Sora's Quest

  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 her 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 lif
ted 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 har
dly 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.”