Betrayal's Price (In Deception's Shadow Book 1) (27 page)

She looked
around the steep shore of the unorthodox lake. Greenery had gained a foothold
in shallow fissures, though she saw no grottos or other places where one might
hide something of value. Yet there had to be something she wasn’t seeing for
Itharann to return. He wouldn’t waste time rousing ancient memories for no
purpose.

She was about
to ask what he had come for when he increased his wing beats and spiraled
upward. Overhead the storm darken skies opened up and poured water down upon
them. Ashayna, protected by a shield Itharann had erected, remained safe and
dry.

Splitting her
attention between the dome of rainwater cascading around his shield and the
churning water below, she called to Itharann using their mental link.
“What
are you doing?”

“Gathering
strength. Hold on.”

Itharann tucked
his wings and dove. Ashayna screamed and grabbed fistfuls of his feathers. The
walls of the volcano passed in a blur, and the water rushed up at them with a
sickening speed.

“We’re going to
die!”

“Not just yet.”

They hit the
water a moment later, and yet didn’t get wet. Peering out first one eye and
then the other, she looked around to see Itharann’s shield held back the lake’s
great volume of water as they sank deeper. Sank was incorrect she realized.
They sped downward at an unnatural rate. It grew darker, and as it did, the
shield surrounding them began to glow, creating a subtle illumination, enough
to see vague outlines in the water around them. The outlines clarified
themselves into giant rock formations, too intricate and artistic to be
natural.

The light cast
by Itharann’s shield only illuminated one small bit of each structure, but it
was enough.

They were
sculptures. Images of different Elemental races.

“Ah, I see he
has kept busy. One must do something to alleviate boredom, I suppose.”

“He?” She asked
the question with growing horror.

“Dakdamon’s
prison must be weakening after all these millenniums. This is his doing, as is
the water. Water and time go hand in hand and both are his to command. His
power has found a small breach in his prison and he calls his element to him. I
don’t doubt the storm is his.”

“You still
serve Dakdamon? What of all your talk of serving the balance, about the Twelve
and protecting those who were loyal to you? Lies?” All along she knew he was
dark, tainted by what Dakdamon had done to him, but she also thought he was
free of his old master with an agenda of his own.

She was a fool,
a thrice-cursed fool who deserved whatever happened. But her greatest failing would
cost the world much suffering. She couldn’t fight what the dark monster would
do. She would forget herself. Lose the essence of who and what she was until
she became Dakdamon’s slave. Worse, she’d failed Sorntar. No one would help him
be free of Itharann. Her throat tightened with so many regrets.

“How touching.
However, I won’t let Sorntar be the plaything of my old master. I don’t plan on
turning you over to him either.”

“I’ve had
enough of your lies. We’re here at the demon’s prison. That tells me all I need
to know.”

“We’re here
because I must shed the last of Dakdamon’s taint. You’re the Destroyer. On the
most basic level, your strength is to unmake all forms of magic. You must cast
out every last bit of him within me. Or we’ll never be free.”

Ashayna didn’t
feel any relief at Itharann’s words. He couldn’t be trusted, not when his old
master was near. “I still don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t
matter.”

As they
descended, Itharann’s shield intensified until the pale luminance resembled
moonlight. A strange glittering accented the darkness. Ashayna squinted until
the oddity came into focus. There were crystals imbedded in the statues.

“They are
reminders of the one he lost long ago, I would guess.” A bird could not shrug,
but his feathers fluffed up then flattened again in a manner she was coming to
translate as the same. “I speak of Lasharra, Lady of Fire, creator of the
stars. Dakdamon’s consort.”

Itharann
leveled out his strange flight until he skimmed the lake’s bottom. Ahead, a maw
of a cavern loomed. Before he reached his destination, a surge of power flared
along Ashayna’s senses. A defensive weaving snapped into place over the
entrance.

“Now what? That
weaving looks decidedly unfriendly.”

Itharann didn’t
bother with a reply. He drew closer to the shield. Nothing happened.

Perhaps it was
designed to keep people out, not to attack the unwary. Itharann released his
mental hold on her and focused all his concentration on the complex spell of
the shield. Power increased another level, and then dissipated in the next
heartbeat.

“Ah.” Itharann’s
uninformative response told her nothing. But surprisingly, he allowed her to
peek into his thoughts.

Ignoring his
arrogance, she sifted through his thoughts until she found something of use, or
he let her find it. The shield was keyed to allow the Twelve within. Itharann
was confident it would allow him through. Ashayna hoped he was wrong. At the
moment she would have been happy to see the shield relieve him of his overconfidence.

Small tendrils
of power coalesced along his crest and wings. They flowed over her arms where
she held tight to the feathers of his neck. Somehow she knew the magic wasn’t
interested in her. After a moment, it leapt from Itharann, crossing the watery
distance to collide with the shield.

A flash of
light nearly blinded Ashayna. The fiery power of the shield expanded to
encompass them. The world tilted and she was jerked forward. Itharann’s
indignant screech echoed in her ears. The world shuddered again, and Ashayna
rolled off Itharann’s back and smacked into the ground. She lay there a moment,
just breathing. Damp began seeping into her clothes.

“That weaving
is woefully misinformed if it thinks you’re an ally,” she said, still lying on
her back. Drops of water splashed her face. They were in a dark tunnel, water
still dripped into a few shallow pools spaced randomly along the floor.
Apparently the tunnel had, until recently, been part of the lake, its floor
still slippery with algae and other marine plants.

“We need to
move.” Itharann hooked her belt with his beak and lifted her with
stomach-lurching speed, then deposited her roughly on her feet.

“I’m not
baggage you witless, controlling, manipulative misbegotten freak! Touch me
again and I’ll…,”

“Do nothing.”
His comment slid into her statement smooth as a dagger. “If you care for your
friend, Winter’s Frost.”

She snapped her
teeth together and whirled away. In her path a spiral-shelled snail the size of
her palm sat like a lump of rock. Ashayna curled her lip and nudged it off to
the side.

The phoenix
called power again. She had seen so much magic since she first meant Sorntar it
should be becoming familiar, but the shift from one form to another was still
spectacular enough to make her breath catch. When Itharann stood before her in
his hybrid form, he motioned for her to walk forward. She stepped around a deep
puddle and nearly fell on her rump when her boot slipped on algae or something
less wholesome. Itharann steadied her with one hand, then he stepped out around
her to walk in front. He motioned for her to stay close. Her usual response—to
do the opposite of what he asked—didn’t flare up. Instead, she followed so
close behind she was in danger of stepping on his tail.

“Give me a
weapon. You have no idea what else is down here.” Fear uncoiled in her stomach.

“There is
nothing living to guard this place. The Twelve would not risk having another
living being guard Dakdamon. You saw how he created the statues. Even bound, he
can still influence things around him.” Itharann looked down his nose at her,
his eyes narrowed in mild annoyance. “Now be quiet, I must concentrate.”

Ashayna
glowered at his back. They walked through the subterranean tunnels with only a
mage globe to light their way. The monotony of the place was beginning to calm
her. Itharann came to a halt as the tunnel opened into a large, rough-walled
chamber. It would look like any large cave, if not for a vast crystal gate
dominating one wall.

Itharann
crooned in admiration. “Beautiful. Such power, skill, and sacrifice this took.
This is a form of Death Magic. Similar to the power binding the Dead King to
this Realm.”

At the mention
of the Dead King, Ashayna’s heart kicked with dread. Lamarra. Another person
she’d failed.

“Did I tell you
why the Dead King took Lamarra? It wasn’t in revenge for trespassing into his
realm.”

No. Please, no.

“There has
always been two, a King and a Queen—linked as close as any bondmates. The Dead
King was seeking his new queen. I don’t believe he’ll need to search any
farther. Power runs in bloodlines, after all.”

“No. Not
Lamarra. Not with that cold thing I sensed down there in the dark.” Ashayna
reached for Itharann’s hand. “Please, help her. I’ll do anything. Surely there’s
still time.”

“I doubt she’s
the new Dead Queen yet, but soon.” Itharann reached out and caressed his
fingers lover-like down her cheek. Ashayna turned her face away. His eyes
narrowed in anger. “If she’s as cold as you, perhaps she’ll enjoy it.”

A wave of rage,
unreasoning and consuming, rolled over Ashayna. She screamed and launched herself
at Itharann. Punching and screaming and howling denials, she summoned her magic
and shoved Itharann with a force greater than human. He fell backward, tripping
over the floor’s uneven surface. She came at him again, colliding with him in a
tangle of arms, wings and legs. Momentum carried them across the chamber, and
they slammed against smooth hard crystal. Power spiked, raising the hair on her
neck. Ashayna tried to roll away from the power burning along her back, but it
held her fast.

Itharann howled
in fear or pain. He struggled to free himself. His talons had caught in the
ties of her vest and one wing was trapped under her weight. The power running
along her back surged, enveloping them both. She didn’t have time to scream as
she was pulled through. Itharann, still attached to her, was helplessly pulled
along behind.

They struggled
to right themselves with many curses and much hissing. Itharann came to his
feet and must have called several mage globes to life, because a moment later
the sharp burning scent of magic filled the air like incense. The chamber,
another cave-like structure, looked identical to the first in shape. Though,
this one was not empty. With a sinking sensation she saw the light didn’t come
from mage globes as she’d first thought. Itharann hadn’t called any to life.

The light’s
source was twelve Wardstones situated at chamber’s center. They looked similar
to the Wardstones where she and Sorntar had completed the first phase of the
bond. Only these ones were much more massive and already pulsing with barely
contained power. Golden light formed a double-domed shield with the energy
cascading between the different pillars, like the one protecting Grey Spires.

She saw
movement behind the shield of light.

“Ah, still at
it. Killing him once wasn’t enough?”

The words
exploded across Ashayna’s mind, crippling her. She fell to her knees and
clasped her head. A deep moan escaped Itharann. She found him in a similar
position.

“Forgive me,
little ones. I have forgotten how fragile are the minds of flesh and blood.” A
soothing voice formed out of the darkness. “Accept my aid. I will heal your
minor damages.”

Ashayna’s head
throbbed from the blast of a powerful mindvoice. She forced herself to stand,
but words were beyond her.

Itharann
recovered faster and faced the darkness behind the shield. “I think not,
Dakdamon. I serve my own needs. Not yours.”

The energy
behind the domes shifted, pulling back from the golden light. “Oh, but Ashayna
delivered you past those wards so handily. You should have mentioned it would
be bad to cross them.”

“Had I known my
bondmate would do such a thing, I would have prevented it.”

“The last time
you overlooked her, you got yourself killed, as I recall.” The darkness
chuckled.

“Strange how you
recall everything in perfect detail, both forward and backward in time, and yet
here you are, trapped.” Itharann glanced sideways at Ashayna.

He was
stalling. Blessed Creator, Itharann was waiting for her to do something.

Billowing
darkness pushed against the shield, making it flare brighter. “True. In all
things, except those that directly affect me. A weakness I intend to correct at
some point.”

Ashayna
squinted, trying to see what moved in the shadows beyond the light. There
seemed no solid form but there was movement.

“Ash—that is
what your family calls you, is it not? Why don’t you come closer? I have
knowledge to impart to you.”

“You’re no
family to me. There’s no name by which I’d answer you.” She stepped back
towards the portal, grabbing Itharann by his arm. He allowed her to herd him.

Not a good
sign. At least she and Itharann had a similar agenda. It might not ever happen
again, but in this one desire they were in unison. Her hope of escape died
swiftly. No matter how many steps she took towards the crystal gate, it didn’t
get any closer. She remembered Itharann had mentioned Dakdamon was the god of
time.

“But Ash, we
are
family. The Twelve are closer kin to the Larranyn than any of the flesh and
blood you so devoutly serve.”

“Larranyn?”
Ashayna directed the one word at Itharann only to find him staring at the
shield with unseeing eyes. There was no intelligence in his gaze. So fast.
Whatever had happened, it had struck Itharann between one moment and the next.
How could she fight that?

“Has my brother,
Death, taken all your memories? We are Larranyn, Servants of Creation, tools
used to sculpt the universe. The Larnkin are related to us. To call them by
their proper name it would be the Larranyn’s Kin. Kin to the Larranyn. Which
brings me back to you, Ash.”

Itharann jerked
like he had startled awake and began to move, cursing Dakdamon in the ancient
tongue. “I’ll not…serve…you.”

“Don’t
interrupt, Itharann. And you do serve me. Why else would you be here? I
summoned you by planting a thought in your head. Anyway, Ash needs to remember
some important details. If you are disinclined to share, then I will.”

Ashayna shook
her head, crushing the urge to laugh hysterically. It was ludicrous to listen.
Anything he said would be lies, or a truth so warped none but he would understand
the few grains of fact.

“The Wielders
of the Twelve are more closely related to Larnkin than most would ever imagine.
They are more than mere host bodies. Over the centuries a deep blending of
spirits occurred. That is how Itharann came to love a mortal spirit.”

“Loved. No
longer, she is gone.” Itharann interjected with little regard.

“Yes. That is
not in dispute. But Ashayna is now something new and interesting.” The darkness
gathered, deepening in tone and texture, shaping and forming substance and
body.

Ashayna watched
with dread and fascination as the shadows receded to reveal something standing
on two legs. A massive clawed hand caressed the barrier once before withdrawing
into shadows again. Far above her head, two black almond-shaped eyes glimmered
above a flat nose and narrow lips. Farther back, his gaunt cheeks swept into
elongated pointy ears.

The creature
bent down to gaze at them, and Ashayna didn’t care to feel like a bug. Dakdamon
lowered his bulk until he was kneeling. One claw tapped his prison’s stone
floor in a thoughtful manner. Small bursts of magic rose up at each hit. The
light reflected off three horns where they grew out of a boney ridge on his
forehead. It was very similar to the boney crown Itharann possessed. Even their
coloring was similar.

“Itharann’s
shaping took much from me, for he and you and all the Twelve were spirit forged
by the Great Mother and the All Father. He is a different form of leader than
the Twelve have ever had. He is Truth Made Anew. As his name implies, he was re-created
for a new purpose.” Dakdamon shifted again, his dark wings swirled the shadow
and mist inside his prison.

“You wanted him
to lead your armies,” Ashayna stated.

“He was to be
so much more than that. You and he were going to correct a problem for me, a
mistake I made.”

Itharann glared
at Dakdamon with renewed hatred. “How many mistakes have you made, Dakdamon?”

Itharann had
said the Destroyer’s greatest strength was to undo magic. Might it also include
the magic of creatures so powerful they were gods? With hope rising in her
breast, she backed towards the crystal gate a second time.

“Few.” Dakdamon
growled, his response blunt and bitter. “But those on a large scale.”

“Such as the
one that led you to be trapped in this very location?” Itharann countered.

“I was trying
to fix a mistake for the good of all creation. I required the Twelve to do it.”

Ashayna grunted
in disbelief. Her sarcasm got the better of her good judgment, and she added in
a falsely sweet voice, “Sure, and Itharann is my true love.”

Dakdamon
laughed. It was an eerie sound. Surreal. “That is between you and him. I
digress. As I had said earlier, Ashayna is something new and interesting. When
Lord Death gathered together the shattered pieces of your soul and the Larnkin
you host, there was not enough left to make two beings. You are in essence a
hybrid, half mortal soul and half Larnkin spirit, with a few bits of other
biological materials to make you a functioning life form.”

Ashayna shook
her head in denial. It could not be true. She was human. She didn’t believe
him, couldn’t. She was not a Larnkin.

“You see it as
a curse, when you should look upon it as a gift. If I am right, you will be immune
to what threatens everything else in this land.” Shadows shifted again and
Dakdamon melted back into mist, swirling and churning in a slower, less urgent
fashion. “My greatest mistake was created by loneliness and pride. I wished to
emulate the Great Mother and the All Father, to create another being like
myself, but one who would not know heartache. A self-sufficient being,
requiring no second half. That was my first great flaw. It needed no one, not
even its own creator. Still, I protected my abomination from the other
Servants, teaching it to hide its presence from my siblings until it had
consumed enough power to sustain and protect itself. I gave it the means to
hunt and consume Larnkins. The small, weak ones found in low density in the
wilderness. I saw them as nothing more than wasted energy. They had no
ambition, very little consciousness and commanded almost no power individually.
But their numbers were much greater than the more powerful ones with the
ability to take hosts. I taught my creation how to harvest their life-forces
and use their magic for a great purpose.”

“Sacrilege.”
Itharann said, looking ill to his stomach.

“Perhaps, but
what it did next, it did without my sanction. It began to feed on the more
highly evolved Larnkins, those who could work great magic and take hosts, and
then it began taking the highest level of Larnkins—those able to bond in the
mortal realm. I stopped it and trapped it.” The mists inside the golden light
churned with increasing agitation. “I thought to come back to it and rework my
creation, to fix the flaws. I should have killed it.”

“It got away,
didn’t it?” Ashayna thought she already knew the answer.

“It escaped its
prison without my knowing. It hunted, being careful to never cross my path, and
since it was something I had made, nearly a part of me, I couldn’t see the
future regarding it. It hunted, and roamed free of my influence for several
centuries before I returned to my work. By then it was too late. While far from
sharing the same power level as my siblings or I, it had found a way to
circumvent my power. I could not unmake my creation. It was too similar to me and
my power did not harm it. I was done being foolish.” Dakdamon shifted in his
prison. Light flared and danced, nearly blinding in its brilliance.

Ashayna closed
her eyes against the glare, but his voice still filled her mind. “I knew what
it was capable of, what its agenda was. It was only a matter of time before it
consumed all the lesser Larnkins, then the greater. If it did that, it would
have enough power to rival one of the lesser Larranyn—the weaker of my
siblings. Once it consumed a Servant it would be powerful enough to take out
another and another. One day it would come for me. Then the Great Mother and
the All Father. I do not know if it could threaten them. The Servants are as
nothing in power compared to them, but I could not risk it. I intended to
capture the Twelve and send them after it. My plan failed.” Dakdamon’s swirling
shadows intensified again. “Instead I find myself trapped here, with my
creature free to do as it pleases. It has been busy. I detected its power upon
you both.”

Itharann no
longer looked hostile, but intrigued. “Lord Trensler—I couldn’t read him. He
was protected by a humming void of magic”

“What you describe
and what I can read from your mind tells me enough. My creation has found a way
for others to capture and hold its food. I fear the other Servants do not know
of this danger. I taught it to hide too well.”

Ashayna took
another step to the portal. Her heel struck the barrier. Giddy relief swept
through her. For once, her magic was good for something.

“You need not
leave so soon. It has been long since I have had any visitors.” The words were
growled out in a different tone than his confession. While he may have been
intelligent and evil, she also recalled he was broken in some way. He lacked
Lasharra, the Lady of Fire. His other half. Apparently, his better half.

The shields
warding his prison screamed in high-pitched agony and magic sucked up all the
air. Ashayna gasped, a great coughing spasm raked her body. Relief bloomed a
breath later. There was still air to breathe, if somewhat tainted by the burnt
tang of magic.

“Do not mention
her name to me, not even in thought. Trapped I have been, agony and despair I
have suffered.”

Ashayna fought
the anguish, gathering together her scattered reason and looked for an escape.
She crawled towards where Itharann slumped. Then seeing his posture, she backed
away, so as not to be overcome by his flaring power.

“All for the
lack of her!”

“Sorry, so
sorry.” Ashayna chanted, praying the wards holding Dakdamon would withstand his
fit.

Itharann had
fallen to his knees, his face etched in a terrible concentration and his skin
slicked with sweat. His shoulders and wings shuddered under the strain of the
battle of wills. He screamed louder than the wards, then collapsed in a
quivering heap. A spasm shook his wings, his talons tore up chunks of rock from
the cavern floor.

“Free me,
slave,” Dakdamon ordered.

“No…I can’t.” Itharann
shivered, but turned his head to look up at Dakdamon. “I don’t have the power.”

“Death magic.
Do it.”

“No, you need
me. You need the Twelve.” Itharann lurched to his feet, swaying unsteadily as
he fought to break Dakdamon’s hold. Itharann took three dragging steps closer
to the wards before his renewed stubbornness asserted itself and he sank to his
knees.

Itharann’s
resistance only slowed his fate. He couldn’t stop himself from crawling forward
with his head bowed. Sweat ran down his skin and his limbs shook with the
strain of fighting Dakdamon’s compulsion. The wards flared, their essence
changing as they sensed the darkness within Itharann. The magic turned angry
and menacing. Ashayna knew a moment of panic before the wards struck out at
Itharann. He deflected the first blow.

The wards
increased their strength. He repelled the subsequent attacks and began to work
his magic upon a pillar, pitting his strength against ancient magic laid down
millennium ago. The crystal changed color. Thin almost insubstantial lines
began to trace across its surface. The pillar fought back, undoing Itharann’s
damage almost as quick as it had been made. Itharann persisted. Ashayna
realized the wards were not designed to counter an attack from a member of the
Twelve. Eventually, as Itharann gave more of his spirit, the wards would
weaken. Perhaps in a day, perhaps after years, but it would happen.