but friendly didn't mean much, she was coming to realize.
Burn finally whistled between his teeth. “Imagine that,” he murmured, and he raised his hand as though to touch the stone, but then let it fall back onto the horse. “I've seen a lot of rare things in my life, but nothing like this. And it works?”
“Far better than one would expect,” Crash confirmed.
“Oh, yes,” Dorian grunted, and raised his hand to his wounded hip. “It vanquished Volcrian's spell like...like....” His voice trailed off, obviously unable to describe the event.
Sora didn't know how she would describe it, either. She shared a glance with the thief.
“Well, then, perhaps we should give it a try,” Burn consented, nodding his great head. “The swamp is not far from this town. First things first, though. I have a reservation at an inn with no money to pay for it. They are about to knock down my door and confiscate our belongings. I expected your arrival last night....” He glanced at Crash. “Shall we collect your payment and be on our way?”
Sora felt the blood drain from her face. She wavered in the saddle. Somehow, she felt she had been slapped. How could the three of them conspire to kill Lord Fallcrest and then speak of that so casually in front of her? They knew her name—did they not think it rude or insensitive?
She felt a small twinge of guilt somewhere above her stomach. And who was she to suddenly defend the man? You hated him, she reminded herself, thinking of his small, gray eyes, deep and narrow above a long, sloping nose. The downward slant to his mouth, teeth yellowed from pipe smoke and, in more recent years, opium. He didn't raise you. You were merely a horse waiting to be bred.
And yet, there had been a time when she was younger...much younger, under ten...that she had desired his affection, had sought it out, time after time. Each attempt had been met with disapproval, annoyance or anger. Sora could remember his slaps across her face, his shouts for her maids to take her away. “Take her out! Take the girl out!” Never once calling her his daughter. An heiress, perhaps, for lack of a son as an heir. But never his daughter.
“I suppose, if we're going to cross the swamp, we'll need supplies.” Dorian's voice shook Sora from her thoughts. She glanced up, her face unfurling from a tight frown. He was holding up her bag of coins, and he bounced it in his hand to show its weight.
Burn nodded again, this time thoughtful. He looked at Crash. “Why don't you pick up your payment?” he suggested. “Then we will buy supplies.”
Crash shook his head slowly. “I can't until nightfall. That's the agreement.”
Sora listened acutely, leaning forward, wondering who had hired him.
“Hm,” Burn murmured. “Then we will split these coins; it should at least pacify the landlord. Dorian needs rest, and I need to pay for the room.” He reached out, taking the bag from Dorian and opening it, then slipping out a few silver coins.
Sora watched, slightly annoyed. It didn't feel right, watching them take her money, as though they had every right in the world to it.
Burn handed the coin purse to Crash once he was done. “Why don't you take the money and the girl to buy supplies?” he suggested. “If we are going to travel through the swamp, she will need weapons.”
“Is that wise?” Dorian asked, wincing and placing his hand on his wound. Sora wondered if he was in more pain than he let on. Probably.
Burn shrugged. “She's a novice at best. She won't give us any trouble. But she needs to be able to defend herself.” He cast a grim look at Dorian. “You know the dangers.”
The young thief looked uncomfortable, then turned away.
Sora didn't like the exchange. A weapon sounded useful—it would be that much easier to escape—but she didn't like the ominous warning about Fennbog, the way Dorian's eyes looked down. Crash shifted behind her, seeming tense.
“What's in the swamp?” she asked.
Burn glanced at her. “Enemies,” he said. “Dangerous beasts. Poisonous plants. Oh yes, we will need to stock up, indeed.” Then he glanced at Crash. “You're a poisons expert, no? I trust you will buy all of the proper antidotes.”
“I will see to the necessities,” he nodded. “And we shall get her a weapon. Though I doubt she will learn to use it.” His words hung in the air, tactless, factual.
Sora felt her neck cramp. But of course he would doubt her abilities. He thought she was just some spoiled noble brat. I'll show him. “Is that all?” she asked, breaking the silence. “If so, can we go now? I'm getting a sunburn.”
Burn threw back his head and laughed—an avalanche of sound. It startled a nearby bird, which took off from a low bush, bolting into the sky. He waved his hand, still chuckling with mirth, though Sora didn't catch the full humor.
“Get on with you,” he called. “We will expect you back at sundown. We're staying at The Oaken Door, top floor.”
Crash might have nodded, she didn't know, but he shifted behind her, nudging the horse. It took off in a fast trot, leaving the two Wolfies behind, though the sound of laughter followed.
“Don't worry your sweet head about anything!” Dorian called to her from behind them. She turned and leaned to the side, trying to see around Crash's form, but she couldn't. Dorian's voice reached her again. “Just be happy he's the quiet type!”
Then the dirt trail took a sharp turn, rounding a small hill, and joined with the main thoroughfare. The road became wide, well-maintained, paved in brightly hued river stone. She looked up at the distance, down a half-mile of road and across a wide bridge, straight to the red-tiled rooftops of Mayville.
Suddenly, inexplicably, she was excited. She had never been in town before. Of course, she would have preferred to be here with Lily, or perhaps on her very own. But all things considered, she had something to look forward to.
Sora's Quest Page 10
