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

Sora awoke with the toe of a boot jabbing her in the back.

  “Wake up, girl. We’re leaving.”

  She groaned. Every fiber of her body was in pain. When she sat up, she felt stiff as an old woman and twice as sore. A light mist hung above their camp, clinging to the lower branches like a fragile curtain.

  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and grimaced at the retreating figure of Crash. What a rude awakening! She didn't mind glaring at him—as long as his back was turned. She pulled her cloak about her shoulders and rubbed down her legs, trying to stave off the chill. It had been a cold, moist night, and although she had curled up close to the fire, she was too uncomfortable to sleep. Finally she drifted off close to dawn, but only for a few hours of true rest.

  She brushed the leaves from her clothing, then paused, staring down at her hands. They were no longer tied. Her heart leapt—but quickly plummeted. Perhaps she wasn't tied up, but she was still a captive. Obviously they didn't think she could escape. She posed no threat at all.

  But she would escape! She promised herself that.

  Sora got awkwardly to her feet and lifted her satchel. Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t care to ask her captors for breakfast. I'd rather starve! She glanced around, suddenly uncertain. The camp seemed unusually quiet.

  As though reading her thoughts, Dorian's voice drifted over to her: “Women are always more beautiful in the morning, especially after a night on the cold ground!” His words were sharp and crisp on the misty air.

  Sora ignored the Wolfy as he entered the clearing. He was atop a pretty brown horse, which she assumed was stolen. She avoided making eye contact, even when he pulled up next to her. “Is our Lady ready to leave?” he said with a sneer.

  Her cheeks flushed, but she refused to answer. Perhaps she had grown up with wealth, but she had never lorded her status above others, like so many noble-born. In fact, her only friends were servants. She gave him a stiff nod, biting the inside of her cheek.

  Dorian abruptly reached down and offered her his gloved hand. She stared up at him, surprised.

  “Well, sweetness? Get on!” he said impatiently. “Or do you need a footstool? Maybe a nice cushion to sit on?”

  Sora could take no more. With a huff of anger, she shoved away his hand. “In case you’re wondering,” she spat out, “or in case you’re deaf, my name is Sora, not sweetness, or sweetheart, or sweet-anything! And I’m not a pampered little princess! In fact, I'd rather walk than ride on your dirty horse!” She spat at his feet, though she wasn't very good at spitting.

  The expression on Dorian’s face made her words worth it, and Sora braced herself for the swing of a sword, or a kick from his boot. At least I’ll die happy. Then, much to her surprise, the creature threw back his head and let out a barking laugh, his pointed ears twitching with mirth.

  “So the girl has some spirit after all!” he shouted. Then he reached down, grabbed her forcefully by the arm, and dragged her onto the horse behind him—his strength made her gasp. She struggled into the saddle with little choice. “Dorian’s the name, thieving is the trade, and perhaps this won't be such an agony after all.”

  She stared at the back of his head, still shocked. Shouldn't he be trying to kill me now? She thought of Crash's threats from the night before and the pink scratches along her neck.

  “Uh, yes, perhaps,” she said carefully.

  He was still laughing. “I think we’re going to get along just fine,” he said. With that, he tugged on the reins and whirled the horse around, setting off through the trees. Sora had to grab his hips for balance; it was awkward, and she tried to touch him as little as possible.

  He seemed to be in a good mood, though she couldn't imagine why. The Wolfy hummed to himself as they started through the forest, an old woodland tune known to the area. Sora had heard the yard workers sing it during long afternoons, while they were trimming the grass or weeding the flowerbeds. Its familiarity was soothing and reminded her of home.

  After a few minutes, she cleared her throat. “Uh...thanks for untying my hands,” she said. Stupid. She shouldn't speak to him; he was her enemy.

  “It was the most practical thing to do,” the thief replied. “Don't see how you could ride otherwise. But if you try anything stupid, Crash will have to put you down. I'd hate to lose such a pretty new pet.”

  His words were a sharp reminder of her position, as though she needed one. Sora shut her mouth, her sense of relief dissipating. Pet? she thought in disgust.

  Still, perhaps it was a good sign that he kept talking to her. She wasn't as scared of Dorian as she was of Crash. She got the feeling that he was warming up to her, which could be used to her advantage.

  So he thinks I'm pretty, huh? she thought with a little smirk. She glanced down at her stained shirt and felt the unexpected urge to laugh. How refreshing to be in day-old clothes! She hoped she would get dirtier before the day was done.

  “Git!” Dorian clicked his tongue to the horse, who moved into a smooth, fast trot. Sora wasn't expecting the sudden change of pace, and held on tighter. The horse found a trail and they followed it through the woods, ducking under low branches, picking their way around rocks. She could only assume they were following Crash's lead, though she hadn't caught a glimpse of him since waking. With any luck, she wouldn't see the killer until nightfall.

  Almost an hour passed in dull silence. The trail moved through dense forest and hidden meadows strung with wildflowers, yellow and blue petals scattered throughout the shade. Sora tried to entertain herself by bird-watching; she counted twenty-three species before losing track. There were dark-winged crows, skinny red robins and blue jays. A few plump yellow finches kept following the horse. They flitted quietly from branch to branch, waiting for seeds to fall, or crumbs.

  Then the path opened up and joined with a main road. Golden wheat fields stretched out to their right while the dense forest stayed to their left. The trees fell away, as did the birds, leaving a broad, seamless sky and a hawk-like speck on the horizon. She wondered how far away she was from her father's house—probably quite a ways. She had never seen farmland like this before.

  “Where are we?” she finally asked, her curiosity loosening her tongue.

  “Don't you know?” Dorian sneered. “These are Fallcrest lands, all twenty-thousand acres...or thirty miles, if you're not a farmer. Your serfs work them and pay a seasonal tax.”

  Sora blushed, then glared at the back of his neck. “Of course I knew that!” she lied. “I just meant, where are we going?”

  “A good ways from here, I can assure you,” Dorian answered vaguely.

  Sora gritted her teeth. She tried again. “There is a town on my father's land, is there not?”

  “Oh, did your servants tell you that, too? My, my, you are clever.” His voice trailed on, decidedly bored. “Yes, my girl, we are going to Mayville. A certain assassin needs to collect his payment.”

  Sora stiffened, her breath catching in her lungs. Assassin? Her fingers tightened on Dorian's waist. “W-what?”

  The Wolfy stiffened as well, his shoulders going rigid. “Forget I said anything,” he grunted.

  Sora shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “No, wait, you can't just leave it at that! What assassin? What payment?” Her stomach had turned to rock. She suddenly felt sick and oddly deceived, even though Dorian was not her friend. Her heart pounded. Assassin. Suddenly her thoughts were racing, memories of the previous night, of her father falling to the ground, injured. Perhaps worse than injured. Perhaps....

  “Lord Fallcrest is dead,” she said numbly.

  Her captor didn't answer immediately. Dorian sat as though stuffed with straw. He clicked to the horse, who then moved into a faster trot.

  “It's Crash, isn't it?” she said, her words coming far too quickly. “He's the assassin. He's who you're talking about. Someone paid him to be in the manor. Oh, dear Goddess....” And her mouth went dry, realizing that the entire party had been a trap, that Lord Fallcrest had been a tar
get. Her Lord father.

  Don't panic, she thought, tears pressing their way to the surface. Don't cry!

  “Who?” she demanded, forcing herself to stay composed. “Who hired him?”

  “I've said too much, and you need to stop asking questions,” Dorian said briefly.

  “Who?” she repeated, the panic rearing up again. She grabbed the Wolfy's narrow shoulder, wrenching him around in the saddle. “Who did this?”

  “Get off me!”

  “Answer me!”

  Dorian flung her aside, shoving her back. Sora lost her balance with a yelp. Struggling to stay on the trotting horse, she tumbled out of the saddle, landing gracelessly in the dirt. She winced; her hip and shoulder were bruised.

  “Dammit!” Dorian yelled, and brought his steed to a skidding halt. He whirled on her, reining in the horse only a few feet away from her. With a strange expression on his face, he looked down at her. “Don't run!” he said. “If you run, I'll have to kill you.”

  Sora was still recovering from the fall. She sucked in a breath of air, then rolled to one side, climbing painfully to her feet. It had been a hard, unexpected impact. “Blast you,” she cursed. “Murderers. The both of you. You deserve to be hanged!”

  Dorian dismounted and stood next to his horse, who was upset, pawing at the earth and flicking its ears about. He ran a hand over the horse's nose, holding it firmly by the reins.

  “Don't run,” he repeated to Sora, watching her in alarm.

  “Why not?” she balked, already moving back to the treeline. It would be better to run, truly. Even if she was to be taken by an arrow or a knife in the back, at least she wouldn't be traveling with this lying scum. And to think, she had been warming up to him. “You killed my...Lord Fallcrest,” she grunted, her gut churning again. It was difficult to say “my father.” He had been so little a father to her, more like a distant employer or a landlord. Still, the tears swelled up again, clogging her throat.

  “I don't want to kill you,” Dorian said. But suddenly she noticed the knife glinting in his hand. He held it up, following her gaze, as though trying to prove his good intentions. “You're not a bad sort, Sora. You're quite spirited, for a spoiled noble. Trust me, I'm not the one you have to be afraid of. Just don't run.”

  Sora glared. His words almost won a laugh from her. “Trust you?” she choked. “Trust you? After all you just said? No bloody chance!”

  “There are worse people out there than an honest thief,” Dorian replied earnestly. He actually looked concerned.

  “You take me for a fool?” Sora demanded, almost to the treeline. Only a few more feet, and she could dash into the underbrush. “I'll report you to the nearest patrol and have you arrested! You'll be sent to the King's prisons! Murdering nobility is as good as treason!”

  “Like I said, I'm not the one you should be afraid of,” Dorian repeated. Why wasn't he following her into the forest?

  “Oh? And who is that? My father's assassin?” she spat.

  “Yes.” The voice came from behind her, soft and lethal.

  Sora gasped.

  Arms grabbed her from behind, easily swooping under her shoulders and around the back of her neck. She was clamped against a tall body, lean and hard with muscle. Her arms were locked and a painful pressure was applied to her neck. Her eyes met Dorian's, full of fear, but she saw no pity on the Wolfy's face—only a solemn frown.

  Sora opened her mouth, but fear choked her, like ice caught in the back of her throat. “Who hired you?” she managed.

  But the assassin didn't answer—or at least, not in the way she wanted. “You may have something of great use to us,” his dark voice murmured. If the Night could speak....“Until we know for sure, we can't let you go.”

  “Then take it!” Sora shrieked. She knew what they were talking about—her mother's necklace. She didn't know anything about it, and in that moment, she didn't care. She just wanted to be away from them. Far, far away. “Take the damned necklace! I don't want it!”

  “We can't do that,” Dorian said.

  “Just let me go!”

  His grip tightened sharply behind her neck, forcing her head forward and down. Tears squeezed out of her eyes and she gritted her teeth in pain. Dorian's arctic-blue eyes slid over her shoulder, sharing a look with the man behind her. She couldn't read the Wolfy's expression, but she caught the gist of his silence.

  After a moment, Crash slipped his arms down the side of her body, grabbing her wrists, pulling her hands behind her. Again, she felt rough, thick ropes against her soft skin. They were drawn uncomfortably tight.

  “She rides with me,” the assassin said, his voice like steel. “You scout the road.”

  Dorian nodded, then went to mount his horse. Sora watched him speechlessly. That was it? One command and he turned his back?

  She was dragged awkwardly into the shade of the trees. The assassin's gray steed was tethered to a low branch. It danced slightly to one side, disturbed by her fierce struggle.

  Sora dug her heels into the soft dirt. She caught her foot on a jutting tree root, trying to resist the assassin. She no longer cared if he killed her. Anger surged. She tried to squirm free, but she was held fast by the hands of her father's murderer. It was...horrifying.

  “You bastard,” she choked, the words tumbling out of her mouth, half-hysterical. “You godless, disgusting bastard! They'll find you! I am noble-born—every soldier in the countryside will be looking for me! They'll flay you alive once they know what you are!”

  He didn't reply. Instead, his hand went over her mouth. Suddenly she was gagging, a nasty, dirty cloth shoved between her teeth. It tasted bitter, strange. No smell. In fact, she couldn't smell anything, not even the musty scent of his leathers or the heavy pine trees. She felt as though her entire face was buzzing.

  She kept yelling, choking incoherently. Finally, he released her. She spat out the rag immediately, then she spun, off-balance, unable to catch herself with her tied arms. She toppled sideways against a tree. Her mouth felt numb. Her tongue was swollen. Her ears were muffled. She looked up, trying to fight off a wave of dizziness. The assassin's serpent-green eyes gazed back at her, unflinching.

  Then she sank to her knees, suddenly underwater, swimming into blackness....

  Sora came to at nightfall. She was tied to the front of the saddle. She caught the bare edges of sunset, her vision blurry and her head throbbing. Then she leaned to one side and vomited onto the road.

  Crash remained silent behind her, an eerie, lethal presence. She straightened up on the horse, her mouth tasting of acidic bile, her arms still roped behind her. The world swam, her balance faulty. She kept blinking, trying to clear her vision. Her head felt equally cloudy. Her thoughts were dim, muffled. She knew where she was and who she was with, but that was all she could reason.

  They turned off the road and into the forest once again, where they set up camp amidst the trees. Dorian had already cleared a circle in the wilderness and started a fire. Crash dismounted from behind her, then lifted her easily from the saddle, setting her on her feet. Sora swayed back and forth. She felt distant, one foot caught in a dream.

  Dorian came up to her and waved a hand in her face, watching for a response. “Poppy extract?” he muttered, glancing at Crash.

  “That, and valerian root,” the assassin replied.

  “A bit strong, don't you think?” Dorian said. Then, with a signal from Crash, he stepped behind her and cut her bonds.

  Sora was barely in control of her body. With her hands free, she sank back against a tree and slipped to the ground, rubbing her wrists, flexing her fingers. She put her head back against the bark, blinking her eyes repeatedly, trying to focus on the branches. She listened to her captors move about the camp. Pots and pans rattled. The horses were brushed down. Eventually, the assassin grabbed a shortbow from his saddle and entered the trees, hunting for dinner. Sora felt the tension loosen once he was gone and took a deep, slow breath.

  Dorian glanced in he
r direction. He knelt by the fire, building a spit for the meat. She avoided his eyes.

  “It's not that we don't like you,” he started, clearing his throat awkwardly. “But we told you not to cause trouble.”

  Sora looked away coldly. She felt sick to her stomach—both from the drug and the situation.

  He tried again. “Honestly, you're better off than you think.”

  “How?” Sora snapped. Her lips felt swollen, her words thick in her mouth. She had to chew on them before spitting them out. “How am I better off with a pair of murderers?”

  Dorian rolled his eyes. “We're not murderers! Well, I'm not a murderer. I've never killed anyone in my life.” He spread his hands open, as though proving his innocence. His words made her nauseous.

  “Just a thief, then,” she growled, her voice coated with disgust. “And a liar.”

  He didn't flinch at the accusations. Instead he grinned, his long teeth standing out against his lips, mocking her. “There are worse things than thieves and liars,” he said.

  “Like what?” she grumbled.

  “Like rapists. Child abductors. Slavers.” Dorian strode around the side of the fire and paused nearby, watching her carefully. Sora stared back, matching him look for look. Her mind was sharpening from the conversation, slowly regaining focus, though she was still in no condition to stand or run.

  Dorian continued. “Crash and I might not be innocent, but we're not the worst. Trust me. The worst would have tied you up, beaten and raped you, and left you to die of exposure. Or they'd sell you into slavery. You'd fetch a high price on the black market, several golds at least. I know plenty of Lords who'd jump for a pretty blond bed-warmer.”

  “How dare you!” she exclaimed. “Pig!” She spat at his feet and glared, unable to do anything else.

  “You know I have a point,” he murmured.

  “No, you don't. And you couldn't sell me into slavery! I am noble-born. My father's men would come for me. They're searching for me right now. It's just a matter of time.”

  Dorian's eyes glinted in amusement, but he didn't reply immediately. Instead he turned back to the fire and continued fussing with the logs. “And what about the noble-born?” he murmured. “You think nobility is incorruptible? You think your own father didn't own slaves? Didn't hire assassins? Didn't meddle in other's business?” He glanced at her. “Why do you think Crash was hired, hmm? Out of innocence? Dear old dad—just a victim?”

  Sora raised her head a notch. His words were insulting, and yet they struck a terrible, off-note chord. She had heard the kitchen staff speak of her father's “pastimes,” his curious business in the City of Crowns. They had said he enjoyed the young ones; that he might have bought and sold a few girls. Innocents, their old cook had said. A damned selfish man. Sora had barely understood the comments and had closed her ears, refusing to believe any gossip. Slavery wasn't illegal, but it was frowned upon by the King. Her father, a secret philanderer, a slave-buyer, all tucked away in the labyrinthine City of Crowns.

  She glanced at Dorian, sick to her stomach. When she spoke, her voice had become just a murmur. “Who hired you? Who killed Lord Fallcrest?”

  At that moment, Crash reappeared from the trees with two rabbits. He tossed them to Dorian, who caught them clumsily, taken off-guard. The assassin glanced between them, his eyes cold, then turned to one of the horses and lifted a hoof, picking out little rocks. For a killer, he certainly took good care of his horses. Sora wondered how much of the conversation he had heard.

  Dorian set down the rabbits and took out his knife, beginning to skin them. Abruptly he unhooked his water flask from his belt, then threw the flask across the campfire. It landed with a dull thud next to Sora's foot.

  “Might want to wash out your mouth,” he said, and gave her a pointed look.

  Sora glared in defiance, but drank the water anyway. She was horribly dehydrated after the drugs.

  Dorian prepared the rabbits quickly and set them on a spit over the fire; the three of them sat back to wait for the food to cook. Sora kept staring at Crash between sips from the canteen, trying to imagine the mind of such a man.

  He ignored her scrutiny and examined the next hoof, always busy, his hands always moving. Always silent.

  “So can you play that flute, or is it just for decoration?” Dorian asked, interrupting her disturbed thoughts.

  Sora looked at him, startled. “What?”

  “That flute in your bag, dear,” he sneered. “Or did my eyes deceive me? Was that just a twig?”

  Sora glared. So I'm their entertainment too, hm? A puppet on a string. She wanted to refuse him, to lie and say that it was, indeed, just a useless twig—but then she noticed the assassin looking at her. His eyes were shadowed, impassive. An icy fist curled in her stomach. He was unpredictable. Unreadable.

  With a jerky nod, she reached for her pack and brought out the plain wooden pipe, studying it from all angles. It was beaten up and scratched from countless hikes across her father's estate, but still playable. She had practiced most of her life. Young noblewomen were expected to play an instrument. She had tried the harp and the piano, but hadn't been very good at either.

  “It’s not some intricate machine,” Dorian said as she continued to inspect the instrument.

  “I know,” she grunted indignantly. Truthfully, she had been stalling, trying to remember the most recent song she had learned. It all seemed fuzzy from the drugs. She thought of refusing him again, but...perhaps the music would give her a release, some sort of distraction. Maybe that was his intention.

  With another glare in his direction, Sora raised the flute to her lips and paused. It took a moment to remember the notes, and she shifted her fingers several times before they settled into place. The only melody she could think of was a light springtime tune, although it didn't seem fitting to the mood. Oh well; she doubted they would care. She started off slowly, breathing lightly against the mouthpiece, the notes drifting hesitantly across the crackling fire.

  She played for several minutes, gaining confidence, looping the melody around as she had been taught, with light improvisation. She found that the music was more soothing than she had expected. It gave her something to focus on, something that wasn't dangerous, unknown or terrifying. Slowly, the tension loosened from her shoulders and her stomach felt less sick. Her head cleared.

  She lost track of time. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine her bedroom, the sound of workers outside, humming along. She imagined her windows open, a cool breeze brushing her cheeks, the scent of jasmine and pine....

  Somewhere in her imagination, a faint jingling reached her ears. At first she thought it was part of her memories, the charms that swayed above her bed, or a carriage on the driveway. But the sound grew and grew. Finally, she frowned and lowered the flute, opening her eyes.

  The sound stopped.

  She stared at Dorian across the fire. He was leaning back against a tree, his arms behind his head, his legs crossed. He looked deeply relaxed. His eye opened to a slit, glancing at her.

  She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. Her frown deepened. Strange, to have my imagination run away like that....Dorian looked like he was about to ask her something, and she hurriedly raised the flute to her lips again before he could speak. She didn't want to hear his voice, didn't want to break the spell.

  This time she had only reached the second measure when the bells started again, at first tickling her ears, then making a startling rush of sound. Sora came to another abrupt stop. The bells stopped just as fast.

  She whirled to look around the darkness behind her, sure that she had heard something, perhaps a rustling in the underbrush. I'm not losing my mind, I'm not! Nothing stirred but the wind, but she continued to search the shadows, her heart pounding.

  “What is it, Sora?” Dorian asked quietly. He sounded uncharacteristically serious. Her alarm must have been apparent.

  She turned back toward him, hesitant to speak. “Do you...do you hear...
bells?” she asked carefully. She didn’t want to sound loony...though given the situation, it was probably unavoidable.

  The wolf-man twitched his long ears, an almost comical sight, then shook his head. He sneered. “Unless you’re referring to the crickets, no. Why?”

  “I....” Sora saw the way he was looking at her, and decided it was best to say nothing. “No reason. Never mind.”

  She bent back over her flute and began playing again, but this time the music was filled with wrong notes. She concentrated much harder on the noises in the forest. The sense of peace had vanished from their camp, and it seemed that her two companions were also listening to the woods.

  The crickets were hushed. The only sound was the brush of leaves and grass, perhaps the far-off jitter of a forest creature, certainly nothing larger than a raccoon. Right? For a long minute she played, doubt beginning to grow. Maybe her ears were ringing; maybe it was an aftereffect of the drugs. But just when she started to relax, the jingle started again, this time alarmingly loud.

  It was too much. Sora leapt to her feet, spinning around and pointing dramatically at the trees. “There! Don’t you hear it?” The woods were still, silent, but she could sense something just beyond the shadows, feel it moving around, like a worm under her skin. It made her want to squirm. The chinking, chiming noise was persistent, ever-growing in volume, louder and louder and louder....

  “Sora!” Dorian stood up in alarm and jumped to her side, as though to restrain her. “What are you doing?”

  “How can you not hear it?” she demanded, her voice panicked. “It’s so loud!”

  “I hear nothing; you’re imagining it,” Dorian said with conviction. “Really, sweetness, getting all worked up like this. It’s probably just fatigue.”

  “No! You have to go look!” Suddenly Sora was scared. She knew she wasn’t losing her sanity. For some reason they couldn't hear it.

  “Sora....”

  “Dorian, do what she says.” The assassin’s voice was soft with authority. “Put her worries to rest. It’s probably the valerian root wearing off, but if not....You know who follows us.”

  Sora was caught off-guard. Truly? Did he believe her word? She turned to stare at the assassin, speechless.

  Dorian nodded silently, though he didn't appear happy about it. He drew two long, wickedly curved knives from his belt and turned to the forest. It stood before him, a seemingly unbreachable dark wall, barely penetrated by the firelight. Then he moved swiftly over to the trees, soundless, a stealthy slink to his walk.

  “Stay with her,” Dorian spoke over his shoulder, his words directed at Crash. It was an unexpected command. Then he stepped beyond the treeline, vanishing almost instantly into the shadows.

  Sora moistened her dry lips. The sound of bells still danced at the edges of her hearing, half out of her thoughts, as though manifesting from a dream. It unnerved her.

  “Is there something in the forest?” she asked, turning to look at the assassin.

  “Shhh,” he hissed.

  She bit her lip, trying not to groan as her heart raced. The dark forest was terrifying, and the strange noises only made her want to panic. I'm still on Fallcrest lands, my lands, she tried to remind herself, to take comfort in that, but she didn't feel like she owned this forest. No, this was a wild place, untamed, bound by its own whims and laws.

  And she hardly felt safer standing next to Crash. He was probably more dangerous than whatever awaited in the forest...but that didn't mean he would protect her. She couldn't—wouldn't—trust him.

  “Who follows you?” she whispered. Her anxiety forced her to speak. She couldn't look away from where Dorian had vanished into the trees. What if something really is out there?

  “It's probably just a squirrel,” Crash answered, his words short and clipped. “Even if it's a bear, not a lot of beasts can harm a Wolfy mage.”

  He neatly sidestepped her question. She wasn't surprised. “So he really is a Wolfy?” she asked instead, her voice soft.

  “Of course.”

  “Then why not use his magic to protect us?”

  “It's not that simple.”

  Well, at least he didn't say no, she thought.

  Sora was suddenly distracted by the idea of magic; it was all but legend now, only found in the stories of the five races. Of course, her people had superstitions....Healers and Priestesses, blessings from the Goddess, omens, charms, bad luck...just not magic. She wondered what it looked like, if it was anything like her favorite stories or something completely different. Dorian can use magic. The thought left her hopelessly intrigued. Maybe he would give her a demonstration. She could easily imagine the Wolfy rising to the task, eager to show off.

  “Magic is not something to romanticize,” the assassin said quietly, watching her face. “It's dangerous and unnatural. The world is better without it.”

  If Sora could ignore his harsh tone, she could keep from trembling. “Magic is all but legend anyway,” she said stiffly. “It's been extinct since the War of the Races...if the War even happened. Who cares about it?” She shrugged. “Some people say that the races never existed.”

  “And would you agree with them, after meeting Dorian?” the assassin asked. It was a rhetorical question. “There are scattered bands of the other races still running around, hiding their identities from humans. You've probably met several and didn't know it.” He looked at her with a stern eye, eerily bright against the night. “Dorian is one of the very last of his kind.”

  Sora was shocked, but tried not to show it. She clasped her hands instead, turning away from the assassin, staring determinedly at the trees. The bells chinked softly against her ears. Besides that, the woods were uncomfortably quiet.

  She knew that Dorian had to be a Wolfy; his fangs and silver hair proved it. But she had always thought the races were only a myth, no more than fantastic stories from a long-forgotten age. And even if they had existed once, they had died out hundreds of years ago; great civilizations turned to ash. There were hardly any relics of that time left, only the barest ruins of ancient cities, of old temples and shrines, whose origins were highly disputed. It was a different world now.

  But Dorian was a Wolfy. A true Wolfy. With magic, at that!

  Suddenly a howl split the air, causing the tiny blond hairs on Sora’s arms to rise. She looked at the trees in alarm until her view was blocked by the assassin. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from whatever was coming. He was half-crouched, a thin sword in hand, prepared to lunge at a second's notice.

  There was a thrashing noise in the trees and Dorian appeared, his hand clamped to a wound on his side. She could see blood oozing between his fingers. Concerned, she took a step forward but was pushed back by Crash.

  Her eyes returned to the trees. She could feel that there was something else coming, thundering in her ears, a sickening clench in her gut—sleighbells. The campsite suddenly filled with a repugnant smell, like rotted flesh.

  Crash leapt forward just as a creature burst from the shadows. It was tall and bulky, twice the height of the assassin, with dangling arms, wide hands, thin bony fingers, vicious claws and rust-red fur matted with blood. Long yellow fangs protruded past its jaw. The being walked on its hind legs with a lurching gait, bent into an unnatural posture. Its face, which slightly resembled a fox, appeared slightly concave, as though it had been clubbed over the head.

  Sora stared in horror. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before—a monster? She lost her balance, collapsing in panic.

  Everything became a blur. Dorian was flung aside by the beast's massive, distorted claw. It threw back its extended crooked neck and roared, shaking tree branches overhead; leaves rained down on them. Then it dove after the Wolfy with jaws the size of a bear trap.

  Crash tried to deter the beast, swinging his narrow blade, but he, too, was easily swept aside by the giant claws. He narrowly dodged a blow, jumping and rolling, hitting the ground and then immediately recovering his stance. Sora t
hought Crash looked rather puny against the monster, which lumbered around their camp like a shaggy, red-fur mountain.

  Suddenly, the assassin was by her side. She expected him to help her to her feet, to run—but instead, he grabbed her forcefully and hauled her up from the ground, pushing her in front of him like a shield. She gasped, her scream caught in her lungs, so panicked that she couldn't even order her limbs to obey.

  The assassin shoved her, stumbling, straight into the path of the monster. Sora froze, off-balance, seeing only big, vicious teeth and hooked claws. The beast barreled toward her, a nightmare of red fur and blazing yellow eyes, its wide-open mouth dripping with thick, acrid saliva....

  The sound of bells exploded, overpowering, an ocean of noise that swept up into her body, pounding in her ears.

  Something rose inside her, warm and steady and fluid, starting at the soles of her feet and going straight up to her neck. It swept her thoughts away, taking control. Her legs and hands stopped shaking. Her mouth closed.

  She faced the beast, her fear snuffed out like a candle, and raised her arms to bar the creature from passing—or perhaps, to grasp it in a powerful embrace. She was defenseless, fully exposed, no shield but the air in her lungs.

  Then, there was a flash of light. Green. Brilliant. Dazzling.

  It split the sky like lightning, illuminating the gaps between the trees, easily penetrating the forest for perhaps a hundred yards. A dome of energy fell over the three travelers like a broad tent. Bolts of yellow electricity crashed down around them, striking the ground, scorching patches of grass.

  The creature hit the shield and let out a screech of pain. There was a startling snap! A sizzling pop! Then a final, shocking flash of green light. Stars danced. Sora was momentarily blinded.

  She collapsed on the ground. The dome dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Her cheek hit the dirt. She felt as though she had run five miles straight without stopping. It was hard to breathe, to pull in enough air. She tried to put her hand on her chest, to understand what had happened, but her limbs were shaky and useless, as heavy as sand.

  Finally, finally her eyes cleared. She was able to drag herself upward, as though moving through cold water. She struggled into a sitting position, as slow and clumsy as a tortoise. Her head buzzed, her ears were sore and ringing. Dazedly, she looked around for the monster.

  Several yards away, a steaming pile of flesh smoldered on the ground. The mangled, burning corpse was much smaller than the actual creature had been, and she glanced around again, wondering where the monster had disappeared to. The remains looked far more like those of a fox or a badger, half-skinned, its neck broken, matted with blood. She stared at the sizzling body, trying to make sense of it, then slowly swooned and leaned to one side. Caught herself with her hands. Gagged.

  She stayed like that for several minutes, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the ground until she could only dry-heave. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally, she looked up, wondering what had happened to her captors.

  Both Crash and Dorian were staring at her, eyes wide and unreadable, obviously just as alarmed as she was. Crash was slightly crouched, his arm raised halfway, as though he had been shielding his eyes. Dorian was sprawled on his back, half-propped on an elbow, blood staining his shirt. Her gaze fell to the bloody wound at his hip, unable to hide her confusion. She had no explanation. Were we struck by lightning? was her first thought, and yet, there had been no rain. She glanced at the sky just to make certain. No, there were only tiny stars, winking secretively.

  From the expressions on her companions' faces, she felt somehow responsible. But she had done nothing fantastical; there was no secret weapon, there were no tricks up her sleeve. She waited for them to speak, wondering what they might say, if they could tell her what had happened.

  Suddenly she reached up to touch her mother’s necklace. It was warm and intact. A sense of relief filled her, and she let out a long, slow sigh. Good, it hadn't fallen off in the fight.

  Then Crash crossed the campsite. His movements were swift and jerky. He reached down and grabbed her, his hand going to her neck with no warning. She abruptly remembered how he had thrown her into the fight, as good as monster chow, as a sacrifice in Dorian's place. That bastard! Was he going to strangle her now?

  She opened her mouth to scream, but he caught the silver chain and pulled the necklace into the open.

  “Then it's true,” he murmured, his eyes dark.

  Sora began to tremble, recoiling from his touch. She didn’t like his hand on her necklace, although she wasn’t sure why. She would have knocked him away if she hadn't been so terrified. The assassin stared at her, his expression unreadable, then turned to Dorian. “She wears a Cat’s Eye,” he said. “Just as I thought.”

  Dorian was still staring at her in shock. “A...a Cat's Eye?” he muttered, incredulous. “A real, authentic Cat's- Eye necklace? So then Volcrian sent that creature....”

  “Yes. He’s found our trail.”

  The two shared a meaningful look that Sora didn’t understand. At that moment, she felt more alone than ever, completely excluded from their conversation. What the hell is going on? There were too many secrets.

  “All right,” she began, irritated. She got to her feet, crossing her arms. “I think I deserve an explanation. What are you two talking about? And what is that?” She pointed at the smoldering corpse with disgust.

  “It's a dead animal,” Crash said bluntly.

  “I can see that,” she snapped.

  Dorian tried another answer. “It was transformed by blood-magic into a monster,” he offered. “When you killed it, it reverted to its natural form.”

  “Oh,” and she raised an eyebrow. That made about as much sense as anything else. “Fair enough,” she said sarcastically. “And what about my necklace? What in hell just happened?”

  The two looked at each other again. Neither seemed to want to speak. Finally, Dorian said, “It's a Cat's Eye.”

  “A what?”

  He sighed irritably. “Come now, sweetness, did you knock your head? You've read stories about the War of the Races. You've never heard of the Cat's-Eye necklaces?”

  She stared blankly, her ears starting to ring again.

  He sighed. “I guess not. Well, haven't you ever wondered about the War? How the humans killed off the races?”

  In truth, she had not. Sora had enjoyed the stories of Kaelyn the Wanderer, but she had never truly lingered there. They were just stories, after all, not true history. And what did any of that have to do with her mother's necklace? A Cat's Eye? She put one hand on her head to stop the world from spinning. “What are you talking about?” she repeated.

  “The War of the Races,” Dorian said, his voice uncharacteristically impatient. He was beginning to sound like Crash. “The beginning of the end. What, do you think the races just dispersed and died off? The humans exterminated them, one by one.”

  Sora was more than horrified. She could only believe him, considering he was one of the last of the Wolfies. “B-but how is that possible? Humans don't have magic.”

  “Exactly. So your kind used something else. A cheat.” Dorian spoke bitterly. He went to reach for her necklace, but she yanked it away, guarding the jewel protectively. She didn't like the look on his face. She was suddenly afraid that they would try to take it away from her—the necklace, her only link to her mother.

  “I still don't get it. What's a Cat's-Eye necklace?” Sora repeated. “And why does it matter?”

  “It's a stone...” Crash answered brusquely. She turned to look at him. He pinned her with his stare, his eyes like gleaming daggers. “A stone that eats magic. It protects whoever wears it, a talisman of sorts. It was the undoing of the races, the only reason why humans won the War. While they were wearing these stones, humans became immune to magic and its effects...just like you've demonstrated tonight. The rest is history.”

  “Why haven't I heard about this before?” she asked.

 
“Ignorance?” Dorian offered.

  She shot him a glare. The Wolfy glared right back. Sora could understand why he was being so defensive, why he greeted her necklace with so much hostility. If his words were true, then it was a devious weapon indeed. But she had never even heard of a Cat's Eye! It wasn't her fault that the humans had killed off the other races.

  Then Sora's eyes widened. Had she just saved their lives? That's what I did, right? Wasn't it?

  “Well, if this necklace is so important to you, just take it,” she said, and went to remove the gemstone from her neck.

  “No!” Dorian exclaimed, and lurched towards her, holding out his hands. “Stop! Put it back!”

  She paused in alarm, the necklace halfway over her head. “Why?” She blinked in surprise.

  “J-just do as I say,” Dorian said, the hostility vanished. “Please.”

  She dropped the necklace back in place on her neck, then waited for an explanation. The Wolfy let out a very long sigh, then looked to Crash, obviously asking for help. But the assassin moved away and inspected the charred body of the fox, turning it over with his sword.

  “You can't take off the necklace,” Dorian murmured. “It will kill you.”

  Sora's mouth dropped open. “W-what!?”

  They stared at each other, another awkward pause. Dorian licked his lips slowly, glancing up to his left, as though searching for the words.

  Sora tried again. “I thought you said that the necklace will protect me from magic? What do you mean, it will also kill me?” She now had a full-blown headache.

  When Dorian finally spoke, it was a little less confidently. “The Cat's Eye is more of a curse than a blessing,” he said haltingly. “It...it's a parasite, a semi-living thing that feeds on magic. It uses the bearer, you see? As much as it protects you, it also uses you. It creates a psychic bond, and if you lose contact with the stone, then the bond is broken.”

  Sora nodded to show that she was following. The scene replayed over and over in her head, the monster in the darkness, the sound of sleighbells, her forced act of heroism. After Crash's firm shove, she had lost control of her own body, hadn't she? Yes, she remembered that. Something else had taken control, moving her feet, her limbs. But what? The necklace? How is that possible?

  “What do you mean by that? I still don't understand,” Sora repeated, waiting for Dorian to continue.

  “The bond grows with time,” Dorian explained. “Eventually, the bearer and the necklace become like one mind, inseparable. And, if the necklace is removed, the bond is broken. The bearer falls into a coma and dies.”

  Sora opened her mouth, then shut it. Her thoughts raced, whirling like a weathervane, round and round and round. She still hadn't let go of the necklace. It burned in her hand, buzzing with energy, hotter than ever before. And she had a strange feeling of fullness, as though she had just eaten bread after a month of nothing but carrots.

  “This is why the Cat's Eyes are so rare these days,” Crash spoke unexpectedly, breaking the hollow silence. She started, surprised by his voice. “Most were destroyed after the War, too dangerous to be kept as mere trinkets. A single touch can create a bond...and destroy a mind.”

  Sora's finger rubbed the surface of the small stone. It had the texture of smooth skin, as though she truly wore an eyeball on her neck. She frowned and started to unclasp the necklace, but Dorian's hand stopped her.

  “Weren't you listening?” he snapped. “You can't take it off. Not now.”

  “Why? Because of some stupid legend?” Sora shook her head firmly, frightened but still stubborn. What if this was all superstition? “I don't believe a word of it. This necklace isn't going to kill me.”

  “Don't be a fool! If the races exist, then so do the Cat's Eyes,” Dorian growled. His voice became surprisingly wolf-like, low and deep in his throat. “I'm not talking about silly stories, girl. The necklace is real. It has been bonding with you since you first put it on. How long have you worn it?”

  Sora thought back, remembering her birthday, counting the hours. “A full day at least,” she murmured.

  “Then it's too late. Leave it.”

  “But....” her voice faded to silence. She had nothing left to say. She didn't know if Dorian's words were true, but she had seen the effects of the necklace only a few minutes ago. She had felt its burst of power, fiercer than a thunderstorm.

  And worse than that, she had sensed in her mind a psychic bond with the necklace. She turned to Crash suddenly, all of the pieces falling into place, realization dawning. “That's why you kidnapped me,” she said, stunned. “That's why you won't let me go. You knew I had this necklace.”

  The assassin shrugged, meeting her eyes coldly. “I thought that's what it might be, but I wasn't sure,” he murmured. “I had to see for myself.”

  Sora sat back, her thoughts still buzzing. She was sore and worn out, but she had to know the truth, the full story. She had heard a name pass between them twice now, a name that had stayed in her mind, hanging sharply like an icicle. “Who is Volcrian? Does he want the necklace?”

  The assassin remained silent. Slowly, his brow furrowed.

  Sora whirled around to look at Dorian. She was certain that she was onto something. She leaned forward, her words rushed. “Is he the one who hired you? Who wanted Lord Fallcrest dead?”

  But Dorian was already shaking his head, his ears slightly drooping. He had ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt and was pressing it tightly against his wound, grimacing in pain. “No, no, not at all,” he muttered through bared fangs. “He is a Wolfy mage, very skilled at magic, very practiced. He has been hunting Crash for years, killing anyone who comes near him. Now he's hunting both of us. And you, too, I expect.”

  “A Wolfy mage?” Sora murmured. Her eyes turned to the small corpse of the fox, which had once been a raging, ferocious demon-beast. “He...he made that?”

  “Yes,” Dorian said.

  “With magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he's...hunting you?”

  “Again, yes.”

  “And my necklace...my necklace....” Sora's eyes opened wide. It all made sense. Crash and Dorian had a sorcerer on their trail, and her necklace could protect them. No wonder they wouldn't let her go. No wonder Crash had thrown her in front of the monster. He had wanted to test the necklace—to see if his suspicions were right. And perhaps he had known she would be protected.

  Hatred burst in her chest. Crash hadn't cared about her safety in the least. There had to be other ways to test a Cat's Eye. Ways that didn't risk her life.

  Sora shook her head, her headache growing worse. She had a lot to digest. A day ago, all of this magic business would have seemed impossible. But there was no other explanation for what she had just experienced. She suddenly wondered if she was awake and conscious, or if she had entered some strange delusion brought on by the valerian root.

  No, no, the necklace was real, she knew it had to be true. She had felt odd pulls and nudges at her thoughts, intuitions that she couldn't quite explain, and now the sound of sleighbells. Communication? Warning bells? From a rock? A rock!? Not just a rock...she corrected herself, remembering Dorian's words. A semi-living thing.

  Dear Goddess, what if the stone was conscious? What if it could hear her very thoughts? Share them? Influence them? She shuddered. I will not scare myself! No, it was just a dumb story. She had never heard of such a thing as a psychic bond, or a necklace that fed on magic, that lived off the bearer like a leech. And yet, now she didn't want to remove the necklace and find out the truth. Crash and Dorian's reactions had scared her, convinced her of the danger.

  There were too many questions, too many unknowns. She would have to find out more, somehow. There had to be a jeweler somewhere in the world, perhaps in Mayville, or the City of Crowns, or any of the dozens of cities that graced the kingdom. A specialist on the matter....

  And my mother....Who had she been, to have had such an extraordinary artifact? Was she still al
ive? And where? How am I going to last long enough to find her?

  “Dorian, we’re changing plans,” the assassin said abruptly, startling Sora from her thoughts. Crash walked to the other side of the camp, kneeling next to the fallen Wolfy. He had ripped open Dorian's shirt and deftly cleaned his wounds, using water and a mixture of crushed leaves that Sora didn't recognize.

  “Is that so?” the Wolfy replied, wincing, looking down at Crash's handiwork.

  “We’re going through the swamp,” the assassin said.

  The Wolfy blinked, alarmed. “But...”

  “We have a Cat’s Eye now. The spells won’t harm us, and Volcrian won’t be able to follow.”

  Sora leaned forward, holding up a hand, also concerned. “Wait a moment. You mean...Fennbog swamp? To the West?”

  They ignored her. “We should consult Burn about this,” Dorian said uneasily. “He might not like it. In fact, I know he won't.” He winced as the assassin cleaned out his shallow wound. Despite the blood, it looked like the monster's claws had barely grazed the skin, catching mostly cloth.

  “It's our best chance to escape the mage,” the assassin repeated darkly.

  “Maybe you're right...but we should wait to consult with Burn.”

  They fell silent once more. Sora was completely bewildered. Who's Burn? She hadn't heard his name mentioned before. More people she didn't know about. And were these two really about to drag her through a swamp? Truly? Over my dead body! she thought fiercely. She had to escape! She would have tried to escape right then, but she was so tired after using the necklace, her legs couldn't bear her weight.

  Fennbog was the only swamp she knew about. Her father's lands bordered on it, far, far to the West. If her servants were truthful at all, it was a horrid place, full of poisonous plants and mud pits that could swallow a horse. During the rainy season, the waters rose by fifteen feet, and half the landscape was completely submerged. Large patches of marshland would float on the tide, shifting landmarks and creating a terrain that was impossible to navigate.

  Besides, Fennbog was rumored to be cursed. If one traveled too deep into it, compasses would fail and the traveler would be lost forever. No one knew for sure how large it was—certainly over a hundred miles. A hundred miles. And, assuming she survived the journey, there would be no road back to her manor.

  Dorian sat up, his shirt fully removed, a bandage around his waist. Despite his small, pale frame, his chest was chiseled with hard-packed muscle. He leaned toward the fire. She watched the line of his abdominal muscles stretch and bulge.

  Then he removed the meat and sliced it on a flat stone, passing the food around the campfire. Sora received her small share, cushioning the hot meat on her cloak. It was burnt almost completely black, forgotten in the brief skirmish. Honestly, she didn't have much of an appetite anymore. She was too worried to eat. But she knew she needed her strength, so she forced the charred bits into her mouth, chewing on the tough, dry chunks.

  She didn't want to travel through Fennbog, and she didn't like this news of a Wolfy mage, of magic that could create monsters, and a necklace that could break her mind. That name, Volcrian. It made her think of vultures and wolves and frozen things.

  Maybe she would have been better off in her manor. Maybe she had made a horrible, horrible mistake.

  “Must I...must I travel with you?” she asked, her voice small.

  “With that necklace? You can count on it,” Dorian replied. He didn't sound happy for her. “So eat and rest. Tomorrow we reach Mayville.”

  She opened her mouth, wondering if it was worthwhile to plead, to beg them to let her go. But one glance at the assassin told her otherwise. He was sitting uncomfortably close, only a few feet away, slightly behind her, watching her. She knew he was thinking she would make a run for it.

  She went back to eating her meat and tried not to think of the next day, or the past hour, or anything other than the mud on her boots. She could still escape, she told herself, trying to keep hope alive. Before they reached the swamp, somewhere in Mayville, she would slip away and buy a horse and flee. She could still find her mother. It wasn't too late for that.

  The only alternative was to become a tool in the assassin's game. No choice, no freedom, just like her manor. Her eyes grew serious, her jaw clamped down on the tough meat. She was done with being a pawn.

  She looked to the trees, to the night, to the stars above, distant and glinting. She had made it this far—she would make it out alive somehow.

  CHAPTER FIVE