Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (11 page)

The archway was only a short distance away, and even
that short trip seemed to use the last of Shadowdancer’s strength. Sorsha was
sure only pure Santhyrian stubbornness kept him to his father’s pace. Finally
the archway was upon them, and he dragged himself through. The light of day had
never been so welcome. Sorsha was shamed to find her cheeks wet with tears. She
wiped at them as she took in her surroundings.

They stood in the middle of an extensive settlement
composed entirely of immense tents. Beyond the small town-sized cluster of
tents, a vast grass plain stretched in all directions. They must be deep within
the Santhyrian’s territories, far from the Elemental’s City, Sorsha realized.
And far from the creatures who had captured Lamarra. Sorsha’s heart sank with
the realization.

Shadowdancer took another half stumbling step and
tripped. Sorsha found herself suddenly dumped onto the soft grass with enough
force to knock the wind from her. Gasping, damp-green-earth scent filled her
nose and she lay there and simply breathed in the rich scents of nature. She
hadn’t realized how much she missed them in the arid lifelessness of the Wild
Path. A heavy coppery smell overrode the gentle earthy fragrance, tainting it
with blood scent.

She raised her face from the grass and came to all
fours. Shadowdancer stood with head bowed, blood and foam dripping from his
muzzle. More blood welled sluggishly from gashes on his belly and flanks. One
ugly one looked almost severe enough to have eviscerated him had it only been
slightly deeper. His heaving chest was covered with more bite marks and long
furrows where claws had found their mark. Blood shone wetly on his dark hide.
He looked far worse by the light of day then he had by the half light of the
Wild Path.

Shadowdancer flicked an ear at her, and took a few
more hobbling steps in her direction, dragging his right hind leg with each
stride. He managed one more stumbling step forward before his knees folded
under him. With a soft expulsion of air, he sank to the ground and rolled onto
his side.

Sorsha gave a cry; one full of horror, but it didn’t
equal even half of the agony she felt. Sobbing, she struggled over to him,
crawling on her knees until she reached his side. With gentle care she lifted
his great head into her lap, cradling him.

A Lupwyn was already on his opposite side, trying to
stem the flow of blood from the deepest lacerations on his belly. The Lupwyn
healer chanted low in her throat, her muzzle a mere hand span from the
stallion’s heaving chest. Pale light flowed from her body onto the stallion,
covering him in a fine, misty, green shroud.

The healer paused in her chant and looked up, staring
directly into Sorsha’s eyes. “Only his Larnkin kept him alive this long by
sacrificing itself. A Wardlen’s bite is both poisonous and magical in nature
and Shadowdancer received a great many. Under normal circumstances they are not
fatal to someone host to a Larnkin but his Larnkin is very weak from
hemorrhaging power.” The Lupwyn healer glanced away, turning her attention to
Darkmoon. “I know of no one surviving after being caught in the back wash of
Grey Spires’ defensive magic. It should have been fatal to both of them, but I
think he shielded the human Herd Mistress from the worse of it by sacrificing himself.
His Larnkin has been eviscerated. I don’t have the power needed to heal it. For
there to be any chance at all, I will need every healer you can get. Perhaps if
Herd Mistress Neveyah arrives in time. But even then...”

“Please. Please help Shadowdancer,” Sorsha begged.
Even as she spoke, Shadowdancer gave a deep shuddering cough. Blood seeped from
his muzzle and nostrils. His eye rolled in her direction before he closed it.
He still breathed, but it was growing more labored. Sorsha stroked his forelock
out of his eyes. Tears of helplessness and rage slid down her cheeks.
“You
can’t die. I need you. I need you here to tell me when I’m stupid, stubborn and
generally pig-headed. No one does it better than you.”

“I will do all in my power, child.” The bleakness of
the healer’s tone scared Sorsha.

“Come away,”
Darkmoon bumped Sorsha with his muzzle, gently pushing his bulk between her and
his son, effectively forcing her in the direction he wanted her to go
, “and
let the healer try to share power with Shadowdancer’s Larnkin.”

“But the healer said she needed help.” Sorsha met
Darkmoon’s gaze. “If it’s a question of raw power, I could try.”

“Yes, dear one, the healer needs help, but two other
healers are coming. They will be here presently.”

Sorsha stretched up on her toes, trying to see over
Darkmoon’s high back. “But I’m here now...”

“And don’t look like you have the strength to so much
as summon a mage globe.”
Darkmoon
turned his gaze onto the healer.
“He is my blood. If my son requires a
sacrifice, it shall be me who pays the debt. My Larnkin is old and powerful,
use my strength to heal my son.”

“It is not that easy, my lord,” the healer replied.

“I don’t care. Do what you must to make it easy.”

“While you do have the close tie of shared blood, for
his Larnkin to have any chance to do a direct feeding from another, it needs a well-established
and powerful mental link. It has been many seasons since Shadowdancer last galloped
at your side, my King.”

Sorsha jumped at her chance. “But it hasn’t been long
since Shadowdancer and I last forged a potent bond. We’ve shared power before
when we escaped from the city’s defenses into the Wild Path”

“You can’t mean…”

“I’m here now. I have power. And Shadowdancer and I
have grown closer than I thought possible in so short a time—we complete each
other. Please let me help.”

“You and my son are bondmates?”
Hope colored Darkmoon’s thoughts.

“Perhaps. I’m not sure. There was something
Shadowdancer didn’t want me to know. But he’s a terrible liar.”

Darkmoon looked her up and down. Perhaps seeing her in
a new light. Sorsha didn’t really care so long as he moved his big, royal,
hairy self out of her path.

“What you say may well be true, but you look like you
have nothing left to spare for my son and he would not want to drag you into
death with him.”
The older stallion’s
mind voice echoed with his grief.
“And I cannot risk the life of a new Herd
Mistress. Come away now.”

“But you said…”

“Come. The healer will try anyway. The Lupwyn is a
fully trained Healer from Grey Spires.
She may be able to help.” His words said one thing, his accompanying emotions
said otherwise.

When she made to disobey Darkmoon and return to
Shadowdancer’s side, another Elemental, a Phoenix guard by the look of him,
ghosted up beside her and enfolded her in a gentle but firm embrace. At
Darkmoon’s nod, the Phoenix drew Sorsha back a few steps, until she was nearly
at a tent’s entrance. She baulked, refusing to be shoved inside.

With a growing sense of dread, she watched the healer
work, whispering a healing chant. After long moments, the healer cast Darkmoon
a somber expression. Then she tried one final time, leaning over the stallion
with a look of determination.

She stayed like that for a long time, then finally,
with a sad sounding sigh, she straightened and looked up at Darkmoon. She shook
her head. Darkmoon snorted and lowered his muzzle until his softly whiskered
chin was only a hand’s span above the ground. With a slow haltering stride, he
returned to his son’s side and lipped at Shadowdancer’s cheek.

“No.” Sorsha’s anguish crested in a ravaging wave.
Power welled up snapping along her skin, and with a surprised oath the guard
holding her shoved her away. Taking advantage of her sudden freedom, she flung
herself down next to Shadowdancer’s body.

“You didn’t abandon me to the Wild Path, I’ll not
abandon you to death, my friend.”

“Stop her!”

Sorsha registered that the healer was yelling orders
at the guard.

“She’ll kill herself if she tries anything in her
condition.”

“Hold!”
Darkmoon’s mental voice was sharp enough to shatter glass.
“Healer, you will
allow this human to at least try to heal my son. I can feel her power. If it is
her wish to try to save her Stallion Mage, then it is her right.”
Darkmoon
stood shoulder to shoulder with Sorsha.

The healer loosed her own series of curses, but merely
turned her piercing eyes upon Sorsha again. “You will have to link with him
deeply if you are to supply his Larnkin with what it needs.”

“He saved me.” Sorsha’s voice was stark, stripped bare
of all pride. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.”

The Lupwyn healer bobbed her head in reluctant
agreement then came to stand on Sorsha’s other side. Without hesitation, the
healer placed a hand on Sorsha’s shoulder and rested the other on the
stallion’s neck. “There is no time for lengthy explanations. He’s dying. You
must use your Larnkin’s magic to replace enough of what his Larnkin has lost in
order for it to survive. Honestly, I don’t know how much it will take—a
tremendous amount certainly. I just don’t know if it is more than you have to
give. It will be a close thing though.”

“I don’t care. He’s saved me so many times. I’m
returning the favor.”

“Very well, then. Close your eyes, concentrate on
summoning your power.”

Without needing further encouragement, Sorsha closed
her eyes and desperately reached into her core where she grabbed the magic and
dragged it closer to the surface of her mind. She called more and more, until a
river of it welled up.

The healer took what Sorsha offered and shaped it to
the Larnkin’s needs without comment. With a small part of her mind not engaged
in keeping the magic flowing, Sorsha noticed when two more healers arrived,
carried to Shadowdancer’s side by very sweat lathered Santhyrians. The newcomers
dismounted and rushed to aid the first healer. They spoke in quiet, subdued
tones. One of the new healers was a Phoenix, but the other’s race was a
mystery. He had the body shape and facial features of a Phoenix. Or, Sorsha
supposed, a particularly tall, lithe human, but his long spiky hair was more
like a Lupwyn’s shaggy ruffle, as were his upright, pointed ears with their
furry tuffs. They joined in the chant, their voices both arresting and eerie.

Sorsha measured the passage of time by the flow of her
power into Shadowdancer and her Larnkin’s growing weakness. She didn’t care how
long they worked or how much power she sacrificed—none of it mattered so long
as Shadowdancer survived.

Swaying with exhaustion, limbs achy, and eyelids
heavy, she forged on, spinning out tendrils of power over Shadowdancer like a
spider with its web. Her Larnkin continued feeding Shadowdancer while the healers
cleaned and mended his physical injuries. A candlemark or more might have
passed. Sorsha was certain of only one thing: she was losing her silent war
against death. No matter how much power she fed Shadowdancer, his Larnkin still
seemed unable to rally.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not enough. You must stop.”

Though Sorsha heard the healer’s words, she did not acknowledge
them; she couldn’t.

“Enough.” The first healer shook Sorsha. When that
didn’t yield the desired result, she tried to forcefully drag Sorsha away.

Sorsha wouldn’t be moved and swatted at the other
woman. She’d intended to knock the healer off balance, but only managed to
shake off the other’s grip.

“Let her try; she’s my son’s only hope.”
Darkmoon shoved at the healer in turn, allowing
Sorsha to focus on Shadowdancer’s needs again.

Darkmoon and the lead healer launched into a heated
debate, but Sorsha couldn’t care less, as long as her Larnkin could continue
her work.

“I will not allow the young Herd Mistress to kill
herself. Not even for your son.”

“She is strong; let her finish.”

Her desperation fueled her Stonemantle stubbornness.
Her Larnkin renewed its fight to save the other. Changing its tactics, no
longer just feeding power, it began to connect itself to Shadowdancer’s Larnkin
with thin, silvery bright strands of magic. Still, no matter how much power she
gave up, it didn’t seem to be enough. Shadowdancer’s Larnkin fed upon greater
and greater amounts of her Larnkin’s power until she felt numb and empty. It
was not unlike one time, when she was still a child, and had swam in the salty
ocean. The buoyant sensation was so real Sorsha imagined herself floating away
on a warm ocean current.

“We’re losing them both!” A voice cried out in frustration,
shattering the peace of oblivion. Sorsha thought it might have belonged to the
healer but couldn’t be certain. Her hearing was beginning to fail; so too were
her other senses. She should be afraid, she supposed, but wasn’t. Her heart was
full with the need to save Shadowdancer, to give more of herself. She wouldn’t
lose another loved one.

Lamarra might be beyond her help, but Shadowdancer was
right before her. His skin warm under her touch. She could save him. She
would
save him. There was no other outcome in her mind. And her Larnkin had one last
plan.