Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (17 page)

Shadowdancer answered with a
non-communicative grunt.

Ahead, the path narrowed. “This
place resembles a labyrinth.” Sorsha turned a corner and the tunnel ended in
another smooth rock face. “One with nothing but dead ends. Superb. Now what? Is
there a chance we missed the Oracle? Perhaps we should backtrack.” She started
to walk back the way they’d come, studying the walls for another crevice they
may have missed on the first sweep.

“No.”

Shadowdancer’s one word answer
made her halt and look over her shoulder at him. He was leaning close to the
wall, his nose a hand span from the stone. His short answer told her nothing
useful so she walked back to where he stood studying a seemingly ordinary
portion of stone wall. She studied it as silently as he, but saw nothing.

“Looks just like more stone to
me.” Her dry comment slid off Shadowdancer without reaction since he was still
absorbed with whatever he’d found. She continued to scan the area, but detected
nothing.

Shadowdancer shifted, raising one
hand to hover just above the surface, almost, but not quite touching. “Looks
like stone, but tastes of magic.”

“What?” How had she missed it?
She reached out and touched the grey expanse. What her eyes said was rough
stone, her fingers said was too smooth for rock. Mere moments after her fingers
made contact, heat raced up her arm to lance deep into her brain.

Before she could blink she was
airborne. An eerie sense of weightlessness stayed with her for the length of
one heartbeat before all the wind was knocked out of her as she slammed into
the opposite wall. Small sparks of light danced before her grey-edged vision.
Slowly her sight cleared, leaving behind a raging headache in its passing.
Sorsha allowed herself to slide ungracefully down the wall to the floor, her
legs splayed.

“That was stupid.” Shadowdancer’s
voice sounded uncommonly loud in her ears as he gathered her close. “Are you
all right?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I think so.
And that was...?”

“A taste of the Oracle’s
protection.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “You’re sure you’re all
right?”

“Yes, but you have my permission
to save me from my own stupidity in the future.”

“I may not be able to command my
power, but I still know what certain spells feel like. I should have given you
clearer warning.”

“Or any kind of warning,” Sorsha
muttered to herself as she adjusted her pack. When she’d put things to rights,
she cast Shadowdancer a dark look. “You’ve got the knowledge, I’ve got a mostly
intact Larnkin. What now?”

“Link with me and let me draw on
a small amount of power. I may be able to determine the key for these
protections. This may take some time. It’s delicate work. We will have to prove
our skillfulness if we wish to reach the Oracle Stone.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Call on a touch of your magic,
and ‘feel’ the room.”

Once she’d called on a small
amount of her power, she could sense the low hum of magic. It was subtle,
barely there, and yet the faint magic resonated to something within her soul.
Shadowdancer had clearly missed using magic. His expression was intense, close
to ecstasy. If he took longer than was needed to read the substance of the
weaving, she didn’t begrudge him. In the future, she’d have to think up excuses
for him to channel her power. Besides, it felt nice.

A quarter candlemark came and
went before Shadowdancer disengaged from the weaving.

“Well?” she prompted gently. His
expression was still open, vulnerable; the need to regain what he’d once
commanded a stark hunger in his eyes. She wanted to heal Shadowdancer; somehow,
she must find a way to restore the Santhyrian to his former strength. There had
to be an answer to that puzzle.

“I have learned we can’t disable
the weaving. The spell is as intricate as I said it would be. It’s a test. One
that requires a lot of power to trigger. It’s likely to drain us to the point
of exhaustion again and we’ll lose what our Larnkins have regained.”

Sorsha nodded at his words. “I
don’t care. If this will help us find our loved ones, I’ll sacrifice power.”

When he held out a hand, she took
it in a firm grip. Liking the feel of his warmth, she scooted closer until she
was snug against his side. Shadowdancer wrapped an arm around her waist and
pressed his lips to her cheek.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Suppose so.” Her Larnkin
stirred, awakening to Shadowdancer’s gentle summons. Sorsha let go,
surrendering her body to the Larnkin. If something went wrong, she’d prefer the
Larnkin have the needed control to protect her—or at least take the jolt.

Magic danced pale against
Shadowdancer’s tanned skin. Without hesitation, which made him brave or
foolish—Sorsha was undecided—he reached toward the wall. At the first touch of
magic, pale runes shimmered to life all around the section of non-wall. Power
swelled, tendrils uncoiling from the wall.

Sorsha stepped back, pushing
Shadowdancer back as well. He allowed himself to be herded. Whatever the magic
was, she didn’t like the taste of it.

“Did we just make it angry?”

He shook his head, but drew
farther from the wall, bringing her tight to his body, forcing her back farther
as well. “Not angry. Interested.”

“Oh. Lovely.” Cold sweat broke
out along her back. “Interested like a hound sniffing out a fox?”

“I think so.”

“Thanks for that bit of blunt
honesty. Whisper some sweet lies in my ear next time.”

“If we live through this, I’ll do
my best to tell some lies.” Sorsha heard the smile in his voice.

“Good. Now what? Any ideas how to
lose its interest?”

“Die?”

Sorsha’s stomach dropped
somewhere closer to her toes and she switched her attention back to the spell.
It had spread along the wall several body lengths in both directions. “Let’s
try something else.”

“Actually, from what I learned
while touching the spell, there is only one way forward.”

“Yes. And.”

“We must pass through the spell.”

“I touched that thing with my
finger and it dropped me on my ass. You want to go through it?”

“It’s a test.”

“I’m not very good with tests.
When I was a child, my governess despaired of me ever becoming a lady. See how
I turned out?”

“This Oracle has very simple
tastes in tests, I believe. Unlike the Oracle which dwells in the center of
Grey Spires, this one doesn’t seem interested in games and riddles and
deceptions.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“Not really. While the other one
might punish failure, I believe those glowing runes around the entrance speak
of victory and death.”

“Pass the test or die?” Sorsha
dug her fingers into his arm.

“Yes. The ruins are a very old
dialect of Phoenix.”

“Then we have a problem.”

Shadowdancer arched an eyebrow in
her direction.

With a shrug, she enlightened
him. “We’ve been exposed to Lord Trensler. Fed upon. There’s no telling what
residue he may have left behind. If the Oracle senses any taint, I can only
imagine it will respond in one way.”

“If we want to help our families,
this is the only option.” He pointed at the shimmering spell. The darkness was
now shot through with sparks of white light. It reminded her of an approaching
thunderstorm. The pain of the slight touch was still fresh. Could she do it?
Willingly walk to what might be a very painful death?

Yes. For the chance to save her
family.

Once again his hand closed around
hers, warm, solid, reassuring. She smiled and nodded. “Together.”

They walked toward the barrier of
coiled power. When they neared, the tendrils—which until that point had been
fluttering in some unfelt breeze, now reached with purpose, stretching from the
vortex’s center until it was within touching distance. A tendril lashed out,
wrapping around her arm. A second took Shadowdancer around his waist. The
shimmering power changed, brightening into an icy blue swirl. She didn’t have
time to scream.

As they were pulled into that
burning power, she held the wish to help her family firmly in her mind. If she
was about to die, she’d damn well let the Oracle know what she was made of.

One moment she was immersed in a swirling river of
power, magic licking at her skin, then the next she was propelled forward by
some vast, unseen hand. Her knees took the brunt of the landing, and she
collapsed forward onto her hands. She escaped relatively unhurt until another
weight slammed into her back, sending her crashing facedown onto the floor.
Sorsha moaned softly as Shadowdancer hurriedly rolled off her and offered her
his hand. She took it and sat up with another groan. Though he sat crouched
next to her, his focus was on something beyond her shoulder.

Sorsha followed his gaze.

The chamber was small; octagon shaped with a sloping
ceiling. Growing from the rough-hewn stone of the roof, an opaque crystal
stretched toward the ground, not unlike a stalactite. Bluish light flickered in
its heart as the magic awoke. Sorsha’s heart picked up speed and her breath
hitched. Nervous energy coursed through her veins in time to the pulsing of the
crystal. Oppressive power flowed out from room’s center, heating the air. Fog
rose from the floor, the dampness making it even harder to breathe. Sorsha’s
lungs burned with the need to cough, but she held it in, fearing the Oracle’s
reaction. It reminded her of a wild beast. She’d treat it like one—a dangerous
and unpredictable one.

“Be calm,” Shadowdancer whispered, his lips almost
brushing her ear. “It responds to our magic. Fear makes our magic flare, and
the Oracle reacts.”

“Easily said,” she mumbled a dark curse under her
breath and sought to calm her racing heart.

The flickering of the crystal pillar slowed, its magic
calming.

Perhaps Shadowdancer was correct.

Nothing happened for several moments and Sorsha
wondered if the Oracle had returned to its slumber. She wouldn’t have minded if
it forgot about them. With the earlier oppressive power no longer swirling
around her with such violence, she could almost think clearly again.

Shadowdancer stepped away from her side and slowly
approached the Oracle Stone in a non-threatening manner. When Shadowdancer
stood within touching distance of the crystal and still hadn’t come to harm,
Sorsha released the breath she’d been holding.

Shadowdancer halted before the pillar and gave it a
deep bow. “We beg your aid. There is a great darkness hunting our land.”

Within the Oracle’s crystal heart, power pulsed with a
renewed rhythm. A soft throbbing reached her ears. Her senses tingled with the
rising power in the small enclosure. After a moment’s thought, she pinpointed just
what unsettled her about the sound. It matched the beat of her heart.

“I know of the darkness. I smell it upon you. The Dead
King has warned me of the new danger to our land. But you came for something
else. You seek a personal boon.” The Oracle’s voice was deep yet soft, some
snatches of words stronger than others like a barely heard conversation carried
upon a changeable breeze.

How the Oracle could sound so threatening with its
soft tones was beyond Sorsha. Its magic flared again. She winced as power
raised the hair on her arms to attention. While the pillar didn’t have eyes in
the traditional sense, she felt it looking at her, assessing, judging. Did it
find her lacking?

“Shadowdancer speaks the truth,” she said instead. “We
come for advice and help.”

“I aid only those worthy of help. Do you wish to see
what you once were, long ago, before the Circle of Twelve was broken?” At its
words, light bled across the chamber’s rough stone walls, causing the shadows
to swirl and dance. Blurry images began to form from the shadowy chaos.

It was tempting to look, and Sorsha found her eyes
trying to make sense of the swirling colors. But something else—a deep sense of
unease seeping from her Larnkin into Sorsha’s bloodstream—had the hair at the
back of her neck standing at attention.

Just as an image was coming into focus, she jerked her
eyes away and yanked on Shadowdancer’s shoulder, turning him away from the
undefined danger. Stiffening her spine and summoning up every bit of
Stonemantle bravo she could muster to face the menace in the air, she cleared
her throat and said, “Looking back, to dwell overlong upon former greatness, of
heroic deeds, and long ago victories, does not make us worthy now in this life.
More a weakness, I should imagine. One which could lead to arrogance and
pride.” Sorsha drew a quick breath before rushing on. “And, yes, we came for a
personal boon as you said. But should not worth be judged by what we are now;
what we are willing to undertake, what we might yet accomplish with your aid?”

At her words of challenge, the shadows slowed their
dance, the miasma of power vanishing back into the stone of its birth, and took
with it the images of herself from another life.

Perhaps it was for the best; instinct told her she might
not like what story the images told.

“Come closer. I will hear what you would say.” The
Oracle’s soft whispery voice slid along Sorsha’s senses, raising a clammy sweat
all along her lower back.

She waited, her breath turning stale in her lungs. At
least the Oracle hadn’t said no outright.
Does that mean we are worthy?
Sorsha wondered. She exhaled, and then drew in another steadying breath before
taking a step toward the Oracle. Shadowdancer echoed her movements. She avoided
looking at the walls as she made the short journey to chamber’s center. Closer,
the Oracle’s presence was overwhelming. Sorsha scrambled to gather her
thoughts, but Shadowdancer got there first.

“Members of our families are in danger. We need your
help to save them.” Before it could answer with a ‘no’ Shadowdancer continued.
“We’re damaged—but that is obvious.” He made a vague gesture encompassing his
human body. “We don’t ask your help in healing our Larnkins for our own
purposes.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Shadowdancer blanched and looked down at his feet. In
that moment, Sorsha could see their doom flickering in the Oracle’s crystalline
heart. But then Shadowdancer took her hand and raised his eyes to the Oracle
once again. “Yes, I am certain. Certain when I first thought of coming, it was
with a great burning arrogance to be whole again, to be a Stallion Mage so I
could bond with Sorsha. Certain if you’d asked me half a moon’s cycle ago if I
came seeking a boon for selfish reasons and I said ‘no’, then it would have
been a lie sliding past my lips.” Shadowdancer sighed, his shoulders slumping.
“But since I met Sorsha, she’s been teaching me lessons, forcing me to confront
myself in ways I never have before, and from the first moment I opened my human
eyes, she’s taught me about self-worth, and that love can heal wounds better
than even the most powerful of Larnkins.”

His words brought a fierce blush to Sorsha’s cheeks
and she had the sudden urge to hug him, but refrained since she sensed he
wasn’t done yet.

“With Sorsha’s help I’ve come to accept this new body,
even with its limitations. And would happily live out the remainder of my days
in whatever way would most please her.” Shadowdancer’s voice, which until then
had held a gentle quality, hardened, taking on a sharper edge. “But there is
more at stake in this world than just our happiness. Trensler is a danger to
all living creatures, as is whatever darkness is controlling Sorntar. Someone
must take up the challenge and confront these two evils. Sorsha and I, weak
though we are, offer our lives to the Light. So I can now say with an honest
heart and mind that we come, not to gain greatness ourselves, but so we may
save our loved ones, as well as the families of others.”

The Oracle’s flickering light mellowed to a gentle
brilliance. “Sorsha’s Larnkin is not as damaged as yours. Hers I can share
power with, speed her healing, but you,” the Oracle’s light took on a harsher
quality, “You, I cannot restore to what you were before.”

Sorsha’s heart sank to her stomach. She’d been certain
the Oracle had power enough to heal Shadowdancer’s Larnkin. Now what were they
to do?

“I cannot heal your Larnkin, but I can share pieces of
my power to shore up its defects.”

Sorsha detected a hint of avoidance behind the words.
The Oracle wasn’t telling them everything. “You can help Shadowdancer? Make it
so he can awaken an archway to the Wild Path? Run down his enemies? Fight
Trensler’s Acolytes?”

“Yes. All that, and more.”

Sorsha was convinced the Oracle was holding back some
essential detail.

Shadowdancer stiffened next to her. A sideways glance
confirmed the Santhyrian’s eagerness. He leaned forward, his arms stiff at his
sides, fingers slowly curling into fists. He looked as attentive as a hound on
a scent. Sorsha intervened before Shadowdancer’s need led him into a trap.

“And what is the price of this...boon?”

Power flared along her senses. Bright light
accompanying the Oracle’s fit of annoyance. Blinking rapidly, she cleared the
spots from her vision.

“Fear not, it will cost me more than it will cost your
Santhyrian lover. What I must do is more than sharing power; I must give
Shadowdancer pieces of myself. All who look upon Shadowdancer will know he
serves me. He will serve as my Harbinger, be my physical eyes and ears in the
world.”

Sorsha glanced at Shadowdancer and whispered into his
mind.
“I knew there was more it wasn’t telling us.”

Shadowdancer gave a little shrug, his raised eyebrow
saying ‘what choice do we have’ as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud.

“There is one other stipulation.”

Sorsha cleared her throat. “And what is the price we
must pay?”

“Duty,” the Oracle whispered. “That you both serve the
Light as you did once before. And die if that is required. The ultimate price.
No matter how much Shadowdancer wants to cosset you, your fate is your own.”

Blunt honesty had always been one of Sorsha’s favorite
characteristics in a person, but just this once she could have done with a
little less honesty. But what was said could not be unsaid and she didn’t see
as they had much of a choice in the matter. “And if we are willing to pay this
price?”

“Then I will help you both become Members of the
Twelve, as you were meant to be.”

A heavy, leaden feeling settled in Sorsha’s middle.
She didn’t think becoming Members of the Twelve sounded particularly easy or
painless. But if that was what fate had decided, Sorsha saw no reason to fight
it—not if the salvation of her loved ones lay down that path.

“For you to understand what has become of the Twelve,
you must first know your history. The Great Mother and the All Father created
seven immortal servants. These Servants work the will of the gods. All was in
harmony until the time, millenniums past, when Lasharra the Lady of Fire,
Creator of the Stars, vanished from the world. None of the other servants knew
where she had gone.”

“Dakdamon, the Lord of the Mists of Time, was the
second eldest of the Servants and Lasharra’s mate. In his pain, he rebelled
against his creators, raging and defying them. In those early years, the
battles were like nothing after them. Stars died in the sky, planets turned
molten. The universe was in chaos. None of the other Servants would fight one
of their brothers.”

“So the Great Mother and the All Father set their
mortal champions upon Dakdamon.” Images swirled to life on the walls and a
battle took shape. Tiny images moved against a landscape soiled by war.
Bloodied grass, blackened tree husks, deeply scarred earth from devastating
mage blasts, and bodies beyond count showed the horror of war. Copper scent
filled the small chamber and sounds of the dying reached her ears. From the
dark shadows at battle’s edge a large shape wavered into being. Dakdamon stood
over the carnage created by his army as he ground something beneath his large
taloned feet. A flash of light brighter than lightening and a high-pitched,
eerie cry echoed over the battle field.

“That was the first great defeat of many they were
dealt that dark day. The Falcon Staff was sundered and shortly thereafter her
Wielder, the Judge, whom you now call Sorntar, followed his talisman into
defeat.

The Twelve defeated Dakdamon, but they themselves were
dealt a mortal blow. Their leaders destroyed, the Falcon Staff shattered—the
remaining Twelve did the only thing left to them. They imprisoned Dakdamon.
Killing him was beyond their power.

For age upon age there was peace. But unknown to us,
Dakdamon had another weapon—one even he decided was too great an evil to
release upon creation. Only recently have I learned of this danger. The
Wardstones guarding Dakdamon’s prison shared dire news with me.

“The Wardstones whispered of how Dakdamon tried
emulating the gods by creating life. He attempted to create another being like
himself. A being that would not know heartache. One that was self-sufficient,
requiring no second half.

It needed no one, not even its own maker. Dakdamon
created an abomination which is capable of feeding on every Larnkin it comes in
contact with. Even the other Servants are not safe. Dakdamon taught it too
well. It knows how to hide from the other Servants.” The fog rising up from the
floor churned with increasing agitation. “Once it consumes enough lesser Larnkin,
it will take on those of greater power, then one of the Talismans, then it will
have the power to rival one of the lesser Servants. Once it consumes a Servant
it would be powerful enough to take out another and another. If left unchecked,
one day it will seek out its creator and devour Dakdamon, just like all his
siblings. Then it will go after the Great Mother and the All Father. They will
defend themselves—and all of Creation will suffer for it. Already it has been
busy. I detected its power upon you both.”