Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (6 page)

“I feel perfectly fine,” I said,
balancing my back against Traken's as I shoved one of them off me with a
powerful kick.

“Maybe you're already crazy,” Traken
said, sweeping his arms out around us. Suddenly we were engulfed in a ring of
fire about a foot high. Our attackers scuttled backwards. “If rumor is to be
believed, anyway,” he added.

“Says the one who's been playing with
his food for the past five minutes,” I said. “Honestly, we both know you could
have taken these types down in seconds. Why haven't you?”

“My-my, someone sounds a smidgen
lazy,” he replied. His fire caught on to the bodies around us, and the bandits
appeared to grow more uncomfortable. The leader was hidden again.

“Testing me, were you?” I asked.

“I'm not satisfied, either. Something
tells me you're not trying your very hardest, kitten.” He clicked his tongue at
me like a disapproving school teacher.

“I believe in fair fights. It seems only
right if I end up taking something as precious as their lives.”

I heard Traken's breath hiss.
“Precious? Your own life is the only thing that's precious, and even that's up
for debate. Living, dying, it happens to us all. I'm frankly surprised to hear
such things coming from the warrior who killed hundreds in the Broken Treaty
War. It was before our time together… I wonder if you would have said the same
thing then.”

I shivered down the bile in my throat
.
“You seem to have preconceived notions of me, Traken, and as sweet as that
is I suggest you get rid of them.”

“You both talk a lot,” a voice
bellowed from behind the line of fire. It was the leader, supported under the
arms by two others. He sounded young. “I can see you aren’t taking us
seriously. How typical of you, Traken.”

“Look, he's finally talking to us,” I
said, sighing because I should have known that an attack of such magnitude
wasn’t so simple. “And he knows you.”

Traken shifted behind me, turning to
look. “But do I know him?” he asked.

“Oh, you had better,” the leader said,
and his lips dipped into a scowl beyond the flames. “The Falcons have not
forgotten you, my friend. Not after what you did.”

Traken laughed. “Oh, well I suppose
that’s why you all looked so very familiar.”

My mood fell with the tip of my sword.
This was just another game. Traken, keeping us all on his little strings. I did
not like playing puppet to a madman, and neither, it seemed, did this young
man. He almost struggled out of the hands of his supporters, and his mouth contorted
with pain.

“You are a vile demon. Just in this
past year you killed my father and his scouts as they were off on a mission in
Yume. Now you laugh as if nothing has happened? We've had good relations with
your lord in the past, but apparently that meant nothing to either of you.”

“Wait, does everyone call him lord or
master? No name?” I interrupted. I was ignored.

“You were no longer useful to him,”
Traken said. “Your father thought too highly of himself, and he faced the
consequences of that.”

“How do you call that justice?” Emotion
tore at the younger man’s voice. “He was a good man. And those scouts, what did
they do?”

“I wasn't ordered to kill anyone but
him. Those scouts of yours just got in the way, as scouts tend to do,” Traken
said. I could hear the stone-cold apathy in his voice. This was a new side of
him I was not used to, a side that lacked playfulness or spirit.

“This will be our revenge then, demon,
and may you accept the consequences of that as easily as you dole them out,”
the young man said.

“There obviously isn't much you can do
to me,” Traken said, spreading his hands towards the crackling bodies lying
dismally at our feet. I was not as proud of the sight as he was.

“This is merely our greeting party. We
will send you into the dark caverns of the hells with the same compassion and
mercy you allowed my father.”

Traken actually had the nerve to yawn,
which my book forbade many times when conversing or listening. “As amusing as
this is, and it really was at first, I am getting bored,” he said. “I have no
fight with you. I merely did my job as you would have done yours.”

“Even a soldier may question his lord's
decisions when they are obscene! It is clear, speaking to you now, as much as
it was clear then. You did not hesitate, you do not feel remorse. These were
people who worked side-by-side with you.”

“I hold no loyalties but to my
master,” Traken said, and his voice was cold. “Any camaraderie that you felt
was your mistake alone.”

The melding forms of the other bandits
stirred at this, shifting around the fire. Heated mutters rose like moths in
the dry air. I took this time to stick my remaining sword in the ground and
raise one hand in the air.

“Excuse me?” I asked. The leader
looked at me for the first time, but didn't answer. “Yes, you,” I assured him.
“I am very apologetic for your loss. I was wondering if I could perhaps leave
now, though, considering this situation has nothing to do with me.”

“You?” the man asked. “What are you, a
freelance merc?”

Traken peered down at me sourly. “What
happened to all that business of disappointing me by playing along?”

“I'm not leaving,” I said. “I'm just
waiting on the sidelines. You are clearly a despicable human being, and I don't
particularly feel like I should have to fight a battle I didn't cause.”

“You... you're the one who cut me,”
the leader said, pointing with one wavering, white-knuckled fist. “You also
killed or injured half my people.” I frowned, and tried to remember the best
way to phrase my response.

“Yes, and I am terribly sorry for my
grievous actions. Since mistakes have been made on both sides, perhaps we can
meet at the middle-ground and compromise.”

“You are just as snake-tongued as this
monster. Your innocence was lost the moment you joined him.”

“Does no one believe in the power of
words anymore?” I asked, dismally sure I had somehow flubbed the message.
Communicating was so difficult. The leader did not answer, and many pairs of
impassioned eyes shimmered above the dancing flames at us. I picked Phernado up
out of the dirt regretfully.

“I am not happy with you,” I told
Traken.

“People rarely are,” he said, and his tone
was back to being jaunty and unconcerned. It did not ease the weight on my
shoulders. If what everything these people were accusing him of was true, he
was not the one I should be trusting with anything. Perhaps I had misunderstood
the Angelblood's message.

“This isn’t over yet,” the leader
said, shadowed eyes on Traken. “We have something of yours, and if you want it
back, you'll have to come and get it.” Leaves crackled, and the dark forms were
suddenly just gone. Traken scoffed at the empty air, removing his magic ring of
flames.

“Something of mine? What a pathetic
attempt at a trap. There is nothing that they could possibly have.”

“I suppose they are hoping your
curiosity will get the best of you,” I said, and stalked out of the remains of
the burnt circle. I started kicking around amid the leaves and roots for my
things.

“Well, you know, if I wasn’t under a
time schedule that might have... what are you doing?”

“She's not here,” I hissed, heat building
up behind my eyes. I was spinning in circles, hunting the ground. “I can't
believe this.”

“What is it?” Traken insisted again. I
turned on him and held up Phernado, and he jumped back as I waved it in his
face.

“Valentina—my sword. They took my
other sword.”

Traken gaped. “Did you just say
Valentina? You
named
your
swords
?”

I felt as if I were being ridiculed,
and was in no mood for it. “No, I did not personally name my swords. They came
with names. These swords were a gift, of sorts, and they are very special. I
need to get her back.”

I could feel Phernado pulsing in my
hand, the hilt turning warm against my skin. I squeezed it reassuringly. “It's
all right, we're going after them.”

“And now you're talking to it?” Traken
said, face wild with delight. “Oh-ho. No wonder they call you crazy.”

I turned on him. “Traken, this is no
laughing matter. These swords
need
to be together. That is their creed,
and my oath. This sword,” and I held it up, “will slit my throat and yours if
we keep them apart.”

“Your eyes just turned that orange-red
again,” he said, grinning. “Does that mean you’re mad at me?”

I snapped my head in the other
direction and pulled the brim of my hat down low. It was too fast... how had he
started to catch on so quickly? I knelt and scanned the ground around us. There
were tracks beneath the leaves. Most of them depicted our scuffle, but as our
attackers had come out of the trees, there should have been one steady flow
heading in the direction they had gone. It was an easy trail, but they
had
wanted Traken to follow them.

“Not only is it my obligation to stop
you from doing this, which I will not,” Traken said, “but I also feel I must
warn you of the obvious. This is a trap meant for me, a sorcerer. Which means
they will probably fight back in kind. How do you expect to survive?”

“Survival can't be planned. I'll just
be very, very careful.”

“Nonetheless, I can't risk you dying.
My master wouldn't be too happy with me.”

I stood up and sheathed Phernado,
glancing back over my shoulder with a slitted glare. “I know well enough where
your interests lie, Traken. I have just now had to listen to them in detail,
and the only thing it has got me is a missing sword.” I bowed my head. “I must
now excuse myself, and I will certainly join you again the moment I have
recovered what was taken.”

“Oh my, you've started to use your
polite voice with me now too,” he mused, eyes half-lidded. I turned without responding
and took off at a run through the trees, following the loud lines of trampled
dirt. There was an uneasy throbbing in the air, centered on Phernado. His
bloodlust chilled me.

Traken was soon running at my side in
his dog form. Seeing him like that reminded me of the Angelblood, and thick
doubt weighed at my belly. Had it really been okay to say anything to Traken at
all? It felt like I had revealed a naked, open piece of myself, and I had no
idea what he would do with it. His morals were a callous mess.    

“Who are these people?” I asked him as
he matched my pace.

“Just thieves,” he said, and that
ghostly voice filled my ears as if he were on my shoulder. “The Falcons are a
guild my master employed once or twice to steal documents from some superior
parties that he wished to have under his thumb. They took this as a sign of a
partnership rather than a business exchange, and dipped into matters that
didn’t concern them.”

“So this earned them death?” I asked,
pausing to find the trail again when it seemed to stop at the base of an old
oak. It curved off to the left, and I followed.

“My master has trust issues, it’s
true, but that is to be expected with his sort of activities. The head of the
Falcons should have known better.”

I was quiet for a moment, following
the tracks, avoiding roots and vines that might catch on my feet. His words did
not sit well in me. “Do you not understand why this young man would be upset?”
I finally asked.

“His forces have taken a blow, and he
is losing. I can’t help that, I can only ensure that my side wins.”

“So it
is
a game to you,” I
said. My thoughts were a sick fever of anxiety and frustration. It was very
little that could get me this worked up, but the tempest caused by the loss of
one of my precious partners was overwhelming the harmonious calm I had
ingrained in myself after years of work. “You claim to be so old, Traken, and
yet all I see about you is stunted growth. Where is your humanity, your wisdom?
What have all these years taught you?”

Perhaps my tone was too severe. He did
not answer, though I was sure he had heard. It was a mystery whether those
words had affected him or if he had just chosen to ignore what didn’t hold his
interest. The tracks I followed were clear in places and hard-to-find in
others, but they also showed me that the people who had made them were far
ahead. These thieves of the forest moved fast.

“Tell me, kitten,” Traken said
suddenly, “how is it that you came upon such interesting swords?”

So we weren’t going to talk about him.
So be it. “Won a bet,” I said, performing a flying leap over a large fallen
tree. A squirrel scattered out of the way as I landed, and Traken snapped at
it, as if he were tempted to give chase.

“You said they were a gift.”

“The owner wanted me to win the bet. He
wanted to be free of them. The swords are dangerous.”

“How so?” he asked. I looked and saw
his eyes were gleaming.

“You do love power, don't you? But
these swords wouldn't have you.”

“Power I do love, kitten, but not in
the form of a blade. It's the magic behind them that interests me.”