Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1)

by Stacy Bennett

  “You’re looking well this evening,” he said, drawing her attention away from his hands and putting her on her guard.

  “Nalia is waiting for you,” she said coldly. He seemed about to say something, a retort perhaps, but then tilted his head in farewell and left, disappearing into the raucous crowd of young men who all chattered at him at once.

  There was a bonfire that night, and she took her usual seat by Bradan and Ealea. They watched as Archer and the other men played a number of songs, and then Archer sat near Bradan and told scary stories to the gathered children. He was very good at it. Cara was enthralled. Then he and Maura danced with other young lovers round the bonfire before he tucked her into his shoulder and led her away. Cara found herself dreading and yet looking for Khoury and Nalia. But she didn’t see them. She knew she shouldn’t, but Cara closed her eyes and relived the memory of Khoury’s lips on hers until her heart sped up and her cheeks felt hot. She remembered the feeling of love in the memory of the laughing woman and pretended it was for her.

  As the fire burned low, she left the bonfire and went to Maura’s house to wait. She waited and waited. But Maura didn’t come. Finally, Cara fell asleep on the cot that had been prepared the night of her arrival. When Maura finally did return in the wee hours, it was with a sad face.

  “What’s wrong?” Cara asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Maura sat down on the edge of her bed and sighed.

  When she didn’t say anything, Cara picked up a brush and sat behind her on the bed. She undid Maura’s braid and brushed her hair with long, soft strokes. “You can tell me, sister.” She hoped the endearment would entice Maura to talk.

  “It’s nothing,” the Northern girl murmured, staring into the low glow of the embers in the hearth.

  “It doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “Fine.” Maura huffed with frustration. “Archer and Khoury are sparring.”

  “Fighting? I thought they were friends.”

  “Not fighting. Sparring. Practicing fighting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re mercenaries,” Maura snapped.

  “Oh.” Cara understood neither the importance of sparring nor why Maura was cross with her. And though she was hesitant to ask for another explanation, she was more tired of her own ignorance. “And that means what exactly?”

  Maura growled in frustration and whirled on Cara. “Fighting is their job. Sparring is practice. If they’re sparring, that means they’ll be leaving soon.”

  Now, Cara understood. Archer was leaving. Leaving Maura here alone, again. And then Khoury would also leave. Maybe that’s why he seemed different tonight. Cara wondered why neither had said anything to her about their leaving. Then she realized that they had probably assumed she’d stay here with Bear Clan. They had lives to go back to that didn’t have anything to do with her. Unreasonably, she felt betrayed. “Archer always comes back though, right?” Cara asked, wondering if Khoury always accompanied him.

  Maura set her teeth and tried to stem the tears that began to crawl down her cheeks. “If he survives.”

  “Survives?”

  Now Maura was angry. “Don’t you know anything? Mercenaries are paid to fight wars. Every time they go, they might die. And one day,” her voice cracked with a stifled sob, “one day, he just won’t come back.” At that, Maura broke down, bawling in earnest. She turned away, covering her face with her hands.

  Cara was shocked. How could Archer do this to her? She awkwardly put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, not knowing what to say. “It’ll be all right,” she murmured.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can wait, Cara.” She stifled her sobs and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. “Reid, I mean Archer, changed when his father died. Spirits forgive me, but Old Man Tarhill was a spiteful soul. I know he said something cruel to Reid, something that changed his mind about me. I know he loves me, and I just figured whatever his problem was, he’d get over it eventually.” Maura sniffled wetly, her eyes already red and puffy. “But it has been seven lonely years.”

  Defeated, Maura wept again. Cara patted the other girl’s arm gently. It didn’t feel like enough but it was all she could do. They sat like that for a long while, until Maura cried herself dry.

  Maura sniffled and withdrew, swallowing hard and steeling herself. “There’s nothing for it. I’ve made my choice. But please don’t tell him about my tears. It wouldn’t do any good for him to know how much it hurts.”

  “I promise I won’t.”

  The atmosphere in the hut was somber as they settled in for the night, and sleep was long in coming.

  CLANGING STEEL AND screams roused Khoury from a restless sleep. Battle-honed reflexes propelled him from his cot in spite of his aching muscles. Thrusting feet into boots, he scooped up his new blades in their scabbards and raced through the door, strapping them around his hips as he went. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t the gruesome scene before him, a picture at once unbelievable and all too familiar. A preternatural snow was falling and the now-white ground was streaked with red, littered with a dozen bodies. Huts were in flames. Villagers raced past or stood in groups to fight invaders the likes of which the captain had never faced before, and he hoped never to see again. He had heard the tales told round the story fires at night but nothing could have prepared him for the awful truth. For the first time in over a generation, giants were invading Bear Clan.

  Heavily built and bearded, they stood so tall the burly Northerners reached only to their chests. Heavy-knuckled hands swung hammer and axe as they strode with determined silence through the village. Rage flared in Khoury watching them hunt his friends like animals. He drew a sword, taking grim pleasure in its weight. Wading upstream through fleeing villagers, he bore down on the nearest invader. His anger-fueled swing sliced the giant’s thigh to bone with a shuddering shock that Khoury felt all the way up his arm. The giant roared, whirling to face him but Khoury had already yanked his blade free and stabbed upwards two-handed, his steel penetrating leather and flesh. The giant toppled as Khoury withdrew the blade, letting the lifeless body crash to the ground.

  A guttural cry rumbled behind him. Khoury turned, narrowly dodging the hammer aimed at his head. In one motion, the giant swung the hammer back up and around, bringing it down for another try. The captain blocked the strike on the flat of his raised blade supported between a hand on the hilt and the other under the flat. The sheer force of the blow sent him to one knee. The giant leaned in until Khoury’s arms shook and his scarred chest spasmed with effort. Twisting, he lowered his left hand, letting the hammer race down to the ground, unbalancing his foe and giving him room to escape. With a backhanded slice he nicked the giant’s leg, drawing a trickle of blood as he twirled away. Still, the breeze of the next swing lifted the hair off Khoury’s neck. He scrambled away, seeking distance and some advantage.

  As the giant advanced, a broken pole canting out from a ruined hut caught Khoury’s eye. He ducked under the next hammer strike and raced to yank the pole from the ground. Khoury sheathed his sword and turned with the makeshift lance to finish the fight, but his opponent had found a new target—a young Northerner lad, inexpertly brandishing a sword. With a fierce cry, Khoury charged, thrusting the spear up into the giant’s back. But he was too late. The giant gurgled and fell to the ground beside the shattered body of the village boy.

  Khoury’s teeth creaked as he ground them together, staring down at the dead boy. He was one of a group of kids who’d watched the captain sparring with Archer just yesterday. Khoury squelched sorrow beneath fiery hate. Anger suited him better, hardening and strengthening him. A snarl escaped him as he yanked the spear free and prowled the village looking for his next victim.

  The giants were scattered rather than grouped into fighting units. They had no fear of the Northerners, but Khoury could see no reason for their presence. They ransacked like ill-mannered children, tossing things about, killing at random or when attacked. As he strode among the brok
en houses to the dining hall, he noted a few clusters of villagers had dug in and fought back, taking their opponents one a time. But the giants seemed unperturbed by the resistance and, after lighting huts on fire, moved away.

  Khoury caught sight of Archer standing in the doorway to the main hall, bow in hand. Of the giants that lay dead in the open area, Khoury noted that most had arrows protruding from their eyes or necks, a sure sign of Archer’s work. Khoury stepped up to the giant nearest him, thrusting the pole overhand to get into the “soft spot” beneath the arm. The mortal blow dropped the giant to his knees, his weight wrenching the pole out of Khoury’s grip. The wood snapped beneath the giant as it keeled over.

  A shout drew the captain’s attention to the dead giant’s comrade rushing toward him, axe raised. Khoury drew his sword and ran toward the dining hall, trying to reach Archer and his knot of men. Before he’d gone twenty feet, he heard a grunt behind him and swerved, barely avoiding the axe strike that popped up a divot at his feet. His foot caught the clod of packed dirt, and Khoury knew he was going down. Instead of falling face first though, he dove for the ground, rolling over with a younger man’s agility despite the stiffness in his scars. He found his feet and turned as the giant brought his swing around.

  Khoury hacked at the giant with all his might. His sword banged off the giant’s armored forearm, stopping his opponent’s strike. But the jarring hit nearly disarmed the captain. The giant paused to switch hands on his axe and in that moment, an arrow appeared in his eye. The warrior screamed in pain and Khoury thrust two-handed up under the ribs, popping through the leather armor and sending the giant backward to the ground.

  Scraping ribs as he pulled his sword free, Khoury dashed the remaining distance to the shelter of the hall where Archer and Bradan greeted him. A handful of other men were ransacking the hall, gathering supplies.

  “We have to leave the village,” Bradan said.

  “And go where?” Khoury asked, wiping blood from his sword.

  “Seal Clan. Our cousins in the north at the edge of the sea.” The chieftain donned a cloak and picked up a finished pack. “The sledges are being made ready and, by bear or on foot, we will meet the survivors at the northwest spring before heading out.”

  “Everyone knows to go there?” Khoury asked, as Bradan slipped a large hunting knife into his belt and took the flanged mace awaiting him on a nearby table.

  “It’s not the first raid we’ve survived,” Archer murmured in a cold voice that didn’t sound like the man Khoury knew.

  The captain looked out at the nearly empty village. Empty, that is, except for the dead and dying. No wonder Archer’s face was grim as he held the bowstring to his cheek watching the giants loot his home.

  “And not the last either,” Bradan added.

  With a twang and a whoosh, another arrow found its mark, sending a giant tumbling into the building he had just set on fire. Angrily notching another, the Northerner resumed his stance, stoic and focused.

  Bradan turned Khoury with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Nalia’s already fled,” he assured him.

  Khoury nodded absently and grabbed a pack himself. Nalia was the last thing on his mind. The fearful images of his nightmare came back full force. “Cara?” he asked.

  “She and Maura are helping with the bears. They’ve probably left already,” Bradan said. He laid a restraining hand on Archer’s arm. “Reid, time to go. Nothing more you can do here.”

  His jaw set, Archer lowered his bow and made ready to travel. Khoury didn’t like leaving a fight unfinished either, but he had to see for himself that Cara was unharmed. The group of men loaded themselves with packs and then ducked out the kitchen door and raced into the forest. Once under the cover of the pines, they settled into an easy ground-eating jog, heading northwest, Bradan leading the way.

  GET UP! WE have to go.”

  Cara woke to a disheveled Maura shaking her roughly. The Northern girl’s hair hung in loose auburn curls to her elbows. Still groggy, Maura yanked her to her feet, dropped her boots in her lap, and threw the cloak Khoury had never claimed over her shoulders. She’d barely finished slipping on her boots when Maura grabbed her hand and dragged her out the door without explanation. A world so foreign and terrible that Cara had no words to describe it awaited her. In the midst of a late spring snow, enormous bearded warriors strode through the little village, laying waste to the Clan home with iron and fire. Huts were ablaze. Bodies sprawled in the dirt. Cara felt her stomach heave.

  “Come on,” Maura urged. “We need you at the bear pens.” Allowing the other woman to propel her through the surreal carnage at a dazed jog, Cara noticed a group of older villagers shuffling toward the pens, leaning on their canes and each other. Then, she understood. Their only chance of survival was the sledges. Her task clear, she picked up her pace, racing side by side with the taller woman. Cara could barely feel her feet hit the ground.

  When she slid to a halt at the pens, the animals were in an uproar, bellowing and anxious. The smell of fire frightened them, and the handlers were having trouble. Focusing on her task, Cara counted the sledges and sent Maura to have the larger lads get all the sledges out in the open. Then, one by one, she assigned bears into teams starting with Shona, one of her own most reliable bears. She pressed a hand to the bear’s forehead, easily connecting with her mind, and then slid the traces over the large, shaggy neck. Next, she selected a smaller Clan bear and, though his mind was foreign, he was amenable. She quickly slipped him into the traces behind Shona. Grabbing a nearby Northerner, she handed off the reins and moved on.

  An older Clan bear was next. But the old-timer yowled anxiously, watching her approach with suspicion. As she reached out to touch it, the enormous maw stretched wide. Its furious roar sprayed saliva, but there was no time for subtlety. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she held her ground. She took a step forward and the mammoth head swung side to side in displeasure. Feeling the press of time, Cara stepped forward again. This time, the bear reared up, lifting one monstrous paw to strike.

  A lumbering white form knocked it to the ground.

  “Gar!” Cara rushed forward to press her face into the familiar furry neck. “Thank you.” She ducked under his head and reached out to the bear that had tried to attack her. Once her small hand touched his head, he calmed enough to be led to a sledge, and she slipped the leather lines around him. She pointed to a driver she knew could handle the restless beast and moved on to the next. As she continued down the line, Gar hovered just behind her, his calming presence helping her tune out anything except the bears and sledges.

  The work went quickly, Cara harnessing and assigning drivers, and Maura getting people loaded up. One by one, the sledges left. She was putting rigging on the last of the bears, with the exception of Gar, when a sudden clang of weapons startled her.

  So intent on the animals, she’d completely blotted out the reason for the retreat. Now she noted the smoke that hung heavy across the yard. Only a few smaller sledges remained and they were nearly full. Maura waved to her from a sledge poised to leave. And nearby, Ealea helped Ingrid onto a two-bear sledge that already held the sickly Thomas and his mother.

  Three giants burst into the yard and time slowed. In the first heartbeat, the tallest brought his hammer down on Ealea’s lead bear, sending the beast to the ground with the sharp crack of broken bones. In the second, his battle-scarred companion swung at Ealea who stood protectively over Ingrid. With a deceptively soft thud, her limp body flew through the air to land in a lifeless heap. The next moment brought a third giant who battered the sledge into the ground. The occupants were either thrown clear or pummeled into the broken frame. Cara watched the small body of Thomas roll away limply and her heart broke.

  “No!” Cara shouted as time reasserted itself and all around her panic broke loose. Harnessed bears lurched with their sledges into the forest. Stragglers bolted for cover. Gar moved protectively in front of her, and she could feel his rumbling growl beneath her
trembling hands. She knew she should run, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the violence before her.

  Still tethered to the broken sledge, the second bear retaliated, roaring its fear and lurching over its dead brethren. It latched strong jaws onto the giant’s free arm and tore through the thick leather breastplate with deadly claws. The long tears seeped crimson, and Cara finally understood Archer’s hesitance around the giant beasts. Her stomach roiled as the bear shook its head, breaking the giant’s arm and sending droplets of blood flying. But the poor thing was outnumbered. The other giants came to their companion’s rescue, crippling the beast with heavy blows to its shaggy flank. Cara cried out with the beast’s pain as it fell forward, hind legs suddenly weak. Still struggling, it toppled the giant, reaching out with yellow teeth for his exposed throat. Cara hid her face in Gar’s fur as a giant raised his axe to finish the bear. Spitefully, she was thankful he was too late to save the one who’d killed the first bear.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noted movement. Ingrid was crawling away from the broken sledge. Somehow, she had survived. Her hood blew back and disheveled gray-white hair fell to her shoulders catching the eye of one of the giants.

  “Ingrid!” Cara screamed the warning, reaching over Gar’s white-furred back. The giant reached down, grabbed Ingrid by an ankle and dragged her upside down into the air. She thrashed like a wild animal, swinging recklessly. He shook her, hard, quieting her struggles and his free hand caught a dangling braid.

  Cara watched as the giant called to his companion, gesturing to the pale locks. The second warrior came close, puzzled, and inspected the herbalist closely. Ingrid had the gall to spit in his eye. Angry, the first giant shook her again. His companions said something in a harsh, guttural language, shaking his head. Then without warning, the giant holding Ingrid slammed her body to the ground, killing her instantly.