Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1)

by Stacy Bennett

  “Tame things?” Falin asked, her strength returning. “You mean horses or dogs?”

  Xantherus smiled, a crooked grim-looking thing. “Oh, a few of those at first. Then house servants. But his servants had unquestioned and permanent loyalty. A very important quality to certain Magi. Then more servants, bodyguards, laborers, soldiers. Whatever flesh was required, Sidonius was the man who could get it. No questions asked. Without fuss or chains required.

  “Eventually Sidonius began to trade in the black market, providing sacrifices for those who dabbled in the darker arts. At that point, the Academy could no longer look the other way. They sent me to see him, ostensibly a social visit. He must have suspected I was their spy. I asked him about life and work, and eventually we got around to his “business.” I flat out asked him how he did it, and he showed me a crystal the color of a sunrise, thin, single-pointed, and nearly as long as my forearm. He called it a ‘soul knife.’”

  “Soul knife?” Bradan asked, completely enthralled.

  “Urchek had found it somewhere west of the Far Isles. He told me the natives had used it to remove mental illness: hallucinations, mania, and the like. But Sidonius said he could remove whatever aspect of the psyche he wished with it. Greed, deceit, even self-preservation.”

  “The men in the street,” Khoury said.

  “I suspect they were…altered,” Xantherus agreed then he continued his story.

  “On my testimony, he was arrested, tried, and found guilty of fostering the dark arts. The Academy banished him from the Isles.” The sorcerer scrubbed his face wearily. “A house search was conducted, but we never found the artifact. He disappeared after that. In fact, most of us assumed he was dead.”

  “He’s pretty spry for a dead guy,” Archer said.

  “Hard to believe that Sidonius and I are the same age,” Xantherus said.

  “He looked older when we saw him at the Keep,” Khoury said.

  “He’s gotten younger?” Xantherus paced along an obviously familiar route through the cluttered room as if his mental activity needed a physical outlet. “Still, to soak up and manage enough power to gate himself back to the Keep is almost beyond belief,” he said to no one in particular and then stopped to lean against the desk again, the empty wine glass in his hand. “The girl’s situation, her survival, hints at something even rarer.”

  “Rare?” Bradan pressed. “More rare than a soul knife?”

  “Sidon talked of many things…creatures I’d never imagined. Scrolls filled with impossible magics.” Xantherus stopped and shook his head. “He was unstable. Delusional.”

  “Sounds like he has accomplished much that is impossible,” Bradan said, looking pointedly at the burnt stone on Xantherus’s desk.

  “True,” Xantherus admitted. “But immortality? That is beyond belief even given his talents.”

  Falin wondered if she’d heard the sorcerer right. Sidonius was trying to make himself immortal? The thought chilled her bones.

  THE EAGLE’S NEST was dingy and as crowded as ever. Violet examined the captain with a critical eye, shifted the chewing leaf to her other cheek and said, “You look like shit, no offense.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Vi,” Khoury replied, taking the chair opposite her. After leaving Xantherus, he’d tried to rinse off the soot and even changed his shirt but the scent of scorched hair was tenacious.

  Violet’s eyes scanned the common room. “Where’s Archer?”

  Khoury motioned for a drink. “Babysitting. Something’s come up.”

  “A job?” Her voice was low but eager.

  He nodded as the maid set a mug down on the table.

  She smiled, waiting for him to explain.

  “We’ve got a castle to take.”

  “A castle.”

  “Yes. Call the Swords in. Send out word to any others you know of who can meet us on the North Road in the next few days.” He took a long drink of the cool yeasty ale and pulled out a hastily written list. “And I’ll need these items as well.” He pushed it across the table at her.

  Vi took it and perused the list as he drank most of the ale, waiting for it to improve his mood. It wasn’t working. She frowned thoughtfully and peered at him over the paper. “Why do you want armor for a—”

  “Just get it,” Khoury snapped, forestalling any discussion. “And no cheap stuff either. I need you to go to Ponston Street, too. Get an assortment; bring it to Wallace’s. I don’t know what the others will need.” He unconsciously patted the cloth-wrapped blade at his belt that he’d retrieved from the treasury. Then he lifted a hefty purse of coin.

  His lieutenant nodded. “Okay. By when?”

  “Yesterday.”

  She choked on her drink.

  “Problem?” Khoury asked.

  “No sir,” she replied, pushing away her ale. “Love to sit and chat but it seems I’ve got things to do. Get the tab, will ya, Captain?” She winked before she strode out into the sunny day.

  Khoury squinted against the light. The nugget of fear he’d kept at bay taunted him now. Personal feelings aside, this Far Islander had to be stopped. Such power, unchecked, was dangerous and even now might be beyond the Academy’s skill to contain.

  Khoury hadn’t flinched when Xantherus had talked about immortality. But if that was what Sidonius was up to, Khoury had to kill him and soon. If the sorcerer managed it, it wouldn’t be long before the Dunhadrar of Barakan stole it for themselves.

  He touched the stinging line beneath his eye.

  Even if I get close enough to kill him, Khoury wondered, what chance do I really have? He finished the ale but still felt a flutter of fear. He raised his hand to order another, yearning for the heady peace of inebriation. But when the drink arrived, he only stared into the fading foam, despising himself. His father hadn’t raised him to be a drunk. Or a coward. Khoury pounded the table with an angry fist. Every enemy had a weakness. He had to find it and Xantherus was going to help him.

  And then, he would find the captain he used to be, that hard man clothed in callous armor, a man with nothing to lose, and he would stop this sorcerer before another soul suffered. He reached into the pouch at his belt and tossed a generous tip on the table. As he stood and scrubbed his face with a smoky hand, he decided on one other thing he’d have to do before addressing his company of men.

  THE CAPTAIN HAD instructed them to stay put and stay together, so they gathered in Bradan’s room. Archer played a dice game with the chieftain as Falin watched with flagging interest. She was tired and ached to be alone, to wander outside, anything but this confinement. Late in the afternoon, Nadja knocked bringing fresh clothes for the men.

  “Come, you must dress for dinner, milady,” she said to Falin.

  “I’m already dressed.”

  “That is hardly correct attire for a lady,” the maid countered.

  Falin bristled. “Who are you calling a lady?”

  Bradan couldn’t hide his smirk. “She didn’t mean it as an insult, Huntress.”

  “Come,” the maid persisted, “I have a very becoming gown for you.” She gestured through the door to Cara’s room.

  “A gown?” Falin glowered at the girl. “Huntresses don’t wear…dresses.” Her hand found its way to the hilt of her sword.

  Archer came over and placed a friendly hand on Falin’s shoulder. “Real ladies don’t need steel, they have men,” he teased.

  “I’m not one of your ‘courtly’ ladies.” Falin brushed his hand off with a snarl.

  Archer laughed. “No one would confuse you with one of those.”

  She scowled at his laughter.

  Bradan stuffed his humor down long enough to look serious. “Diplomats often must bend to the rules of their hosts, Huntress.”

  He had a point. Sorchia would have said something like that.

  “Just wear the damned thing. You’re still the most deadly woman I know.” He punched her on the arm hard enough to show he wasn’t coddling her.

  “Thanks,” she sa
id, hitting him back hard enough to bruise.

  A steaming bath of scented water awaited her in Cara’s room. Falin decided the trial of wearing a dress might be worth the soak. Soap and towels sat on a nearby stool. She quickly stripped, draping her leathers neatly on a chair, and stepped into the tub. Falin purred in the soothing heat as she closed her eyes and leaned back. Her mind drifted lazily near sleep, though she didn’t want to nod off and have another unexpected visit to the Keep.

  Last night, Cara had probably lain right here, she thought. And now she’s gone.

  Falin slid lower, letting the hot water creep up her scalp, soothing her anxiety with the sweet floral scent. It took a while for the warmth to fill her bones and chase away the last residue of the black staff’s magic.

  In her memory, she pictured the captain howling his frustration in the empty street. She knew he’d try and get the girl back. The question was: Would she help him? She’d promised to bring the girl safely to Iolair, and she had. But Sorchia had intended for Falin to see Cara safely to her unknown destiny.

  And my own.

  What was it Sorchia had said? “…the Mothers have shown her to me in dreams. They want her to claim her destiny, and she can lead you to your own….”

  A strange misgiving bloomed inside her heart, but Falin knew her job wasn’t done yet. She sighed. She would follow the captain into this storm, though she’d never in her life felt so hesitant to start a fight.

  The maid’s footsteps crossed the floor. “Shall I coif your hair?” the girl asked, settling down on the stool next to the tub.

  Falin just nodded, not sure what exactly she was agreeing to. The maid washed and combed Falin’s tangled mane sorely testing the Huntress’s limited patience. After much grumbling and swearing from both women, the golden locks were bound back from her face with slender braids and cascaded in waves down her back.

  The dress the maid picked was a simple gown of deep green with close sleeves. Falin felt completely naked without her breasts wrapped and the low cut neckline exposed their embarrassingly soft roundness. She rejected the dainty slippers in favor of soft leather boots.

  A new argument broke out over her weapon. As Sidonius’s next target, Falin was not going anywhere without a blade. She’d even offered to take food in her room, which apparently would insult the baron’s hospitality. Her stubbornness won out, and in the end, her hunting knife hung from the thick embroidered belt on her hips.

  With all the squabbling the others had already left for dinner, and she hurriedly followed the frustrated Nadja to the dining room—late. Never had she felt so exposed. The men’s stares as she entered didn’t help. Archer whistled appreciatively and gave her a wolfish grin. She raised an eyebrow and placed her hand on the blade in her belt in warning, crossly determined to take any embarrassment out of his hide at the next sparring.

  Next to Archer sat Bradan and next to him was Xantherus. The man at the head of the table she guessed was the baron, a cultured-looking brown-haired noble with a too-easy smile. Behind the baron was a thin man with a hawkish nose and a chronic stoop from leaning over to whisper in the baron’s ear, as he did just then.

  Then her eyes landed on the man to the baron’s right, dressed in a gleaming hauberk of chain covered with a deep-blue tabard bearing silver crossed swords and a running hound. She stared for a moment and blinked. It was the captain, but not the captain she knew.

  His face was shaved smooth showing the faint lines of a hundred battles. The lack of a beard accentuated the intensity of his angular features. He had cropped short his wavy dark hair, giving him a stark, predatory look. Black leather gloves hung at his belt, a shining helm sat on the table, and a scowl darkened his brow. Falin’s breath caught in her throat as his eyes met hers, the familiar blue depths unfathomable and distantly cold.

  She moved toward the table and the baron stood, quickly followed by the other men. “I thought the Lady Cara had been taken,” he said with surprise. Falin stopped short. The pregnant silence alerted the baron to his mistake.

  “I’m afraid you haven’t met the final member of our group,” Khoury said. The captain took Falin lightly by the hand, escorting her forward. “Baron Wallace, may I present Huntress Falin of Foresthaven.”

  She was grateful Khoury hadn’t insulted her by using “lady.” She bowed formally as a representative of her Sisters, hand covering her heart. “My lord,” she said in a smooth but husky tone.

  “Forgive my poor eyesight.”

  “Of course,” Falin said with a nod. Khoury sat her next to him, and she noted that the men sat when she did. She risked a glance at Archer sitting across from her. When he gave her an approving nod and glanced at his plate, she surreptitiously sampled the variety of food before her. It was surprisingly good, and she was starving.

  “Where were we?” the baron asked, taking a swig of his ale.

  “You were just about to give us troops to rescue Lady Cara. As you said, she’s been kidnapped, and we’re going after her.”

  Falin closed her eyes, her worst fears confirmed. “Fool,” she breathed.

  “What?” Khoury demanded, his stare drawing all eyes to her.

  “I said you’re a fool.”

  “We are going after her,” he repeated. Disapproval simmered in his stormy eyes.

  She glared right back. “Think before you jump, Captain,” she warned, sounding stronger than she felt.

  It’s not the first time we’ve disagreed, she chided herself. If he doesn’t like it, Thorns take the motherless bastard.

  “She could be dead already,” Falin said, though she knew it was a lie. She could see the meek rabbit locked inside those dark stone walls and felt a stab of pity.

  “Khoury,” the baron said, shaking his head. “I love you like a brother, but I can’t send men to die for the sake of a girl, even your girl.”

  Khoury put his utensils down with deliberate care. Falin could feel his anger just beneath the surface. “I’ve done as much for you, haven’t I, Jake?”

  The baron squirmed in his seat, making Falin wonder what debt he owed.

  “Cara aside,” Khoury continued, “Sidonius grows in power daily. If not now, then soon, he will become a serious threat to all of us. He has giants as allies, a network of information to rival yours, and sorcery that can turn farmers into an army or allow him to step from his Keep straight to your throne room. He may seem distant now, but he will expand his reach, that I promise you. And Iolair lies at the heart of the continent. Eventually, he will come to her.”

  Xantherus cleared his throat. “I agree with the captain’s assessment, Baron. Grant him what you can to stop this threat now.”

  “You surprise me, Islander,” Wallace said. “You don’t normally advise action.”

  “I have already sent word to the Academy in this regard,” Xantherus said.

  The baron sat back in his chair. “That serious?”

  Xantherus turned to Khoury. “Action is required but not haste, Captain. You need not strike immediately. Help from the Academy could turn the tide.”

  Khoury’s face was unreadable. “You don’t even know when or if they’ll respond. It’s possible they’ll deny your request entirely.”

  “He is an exile. The Academy’s responsibility is clear,” Xantherus sputtered.

  “They may not see it that way,” Khoury said coolly.

  “Wait, Sidonius is an exile?” the baron asked.

  It was Xantherus’s turn to squirm. “From the Far Isles, yes. Charged with sorcery against the common good and found guilty.”

  “And your solution was to send him here?” Cade interjected out of turn. He opened his mouth to expound further, but Wallace silenced him with a raised hand.

  The baron cleared his throat. “Since Xantherus has advised action, I agree with you, Khoury, sooner is better. However, you know how closely my enemies watch me. I can spare only forty regulars and twenty of my Elite Guard. Any more than that and Iolair may fall before you reach Telsedan.
But take whatever siege engines, wagons and horses you need; those items I can spare. Even a small keep can be formidable.”

  “You are generous, Wallace,” Khoury said, then turned to Xantherus. “What else can you tell us?”

  “Sidonius was an accomplished fire sorcerer, but clearly he’s gone far beyond what he learned at the Academy. I found some old texts concerning the use of ‘soul magic.’”

  “Soul magic?” Bradan was obviously intrigued.

  “Magic involving elements of the persona,” Xantherus explained. “Academy sorcerers study only the four elements: fire, earth, air, and water. Every graduate knows incantations of each and has a specialty. But that isn’t the only type of magic in the world.”

  Like Bradan conjuring the fog spirits, Falin thought.

  “What we saw today with the traveling crystals,” the sorcerer said, “is entirely foreign. He must have picked that up on his travels.”

  “You thought this soul knife of his was important,” Bradan prompted.

  “You saw his conscripts,” Khoury said impatiently. “You’ve seen what it does.”

  “But only Sidon knew what happened to the parts that were removed.”

  “Are you saying we can fix the men he’s taken?” Bradan asked.

  Falin cursed under her breath. If the men Sidonius was using were not lost, this would be much harder.

  “I doubt that’s the case,” Xantherus scoffed. “But they bring up an interesting line of inquiry. What would happen if you took too much of a person’s soul.”

  At that, Xantherus’s eyes locked onto Falin making the hairs on her neck and arms stand up.

  “Theory doesn’t interest me,” Khoury said abruptly. “We’ve seen his soldiers. What else can we expect?”

  Falin saw Xantherus frown at the captain’s words. We’re missing the point, she thought, but why doesn’t Xantherus just say what he thinks?

  “I expect he’ll feast himself on energy as he did before today.” The wind wizard’s tone grew bored. “Any wards or enchantments would be deadly. There’s no way to know what other foreign magics he is capable of. He and Urchek were on the road more than they were home, and from what I’ve seen and heard, no one at the Academy had an inkling of the extent of their inventory. Urchek was such a gentle soul. The most magic he did was to heat his tea.”