Betrayal's Price (In Deception's Shadow Book 1) (8 page)

Ashayna let out
her breath in a deep sigh and resorted to magical communication again. At least
he wouldn’t have to go peeking into her thoughts to know what she was thinking.
“In the future, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me something of the magic
before shoving me through.”

He grunted in
response.

Summer Flame
galloped onward, racing full out to the next arch. None of the santhyrians
missed a stride. After the third such jump, Ashayna relaxed her fingers,
rubbing her palms against her thighs to restore circulation. Shivering, she
realized there was a soul-deep chill to this place.

“Cold?” Sorntar
rubbed some warmth into her arms. She found his touch as unsettling as the grey
mists, just for a different reason.

“I’m fine. It’s
just this place…”

“There’s
nothing to fear.”

“I’m not
afraid.”

Another lengthy
silence descended. When she was able to unclamp her jaw, she glanced over her
shoulder only to be distracted by how close the nearest santhyrian galloped.
All were riding in a tight formation, but she’d thought the nearest santhyrian
ran farther back, for there was no steady sound of hoof striking ground, no
wind rustling in hair or mane, no scent. She
realized
even
her mount raced forward on silent hooves.

“By what
unnatural magic do we travel upon ground that makes no noise and a cold that
doesn’t fog one’s breath?”

“We’re on a
path sustained by pure magic. There’s no sun, or earth, or time. Here we are
apart from nature and the laws that govern us there. The cold is the chill of spirit
magic.”

Sweat dampened
Ashayna’s palms and under her arms.
Why did I ask? Why?
She locked her
jaws to prevent more questions. She rode in silence for a time, until a sense
of unease leeched into her mind. It oozed through her pores and ate away at her
calm. Beneath the cold she could feel the discontent, like an unfocused
malice—yet could find no direction for it.

“Blood and
damnation.” She sat up straighter, reaching for the dagger at her belt. She
cursed when her fist closed on empty air. She’d not been given a chance to
gather her weapons before they left camp.

“What do you
sense?” Sorntar’s voice remained calm, but his underlying thoughts held a sharp
alertness.

“I’m not sure.”

Sorntar’s body
twisted behind her as he raised one arm from around her waist and motioned his
flanking guards forward. Two guards forced Marsolwyn and Sorntar’s sisters to
the middle, as three more bodyguards moved to ride a stride ahead. Sorntar
handed her one of his daggers.

She frowned at
the meager defense it could offer, but it was better than no weapon at all.
Besides, even a sword might do precious little against whatever had the hair on
the back of her neck rising to attention.

Distantly, the
first undulating cry split the silence, accented by a series of long, low
growls and snarls. A second call answered the first, and the tone made her ears
ache. A nervous sweat broke out along her back.

“Wardlen!”
Elder Cymael warned. “Run swiftly, santhyrians. We dare not fight them on the
Wild Path.”

Had Sorntar not
forced her to lean closer to the snapping mane, they both would have fallen when
Summer Flame surged forward.

Still, the
cries drew closer. “What’s a wardlen?”

“They’re
unnatural beasts created to patrol the borders of the Banished Land.
It’s unusual they would be inside the Wild Path.” Worry accompanied his
thoughts. “There are wardstones to prevent such things. Something has gone
wrong if wardlens are here. Our greatest danger is if they catch us before we
reach the next archway. The wardlens are the only land-bound creature able to
run down a santhyrian over a short distance.” Sorntar stopped in mid-word to
stare ahead for several seconds. With what sounded like a curse in his native
language, he began shouting orders.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re ahead
of us. If they reach the next archway before our group, we’ll be forced to battle
our way free. We dare not use magic within the Wild Path. Not that it would
help. These creatures are resistant to many forms of magic.” His voice was
stark. “Don’t try to fight. We’ll only get in each other’s way. Stay low to
Summer Flame’s neck.”

In the
distance, another stone arch marked their way to safety. Closer to their
destination the clinging mist was dissipating. Ashayna could make out the runes
in the stone.

The sound of
the wardlens’ howling had lessened. A quick glance behind showed they were
beginning to fall back, finding their prey too hard to catch. But several of
the santhyrians ran farther back as well.

“Sorntar, the group
is drifting too far apart.”

“I know, but we
are almost there.”

As he spoke,
the rune marks on the stone flared white. A portal began opening.

Freedom was
only a few strides away when a narrow-headed, sinuous beast with slanted eyes
circled around in front of the archway. In body, the beast looked a misbegotten
cross between a mountain cat and one of the large lizards from the deserts far
to the south. Thick scale armor, mottled grey and silver, protected its hide.
For all the creature shouldn’t belong together in one body, it still moved with
speed and a deadly grace. A half a stride behind, another joined it.

“Run them down!
Don’t stop for any reason!” Sorntar’s shout deafened her.

The first beast
fell under Summer Flame’s large hooves. In a blur of speed Sorntar brought his
twin blades to bear against the enemy, beheading one creature and then stabbing
down, splitting open the chest of another. It was brutal, efficient fighting,
with not one move or stroke of blade going to waste. With a savage scream,
Sorntar hacked at the skull of the nearest beast when it lunged at Ashayna.

The first
santhyrian leapt through the archway. Summer Flame was a stride behind when he
stumbled over a wardlen in its death throes. He recovered in another stride,
but the small disruption allowed more of the creatures to block the path.
Summer Flame skidded to a halt and lashed out. His hoof connected with a
creature’s skull, dazing it. Several more wardlens attacked. One of the
lizard-like creatures bumped against Ashayna’s elbow as it struck at Sorntar,
biting down on his exposed thigh.

Sorntar emitted
a short, high-pitched cry. Bring his sword’s pommel to bear, he battered the
beast savagely, but still the beast held on. It growled, deep guttural sounds
as its teeth sank deeper into Sorntar’s flesh. Ashayna stabbed the creature,
driving the dagger deep into the beast’s neck, then she pulled it free with a
sickening squelch. Hot, pulsing blood splattered across her arms. Muscle and
bone mixed with flesh flew with each swipe of the dagger into the wounded
beast. The carcass fell to the ground with a thump. Heart racing, thundering in
her ears she turned to appraise Sorntar’s wounds.

The raw wound
gushed blood in thick waves, adding more gore to the churned mess under the
santhyrian’s hooves. Summer Flame skidded and leapt to one side, dodging out of
reach of the red-tinged teeth of another of the beasts. The jolt caused more
blood to flow from Sorntar’s wound and soaked, warm and wet, into her leathers.
Reaching back, Ashayna slapped a hand over Sorntar’s wound, applying pressure
and holding the edges together. Sorntar hissed.

Summer Flame
fought his way free of the wardlen and burst through the arch. He spun on his
heels to face his attackers. Ashayna registered the return of color to her
world and the warmth of the sun before being set upon again. The last of the
group rode through the arch, bare paces ahead of a number of wardlens. The
archway blinked shut, cutting a wardlen in half.

Free to fight,
lupwyns dismounted to meet wardlens fang to fang. Low growls and sharp high-pitched
yelps bombarded Ashayna’s ears from all sides; the meaty, wet sound of flesh
tearing, abnormally loud to her battle-honed senses. Phoenixes took to the air,
their powerful wing beats loud as thunder to her ears. Both Vinarah and
Kandarra swooped at the attacking beasts, tearing out great chunks of scales
and flesh. Blood arced through the air, splattering against Ashayna’s hair, the
side of her face, and down one arm. Wiping her cheek on her shoulder, Ashayna’s
gaze locked on Elder Cymael. The phoenix elder plucked a wardlen off the ground
and crushed its skull with her feet.

The battle was
over in several blood-filled heartbeats. As the heat of battle faded, reason
returned. A cold chill tore through Ashayna’s body. Would the elementals have
done this to her father’s people if she hadn’t come with Sorntar? A high-pitched
call—part rage and part keen of hunger—made her sit up straighter. Twisting to
look behind, she met Sorntar’s eyes.

The expression
on his face was nothing human. Eyes dilated until they were two black shining
pools, his nostrils flared to better catch the coppery smell of fresh blood.
His lips parted to emit a soft hiss. Ashayna placed a hand on a
blood-splattered arm and felt the tension of the muscles and blood racing under
his skin with each pulse of his heart.
Hearts,
she corrected herself.
Reaching deeper with her power, she touched his mind. His Larnkin’s power
flared, but it did not awaken, instead settling deeper asleep now that danger
was past. By what she could determine, Sorntar’s present state was due all to
instinct.

“Sorntar?”

His eyes locked
on the nearest body, he made no response to her question. Grasping his chin,
she forced him to look at her. He eyed her like he had the beast a moment ago.

“Don’t look at
me like that. I’m not food.” She shook him. In response he blinked once, and
then again as his eyes came into focus.

His predatory
expression changed to confusion before being replaced by a haughty look. He
tried to move and pain seeped back into his expression. “Forgive me. I am not
myself.”

The areas
around his eyes and mouth had taken on a greyish hue and the sheen of
perspiration dampened his skin. His breath came in gasps.

“Sorntar, you
need healing now. You’re losing too much blood.” When she dismounted to locate
Vinarah or Kandarra, Sorntar started sliding towards her. She braced him so he
wouldn’t land on his face, and then helped him dismount. Her arms shook from
the strain of helping him while still trying to hold his wound closed. He stood
with his head slumped. Tremors rocked his wings.

“Don’t faint on
me.”

Vinarah arrived
first. The phoenix inspected her brother’s wound with soft sounds of sympathy,
but was less than gentle in cleaning it. Looking to Ashayna, she clarified, “The
wardlen have a venomous bite. It’s not fatal to someone who is host to a Larnkin,
although it is painful and it saps what strength remains to the unfortunate
individual.”

Vinarah
continued her work with an occasional quiet word for Sorntar. He shook his
head.

“Try harder,”
Vinarah instructed.

“I have. It won’t
obey me.” Sorntar’s tone turned defensive.

“What’s wrong?”
Ashayna asked, since neither seemed willing to explain.

“Sorntar’s
protective shields are too strong for me to work my magic through and he doesn’t
have the strength to reach his Larnkin.” She applied a bandage as she
explained. “This will have to do for now. We’re not far from our city, and
fully-trained healers. The santhyrians traveled much farther and faster than
they would under normal circumstances. We’re nearly home.”

“The city can’t
possibly be too close.” Ashayna heard exhaustion in her own reply and Sorntar
was worse off. “I’d prefer not to tax Summer Flame with my added weight, but I
doubt Sorntar’s well enough to ride by himself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No you won’t,”
Vinarah countered. “We’ll be picking you off the ground in a few strides.”

Sorntar hissed
at his sister, but Vinarah ignored him. “Ashayna, continue riding double with
my brother. If you’re feeling generous, share power with him like you did in
the healer’s quarters. His Larnkin will not reject your power, and that’ll heal
him faster than anything else.”

“I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”

“No matter, your
Larnkin will do what needs doing.”

Summer Flame
lowered himself to the ground. Ashayna mounted and then help Sorntar into
position. He sat stiffly, making no move to wrap his arms around her waist. She
did it for him, holding his arms in place with one of hers. “Sleep, you’re
exhausted. I won’t let you fall.”

“Thank you.”
Sorntar leaned forward, his sweaty cheek pressing against the bare flesh of her
neck. Painful hitches in his breathing told of his discomfort. His wings hung
limp, dragging the ground as he settled against her. She shifted to ease him
into a more balanced position. He pressed against her back, his arms around her
waist tightening to the point of pain.

“Easy, you’re
safe with me.”

A half-hesitant
nod, and then warm lips brushed her skin as he murmured a soft, “Thank you.”

After a moment
his hold loosened. Ashayna awkwardly patted his arm until his breathing
deepened into sleep.