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

by Lisa Blackwood

  “I see our luck is back down in the gutter. And the Council, they will lock us up the first chance they get?”

  “I fear so. I know my father, and the only reason he trusts us is because we almost died in Crown Prince Sorntar’s trap. With Summer Flame and Winter’s Frost held prisoners, my father needs someone who will bring my sister and Flame back alive, no matter what Sorntar may have done to them. And my father needs the tasks accomplished without the Elemental Council learning of it.”

  “You’re not implying what I think you are, are you?” Sorsha pursed her lips, eyes narrowing in anger.

  “Yes. To prevent any possibility of Dakdamon escaping his prison, the Council may kill all those they deem touched by his taint.”

  “The Council would seek to kill Ashayna? Even their own crown prince? And the santhyrians, too?”

  “Yes. Dakdamon is that dangerous. He nearly defeated the Twelve. According to the records in the oldest part of the library, he is the greatest adversary the Elementals ever encountered. And in other circumstances, I might have agreed with the Council and their severe action. But with this new, unknown threat Lord Trensler represents, I can’t help but think the acolytes are the greater of the two evils. Dakdamon wanted to rule us. Trensler wants to eat us.”

  Sorsha paled. “We must find Ash, Sorntar, and our friends before the Council has them hunted down. But how will we find them?”

  “That’s where the Oracle comes in.”

  Sorsha frowned. “You just said we can’t go to Grey Spires.”

  “There is another Oracle. My father knows the location. His Herd Mistress guards an ancient map.” He inclined his head, staring at but not really seeing the tent canopy. Instead, with his mind’s eye, he again visualized that age-worn map. “I saw it once when I was still a colt. There were temples and sacred sites marked upon it. One was another Oracle. It’s situated far to the north where the Sea of Grass merges into a very old range of mountains, near the ocean’s edge. It’s a dangerous place and a long journey. Legends speak of lost spirits haunting the mist-shrouded valleys, supposedly exiled there after failing the Oracle’s tests.”

  “I didn’t need that much detail, thanks.”

  He glanced back to Sorsha in time to see her wince. “We’ll be riding north, where winter still claws for life. It would be too easy to get caught in a late spring storm. We must plan carefully, prepare supplies. Crippled as we are, we’ll need the herd’s help to get there.”

  “I’m prepared to do whatever I must. And may fate damn me if I fail in my task.” Her lips pinched and her eyes took on a fierce, determined squint. From her look, he knew what she’d left unvoiced—Lamarra. Once Ashayna, Winter’s Frost, and Summer Flame were safe, Sorsha planned to go after Lamarra.

  Shadowdancer only hoped the Dead King held Lamarra captive for her safety, not for another, darker purpose. The present Dead Rulers had reigned for millennia, the exact number Shadowdancer wasn’t completely sure, but he remembered the Herd Mistress telling him a story many years ago. She’d told of how the present Dead King had taken up the burden of power from the old king. That meant the present Dead Queen was the elder of the two rulers. If Lamarra was her replacement, there was nothing Sorsha could do to save her sister from that fate. Shadowdancer didn’t speak his musing aloud, and prayed it was never required of him.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Sorsha’s question caught him off-guard. He flailed for a moment, lost in the deep brown of her searching eyes. A commotion from outside the tent saved him having to answer her question. Over the drum of hoof-beats, he caught snatches of words among the shouting as the riders drew nearer.

  “What’s going on?”

  “My mother, Windrunner has returned. And she’s brought a great number of others with her by the noise.” He swore. If she’d brought more of the council members with her, there might be no rescuing of Ashayna, Winter’s Frost, and Summer Flame. “There’s more.” He paused to listen, but only caught one word… Trensler. “She brings news of Trensler.”

  He saw the same worry reflected in Sorsha’s eyes when she met his gaze. Then she blinked and the intensity of her look broke. She bolted for the tent flap. Shadowdancer was just half a stride behind her.

  * * * *

  Sorsha paced the confines of the Herd Mistress’ tent, moving out of the way of several lupwyns busily stowing supplies into canvas packs. She couldn’t stop her feet from moving and once again she wished for even a drop of the Herd Mistress’ composure. Exhaustion weighed heavy on Sorsha’s shoulders, but nerves kept her in a restless hyper-state. Jittery didn’t begin to describe how she felt. She made one more revolution of the tent, shortening her circle until she returned to the table where the source of her current disquiet waited. The ancient scroll, its surface marked by intricate lines and ruins—which Shadowdancer had informed her was a written map of sorts—rested unfurled upon the table, looking innocent enough. But every time her gaze fell upon it, a cold chill raced down her spine.

  Her Larnkin was disturbed by the scroll, or, Sorsha mused, fearful of where the map led.

  Neveyah stood beside the table, her dark eyes missing nothing, her serene expression a false calm hiding a banked rage. Sorsha had only moments ago witnessed that temper as Darkmoon, Windrunner, and Neveyah debated Shadowdancer’s plan to visit the Oracle.

  Darkmoon slammed a hoof into the carpets, his tail swished in agitation. “Sorsha and my son must go here, to the Oracle.” He nosed the old map with his muzzle, shoving it toward where his mate and Herd Mistress Neveyah stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

  The Herd Mistress stood calmly, arms folded across her chest.

  In contrast, Windrunner pinned her ears and snapped at the map. “It’s suicide. I will not allow my son to get himself killed. Nor will I allow the new Herd Mistress to throw her life away, either.”

  Darkmoon reared back from the table to trot a tight circle within the tent, almost the same exact path Sorsha had just taken. With tail swishing in anger, he returned to the table. “With your own ears, you have heard the reports of this Trensler’s power. And if Sorsha and our son are indeed members of the Twelve, the Oracle may be the only means to restore their Larnkins. It is not up to us to naysay what the Mother of the Prairies has set in motion.”

  “You have no proof.” The Herd Mistress glared at Darkmoon.

  “Sorsha stole my son back from Death,” Darkmoon countered.

  Neveyah frowned, a deeply unhappy expression. “Yes, maybe she is of the Twelve...but she is still so young, her Larnkin weak. At least allow them time to heal and train.”

  If only Neveyah would side with Darkmoon, Sorsha groused silently to herself, maybe then they could sway Shadowdancer’s mother and finally accomplish something other than this useless, circular arguing.

  “Really, I’m not half as weak as you think.” Sorsha managed a neutral voice, knowing only sound reason could persuade Neveyah.

  The Herd Mistress turned dark eyes upon Sorsha. “You must understand even many fully trained Elementals have failed the Oracle’s tests. If you even reach it. To journey into the Northern Mountains is dangerous. Winter doesn’t surrender to spring easily there. And there is more than just your life at risk. The herd depends on the power of their Herd Mistresses. If you die, you won’t just be killing yourself, you will be jeopardizing other lives.”

  “Sorsha and I are already in jeopardy,” said a cool, confident voice. For the first time in half-a-candlemark, Shadowdancer weighed in on the argument. “As is everyone.”

  Shadowdancer didn’t look up until he finished lacing his new boots. Distractedly, Sorsha realized the boots had to have been magically made, or brought from some other location, since she hadn’t seen anyone with humanlike feet except Neveyah, and anything of hers certainly wouldn’t have fit his much larger frame.

  Shadowdancer padded up to the table and tilted his head at the map. “Mother, you’ve already said Trensler was seen here, and here,” he pointed to an ar
ea a good three days’ ride from River’s Divide, “before the scouts stopped reporting.”

  Windrunner snorted with impatience. “That’s all the more reason we should do as Neveyah suggests and spirit you and Sorsha away while there is still time. If Trensler is as dangerous as it seems he is, then it is our duty to protect you both until you are healed and trained.”

  A bitter chuckle escaped Shadowdancer and he turned his back on the table. “What none of you want to admit is that I’m a cripple; there will be no swift healing for me. Only something with the strength of one of the Twelve Talismans or an Oracle has the kind of power it will take to heal my Larnkin. Unless you and the other Elders have been keeping secrets I am unaware of, the hiding places of the Twelve Talismans were lost to time. So the Oracle is the only option. I don’t even know why we’re still standing here discussing it.”

  Sorsha’s lip twitched with humor at his snide tone. “Shadowdancer is set upon finding this Oracle and I won’t let him go alone. We must do this together.” She sought for a calm she wasn’t feeling. How to get the Herd Mistress to understand? “He is a part of me. If something happened to him, I think my Larnkin would depart this world with his.”

  “You are not a bonded pair.” Taking a half-step away from where she stood toe-to-hoof with Darkmoon, Neveyah started in Sorsha’s direction.

  “Are you so sure of that? I’m not.” Darkmoon’s cool statement dispatched the growing tension in the room.

  Perhaps seeing the determination in Sorsha’s eyes, Windrunner finally yielded and relaxed her high-headed battle stance, giving her head and neck a shake to ease the last of her anger. But it was to Neveyah she turned. “For the first time, I find myself uncertain what to think or what actions I should take. In the last day, I have witnessed events like nothing I have seen in all my life. I have seen Crown Prince Sorntar and his corrupted Larnkin wreak havoc upon Grey Spires—I heard reports from the guards how Sorntar survived having his throat torn out before he kidnapped Ashayna and others. How his Larnkin, one believed to be tainted by Dakdamon, was able to hide from us within the heart of our own power. By all that is holy, he was able to trick even the Dead King, and trigger the spells guarding our city. We were blessedly lucky that none lost their lives to his treachery.”

  Shadowdancer regarded both Neveyah and his mother for several heartbeats. “You say Sorntar’s tainted Larnkin did all that, yet curiously no one died. Why do you think one of Dakdamon’s creations would let any of our people survive when it would have been in his best interests to kill any who saw and could report his movements?”

  Sorsha jerked her head up from where she’d been focused on the pattern of the carpet under foot. “You think Sorntar is still in there somewhere, that he can be helped.”

  “Yes, and if he can be cured, so too can anything he’s done to our loved ones.” Shadowdancer glanced between Neveyah, Windrunner, and Darkmoon. “Lord Trensler has unwittingly done us a service. With the Elemental Council’s attention divided between Sorntar and now Trensler, Sorsha and I may be able to seek out the Oracle before soldiers from Grey Spires come to collect us.”

  Sorsha’s lips twisted into a sour grin. “Remind me to thank Trensler for his help if he doesn’t eat me first.”

  Shadowdancer’s mother sniffed at Sorsha. “Ah, there is that Stonemantle bite Ashayna used to good advantage against the Council. Glad to see life’s trials haven’t beaten it out of you.”

  “Then you won’t be surprised when I fill a pack with supplies and go off in search of this Oracle.”

  “I see you are set in this and will find a way to escape one way or another. At least if we agree to your plan, you will have help with this task.” Windrunner’s gaze slid to Neveyah then lastly to Darkmoon. “Are we in agreement?”

  The Herd Mistress gave the slightest nod, as if she was still reluctant to give in.

  Shadowdancer’s mother flicked an ear forward in a lazy manner, but the hard glint of determination in her eyes when she stared at Sorsha was anything but contentment. “I’ll run interference with the Council and try to find out what I can about Lord Trensler’s movements. If I learn anything, I will inform Darkmoon and he will pass the information on to you. But be careful. If Trensler was able to weaken Sorntar’s Larnkin—a creature shaped and molded into a powerful weapon by Dakdamon himself—I don’t want to contemplate just how powerful Trensler is if he can harm one of Dakdamon’s shaping.”

  Sorsha felt an uneasy tingle of power wash across her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. What level of fear must the stoic Windrunner be hiding to cause such a flare of uncontrolled magic?

  “You and my son must set out for the Oracle soon. Windrunner can stall here for a short time, but since she is supposed to bring you back…” Darkmoon let them piece together the rest of his sentence. “It’s best if you and Shadowdancer are long gone by the time the Council sends others to find you. It will not take the other Elders long to determine what we have done and realize where you’ve gone and why.”

  Sorsha tilted her chin at Darkmoon. “What will happen to you? You and your mate will be punished for helping us escape, won’t you?”

  “The Phoenix Queen and the Council will not be pleased with us, but my mate and I are rulers in our own right and we don’t fear the Council. Let us worry about our compatriots. We can keep them occupied for a short time. Trensler and Dakdamon are another matter entirely—your task is worrisome enough without having to watch your back trail for Elemental soldiers. Be swift to the Oracle, and pray it has learned what Trensler is, and how to kill him.”

  A dark, bay santhyrian mare trotted into the tent. She halted before Darkmoon, and they communed in the silent way of their kind for a few moments before the mare bobbed her head and departed. Darkmoon turned his attention to Sorsha and his son. “Your supplies are packed and your escort will soon be ready. They will take you into the mountains as far as they can, but from there you’ll have to continue on foot. Once you’ve finished your quest, another escort will meet you on the opposite side of the mountains. That way, if Trensler is seeking you, he’ll not be able to lay an ambush for you.”

  Darkmoon and his son continued to discuss the land and the safest possible route home, leaving unsaid that planning an escape route home might be a moot point. But Sorsha wasn’t fooled. Even if they avoided capture by Trensler, there was no guarantee she and Shadowdancer would escape the Oracle’s judgment alive.

  Chapter Twenty

  A wintry gale whipped down from higher up the mountain slopes, slapping small bits of grit and razor-thin pieces of dagger-like ice crystals against every exposed bit of skin. Feeling scoured almost raw by the endless pelting, Sorsha pulled the hood of her cloak lower over her eyes and dabbed at a small cut along one cheek. She tried to ignore the heavy weight of her rain-dampened cloak and even-heavier pack.

  For the tenth time since she and Shadowdancer had left the gentle foothills for the steeper slopes, she wished to be back in the cozy tent in the center of the santhyrian camp. Warm and dry with its abundance of food, firewood, dry blankets, and level ground, she wanted its comfort back. Or at least a place where the weather didn’t change from one unpleasant event to another equally unpleasant situation every half-candlemark or so. But those memories were a fortnight old, and by now their santhyrian companions should almost be back with the herd.

  Alone, she had followed Shadowdancer farther into the mountains, an old range that proved far more volatile than she estimated by Shadowdancer’s descriptions of the place. Day by day, the winding trails grew steeper and the ground rockier until they had to slow to a crawl or risk tumbling to their deaths. Perhaps Neveyah’s first assessment was correct and following this foolish quest to its end might amount in their deaths, but at least they were doing something rather than waiting for death to come for them.

  Sorsha cheered herself with the knowledge her life could be worse. After all, Trensler could be on their trail. At least that was unlikely here. With the rest o
f their santhyrian escort leading false trails away from where they had parted company, Trensler and his acolytes would find it difficult to sniff out the Oracle’s location.

  Farther up the path, Shadowdancer stumbled, his boot toe catching on an outcropping of stone. He pitched forward and landed on his knees. Sorsha winced, but his colorful curse—one he must have learned from her—had her lips curving into a grin despite her exhaustion.

  She came alongside and rested a hand on his shoulder. “We should stop to rest.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. His voice was sharp with stress, and by the tone he was anything but fine, but was too proud to admit it.

  “You might be fine, but I’m exhausted. Let’s rest and then eat.”

  Shadowdancer looked ready to debate, until he actually paused to study her. Then his expression softened. He unhooked his bow and quiver, and then shouldered his way out of his pack and dumped it on the ground. A protective arm came around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. It was nice. He must be just as damp, cold, and weary as she, but he reached out to comfort her. In fact, he was probably worse-off because he was still learning the limitations of his new human form. He pushed himself so hard trying to prove his worth, it brought moisture to her eyes. She harshly dragged the back of her hand across her eyes to hide the evidence.

  “Sorsha, my beautiful mane ornament, all will be all right. We’ll find the Oracle and then learn the fate of our families.”

  He misunderstood her moment of weakness. It was for the best. The proud santhyrian wouldn’t want her pity. She let him think what he wanted, simply happy to have him hold her.