Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1)

by Stacy Bennett

  “Deal,” Archer said, firmly grabbing a long wing feather at its base and pulling it with some effort from the wing. “But only if you cut the wood for shafts.” He eyed the forest with exaggerated apprehension and a visible shudder, which drew an actual laugh from the Huntress.

  Cara watched the two of them working in peace and shook her head. Maura had been right; Archer probably could charm the scales off a snake. He’d finished with one wing and handed it back to her to cook then began work on the other. It looked difficult, pulling the deep-set feathers out without damaging them.

  “Huntress.” He cleared his throat. “I…I wanted to thank you.” His voice was low as he risked a glance in the direction of the stream.

  Surprise lit the green eyes that glanced over at him, surprise and caution. “It’s Falin. And you’re welcome.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  She cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I should have kept closer watch on you. You’re obviously a troublesome man.”

  He raised a long-fingered hand to the burgeoning black of her cheek, hesitating before he would have touched it. “Khoury didn’t…I mean, he shouldn’t have.” The Northerner lowered his hand and yanked another feather free, avoiding her gaze. “You have to understand. He’s not a cruel man, he’s just….”

  She grabbed his arm roughly and gave him a firm shake. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t apologize for your captain.” Her reprimanding eyes bored into his.

  “But he…”

  “Is exactly as he should be.” Her gaze wandered to the captain, a hint of admiration in her eyes. “What good is a hound with no teeth?” She smiled at Archer. Then she punched his arm hard and laughed.

  Archer chuckled and shook his head. Any tension fled as they busied themselves with their appointed tasks.

  Cara had to admit it was quite the feast that night. The groundhawk was roasted on a spit. And the Huntress had Cara help her dig up some tubers Sidonius’s books called moss turnips. Wrapped in pungent purple leaves, they tucked them in the coals. Falin had even found time to harvest some of the large berry-flavored fruit of the Thorn trees. Sweetly sour but soft like a peach, Cara thought they were delicious. It was all-in-all the best meal she’d had since Bear Clan.

  Though the Huntress still made Cara nervous, the good food and Archer’s joking soothed much of the tension. At least until he tried to teach her a pub song. When he said her voice was low enough to be mannish, Cara thought Falin would give him a black eye.

  Khoury was quiet all night. He hadn’t commented on Cara’s new ability or the Dunhadrar again, but he was edgy and sullen. He didn’t join in the light-hearted conversation that Archer worked so hard for. Cara nervously noted how his fingers fiddled with the hilt of his weapon and how often he paced the edges of the campsite.

  When the meal was over and Archer had regaled them with a song or two, Khoury stood and stretched. “Time to get some sleep. I’ll take first watch, then Archer and then Bradan.” He pointed to each man in turn, avoiding looking Cara or the Huntress. “And then wake me again a few hours before dawn.”

  “Yes, rest while you can,” the Huntress said, standing to settle her sword belt lower on her hips. “We need to move faster tomorrow. Be ready.” Then she slipped into the woods for the night.

  Cara laid her head on her bent arm. The full belly and exhaustion made her feel like she could sleep for a week. She breathed deep, relaxed at last, taking in the earthy scent of loam and growing things. Night birds hooted. And suddenly she recognized where she was. She’d only ever seen it at night. The rush of the stream soothed her to sleep quickly, and the whispering of the woods followed her into her dreams…

  …where she stood in moonlight bright enough to see by. Though alone, she felt the chill of unseen eyes. Her straining ears heard nothing as she walked, but the feeling grew stronger until she could swear someone was right behind her. She whirled around, but there was no one there.

  “Hello?” No answer.

  Firelight glimmered nearby and she ventured toward it. A man sat there amidst a handful of blanketed shapes. Only one sleeping face was visible in the flickering light and it tugged at her mind. She fought to recognize the face but found herself teetering on the edge of a maelstrom that waited to swallow her up. Tearing her eyes away, she fled with her heart pounding in her ears. When her lungs ached, she stopped next to a still pond and bent down to drink. Before her lips touched water, the mirror-smooth surface showed her moonlit reflection. Startled, she scrambled away; the face that stared back hadn’t been her own.

  A howl sounded through the woods. Then a small black wolf stepped out of the brush, its tongue lolling out of a mouth that was drawn back in mock laughter. With a single sharp yip, the beast bounded off into the forest. She smiled. She knew this game.

  She chased it to where the land sloped up. In a crevice between two huge stones was a den. The wolf flashed through the moonlight, darting into the hole.

  As she moved to follow it, a strange light streamed from behind her, casting long shadows upon the stones. She turned to the luminous shine that was so bright she couldn’t see anything except the outline of a woman in white armor.

  “Welcome.” A voice floated from the light, loving and eerie and multi-tonal like many voices in harmony. “We’ve missed you.”

  “Who are you?” Her fingers tightened on the bone hilt of her knife.

  “That matters less than who you are. Tell me, girl. Do you know?”

  “Who I am? Of course, I do. I’m…” But whatever she was going to say flew right out of her head. Her mind cast about for the name, but it was lost.

  “I see.” Disappointment hardened the words. “As I feared. Listen hard, traveler. Greed has skewed your fate, tangling the skeins of destiny. You must go back to the beginning. Go back into the dark. There will you find your true name and the birthright set aside for you.”

  “The dark?” Though she didn’t know what dark the apparition meant, she dreaded it to her bones.

  “The Ironwood sword waits for you beyond the tide,” the voice continued.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, but the woman was fading and the brightness with her. There was no answer as darkness closed in. After a moment, her eyes readjusted and the wolf den was gone. In its place was a tree. Moonlight silvered its multitude of tiny leaves and the white flowers shone like stars. A jagged dark line ran down the trunk where the tree had been split. Half was lying next to the stream like a solid reflection of the half that stretched up toward the moon. Lightning, she thought. Lightning had struck here. She sat in the fork of the broken trunk, suddenly weary, and fell asleep beneath the lovely star-flowered tree.

  DUNHADRAR. THE WORD tumbled around Khoury’s mind, yet another fragment of his past inadvertently exhumed by the white-haired woman. Though her innocence was genuine, she had an uncanny knack for unearthing things better left buried. Merely speaking that word was enough to earn a bloody necklace in some regions. Khoury consoled himself that Bradan’s casual talk meant he didn’t suspect the truth for all his probing comments about power and magic.

  It was the captain’s second shift of the night, but he wasn’t the least bit drowsy. His churning thoughts had kept real sleep at bay. Archer shifted in his blankets, bringing Khoury’s attention back to the present, and he realized with surprise that he’d been staring at Cara. Her small, ungloved hand pillowed her head; her thick white braid tucked neatly below her chin. She was so childlike at times he forgot what magic she carried within.

  Life in the Keep had left her shy and easily frightened, yes. But that small stature hid real strength. A strength he’d misjudged. There was a cord of tenacity within her, humble and steady. And loyal. He’d seen it on the tundra, in the Keep, with the high priestess—and it always surprised him—but he was beginning to trust it. To trust her.

  When that unearthly screech had echoed through the woods and they realized Archer was miss
ing, Khoury had been far more worried than he was willing to admit. When Archer had returned, coated in blood and deaf, rage had consumed Khoury’s reason. A rage that demanded violence. That the Huntress was spoiling for a fight as well was merely a convenience.

  Khoury rubbed his cheek. It was definitely tender though not visibly bruised. His mouth curved in a half-smile. The warrior woman could throw a decent punch. Not to mention take one.

  He breathed deeply with the gratitude of a man who’d survived a storm. Archer was fine now, thanks to Cara.

  Healing was powerful magic and highly sought after. Sidonius’s pursuit made more sense now that the captain knew her true nature. Of course, her value meant there were only two possible outcomes to this conflict, both of them lethal.

  Even after Sidonius was taken care of, her skill would always make her something of a target. A wayward image of Cara ensconced in Khoury’s own war camp, ministering to his company of Swords, flitted through his mind. He gave himself a mental shake. Did he really want her exposed to that? To let her see him at his worst? He thrust the daydream away. She’d be far safer returning to Seal Bay with Bradan.

  Khoury stretched, stiff joints popping loudly, and paced the limits of the glade. Restlessness buzzed inside his head. He longed for action: A good sparring match, a hunt, even a run. Anything to calm the anxious waiting he felt.

  The Huntress had said they needed to be ready early, so he woke Bradan and Archer as soon as he noted sunlight in the heights of the leafy canopy. Cara could afford to sleep until the last minute.

  “Falin still gone?” Bradan asked when Archer returned from the stream, water dripping from the curled ends of his wet hair.

  “She’ll be back,” Archer said with confidence. “I don’t think she’s used to traveling with company.”

  “Huntresses are loners,” Khoury observed, taking the crusty bread Bradan offered him.

  “And you’re not?” Archer challenged, helping himself to some bread as well. Khoury just shrugged, he wasn’t about to debate the Huntress’s suitability after yesterday’s shouting match. The men waited for at least an hour, puttering around the camp and packing up what little they had.

  Khoury was beginning to wonder if something had actually happened to the blonde warrior when a snapping branch sent him to his feet. The Huntress stumbled out of the brush, her eyes wild. Her hair, loose from its typical knot, lay tangled about her shoulders. She carried a newly fashioned walking stick of pale sturdy wood. Her eyes flitted over their faces, though Khoury had the impression she didn’t really see them. She went to where Cara slept and squatted down, staring at the girl in silence. Then, she shook herself and stood, her eyes finally clearing.

  “I’m late,” she said, her voice hesitant. Then she frowned, pulling herself up straighter and brushing dirt from her tunic. She ran brutal fingers through her tangled locks, taming them and tying them back into a knot. Surveying the edge of camp, she turned in a circle and sniffed the wind like a dog.

  “Something wrong?” Khoury asked.

  “Not…yet.”

  Khoury felt a chill of foreboding.

  The Huntress leaned down and shook Cara awake. “Get up.”

  Cara sat up with a yawn as the Huntress made a quick circuit of the camp, ensuring they’d left little trace of their presence.

  Khoury offered the white-haired girl a hand. “Morning,” he said. She beamed a smile, slipped on her gloves and let him help her to her feet. “Hope you’re rested. Gonna be a long day.”

  Cara rolled her eyes, and he suppressed the urge to chuckle. However, there was no quelling the spark of desire that refused all reason. He thought suddenly of kissing her. Then the Huntress appeared at his elbow. With unusual awkwardness, she thrust the staff at Cara.

  “It’s witchwood,” she said. “A rowan tree struck by lightning.”

  Cara’s mouth hung slack, and she reached out a tentative hand to take it.

  “I don’t have time to teach you today but,” the Huntress swallowed hard, “a Sister should never be weaponless.”

  The respectful title startled Khoury. Cara took the staff firmly, tears bright in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Sister.” Then she placed her right hand over her heart and bowed as the Sisters had done.

  The Huntress returned the salute with slow grace. “Don’t be afraid to lean on it today.” She winked at Cara, casting an offhand glance at Khoury before slinging her pack onto one shoulder.

  They broke camp and headed south. To say their pace was quicker would be an understatement. But what worried Khoury more than Bradan and Cara keeping up was that their guide seemed more than a little distracted. Her darting eyes had him nervously checking the undergrowth for something, though he couldn’t imagine what.

  There was no mid-morning break, and Cara suffered loudly for at least an hour before Archer had laughed and offered to carry her piggyback for a while. Khoury was glad to see the Northerner feeling so well. It was more than his hearing; whatever Cara had done had lightened Archer’s heart as well. Even Bradan seemed less tired, though his breathing was labored and sweat ran down the braids of his beard.

  When the sun was just past its zenith, the Huntress finally called a halt. Archer, Bradan, and Cara sat atop the soft mossy planes of the hillside glade but Khoury continued to pace, already feeling the stiffness in his scars. Falin passed around meat from the night before along with a few crumbs of cheese and green apples. Then she perched on a low branch, one leg swinging lazily.

  “The border is close,” she said, biting into her apple with a sharp, wet crunch.

  “Then we’re close to the White Mountains?” Archer asked.

  Falin shook her head. “You probably have about a day of southern Tanglewood before you hit the foothills. But keep this pace and at least by tomorrow there will be no more Thorns.”

  The captain noticed that she said “you” and not “we.” He glanced at his lieutenant. The furrowed brow and surreptitious pointing told him Archer had picked up on that, too. He groaned inwardly, dreading the impending discussion. Archer had a habit of taking on strays, but Khoury didn’t want the blonde warrior along. The girl was hot-headed, untried, and as a Huntress would always have split loyalties. He shook his head at Archer and then turned away.

  “Are there…are there wolves in this wood?” Cara asked, wiping her lips on her sleeve. Falin’s foot froze mid-swing.

  “What a strange thing to ask,” Bradan said.

  “I dreamed I saw one last night,” Cara replied.

  Interest brightened Falin’s eyes. “There are wolves in Foresthaven,” she agreed. “But they’re not a threat.” She gave Cara a stiff smile and dropped her eyes to the apple in her hand, then continued eating.

  “Was it one of those dreams?” Bradan asked.

  Cara nodded. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember feeling like someone was following me.”

  Falin choked on her apple, slipping off the branch and landing neatly on her feet. Archer was closest. He stood and thumped her soundly on the back until she coughed and raised a hand for him to stop. A scowl furrowed her brow.

  “Time to get moving,” she croaked, tossing the core and wiping her hands on her leathers.

  As usual, she scooped up her pack and left without preamble. Khoury followed with the others single file behind him. Archer brought up the rear. Either the Huntress had a gut feeling they were being followed, or she was hiding something. Regardless, he eyed the forest with suspicion, and his hands itched to draw his sword if only for the reassuring weight of it. Soon, he told himself. Soon, he’d have control of their group once more and the green-eyed Huntress would become one of Archer’s tall tales.

  IT WAS THE second day after Archer’s attack in the early afternoon. Cara stared in awe at the purple-black trees that blocked their path. They stood like soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, thorn-swords crossed. The impassable line continued into the forest on either side as solid as any wall of stone. Falin a
pproached the largest, the hollow in its trunk as big as her head. Like before, she used her knife and let the crimson blood well up, then pressed her hand to the hollow.

  The ghostly whisperings that had followed Cara daily rose like autumn leaves in the wind, whirling about her, agitated and yet forlorn. A glow of recognition briefly lit the hollow. Then, with a deep groaning, the trees obeyed. The thorny soldiers reluctantly drew back from their stations, revealing a path only wide enough for one.

  Cara shifted her pack as Khoury took a step forward, obviously eager to continue their ground-eating pace. But the Huntress didn’t move. Her hand lingered on the rough bark, stroking it gently as she gazed up, up, up into the waving purple leaves. She leaned forward, placing her other hand with reverence on the trunk, and then her forehead.

  After a long awkward minute, the captain cleared his throat impatiently. Without looking at him, the Huntress sidled out of the way, keeping her hands on the tree. Khoury started through the tight corridor between the thorns. The Huntress stood quietly, her forehead to the bark as Archer went past and then Bradan stepped up to go next.

  “Cara?” he said.

  Cara waved him ahead. A knot of emotion held her breath prisoner.

  “Don’t be long,” he said, then followed the others.

  Cara stepped up to the path. As she got close, she heard the Huntress whispering. Though Cara couldn’t make out the words, it sounded like a prayer. The men would be waiting but no one had said good-bye to their guide. Feeling like an eavesdropper, Cara lingered until finally the Huntress sighed, kissed the tree, and stood back. Her eyes fell on Cara, a challenge in their green depths.

  “Are you coming?” Cara asked.

  The Huntress nodded and then motioned for Cara to go first. The path was thin. Branches brushed at her skirts but the angry Thorns had receded. The Gate was deep, and it took longer than Cara expected to reach the other side. When she emerged, the whisperings that had followed her through Foresthaven stopped abruptly, leaving behind an eerie silence. Her eyes stung at the sun shining brightly on the hillside that was covered only sparsely with elm and oak. Her companions stood in a cluster a little beyond the Thorns, surveying the gentle slopes ahead.