“You are the one who woke the old ones,” Covath said, his gaze sliding over her.
Shea pressed her lips together as she considered him. It was obvious he expected an answer. It would be wise to be polite to such a creature. Even in a dream.
“I’ve heard that before,” Shea finally said. “Though I am never sure what they are referring to.”
It was hard to read the expressions on Covath’s face. It was humanoid, but he seemed even more remote than Fallon when he had his warlord’s mask on.
“You don’t remember then.” It was a statement rather than a question.
Shea shook her head anyways.
“I find the pathfinders of today not what they once were,” he stated. There was the slightest shift in expression. Shea got the sense the words were a test, but she wasn’t sure how. “Once, your people would have already stopped this problem before it could become the threat it has. You’ve faded much in the last centuries. You are no longer the worthy adversaries you once were.”
“That’s not exactly surprising.” Shea didn’t let his words bother her.
She’d be the first to admit that the centuries had taken their toll. Where once their numbers had been great, they were now a pale shadow of their former assemblage. The empty rooms at the Keep were evidence of that. Shea’s former home was large, and it had once been home to at least three times its current number.
Some of that was due to a few changes, but most stemmed from the pathfinders’ fall from favor in most of the Highlanders’ consciousness. They were less willing than ever before to send their sons and daughters to take up the pathfinder’s mantle. It was no longer seen as a position of respect, but more a choice you made if you had no other options.
That meant substandard recruits, leading to fewer who could pass the tests.
Covath studied her, his claws clicking together as he thought.
Shea looked around. “Is this a dream?”
There was the smallest shift in his expression that Shea thought might have been an indication of amusement.
“That is a simplistic way of looking at it,” he said.
Shea frowned at him, not understanding. It either was or it wasn’t. There wasn’t a lot of wiggle room in the definition.
“Your body is in a state of slumber; however, this conversation is real.”
“How is that possible?” Shea asked.
“I am a dreamwalker—someone able to contact another through dreams.” He was quiet while Shea processed that. “Your people were once known for this ability as well.”
Shea reared back and gave the three mythologicals—for that’s what she suspected each of these were—a suspicious glance. The horned horse stomped its feet and tossed its head while the bat creature shifted.
“There is nothing in our records of such a thing,” Shea said slowly. Though to be honest, there wasn’t anything about these creatures in there either.
Covath cocked his head, interest on his face. “That surprises me. The ability was one of the reasons your people held their position of power. Perhaps the seal had a greater effect on them than they anticipated.”
Shea’s forehead wrinkled, the statement catching her off guard. She could envision ways being a dreamwalker might come in handy. It would enable you to communicate across great distances in a very short time span, warning of immediate problems.
An interesting talent, but with limited application.
Unless, there was more to it.
“The dreamwalkers could walk through another’s dream and spy on them, couldn’t they?” Shea asked in sudden realization.
Covath didn’t answer, those enigmatic eyes she couldn’t read focused on her.
She was betting she was right. It would explain so much. Her dreams over these past few months—they weren’t nightmares. They were memories—or if he was to be believed—she was dreamwalking.
If that was the case, it was a powerful talent after all.
“Why wouldn’t they have left some record of that?” she asked, more for herself than Covath.
