Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [106]
When the image finally faded, her stomach growled and her throat felt dry. She blinked her eyes a few times and Drayco came to her side, gently head-butting her shoulder. ‘I hope that was enough, Grayson, because I’m really famished now,’ she said, stretching her arms high overhead.
Drayco’s fur was dry, his coat smelling of chamomile and sage. I’m hungry too, Maudi.
‘Did you get it all?’ Kreshkali asked.
‘I’ll know soon enough,’ Grayson said, moving to the closest computer and powering it up. ‘What I can say is that was more stunning than any electron microscope I’ve ever looked down. You’re all amazing.’
‘Done and well done,’ Kreshkali said, giving the traditional mentor’s approval, directing it to Teg and Rosette.
‘Excellent.’ Rosette mopped her brow. ‘Then no one will mind if I go see about some food? Teg? Are you coming?’
Teg looked towards Kreshkali and she nodded. ‘Bring something back for us as well.’
Rosette cradled her belly as she led the way out of the library, Teg and Drayco close behind.
Xane woke slowly, the dawn turning the barracks a rosy peach hue. A dream hung at the borders of his mind, like sharp-clawed creatures struggling to climb over the edge of a pit. Their grip was failing, some dropping, swallowed by the depths, but one or two hung on, carrying snippets of memory like dog bones for him to grasp. The strain he felt was inexplicable. There was something important for him to understand but as he fully awoke it slipped away. Only a dream after all. He rubbed his eyes.
In the dream he’d been riding a copper-red mare, bright as a forge fire. She was strong and supple, and they were climbing through a high mountain pass. The sky was clear, the air cold and he shivered with the memory. He was searching for someone, worried about her. He could almost see her face, almost remember her name. As he crested a rise, the mare shied, frightened by a cloaked woman standing close to the edge of a precipice. He asked her if she’d seen the girl he was looking for.
‘Xane!’ Willem shouted.
Xane sat bolt upright, banging his head on the bunk.
‘Wake up, lad. You’ve missed first call.’ Willem shook him.
The dream faded like wisps of smoke in the breeze. ‘Yes, sir.’ He pulled on his pants and shoved his feet into his boots. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘You’ll ride with me today. Saddle Grace and Fortuna, and the new grey. She’s in stall twenty-three. And mind her hindquarters; she’s only green-broke. Pack for an extended journey. We march at second call.’
‘March?’
‘We’re paying a little visit to the Dumarkian Woods.’
‘We are?’
‘We, and a legion five hundred strong. Saddle up!’
‘We’re marching on Temple Dumarka?’
‘Are you still dreaming, lad? Get packing!’
The Dumarkian Woods? Does this mean a temple war?
Willem disappeared and Xane realised he was the only one left in the barracks. He’d lost time, somehow, in his thoughts. He shut his eyes, rubbing his face. What’s happening to me?
He finished dressing and ran to the mess hall where he grabbed bread and cheese and a few apples from the barrel. When he reached the stables, the place was buzzing—horses were being tacked up, packs filled, feed sacks loaded onto mules. He made his way to Gracie’s stall and groomed the three horses he was in charge of, checking their hooves and making sure to pack a small hammer, rasp, nails