Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (7 page)

It felt like home.

She forced herself to be calm as she watched the two
stallions conjuring magic. She held her breath. Runes carved into the stone
began to glow. The white light grew in intensity, shifting hues until it settled
on a deep aqua blue.

So much power.

But not enough, her Larnkin whispered.

Eyes closing, Sorsha embraced instinct and expanded
her senses outside her body. Her Larnkin urged her on, forcing her to reach
further, to touch both Shadowdancer and Summer Flame. The stallions’ minds were
open to her. They were exhausted; the Acolytes still fed on them even over the
distance. Shadowdancer despaired. He didn’t have enough magic to open the archway
even with Summer Flame’s help.

The enemy had been focusing their feeding upon the two
stallions, thinking them the greatest in strength, but Sorsha’s Larnkin proved
otherwise. Her power flooded into the Santhyrian under her and from him into
Summer Flame. She sensed both stallions’ surprise.

Light intensified all along the stones. It spilled
over into the opening, like a river’s water over a falls until it covered the
entire surface of the arch. Before the power had been a mere trickle, now it
flowed like a fast moving river. Light from both sides merged in the middle.
The surface turned mirror-bright for the space of three heartbeats, then it
vanished. In its place appeared a blurred view of a mist covered road. Far in
the distance another arch, twin to the one before her, broke up the seemingly
unending grey mist.

The power washed against her body in one great wave,
and then smaller ones, until it drained away.

Sorsha wanted to throw her arms wide, gather all the
cold power to her until it seeped into her bones as if it would somehow make
her stronger, make her a threat instead of a victim. Her heart pounded within
her chest, her breath came in ragged pants, but slowly her Larnkin’s chaotic,
foreign emotions calmed. Her arms dropped back to her sides, but her Larnkin
didn’t return to its slumber. Instead something else had caught her attention.
A new power built in the meadow. This one neither Wild Path, Santhyrian, nor
Acolyte.

The knowledge whispered at the back of her mind. She
should know what she was sensing.

To the left of the arch and a few paces ahead of it,
the air rippled.

“A Gate.”
Summer Flame yelled into her mind. He danced in place. Sorsha idly noted
Lamarra had to fight to keep her balance on the adjacent stallion. Then he
turned and broke away from his companions, forcing Lamarra to cling to his back
or fall off.
“Help comes. We must warn the others. They’ll ride out of the
Gate right into the Acolytes.”

“Summer Flame, wait.”
Shadowdancer called after the bay stallion.

Winter’s Frost halted at Shadowdancer’s tone and
circled back to his side, but Flame continued unheeding.

“Shadowdancer?” Sorsha asked.

“It is a Gate.”
He raised his head, his neck arching as he exhaled a deep breath.
“But those
about to exit are not our friends.”

“Lamarra! Summer Flame!” Sorsha didn’t know what the
Gate was bringing, but her Larnkin stirred uneasily and Shadowdancer’s words
gave validation to her disembodied fears.

The rippling in the air
intensified, similar to heat rising from a rocky surface on a summer’s day.
Churning harder, the air birthed twin columns of fire that burned with an
unnatural light. A current of displaced air kicked up a smattering of dust and
stirred the grass. The twin columns twisted like small tornados, their
uppermost points bending into each other, forming an arch of fire. It was
easily as large, or larger, than the stone archway of the Wild Path. In her
gut, Sorsha knew this was fire magic, like what a Phoenix could work. She
remembered Ashayna talking about that turbulent, willful power.

For the first time she understood
her older sister’s fear, Ashayna’s dislike and absolute distrust in such wild,
near uncontrollable power. Even over the distance, Sorsha sensed the chaos of
fire magic, so much wilder and more resentful of another’s will imposed upon
it.

And then something more fearsome
than even the Gate’s magic appeared in the meadow. A tall, male Phoenix stepped
out of the Gate; however, there was no mistaking this one for Prince Sorntar.

Where Sorntar was vivid life,
this one was the grey of death. His wings were dull, silver tipped with black.
When he turned toward her, she got the full effect. His skin was pale, chalky
and grey smeared. Coal darkened his lips, hollowed his cheeks and made pits of
his eye sockets.

“Tomb Guard!”
Shadowdancer screamed his
challenge.

Summer Flame skidded to a halt,
gathered his legs under himself and wheeled around. Another shape emerged from
the Gate, this one as large as the stallion, but bulkier and possessing massive
wings, half furrowed in aggression. The gryphon surged into motion in a blur of
speed, which defied its size. Two bounds and the big beast had closed the
distance. Powerful hindquarters rippled with muscle as it lunged into the air.
The beast collided with the stallion, knocking him off balance. It happened so
fast, Sorsha could barely follow the motion.

She blinked. The gryphon dragged
Lamarra off Summer Flame’s back before the stallion crashed into the ground.

Lamarra and Summer Flame stumbled
to their feet at about the same time, but the gryphon was now positioned
between them. The gryphon herded Lamarra back toward the horrid Phoenix.
Winter’s Frost broke away from Shadowdancer’s side. Clods of earth and bits of
grass flew up from her heels as the mare galloped over fallen trees and scruffy
undergrowth to reach Summer Flame’s side.

More Elementals with their morbid
body paint emerged through the Gate. Winter’s Frost shied, her clamped tail showing
fear even Sorsha could read over the distance, but the mare joined Summer Flame
as he tried to rescue Lamarra.

“Help them!”

As if her words were irrefutable
commands, Shadowdancer broke into a gallop, following the route taken by his
sister. But a stride away from a fallen tree blocking the path he pulled up so
sharply Sorsha lost her seat, and was tossed unceremoniously upon his neck. She
scrambled for balance, squeezing his withers with her knees and clinging to his
neck until she could right herself. Once more solidly on his back Sorsha
glanced up to see why Shadowdancer had aborted his jump.

At least twenty Acolytes were
presently riding into the meadow. A half moment of indecision, where they
milled about in absolute silence, ensued, then one—presumably the leader,
though this one was much younger than Trensler—called orders to his men.

Shadowdancer didn’t wait to hear
the orders, instead, wheeling around and galloping back to the Wild Path. Its
cold power still seeped from the arch and flowed across the meadow, swirling
around Shadowdancer’s hooves in small eddies.

The Acolytes advanced toward the
Gate and Lamarra as Sorsha watched, helpless to do anything to stop them. Her
fingers tightened around her bow—her few arrows useless against so many. She
loosed a curse instead. Shadowdancer fidgeted under her, pawing at the dirt and
turning in a tight circle. She felt the tension in his body; he was feeling
just as helpless. It was little comfort as they both stared at the scene
unfolding before them.

Situated midway between the fiery
Gate and the silent Tomb Guards, Summer Flame and Winter’s Frost galloped in
half circles around Lamarra. No matter which way they charged, the Tomb Guards
blocked them, preventing either of the Santhyrians from getting close enough
for Lamarra to mount one. When two Gryphons charged Winter’s Frost from
opposite directions, Sorsha realized they were trying to herd the mare through
the Gate. With a shrill whinny of fear, the mare half reared, her front hooves
pawing at the air. She spun, narrowly avoiding being bowled over by the faster
of the two Gryphons. When Winter’s Frost dropped to all fours again she
screamed in rage and bolted through the Gate.

Shock held Sorsha immobile. It
had happened so fast. Winter’s Frost was gone. Safely through the Gate. Sorsha
just didn’t know if the Gate, and whatever waited on the other side, was a
better option than the Acolytes. If the outward appearance of the Tomb Guards,
and Shadowdancer’s reaction to them was any indication, Sorsha didn’t really
want to choose between either option.

At that moment, it didn’t look
like fate planned to be kind. Lamarra was dragged backward toward the gate between
two Tomb Guards, one was the male Phoenix who had first stepped through the
gate and the other was a large wolf like creature, which Sorsha knew must be a
Lupwyn. Two more Gryphons joined the one already advancing on the Acolytes. One
of the Gryphons leapt upon an Acolyte, tearing him from his saddle. One swift
bite and she beheaded him. The other humans drew swords, a line of nearly
twenty men and horses bore down upon the Tomb Guards.

Sorsha might not know which side
would win, but she knew in her heart Lamarra was in danger whatever the
outcome.

“Lamarra!” Sorsha screamed and
kicked her heels into Shadowdancer’s sides, momentarily forgetting he was more
than a horse. He sidestepped and pinned his ears, but wouldn’t go in the
direction she wished. “They need our help.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

Sorsha merged with Shadowdancer’s
mind.
“Please!”

As her plea registered, she felt
Shadowdancer’s emotions, and his resolve to stay out of the fight waiver. He
would do anything for her; he couldn’t deny a Herd Mistress. He took a half
step forward, his ears still pinned. However, the line of Acolytes effectively
blocked him from reaching Lamarra and the others.

The stallion skidded to a halt
once again and started back to the archway.
“I’m sorry, but this is no fight
for us. We’ll be useless to Lamarra, Flame, and my sister dead.”

While Sorsha conceded that
Shadowdancer was probably correct, it still didn’t sit well with her. All she
could do was ball her fists and watch.

A low chanting filled the meadow,
its tone soft, eerie, and yet chillingly beautiful. Unable to stop herself,
Sorsha looked away from the danger of advancing humans and to the tall male
Phoenix. His song grew stronger, and he lifted his arms up above his head. Fire
leapt up between the Tomb Guards and the charging Acolytes. Several horses
squealed in terror, shying away from the magic fire, some dumping their riders
and bolting back in the direction they’d come.

“Lamarra!” Sorsha’s voice cracked
with strain, but if her sister heard her over the crackle of magic fire, she
made no response.

A second wall of fire sprang up
from the ground several spans in front of where Sorsha stood, the fiery barrier
blocking her view of Lamarra, her Tomb Guard captors, and the Acolytes. Heat
washed against Sorsha’s skin in waves, wisps of her hair swirled around her
face, caught in the hot updraft. Sorsha turned her face away from a heat so
severe it starved her lungs for air. Coughing and squinting past her streaming
tears, she tried to make out Summer Flame and Lamarra through the flames.

The inferno danced higher, pieces
sheering off to float up into the tree canopy above her head. Moving with slow
purpose, the fire crawled closer to her position. Shadowdancer shied back a
stride, and then another. In that moment, Sorsha suspected the magic’s true
purpose. The wall wasn’t designed to stop or attack the enemy, instead it was
herding Shadowdancer closer to the open Archway of the Wild Path.

A human form leaped through the
flames, cloak blazing with the same unnatural fire. At first Sorsha thought it
was Lamarra, escaped from her captors, but joy turned to hate a heartbeat later
as wind whipped up by the raging fire blew the newcomer’s hood back. The
Acolyte’s blank eyes focused on her unwaveringly. Nothing registered on his
features. Not the presence of the arch at her back, nor the wall of fire advancing
upon his. Not even his burning cloak was enough to sway him from his prey.

Something snapped within Sorsha.
She was a Stonemantle. And a Stonemantle was not prey.

A tight knot of power, one she’d
come to accept as her sleeping Larnkin, stirred, its magic unfurling anew.
Pressure built within her body. The tingling soon turned to a burning as her Larnkin
reached out with its wraithlike touch. Waves of power expanded out, a wash of
energy cascading down her arms and legs. The hair on the back of her neck
lifted, gooseflesh raced down her body, and a misty blue glow, flame-like and
ever changing, burst to life along her body to outline her with glowing power.

The Acolyte stopped as something
flickered in his eyes. It wasn’t fear, or the relentless hunger she’d come to
expect. No, this was another emotion. Scarier. Whatever controlled the man
looked upon her with interest...curiosity. As if it was seeing something new in
need of study.

Her arm rose to the level of her
shoulder, palm up, her fingers uncurling. The gesture would have been less
alarming if she’d actually lifted her arm herself. But control of her body
seemed to have been commandeered by her Larnkin. With a small part of her
shock-slowed mind, she admitted if she hadn’t already seen so much magic, she’d
probably be screaming right about now. As it was, her stomach was tied into a
heavy lump and a cold sweat ran down her back.

A soft flick of her wrist and a
thick ropy white power bled from the stone archway behind her. Several strands
braided themselves together as they stretched across the distance to her raised
hand. Then the first braid slid across her palm and spiraled around her wrist
before shimming up her arm. It rested on her shoulder not unlike a pet bird.
Then it ruffled her hair as it continued its journey to her other arm. Other
braids of power were reaching out from the archway now, some waved in the air
seemingly aimlessly while others had found their way to Shadowdancer’s hooves.

He stood rooted to the ground,
his muscles locked tight, his nostrils flared in alarm, and his eyes showed
white around the edges. But he didn’t move or do anything to distract her.

Emotions flowed from her Larnkin,
not precisely words, nor were they truly images, but the meaning was clear. Her
Larnkin was well pleased with Sorsha’s choice of Stallion Mage. Her Larnkin
nearly purred with happiness. A small trickle of fear caressed Sorsha’s body.
Shadowdancer remained still under her, only the Santhyrian’s ears showed his
trepidation as the power from the arch coiled around his body, too. Linked by
the magic, Sorsha could feel Shadowdancer in her mind. He trusted her. She just
hoped his trust was warranted.

A motion near at hand caused her Larnkin’s
interest to switch from Shadowdancer to the Acolyte. Apparently done studying
Sorsha, the man eased closer. His one hand was raised in a mirror-like fashion to
Sorsha’s own. But something dark glittered at his wrist. It was misty, hazy,
its shape indeterminate.

Her Larnkin urged Shadowdancer to
turn and take a stride in the Acolyte’s direction. Closer now, Sorsha could see
what her Larnkin was focused on.

A bracelet, one with a large dark
stone, decorated the priest’s arm. While her eyes told her it was one thing,
her Larnkin told her something different. The stone ate the light, and more than
light. It ate life energy, magic—all forms of power.

This, then, was how they were
able to weaken their prey.

Sorsha tilted her head to the
side when she felt the Acolyte siphon power from her. Her Larnkin raised her
other hand, brought the two together above Shadowdancer’s head and gestured with
the slightest flick of her wrist.

More thick strains of power
snaked out from the Archway toward the Acolyte, the tendril that had been
wrapped around her arm moments before now led the attack.

Smoke rose from his body where
the first tendril touched. It charred his flesh, revealed bone. The smell of
burned flesh filled Sorsha’s nose, and her eyes watered as more smoke billowed
up. The combined sensory input of both smell and grisly vision was enough to
turn her stomach. But the absolute silence was the worst.

He burned. And yet he stood with
his arm raised, the bracelet still absorbing magic even as the slave body died,
mute and emotionless. More tendrils attacked, tearing into his body, until
moments later he vanished in a cloud of ash.

In a small part of her
shock-numbed mind, Sorsha prayed the man the Acolyte had once been had died at
the first moment of enslavement. Sorsha couldn’t even contemplate having to
endure enslavement for gods-knew-how-long, only to die like that. Burned to
ash, unable even to scream.