“Ash, what happened with you and Sorntar? The Oracle said Sorntar had been corrupted.” Realizing she might have reason to fear, Sorsha shifted her gaze to the Crown Prince, but honestly, he didn’t look all that dangerous. For all his height, massive wings, and long tail, he was still lithely built, somewhat like a human—a far cry from the muscular bulk of one of the santhyrians or wolf-like lupwyns.
“Yes,” Ashayna said after a slight hesitation. “His Larnkin carried a darkness no one was aware he possessed, but Sorntar’s Larnkin is healed now... it’s a long story. One I’ll gladly tell you in full at a later time, but there is something we must do that can’t wait much longer. We need to heal the Falcon Staff. With her help, we might have the power to face the Dead King and free Lamarra without bloodshed.” Ashayna pulled away until they were at arm’s length, giving her a once over. “Sorntar said you were recovered enough to aid with healing the Staff. I wanted to judge that myself.”
Sorsha eyed her older sister. “I’ve come this far—became a Harbinger, rescued the Staff, was almost killed by the acolytes. But I survived all that... I’m a Stonemantle. And no one, not even you, will keep me from finishing this.” Her fists had clenched at some point; she forced them to relax at her sides.
Ashayna just laughed and then looked over her shoulder at Sorntar. “Your Larnkin is correct, Sorsha is healed enough to help. And while she might not be fit for a battle, I’d rather not fight and find out, which is what will happen if I try to block her from joining the circle.”
“While my Larnkin, Itharann, is sometimes... misguided, seldom is he wrong when it comes to knowledge.” Sorntar’s expression held a hint of shame or embarrassment, Sorsha wasn’t sure which.
Looking between the two, Sorsha wondered just what Ash had had to endure to ‘heal’ Sorntar’s Larnkin. Ash had a way of understating the difficulty of events.
“Join the circle?” Sorsha asked instead, sensing some deeper meaning to the words.
Sorntar, who had come to stand at his bondmate’s shoulder, took a half step back and extended one wing to where a large group of Santhyrians milled near the river.
“What are they doing?” Sorsha squinted. Shadowdancer’s sire was there. With Darkmoon’s coloring and build so close to his son’s, he was easy for her to recognize even over a distance. And the santhyrian closest to his flank might have been Shadowdancer’s dam, Windrunner. It looked almost like the herd was arranging themselves in a large circle, but Sorsha couldn’t discern exact details over the distance.
“They’re waiting for us to join them—if you’re ready, we can go now.” Sorntar smiled up at Shadowdancer this time. “Your family herd is much less suspicious than the Elders, even after what Itharann did to Winter’s Frost and Flame.”
Alarm kicked her heart into a faster pace. “You did something to my friends?”
Sorntar’s gentle smile faltered and vanished.
Ashayna stepped forward, taking up a protective stance in front of her bondmate. “Itharann enslaved Winter’s Frost and Flame to do his bidding when he was still under the influence of darkness. Sorntar was as much a slave as the two santhyrians. You know that ‘long story’ I promised to tell you later, this is a big part of it. Both santhyrians have recovered and forgiven Sorntar. Let it go for now. They are with the herd; you’ll see them shortly.”
“What Ashayna says is true.” Shadowdancer placed a hand on Sorsha’s shoulder and squeezed. “My sister came to visit me while you still slept. She told me a little of what she and Summer Flame endured at Itharann’s hands. And while they will never forget what occurred, they have come to accept that each of us must face destiny in our own way, though I think Winter’s Frost has always possessed more fortitude and forgiveness than I.”
“Forgive me, Prince Sorntar,” Sorsha mumbled a swift and mostly heartfelt apology. “I didn’t intend to imply guilt. Your words merely surprised me.” What she really wanted was to ply Ash for more information, but she realized if Sorntar, Flame, and Winter’s Frost had all been slaves to a Larnkin, there was a good chance Ashayna had been enslaved at one time, too. Sorsha would let it go. But she would learn what had happened to her older sister as soon as there was time. For now, Sorsha allowed herself to be led out to where the Herd waited. Shadowdancer trotted at her side.
As promised, both Summer Flame and Winter’s Frost broke away from Darkmoon’s side and came over at Sorsha’s approach. She eyed them critically. They did seem unharmed by whatever ordeal they had endured.
“Hello, little human. I’m delighted to see you survived your trials.” Winter’s Frost bobbed her head in greeting, and then ambled over for a scratch under her chin and another on the withers. After a few more scratches, a snort, and an all over shake, the mare stepped to the side, her eyes dark with the shadow of old sorrows. “There was a time I didn’t think any of us would see each other again. Never have I been so glad to be wrong.”
Sorsha grinned. “I’m happy you were wrong, too.”
Apparently tired of waiting his turn, Summer Flame butted his head into her chest, seeking his share of attention. Sorsha obliged with a laugh, the tight knot of apprehension in her middle easing at last.
After the quick greeting, and the promise of a longer one later, both santhyrians rejoined the rest of the herd. Their heartfelt greeting warmed some of the chilly uncertainty in Sorsha’s heart and allowed her to walk into the center of the waiting herd with more confidence.
She had no idea what to expect when she reached the middle of the large circle, but the small area of trampled grass with twelve complex runes burned into the ground wasn’t it. Somehow, she’d thought healing the Falcon Staff would require a temple, a crystal wardstone, and the magical non-water from an Oracle’s pool.
A laugh had Sorsha glancing up at her sister with curiosity, wondering what Ashayna found so funny.
“You should see your face.” Ashayna stopped laughing long enough to answer Sorsha’s unvoiced question. “I’m sure I had that same exact look on my face when Sorntar burned that simple circle into the grass. But his Larnkin says the Twelve do not require great temples or worshippers, wardstones, Oracles, or bonding chambers to fuel great weavings. We are magic, in its most primal sense. Or at least that was the nonsensical explanation Itharann fed me. Just nod your head and do what the boys suggest—that’s my plan. The sooner this is over, the happier I’ll be.”
With an arched brow, Sorsha cast Ash a quizzical look. It seemed while Ash had fallen in love with one of the most powerful of the magic-wielding phoenix, she had yet to develop much tolerance for magic itself.
Ash snorted. “Don’t give me that look. I’ve come a long way. A little over six moon cycles ago, I loathed and feared magic like any good, untutored bigot.”
“Peace.” Sorntar step between them. “We have work to do.”
The tall phoenix led them into the circle, pointing each of them to one of the twelve symbols burned into the grass. Sorsha stood looking down at hers. It was a swirling, pretty thing of tight curls and elaborate knots. She hadn’t a clue as to its meaning. Her gaze followed the pattern and it seemed to glow in her mind’s eye.
Blinking spots from her vision, she looked around.
Now what? Sorsha mouthed.
Ash rolled her eyes in her bondmate’s direction, one eyebrow raised. Sorsha followed the move and noticed Sorntar nod to something behind Sorsha’s back.
Parting down the middle, the herd allowed Herd Mistress Neveyah to make her way through. She was followed by a procession of others. After a moment’s study, Sorsha recognized some of them as the lupwyn and phoenix healers who had tried to heal Shadowdancer after the Wardlen attack.
Five matching pairs of santhyrians followed next with heavily gilded litters perfectly balanced across their broad backs. The poles of each litter were padded to prevent slippage, but otherwise were without harness or restraints that Sorsha could see. Only the santhyrians’ natural grace and perfectly matched strides kept their burdens
from crashing to the ground.
As the first litter reached her position, Sorsha stood on tiptoes and peered at what it held. Not altogether surprised, she spied pieces of the Falcon Staff resting on plush, black cushions.
With a hardy dollop of humor, Sorsha realized the rest of the Elementals treated the Falcon Staff with a great deal more respect than she and Shadowdancer had during their hurry to rescue the Talisman. Sorsha touched on the blurred memory of dumping out their supplies before haphazardly tossing pieces of the Staff into the two rucksacks.
As the first pair of santhyrians reached the circle burned in the grass, four lupwyns stepped forward and relieved them of their litter. Neveyah approached them next and gently removed the Staff pieces to place them in the middle of the circle.
All watching remained silent as the Herd Mistress repeated the procedure four more times. When at last the Staff in its entirety rested among the grasses, Neveyah turned and gave a bow to both Sorntar and Ashayna and then turned and bowed before Sorsha and Shadowdancer.
“May the Twelve grow strong and true once more.” After Neveyah’s words whispered into silence, she straightened, and then backed from the circle.
Sorsha watched her go with a sinking feeling and wondered if she’d let her Stonemantle bravado lead her into another awkward situation since she didn’t actually know the slightest thing about healing a shattered Talisman, and nothing Shadowdancer had taught her about her magic was helpful in this circumstance.
“Don’t worry.” Ash’s mental voice suddenly invaded Sorsha’s worried thoughts. “We don’t actually have to do much, just aid Sorntar by feeding him power. His Larnkin will to the repairs needed.”
Sorntar started to sing. It startled Sorsha at first—she hadn’t thought of music being a way to summon magic. But as Sorntar’s voice rose from a deep, chanting rumble to true soaring song, shivers coursed up and down her spine. And her own magic stirred in answer to Sorntar’s summons.
Across from her, Ashayna stood with her head bowed. Magic, like a pale silvery fire, flickered along her skin before flowing to the ground. The symbol at her feet glowed with power. Startled, Sorsha looked down upon herself to see a similar sight.
To her right, Shadowdancer was likewise rooted to the ground, magic flooding from him as he swayed to the power of Sorntar’s song.
Magic burned around the outside circle, rising high into the air. Reaching higher still, it formed a dome of fiery protection. Sorsha closed her eyes against the intense brilliance. She gasped in wonder, the flicker and dance of magic still visible even behind her closed lids.
It felt right, summoning power, giving up self for the greater good of the Twelve. They were never meant to be alone, she realized. The Twelve broken asunder was unnatural. She sensed the wrongness of it—four when there should have been twelve, and she vowed to fix that too, after she’d faced the Dead King and freed Lamarra.
Power overwhelmed her then, and she no longer concerned herself with the future; worries fled before the Falcon Staff’s need. There was only now. And the need to heal what was broken.
Sorntar’s beguiling song continued to weave in and around them, but Sorsha’s mind started to work once again. She detected more purpose to his magic, as if he was now focusing in earnest.
Sorsha blinked open her eyes and squinted until they adjusted enough to make out a burning column of power at the circle’s center. Sorntar stood, bent ever so slightly toward the Falcon Staff, his wings outstretched before him, blue fire dripping from his crest, wings, and tail. Ashayna had told her about a phoenix’s ability to burn without harm, but seeing it still took her by surprise.
She took a half-step back.
“Easy, love.” Shadowdancer soothed her.
With more inquisitiveness than fear, she looked back toward the phoenix in time to see his magic flare. The column of fire surrounding the Staff flared in unison. Then in a blur of motion, Sorntar folded his wings and dropped to the ground in a deep bow. Shadowdancer and Ashayna joined their leader in homage.
Sorsha dropped moments behind the other two, wishing someone had given her some kind of warning. She chanced a glimpse up at the column of fire to find it gone. In its place, the Falcon Staff stood ruffling her wings. The gilded statue’s talons gripped the delicately carved filigree at the top of the staff. Three gold bands hugged the polished black wood near the top and another three circled the lower third of the staff.
Not a blemish marred the wood; it was as if the damage had never occurred.
Sorntar stood first, and then he held a hand out to Ashayna and helped her to her feet. Together they approached the Falcon Staff.
So focused on what they were doing, Sorsha didn’t see Shadowdancer’s outstretched hand until he waved his fingers in her face. She took it then, giving his fingers a squeeze, and allowed him to pull her to her feet without taking her eyes off the other two.
The golden falcon moved as if alive, preening her feathers and shaking out her wings before hopping onto Sorntar’s offered arm. As Sorntar talked with the Staff, other Elementals began gathering, asking him questions.
So they had recovered one of the Twelve Talismans. Sorsha wondered what was next.
Warm fingers brushed along her jaw before cupping her cheek. “Your eyes are expressive, but your mind is closed.” Shadowdancer’s warm breath fanned across her ear. “What are you thinking?”
“That we still have so much unfinished business.”
Shadowdancer pulled back a little and his voice sobered. “Yes. I hardly know what to think or where to begin.”
Sorsha sensed he’d read more into her words than she’d intended. The moment of joy his touch inspired evaporated. “How is it that we won a victory and yet I feel so defeated?”
“Because you still fear Lamarra’s fate.” Shadowdancer supplied the very thing which caused her the most bitterness.
“Yes. And duty demands we see to Trensler as well.”
“But we don’t have to face him alone.”
With his words, Sorsha found her eye trailing back to where Ash stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sorntar. The Crown Prince was surrounded by others Sorsha hadn’t met in person, but by their demeanor she assumed they were Elders or Council members.
“You’re right. At least now we have help. Never again will we be alone in facing either Trensler or Dakdamon.” It slowly dawned on her what the members of the Twelve were to each other. “We’re a family.”
She studied Ash—the Destroyer, protector of the Twelve. Then her eyes slid to Crown Prince Sorntar’s tall form next. He was the Judge—a figure of wisdom and authority.
But what of Shadowdancer and myself? She had a harder time picturing their roles in the Twelve.
“Should I be jealous of a certain phoenix after all?” Shadowdancer snorted with humor and she remembered back to one evening long moons past when they’d walked the night together, and he’d asked would it have been better if the gods had made him a phoenix.
“A phoenix? No, but there was one fellow I miss. I’d first mistaken him for a drunken sailor who snuck into my room, naked as the dawn. Him I thought rather handsome even as I chased him through the window at arrow’s point.”
“Oh, him.” Shadowdancer laughed harder. “I think he might be able to make an appearance again someday soon.”
“I’d like that.” She twined her fingers with his.
“Good, but first I think our noble leader might have need of us.” Shadowdancer gestured with his free arm, taking in Ash, Sorntar, and the growing crowd. “Sorntar is looking more like an untried princeling than renowned Judge, Leader of the Twelve.”
“You might be right,” Sorsha chuckled. “I think our ‘family’ may have need of us. Lead on, love.”
Shadowdancer tucked an arm around her shoulders and they made their way over to where Ash and Sorntar were fending off Council members and Elders alike. Sorsha sighed, thinking the next few candlemarks might be more trying than facing down twenty acolytes. She�
��d never been fond of politics, but at least the one she loved was with her.
She’d survive a round or two of politics and then spend some much-deserved time with Shadowdancer and their families. And then they would find Lamarra, reunite the Twelve, and deal with Trensler.
The End
MAIDEN’S WOLF
In Deception’s Shadow
Book 3
LISA BLACKWOOD
Back Cover
When unforeseen circumstances force natural enemies to become allies, something far more enduring than animosity is born—friendship.
Beatrice, a young healer living on the outskirts of the human port settlement of River’s Divide, simply wishes to hide herself from the searching eyes of the Priesthood of the Revealing Light. The last thing she wants ‘revealed’ is that she is host to a Larnkin—a spirit creature of vast and forbidden magic.
Her already complicated life grows more perilous when a lupwyn scout stumbles into a trap set by the priesthood. If she sits back and does nothing, the wolf-like shapeshifter will be drained dry by the priests until he is an empty, soulless slave. As a healer, that isn’t something she will allow. But lupwyns have no love for the newly arrived humans.
For the sake of mutual survival, Beatrice hopes this lupwyn can see beyond the hatred caused by two warring peoples. If not, she might die at the hands of the male she is trying to save.
Maiden’s Wolf
Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Smeaton
All rights reserved.
****
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and characters are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3 Page 55
