“You’re horrible.” Sorsha tried to look stern. She managed it for the length of three heartbeats before she started to chuckle. She couldn’t help it. His dry humor combined with his long-faced look of absolute dejection struck her as enormously funny.
“All humor aside, little one,” Shadowdancer whispered into her mind, “since the first day I met you, I’ve felt a connection of deepest friendship—kindred souls my people would call us. There is a saying among my kind, a phrase to convey deep friendship. ‘Through all the days of my life, I would have you walk with me.’”
“Shadowdancer,” she paused, her eyes brimming with tears again, but not ones of sadness. “That’s very beautiful—thank you. I would like to walk with you, too.”
Shadowdancer bobbed his head, his ears swiveling forward. She hadn’t noticed he’d been uncertain until then. She ran her fingers through his mane and smiled, truly happy.
Perhaps she could still escape the prison of society and be free.
Shadowdancer followed behind the little human, half dazed by the intoxicating scent of her Larnkin’s power. What had been a guess upon first meeting, had resolved into certainty as the days had passed and he’d become more acquainted with Sorsha’s power. She would grow into a powerful Herd Mistress. Her magic was already stirring, gathering strength. Soon her Larnkin would wake fully. When it happened, she should be safe among a sizeable herd so her Larnkin could choose a compatible Stallion Mage to compliment her power. And yet here they were in the human settlement of River’s Divide, surrounded by much hostility, with only three Santhyrians and one Phoenix to protect the young Herd Mistress.
Guilt gnawed at him. By rights he should see to the welfare of the new Herd Mistress first, but he was oath bound to the Elemental Council, sworn to guard and protect the young Phoenix prince. Duty pulled him in two different directions.
He pawed at dew-dampened grass. Mud and greenery splattered with each strike. One small, selfish part of his soul rejoiced he was one of only two eligible Mages present. And another part was disappointed. He would have appreciated the chance to prove himself against his peers, to have Sorsha choose him because he was the obvious choice, not because he was the best of meager pickings. At least Sorsha had come to favor him over Summer Flame before her magic awoke and muddied the issue.
Friendship, they’d talked of earlier—he’d known her for less than a moon’s cycle and he already wanted something deeper, more profound. If he was the Stallion Mage the new Mistress linked with, then they would have a chance at something more profound. Winning her over shouldn’t be hard. He hoped. But there was no guarantee of forming the sacred bond; she was a human and one of her kind had not produced a powerful Herd Mistress in a very, very long time. With a snort of anger at his own whimsy, he admitted dreaming about becoming Sorsha’s Bondmate might just be that—a wishful dream.
“What has you thinking so hard? I can practically see the thoughts flashing in your eyes,” Sorsha asked, humor curving her lips into a gentle smile.
“Debating what your next magical lesson should be.” The lie slid from him in a way he hoped was convincing. “You’re an able pupil, and I struggle to think up new things to keep you occupied.” At least, Shadowdancer mused privately, ones which won’t give away there is more between us than I’m letting on.
He hadn’t told her the truth, and the omission didn’t sit well with his sense of honesty. But she was too forthright, near foolish in her bravery. As soon as she learned about the potential of her power, she would try to force her Larnkin to form the link early so she could leave this place when he did.
Damn treaties and politics. And most of all, damn those hateful, magic fearing human priests. Without their prejudice fueling the populous, the rest of humanity might come to accept that magic wasn’t evil, and allow those few human bloodlines possessing magic to live openly and peacefully without the fear of being hunted down.
His tail snapped against his flanks and he tossed his head, his ears pinned flat. There were so many obstacles when dealing with humans. How did Prince Sorntar cope having a human bondmate?
Shadowdancer shivered with revulsion at the thought of sitting through the candlemarks worth of meetings Prince Sorntar was compelled to suffer through for the sake of the peace treaty.
“Easy.” Sorsha’s voice slid across his emotional turmoil, soothing him with one short word. Then her fingers found the sensitive spot just under the ridge of his mane and started to scratch. His mind blanked at the wonderful pressure. Her other hand came up to rub the skin below his forelock. “What has you on edge? Teaching me to learn magic? We’re far from the settlement and it should be safe enough. There’s no more danger than usual.”
“I’m just restless tonight.”
“Oh.” The one word answer sounded like she’d come to a realization.
What had she discovered? Surely nothing of what he was truly thinking. He was certain he’d hidden his thoughts from her well enough. Though…she was a fast learner.
“There are no female Santhyrians here besides your sister. You must be getting….,” she floundered for a polite word, “…frustrated.”
Now that wasn’t what he’d thought would exit her mouth, but it shouldn’t come as a surprise, not really. For a human, she had a way of cutting to the truth and putting things simply.
He admitted she was right again. The Council had him running around from one crisis to the next with barely a break and it had been over a season since he’d last spent much time among the herds of his people. Hmm, he could attribute some of his edginess to the restrictions that duty placed on him.
Eying Sorsha, engulfed in the heady scent of an awakening Herd Mistress’s power, it occurred to him there might be another reason for his restlessness. Her Larnkin’s power had a beguiling scent; rich, warm and dark—with the faintest tang of sweet meadow grasses. When he closed his eyes, he could visualize what she might look like had she been born one of his people, free to gallop across the plains of his homeland, her pale skin and dark hair transformed into a glossy buckskin coat and a black mane. An elegantly arched neck. The flash of her hooves at full gallop. Ah, yes. She’d make a beauty he’d gladly pursue.
“I’ve insulted you.”
As Sorsha’s words penetrated his daydream, his skin shivered as if a cool rain splashed across his body. He sighed at his thoughts—they were pointless. Herd Mistresses were rare, and ones with the ability to shape shift were rarer still. He shook off the webbings of his daydream and directed his next thought at Sorsha. “No insult taken. I appreciate candor.”
“Then we were fated to be together.” Her laugh reached all the way to his soul.
Oh yes, he hoped so. His power stirred, close to the surface. Perhaps there was another option, one he hadn’t considered.
Magic coiled tighter within him, responding to his thoughts. He suddenly wanted a short time alone to try something he’d never had reason to attempt. Nothing and no one had ever tempted him to try his hand at shape shifting, not until he’d met this small human standing before him. While shape shifting was a rare trait in Herd Mistresses, it wasn’t half so rare for a Stallion Mage to possess the talent required. And he was older, deeper into his magic—his Larnkin stronger than many of his peers.
Sorsha poked him. “Show me how to summon one of those fire globe lights. I know I can get it right.”
Distracted, his mind flailed a moment. “Oh, a mage globe…yes, I’ll show you.” But the whole time he showed Sorsha a few simple magic wards and spells, he was thinking of performing some higher magic himself, once he was alone.
From the shelter of the night shrouded forest, Lord-Master Trensler watched the girl and the horse-like ambassador as they rode closer. Even over the distance, he scented their power, sweet like the fragrance of sun-warmed grass carried on a strong prairie breeze. Oh, they were so close. It would be so easy to drain their magic and feed it to his master. With an unblinking stare, he followed the progress of the girl and
her companion, studying his prey.
So this was why his master commanded him and a handful of Acolytes to leave the damaged ship and continue on to River’s Divide on horseback, leaving the ship to make its slow, limping way to harbor in the morning.
A soft whisper of dark power, a twisted hungry presence in his soul, distracted him from the two riding so close.
“Not yet,” the dark power commanded.
“Master?” Trensler asked, surprised by this new development. He’d thought he’d been sent here to capture the general’s daughter and her companion this night.
“Soon.” His master promised in its silent, soundless manner. “The stallion’s power will reach its peak by the next full moon. Harvest his Larnkin then. With their strength made yours, you shall be able to take the stallion’s more powerful companions. Take them as close together as you can. Don’t give them time to react.”
“As you command.”
From the corner of his eye Trensler caught the glimmer of blonde curls only half hidden under the shadow of a deep cowl as one of his accompanying priests stepped up beside him. Acolyte Keldar, the most promising of the young ones, pushed back his hood and cocked his head in the Santhyrian’s direction. “Shall we take them now, your grace?”
“No, not yet. The presence of the female augments the stallion’s magic, and it will be a richer harvest at the height of the full moons, three days from now. They will make a far, far better sacrifice then. Tonight, we merely follow them. The Divine Speaker doesn’t want their companions to be aware of us until we are ready to move against them all.”
Keldar drew his hood back up and bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of him. A heavy band of black metal, normally hidden by the long sleeves of his robe, stood out stark against his pale wrist. “As the Speaker commands.”
Suppressed hunger swirled awake a second time as the stallion and his rider galloped past. They were so close Trensler could smell the perfumed soap the girl used on her hair, and overpowering that clean fragrance was the rich, grassland magic of the horse people.
Unable to resist a small taste, Trensler shook his sleeve back and reached out toward the stallion, exposing his own bracelet of dark metal with its polished blood stone. Under the pale light of the moon, Trensler watched as darkness intensified around the stone. The metal warmed, a pleasant heat against his chilled, age-spotted skin. After the stallion was out of range, the bracelet began to cool. He raised it up to eye level, and then stroked his tongue across the still cooling stone, testing the residual trace of magic left by the ambassador’s passing. Ah, these two were just as powerful as he’d hoped.
Pleased with what he learned, he slowly trailed the two Larnkin hosts. His Acolytes followed in his wake, as silent as disembodied spirits.
After several candlemarks, the girl and her stallion companion headed back to River’s Divide. He followed them toward home.
Oh, such strength these two had. They would make a great and glorious sacrifice for his master.
Chapter Two
After Shadowdancer had deposited Sorsha at the base of her window and watched her climb safely within, he returned to the place where they had practiced magic earlier. The meadow still held her lingering scent mixed with the fresh, cool fragrance of night. His nostrils flared as he inhaled a deep breath before coming to the meadow’s center.
His magic stirred within him, stronger than it had earlier and he thought his Larnkin approved of his plan. Being near the young Herd Mistress this last moon cycle had triggered the final stage of his Larnkin’s awakening—a few more days and he’d come into his full power. He probably should wait, but the chance proved too tempting. Crown Prince Sorntar would return home soon, and Shadowdancer didn’t want to miss his last chance to impress Sorsha. Once he’d thought of it, his pride wouldn’t let him go home without showing Sorsha his new power. And he rather hoped she’d find his new form appealing.
Now, he scolded himself, it was time to focus and find his new form. Folding his legs, he settled on the ground. It was safer all things considered. Less distance to fall if he passed out or did something else stupid.
The power of the Larnkin swelled within at his mental call. He held the image of his new form in his mind and pushed it, and an accompanying heartfelt desire to shapeshift, at his Larnkin. Three heartbeats later the power within began growing into an intense warmth. Swifter than a thought, it expanded throughout his body. His breath punched out of him like he’d lost his footing and slid broadside into a tree. He wheezed in shock. Warmth changed from a pleasant tingling to a searing wave of pain as every nerve ending flared to life. A bright glow blinded him, and the sensations coming from his body vanished. For several moments of absolute terror he was left floating in nothingness. No one had ever told him shape shifting would feel like this. Was this normal?
A great pressure descended on him, and with it feeling returned. Heaviness embraced each of his numb limbs, and before he could react, the ground rose up to meet him and he slammed face first into the damp earth. A grunt of pain escaped him. For once he wasn’t concerned by the show of weakness.
Maybe he’d just lay here for a little while. At least he lived, he reasoned. Death couldn’t possibly hurt so much.
A pale light from Sorsha’s window illuminated the garden shrubs to either side of Shadowdancer. Even with the thick greenery, he still felt exposed. With his bare skin devoid of any kind of coat, the late spring breeze, which should have been warm, felt more like the kiss of winter. He shivered, already missing his thick coat. The thickest hair this new body could boast was a thatch on his head, a scattering across his chest and a meager patch at his groin. He didn’t even have a tail. And this form’s male parts seemed…lacking in size. He pursed his lips. Perhaps it was the cold? He could only hope.
Once the initial shock of shape shifting and learning how his new body moved had worn off, a heavy uncertainty had taken root like a weight in his stomach. His Larnkin was still—no longer churning with power. He must have exhausted it by forcing it to summon more power than it was ready for. Perhaps he should have asked for Sorsha’s assistance. She wouldn’t have tried to sway him from his plan or made light of his wishes. But he’d wanted to impress her, so had embarked upon this foolery without her. He hadn’t acted so rash since he was a colt. He flexed his jaw with the need to snap his teeth at something in his annoyance.
Now a mute, magicless stranger—a naked stranger—wandered the grounds. What if a guard saw him? Best not to even think about that possibility. With his luck tonight, his stray thought might draw the guard right to him. He only hoped Sorsha would still hear his thoughts and inform the Crown Prince of his plight.
Shadowdancer glared at the light coming from Sorsha’s room. Why did she have to build the fire up this night, of all the nights? She’d probably gone to bathe and wash away the scent of Santhyrian. He’d expected as much; he just hadn’t planned for her to build a trice cursed camp fire in her room, bright enough to illuminate half the garden.
With quick glances down the path in both directions and a silent prayer to the Herd Mother, who seemed to have abandoned him this night, he bolted from the shield of the shrubs, and crossed the exposed gravel path. Gravel bruised the bottoms of his feet with each step, but he soldiered onward. Finally, he hunched down in the dirt next to the wall below her window and surveyed the situation. A patch of newly worked earth lay like a shadow-covered trap. He tested the consistency with one foot and sank half way to his knee in cold wet mud.
He skirted the boggy ground, and after another check for guards, he used the vine covered trellis to pull himself to his feet. He tilted his head back and looked up, and up some more, to Sorsha’s window well above his head. The little human made the climb look easy. He was taller, stronger, and possessed a longer reach. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so hard. He put his bare foot on the cross piece at knee level and gave the trellis another little shake before easing his entire weight on the wooden structure. Reaching ab
ove his head, he grasped a hand hold and hauled himself up to the next hand hold.
Not so hard after all. He’d be safe in her room in a short time. A grin tugged at his lips with newfound confidence and he increased his pace.
He reached the halfway point with no accident, but his muscles were beginning to knot at the unusual exercise—and his hands were tender and burning with blisters. Now even the vines were turning against him. Some of the ivy’s stems were thick, more like small tree trunks than vines. He miss-stepped, and his foot caught between two stout stems, effectively and painfully trapping his ankle. When he jerked, trying to free his foot, the stem he was using as a hand hold ripped away from the wall. He flailed in an attempt to catch his balance and lunged for another solid perch. The trellis shuddered under the impact, and for one moment of endless horror he thought the whole mess was going to collapse.
Shivering, he braced against the trellis and cursed himself for a fool twice over. Then he took a quick inventory. A fine lattice of scrapes crisscrossed his skin and his knuckles looked like he’d been grinding them against stone. On further inspection, his knees and elbows had fared no better. He rotated his ankle to the delightful sensation of sharp little pains biting down hard, but at least nothing was broken.
He looked up and then down. Sorsha’s window was closer than the ground. When she returned, perhaps she would apply ointment to the cuts and sooth the hundred other little aches with hot poultices. The thought of her gentle hands on his body decided him.
With a surge of renewed energy, he started to climb again.
The last bit of the journey had a nasty surprise of its own. An ambitious climbing rose had strayed over from another trellis three body lengths away and was trying to conquer the ivy’s trellis too. Shadowdancer grunted in pain as the thorns caught in his right forearm. He tore himself free from the clinging rose thorns, and then heaved himself up onto the window ledge. He’d just swung a leg over the window sill when the rose bounced back. It gave him one more parting gift in the form of a slap of thorns across his bare rump.
Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) Page 2
