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

by T. L. Shreffler

  The night was bitingly cold, sinking through Sora’s clothes and into her skin. There was a cloak in her satchel, but no way to pull it out. Although she hated to admit it, she was thankful for her captor's warmth behind her. He burned like a furnace, hot through the back of her thin shirt. Pushed up against him in the saddle, it was all Sora could do not to think too closely on the impressive muscles she felt behind her. I’m not even going to think about thinking about that.

  She squeaked in surprise as the horse stumbled over some hidden rocks, but the man behind her was a skilled rider and righted the beast immediately. Sora’s hands now clutched at the saddle horn along with her bag, and her thoughts once again spun around in near panic. How did this happen to me? I thought I was supposed to be running away! And who had sent the killer to her house? A jealous Lord? One of her father's enemies at court? She was kept distant from his life and couldn't imagine who would do such a thing. The blade was lowered from her throat, and she swallowed hard, gulping down her fear. What if this man tried to hold her for ransom? How could she be ransomed from a dead Lord? And who would take over the estate? Oh please, just let me get out of this alive! For a moment Sora wished fervently that she was back in her manor, safe in her room asleep.

  Then realization dawned. Wait a moment.... She wanted to go home after everything she had done to escape? And for what, so she could be married to Lord Garret and spend the rest of her days pacing a cage like a wild animal? Now with her father dead, her only choice would be to marry. Even if there was no Lord Garret, she would still be trapped. It was tempting to blame all her problems on the dark man behind her — why did he have to go and ruin all of my plans? — but she abruptly decided that he was doing her a favor. This was adventure! True, gritty, down-to-earth adventure, the stuff spoken about in the tales of old. And I want to go home? Come on, Sora! her inner voice scolded her. Be brave like Kaelyn the Wanderer! You can get out of this situation easily enough. Just think about it!

  Sora did think about it for a good couple of minutes, her eyes staring up at the stars thoughtfully, for the moment calm and collected. The ever constant motion of the horse was almost soothing, and the man behind her was so still and silent that she could have forgotten his presence. Well, she finally figured, sooner or later we’ll have to stop... and when they dismounted, she could knee him where it would hurt and run into the woods. Then she could hide out until he left, and continue on her way to a town. She didn't know the way, but there was bound to be a road nearby....

  Sora remembered that she was still clutching her satchel. What dumb luck! She had enough money to buy a horse and be gone before the people at her manor even began to suspect. A perfect plan! Now if only she could prepare herself for when they stopped....

  A line of trees appeared in the distance, obviously a forest of some kind. Sora felt a sliver of doubt. She knew nothing of the land outside of her estate, and this proved that she was now thoroughly lost. But isn’t being lost a part of an adventure? she thought, trying to cheer herself up. It didn’t work very well. She tried something else. When I tell this to my grandchildren, they won’t believe that I lived through it!

  If she lived through it.

  That brought back her fear full force and she suddenly wanted to puke. Sora swallowed hard and decided to stop thinking about it. By now they had reached the tree line and they entered the forest. The branches overhead blocked out her view of the stars and sent her into total darkness, which, if anything, only doubled her terror. She gripped her satchel tighter with shaking hands.

  The man grabbed her head and forced it down below a branch, causing her a muffled shriek of surprise. When she sat back up, she was not only breathing hard, but also more alert than she had been in the last fifteen minutes or so. And to think I had almost forgotten he was there! Did he put the knife away? It seemed like it. Trying not to think about the knife, Sora looked ahead of them searchingly, determined to be prepared for whatever came next. It was then that she saw a slight flickering of light through the trees, the telltale signs of a camp fire. She grinned nervously. What kind of idiot leaves a fire burning untended in the middle of a forest? she thought. Maybe this would be easier than she had first bargained for.

  They reached the fire in little time, halting the horse just outside of the circle of light. The man dismounted smoothly, then grabbed her with firm hands and hefted her down next to him.

  Sora found herself standing on a soft cover of pine needles. She looked up at her captor, trying to see him clearly in the darkness, though he was almost invisible. Finally she made out his shadowy, intimidating figure.

  There was no time to lose! Gathering her wits - here it is, my chance! - she launched herself at him, trying to attack him as she had planned, or at least hurt him in some way. However, she had the disappointment of realizing that she had sadly underestimated her captor. He caught her easily and held her hands up by the wrists, barely concerned by the action. Then she noticed the rope he was carrying, and watched numbly as he tied her hands before her.

  That went well. All hope left her and Sora sagged in his grip. When he was finished tying her, he shoved her without ceremony into the light, and followed her to stand by a small fire.

  Sora looked around the camp with a feeling of loss, for the first time truly unsure of herself and her future. She focused instead on what she saw. The clearing was small and neat, a mere pocket of light and warmth amidst the trees. Some kind of animal was roasting over the flames of a modest fire, and a heap of saddle bags was set to one side. She let out a breath and noticed a dangerous-looking sword glinting in the firelight, and several other weapons laid out alongside it. Next were two bedrolls.

  Sora’s breath caught. Wait, two bedrolls? And how many weapons?

  It was then that her eyes found the figure sitting on the opposite side of the fire, half obscured by shadow. In this light she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. The figure shifted, scratching its back against the tree, then said wryly, “Dragging home lost pets again, Crash? You know we can’t keep it.”

  “Quiet, Dorian,” her captor said, still the voice of Death. “I ran into her in the halls... couldn’t just let her go after that, could I?”

  The alleged Dorian snorted in response. Sora guessed it was a man by the name, but the voice was evenly pitched and could have gone either way. There was a slight accent to the words, too.

  “So what are we going to do with her?” Dorian asked, his voice still snide. “This doesn’t make our position any better, you know.”

  “We’ll discuss it with Burn,” her captor, 'Crash,' answered. Sora doubted it was his real name, but it definitely wasn't the time to ask. She felt her neck prickle in annoyance. She didn't know what bothered her more — that they were speaking over her head, or that she had no choice in the matter. Why wouldn't they just let her go? She hated being talked about as though she wasn't even there.

  Apparently Crash’s words had ended the discussion, for the young man on the other side of the fire motioned to her with one pale, elegant hand.

  “Sit down, girl. You’re making my neck ache.”

  Sora obeyed, though she had to clench her jaw. She wasn't used to taking orders. Better to sit, she told herself firmly; her legs were shaking from fear and she was trying to hide it. She couldn’t help but fidget when she sat on the cold dirt, the chill creeping straight through the seat of her pants. She had never been out in the forests at night before.... Good thing I thought to bring a cloak. She wondered if they would let her take it out of her bag.

  “So, girl, tell us about yourself,” the figure said from across from her. “What’s your name?”

  Sora didn’t know how to address Dorian. She tried desperately to get her voice to work. “Uh... Sora....” she finally muttered. For a moment she thought of adding her title, or perhaps that of her father, but no — this was a new life, a new future. “Just Sora.”

  “Sora, hm?” Dorian said. “Fascinating.” His voice was sarcas
tic. “I suppose you’re used to soft feather beds and warm meals, eh, sweetheart? Well, don’t be expecting anything like that around here. You'll be sleeping on dirt until we find a way to get rid of you.”

  The words made her flushed and cold all at once; she felt embarrassed. Of course I’m not expecting a bed, this is the middle of a forest! And what do they mean, “get rid of me?” Sora got the funny feeling that they weren't far from killing her and disposing of the body. And just who was this “Burn” character that they had mentioned? Maybe I don’t want to know....

  “Ah, the meat’s done,” Dorian said, and leaned forward to poke at the bird with a threatening knife. Finally Sora got a good look at his face and found herself just as stumped as before.

  He had the delicate, fine-boned appearance of a woman with pale, ashen skin and brilliant blue eyes, the color of an arctic sky. The nose was small and pointed, the lips soft though not overly generous, and a thin jaw gave his cheekbones an exaggerated appearance. The only indication of his sex was his broad, muscled shoulders and flat chest. Then Sora’s eyes caught on his hair, which fell like silver thread around his face. He wore it in a long, thick braid that almost reached the ground. She had never seen hair of such a peculiar, rich color, brazen like starlight; not even on her most elderly servants. Then her eyes caught on the ears protruding from his hair, and she gasped — they were long and elegantly sloped. Pointed.

  Dorian caught her stare and cocked his head slightly to one side. His large, pale eyes met hers, mocking. Then he showed his teeth — no, not teeth. Fangs. The man had fangs. Dear Goddess, fangs!

  Was he even... human?

  Dorian chuckled and speared the meat from the fire in a vicious movement. “What's the matter, sweetheart?” he said, addressing her stare. “Never seen a Wolfy before?”

  “A... a Wolfy?” she stuttered, eyes growing wider. Now Sora didn't know what to think. She would have laughed if he hadn't been holding a sharp knife. “Wolfy! That's impossible. You're kidding...!”

  His look made her fall silent. She glanced at Crash, who was unsaddling his horse, apparently ignoring them. “But... the Wolfy race... they have been dead for centuries—”

  “Obviously not, since you're looking at one,” Dorian responded wryly.

  Sora couldn't think of what to say. “Well then... no.”

  “No?”

  “No, I haven't seen one before.” Only heard about them in legend! There were countless mentions of the Wolfies in the tales of Kaelyn the Wanderer, but those were stories from ages past, before magic had been lost, before the great War of the Races....

  The androgynous man turned away from her and towards her captor, the menace in black. “Here’s to a job well done,” he said, and offered him the first slice of meat. Sora thought she heard sarcasm.

  Crash took it, settling near the fire. Then he lowered his cowl and started to eat. Sora once again stared in rapt attention, curious. And again, she was surprised. She had to admit that the assassin's features were almost pleasant to look upon.... If he wasn’t a killer, he might be handsome.

  His face was clean, without even a hint of stubble showing in the flickering firelight. A straight nose rested evenly above hard, unforgiving lips. A sharp, strong jaw and high cheekbones accented his two brilliant green eyes. She would have described him as a rogue fox or a wolf, brutal and cunning. He appeared in his early to mid-twenties, though in truth, he could have been any age. It was hard to tell in the flickering light. His form was lean and wiry, fit but not overly bulky, clothed in worn black leather and a well-used belt. Sora focused back on his face, and it was then that she caught sight of a wide, silver scar traveling from his jaw down into his shirt. It looked like it had once been a ghastly wound. She shuddered. What kind of man is he?

  Suddenly she realized that he was staring boldly back at her, and she looked away, only to give another jump of surprise. Inches away from her was a slice of meat, proffered by the... the self-proclaimed Wolfy.

  "Come now, sweetness," he said, with a slight bite to it. “Plain meat not good enough for you?”

  Sora glared at Dorian, thinking all sorts of horrible things that would probably get her killed. Who does he think I am — a spoiled brat? I've eaten my share of plain meals! She forcefully grabbed the piece of meat, though it was hard to hold with her tied wrists. She bit into it and chewed the tough meat, trying not the grimace at the burnt flavor.

  The man snorted and sat back, then took a healthy portion of the animal for himself. “'You're welcome,'” he said, mocking her once again.

  Sora refused to rise to the bait. She wouldn't lose her temper with this man, not in such a dangerous situation. Come on, Sora! You're acting like a frightened fawn in front of the wolves! Show 'em what you're made of! The brief pep talk did nothing to calm her nerves. She concentrated on eating and keeping to a contemplative silence. They ignored her after that, and when she was finished, she found that her two companions had moved a brief distance away, conversing in quiet tones. She obviously wasn't supposed to overhear.

  With nothing else to do and the night growing colder, Sora turned to her satchel. She awkwardly untied the flap and took out her cloak. It's freezing out here, despite the fire.... Her thoughts were disrupted when her eyes caught the hilt of her knife, buried deep in her bag.

  Of course. She had forgotten all about it.

  On sudden impulse, Sora snatched the knife. The men were distracted and this could be her only chance at escape. She fumbled with it in an attempt to cut her bonds. A mistake, for sure.

  A second passed, no more than a second, and there was a blur before her eyes. The knife was slipped from her hand with frightening ease, as though she had been holding a feather. The fire was blocked by shadow. She looked up, shocked, and found Crash's flickering eyes glaring down at her. The look made her heart stop.

  "I don't make idle threats, girl," he hissed, and his voice turned her blood to ice. “I promise you, if you do anything so foolish again...." He didn't finish the threat but flung the knife at her feet. Fffssst! It struck dirt, embedded up to its hilt, less than half an inch from her big toe. Sora hadn't even seen him move.

  She didn't need a translation; the message was clear. She would have grabbed the knife, but her hands were shaking too hard. She swallowed and tried to nod, but he was already turned away, walking back to the horses. When she finally summoned the courage to take back her knife, she found that it was stuck solid in the dirt, buried so deep as to be immobile. She tugged and pulled on the handle, but it was useless. Another chill ran through her. If the blade had struck her, she was certain it would have gone straight through her boot.

  Sora scooted away instead and ran a hand over her foot, unable to believe that she was unharmed; she was stunned by the precision and force with which he had thrown the blade. She looked at Crash again, fear rising in her throat. This was the man who had killed her father; there was no doubt about it now. She could see it all over him, all over the knife at her feet — and again before her eyes, the blade flying through the air and straight through her father's throat, blood spraying the ground. Once again she had to suppress the urge to throw up.

  They had taken away her satchel, and it was now in the care of the effeminate bastard across the fire. He was going through its contents slowly and methodically.

  "Well, Crash," he said after a moment. "It seems like our little captive here came prepared.” She blushed again, humiliated to no end. Dorian tossed Crash her bag of coins, then emptied her food into another sack. The satchel was passed back to her with one last condescending smile, and Sora went through it quickly. All that was left was a change of clothes and a small traveling flute that had somehow found its way into one of the pockets. She didn't recognize it, although she had been trained to play such an instrument. She certainly wasn't going to play now.

  With a determined shrug, she set the satchel on the ground and rested her head against it, like a pillow. Maybe if she pretended to sleep, they would l
eave her alone. Well, at least I'm not dead, she reminded herself, wrapping herself in the cloak. After a moment she amended that thought. I'd rather be dead.

  Sora was awake long into the night, staring at the shadows of the trees, imagining all manner of strange beasts. And every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father's body drop to the floor, again and again and again.

  Chapter 3

  Lord Garret was astounded. He had crawled out from under the table, fully expecting an apology. Instead, he had found a murder.

  There were servants rushing all around him and a flock of ladies at his heels. He crossed the ballroom to where the Lord's body was gushing all over the floor. Personally, he had never been all that great at giving orders, but now the father of the bride was dead, the bride herself was missing, and everyone was turning to him for direction. He hadn't the slightest idea of what to do.

  “I daresay — does anyone know where Lady Sora is?” he asked for the hundredth time. He stood at the feet of the body and stared at the bloody throat. Garret wasn't sure what he was feeling, perhaps some amount of pity, but mostly his thoughts were doing tiny pinwheels, spinning like rats in a cage, or tumbleweeds in the desert, or something to that effect. The honest truth was that he was in a great amount of debt and he needed the dowry accompanied by Lady Sora's hand. Everyone knew this Lord had no heir other than his daughter; whoever married the Lady Sora would inherit her father's lands. It would be a nice chunk of wealth to save his neck.

  And of course, her beauty was quite notable....

  Garret glared at the green carpet where the blood had spilled. It had all been so perfect! A beautiful girl, a great amount of wealth, and a gambling debt lifted from his head. Instead, the father had died in a very untimely manner. Very ungracious of him, he thought.