Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (8 page)

Her Larnkin looked out through
Sorsha’s eyes and took in the scene, studying the wall of fire that was still
advancing on them and beyond it to where Tomb Guards still fought with
Acolytes. Standing motionless amid the gently waving tendrils of magic, Sorsha
felt her Larnkin debate for a heartbeat before she turned her attention to
Shadowdancer.

With a soft push, her Larnkin
ordered Shadowdancer to move.

He did. Just not toward the
direction Sorsha wanted him to go.

“Shadowdancer, wait. Stop.
There’s still time to help our friends...”

But Sorsha’s pleas came too late,
or Shadowdancer no longer heeded her, for he plunged through the tendrils into
the grey world of the Wild Path.

Once a few strides in, Sorsha’s Larnkin
turned Shadowdancer to look back toward the archway. At the Larnkin’s silent
command the thick braids of power turned upon the bone white archway, crumbling
the stones one piece at a time until the whole of it crashed to the ground and
dissolved.

Her Larnkin watched the spot
where the archway had been, its white stones and powerful magic now reduced to
nothing more dangerous than a few bits of swirling silvery mist. With a shiver
of power, Sorsha’s Larnkin relinquished its hold and she felt her body was once
again her own. While they might be safe from both Acolytes and Tomb Guards, she
and Shadowdancer were also firmly stuck on this side with no way of finding
their families.

Sorsha screamed once in frustration.
Then drew breath for a second venting, but fought the urge. Screaming her fool
head off wouldn’t bring her loved ones safely to her side. She fisted her hands
and vowed in the depths of her soul to find them. No matter what. Even if she
had to go through every Acolyte on this side of the ocean to reach them.

The first sting of failure finally penetrated Sorsha’s
mind as her self-righteous anger slowly cooled. They’d left Lamarra, Winter’s
Frost, and Summer Flame in the hands of Tomb Guards. If she’d tried to convince
her Larnkin to fight the wall of fire, there might still have been time to go
after their friends while the Acolytes and the Tomb Guards fought. If she’d
only done something more, tried harder to control her Larnkin instead of being
controlled by it.

“Sorsha,”
Shadowdancer’s mind touched hers. His emotions came clear across the link.
Shame ate at him; he’d left members of the herd behind. Worse, he’d possibly
been responsible for leading them all into the trap.
“Forgive me.”

“Oh, Shadowdancer, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.
Lamarra and I were followed from River’s Divide. I should have hidden our back
trail better. I’m sorry.”

“It is not yours either. We were both acting on the
commands of the Elders. But I understand your grief and worry. Know I feel the
same sense of helplessness.”

Sorsha leaned down and hugged her arms around his
neck. The simple gesture wasn’t enough. She wanted to sooth away his shame and
hers as well. “We’ll find Lamarra, Flame and Winter’s Frost.”

“They’ll take her to the Elemental City of Grey
Spires. It is their home as well.”

“What?” Sorsha released his neck and straightened.

“The Tomb Guards protect the Dead Rulers; the guards
will take Lamarra to their lieges.”

Sorsha was speechless. Thoughts couldn’t even form in
the chaos his words created in her soul.

“I don’t understand,” she said at last, her voice weak
and young sounding to her own ears. “How can the Elementals allow evil to dwell
under their very feet. I thought they fought the darkness.

“The Dead Rulers are ancient and powerful, but they
are not of the Dark. They serve the Light and protect the City.”

“Then why take Lamarra and the others?”

“Perhaps to protect them.”
Shadowdancer didn’t sound convinced.

“That didn’t look like protection. And why didn’t they
try to take us too?”

Shadowdancer pondered his thoughts for a moment before
he spoke.
“I think they did try, but the Acolytes were between us and them.”

“Yes, yes...but why didn’t they just attack the
Acolytes in the first place—neutralize the immediate danger. By the way the two
Gryphons took those Acolytes apart they looked like they were capable of
dealing with the rest of the priesthood. Why take the time to try to subdue
Lamarra and the Santhyrians? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Actually, it might,”
Shadowdancer said with growing concern.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“I think they wanted Lamarra. It was her they went
after first. Winter’s Frost and Summer Flame may just have gotten in the way.”

“You think they wanted Lamarra in particular? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine, take me to Grey Spires. I’ll confront the Dead
Rulers in their own domain. I don’t care what I have to do. I’m not losing
another family member to magic. Where do these Dead Rulers dwell?”

“Deep underground. It will not be easy to breach,
there are protections.”

“I don’t care. I want Lamarra back.”

Shadowdancer galloped onward. Sorsha clung to his back
and studied the grey road ahead. The next archway was the only discernible
object. She glanced back and saw not one, but three arches. She might have
asked how he navigated the Wild Path had she not felt worn thin, too tired even
for conversation.

* * * *

The grey mists swirled around his hooves as
Shadowdancer galloped onward. He’d set himself a grueling pace. The physical exertion
helped him feel useful, less like an inadequate beast of burden...which by how
drained his Larnkin felt, was exactly what Trensler’s Acolyte had been trying
to turn him into.

In his mind’s eye, he could still see the dull eyed
expression of the enemies’ mounts. Those horses might have been alive in the
physical sense, but their souls had been stripped from them. He wondered if
Acolytes could do more than feed off magic. Could they feed upon a soul? A
shiver crawled across his skin, from muzzle to flanks, like it was the height
of gnat season. He hadn’t told Sorsha that little detail. He prayed she never
again got close enough to an Acolyte to discover the truth for herself.

Exhaustion beat at him, foam flecked his body and his
breath came in great billows, but he refused to stop. Sorsha’s welfare took
precedence. If he could just get her safely to the herd...then he could rest
and make sense of a world gone mad.

Magic devouring Acolytes. Tomb Guards willing to
interfere in the affairs of the living. In all his years, Shadowdancer had
never heard of Tomb Guards meddling in the living world.

“You’re worrying hard. I can feel it. I can also feel
your weariness.”

Sorsha’s voice washed over him, her tone soothing. Her
power followed on the heels of her words, and new strength returned to his body
and flagging spirits.

“How’s that?”

He was gathering his magic to tell her she should save
her Larnkin’s strength, they might have need of it later, when just ahead the
swirling mist parted and revealed a partially hidden grey mound. Shadowdancer
veered left, and slowed to a trot. He didn’t sense any kind of danger. But his Larnkin
was weakened enough by the Acolytes attentions, he wasn’t sure if it was aware
of its surroundings. Sorsha, too, must have felt some unease for she had her
bow at the ready with one of her few remaining arrows already notched.

As he trotted closer, the mound’s outline grew
sharper. A serpentine, scale-covered body, half the length of a mature
Santhyrian, lay semi hidden by the silvery mists. Three arrows with blue
fletching peppered the body. Trotting a tight circle around the corpse,
Shadowdancer studied it at length. One arrow was imbedded between two ribs,
close to the heart. Another was lodged in its flank, and a third had impaled
the Wardlen’s throat. The beast had crawled away from the sight of the battle
and died here, quite some distance away. The body looked dead less than a day,
but he knew it had been much longer—over three months ago. He’d been with the
delegation when they’d been beset by this Wardlen’s pack.

“What is it?” Sorsha breathed, barely above a whisper.

“A Wardlen.”

“Like what attacked Ashayna and Crown Prince Sorntar
last time they were here?”

“Yes.”

Shadowdancer slowed to a walk and circled the body
once more.

Sorsha’s weight shifted a moment before she slapped
his shoulder. “You can’t just tell me ‘yes’ and honestly think that is enough
of an explanation. Keep talking.”

Snorting with humor, Shadowdancer shook his head,
sending his mane flying in a way he knew was likely to hit Sorsha in the face.
When she grumbled something snide sounding under her breath and slung her short
wooden bow back over her shoulder with jerky motions he knew he’d hit his mark.

“You’re sounding dangerously like Ashayna. And just so
you know, unlike your sister’s dutiful Phoenix bondmate, I won’t refuse a good
challenge.”

The string of words Sorsha mumbled as she dismounted
to get a closer look at the dead beast didn’t sound particularly complementary
either.

“Since it took three mostly well placed arrows to kill
it, I take it this is one seriously mean bastard.”

“As you so elegantly put it, yes, Wardlens are nasty opponents.
They are immune to many types of magic, they can outrun most land based
creatures, their sense of smell is superb, and they have stamina to match even
one of my people.”

“Looks like the arrow here,” she pointed to the one
lodged at the base of its throat where its long serpentine neck joined with its
chest, “did the most damage. See the crease between its body armor plates—the
arrow slid right in and found the heart or some other vital organ. Design
fault.” Sorsha loosed a low whistle as she looked over the body again. “And
it’s about the only one this beast has. I doubt the other arrows penetrated deep
enough to do much damage.”

Shadowdancer lowered his muzzle until his whiskers
were nearly touching the body, then he jerked his head up with a snort.
“I’d
say you’re correct. There isn’t that much blood, considering what it took to
kill some of the other Wardlen.”

Sorsha poked the carcass with a boot toe. “Doesn’t
look like it has been dead very long. Might it have friends nearby?”

“This one has been dead for almost three moon cycles.”

Sorsha arched a brow in question, and gave the beast
another exploratory poke. “It doesn’t smell like it has been dead three moons.
The kill looks a day old at best.”

“It’s three moon cycles dead. It, and several of its
pack members, attacked the delegation as we returned to Grey Spires with Prince
Sorntar and your sister. I was there, tail tucked firmly and running for my
life like the rest of the delegation.”

“The delegation that came and kidnapped Ashayna?”

Shadowdancer knew there was no point in saying Ashayna
had chosen her fate. As soon as the delegation had guessed Ashayna was Prince Sorntar’s
bondmate, the human female’s fate was decided for her. Everyone present knew
there could be no other outcome. Unfortunately, Sorsha’s old resentment was
justified.
“Yes, the same one.”

Sorsha was silent a long time. She straightened from
her crouch and circled around the body once more, still silent. After a moment
she extracted the three arrows from the body, cleaned them, checked them over,
and added them to the quiver at her back.

“You realize we had no choice. Ashayna and Sorntar are
bondmates. We couldn’t separate them, and Ashayna knew when she answered the
challenge she’d likely lose to Sorntar, and become our ‘prisoner’. It was the
price of the peace treaty between our peoples—one Ashayna was willing to pay.”
Shadowdancer chuckled.
“If you want to feel sorry
for someone, feel sorry for Prince Sorntar. He answered the challenge for our
side, completely unaware he would meet his bondmate for the first time over
crossed swords. It was quite the shock for him.”

Sorsha’s expression softened, for the first time in
days a real smile brightened her face and she laughed. “Summer Flame told me a
bit about it.” At the mention of their lost herdmate, Sorsha’s grin faltered
then vanished.

“We’ll get them back.”

“Or die trying.”

Shadowdancer shifted nervously, and came to stand at
Sorsha’s shoulder. He nosed her softly with his muzzle.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on getting killed. I plan
on doing the killing and know exactly who to shoulder this whole sorry mess
on—the Acolytes are a blight that needs curing. It was they who first started
hunting those with magic, saying magic was a corrupting influence. And yet they
are the corruption that nearly led to war—and probably still will.” Sorsha
prodded the body of the Wardlen. “I almost hope the Acolytes run into these Wardlen
creatures. Maybe they could finish each other off and save us the trouble.”

“I doubt we would be so lucky, my little mane
ornament.”
He nudged Sorsha in the
shoulder again.
“Come, we should go. We need to reach the city and find out
what has happened to our friends and why Tomb Guards are now taking action.”
Shadowdancer paused, and then continued,
“I almost fear the answer.”

Sorsha mounted in one smooth motion and Shadowdancer
stretched into a canter.

The cold chill of the place, which usually had a
renewing effect on a Stallion Mage, no longer felt welcoming. Shadowdancer
increased his pace and endured. After a few moments, he felt Sorsha’s magic
wash into him. Clean, cool, refreshing. New energy eased the aches in his
muscles and soothed his spirit as he carried his Herd Mistress closer to the
safety of the herd.