Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1)

by Stacy Bennett

  “Oh no?”

  “Not when they find out what you’ve done.”

  “I’ve done nothing.”

  “I saw him.” Her words hung in the air tauntingly.

  Rebeka’s knuckles whitened and eyes flashed with hooded fury seconds before she lashed out. Falin blocked the angry slash to her head, the jarring clang resounding up her arm.

  “How long have you used the ships to make deals with men?” Falin asked, sparking a flurry of attacks.

  “No one will believe you, Outsider.”

  “Sorchia will, and she has the Council’s ear.” Falin thrust at Rebeka and the clang of metal rang across the hillside.

  “She has betrayed the Council and soon they will know,” Rebeka threatened. “As for your tale, it seems I’d better take you back dead after all.”

  She leapt to the attack. The Huntresses fought in earnest with nothing held back on either side. Their blades met and sparked. Clanging steel, grunts and hate filled the air. Like Archer and his captain, the two sisters knew each other too well. Unlike the men, no quarter would be given.

  Falin feinted, drawing Rebeka close. Then she ducked under Rebeka’s angry overextended lunge. In two strides she passed the scout, slicing through leather as she went.

  “Damn you!” Rebeka whirled, blood oozing from her thigh.

  Falin hadn’t intended it to be deep. “First blood,” she boasted. She intended to take her time. She wanted Rebeka to know she’d been bested, wanted her to feel the sting of her defeat. But in the flurry of the fight, she’d forgotten about their audience.

  Rebeka, however, hadn’t. She had angled back toward the tight knot of Outsiders and now the scout attacked the nearest of them, Archer. Falin was a half second behind and would have been too late again, except that Rebeka’s blow fell against Khoury’s deflecting blade. Even wounded as he was, his reflexes were quick.

  Seeing her prideful mistake, Falin hurriedly tackled the black-haired Sister, and they hit the ground hard. Rebeka’s sword spun off into the grass. Falin straddled the other woman, landing a solid left to Rebeka’s jaw and then another. Rebeka grabbed for Falin’s sword as Falin clung to it with both hands. Then Rebeka’s fist slammed into her wounded temple and her vision blurred.

  Rebeka shoved her off into the grass and scrambled to her feet. A swift kick at Falin’s sword hand sent that blade to join the other and both women dove into the fragrant lushness looking for a weapon. Falin’s fingers found metal first, and she eagerly wrapped her fingers around the cold edge. Rebeka saw the movement and dove for the weapon, too. Grabbing the hilt, she yanked the sword away.

  Instinctively, Falin gripped the sword tighter. The sharp edges bit deeply into her palm and fingers. With a forceful twist, Rebeka slipped the blade through Falin’s grasp. The edge scraped bone as it tore free, its edges smeared scarlet. Falin stifled her cry of pain and crawled to a crouch, blood dripping from her hand.

  Rebeka was breathing hard, but she smiled arrogantly and examined the bloody sword. “My, my. Bet that hurts.” She laughed and lunged at Falin, making her leap to her feet.

  “You were never as good as you thought,” Rebeka jeered. She slashed again, keeping Falin moving.

  Falin pressed her fist into her belly trying to quell the gut-wrenching pain. She felt sick. Falin scanned the hillside. She needed a blade but there was nothing.

  “I’ll never know what Sorchia saw in you,” Rebeka said. She attacked again as she spoke, slicing the blade through the air.

  Falin felt the breeze of it and knew it should have found its mark. But Rebeka was toying with her now. The other Huntress’s arrogance was something Falin could use against her. After the next attack, Falin faked a stagger and dropped to one knee with a groan. As she clutched her leg with her bloodied hand, she retrieved the small dagger from her boot.

  “Khoury, do something!” Cara’s plaintive cry grated on Falin’s ears.

  Rebeka barked a short confident laugh and turned on Cara. “Save your worry for yourself, little sister. I’ve seen what hunts you.”

  Khoury pushed the girl behind him, sword at the ready.

  No, Falin thought, this is my kill.

  She launched from the ground and charged. One hand grabbed the knot of hair at Rebeka’s neck, dragging her backward and down to her knees. The other hand pressed her blade to Rebeka’s neck. Falin’s wounded hand throbbed, but she held the blade steady.

  “Drop it,” she rasped through gritted teeth, shaking Rebeka roughly. The Sister dropped the sword on the ground.

  “You’re a disgrace to my people,” Rebeka said angrily.

  “They’re my people, too.”

  “We were never your people,” Rebeka shot back.

  Rebeka’s words cut Falin to the bone, sickening her. She bent Rebeka’s head back to look her in the eye. “I warned you once not to depend on my charity, Sister.” Falin brought the bright blade to the other woman’s throat with lethal intent.

  “No!” Cara raced around Khoury’s bulk and grabbed Falin’s arm.

  Her hand was bare and the moment their skin touched, Falin’s head filled with visions. Bloody manacles and the scent of dust trapped her in a waking dream that stank of nightmarish fear.

  “Let go,” Falin snarled. Her head spun, and her hands tingled. She forced the emotion down, stilling herself for the kill. One swift sure strike. But her arm refused to listen. Her blade quivered hesitantly over Rebeka’s neck.

  “Sister, please,” Cara urged softly. “Stop this.”

  Cara didn’t know what she was asking. There was no telling what Rebeka would do. Leaving her alive would only end badly. Falin squeezed the knife more tightly, but she couldn’t command the final cut. A fog crept into her mind, robbing her of her strength.

  She looked to the men hoping for an ally, but not one of them made a move.

  “Tie her to a horse and send her away,” Cara said with unexpected confidence.

  Falin’s eyes sought Khoury’s. Surely, the captain understood.

  The captain was pale, blood still dripping from his bandaged arm. Wearily, he said to Archer, “Get some rope.”

  Defeated, Falin dropped her gaze to the ground. She hated Cara in that moment, but she hated herself more. She kept her knife at Rebeka’s throat until the others took her and tied her well. Only then did Cara step away, slipping her hand once more into her glove.

  Letting Rebeka live was foolish, but worse, Sorchia would be in danger. Falin refused to say it out loud, fearing that would make it come true, but the thought weighed heavy in her gut.

  Bradan pulled Cara away to help with Khoury’s wound while Archer collected horses and weapons from their fallen attackers. Falin seethed inside, refusing to mention her wounded hand.

  How had Cara forced me to show mercy? she wondered, but could find no answer.

  “I thought you were stronger than that,” Rebeka said.

  Falin refused to even look at her. Tears shamefully burned in her eyes. She was weaker than she’d ever been, and she despised herself.

  “I thought you’d at least do some damage,” Rebeka continued. “But it seems you’ve crippled yourself only to watch me go free.”

  The scout’s astute observation only inflamed Falin’s shame further but there was still a mote of rebellion left. “Don’t think you’ve escaped unscathed,” she warned.

  “Oh, but I have,” Rebeka replied, haughty once more.

  Falin’s knife snaked out, slashing the dark-haired woman’s cheek from hairline to chin. Rebeka cried out in pain, but no one noticed.

  “You can’t hide now,” Falin hissed. “When the Elders ask about that, and believe me they will, give them my regards.” She stood and replaced her knife into her boot. “If you cross me again, I will kill you, even if I have to kill her first.” Then she stalked off across the hillside.

  Six horses grazed in a patch of sun where Archer and Bradan rummaged through packs and saddlebags. Cara stood amidst the animals, the head of a sleek
chestnut gelding pressed to her chest, the picture of calm. Jealousy rumbled inside Falin.

  Not watching where she was going, she nearly bumped into Khoury. The bandage on his arm was fresh and without stain. His color looked better. Apparently, Cara had already worked on him.

  “Huntress, I…”

  She held up a hand for him to stop. She was in no mood to listen.

  He sighed and held out his hand. Her bolo dangled from one finger.

  She’d completely forgotten about it. She snagged the swinging weights with her left hand. “Thank you,” she muttered.

  His fingers tightened before she could pull the bolo away, forcing her to look at him. “No, thank you.” His lowered voice rumbled in his chest. “For…everything.”

  She snorted a chuckle. “Is that supposed to be an apology, Captain?”

  He tilted his head with wry acknowledgement, then said, “How’s that hand?”

  “Fine,” she lied.

  “Have Cara look at it.”

  “I’d rather lose it than have that woman touch me again,” she said with spite.

  He paused at her vehemence but there was understanding in his blue eyes. “I must insist.” His voice was low enough that no one else could hear, sparing her a spectacle for which she was grateful, but she would not cave this time.

  “Please, Captain.”

  “It’s Khoury.”

  “Captain,” she whispered firmly, “leave me some shred of dignity.”

  “Dignity? Or pride?”

  She had to smile at that. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it…for people like us?”

  He scrubbed his disheveled hair. “I see I must defer to your judgment. Archer says there’s a stream a hundred yards back.” He jerked a thumb at the trees. “Take care of it, Huntress. I can’t have you slowing us down.” His tone was formal but there was a hint of sympathy that she didn’t expect.

  “I will,” she murmured. Falin grabbed her pack where she’d dropped it and hurried into the woods. Following the scent of damp earth and sounds of gurgling, she quickly located the stream and knelt in the cool mud to face her worst fears.

  She plunged her hand into the cool running water to clean off the clots and blood, gasping at the pain. Then, she inspected it carefully. Revulsion tightened her throat at the sight of the long slash across the palm and each of her four fingers. White glistening bone was visible in the base of the wounds and they gaped widely. Grabbing a clean cloth, she scrubbed the hand under the water. Curls of fresh blood floated downstream and the cloth was stained deep red. She brought her hand up and inspected it again. Dread curled in her stomach as she tried to move the fingers, she had a little motion but…. She quelled the morbid thoughts with practicality. Since the injury had no inclination to stay closed, she’d have to stitch it.

  She dug in her pack for some willow and chewed the bitter bark as she worked. Then she retrieved a small bone needle and some sinew and set to the grisly task. She had to pause a few times as her stomach heaved rebelliously but soon it was done. Her palm burned with the rough treatment. She ran a soothing finger over the ruined planes of her hand and wondered absently if it would end up clawed and useless.

  “Falin!” Archer’s voice rang through the woods.

  “Here,” she shouted, quickly wrapping her hand in clean bandages and shoving her supplies hastily in her sack.

  Archer rode up towing a small gelding behind. “Thought you might like this guy.” He tossed her the reins.

  She shrugged. She knew how to ride but never really had an affinity for the beasts. She stroked the sturdy neck by way of introduction and was surprised when a kind of peace settled over her. The whiskered lips tickled her good hand, nudging her with equine affection as the bottomless brown eyes offered unspoken sympathy. She felt strangely soothed by the animal. Too exhausted to walk another step, she gratefully swung a tired leg over the saddle and settled in with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

  SOMEWHERE IN HER heart, Cara knew she should be sorry but she wasn’t. She had stopped death—if only this once. She watched with pride as they sent Rebeka, bound to a surefooted pony, off across the foothills. The disfiguring gash across Rebeka’s cheek had been Falin’s bitter justice, and Cara could live with that. The scout still had her life.

  And for the first time ever, Cara felt powerful. It was intoxicating.

  She tightened up her mare’s girth and was just about to shove her foot in the stirrup when a touch on her shoulder stopped her.

  “What did you do to her?” Khoury asked, his face stony.

  He could only mean Falin. “Nothing,” she said calmly though inside something tightened, preparing for a storm.

  He stepped closer, keeping his voice low. “Was it…memories?”

  “No,” she said. And it hadn’t been. She couldn’t see into the Huntress at all. “I saw the knife at Rebeka’s throat and all I could think of was the knife at my own.” She rubbed at the thin scab on her neck wondering at her own half-truth, wondering how much of her he saw clearly. “I really don’t know what made her stop.”

  He studied her, weighing her answer. He was good at that—judging. Especially considering who he really was.

  But he only said, “It was unwise to let Rebeka go.”

  “Falin was going to kill her.”

  “We all killed today,” he said softly.

  Not me, Cara thought with some pride. “That was during a fight,” she said. “She’d already stopped Rebeka.” There was a difference in Cara’s mind that she couldn’t explain.

  Khoury remained unconvinced.

  “So you would have…I mean, would you have killed her?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Perhaps his dreams were closer to the truth than she wanted to know. Visions of him on the battlefield floated in her mind. She turned back to her horse, suddenly angry.

  Before she could mount up, Khoury leaned over to whisper in her ear, his body disturbingly close. “Before we go any farther I need to know something, Cara.”

  His voice was low as if the words were meant only for her. Energy snapped between them. Ever since the battle, she felt more alive than ever and his husky tones made her forget what they were talking about. Anticipation heated her blood. She pressed back against his hard chest. “What?”

  “When the time comes, I need to know that you won’t try to stop me from killing Sidonius.”

  She turned, surprised by the question. But she knew he was right. Hadn’t the priestess said Sidonius would only stop if they made him?

  “I won’t try to stop you,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. His nearness pulled her, made her want to fall into him. She loved the blue of his eyes.

  “Good,” he said. As his eyes roved down her face to her lips, her heart sped up.

  But instead of satisfying her want, he stepped back. She nearly toppled forward into the cool space.

  “You’d do well to remember the lesson of the Dunhadrar,” he said coldly.

  Dunhadrar? She was confused.

  His eyes bored into hers. “The power to Command does not give you the right to.” Then he turned on his heel and mounted up.

  Why would he think her a brother-killer when she’d just saved a life? And what did he know of the Dunhadrar anyway?

  Angrily, Cara pushed the questions away. She didn’t have to answer to him. She swung herself up into the saddle just as the Huntress and Archer rode out of the forest.

  Falin slid a sideways glance in her direction then pulled her gelding to the far side of Bradan. Cara was surprised at the haunted expression on the warrior’s face. Her eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying. It was obvious that the others were upset about Rebeka, too. But Cara refused to feel bad. She raised her chin defiantly as she rode beside Khoury who led them at a comfortable trot, east toward the Pass.

  After a few long hours in the saddle, Khoury called a halt at the edge of the foothills where a screen of large boulders jutted out of the hill protecting a small t
hicket of thin white poplars that glowed luminously in the setting sun’s light. Below the stones, dense trees bordered a smooth-surfaced lake in the bowl-shaped valley.

  They rode down into the thicket, dismounted and began setting up a comfortable camp. Cara tied her mare up next to Khoury’s gelding while Falin tied her mount at the far end. One-handed, she struggled awkwardly with her saddlebags, and Khoury went to help her.

  Cara sidled closer to listen to their conversation, keeping her head down and fiddling with the saddlebags.

  “Why don’t you let me finish up here?” Khoury said, reaching for her horse’s girth.

  “I’m fine,” Falin said. Cara was surprised there was no growl in her tone.

  “You need a bath,” he pointed out.

  “When I’m done here.” She shoved half-heartedly at his shoulder.

  “It’s an order.”

  Cara snuck a glance over the saddle. Falin looked ready to argue further but then softened. Exhaustion’s purple hue ringed her eyes. “You’re probably right.”

  “Of course I am.” His voice was unusually gentle and jealousy flared in Cara. Then Falin grabbed her pack from the saddle and headed to the thin stand of trees.

  Khoury untacked and rubbed down Falin’s gelding, a thoughtful look on his face. He’d been very attentive to the Huntress since the fight. Cara told herself he was just being contrite but perhaps it was something more.

  She’d never forget the look on his face when the rage took over. In that moment, he was the monster she’d seen in his nightmare although today she realized she didn’t fear him anymore. Still, what brought on that rage was a mystery she longed to unravel.

  Cara finished up with her horse and wandered over to the fire where Archer had just returned with freshly killed squirrel. She plopped down next to Bradan and waited for him to acknowledge her.

  “It’s good to ride instead of walk,” he said.

  Cara rubbed at her backside. “I’m not sure that’s true,” she said making a wry face. He laughed. She caught the shaman’s face in her gloved hands and poked at the swelling beneath his left eye. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m good. For an old man.”