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

by Lisa Blackwood

  Many more.

  Curse it. The ones she’d picked off were only advance scouts. The main group had far too many, fifteen or twenty riders. It was impossible to get an exact count through the trees.

  “Shadowdancer, there are too many. I don’t have enough arrows.” Not that she could take down twenty riders before they pulled her from Shadowdancer’s back, but she decided not to say that aloud.

  “We’re almost to the archway. Take out the rest of the nearest group.”

  Sorsha barked out a short, humorless laugh. Easy for him to say.

  She notched an arrow and let it fly. Then another and another until her arms burned with the strain. Some flew wide. Many more found their intended targets. One after another, the nearest acolytes fell to her arrows.

  She faced forward and leaned close to the stallion’s mane once again. Shadowdancer lengthened his stride as the trees thinned. Ahead, a small meadow remained defiant against the encroaching forest. The sun-dappled meadow would have been beautiful in other circumstances.

  Shadowdancer didn’t slow as he jumped a fallen tree and bounded into the meadow. Pounding across the grass, he flew toward where Summer Flame and Winter’s Frost waited. He skidded to a halt three paces in front of a sun-blanched stone archway.

  Gods. This close, the thing was huge. Five santhyrians could ride abreast under its immense curve.

  Sorsha held her breath until her lungs burned. Her senses came alive, and the queasiness from killing the acolytes melted away, fading under the new emotions her Larnkin expelled. Excitement. That was the only word she could think to call the emotion rolling through her Larnkin at the moment.

  Studying the arch, she waved a hand out in front of her as if she could touch the power suspended underneath the stones. Without doubt, she stood shadowed by something far more solid than empty air. A chill raised the hair on her arms.

  Viewed through the archway, the trees on the opposite side of the meadow were blurry, their rich greens muted. Everything held a misty quality.

  From her perch on the back of Summer Flame, Lamarra straightened her spine and rubbed her hands across her arms as if cold. Shivering, she looked over her shoulder. “Sorsha?”

  Sorsha barely acknowledged Lamarra.

  She couldn’t.

  Just at that moment, her protective shields fell away. A power unlike anything she recalled seeped into her blood, bones, and mind. For many heartbeats, she just sat, absorbing the power, glorying in the sensation to the point she forgot all else. Until the thunder of hooves brought her back from wherever her Larnkin had been daydreaming. Yet it was hard to concentrate with that cold, scentless, weightless power flowing out across the meadow from the still-unopened archway.

  It felt like home.

  She forced herself to be calm as she watched the two stallions conjuring magic. She held her breath. Runes carved into the stone began to glow. The white light grew in intensity, shifting hues until it settled on a deep aqua-blue.

  So much power.

  But not enough, her Larnkin whispered.

  Eyes closing, Sorsha embraced instinct and expanded her senses outside her body. Her Larnkin urged her on, forcing her to reach further, to touch both Shadowdancer and Summer Flame. The stallions’ minds were open to her. They were exhausted; the acolytes still fed on them, even over the distance. Shadowdancer despaired. He didn’t have enough magic to open the archway even with Summer Flame’s help.

  The enemy had been focusing their feeding upon the two stallions, thinking them the greatest in strength, but Sorsha’s Larnkin proved otherwise. Her power flooded into the santhyrian under her and from him into Summer Flame. She sensed both stallions’ surprise.

  Light intensified all along the stones. It spilled over into the opening, like a river’s water over a falls until it covered the entire surface of the arch. Before the power had been a mere trickle, now it flowed like a fast moving river. Light from both sides merged in the middle. The surface turned mirror-bright for the space of three heartbeats, then it vanished. In its place appeared a blurred view of a mist-covered road. Far in the distance another arch, twin to the one before her, broke up the seemingly unending grey mist.

  The power washed against her body in one great wave and then smaller ones, until it drained away.

  Sorsha wanted to throw her arms wide, gather all the cold power to her until it seeped into her bones as if it would somehow make her stronger, make her a threat instead of a victim. Her heart pounded within her chest, her breath came in ragged pants, but slowly her Larnkin’s chaotic, foreign emotions calmed. Her arms dropped back to her sides, but her Larnkin didn’t return to its slumber. Instead, something else had caught her attention. A new power built in the meadow. This one neither Wild Path, santhyrian, nor acolyte.

  The knowledge whispered at the back of her mind. She should know what she was sensing.

  To the left of the arch and a few paces ahead of it, the air rippled.

  “A Gate.” Summer Flame yelled into her mind. He danced in place. Sorsha idly noted Lamarra had to fight to keep her balance on the adjacent stallion. Then he turned and broke away from his companions, forcing Lamarra to cling to his back or fall off. “Help comes. We must warn the others. They’ll ride out of the Gate right into the acolytes.”

  “Summer Flame, wait.” Shadowdancer called after the bay stallion.

  Winter’s Frost halted at Shadowdancer’s tone and circled back to his side, but Flame continued, unheeding.

  “Shadowdancer?” Sorsha asked.

  “It is a Gate.” He raised his head, his neck arching as he exhaled a deep breath. “But those about to exit are not our friends.”

  “Lamarra! Summer Flame!” Sorsha didn’t know what the Gate was bringing, but her Larnkin stirred uneasily and Shadowdancer’s words gave validation to her disembodied fears.

  Chapter Ten

  The rippling in the air intensified, similar to heat rising from a rocky surface on a summer’s day. Churning harder, the air birthed twin columns of fire that burned with an unnatural light. A current of displaced air kicked up a smattering of dust and stirred the grass. The twin columns twisted like small tornados, their uppermost points bending into each other, forming an arch of fire. It was easily as large, or larger, than the stone archway of the Wild Path. In her gut, Sorsha knew this was fire magic, like what a phoenix could work. She remembered Ashayna talking about that turbulent, willful power.

  For the first time, she understood her older sister’s fear; Ashayna’s dislike and absolute distrust in such wild, near uncontrollable power. Even over the distance, Sorsha sensed the chaos of fire magic, so much wilder and more resentful of another’s will imposed upon it.

  And then something more fearsome than even the Gate’s magic appeared in the meadow. A tall, male phoenix stepped out of the Gate; however, there was no mistaking this one for Prince Sorntar.

  Where Sorntar was vivid life, this one was the grey of death. His wings were dull silver tipped with black. When he turned toward her, she got the full effect. His skin was pale, chalky, and grey-smeared. Coal darkened his lips, hollowed his cheeks, and made pits of his eye sockets.

  “Tomb Guard!” Shadowdancer screamed his challenge.

  Summer Flame skidded to a halt, gathered his legs under himself, and wheeled around. Another shape emerged from the Gate, this one as large as the stallion, but bulkier and possessing massive wings, half-furrowed in aggression. The gryphon surged into motion in a blur of speed, which defied its size. Two bounds and the big beast had closed the distance. Powerful hindquarters rippled with muscle as it lunged into the air. The beast collided with the stallion, knocking him off-balance. It happened so fast, Sorsha could barely follow the motion.

  She blinked. The gryphon dragged Lamarra off Summer Flame’s back before the stallion crashed into the ground.

  Lamarra and Summer Flame stumbled to their feet at about the same time, but the gryphon was now positioned between them. The gryphon herded Lamarra back tow
ard the horrid phoenix. Winter’s Frost broke away from Shadowdancer’s side. Clods of earth and bits of grass flew up from her heels as the mare galloped over fallen trees and scruffy undergrowth to reach Summer Flame’s side.

  More Elementals with their morbid body paint emerged through the Gate. Winter’s Frost shied, her clamped tail showing fear even Sorsha could read over the distance, but the mare joined Summer Flame as he tried to rescue Lamarra.

  “Help them!”

  As if her words were irrefutable commands, Shadowdancer broke into a gallop, following the route taken by his sister. But a stride away from a fallen tree blocking the path he pulled up so sharply, Sorsha lost her seat and was tossed unceremoniously upon his neck. She scrambled for balance, squeezing his withers with her knees and clinging to his neck until she could right herself. Once more solidly on his back, Sorsha glanced up to see why Shadowdancer had aborted his jump.

  At least twenty acolytes were presently riding into the meadow. A half-moment of indecision, where they milled about in absolute silence, ensued. Then one—presumably the leader, though this one was much younger than Trensler—called orders to his men.

  Shadowdancer didn’t wait to hear the orders, instead wheeling around and galloping back to the Wild Path. Its cold power still seeped from the arch and flowed across the meadow, swirling around Shadowdancer’s hooves in small eddies.

  The acolytes advanced toward the Gate and Lamarra as Sorsha watched, helpless to do anything to stop them. Her fingers tightened around her bow—her few arrows useless against so many. She loosed a curse instead. Shadowdancer fidgeted under her, pawing at the dirt and turning in a tight circle. She felt the tension in his body; he was feeling just as helpless. It was little comfort as they both stared at the scene unfolding before them.

  Situated midway between the fiery Gate and the silent Tomb Guards, Summer Flame and Winter’s Frost galloped in half-circles around Lamarra. No matter which way they charged, the Tomb Guards blocked them, preventing either of the santhyrians from getting close enough for Lamarra to mount one. When two gryphons charged Winter’s Frost from opposite directions, Sorsha realized they were trying to herd the mare through the Gate. With a shrill whinny of fear, the mare half-reared, her front hooves pawing at the air. She spun, narrowly avoiding being bowled over by the faster of the two gryphons. When Winter’s Frost dropped to all fours again, she screamed in rage and bolted through the Gate.

  Shock held Sorsha immobile. It had happened so fast. Winter’s Frost was gone. Safely through the Gate. Sorsha just didn’t know if the Gate, and whatever waited on the other side, was a better option than the acolytes. If the outward appearance of the Tomb Guards and Shadowdancer’s reaction to them was any indication, Sorsha didn’t really want to choose between either option.

  At that moment, it didn’t look like fate planned to be kind. Lamarra was dragged backward toward the gate between two Tomb Guards. One was the male phoenix who had first stepped through the gate and the other was a large, wolf-like creature, which Sorsha knew must be a lupwyn. Two more gryphons joined the one already advancing on the acolytes. One of the gryphons leapt upon an acolyte, tearing him from his saddle. One swift bite and she beheaded him. The other humans drew swords; a line of nearly twenty men and horses bore down upon the Tomb Guards.

  Sorsha might not know which side would win, but she knew in her heart Lamarra was in danger, whatever the outcome.

  “Lamarra!” Sorsha screamed and kicked her heels into Shadowdancer’s sides, momentarily forgetting he was more than a horse. He sidestepped and pinned his ears, but wouldn’t go in the direction she wished. “They need our help.”

  “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Sorsha merged with Shadowdancer’s mind. “Please!”

  As her plea registered, she felt Shadowdancer’s emotions, and his resolve to stay out of the fight, waver. He would do anything for her, he couldn’t deny a Herd Mistress. He took a half-step forward, his ears still pinned. However, the line of acolytes effectively blocked him from reaching Lamarra and the others.

  The stallion skidded to a halt once again and started back to the archway. “I’m sorry, but this is no fight for us. We’ll be useless to Lamarra, Flame, and my sister if we’re dead.”

  While Sorsha conceded that Shadowdancer was probably correct, it still didn’t sit well with her. All she could do was ball her fists and watch.

  A low chanting filled the meadow, its tone soft, eerie, and yet chillingly beautiful. Unable to stop herself, Sorsha looked away from the danger of advancing humans and to the tall, male phoenix. His song grew stronger, and he lifted his arms up above his head. Fire leapt up between the Tomb Guards and the charging acolytes. Several horses squealed in terror, shying away from the magic fire, some dumping their riders and bolting back in the direction they’d come.

  “Lamarra!” Sorsha’s voice cracked with strain, but if her sister heard her over the crackle of magic fire, she made no response.

  A second wall of fire sprang up from the ground several spans in front of where Sorsha stood, the fiery barrier blocking her view of Lamarra, her Tomb Guard captors, and the acolytes. Heat washed against Sorsha’s skin in waves, wisps of her hair swirled around her face, caught in the hot updraft. Sorsha turned her face away from a heat so severe, it starved her lungs for air. Coughing and squinting past her streaming tears, she tried to make out Summer Flame and Lamarra through the flames.

  The inferno danced higher, pieces sheering off to float up into the tree canopy above her head. Moving with slow purpose, the fire crawled closer to her position. Shadowdancer shied back a stride and then another. In that moment, Sorsha suspected the magic’s true purpose. The wall wasn’t designed to stop or attack the enemy, instead it was herding Shadowdancer closer to the open Archway of the Wild Path.

  A human form leaped through the flames, cloak blazing with the same unnatural fire. At first Sorsha thought it was Lamarra, escaped from her captors, but joy turned to hate a heartbeat later as wind whipped up by the raging fire blew the newcomer’s hood back. The acolyte’s blank eyes focused on her unwaveringly. Nothing registered on his features. Not the presence of the arch at her back, nor the wall of fire advancing upon his. Not even his burning cloak was enough to sway him from his prey.

  Something snapped within Sorsha. She was a Stonemantle. And a Stonemantle was not prey.

  A tight knot of power—one she’d come to accept as her sleeping Larnkin—stirred, its magic unfurling anew. Pressure built within her body. The tingling soon turned to a burning as her Larnkin reached out with its wraithlike touch. Waves of power expanded out, a wash of energy cascading down her arms and legs. The hair on the back of her neck lifted, gooseflesh raced down her body, and a misty blue glow, flame-like and ever changing, burst to life along her body to outline her with glowing power.

  The acolyte stopped as something flickered in his eyes. It wasn’t fear, or the relentless hunger she’d come to expect. No, this was another emotion. Scarier. Whatever controlled the man looked upon her with interest... curiosity. As if it was seeing something new in need of study.

  Her arm rose to the level of her shoulder, palm up, her fingers uncurling. The gesture would have been less alarming if she’d actually lifted her arm herself. But control of her body seemed to have been commandeered by her Larnkin. With a small part of her shock-slowed mind, she admitted if she hadn’t already seen so much magic, she’d probably be screaming right about now. As it was, her stomach was tied into a heavy lump and a cold sweat ran down her back.

  A soft flick of her wrist and a thick, ropy white power bled from the stone archway behind her. Several strands braided themselves together as they stretched across the distance to her raised hand. Then the first braid slid across her palm and spiraled around her wrist before shimming up her arm. It rested on her shoulder, not unlike a pet bird. Then it ruffled her hair as it continued its journey to her other arm. Other braids of power were reaching out from the archway now, some waved in the air
seemingly aimlessly, while others had found their way to Shadowdancer’s hooves.

  He stood rooted to the ground, his muscles locked tight, his nostrils flared in alarm, and his eyes showed white around the edges. But he didn’t move or do anything to distract her.

  Emotions flowed from her Larnkin—not precisely words, nor were they truly images—but the meaning was clear. Her Larnkin was well-pleased with Sorsha’s choice of Stallion Mage. Her Larnkin nearly purred with happiness. A small trickle of fear caressed Sorsha’s body. Shadowdancer remained still under her, only the santhyrian’s ears showed his trepidation as the power from the arch coiled around his body, too. Linked by the magic, Sorsha could feel Shadowdancer in her mind. He trusted her. She just hoped his trust was warranted.

  A motion near at hand caused her Larnkin’s interest to switch from Shadowdancer to the acolyte. Apparently done studying Sorsha, the man eased closer. His one hand was raised in a mirror-like fashion to Sorsha’s own. But something dark glittered at his wrist. It was misty and hazy, its shape indeterminate.

  Her Larnkin urged Shadowdancer to turn and take a stride in the acolyte’s direction. Closer now, Sorsha could see what her Larnkin was focused on.

  A bracelet, one with a large, dark stone, decorated the priest’s arm. While her eyes told her it was one thing, her Larnkin told her something different. The stone ate the light, and more than light. It ate life energy, magic—all forms of power.

  This then was how they were able to weaken their prey.

  Sorsha tilted her head to the side when she felt the acolyte siphon power from her. Her Larnkin raised her other hand, brought the two together above Shadowdancer’s head, and gestured with the slightest flick of her wrist.

  More thick strains of power snaked out from the Archway toward the acolyte. The tendril that had been wrapped around her arm moments before now led the attack.