Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) (19 page)

The assassin led her into the woods. By the time they reached their camp, he was not only taking care of two tired horses, but a sleeping Sora as well.
 

Chapter 10

Lorianne reined in her horse and stared at the old pub. The sky was gray and overcast, the ocean like lead. The small town of Pismo sprawled awkwardly around her, a handful of salt-worn shanties held together by rusty nails. A myriad of fishing boats were tied to a thin, spindly dock, which spread out into the ocean like a glistening wooden web.

Not exactly where she had imagined Ferran to be.

She glanced down at the letter, gripped tightly in her hand. He had written to her last year, ironically; a strange little note, brought by caravan.
“Heard you've settled in the lowlands,”
it read.
“Might visit some day. Be well.”
She hadn't heard from him in almost a decade before that. Not since Dane's death.

The thought of her old lover brought on a small twinge of regret, but that was all. Sora's father and her first love. It amazed her how much time had passed. For years she had cried and screamed, howling for his return, an endless Winter that had never quite thawed. But Winter did thaw… and time had carried him away, useless flotsam, an abandoned raft drifting far out to sea....

Her hands tightened on the letter. No, she hadn't seen Ferran in a long while.

She could hear music from within the tavern. She dismounted and led her horse to the rear, where she tied it to a wooden post. She glanced around, looking for a stable boy, but there was none. With a small shrug, Lorianne entered through the back door.

The sounds of a fight were clearly audible, even before she reached the main room. There was the general scuffling and cussing, a glass tipping over. She paused at the end of the hallway, looking into the tavern proper, an eyebrow slightly arched.

The room was small and dingy, with a low slanted ceiling that caved downward in the middle. On the far side, about five men were deeply engrossed in a card game. Closer to her, however, were three men scuffling on the floor, groaning and fumbling drunkenly.

A waitress danced back and forth around the edges of the fight, a tray of beers in one hand. The look on the young woman's face was almost comical. Lori covered her mouth, stifling a smile.

Then the bartender threw a chair across the room, and it crashed into the brawling men. The waitress shrieked and the other patrons looked up from their card game.

“Break it up!” the bartender yelled, coming out from behind the counter. “Break it up! Do ya have to do this
every
weekend?”

“He started it!” one man said, a short, stout fellow with close-cut blond hair. He wiped blood from his lips and stood up. He was shirtless, his chest and torso chiseled with muscle. Lori recognized the sunburns and weathered face of a sailor.

“Aye,” his companion said. “We won the game, fair 'n' square. He bet us two hundred gold—where's our money, eh?”

Finally, her gaze landed on the man crumpled on the floor, his brown hair falling into his face. He wore a loose tunic, recently ripped down the front from the fight. A bright, colorful tattoo of a phoenix splayed across his chest, its wings spread in a myriad of greens and reds. Lori grinned slightly, pleased by her own intuition. She had suspected he would be at the tavern....
And, of course, I'd find him in the middle of a bar fight.

Ferran spit blood out through his teeth in a long, thin stream. Then he grinned. “Ain't got no money. Spent my last coin on that drink.” Then he reached out a hand, and the waitress handed him his beer.

Lori rolled her eyes. The two sailors looked furious, but the bartender was shaking his head, as though he had seen this a thousand times. “Sit down, sit down,” he said, pulling out chairs. “I'll git you a round on the house. Just no more fightin'!”

The sailors glanced at the bartender, then sat down at a different table, casting angry looks in Ferran's direction.

Ferran didn't move from the floor, but sat against the wall, drinking his beer. Lori watched him. He was older now, she could tell. A few more lines around the eyes, and his hair slightly longer than she remembered, unkempt. But his fit, athletic body was the same—and his tattoo was just as bright as the day he had gotten it. She could remember that, too. He must have had it touched up somewhere along the road.

She waited for him to notice her. It didn't take long. He took a deep swig of beer and glanced around the room. His eyes landed on her. Passed. Returned.

Stared.

He blinked twice, then stood up slowly, an odd look on his face. He glanced down at his drink suspiciously, as though someone had drugged it.

“Lori?” he finally said.

“Aye,” she replied softly.

The waitress and the bartender looked up at her, but she ignored them. Instead, she watched as Ferran poured the drink out on the floor, letting the amber liquid seep through the floorboards. “Damned visions ain't supposed to talk,” he grunted. Then he turned, slammed the cup down on a table, and left through the front door.

Lori's eyes widened in surprise and she followed him briskly. The bartender watched her go.

“Ferran!” she yelled, exiting the building, looking left and right. It was about mid-afternoon but the streets were empty, the small fishing village all but deserted. It was easy to spot him, though, heading toward the spindly docks. “Ferran, wait!”

“You're not real!” he yelled back, and kept walking.

Damn, he's more drunk than I thought!
She dashed after him. From his lopsided, wandering gait, she knew he wouldn't go far. “Slow down, will you?”

“You can't tell me what to do!” he yelled over his shoulder. “You're just a figment of my imagination!”

“By the Goddess, Ferran! I'm right here!”

He reached the water's edge and paused, obviously unsure of where to go next. He swayed slightly in the wind. She finally caught up to his side and stood behind him, frowning, unsure of what to expect.

Finally, slowly, he turned around.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her from head to toe, starting at her face, then roving down her body, lingering on her hips, her boots, then back to her eyes. He was flushed from drink, but his gaze was a sharp, cool gray, just like she remembered it.

Then he slurred, “Did you shrink?”

“What?”

“You're smaller than you were.” Then his eyes narrowed again. His hand reached out to touch her hair. It was fluffed and windswept from her long ride, and she hadn't had a chance to comb it. Lori felt a twinge of self-consciousness.
Really?

“Huh,” he said, then laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, patting her arm. “You feel solid.”

“Ferran,
it's me
,” she said sternly, and looked him straight in the eye.

Finally he focused on her, his eyes widening, as though coming out of a dream. He stared at her, new realization dawning on his face. “By the gods, Lori,” he said, then looked around at the ocean, the decrepit houses, the little pebbled streets. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you!” she exclaimed. She threw off his hand, wrinkling her nose slightly at the boozy smell of him. “But I didn't think I'd find you like this! What the hell were you doing in there? Gambling? Drinking?”

He shrugged, his eyes going glassy again. “Eh, well, fishing season's over....”

“It's spring, you fool. The fish are just hatching! I can't believe this. I came here to ask you for help—but looks like I won't be getting any!” Lori turned around, suddenly angry, and started back up the street. “What a waste of time!”

“Now wait, just hold on a minute,” Ferran said, and strode after her, easily matching her stride. “What do you mean, you need help? Of course I'll help—I owe you as much! What are you hurtin' for? Money? Well, ain't got a lot of that, but I'm good around a house, I can build things, you know, hammer 'n' nails 'n' such....” He finished with a bit of uncertainty.

She kept walking, absolutely furious.

Finally Ferran stopped, pausing next to a low, rickety fence. “Y'can't just appear out of nowhere and then leave!” he yelled after her. “Come on! Have a drink with me, at least!”

“No time!” she yelled back, turning slightly toward him. They stood on a slope, and she looked down at him, her eyes glancing over his tall form, well over six feet. He had always been the lanky type, skinny as hell, taut with muscle, not even an inch of fat. He had bulked up now, his jaw wider, his shoulders heavier. His thirties had done him good.

She shook her head, trying not to get distracted. “I don't have time, Ferran,” she repeated. “And I have quite a story to tell. If you're willing to sober up and listen, then perhaps I'll stay.”

Ferran nodded, his face solemn, eyebrows low. “You should at least eat,” he said. “I've got food at home. Let me cook you dinner.”

Lori raised an eyebrow again. He had a point; she couldn't leave until the next morning, her horse needed a rest.
And I do as well.

She nodded. Perhaps he could still help her. He was a drunk, depreciated mess, but who else could she turn to? Who else might know about the Dark God?

“Right,” he said, and waved to her. “I got me a little skiff down at the docks. This way. So... what brings you to Pismo?”

* * *

After a few more days of traveling, the fields appeared to be coming to an end. If the hilly terrain wasn't indication enough, the smell of salt on the breeze was unmistakable. It was a smell that Sora had read about many times in books, but had never experienced herself: a strange mix of fish and freshness. The sun was directly above them, but the heat of the fields had died off, gusted away by a consistent wind.

For the past several days, they had been on the lookout for trouble, especially since the Ravens had tracked them before. But so far, they had evaded any search parties. They had reached their destination without incident.

Sora rode with Crash behind her in the saddle. She had insisted on getting the first sight of the ocean. She didn't need his tall frame blocking her view. Burn rode in the lead, Laina's reins tied to the back of his saddle. Her steed plodded along behind him. She needed the help. Her wounded arm was strapped to her chest with strips of cloth, held stiff so that she wouldn't move her shoulder. The wound had been stitched, and Sora had been the one to do it; more techniques she had learned from her mother. She had a nagging suspicion that Crash could have sewn up the wound as well, but he hadn't offered.

Laina was uncharacteristically quiet, bearing the pain. The arrow had pierced deep into the muscle and would take several weeks to heal.

Crash shifted behind her, his chest against her back. She glanced over her shoulder to see him dig a hand into their saddlebag. After a moment of rummaging, he tugged loose an apple, then rubbed it on his pants. For anyone else, it would have been normal... but it was easy to forget that the assassin was just another human being who needed to eat and sleep, and might even have a fondness for fruit.

The hill they were on was a lot taller than it seemed, though the slope wasn't very steep. Sora noticed, with growing excitement, that they were almost to the top. She could hear the call of birds, cries like she had never heard before; a hollow
caw
that was much too high to be a crow.

Suddenly, a large white bird flew into view, quickly followed by a dozen more. 

A few more paces and their horses finally reached the top of the incline; Sora gazed in amazement.

Below a series of jagged cliffs was a city so vast she couldn't see its limits. Endless miles of tiled roofs were painted every color imaginable, like a field of gemstones. There were stout chimneys, flying banners, skylights and weather vanes. Beyond the city was a long strip of ocean, blue and sparkling in the afternoon light, that stretched on forever, disappearing into a silver haze across the horizon.

Her eyes traveled inland. Giant ships bobbed gently next to a long, wide dock. Tiny specks of movement indicated the presence of sailors and merchants, horse carts, donkeys, oxen and other livestock. Her eyes widened as she took in all the vessels; everything from titanic seafaring ships to tiny dinghies and fishing boats. The dock was close to a dense web of streets, paved in bricks and stone.

"Sora," came Crash's voice in her ear, his breath warm across her cheek. "Close your mouth, you look like a fish."

Her mouth shut with a snap, but she continued to watch the scene with fascination. She could tell Crash was smiling when he gently reached around her and tugged the reins from her hands.

“The ground evens out this way,” he said, and led them to the south, where the hill started to descend. Burn followed wordlessly, with Laina's horse in tow.

* * *

The port city of Delbar was huge, enough to make Sora feel very small and insignificant. It was even bigger than the city of the Goddess, nowhere near as orderly and perhaps twice as crowded. People with carts and wheelbarrows passed on every side. Peasants and nobles alike strutted along, some in a frantic hurry,  while others stopped right in front of her. She would carefully guide her horse past them, avoiding their toes. The quality of the air in Delbar was also notably different, with none of the dust or heavy perfumes of Barcella; a sea breeze made everything seem fresh and clean.