Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1)

by Stacy Bennett

  The Huntress wasn’t far behind, and Cara wondered what she must be thinking as she turned to watch the Gate close. A feeling of homesickness brushed at Cara’s mind, reminding her painfully of Gar, though it disappeared as quickly as it came.

  The Huntress raised her eyes to the vast expanse of blue, grinning like a child. “So bright,” she whispered.

  “What are you doing here?” Khoury asked brusquely.

  Falin’s smile evaporated. “What do you mean?”

  “Outside Foresthaven. Your job is done.”

  “Captain—”Archer began, but Khoury stopped him with a raised hand.

  “Isn’t that right?” the captain said.

  The Huntress’s chin tilted up. “I promised Sorchia I would see Cara to Iolair,” she said evenly. “So either I go with you, or I follow you. It makes no difference to me.”

  Archer grinned, and Bradan came up to stand next to him. “We’ll need all the help we can get,” the chieftain said. “Right, Captain?”

  “You always say an extra blade is a blessing,” Archer reminded him. Anger flattened Khoury’s lips.

  “I must admit,” the Huntress said before Khoury could respond to Archer’s prodding, “my expertise ends at the Gate. You’ll have to lead us from here.”

  The captain considered the warrior with hooded eyes, then the lines of his mouth softened. “Fine,” he said. “Archer, take point and bring us southwest and you, Huntress, guard the rear.” Cara expected an argument at that, but the Huntress took the captain’s clipped commands with little more than a nod of acknowledgement.

  The group headed down the slope, their mood almost jovial in the brightness of the Tangle. The brush was thinner here, and a breeze played with Cara’s hair. Bradan walked next to her, smiling and telling her about healers he’d known, techniques she might try. She nodded politely, but she knew in her heart that no amount of training would tame the unruly nature of her talent.

  As the sun dipped behind the hills ahead of them, Khoury called a halt in a tilting glade, protected on one side by relatively thick trees and bordered on the other by a stream. Cara sank to the leafy ground and watched Bradan prepare and tend the fire. Archer had already left to hunt. The Huntress brushed by Cara and settled herself at the base of a tree. Cara had almost forgotten she was with them. If the men’s indifference bothered her, it didn’t show. She calmly honed her sword, as self-sufficient as she had been in her thorny home.

  The meal was simple and once done, they settled in to listen to Archer’s tall tales and songs. Bradan even surprised them all by joining his deep bass with Archer’s familiar baritone while Khoury pulled his twin swords from their sheaths like lost loves. He inspected them carefully and then set to work with a whetstone in long, smooth strokes. Cara watched out of the corner of her eye as the rhythm calmed him, unwinding the tension he had been carrying with a slow swish, swish, swish.

  The late spring night was pleasantly warm and peaceful. Cara couldn’t help but think that they’d finally eluded Father. The life she’d had in the Keep seemed little more than a bad dream as she stared up at the tranquil stars.

  The captain sheathed the blades and stretched. “I’ll take first watch,” he said. “Archer, you’re up next. Then Bradan and then back to me.” The men nodded agreement but Falin stood up.

  “Captain, you don’t need to take two watches.” All heads turned in surprise as if they too had forgotten she was there. “I can take one.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Trust me?” Her hand settled comfortably on her sword. “After the last five days, you still can’t bring yourself to trust me?”

  “It’s not that,” he said.

  “Then what, Captain?” She paced across the glade, her face relaxed though Cara noted the familiar challenge in her eye. “You know, you should let Cara take a watch, too. Or don’t you trust her either?”

  Cara’s heart jumped at the thought. It was a strangely appealing.

  “She’s not trained in a weapon,” the captain said.

  “She’d only have to wake you.” The Huntress’s tone was reasonable as she circled the camp.

  “At least let the Huntress take a turn, Captain,” Archer said. “She can handle herself.”

  Khoury looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. “Fine,” he relented. “Archer can take first watch, then the Huntress, Bradan and then me.”

  “Thank you.” The Huntress imitated a mock bow and retreated back to her tree at the edge of the firelight.

  Though Cara understood why Khoury hadn’t included her, sharp disappointment dampened her mood. She was touched that the Huntress would even suggest it. Drowsy and tired, she slid down in her blanket and stretched out her tired legs. It felt good to be still, but the absence of the whispers was distracting. Even the ground felt different than the dark loam she had grown used to. She glanced at Falin who was propped up against her tree with the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her eyes were closed and her breathing even as if she had already fallen asleep. Apparently she trusted Khoury just fine.

  As usual, Cara slipped easily into sleep but not for long. A rough shake jolted her awake.

  “Wha—?”

  A leather-bound hand clamped over her mouth. “Shh.” Cara rolled her eyes and found Falin crouched over her, finger across her own lips urging silence. Cara nodded understanding, and Falin removed her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Cara whispered.

  “Nothing.” Her mischievous smile gleamed in the firelight. “Don’t you want a turn at watch?”

  Cara blushed with trepidation. “But Khoury…”

  “Won’t even know.” The Huntress held up a large branch as long as her forearm that had been hacked off at both ends but was fairly thick. “When this is gone, wake Bradan.” She tossed the branch onto the top of the fire.

  Cara watched with consternation as the flames licked it gently at first then sank hot teeth into the blackening ends. Without a conspiratorial wink, Falin retreated to her tree and settled back in to sleep.

  Cara almost called after her to say she couldn’t take watch. But wasn’t this what she wanted? To be taken seriously? Bradan certainly would have no qualms about it when she woke him. And by the time Khoury found out, it would already be done. She looked at Khoury’s slumbering form—so close she could touch him. If she really felt worried, she could just wake him.

  At first she sat cross-legged, nervously scanning wherever the light touched and peering intently into the shadows in fear. But soon, the playful dance of the crackling fire coaxed her to relax. The night was far from the quiet she expected. Bugs chirped and frogs peeped and as she listened she noticed a rhythm to the constant cacophony. Occasionally, a visitor flapped through the glade though she was never quick enough to decipher if it had been an owl or a bat.

  When the branch had burned to half its size, Cara was startled from her musings by a rough grunt nearby. The captain thrashed, tangling in the folds of his blanket.

  “Khoury, what’s wrong?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer but his head wagged back and forth and he growled again. Then she noticed his eyes were closed. He was still asleep.

  It’s just a nightmare, she told herself, shifting her stiff legs. But he continued to groan for what seemed like a long time. The longer he thrashed, the more she felt desperate to help him. Finally unable to resist, she reached out to soothe his brow, forgetting that she’d already removed her gloves for the night. His skin was warm beneath her cool fingers and in a heartbeat she was standing in the middle of a battlefield.

  When she’d touched Archer, she had become him in the memories. Not this time.

  She stood just behind and to the side of the blood-spattered captain, though she barely recognized him. Gone was the stony coolness. The network of tiny scars shone pale against his flushed face and his eyes blazed. The lips she had kissed ever so briefly were twisted in a vengeful smirk as he wielded two swords with deadly efficiency.
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  Where was the firm gentleness that had lifted her from the river? He hacked through the press of adversaries, indifferent to their screams. Her gut clenched at the bodies littering the ground, their individual humanity lost in a sea of ruined flesh. The captain himself bled from numerous wounds but showed no sign of tiring. She trembled. Overwhelmed by chaos, her only thought was to escape his nightmare. But, unlike before, simply deciding to leave didn’t make it happen.

  “Death!” Khoury roared, rousing the men who followed him to a pitched frenzy. He advanced on a young warrior with a trembling sword. An unseen tether dragged her along after him. The warrior blocked Khoury’s first swing but the second blade caught him in the flank. She couldn’t turn her eyes away as the captain’s upward thrust pierced the thin leather armor, lifting the youth off his feet. The body jerked once then stilled, sinking to the ground. Khoury yanked his weapon free, turning to block another attacker in one fluid movement.

  The callous violence made Cara shiver. It’s only a dream, she kept repeating to herself. It’s not really him. Forced to follow, she closed her eyes and tried to fill her mind with other images of Khoury, kinder images. But his blood-spattered smile kept intruding.

  Then feminine laughter echoed across the battlefield like clear water washing away the dust. Cara recognized the sound; it was the woman from his memories. At the joyful sound, the battlefield began to fade, and Cara wanted to laugh herself. But a furious Khoury whirled around, searching for the source of the noise. He didn’t seem to see Cara but he definitely heard the laughter.

  “No,” he shouted to the sky. “No! You will not take me there!”

  In a moment, the dead soldiers blew away like ashes from a cold hearth, and Cara was in a cozy loft looking down on a room filled with happy people. Music played and couples danced.

  “I said no!” Khoury roared from somewhere out of sight and the dancers were wrenched away, leaving Cara standing on a hillside beside another boy. This time, she was Khoury, but a much younger version.

  “Liar,” the other boy scoffed. “That clump of feathers can’t be trained.”

  “Maybe not by you,” Cara heard herself say, feeling Khoury’s pride in the fierce tawny bird gripping his wrist. Wild-caught and too small for hunting grouse, he loved her nonetheless.

  The taller boy’s face contorted with scorn. “Even my tiercel’s bigger than that…sparrow.”

  Khoury stroked the downy breast with the back of a blunt finger, watching the amber eyes blink happily. “She’s a good hunter.”

  “Prove it,” the other boy challenged. “Have her find something.”

  “She’s not hungry.” Cara felt Khoury’s wariness.

  “Command her, cousin. Or has my mawkish uncle neglected your studies?”

  “I can Command.” Khoury huffed, but Cara felt his hesitation.

  “Then let’s see. Have her find…a mouse.” The other boy elbowed Khoury roughly. “Or perhaps your mother’s blood is too thin for real power.”

  His teeth creaked at the insult to his mother. Khoury drew in a deep breath, bringing with it a wash of angry magic. Cara felt it gather in her throat, hot and thick. The bird felt it, too. She flapped, pecking at his hand and resisting the jesses. At his bird’s distress, Khoury’s anger faded taking the magic with it. He didn’t need the voice. She would do his bidding without Command. As the last wisp of power swirled in his throat, he leaned close to the feathered head and whispered a word—mouse.

  Cara felt the magic flow into the word and ride his breath to the bird. Then ever so softly he said, “Please.” She squawked once as if understanding. Then he threw her into the air to catch the perpetual mountain breeze. With a loud cry, she circled his head once and then set out across the sloping meadow. The golden wings flashed in the bright sunlight. Khoury’s heart soared with the graceful dips and turns, and Cara felt herself smile.

  “You’ll never Command men like that, coz,” said a low voice in her ear. Khoury turned his head sharply to find the other boy too close for comfort and eyeing him with wicked intent. “You’re too soft.”

  The hawk’s cry drew Khoury’s attention as she dove into the long grass. Then she rose to the sky, something clutched in her talons.

  “Give me the bird,” said a voice like thick honey, each word separate and full of power. Cara felt them press at Khoury’s head, leaking down his neck like drips of fat rain. “Give it to me.”

  Before Cara could think, stone walls shot up from the floor of Khoury’s mind, shuttering it closed, pushing her out along with the words. Then she was standing behind the boys. Khoury had turned to face his cousin, fists clenched in anger. “Not this time,” he swore.

  The other boy laughed. “Oh, so you’ve got some fight in you. But does your bird?” He turned to his own tiercel and with that same thick voice said, “Kill!” The dark red raptor launched off his wrist and headed straight for Khoury’s bird.

  “No!” Khoury shouted but in a heartbeat the birds had collided and fallen to the grass. Khoury raced down the hillside to where the tumble of screeching feathers flattened the grass. Drawn inexorably after him, Cara ran, too. When he reached the birds, he grabbed the darker bird and yanked, holding the tiercel aloft by its head. Ignoring the talons that raked his forearm, his eyes were fixed on the ground. Cara looked down and there was his lovely hawk, bloody feathers all akimbo, and one wing mangled beyond recognition. And she still clutched a mouse in her talons.

  The other boy ran up and grabbed his bird from Khoury’s dazed grip, soothing its ruffled feathers. He peered down, shaking his head with mock sorrow. “Your pride has cost you again, coz. You should have given it to me when I asked.”

  Khoury spun around, his fist slamming into the other boy’s cheek. His cousin staggered back, his bird flapping furiously.

  The boy touched the side of his mouth and checked for blood, murder in his eyes. “You’ll pay for that, Mason. And this time Uncle’s not here to stop me.” He turned and strode off, leaving Khoury to stare down at the shreds of his beloved bird.

  Dropping to his knees, Khoury cradled the mess of feathers in gentle hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as the feathered head leaned against him, mouth open in obvious distress. Then Cara saw his hand go for his dagger.

  No, she thought. No, you can’t just kill her!

  She couldn’t bear to watch him kill the golden bird. Her distress freed her from his dream and she sat up suddenly. The fire lit clearing was quiet, but Cara’s mind whirled in a wild dance. Her hands shook, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the hawk.

  She looked over at where he slept, peacefully now, and she could make out the young boy’s face beneath the beard and the scars. Who was he: the bloodthirsty warrior or the boy? She couldn’t decide.

  Just then, the fire popped, making her jump. The branch Falin had placed there was gone, burnt away. Cara wondered how long she had been trapped in Khoury’s dreams. From the looks of the ashes, it was past time to wake Bradan. Cara calmed her trembling as best she could and went to rouse the shaman, though she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep again that night.

  WHEN BRADAN WOKE Khoury while the sky was already getting light. The Huntress’s extra watch shouldn’t have made that much difference, but the captain felt well-rested for the first time in days. His nightmare was fading, leaving only a subdued sadness. He admired the rose-colored sky. Not a dark Thorn anywhere. His scars complained tightly as he stretched and moved to the open end of the glade, his mind already focusing on the problems ahead. Sidonius’s spies would be everywhere by now, including Iolair. If he were the sorcerer, he’d try to take Cara in the city, maybe use innocents to pressure Wallace into handing her over. Of course, the Tangle wasn’t safe either. Sidonius’s resources were extensive.

  All the captain could really be sure of was his own skill and Archer’s. He’d never seen the chieftain wield a weapon and the Huntress, though competent, was a dark horse he wouldn’t care to bet on. Cara’s healing power would
be priceless—afterward. During the fight, she would be their weakest link. He and Archer alone could manage a handful of mercenaries¸ but more than that and there’d be trouble. Giants would be a death sentence. For now, the best thing would be to stay off the road as much as possible and make haste.

  The captain inhaled the warm spring air and began his blade practice, using one sword at first. He’d missed his blades while under the Huntress’s careful watch. Now, he danced with them. His unconventional forms had been perfected over many years, tailored to his body’s particular needs. Performing each move slowly at first and then with more power and speed, he was soon moving with fluid precision. Khoury drew the second blade, altering the moves to match his weapons. The rhythm of his practice centered him, connected him to his blades, and relaxed his nerves. He felt more like himself than he had in days.

  When he stopped, sheathed his blades and headed for the stream, the Huntress was already there and silent as stone. Her eyes followed his movements with a predator’s intensity. He tilted his head at her, and she returned his cautious greeting. Then she splashed water on her face and returned to the camp to smother the embers.

  He took his turn at the water, rinsing off and slurping the cool mountain runoff. When he returned to the others, the firepit was cold and damp and Falin was gearing up. Bradan was awake, too, rousing Archer with a rude toe in the back. Khoury found Cara still sleeping, her brow furrowed in her sleep. At his touch, she jerked awake with a startled cry.

  “It’s just me.”

  Wide-eyed and confused, she stared at him a moment. “Sorry. Nightmare,” she said, shaking her head. “I wasn’t myself. In the dream.”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  “Do you?” She searched his face with icy-blue hope.

  He didn’t know what she was looking for but her steady gaze sparked a warmth in his chest he hadn’t felt since that night after the giant raid. Looking at the curves of her face, he realized how much he counted on seeing her every day. He frowned at his weakness. It felt as if a knot inside him had come undone. He couldn’t afford the mistakes he made at Bear Clan.