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

by T. L. Shreffler

  Sora's Quest

  (Cat's Eye, Book #1)

  by

  T. L. Shreffler

  Smashwords Edition.

  Copyright © 2003. Redistribution is prohibited.

  www.runawaypen.com

  The Cat's Eye Trilogy

  Sora's Quest (Cat's Eye, Book #1)

  Viper's Creed (Cat's Eye, Book #2)

  Volcrian's Hunt (Cat's Eye, Book #3)

  Prologue

  There was blood on his hands. Blood and flowers and the sickly smell of spilled perfume.

  Volcrian grasped the body on the ground, crumpled in front of the flower shop, cold and limp in the doorway. Petals were strewn around the cobblestone, glints of yellow and blue and white. It had been a horrible mistake. He had warned his brother — warned him, but he had not listened.

  He had hoped to meet him here on these steps, to convince his brother to leave the city, to continue their lives together as solitary twins. But he was too late. Etienne's enemies had arrived first. Sun would rise, and the young lady who lived two streets down would never know her lover's fate, or of her father's jealous revenge. She was probably awake right now, waiting for the rogue who would never arrive.

  But the girl did not matter. Volcrian's nostrils flared as he touched his brother's face, and then the ground, the sticky red pool. The blood crowned his fingers like expensive paint.

  Something trembled within him — something that crawled from the tips of his fingers to the back of his throat. He could feel his brother's blood like a rush of heat, an itch, a knowledge deeper than his bones. On the outside he was silent, calm, still... but inside, magic surged through him, thick like black water, tainted power. His body drowned in it.

  And suddenly Volcrian didn't see the flower shop, nor the cobblestone street before him; his eyes clouded over, turning from ice blue to cold silver. A vision bloomed in front of him of his brother's final seconds. He saw the bushes across from the flower shop, the long stretch of paved road, a snatch of stars high overhead, twinkling in the solemn night, and then — a body from the shadows. A knife. A face. The last image that had flashed before Etienne's eyes: the killer.

  Volcrian memorized it. A man dressed entirely in black, a veil hiding the lower half of his face. The knife had been long, wicked. He saw the direction the man had fled. Then the vision slowly faded, leaving him dizzy, momentarily disoriented. He blinked, eyes dry from staring. Then he glanced down at the body again, at the fresh scent of blood, the widening pool on the ground. His brother had not been dead long, practically minutes. It would take no longer to catch up with the killer.

  Volcrian leapt to his feet, leaving his brother still and lifeless on the ground. There was no time for funeral rites; perhaps later, perhaps after his revenge.

  He took off running in the same direction the assassin had fled, racing down alleys and side streets. His body thrummed with energy, with the ancient power of his race. The magic was his birthright, his heritage — in his blood — more natural than learned. His eyes were still lined with silver, and he could see the assassin's trail like a bright light against the ground. It led straight and true. Perhaps the killer did not know he was being followed.

  Mist rose with each breath. Volcrian passed hundreds of sleeping houses, the only light cast by the moon overhead. Faster. Faster. There was a beast inside of him roaring to be released, tearing up the ground in fury. If the assassin got away, it would be the worst disgrace, a complete dishonor, a final insult to his Wolfy kind.

  The city gates rose before him suddenly, giants in the night; they were closed, yet the blood-magic resonating in his veins said that the killer had passed this way. He saw a gap at the bottom of the gate where one could pass through, and he fell to his belly and crawled under the sharp iron bars. Then he paused in the darkness on the other side of the wall. No human would have been able to see, yet he had Wolfy ears: keen and pointed. He heard a disturbance in the forest, felt the path that the assassin had taken, and followed.

  No sooner had he entered the trees then a figure leapt out before him, as silent as a ghost. A glint in the darkness indicated a knife ready to slit his throat — probably the same poisoned blade that had slit his brother's. Volcrian was no warrior, but he had the advantage of magic and rage, and all of his senses were heightened. Too fast to see, he knocked the knife away from the assassin's skilled grasp and pulled his own knife from beneath his cloak. Lashed out wildly. The Goddess was on his side, and his blade sunk deep into flesh, striking the man just above his hip. Bearing his fangs, Volcrian dragged the knife up the man's body all the way to his neck, gutting him from navel to jaw. Grimly, he smiled.

  But then he was shocked from his victorious reverie. A true human would have collapsed within seconds, but not this assassin. Instead, he grabbed Volcrian's hand and twisted it back, and Volcrian heard the bones crunch, his fingers twist into unnatural shapes; excruciating pain shot through him, his entire body crumbling in pain. He screamed. Fell to the ground.

  The man yanked the knife out of his flesh and threw it into the darkness. Then he turned and fled, darting into the shadows, swift as a phantom. Volcrian hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him, stunned, his hand cradled to his chest, mangled and twisted. As the assassin ran off into the woods, he left a trail of blood behind; it marked a clear path through the trees. Its scent was overpowering, clogging his nostrils, imprinting on his brain. Volcrian tried to climb to his feet, to stagger after, but he was in too much pain; he could barely even focus his eyes. He sunk back to the dirt.

  It would be impossible to follow now, not at this moment. He had to find a doctor, a healer, someone to bind his hand. He wanted to slam it into the ground in frustration, or cut off the limb with the fallen knife. But neither would be wise.

  He was alone now, friendless, a stranger in the world. Etienne had been his only family, his sole companion, one of the few remainders of the Wolfy race. How long had they struggled? How long had they fought to stay alive, to survive in the human cities, to protect their lineage and magic?

  I failed him. Nothing would ever be the same. Volcrian couldn't help but feel like his own death was only minutes away, lying in wait around a corner, eager to pounce. He wished it were so. Something dark writhed in his gut, something wrathful and ravenous. Something that ate at his heart like a wild beast. He barred his teeth.

  The mage raised his head and howled to the trees, to the moon, to the cold silence of the night. I failed him. Etienne was dead; they had never found peace, never made it to the end of the road, never had that perfect life of leisure and fulfillment. I failed him. All of their plans — gone, blown away. Nothing left....

  No, nothing left but revenge. His brother deserved as much. It was the only thing left to live for. The only thing left he could do.

  He would not rest until he had spilled the assassin's blood.

  Chapter 1

  I can’t believe in three hours I’m going to be married!

  Sora looked out the window sadly, sloshing around in a giant tub, watching the sun set in a blood red glory, as though sacrificing itself to the coming night. A suitable analogy, since she would soon be sacrificing herself for her father’s political career. You’d think I’d be happy to get away from this place, but I’ll just be trapped in another cage, a pet to the oh-so-perfect Lord Garret.

  The very thought of her soon-to-be husband made Sora sick. She had never met him, never even heard his name until her father had proposed — no, forced — the idea on her a week ago. A mere week! Up to this moment she had put off thinking about the coming wedding, focusing instead on all of her usual activities: riding her horse through the vast acres of her father’s estate, fishing in the winding streams
, painting, weaving crowns of wildflowers, romping in the meadow, on and on and on until, finally, the day had arrived. Somehow she had thought it would never come. Sure, she had known all about it... but she still felt bushwhacked, tricked, caught unawares.

  She sighed, her gaze turned to the window. Was it despair that darkened her brilliant blue eyes, turned even deeper by the setting sun? She knew no other name for it. Her hair was like spun gold, even wet as it was with water; her skin that of a doll. Sora thought she might be beautiful, though it had never been confirmed — but what good was beauty if it didn’t buy her respect, or the power to control her own future? Hell, if anything, her delicate features made people think even less of her, as though she had no wits of her own.

  She snorted softly to herself. I’ll show them! I’ll show them that I’m not just a bargaining piece.

  But how was she to get out of the wedding when it was only three hours away?

  If she had thought about it sooner, then maybe she could have done something. Pretend to fall ill, talk her father out of it, suggest some other time for the wedding. But she had buried her head in the sand, and now, with almost no time left, there was simply no hope.

  Great, Sora, her mind mocked her. Lying down so easily? Proving to your good-for-nothing father just how weak and docile his only child is? The thought was bitter, but as she wasted time in her bath, it seemed to be the only outcome of the evening.

  The bathing chamber was small, attached to her bedroom by a solid oak door, locked so the maids wouldn’t disturb her, and there were slick green stones tiling the floor. Sora stepped out of the tub and walked across them now, reaching for her fluffy towel and rubbing herself dry. “And to think, all I want out of life is a bit of freedom and maybe a chance to see this world I live in,” she muttered, roughly tussling her long hair. “Just one tiny little adventure like the stories of old, and I’d be content. I’d even marry Garret.”

  Or never return, her mind whispered. Her entire life, her father had kept her cooped up indoors, only letting her outside during the summer. She knew it was because he was a rich and powerful man and had many enemies, but she couldn’t help but think there was some private dislike he held for her. He was barely even a father in her life; her only real memories of him were of sitting under his desk as a child and untying his shoe laces. That had been before her mother had disappeared.

  Sora's hands stilled, lost in memory. Her mother. She had no real memory of her mother, what the lady looked like, who she had been, her mannerisms. The manor’s staff was forbidden to talk about her, all pictures burned, all relics of the woman long since destroyed. Or at least, almost all relics.

  Sora wrapped the towel around her small figure and quickly unlocked the door, then jogged into her giant bedroom. The room was large enough to house several families, and was richly decorated in useless silks and gold trinkets. Sora hardly spared them a glance; instead she hurried to the window where a rather plain, wooden music box sat, and she picked it up. She had to hurry before any of the maids entered. They couldn’t know about her secret.

  Turning the music box upside down, Sora thumped the heel of her palm against its base, and a corner popped loose. She tugged the bottom off, reached two fingers through the cramped opening, and after a few seconds finally felt what she was looking for.

  A small smile tugged at her lips, and she dragged the necklace out from its hiding place. After setting the box down, she stared at the trinket with a familiar curiosity, watching the long silver chain sparkle in the sun’s glow. A single stone hung from the chain, shaped much the same as a round marble, though she had never been able to identify the stone. It was clear, green-tinted, with a yellow swirl at its center. It sparkled and glinted with an uncanny light. The only thing remaining of her mother.

  Sora sighed and attached it around her neck in sentiment. She had never worn it before, but tonight seemed appropriate. She had found the necklace as a small child while on one of her frequent adventures in the attic. It had been shoved clumsily into a corner, half buried in a box under a pile of old letters, and with it Sora had found a note with three simple words written on it: I love you. She had immediately known it was from her mother.... She couldn't explain why. She had just known.

  Odd goose bumps flowed over her skin as the necklace settled in place, and a chill ran down her spine. She frowned in response, jarred from her memories. Her hands traveled to the stone, which was strangely warm to the touch.

  By the six gods... if only I was free to do as I wish. I’d find you, Mom, and find the answers to all of these blasted questions! she thought longingly. A small tear formed in her eye, but Sora brushed it away in determination. Just because the situation was hopeless didn’t mean she had to cry about it! None of the heroines in the old stories cried about little things like this. She wished she could be stronger like them, braving the wilderness, risking life and limb to preserve justice. Then again, they didn't spend their entire lives trapped in their own home, living someone else’s life....

  But wait, hadn’t her favorite warrior — Kaelyn the Wanderer — left her home and family behind? Hadn’t she been strong enough to realize her destiny and journey out on her own?

  Sora’s hands fell to the table in shock, her eyes wide with sudden realization. Gods, how could I be so stupid? The answer had been right in front of her nose the entire time!

  Run away.

  Why didn’t I think of that before? It’s so obvious! If I just run away and disappear, I won’t have to get married, my father would never find me, and I’d be free to find my mom....

  Brilliant.

  It was also a very desperate plan, but Sora was as desperate as they came. She dismissed the fact that she only had three hours before the wedding and about a thousand details to cover. Instead she began ticking off a mental list of supplies she would need. If I can gather them quickly enough, then I can stash the bag somewhere and slip out of the ballroom before the ceremony takes place.... Keep a low profile, that's the ticket! Then no one would suspect. She could slip out to 'powder her nose,' then never return.

  “Milady! What are you doing!” a horrified voice exclaimed behind her.

  Sora whirled around, nearly falling over her desk. “Lilly!” She grabbed a chair to steady herself. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why, to get you dressed, of course!” Her handmaid threw up her arms animatedly and gestured at her mistress’ appearance. “Just look at you — still in a towel and just a little more than two hours to go! Standing by the window, at that! Really, Milady, after all of these years, there still isn't a lick of propriety in you! God forbid your husband find out!”

  “Fiance,” Sora sniffed.

  The maid ushered her away from the window to a secluded part of the room, where her wedding dress hung limply from a mannequin, pinned and tailored to fit. Sora saw the dress and suddenly fear choked her. Now is not the time for a panic attack! she told herself firmly, though in truth she was dealing with the worst set of nerves she’d ever felt. I know they say everyone has doubts at their wedding... but is it normal to want to throw up?

  “Ah... Lilly?” Sora tried to act inconspicuous. She put her back firmly to the dress and faced her maid. “I’m feeling a little ill.... I was wondering if you could get me something to calm my stomach?”

  Lilly blinked, a hairbrush in one hand and hairpins already in her mouth. She was poised to jump her mistress and fix her hair. “Mrrt?” she asked, then spit out the pins. “What?”

  “Oh please, Lilly?” Sora made her lip tremble. “This is all happening so fast! I could really use something to calm myself....”

  Immediately Lilly’s eyes went soft; they were as large and dark as a summer night. “So there is a woman in you after all!” she exclaimed softly. “I was wondering where that Lady was hiding! Of course I’ll get you a calming potion from the kitchen.”

  “Oh, and Lilly?” Sora stopped her maid as she turned to leave. “Could you manage to grab a few other
things for me?”

  Lilly smiled, happy to comply now that her mistress was showing the usual wedding jitters. “Anything, Milady,” she promised.

  “Could you get me a few pounds of dried meat, a knife, some rope, a blanket, and a satchel?”

  Lilly blinked again, then her eyes narrowed.

  “It’s for the honeymoon,” Sora explained sweetly, thinking fast. “We have plans.”

  Her maid eyed her for a long moment, then turned back around. “I’m sure,” she muttered, but left anyway. Sora knew Lilly would get everything she wanted — they had been friends for many years, despite their awkward difference in station. If there was one thing that held them together, it was loyalty.

  Well, at least to a certain extent, Sora thought. I wouldn’t trust her about this little excursion. She turned back to her wardrobe, carefully focusing her eyes away from the loose, flowing wedding dress. Chewing on her lip, Sora dug into the deep reaches of her closet, searching for a pair of breeches and a flannel shirt that just might still be there. They were leftovers from her younger days, back when dresses had been unnecessary. It’s a good thing I haven’t grown much since then — they should just fit. Yes!

  She pulled out a pair of worn pants and a stained shirt, both of which hadn’t seen the light of day in more than a year. Quickly she dropped her towel and pulled them on easily, marveling that they still fit her, then she turned back to the wedding dress. She stared it down like it was some sort of predator. I need to get dressed before Lilly comes back and sees me like this. Nope, that wouldn’t do at all. But it didn't look easy. The dress was nothing but strings and ribbons.

  Determinedly, Sora grabbed the silky mess and tugged it over her head. It was an awkward fit with the riding clothes underneath, but after some adjustments, the material laid smoothly and she found herself looking in the mirror. She winced. The dress was incredibly ugly, with large bows and ruffles poking out at every angle, but it would do. It's not like I’m going to be wearing it long.