Free A Warrior of Dreams by Richard Parks

pass unnoticed. One traveling alone without armed escort would raise even more notice. She squinted often and kept one hand up to shield her eyes against the sun, the other hand she kept close to her breast. She darted into a side street and stopped at a tall, weathered door. After two quick glances left and right she knocked. "Musa!"
    Something stirred behind the door. "It's Nooning," a muffled voice said, "come back later."
    "It's Joslyn, you old pirate!" the girl hissed, "and I don't have 'later.'"
    Mutterings from within. The door opened a crack to reveal a sliver of pink, wrinkled skin and one suspicious eye. "Are you alone, Child?"
    "Unless you keep me standing here till the Watchers come!"
    Musa stepped aside and Joslyn darted in, closing the door as she did. Her eyes throbbed with the shock of trying to readjust to blessed darkness, and it was a full minute before she could see again. Musa's familiar little shop came back into focus, all the small fired-clay jars and the less common blue glass bottles. Musa often bragged that her shop contained everything needed to plan a night's dreaming from dusk to dawn, but Joslyn knew better. Herbs and potions might influence, but the dreamer's Nightsoul had the final say.
    Musa settled her bulk into a massive chair beside her table, smiling that smile that turned her face into a fleshy round moon. "Did you get it?"
    Joslyn opened her fist just enough for Musa to see the gleam of gold. "Half an Imperial," she said, "donated by a grateful wine merchant."
    Musa whistled low. "That must have been quite an augury you made for him, Child," she said, staring at Joslyn's fist. "Twenty years or better since I've seen so much at once."
    "Liar. One dose of Flowering Succubus brings you twice this."
    Musa's face was a vision of wounded integrity. "You have too much imagination, even for an initiate Temple Dreamer. I'm a poor old woman who barely keeps herself fed." She patted her girth affectionately.
    "No small task," conceded Joslyn, cheerfully, "but never mind. Did you get it?"
    Musa reached into one of the pockets of her dingy smock and pulled out a small packet wrapped in brown paper. "Two doses. Mix with water beforehand and for the Dreamer's sake don't use wine unless you want the effect to be permanent."
    Joslyn gave her the money and took the bundle eagerly. "Can you get more next week?"
    "I can, but I'm not going to."
    Joslyn frowned. "I can get the money..."
    "The way you got this?" Musa asked, her voice milder than milk. "Let the Dream Master catch you holding out and he'll sell you to a brothel, Initiate or no. There may be time enough for dreaming on the Street of Sighs but precious little energy. Or reason, I fancy."
    "That's my business!"
    "As you said when I asked you why you wanted it in the first place. Your business."
    Joslyn stared at the floor. Then, "I'll tell you what I want it for, if you damn well must know."
    "I damn well must," Musa agreed. "Before we talk about more Nightseed."
    Joslyn took a slow breath. "I'm afraid to dream, Musa."
    "Afraid to...?" Musa sat down on her stool. "So then... Explain to me why a Dreamer is afraid to dream."
    Joslyn found a bench and sat down, too. "I don't have much time, Musa."
    "Then stop wasting it."
    Joslyn reddened. "Do you remember, soon after I first went into the Temple? A thief was caught on the grounds and hanged. It... it was Dyaros."
    "I knew that," Musa said. "But you never spoke of it. I am sorry for your friend, Joslyn."
    Joslyn almost laughed. "Be sorry for me. It was my fault. I asked Dyaros to come to me... no, I dared him to. And he came. And died."
    "It is a very sad story, Joslyn. It explains nothing."
    Joslyn glared at her. "Then how's this — his soul has taken up residence in my dreams! I found it there, the first time I tried to dream. It was leaking blood and turning slowly in a phantom wind. If I tarry long enough, I can even see the rope. I seldom tarry that long."
    Musa hadn't batted an eye. That