Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) (25 page)

He had been a young lad, new to the order, eager for an assignment. She had explained his duty clearly. If they were engaged in battle, he would do what was necessary to protect the book, even if that meant giving his life. He understood the sacrifice—had chosen it. And yet a glimmer of regret colored her thoughts. He had been very young and full of potential. Another few years of training and he might have taken a Name.

Yet this is the way of the Dark God,
she reminded herself.
We might lose a few fingers, but his Hand remains.

At that moment, the shadows of the room grew darker. Krait stiffened in her chair. It seemed that even the fire receded, rolling back on itself, shrinking against the growing darkness. She waited, her head tilted. The temperature dropped by several degrees, causing cold prickles to shiver across her skin.

She heard a key turn in the door's lock.

Cerastes entered the room, as majestic as a summer storm. He wore long, satin robes of midnight hues, with fine gold filigree embroidered on the sleeves. Around his neck dangled several pendants of different lengths and shapes, all made of expensive material: silver, gold, crystals and gemstones. A large medallion the size of a fist dangled toward his navel. The head of a boar was carved into its surface. The King's emblem.

Krait stared at the amulet, curious, wondering why he would wear such a thing. She had never seen him dressed so richly. In the Hive, he wore simple black linen, like every other assassin. Today he looked like an emperor.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. Then he turned to her. “You have the book?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She leapt to her feet, uncertain if she should bow first. She pulled the book from her belt and handed it to him, then got down on her knees, lowering her head to the ground.

“Good,” Cerastes remarked. He ran his long fingers reverently over the frayed cover, then opened the book gently and turned a few pages, delicately holding each sheaf of paper between his thumb and index finger.

“There were others searching for it,” Krait felt compelled to say. “Humans.”

Cerastes raised a narrow, sloped eyebrow. “No matter,” he murmured. “It is protected by spells. Only the Named can read it.” He thumbed through a few more pages and nodded. “Excellent.”

Krait waited, wondering if she should speak. Then she said, “What now, Master? We have the book, but not the weapons.”

“Yes, and our enemies will need this book to end the plague,” Cerastes said. “And when they come here to the City of Crowns, we shall be waiting for them.”

Krait nodded.
Waiting for them
. A vision of the Viper rose before her eyes, and she felt a tremor of anticipation. She would see him again and this time, she wouldn't be taken off-guard.

“For now, stay at the tavern on Tourmaline Street,” Cerastes said briefly. “It is near the West Gate of the city. Watch for the Viper and his companions; I expect they will travel from the coast. Keep an ear to the ground. Alert me when they arrive. You can find me here, at this address.” The Grandmaster paused, glancing over a passage in the book, then he closed it abruptly and tucked it into his robes. “I have matters to attend to in the city. You shall not see me for a while.”

Krait nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Cerastes pointed toward the far wall. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Then the shadows began to melt and shift, circle inward on themselves, swirling lazily until they became thick, black mist. “Another portal, to take you back to the riverfront. Go.”

Krait stood up and turned toward the far wall, quick to obey. Without a backward glance, she walked across the floor and launched herself through the mist.

* * *

Sora was far too shocked to scream. Something wrapped itself around her—strong arms, biceps almost as wide as her chest. Black skin, cracked and hardened like scales.
Scales!
Her head spun and only one thought made sense.
The
garrolithe!
This had to be it—some sort of demonic monster that lived in the Crystal Caves. She had heard it howling before she fell. She remembered the vague drawings on the doors to the cavern. There was no other explanation.

The bulging muscles flexed around her small form. Sora shrieked and twisted away on instinct. The creature tightened its grip, turning her in its arms until she found herself pressed up against a broad, powerful chest, oddly human. She became confused—was it a monster or a man?

Two wings spread from the creature's back, snapping open against the wind. Their ascent slowed, drifting downward like a parachute. Sora panted with fear. Her vision swam. She was certain that she would black out before they reached the bottom of the ravine.
A good thing,
she told herself. At least she wouldn't have to witness her own death.

Then the creature slightly loosened its hold so she could breathe. She looked up despite herself. Gasped.

The beast's head was manlike. A straight nose, firm lips, strong chin. But the eyes chilled her—they were wide and almond-shaped, pitch black, no evidence of an iris or pupil. They absorbed all light, reflecting nothing back.

The skin of the face was smooth and ashen. Where a natural hairline would have been, the skin became hard, scaled, and dark black. Countless small horns, perhaps the width of her fingernail, jutted from the creature's skull. When the horns reached its shoulders, they became large blades of blackened bone, protruding through the skin, continuing down the arms, growing in length and width.

"No," she whispered, horrified. She was struck by instinctual terror, like a child waking up in the night, staring into darkness. She began to whimper—a desperate sound of primal fear.

Then the creature spoke. “Brace yourself.” Its voice sounded like a low, crackling fire.

Her eyes caught on a silver line that ran along the beast's skin. Her mouth gaped. A long, jagged scar ran from the demon's jaw down to its chest.

WHAM!

They hit the ground at a fast glide, sending a shower of powdery white sand in every direction. All the air left her at once. They tumbled together, rolling wildly across the bottom of the ravine. The creature kept her pinned tightly to its chest, its wings wrapped around her protectively. Sora felt suffocated, terrified almost to the point of fainting.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of rolling, they came to a sprawled stop. The beast's heavy body was on top of her. It pressed her into the sandy ground, heat rolling off it in waves.

Sora lay with her eyes tightly shut, not daring to breathe. She didn't want to face the monster above her—didn't want to open her eyes to the reality.

Then its heavy weight seemed to lessen, to shift and grow smaller. Her chest eased, less constricted. Slowly the panic receded too, leaving her breathless and shaky.

"Sora?" a voice murmured from above her. She flinched in surprise. Hesitantly, she opened an eye.

No, it can't possibly be....
"Crash?"

His shoulder was before her, crushing her into the ground. Then he shifted, moving so his voice was right in her ear. "Caught you."

She shoved him back, staring up at his face, the familiar green eyes and dark hair pressed to his forehead, soaked with sweat. He looked pale and wan, as though he had just run ten miles straight.

“No,” she murmured. Had she gone mad? It was too much. She tried to shove him away, to scream, but he wouldn't budge.

“Get off of me!” she finally yelled. She struggled harder, pushing him with all her strength, trying to slip from his grasp. “You're not Crash! Who are you?” Terror struck again. The monster had to be using an illusion, trying to break down her guard. But she wouldn't be tricked.

“Sora,” Crash repeated, grabbing her wrists, trapping her with his legs. “Sora, calm down.”

“Calm down?” she shrieked, half-hysterical. A strange sound ripped from her mouth, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Don't tell me to calm down!”

“Sora, it's me,” he said, looking into her eyes. Suddenly he released her wrist and cupped her face with one hand. He shook her slightly by the jaw. “Look. See? It's me. I caught you.”

Sora tried to punch him with her free hand but was blocked by his shoulder. He maneuvered deftly and caught both of her hands in his, pulling them above her head. “Sora,” he said. “Look at me. I'm right in front of you.”

“No,” she struggled, still trying to break his hold. “No!”

“Ask me anything,” he said. “I'll prove it.”

She trembled in his grasp, overcome by fighting instincts. She tried to shake her head, dislodge his hand, but he held her firmly, not allowing her to pull away. “Where did we meet?” she finally asked, certain that he wouldn't know the answer. She was waiting for the demon to resurface, to show some sign of itself.

“At your father's manor. You were running away.”

She glared at him. “How long ago?”

He hesitated. “Two years?”

She paused. His response seemed genuine, his voice soft and unexpectedly patient. She watched him warily. Then she reached into her mind, beckoning the Cat's Eye.
Magic?
she asked silently.
Anything?

But the Cat's Eye remained disturbingly dormant. She sucked in a slow, hollow breath.
No, no magic.
She looked at Crash again, finding the scar on the side of his jaw, the familiar angles of his face, sharp and masculine. His smooth forehead, the black bangs that swept across it so naturally, the sloped brows and straight nose. Hard, unforgiving lips. They had never been this close before; his nose was inches above her, his eyes focused, intense. She could read his expression. He was imploring her to believe him.

After a long moment, her chattering, panicked mind stilled. A small tremor ran through her body. She could feel every inch of him, every ridge of muscle imprinted on her flesh.

He didn't move. Didn't even twitch.

Sora frowned. "Crash?" she whispered uncertainly.

A sigh escaped his lips, a long breath that spoke more than words. "I believe..." he said slowly, his voice deep and hoarse. "I believe I should explain."

Sora nodded, unsure of what to expect. Something had just happened—something that defied the very laws of nature. She still wasn't sure if she was in danger, if she should be panicking, fighting away from him. She was owed an explanation.

She tried to turn, to roll away, but he surprisingly kept his hold. She paused, her breath quickening. He stretched her hands farther above her head so she was completely defenseless, exposed beneath his expressionless face. His eyes flickered over her, observing her prone position, and she felt the urge to squirm, to struggle. But she couldn't. No, his lower body held her down. She had the intense feeling that he didn't want to let her go—he didn't want her to run.

Somehow she managed to whisper, "What are you doing, Crash?"

Silence. It was so quiet that she thought she could feel the walls breathe. Then the assassin slowly released her. She noted that he was sweating.

"Nothing," he said.

"Right," she whispered in response. Then she slipped out from beneath him, scooting a short distance away. She needed space, distance, a chance to recover her thoughts. She glanced over him suspiciously, remembering the great beast, the bladed arms, the giant wings and midnight eyes. How was it possible?

Crash slowly raised himself into a sitting position. He looked weary, worn, exhausted. Sora realized that he was, indeed, shaking with the effort. She frowned.

"Are you all right?" she asked a little awkwardly. She couldn't help it. She was mad at him...but still concerned.

He settled next to her. His chest was bare and glistening with sweat. She saw his scar, a thin silver line starting at his jaw and gliding down his chest, all the way to the ridge of his pants. The same scar she had seen on the demonic beast.

She quickly looked away. She couldn't keep her thoughts to herself anymore. She needed answers. “What...what just happened?” she asked quietly.

Crash's face was blank. He didn't seem to know how to answer.

“What are you?” she asked again. He still hesitated, so she asked the question that she had been dreading, the one that had been on the tip of her tongue for a long time now. “Are you...human?”

He let out another short breath. “No.”

The answer rang through her mind, sending a tremor through her body. Her heart sank. She had always suspected that there was something different about him—his inhuman endurance, his stealthy skill, his remarkable knowledge about the races. And there had been a name, something she had heard from only a few people, first from Dorian and then from the Dracians—
Dark One.

Sora remembered the very first time she had seen him, the way his eyes had glowed. How he could see through the darkness like a nocturnal beast.

"What are you?" she whispered.

He replied quietly. "I am what humans, and the rest of the races, have come to think of as evil."

Sora just stared at him. Her mouth opened for a moment, trying to find the words. “You were the monster that saved me, then? That truly was you?” It seemed redundant to ask, but she still couldn't wrap her mind around it. How could someone change so completely? It was even more drastic than the Dracians, than any magic she had seen before, and...frightening. The beast had struck terror in her bones, deep and fierce, completely instinctual. It had risen from her belly up to her throat, turning her limbs to ice, chills puckering her skin.