Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (22 page)

Muttering a curse, he walked around the perimeter of
the pillars. Reaching out, he held his fingers less than a hand’s span away
from the bright field of energy; close, but not quite touching that power where
it flickered with such brilliance just below his hand.

Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance, and his
finger tapped against the shield. Magic from the Ward hummed across his
skin—seeking, hunting, searching. Studying him, Shadowdancer realized with
growing apprehension. He waited with breath trapped in his lungs.

Nothing happened for a few moments, and then the
Ward’s magic invaded his mind. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t fight it. It
sought something from him, and he had to let it in. Dragging deep steady
breaths in through his nose and out past his lips, he fought against the rising
pain as the Ward’s raw power probed his mind, digging out whatever information
it sought. After a moment the power’s sharp grip lessened. Power receded from
his body, but it left one word blazing within his mind.

Incomplete.

His nostrils flared in fear and understanding. Of
course, he should have expected something like this. The Oracle had warned him
in its own way. Sorsha completed him. And while they were once of the Twelve,
they no longer bore the Mark, and the Wardspell protecting the remains of the
Falcon Staff would also have expected a bonded pair. Two complete Larnkins. Not
one half. Even if he was an Oracle’s Harbinger.

With an angry flickering, the Ward’s power contracted
down into a fine point, fusing his hand to the pale blue power, holding him in
place while it decided what to do with him.

A soft whine filled the air, quickly growing into
something far fiercer and higher pitched.

“Forgive me,” Shadowdancer shouted as panic flooded
his body. “I meant no deception!”

The Ward softened. Eyes widening in surprise,
Shadowdancer thought it would free him, then realized the foolishness of that
thought as the power contracted vice-like around his hand and dragged him
relentlessly a half step closer. He scrambled against its unyielding pull, all
four hooves churning for traction but he couldn’t extract himself. With an
angry crackling hiss, the Ward bowed outward, slamming into him with the force
of a tropical wind devil. His hooves fought empty air for purchase and then he
was flying. The chamber’s outer wall was rushing to meet him, his swift flight
cut short by the solidness of stone.

* * * *

Pain edged him back toward consciousness. He fought
it, wanting the blessing of oblivion a little while longer. But the nagging
pain nipped at him until he opened his eyes. He shifted his legs cautiously;
they moved and seemed relatively unharmed, but the left side of his body felt
like one big bruise. Blood coated his cheek where he’d bitten his lip. He moved
his fingers up to touch the cut and winced.

His fingers were too swollen to bend into a fist and
bones grated against each other in his wrist. Painful, broken and useless, he
pressed his arm against his side. Sitting up, he surveyed the rest of his body
for damage. By some blessing, he wasn’t otherwise seriously injured. The rest
of his limbs were whole, his body free of swellings. He could take full deep
breaths, so his ribs weren’t broken. He carefully slipped his arm with the broken
wrist under the straps holding the quiver of arrows to his back. He’d have to
set it later. He silently cursed his luck; he wouldn’t be firing arrows anytime
soon. So much for all Sorsha’s archery lessons.

After he came to his feet, he returned the way he had
come.

Back in the large entrance chamber, shadows stretched
long fingers out from dark corners, rallying now that the sun’s strength was
waning. As he emerged from the temple, and navigated the stairs leading back to
level ground, he took in the vivid colors of sunset with a sinking heart. He’d
been unconscious longer than he’d hoped. He cast a nervous glance down the
steep path cut into the side of the cliff. It was the only way down. No help
for it then. He’d just have to get down and away before Trensler reached this
location.

He’d failed the Oracle. There was no way to save the
Falcon Staff from Trensler. Not without Sorsha, and she was too far away,
tucked safely high in the mountain. Safe for now, but nothing would remain safe
if Trensler got his hands on the Staff.

So close. The Falcon Staff had been somewhere just
behind the Ward. Bitterness churned in his gut as he picked his way down the
trail.

He was navigating the bottom third of the path when a
flash of white among the trees caught his attention.

Shadowdancer froze as one of Trensler’s Acolytes
emerged from the undergrowth, others followed close on his heels. They were
moving unnaturally slow, their motion hindered by something pale suspended
between their horses. The white that had first caught his attention—it was a
fine netting. The Acolytes had brought nets with them. Shadowdancer’s body
tensed with growing fear as he silently watched the Acolytes erect a number of
nets at the base of the cliff. Nets to entrap him.

Unease coiled in Sorsha’s gut as she studied the
terrain directly before her. Ahead, the tracks of Trensler’s mounts vanished
into the river. She’d have to leave the cover of the underbrush to make the
crossing. That moment of fearful vulnerability would be compounded by her
inability to hear anything over the rush of water.

She looked back the way she’d come, and then to the
front again. Shadowdancer was somewhere ahead—hunted by Trensler. If he was
found, he’d only have the bow and limited supply of arrows to protect himself against
the Acolytes. Sorsha ran a hand along the taunt string of the bow looped over
her shoulder. While she might not be as strong as Shadowdancer, she was far
more skilled with her bow, and it provided the only safe way to deal with the
enemy.

One more glance at the opposite shore assured her she
was alone in the immediate area. With a deep breath, she plunged down the
gentle incline of the bank and into the shallow waters of the stream. Sand gave
way to deep mud. It sucked at her hooves and she fought for her footing.
Emerging on the opposite bank, she scanned for enemies a second time, and then
bolted up the slope and into the woods.

She was just bending down to study the tracks left by
a half dozen enslaved Santhyrians when her Larnkin stirred awake for the first
time since she’d met Trensler face to face. Panic flooded her mind, her body
trembled with reaction. There was danger…but not to her.

Shadowdancer.

He was in danger.

Before she’d fully thought it out, she was galloping
in Shadowdancer’s direction. Her Larnkin gave her no choice, forcing her along
the path the Acolytes had taken, seemingly uncaring if they’d left one of their
number to act as a rearguard. Kicking up dust in her wake, she loosed her bow
and reached over her shoulder for one of the Oracle’s fire arrows. Her Larnkin
continued to scream warnings that Shadowdancer’s life was at risk. She fitted
an arrow to the string and glared up ahead.

Dark shadows of the forest gave way to the orange and
gold light of sunset. Blinking to clear the sunspots from her vision, she
continued forward, ready to aim even though she couldn’t see her prey yet. She
could sense them, though, taste the dark essence of their power—the pain they
caused the land as they drank the sacred energy surrounding the temple.

A dark cloaked figure stood next to his mount, his
gaze locked onto his prey farther up the mountain. The sound of chanting
reached her ears. She couldn’t make out the words over her own panting breath,
but it didn’t matter what they said.

When Sorsha raised the bow and thought of flames, the
arrowhead burst to life with greedy fire. The twang of the bow string sounded
loud to her sensitized hearing. With a meaty thump, the arrow found its mark
between the Acolyte’s shoulder blades. Smoke curled up, and fire hissed.

The force of the blow spun the Acolyte around, but she
didn’t pause to study his expression beyond noting his shock. How many
innocents had this creature killed to feed the ravenous hunger of his master?
He crumpled forward as he continued to burn. Well, this one wouldn’t be feeding
his master any time soon. She notched another fire arrow; it flew as unerringly
as the first and found the heart of another dark target.

Two more arrows flew from her bow. The first was another
clean kill, but the second flew wide, just grazing a young Acolyte’s arm. Her
speed carried her past him and she couldn’t stop her headlong pace in time to
turn and finish him off. She continued ahead, into the midst of another
grouping of the Acolytes. Too many blocked a direct route to where Shadowdancer
stood, trapped between the cliff wall and a corral of nets, so Sorsha took a
longer, less direct route through.

She took down another Acolyte, but surrounded by the
remaining priests, she could feel them start to drain magic from her. She
didn’t have much time. If she was going to help Shadowdancer, she needed to
finish off more of them now, before it was too late. She was bringing the bow
to bear again when an Acolyte sent his mount crashing into her. She staggered
back, but kept her balance. Another arrow flew wide, bounced off a tree trunk
and skimmed along the dirt under the net. The arrow continued a bit farther
until finally coming to rest near Shadowdancer’s front hooves.

The two Acolytes coming at Shadowdancer from opposite
directions paused for long moments, and then realizing the flames only spread
as far as the fuel allowed, started forward again.

As if she and Shadowdancer were linked, one mind, body
and soul, they lunged into motion together. Sorsha drew another arrow and took
out the Acolyte on Shadowdancer’s left flank. The big Santhyrian spun his hips
around, catching the man on his right with a powerful kick. While the two
nearest enemies were down, Shadowdancer drew an arrow from his quiver and
impaled the Acolyte he’d kicked. It wasn’t until he straightened that she
spotted his bound wrist and understood why he wasn’t using his bow.

Sorsha lunged into a canter, plowing into an Acolyte
who didn’t get out of her way in time. At the feel of soft flesh and snapping
bones under her hooves, her stomach started a slow continuous roll of nausea.
Horror finally penetrated her adrenalin filled mind. The Acolytes, as much as
she hated and feared them, had once been human. These were her own kind she was
crushing—pitiful, enslaved creatures though they were. Perhaps sensing Sorsha
was less than resolute, her Larnkin took firmer hold and reached out to the
nearest enemy with her power, studying him. Sorsha could feel what her Larnkin
had learned.

In life, his name had been Keldar, a kind-hearted
young man—he’d loved nature and healed whatever wounded animal might cross his
path. But now, where his bright spirit had once been, was a cold, soulless
power. Its thoughts flowed along the mental pathway, its endless hunger,
desire, and madness washing over Sorsha’s mind. An incomplete being. Flawed
from the moment it had been created. She broke out in a cold sweat as she met
Keldar’s gaze. He had long ago become a soulless slave. These Acolytes were no longer
human; instead they were empty shells occupied by something evil. Though it was
as pointless to feel pity for Keldar as it was for any of them, she felt
sadness all the same as she released another arrow.

Keldar toppled backward off his mount, his cloak
engulfed in flames.

Death was a blessing.

Sorsha notched another arrow for Light’s cause.
Drawing in a deep breath, she held it a moment, and then released it
accompanied by a great battle cry. Words of an ancient language poured from her
mouth as another arrow guided by her Larnkin’s magic found its mark.

She charged across the field, grass slapping at her
legs as she galloped. Arrow after arrow found Acolytes even as they drank her
magic.

If she was to die, she would die with honor.

* * * *

She charged toward him, her hair a wild ribbon behind
her, tail arched like a banner in the wind, and her powerful legs carrying her
closer to death with each stride. She was grace, and she was death. She was his
bondmate, his Herd Mistress. And her stubborn Stonemantle bravado was going to
get her killed.

One enemy after another fell before her arrows, but
more were coming up behind her, emerging from the forest, and his beloved no
longer had the element of surprise. Of the two dozen Acolytes, a good half were
still very much alive. And organizing for an assault.

Sorsha thundered up to his side. “Where is he?”

After scanning the faces of the Acolytes closing in on
their location, and not seeing one face in particular, Shadowdancer understood
her meaning. “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t Trensler be here?”

“Maybe Trensler’s master doesn’t want to risk his
highest ranking servant?”

“Perhaps.” He would have said more, but the dozen
remaining Acolytes were maneuvering their nets within capture range again.
“Up.” Shadowdancer circled around and physically shoved Sorsha toward the
narrow path leading back up to the temple. “Move now. Or we die here.” He
herded her faster, pushing her from behind when she tried to slow enough to
take aim at the enemies. “Later, when we’re higher and out of feeding range.”

“But I’ve got a shot.”

“You’ll be able to hit your targets just as well from
a slightly safer distance.” As he herded her farther up the mountain trail, he
made certain to keep the bulk of his body between Sorsha and the enemy below.
While he hadn’t seen any archers among the Acolytes, that didn’t mean there
wasn’t any. Sorsha scrambled up the next incline and paused at the turn,
bracing herself in an attempt to take a shot at the shrinking enemy below.
Shadowdancer blocked her and tried urging her on up.

“Let me take the shot.”

“I have a plan.” If only the pursuers would give him a
few moments peace to enact it. “A little ways ahead there’s a door, behind it a
set of stairs cuts into the heart of the mountain itself. That tunnel leads up
to the plateau where the temple resides. That stairway is ancient, and still
intact, but barely. If we can summon enough magic to destabilize the tunnel, we
might be able to cause a small cave in and block the only quick way to reach
the temple. It will take the Acolytes some time to clear away the mess and
follow us.”

Sorsha put her arrow back in the quiver. “Any plan
that keeps them off our backs for a little while longer is a good one.”

By mutual consent, they made their way up the trail in
a mad gallop, only stopping once they stood before the great maw of the
mountain stairway. Sorsha glanced within, and then made a little gesture with
her arm. “Lead on.”

He shook his head. “You first.”

“You’re trying to protect me, again. We’re equals.
Even the Oracle said as much. If we die, we die together.”

“Get moving. We need to be deeper inside the tunnel
before I start weaving the spell of destruction.” Seeing her dark look, he
summoned a mage globe and sent it ahead of them to illuminate the darkness. “Follow
that. Argue later.”

“You bet. Words later.” She leaned into him so fast he
only had a moment to register the feel of warm lips pressed against his before
her heat was pulling away. “Just make sure your big hairy ass is right behind
me before the ceiling starts to come down. I don’t want to find out later you
were caught in your own trap. When I get to the afterlife, I’ll never let you
hear the end of it. I promise.”

“I know, and a Stonemantle never breaks a promise.” He
chuckled, surprised he could still find humor, even now. “Now go. Hurry. This
tunnel, it’s long, but eventually leads up to the plateau. You’ll be able to
see the temple from there. Soon as I set the spell, I’ll be right behind you.”

With a sharp nod, she trotted up the tunnel. He split
his attention between watching her as she vanished into the gloom and summoning
power for the spell. Once he judged Sorsha was a safe distance away from where
he planned to bring down a portion of the ceiling, he focused on the immediate
terrain, looking for weaknesses in the stone above him. While the tunnel had
been cut directly into the mountain, and been spelled to prevent collapse, the
magic was very old.

His senses stretched outward from his body, expanding
to encompass the surrounding stone. After a moment’s probing he found a fault
in the rock above his head. His Larnkin stirred within, its thoughts touched
his. Even as Shadowdancer wanted to protect Sorsha, his Larnkin was determined
to protect her as well, the other half of his soul.

He backed up the passageway in the same direction
Sorsha had gone, putting distance between himself and the section of ceiling he
wanted to bring down.

Drawing in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and
surrendered. Power surged out from his body, a wellspring of potent magic
flowing out of him into the surrounding stone. At his Larnkin’s wordless
command, magic sank into a fault in the rock. To Shadowdancer’s inner eye, it
looked like water flowing into a crevice. Deeper the magic searched, following
the fissures higher into the mountain. There it pooled with a growing
intensity. Heat bloomed. Rock turned molten. Under his hooves the ground
shifted. Shadowdancer’s Larnkin prodded him into motion. He spun around, taking
the same path Sorsha had, but at a mad gallop, scrambling over the heaving
ground.

Behind him a large chunk of the ceiling sheered off.
Intense thunderous sound assaulted his ears. Shadowdancer stretched his stride
even as a cloud of dust raced past, enveloping him in its smothering grit.

* * * *

“Shadowdancer!”

Dust, thick and choking billowed up from below to roll
past her hooves. It was such a small amount to herald such doom. Strong winds
of the plateau were quick to blow it away.

Hot tears poured down her cheeks. She stood
motionless, and called his name again, quieter this time.

Jaws locked against an overwhelming need to scream,
she forced herself closer to the dark entrance in the ground from which
Shadowdancer still hadn’t emerged. Her hands shook. She fisted them so hard her
knuckles whitened.
Why did I leave him?

The brave fool sacrificed himself.