In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3

by Lisa Blackwood

  Near the stables, two figures, dressed in rich riding skirts, made their way to the front of the large building where grooms already had two sleek, well-mannered horses saddled and ready.

  Ah, it looked as if his ‘business’ was going to be so kind as to come to him. He stood, stretched out kinks, and quickly followed the trail up to the bluff’s peak.

  Once there, Trensler raised one arm and gestured behind him. A soft rustling of robes followed by the sound of hooves on dried grass answered his summons. Keldar came out of the forest leading two horses. He passed the reins of one into Trensler’s outstretched hand and then bowed.

  “My Lord, what are your orders?”

  “Hunt down the General’s daughters before they reach the protection of their horse-like companions. I don’t want a repeat of the river fiasco.”

  “As my lord wishes.” Keldar bowed again and then mounted his own steed. Eight more dark-clad acolytes emerged from the shadowy tree-line to follow Trensler’s second-in-command.

  * * * *

  “Sorsha... my gelding can’t keep this pace.”

  Lamarra’s out-of-breath comment only reinforced what Sorsha had already known a quarter-candlemark ago, but hadn’t told Lamarra so as not to frighten her. “We can’t stop. Shadowdancer said the Elders were explicit with their orders. But we’ll have to slow our pace or risk bursting your mount’s heart.”

  Sorsha slowed her mare to a fast trot, which seemed almost too much for Lamarra’s gelding to maintain. The poor beast was no hunter, his build better suited to pull a plow than maintain this mad dash across the wilds. Lamarra leaned forward to pat her steed's sweaty neck, and her lips moved in what Sorsha thought might be a silent apology to the stoic beast.

  Foam dotted the coat of Sorsha’s bay mare too, and a spike of guilt shot through her for riding the mare so hard, but she feared Trensler’s men more. Besides, if Trensler caught up, he’d probably kill their horses and leave them to be ravaged by predators, thereby shifting suspicion from himself and his men when she and Lamarra didn’t return.

  If they died out here in the wilderness, General Stonemantle would never know what befell them. A cold, helpless rage soured Sorsha’s gut, one she did her best to hide while she called encouragement to the two tiring horses.

  Lamarra cast a quick look behind her. “I don’t think we’re still being followed,” she said, with barely a thread of doubt in her voice. “Perhaps the Elders subdued the acolytes or at least waylaid them?”

  Fate isn’t as kind as you, my deceptively gentle-hearted sister.

  Lamarra faced forward again, her expression devoid of emotion, as if the doubt Sorsha had heard in her tone was nothing but the imaginings of her own overly stressed mind. Out of all three sisters, Sorsha supposed Lamarra had mastered their father’s stony mask the best.

  Queen-like. That label fit her second-oldest sister. While Ashayna was the warrior-heir of the Stonemantle name, Lamarra was the regal queen. With a hint of chagrin, Sorsha realized trying to live up to the two was probably what had first awakened the rebellious part of her nature. If Sorsha couldn’t be a warrior like Ash, she’d be damned if she was going to be the perfect lady-in-waiting to the ice queen Lamarra—no matter how much their mother had tried to shape such an outcome for her youngest daughter. At least that had been Sorsha’s thinking up until a few months ago when Ashayna had been taken from them.

  In the days following Ashayna’s kidnapping, Sorsha discovered Lamarra wasn’t as cold or controlled as she outwardly showed. As for herself, Sorsha began to understand there could be balance between the two. Outwardly, she could be the noble lady, while still secretly protecting her family from the acolytes and uphold her duty to the empire, thereby honoring her warrior’s heart.

  She just didn’t know how until she’d met Shadowdancer and he’d taught her about her magic. Now she had direction. A purpose. She could learn to balance a woman’s wisdom with a warrior’s heart. If she was allowed to live long enough to explore it.

  “I haven’t heard sounds of pursuit in over a candlemark,” Lamarra said, sounding somewhat surer of herself as she glanced over her shoulder for the second time.

  “You might be right,” Sorsha lied easily. Just because we can’t hear them doesn’t mean they are not still there. “And we’re almost to the rendezvous point. Shadowdancer and the others are faster than our horses. They’ll already be waiting. We just have to get there before Trensler’s men catch us.”

  Lamarra slowed her gelding, allowing him to walk. “Your mare has better stamina than my mount. Ride ahead. Find Ambassador Shadowdancer and then come back for me.”

  Sorsha snorted and arched an eyebrow at her sister. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard... noble... but stupid.”

  Lamarra frowned, but urged her gelding back into a trot. “When Trensler catches both of us and drains us dry, don’t blame me.”

  They rode in silence, keeping their own fears close. No good would come from voicing them anyway, Sorsha mused. Instead she turned her attention back to her mare, calling encouragements, even though with each passing stride the certainty of failure grew stronger.

  “That’s good, Shadegrove. Once we’re with the santhyrians, I’ll turn you lose and you can find your way back to your cozy stall. There’ll be warm mush and lots of hay. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, girl?” Talking to the mare helped Sorsha ignore the nervous churning of her stomach.

  At the sound of her rider’s voice, Shadegrove swiveled her ears back to listen. When her mistress fell silent, the horse relaxed her silky ears, but after a handful of paces the bay snapped her ears forward again, arched her neck, and skidded to a halt. She nickered once, one short, questioning call. It was a strange sound, not one Sorsha recalled the mare having made in the past.

  “What is it? What does she hear? We can’t be at the rendezvous site yet.” Lamarra halted her own gelding next to Shadegrove.

  “No. Pray it’s just some predator, or the santhyrians come to find us and not Trensler’s men.”

  At the slight pressure of her heels on the horse’s sides, the mare began to walk again, if somewhat more reluctantly. Sorsha strained her ears, but at first she didn’t hear any sounds out of the ordinary. After several more heartbeats, she heard the first faint sound of hoof beats. It wasn’t a predator then. At least, not one of the animal variety. There was no way to tell if it was santhyrians or acolytes on horseback.

  * * * *

  As the newcomers drew nearer, Sorsha soon discerned the rhythms of at least three horses moving at a furious gallop. Three. Surely it had to be the santhyrians. In the past, the acolytes had always attacked in greater numbers.

  She hoped her hunch was correct and urged her mare forward into a trot. But as a precaution, she freed her bow and reached behind for an arrow. Lamarra followed close at her heels.

  Just ahead, a huge, dark shadow emerged out of the undergrowth, devouring the distance between them with his long-legged strides. At his flanks, his two companions—one pale like the moon and the other the deep red-brown of old blood—matched his swift pace.

  Black as the darkest hour of the night he was, and in that moment, surly attitude and all, more beautiful than any creature she’d ever laid eyes on. “Shadowdancer!”

  Shadowdancer surged ahead of the others, reaching Sorsha and Lamarra in mere heartbeats. He shot past with his head arched high and his tail raised in challenge, before skidding to a halt and facing the direction Sorsha had just come. He sniffed the air for a few moments, snorted, and then spun on his heels and trotted to her side.

  “You’re still being hunted. One of the Elders has been injured. The others are still engaged with the acolytes, but half of Trensler’s men broke off and are now following your trail. Get on my back. Hurry.”

  For once, she was more than happy to hear and obey one of Shadowdancer’s blunt commands.

  Chapter Nine

  “I still think we should have found a way to warn Father about Lord-Ma
ster Trensler. He’s a danger to anyone who so much as shares the same air with him.” Lamarra looked deeply unhappy. She held fistfuls of Summer Flame’s mane in a white-knuckled grip and exhaustion had cracked her queenly mask. Fear showed through.

  “I don’t think Father possesses what Trensler wants—Father has no magic.” Sorsha studied her sister where she sat on Summer Flame with about as much grace and poise as a sack of grain might have managed. The bay stallion had even allowed himself to be fitted with the saddle from Lamarra’s gelding. Luckily he and the half-blood draft gelding were of a similar size.

  Unfortunately, her mare’s saddle hadn’t fit either Shadowdancer or Winter’s Frost.

  When Sorsha suggested the two stallions share Lamarra’s saddle, switching it between them during rests, Shadowdancer had refused, saying he’d rather be sucked dry by Trensler than suffer a saddle on his back. No amount of reasoning on her part had changed his mind. With a sharp mental comment about it being his damn back, the conversation had closed. Unfortunately come day’s end, it was going to be her poor knees and thighs that were sore from trying to protect his spine. She rolled her eyes at another case of misguided male pride.

  At least she was in peak shape, having ridden Shadowdancer bareback for a few candlemarks each night for the better part of the last moon’s cycle.

  “We can’t know that Father’s lack of magic will protect him from Trensler.” Lamarra frowned.

  Sorsha admitted she felt the same bone-deep terror, but the General hadn’t gained his rank by being an idiot. “Father’s smart. He would have figured out the Elementals have a specific interest in Ashayna, and that’s why she was taken as a war prize. It won’t have taken him long to realize other members of the family have gained favor among the santhyrians.” Sorsha tapped Shadowdancer’s shoulder for emphasis. “He’ll guess we might have magic as well.”

  “You’re expecting Father to be reasonable. Yes, he’s smart. And yes, he probably figured out everything before we did—but he’s still going to be furious at us for running off.”

  “No, he’d consider it a strategic retreat.”

  “And your General can always blame my brother for your kidnapping,” Winter’s Frost sent from where she scouted some distance ahead. “The Council is already mobilizing an army of mages to aid the three Elders. They’ll warn the General and fill in any details he’s missing.”

  Sorsha could just make out the pale, bulky form of the mare through the mist a few hundred paces in the distance.

  Before Sorsha could form an answer, the mare’s mind touched hers again. “That’s the best we can hope for.”

  “You’re right. My father has nothing Trensler wants. Besides, if anything happens to the General, there will be war between Trensler’s acolytes and men loyal to my father.” Even though Trensler hunted her because of it, Sorsha was thankful for her magic. It allowed many benefits. She learned more each day. And, fate willing, she’d have an entire lifetime to learn. If Trensler didn’t sniff out their trail again. This morning’s events could have turned out much worse.

  Lamarra cast another look over her shoulder. The fifth in the last hundred paces. Worry itched between her own shoulder blades, and Sorsha was tempted to glance behind.

  “Lamarra if you don’t stop, you’re going to make me jumpy.”

  Lamarra winced. “Sorry. It’s just... I…”

  “I know.” Sorsha didn’t have a soothing answer. She felt the same nameless unease.

  They rode in silence for a while after that. Shadowdancer’s smooth trot lulled her. Half-drowsing on his back, Sorsha closed her eyes for a brief nap. She trusted him to warn her of terrain changes or other dangers. The last few days and nights, while interesting, hadn’t been restful and exhaustion was fast creeping upon her.

  “You’re going to fall and break your neck,” Lamarra commented in a tired voice.

  “Hmmm,” Sorsha said by way of answer.

  Lamarra snorted in a rather good imitation of Ashayna.

  Sorsha grinned, and said, “Careful, you’re sounding like our older sister”

  “At least Ash knows enough not to fall off a horse and get herself killed.”

  Summer Flame arched his neck and looked at his rider. “Sorsha’s in no danger. Perfect balance is a basic level skill of every Herd Mistress.”

  Shadowdancer swished his tail hard enough it slapped along Sorsha’s back. Sorsha felt his tension through her legs where they contacted his sides. Interesting. She wondered what a Herd Mistress was. If she was to guess, she’d say Summer Flame had let something slip, and by the way Shadowdancer pinned his ears and snaked his head toward Summer Flame’s shoulder, it was something Shadowdancer wished hidden.

  First chance she got, she would question the flame-bright bay. Preferably when Shadowdancer wasn’t around.

  Shadowdancer cocked an ear back and his tension doubled. “Horses. Approaching unnaturally fast on the trail behind us.”

  Summer Flame slowed, dancing sideways as his tail flared out behind him. The stallion’s conviction to face the enemy—brave but fatally foolish—was clear as day. By Lamarra’s alarmed look, she didn’t know how to dissuade Summer Flame from his plans.

  “Don’t stop. We can’t win in a fight against them.” Shadowdancer swerved, biting at Summer Flame’s flank. Flame squealed and bolted in the direction Shadowdancer left open.

  Sorsha leaned forward, closer to Shadowdancer’s mane as the stallion surged into a gallop, herding the other two Santhyrians ahead of him. The landscape to either side blurred by, yet she felt no fear. They were together, and Shadowdancer could outrun even the fastest horse over a distance.

  “Yes, I can outrun anything natural and most unnatural creatures, too. But I don’t know what Trensler is or how far his power reaches. When he chased us before, he had already fed upon us and was able to strengthen his men’s horses with magic. If he has now fed upon an Elder’s power, the horses may possess greater endurance.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” Sorsha swallowed convulsively, fear sharp and dry in the back of her mouth.

  “Hold on. Don’t fall off. And later, should we survive, I’ll let you reward me with a good rubdown.” Shadowdancer’s mental voice was laced with humor, however, it didn’t cover the touch of panic “If we make it to one of the Wild Path’s permanent archways, we might just live to see another day.”

  From Shadowdancer’s nightly lessons about magic and history, Sorsha remembered a few snippets about the Wild Path. It was a grey world of stone arches and deep mists, able to cut long journeys shorter. A Stallion Mage could summon the magic required to awaken one of the arches he’d mentioned. Ashayna had her own stories to tell of that place. While it was a way to cover great distances in a shorter time, there were other dangers, beasts that hunted in packs and could run down even a santhyrian over a short distance.

  With a shiver, Sorsha remembered the look in Ashayna’s eyes when she’d told of how Sorntar had been bitten by one of the beasts and nearly pulled off his mount. If Ashayna hadn’t been there that day, Sorntar might not have survived the Wild Path.

  But somehow, with the very real danger of the acolytes closing in from behind, the threat of unknown beasts didn’t seem so fearsome. “So if we can outrun them and reach the archway first, we’ll be able to lose them on the Wild Path?”

  “Yes, that place confounds even the most experienced hunters; we should be able to lose them there.”

  Sorsha certainly hoped that was the case. She could hear the sound of hoof beats a distance behind them, drawing closer.

  In front of them, Winter’s Frost was pulling ahead. Summer Flame was close on her heels, with a very frightened Lamarra clinging to his back.

  “I’m not fully recovered,” Shadowdancer admitted, his reluctance coming clear across the mind-link.

  “Then I’ll just have to even the odds a little in our favor.” Sorsha freed her bow from over her shoulder and drew an arrow from her quiver. As Shadowdancer r
aced after his two herd-mates, Sorsha cast swift glances behind, waiting for the first enemy to reveal himself. Then she’d show him why archery was her second favorite activity. Ashayna wasn’t the General’s only daughter with a warrior’s heart. Even as a child, she’d wanted to ride among the ranks of the Horse Archers in her father’s army.

  She turned, twisting enough to see behind her, but not so much she jeopardized her balance. On the trail behind her, six acolytes spurred their horses into greater speed. A normal horse couldn’t maintain a santhyrian’s pace, yet these were slowly closing the distance. Sweat lathered their dull coats and bloody foam dripped from their mouths to splatter on their chests and necks. They were close enough she could see blood trickling from their flared nostrils.

  Before another candlemark expired, the acolytes’ mounts would be dead. Sorsha just hoped she and Shadowdancer weren’t already growing cool themselves. She sighted down her notched arrow, focusing on the lead rider. With a twang, the arrow sailed away.

  The acolyte jerked with the impact. His black robes flared around him. Then, barely discernible to Sorsha’s eyes over the distance, something black—a strange, coil-like mist, crawled over his form before it bled away. A moment more and he toppled over the back of his horse’s rump and hit the ground with the dead-weight-landing of a corpse. The moment he died, his mount stumbled, as all life seemed to go out of it, too. The horse’s front legs folded under it. Momentum slammed the horse’s head and neck into the ground and flipped its hind quarters on top of itself. Sorsha’s stomach churned at the sharp snaps of breaking bones and the heavy wet sound of violated flesh.

  Shaking off the horror of watching the horse go down, Sorsha’s mind reached out to Shadowdancer. “The bastards can die. Just not by magical means. We can win this yet.”

  Another arrow flew true to its mark, slaying a second acolyte. Hope swelled in her chest. She fit another arrow to the string and was picking her next target when she spied more enemies approaching in the distance.