The Dreaming Hunt (7 page)

She shuddered at the notion of anyone sacrificing his or her life for her. But then, that was exactly what Hrothgar was sworn to do. A frisson of guilt rippled through her for dragging him out here in the dead of night into a city that was far from safe. “I suppose you would be much relieved if I got behind high walls, would you not?”

“I would, Initiate.”

She was disappointed when Hyland's night watch informed her that Leland was currently at his manor home in the country. They were quick to offer her usual chambers to her for the night, however.

The lure of sleeping in a soft bed all by herself in a quiet room was too much to resist. She bade good night to Hrothgar and murmured to the watch soldier that she would show herself to her room. She headed wearily up the stairs, kicked off her boots, and crawled into bed, asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

Her dreams were strange and disjointed. They were punctuated by loss, grief, and violence she was helpless to prevent. Eventually, the nightmares exploded into a great conflagration that burned up everything she'd been dreaming of and then consumed her.

Frightened, her dreaming self fled the fire and burst into a white, featureless fog. It swirled around her, plucking at her clothing and nipping at her skin. It was insidious and malevolent, the fog, seeking to steal something from her. She moved forward cautiously. Fear drove her to walk faster and faster and then break into a jog and finally into a full-out sprint of terror. But always the fog was there, attempting to insert itself into her mind and steal her most precious memory. She mustn't let it! Panic clawed at her as she tried to outrun the encroaching thief—

She stumbled and nearly fell as green, springy grass sprouted abruptly beneath her feet. The fog rushed back from her violently, unveiling a forest glade of such beauty that she could hardly bear to look it at.

A tall, dark-haired elf as beautiful as the glade turned quickly to face her and took a concerned step forward as she slumped in abject relief. It was
him
. He still lived. Or existed as a memory, or whatever it was he did in this dreaming place.

“Raina, welcome. What is wrong?”

“Wrong?” she echoed. “Why do you ask? How did I get here?”

“You summoned me to your dream.”

She stared at the Sleeping King. “I summoned
you
? But how?” she asked blankly.

A faint frown crossed his noble brow. “Apparently, you are deeply disturbed by something. Enough so that your distress reached out to me of its own volition.”

“Oh, dear. I'm sorry I bothered you, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to.”

“I am glad you did. And call me Gawaine. My kingdom has not existed for millennia.” He gestured to a pair of bent willow chairs she had not noticed before. Or mayhap they had just appeared beside him under the spreading bows of a magnificently flowering tree she did not recognize. “Come. Sit.”

She moved forward, staring at him. She remembered him as handsome from the first time they'd met, but not like this. She sank into one of the chairs, and he did the same.

“What troubles your dreams, Raina?”

“I helped cast a ritual this evening. It went badly.”

“Did it backlash? Were you hurt?”

“Not exactly. Bloodroot did not want us to perform the ritual and resisted it, causing Will a fair bit of discomfort. Then, when the nature circle went up, it attacked Rosana and wanted her blood. And later, there was a … rip.”

“What sort of rip?”

“Is it possible that I could have seen into the Void?”

Gawaine looked startled. “The actual Void?”

“For a moment, it was as if the mortal plane tore away. In its place, I saw some sort of spirit guide. A man dressed in white and carrying a lantern. And I saw a scourge and a reaper. Beyond them yawned a blackness so dark and deep I could not draw breath while I gazed into it. And within it lay death.” She shook her head. “It was probably just my imagination. I must have exhausted myself trying to keep the circle intact.”

Gawaine frowned. “Death's creatures are around you all the time. They wait where the material plane meets the Void and collect spirits as they pass beyond the Veil from your world into theirs. I do not doubt that what you saw was real. The question is, why did you see it?”

She had no answer for that.

“Can you still see the Void and its keepers?”

She looked around the grove in alarm, and Gawaine chuckled. “You will not see them here. This is the land of Nod. The dream realm only indirectly touches the Void.” Gawaine was silent for a time in the leisurely way of his race. Then he murmured, “How goes it in Dupree?”

“In a word, chaotic. The governor was deposed and fled from arrest. He hides, probably somewhere in the colony. And knowing Anton, he plots mischief. The new governess seems a lamb after Anton, but we have yet to see if a wolf hides beneath her fleece or not.”

Gawaine smiled a little at that. “Will Cobb and your friends?”

“Will and Lord Bloodroot seem to have achieved a truce. Will's health is stable. Or at least it is as long as Rosana and I periodically join our healing and give it to him.”

“She's the gypsy girl you told me about?”

Raina nodded.

Gawaine made no comment, but she got the feeling he knew more than he was saying about how her magic and Rosana's were working in unison to help Will.

She continued, “My kindari protector, Cicero, has gone back to Tyrel. Being so close to the Empire made him uneasy.”

Gawaine's lips twitched. “Is he perchance an outlaw?”

Raina shrugged, her eyes twinkling. Far be it from her to give away her dear friend's secrets.

“I am glad his sword protected you. What of the lizardman girl?”

“She's got her Tribe of the Moon mark and is very smug about it.”

“Good for her. Lunimar's cause is worthy, and my uncle has great need of brave warriors to his service.”

His
uncle
? A greater being said to harness the power of the moon itself? Gawaine hadn't made the reference in a way that invited questions, hence she did not pry. She was not deeply familiar with the Tribe of the Moon, other than having heard the secretive group served nature in some shadowy and not entirely legal way.

“Have you found your missing friend?”

“Kendrick? No. Eben—he's the jann I told you about—is frantic.”

“And you?” Gawaine asked quietly. “How are you?”

She glanced up at him and was arrested by the intense way he was studying her. As if he could see right inside her soul. It was simply not possible to prevaricate in the face of that penetrating stare.

She answered with bald honesty, “I am frustrated. Worried. Unsettled. We spend too long in Dupree wasting time in training when we should be out searching for what we need to finish waking you.” Realizing how whiny that sounded, she added, “But the rest of my friends are safe. I have a place to stay, and the men who were chasing me before cannot touch me now that I am White Heart.” A fact she took great pleasure in.

Thwarting the Mages of Alchizzadon was no easy feat. But she would be twice cursed before she went along with their plans for her. For generations the women in her family had been selectively matched with powerful mages to produce ever more gifted daughters. The mages planned to use her to breed the next generation of magically enhanced women for her family and had gone so far as to pick out a mate for her—a bland, boring man half again her age whose name she didn't even know.

“Why are you unhappy?” Gawaine asked astutely, cutting to the core of the issue.

She was
not
going to complain about her fate to a king who had been killed and trapped in this prison for thousands of years, stripped of kingdom, title, and name, and long forgotten. “I will grow used to the White Heart and find happiness in my work.”

“Ahh.”

She winced as he gazed at her knowingly. He commented, “It is hard being a living symbol, is it not? People always tugging at your sleeve. Always draining you of magic. Always expecting you to heal them.”

“I do not mind healing,” she blurted. “It is just that sometimes I would like to be alone. I would like to be … me. It is as if I have become a walking White Heart tabard and am no longer a person.”

He nodded gravely. “It is the same when you become a king.”

She paused, arrested. She had never thought of it thus. But she could see his point. A king was a symbol. A protector, judge, and leader. People would always have expectations of him. Place demands upon his office. They would not see him as a man.

Even now, thousands of years after he had died, she and her friends were still coming after him, demanding that he wake and battle against the Kothite Empire on their behalf.

“Your Majesty, I am so sorry,” she murmured formally. “Please allow me to offer my humble apologies—”

“For what?” he interrupted.

“Will and I barged in here to your resting place all set upon finding and waking you, and we never stopped to ask if you even want to be awoken.”

Warmth lit his eyes. And understanding. “No apology is necessary. You are concerned about the welfare of your land and people. I cannot fault you for that.”

Silence fell between them. Birds overhead sang songs so achingly sweet they made her want to weep, and the fresh scent of wild geraniums wafted to her. The peace of this place was profound. Perfect. She soaked it in through every pore of her skin.

Eventually, he spoke rather more seriously than she'd expected. “I believe the White Heart is the perfect place for you to fully develop your unique talents. Perhaps you can take comfort in knowing that you are exactly where you need to be.”

Easy for him to say. He had all this peace and quiet to surround him. She asked carefully, “Should we stop looking for your regalia and your body?”

“I cannot make that decision for you. You must choose your own path and weave your own thread into the great tapestry of history as you see fit.”

He was avoiding giving her an answer. Amused at such an intimidating being dodging a question from her, she persisted. “Would you refuse to return to Urth if we succeed in rejoining your regalia and body to revive you?”

His dark eyes glinted in answering humor at the shared joke of her making him squirm a little. “No,” he answered eventually. “I would not refuse to walk the land once more. It is not for me to say how or when the fates will choose to use me.”

“Stars willing, they will use you to destroy the Emperor.”

He frowned for an instant before his brow smoothed once more. “Be careful what you wish for. There may be greater evils than the Emperor in the world.”

“If the peoples of Urth are freed and can work together, I cannot imagine any threat we cannot face and defeat.”

“Ahh, the idealism of youth. I have missed that.”

“But you will come back and help us?”

He nodded once, slowly.

She sensed his reservations, though, and did not push the issue. She was not impertinent enough to ask if he would agree to be king once more, if he would lead a rebellion against the Kothites, if he would restore freedom and hope to the oppressed peoples of Urth. For now, it was enough that he'd agreed to be awakened.

“Is it possible for me to do this again?” she asked. “For me to dream of you and find myself here?”

“I see no reason why not. Or I may dream of you and find myself in your dreams from time to time.”

Comforted that this would not be the last time she saw him, she drifted then, leaving his grove and losing herself in the fog, which was no longer malevolent, but merely misty and soft, cool upon her skin.

 

CHAPTER

6

“Nice desk,” Will commented as morning sun streamed in the window to illuminate the highly polished oak. “Is it new?” He'd accidentally blown up Aurelius's previous desk with magic the first time he'd visited the guildmaster's study. That had been the day he'd found out who his father had really been and that Aurelius had legally adopted his father. Which made the guildmaster his grandfather.

Aurelius's mouth twitched humorously, but his words were dry. “Thank you. It was high time for me to redecorate.” The solinari held out his hand. “Give me your staff.”

Frowning, Will passed over the copper-tipped wooden pole to his teacher. He'd hoped Aurelius would speak of whatever had happened at last night's failed ritual. But apparently, they were going to talk about the weapon his father had made for him instead.

“Tell me about this,” Aurelius ordered.

What was so interesting about an oversized stick to a mage of the solinari's prowess? Aloud, he answered, “My father constructed it a long time ago out of an old staff for a friend of the family, a forester named Adrick. He fashioned it to be a spear. When the Boki invaded Hickory Hollow, Adrick was killed and dropped it. I scooped up the spear to defend myself, and a Boki scout hacked the tip off with an axe. I defeated him with the broken spear, ran for the village to find my parents, and we fled to the woods.”

“And you say Tiberius repaired the broken end and clad it in this copper cap all with a single magic spell in the woods?” Aurelius asked skeptically, studying the metal sheath in question.

“Aye.” Although not edged, a metal-clad staff made a formidable weapon in the hands of a decent staff wielder. And Ty had made sure by various sly training methods that his son was a great deal more than decent with a staff.

Will supposed it had been too risky for his father to teach him swordplay. After all, his family's lives had depended on doing absolutely nothing to draw the attention of the Empire. Had a boy from tiny Hickory Hollow, tucked on the edge of nowhere, suddenly exhibited superb mastery of swords, far too many questions would have been asked.

“Can you teach me the magic my father used to repair it and bond that metal to the shaft?” Will asked.