His dreams began as they did most nights, as he willed them to: a fall harvest, a babe in his arms and Emeline at his side. But this dream faded, replaced by one new and unfamiliar. Huge trees towered about him in an unknown forest. Night enveloped him and dense foliage deepened the darkness so he saw nothing more than limbs and trunks. He didn’t know where he was or why, only that he shouldn’t stay. Feet heavy with fear, he pushed his way through the brush. Twigs snapped under his footsteps, leaves rustled past his face, all startlingly loud in the silent dream forest, but he pushed on, less concerned with the noise than with finding a way out. The underbrush neither thinned nor became more dense; all the trees looked the same.
Am I going anywhere?
He stopped, took a moment to search for his bearings. The rustle of leaves continued after his movements ceased. A spear of panic lanced through his chest, so severe his sleeping body jerked with it. This was no echo or trick of the wind.
Something in the forest followed him.
Khirro pushed on, moving more quickly. He cast a look over his shoulder and a gnarled root sent him tumbling to the ground, his fingers sinking into earthy smelling loam. He scrambled to his feet, stumbled forward, the sound louder, closer. Limbs whipped his face and grabbed his clothes, holding him back, impeding his escape. Now he heard breathing behind him, closing in. Ahead, a sliver of light through the trees beckoned. He ran for a long time, his pursuer gaining ground as the light drew no closer. Finally, he burst from the forest, the last tangle of underbrush snagging his foot, sending him to the ground again.
He came to rest on the rocky shore of a pristine lake. The moon reflected on its smooth surface, cutting a yellow crescent across the otherwise featureless lake. The instant he saw it, Khirro recognized his surroundings. He’d seen this lake when the Shaman gripped his hand.
Lakesh.
He had no time for despair as the brush shivered and shook, pulling his attention from the beautiful scene. He reached for his sword, but found an empty scabbard at his side. He scrambled away, stopping when his hand touched cool water. Breath held, he awaited his pursuer, the damp lakeshore soaking his breeches. In a dream, especially a dream taking place in Lakesh, anything could come out of the trees.
An animal Khirro had never seen before emerged from the forest. Muscle rippled beneath black and white striped fur and a tail equal to the length of its sleek body trailed behind. Yellow eyes stared from a huge head topped by pointed ears. Here stood another creature from his mother’s stories, though this one he always dreamed to be real, living in one of the southern kingdoms he’d never visit. Before him stood a tyger: beautiful, ferocious, an eater-of-men. Khirro shifted, water lapping up the back of his hand, and wondered if the beast could swim.
The big cat approached, its lips pulled back revealing pointed teeth designed for tearing flesh. Khirro reached for the dagger at his hip, then the dirk in his boot: neither were there. His dream had left him unarmed in the presence of a monster. It moved forward, halting a yard from Khirro, and settled on its haunches. It regarded him with eyes that might have been human, save for the color and the head holding them.
“Fear not, Khirro.”
The voice startled him. His eyes flitted around him, searching for the source, then flickered back to the beast. There was nothing there but the tyger, the lake, the moon, and the trees. None of them could have spoken.
“I’ll not harm you.”
He realized two things at once: the voice was his own, though he hadn’t spoken, and his mind heard the words, not his ears. He shook his head, attempting to shake the voice from it. A breeze sent wavelets rolling across the lake.
“Wh… who are you?”
“I am the reason you’re here.”
The tyger’s intense eyes seemed to look right into him, and the feeling of it chased fear from him. He suddenly knew the beast meant no harm. He pushed himself to a sitting position, withdrawing his hand from the lake. The sitting tyger’s head stood higher than his.
“Why are we here?”
“So you know you are not alone.”
The tyger tilted its head, long whiskers quivering, its eyes never wavering from Khirro’s. The breeze stirring the lake ceased, the water calmed. Somewhere in the distance a cricket sang, the first sound Khirro heard in the dream not created by himself or the tyger.
“Will you help me?” he asked.
“When I am needed, I will be there.”
The tyger rose and turned toward the forest, its tail brushing Khirro’s face. He marveled at the size of the creature-it must have measured more than six meters from tip of nose to end of tail. It sauntered to the edge of the trees, hips swaying and tail flicking, then crouched and sprang gracefully away, swallowed by the forest. The urge to follow tugged at Khirro and he stood, took a step toward the trees. No sound followed the tyger’s passing, leaving only the lonely cricket song to disturb the silent night. He wanted to follow, but a certainty that the big cat wasn’t the only creature lurking amongst the trees stayed his step.
Khirro sat back down and leaned back, his head in the water sending ripples racing across its smooth surface. He stared up at the slivered moon and the clear black sky. Stars he didn’t recognize winked and shimmered as he slowly exhaled and closed his eyes. Immediately, visions of Emeline returned, but she was different, her hair red instead of brown, her face freckled. When she spoke, he couldn’t hear her words but knew the voice didn’t belong to her, either. Elyea’s voice, Elyea’s hair, Elyea’s face. Khirro opened his eyes.
The moon and lake were gone, disappeared like the tyger, as had the cricket’s ballad. Instead, branches hung over him, sunlight streaming through the foliage. The smell of mossy earth was strong in his nostrils.
“Are you all right?”
He blinked and looked at Elyea knowing he no longer dreamed. Her hair hung down, framing her face, the morning sun shining behind creating the illusion she glowed.
“You called out in your sleep,” she said. “You were dreaming.”
“Yes,” he replied, but said no more for fear of losing the peaceful feeling sating his spirit.
“It’s time to go. Maes made food to break our fast. You can eat in the saddle.”
Khirro smiled at her, still not speaking.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” he said again. “Thank you.”
She gave him an odd look, then turned and walked to her horse, leaving him to collect himself. He watched as she went, thinking of the white tyger and its words, of the pristine lake and of how Emeline’s face became Elyea’s. The empty ache of loneliness so often permeating his heart upon waking was absent this morning. He slipped his hand beneath his tunic and touched the vial hidden by his heart, its warmth flowing into his fingers. He pushed himself to his feet, rested and fortified, ready for whatever the day might bring.
Chapter Sixteen
A low haze of dust hung over Tasgarad’s streets, kicked up by people, horses and wagons hurrying all directions. Stone buildings stood beside waddle and daub huts lining the streets, giving the town a feel of being caught between village and burgeoning city. Tents abutted the town’s perimeter, most housing traveling merchants or entertainers, many of them from Vendaria and other points further south, here to sell their wares.
The group rode down the main street together, keeping their horses to a walk, Khirro and Ghaul wearing cloaks over their armor. Athryn had suggested leaving their leather and mail hidden rather than wear it, but Ghaul would have none of it. With soldiers about, he was unwilling to disarm. Athryn conceded but warned they’d have to be careful if they wanted to make it through Tasgarad without attracting attention. He hoped to make the border by nightfall, slip past the guard posts in the dark, and be well into Vendaria by morning light.