Sora's Quest (35 page)

Abruptly a shadow fell across her. She looked up, staring at Crash's outstretched hand. His boots hadn't made any noise on the rocks.

She took his hand, surprised. He pulled her to his feet. She stood there for a moment, gazing up at him, taking in his cunning face, his smooth jaw and dark brows. His eyes, softened by the overcast sky, had turned almost gray.

“For you,” he murmured. He pressed a package into her hands. The small bundle was folded in brown paper.

Sora stared, shocked. She didn't know what to say. His hands clasped hers for a moment, as though he actually wanted to linger, to say something more. Then he stepped back. “Goodbye,” he murmured.

Crash turned and walked swiftly, silently on the gravel, back to his horse. It was as though he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

"Burn, let's go," he called. His voice was no longer soft or friendly, but cold and rigid, like the assassin she had come to know. She watched as he donned his cloak and pulled up his hood, obscuring his face. Just like that, he transformed into a different person, someone unknown and untouchable, as though they had never traveled the swamp together. All those months were suddenly erased. She was staring at a black-clad warrior, the kind of man one would avoid on the street. Perhaps it had all been an act—the teasing, the mud fight, the whole damned thing.

When she focused next, both men were astride their new steeds, settling into the wet saddles. Crash didn't acknowledge her again, turned his horse and started down the road at a fast trot, traveling quickly through the forest, away from her mother's house.

"Don't forget us!" Burn called, waving to her.

Sora managed a smile and a wave, but she felt sick. Her stomach sank. She watched as he followed the assassin down the road. The arch of large pine trees created a natural tunnel around them. The rain slapped against the broad leaf ferns, a soothing percussion, accented by the clip-clop of the horses' hooves.

Sora stood and followed them to the mouth of the road, wishing she could be by their side. Forget them? Never. She would probably think about them every day for the rest of her life.

The two horses moved into a canter. Numbly, she watched them grow smaller and smaller, fading into the cloudy, rain-drenched woods. Finally she allowed tears to fill her eyes, and took a faltering step forward. "Come back," she whispered, choking.
"Come back!"

Starting to run, suddenly desperate, she yelled, "COME BACK!"

But they were too far away to hear her, not that they would have turned around. She came to a stumbling halt, her feet squishing in the mud. She had never felt so unwanted, so frustrated. So alone. Sora watched until they were mere dots against the trees, then fragments of cloud, then swallowed up by the rain.

Then she looked down at the package in her hands.

Sora walked back up the gravel drive and opened the door to her mother's house, struggling not to look over her shoulder. They were gone; it was no use. She stopped by the closet in the front room to grab a warm blanket. A hot bath sounded good, too. Next, she would set a cauldron over the fire.

She paused by the dining table. It was overtaken by herbs and flowers, each clumped into piles and then lined up into rows. Her mother's work. She cleared a small space at the end and looked at the package that Crash had given her, wondering if she dared open it. She almost didn't want to, but curiosity got the better of her. Fingers numb from the cold, she haltingly unwrapped the brown paper.

A red bundle fell out, a second wrapping. Sora frowned and picked up the soft velvet cloth. Unfolded it.

At first she didn't know what it was. A large black shape, strange carvings on the handle. It appeared to be the hilt of a weapon, perhaps a sword, though the blade was missing. She stared at it in confusion, frowning, then abruptly she remembered.

This was the same sword that had almost killed her.

Why in the world would Crash give this to her? She thoughtfully turned the object in her hands. Her fingers traced the designs carved into the thick leather wrapping. It was unexpectedly heavy and cold to the touch.

Suddenly, a small note fell out of the hole where the blade would have fit, landing on the desk. Sora blinked, surprised. She picked it up. Unfolded it. She could only assume that it was Crash's handwriting. It twisted and curled across the page.

For the first time I felt fear.

Clutching the note, Sora started to cry. The tears came suddenly, forcefully, unbidden. Her shoulders shook and she couldn't breathe. Her adventure was over—over, and yet she felt completely empty, drained to her core. She couldn't imagine a future alone with her mother—not after these men had changed her life. Would they ever come back? Would she ever see them again?

A small part of her mind, the part connected to the Cat's Eye, whispered—yes.

And the story continues...
(click to buy Book 2!)

Viper's Creed

(The Cat's Eye Chronicles, Book 2)
 

by

T. L. Shreffler
 

Prologue

Crash awoke from the dream with a start.

It dissipated as soon as he opened his eyes. Stars glinted above him, pinpricks on the pitch-black horizon, the ground cold and moist. From the stillness in the air, he knew that it was early, early morning.

He stood, looking across the flat plain, a dark ocean of wavering grass. The residue of the dream lingered,  its cold hand on his back, as if warning him of something....

What?
he thought, studying the broad expanse of the lower plains.
What am I overlooking?
He felt keenly disturbed, as though a predator stood just beyond the fringe of grass, watching him, filled with murderous intent. But was the threat far away or nearby? It was like watching a heavy storm cloud approaching.
How long before it reaches us?

A large flock of crows suddenly appeared in the sky, flapping loudly against the dead night air. They cawed and squawked to one another, rushing by overhead. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. The mass of birds was so thick, it blacked out the stars.

Crash stared. Crows flying at night?

Then he noticed a certain skittering in the underbrush. Rabbits, mice and ground squirrels dashed through the dry grass, all following the same direction as the crows. The more he watched, the more he saw. Sparrows, black birds, swallows...all darting across the plains, fleeing west.

What is this?
he wondered. A fire? An earthquake yet to strike? Yet there was no firelight on the plains, no telltale smell of smoke. The ground remained cold and solid.

Crash pondered the animals thoughtfully.
Why are they running?
Deep in the pit of his stomach, he felt like he already knew the answer.

A bush rustled, and he turned around to find his companion, Burn, returning from his watch. Small leaves, curled and dry from the summer climate, crunched beneath his boots. It was difficult to move soundlessly. They were camped next to a thicket of spindly trees tall enough to offer shelter from the elements. Burn had spent the last several hours in the branches, taking a better look at their surroundings.

“So they woke you?” Burn asked softly, glancing at the sky where the crows were still flying by. “I wonder where they're going.”

Crash nodded. So he wasn't just imagining it. “They're fleeing from something.”

Burn paused next to the assassin and gazed at the horizon. He turned his face into the wind, his flared nostrils sniffing the air, his long, pointed ears twitching; Wolfies' senses were naturally heightened and sharp. Finally, he pointed toward the northeast. “There,” he murmured. “Far away, at the base of the mountains.” He looked troubled. “It smells like...blood.”

Crash's eyes hardened. Volcrian. Had to be. The bloodmage was approaching—though Crash doubted he was close because if he was, they would know it by now.

“He wants my head,” Crash replied. “We should go our separate ways. He would most likely let you go. This isn't your fight.”

The Wolfy's eyes turned hard. “It
is
my fight,” he murmured. “Or have you forgotten what he did...?”

Silence. No, Crash hadn't forgotten. He only wished that Burn could forget—Burn was one of those rare, upright, honorable men who deserved a good life. But if they continued traveling together, they would both end up dead.

Now Crash could feel the bloodmage's presence descending onto the plains, a malevolent force, unstoppable. He seemed larger than before, easily detectable, powerful.

“We should leave the mainland,” he finally said.

“Aye,” Burn grunted softly in agreement. “Might be our only option. We can travel south to Delbar, take a ship overseas...we have some backtracking to do.” They were currently traveling north, and had planned to traverse the mountains to the distant ice fields. If Volcrian was close, however, they would need a faster route of escape. Overseas would do.

Crash's eyes turned to the south, tracing the constellations in the sky. To reach the port city of Delbar, they would have to pass through the region where they had left Sora more than six months ago.

Should I warn her?
he wondered. Hopefully, Volcrian would leave her alone now that she wasn't traveling with them anymore. If they showed up at her house, they would risk drawing the bloodmage there, too.
No,
he decided. Better to stay away.

“We leave at dawn,” Crash said determinedly, and turned back to the copse of trees, ready to keep watch. The crows continued to fly overhead, growing in number.

Click to buy Viper's Creed (Book 2)

Visit
The Cat's Eye Chronicles
website!

http://www.catseyechronicles.com/

If you like Paranormal Romance, check out T. L. Shreffler's
The Wolves of Black River
series!
The Wolves of Black River

Mark of the Wolf
Blood of the Wolf

About the Author

T. L. Shreffler is a noblewoman living in the sunny acres of San Fernando Valley, California, a mere block from Warner Bros. Studios. She enjoys frolicking through meadows, sipping iced tea, exploring the unknown reaches of her homeland and unearthing rare artifacts in thrift stores. She holds a Bachelors in Eloquence (English) and writes Epic Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and poetry. She has previously been published in Eclipse: A Literary Anthology and The Northridge Review.
Feel free to connect online! She loves hearing from readers, reviewers, orcs, elves, assassins, villains, figments of her imagination and extraterrestrials looking to make contact. Her online accounts are as follows:
Email: [email protected]
Website:
www.tlshreffler.com
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Twitter:
@poetsforpeanuts