“Cara!”
It was Archer. She was safe. She felt foolish. Relief rushed to her head making the world tilt before she fainted.
She jerked to a stop, thinking she had tripped. But she was walking, not falling. A niggling disturbance flitted through the edges of her mind. Had she forgotten something?
Then a horn sounded urgently in the distance, a pattern of four that was repeated. Intruders in the wood! She unsheathed her sword in one sleek movement and ran toward the sound, death on her mind.
Cara’s eyes shot open to find Khoury, Archer, and Bradan leaning over her.
“Why’d you run?” Archer’s face was a mask of worry. “Didn’t you hear us?”
“No. Well, yes. I mean, I…” Cara sat up and put a hand to her throbbing head as she swayed in confusion.
“No time for talk,” Khoury said as he and Archer each grabbed an arm and lifted her to her feet. “We’ve got to get back across the river.” Khoury’s jaw was tight with tension. He turned and jogged back the way they had come, his hand clamped around her wrist, dragging her after him. She noticed her muddy cloak draped over Archer’s shoulder.
As they raced through the forest, she kept expecting to cross the stream she’d woken up in, but they never did. Confused, she focused on moving her feet and following the captain.
Suddenly, a wall of the black-daggered trees blocked their way, so closely packed no light or color was visible between the dark trunks. The trees hadn’t been there before, had they? She couldn’t remember, but she knew they were on the wrong side of those thorns. Somehow she’d led them into Foresthaven.
When a horn sounded deep in the trees, she knew in her bones this was a very bad place to be.
They found another overflow stream, but the fat branches and daggered spines of the thorn trees were there too, closing over the water, blocking their escape. Without missing a beat, Khoury veered away from the water, following the wall of dagger thorns. Cara hoped there would be a break in the foliage soon. The whisperings were getting angrier by the minute.
A whirring noise made Cara duck. Behind her, Archer stumbled and went down with a grunt. She glanced back at him though Khoury still had her by the wrist and showed no sign of slowing. A cord was wrapped around Archer’s torso and legs. Another whirring sound followed, and she heard Bradan hit the ground.
“Khoury!” she shouted, pulling him to a stop.
He turned and slid her behind him while his right hand rested on his still-sheathed sword. Archer and Bradan lay in the wet leaves not more than ten feet from each other, cords clamping their arms tightly to their sides and circling their legs. Then in the blink of an eye, they were surrounded by leather-clad warriors with drawn bows. All of them were women. Like soldiers, the women were dressed alike in hardened leather bodices with epaulets all the same cut. Their brown upper arms were bare and wooden bracers carved with a leafy motif ran from elbows to wrists. Measured aggression shone from their uniformly brown eyes, and they all had black hair knotted at their necks. Short swords hung at their waists.
No words were spoken in those first long minutes as the warriors took their measure of the men. But Cara noted the gathering tension in Khoury. Two of the warriors leaned over, cut the leg cords off Archer and Bradan, and hauled them roughly to their feet. Then the tallest spoke.
“My, my. Trespassers.” Her voice was low and smooth, and she had an unpleasant smile. “Do you know what happens to those who trespass our Haven?” She turned to Khoury, looking him up and down with obvious disdain.
Khoury straightened with an almost lordly air and turned his palms toward her, arms away from his sides. A gesture of peace even Cara recognized.
“Well met, Huntress.” He inclined his head at her warily. “Mason Khoury, Captain of Swords, at your service.”
“I am Rebeka Danad, Chief Scout of the Haven. Your trespassing will not be tolerated.”
“Our presence here is merely an unhappy accident.”
“Unhappy indeed. For you.”
It wasn’t the words but the hate behind them that shocked Cara. Why would these women hate them?
“It was an accident,” she explained. “I fell in the stream, and they came to find me.”
The warrior’s eyes narrowed as they roamed over Cara’s face. Anger glinted in them. “Was it he who bloodied your face, sister?” She pointed to Cara’s forehead.
“What?” Cara raised a hand to her head, her fingers coming away red. “No,” she said. “This must have happened when I fell down the hill.”
“Is that what he told you to say?” The woman’s eyes were skeptical.
“Of course not,” Khoury said, with growing irritation.
“Then let her speak,” the woman dared.
“I did speak. You’re not listening,” Cara argued. “I hit a tree.”
“Someone hunts her,” Khoury said, “and we’ve been charged with her safety.”
“And do you think you’re safe here?” The Huntress laughed.
Their arguing made Cara’s head throb worse. “Iolair is safe,” she said. “I need to go to Iolair.”
“Iolair?” The warrior woman’s scowl deepened and she looked back at Khoury. “And you thought to use our roads?”
“No,” Khoury’s voice was even. “As the girl said, an accident brought her here. We ask only safe passage back to the Tangle, and you’ll never see us again.”
“There is no safe passage here for your kind.” Her words dripped with loathing.
His kind? What did that mean? Then Cara remembered Archer’s words: They won’t do anything to you.
Not me but the others. It dawned on Cara that this warrior meant men, all men, not just Khoury.
The Huntress drew her sword in one slow, deliberate move. Khoury hand tightened on the hilt of his, but he refrained from baring the blade. Cara feared bloodshed was next.
Bradan cleared his throat. “There’s an Islander who’ll kill this girl if he catches her. If not for courtesy, then for a sister in need, let us pass in peace.”
The tall warrior turned her deadly stare to Cara. “Is this true? A sorcerer seeks to claim you?”
“Yes.” Cara’s throat was dry with fear.
“Then the Sisters will take you to safety.” She strode up to Cara and took her none too gently by the arm, pulling her away from Khoury.
Khoury’s hand snaked out, grabbing the warrior’s wrist, breaking her hold on Cara’s arm. “She stays with us.” The growl in his tone surprised Cara. The nearest archer drew her bow full back and pointed it at Khoury’s face but he didn’t flinch.
The leader yanked her arm from his grip with a frown. “Touch me again and you die, Outsider.”
Cara trembled as the warrior put a guiding hand back on her shoulder and pushed her away from the captain, her insolent stare daring him to refuse again. Regardless of what she had said to Khoury in the night, Cara wasn’t ready to give them up, especially not for these sullen warriors. “Wait,” she pleaded. “I need them. Father will stop at nothing.”
“Father?” The warrior turned back to Khoury and smiled with disbelief. “Her father is after you? Perhaps you should repent your crime, return the girl and beg his forgiveness.”
Cara stepped between him and the warrior. “It’s not like that. He saved me.”
“More likely he stole you.” The tall woman lifted her sword slowly past Cara’s face and pressed it against Khoury’s throat. “Shame on you, warrior,” she said, “I should slay you right here for your sins.”
“He hasn’t done anything!” Cara yelled though the warrior ignored her. Determined, Cara stepped forward, lifted her shaking hand to the blade and pushed it away from the pulse in his neck. “Stop.”
“Men are not trustworthy, little sister.”
Bradan took half a step forward and was rewarded with a knife at his throat as well. “I beg the right to be heard by your Elders.”
“You men have no rights here,” said the leader, her eyes never leavin
g Khoury’s.
“No, but she does.” Bradan nodded his head at Cara.
“Yes,” Cara leapt on the idea. “I wish to see your Elders.”
The warrior woman hesitated, looking down at Cara’s unguarded face and then back to Khoury. “Very well, the high priestess will decide your fates. But there will be no bargaining once she decides to dispose of you.”
Before Cara could register the threat, a young woman ran up and skidded to a halt, sword drawn. The newcomer’s blonde hair was striking in comparison to her black-haired sisters. Though knotted in a similar fashion, her hair was disheveled with curly wet strands, loose and dangling. She didn’t wear the uniform armor of the others either, but her blade glinted dangerously.
“What are you doing here?” the tall warrior hissed with obvious hate. She stepped back from Khoury and sheathed her sword with an angry snap.
“The horn summoned. I am here.”
The blonde woman’s eyes were fierce, deep green and flecked with gold. When she looked at Cara, those eyes bored right through her, shifting something in the air. Or was it the light? Transfixed by the girl’s ferocity, her stomach flip-flopped. This woman terrified her as much as Sidonius did—maybe more.
WHEN FALIN BURST upon the scouts and their captives, she was surprised to find the three Outsiders still standing and unbloodied. Even more surprising was the small, pale wisp of a girl standing between Rebeka’s sword and one man’s throat. The girl was shaking in fear, but her defiance had certainly cost Rebeka respect. Falin smiled at her rival’s embarrassment, knowing her own presence there only fanned the flames of the chief scout’s anger.
“It was an error. All is well in hand,” Rebeka pronounced in an imperious manner. “We don’t need you, little sister.”
The “little” irritated Falin almost as much as Rebeka’s manner, but she would nurse the offense in silence as she always did until the next time they crossed blades in the sparring ring.
Falin sheathed her weapon and relaxed. “As you say, Rebeka,” she said, purposely forgoing Rebeka’s new title. She placed her hand over her heart and executed a cursory bow that barely met the requirements of protocol.
Ignoring the slights, Rebeka turned her attention back to the Outsiders which gave Falin a chance to study them. She was curious, having seen so few. Most travelers knew to avoid their woods, and she had only participated in a handful of Cullings herself. But when Falin caught the gaze of the white-haired girl, it was like a knife to her bones. She felt reality waver for a moment.
The girl was slight and weak, her fear palpable. Falin felt a surprising tug of pity, something she’d never been prone to. Startled by the emotion, she steeled herself.
Ever a Huntress. There is no place for weakness here, hers or mine.
Of the men, the one who’d asked to see the Elders was older, his once-auburn beard braids now grizzled with gray. His carriage reminded her of Sorchia. There was also a younger red-haired warrior. Brawny and muscular, he had a well-worn bow slung across his back. And then there was the last man, the one the girl was trying to protect. Falin caught his eye for a mere moment but would never forget the intensity of blue that peered out from beneath his dark brows. Battle-scarred and muscular, he stood with confidence and a leader’s dispassion. His strength made Falin smile. He would have been a challenge. Too bad he’d be culled like the rest.
Two of the men were already bolo-bound. Rebeka’s scouts then bound the leader’s hands behind him and confiscated their weapons. Only the girl was allowed to walk freely. Once the prisoners were secured, Rebeka and her scouts ushered the strangers toward the village, ignoring Falin completely. Falin watched them depart and then followed on curious cat feet.
KHOURY FOLLOWED THE Huntresses through the dark towering trees. Once the women had appeared, the woods brightened. The wall of thorns they’d been following seemed to disappear. Archer and Bradan were a few paces behind him, and Cara to his left, flanked by two warriors. And somewhere in the woods behind them, the captain’s intuition told him the other warrior followed—her presence a cold draft on his neck.
The blonde warrior had looked disturbingly familiar, but he couldn’t place her. And it wasn’t just him. Archer had looked twice, and Bradan had studied her with more interest than he’d shown since the giant raid.
Glancing in Cara’s direction, Khoury noted her watching him with a worried expression. She surprised him when she stepped forward in his defense though he probably should have expected it. Her protectiveness reminded him of the day on the tundra when she refused to give up her bears. A smile lurked beneath his beard at the thought of such misplaced affection.
After an hour or so, the group arrived at a large village clearing. He couldn’t see much of it because they emerged from the dense woods to the door of a small mud hut that sat just at the edge of foliage. Still, the scents and sounds reminded him of Bear Clan. He saw no other villagers as they slipped between the guards and through the squat doorway into the darkened interior. Once inside, Khoury made a quick circuit of the room. There was only the one door, and the slit-like windows—of which there were two and only as wide as his hand—didn’t face the village. A small hole in the roof for ventilation wasn’t large enough for a small boy let alone a full-grown man. Rebeka pushed a cowed Cara in last. The door shut with a soft clunk, and he heard the latch drop. Rebeka’s fading voice instructed the guards to watch the door.
“Untie us, Cara,” said Archer softly, moving toward the center where there was the best light. Cara stood where Rebeka had left her.
“I can’t,” she said. “I promised.”
“We need to make a run for it,” Archer urged.
“They’re coming right back with their high priestess. She said if you’re untied, they’ll kill you immediately.”
“Cara, they’re going to kill us anyway,” Bradan said. “Help us.”
“I can’t,” she whined. Cara was exhausted, obviously still shaken from her tumble and the confrontation in the woods. His heart went out to her.
“Leave her be.” He stepped closer to her and was rewarded with a grateful ice-blue glance. “We’ll get our chance. Be patient.” Archer backed down, trusting in Khoury’s timing just like he had at the Keep. But Bradan growled and angrily turned on his heel to pace the far side of the hut.
The girl had been right though, it was only a few minutes before the latch clicked and the door swung open. Rebeka stood outlined in the light from outside.
“Back up,” she ordered, her sword pointed at the men. Everyone except Cara moved back a step.
A black-robed woman entered with soft footsteps. Her hood was down revealing black hair streaked with gray, arranged in multiple loops draped across her shoulders. Her face was sturdy and weathered. Her staff of red wood thumped on the ground with each step. She scanned their faces with dispassionate calm until her eyes fell on Cara and then she stared.
Was that surprise he read on the priestess’s face? If so, it was gone in a moment.
“Welcome, trespassers.” The woman’s voice was soft but grim. “It’s an unfortunate day for you as I’m afraid the Law forbids you to leave.”
Cara stood her ground between the men and the priestess. Her gloves were tucked into her belt, and he wondered when she’d taken them off.
Khoury pressed his lips together in frustration. The whole thing was ridiculous. He cleared his throat. “Priestess, we want nothing from the Huntresses except to be returned to the Tangle.”
The old woman stepped past Cara to stare up at him with a placid smile. The top of her head barely reached his chin. Cocking her head like a bird, she eyed him with curiosity. “So, you’re the one.”
“What one?”
The priestess chuckled softly with a shake of her head.
“Will you listen to our story?” He barely kept the frustration from his voice.
“I already know what you’re going to say.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand as she paced a slow circle a
round him. “I see you still deny what you know.”
Confused, he looked down at her. “Deny what?”
“You’re only wasting time,” she said. Then, she turned and circled Archer, the gentle smile never wavering. She stopped in front of the Northerner and lifted a gentle hand to his cheek. “You are not cursed, storyteller. Except by your own hesitation.”
Then she walked to where Bradan eyed her with angry suspicion. “I do not fear death,” he said.
Her face softened, and she laid a gentle hand over his heart. “Our hearts feel the weight of your tears, Brother. You have our sympathy.”
“I’d rather have cooperation than sympathy,” he said.
She didn’t reply.
She turned to Cara and took her hand. “Little sister, I will speak with you in private though there may not be much I can do about your situation. I do not write the Laws. Your fate, the fate of all of you, rests in the Mothers’ hands now.” She drew the girl toward the door.
“No,” Cara balked, though her hand stayed in the woman’s. Khoury noted Cara’s eyes glaze as if she was listening to something far away. “Promise you won’t kill them when I’m gone.”
“You don’t trust us.” The woman’s voice was curious though her face was stern.
Cara swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to think, but I need them.”
The priestess smiled and patted Cara’s hand. “I promise, child, no harm will come to them. For now. Come with me. There are fewer ears in my hall.” Cara looked back at the men, offered a thin, rather bleak smile and followed the priestess out. The other warrior women followed and the door closed with a soft thud of the latch.
“Make peace with your gods if you have them, Southerner,” Bradan said as he lowered himself to the ground and leaned against the wall. It was the closest the chieftain had come to insulting him in all the years since they first met.
Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1) Page 17