Before he continued on, he stopped for a momentary rest and looked back the way he’d come. He scanned the forest covered valley floor and then back up the other side, to the opposite mountains. Sorsha was over there somewhere. Less than a day’s ride behind. By herself. With Acolytes somewhere between them. His stomach tightened with dread and his skin quivered.
Another candlemark’s worth of travel brought him to the cliff face with its steep winding trail. The zigzagging path terminated halfway up the mountain side at a dark cave-like maw. With a deep sigh, he shaded his eyes against the noon sun and followed the white scar up the side of the cliff. Even though he was bone weary, he saw no point in putting off the climb. Every moment he delayed gave Trensler a chance to get that much closer.
And if that falsely fragile-looking man was on the same continent, he was too close. Gathering his hindquarters under himself, Shadowdancer surged forward, cantering up the cut-stone path. The sun began its westward trek as Shadowdancer negotiated the winding path, his shadow racing him up the side of the cliff.
He paused in front of the cave-like entrance, and peered through the darkness. A sharply uttered curse escaped him when he saw the stout double doors blocking his way. Reaching out a cautious finger, he brushed it across the dark wood, and felt the hum of power. He groaned.
Nothing had been easy of late, why should this be any different?
With a measured patience he wasn’t feeling, Shadowdancer began the delicate work of unraveling the spell blocking the doors. It was an old spell, very complex and not particularly friendly, but he thanked the Oracle for its borrowed strength and knowledge.
Shadowdancer lunged up the endless dark of the steps carved into the heart of the mountain. He’d lost precious time working at the doors leading to this place, and now he was losing even more to this infuriating stairwell. Perhaps he hadn’t beaten the spell on the doorway at all and even now he was trapped in some enchantment.
Doubts crept in yet he forced himself onward. Just when those doubts were about to take a stronger foothold, the darkness lightened to a dim grey before becoming brighter still, until once again blessed daylight was within sight. Relief swept through him, leaving his innards all too weak and jittery. A Santhyrian was never meant to be trapped in the darkness underground, or deep inside a mountain, either. Only a half dozen more steps and he’d be free of the subterranean tunnel, which cut its way up through the mountain. The promise of level ground hurried him along.
A windswept plateau stretched out and away as he emerged from the dark hole in the ground. The fresh cold air had never felt so good.
Shadowdancer slowed to a walk, exhausted and sweat-slicked. The temple, which had looked mostly intact from below, showed obvious signs of age now that he was closer. Several of the columns running the length of the temple’s front wall had already fallen. Broken pieces of whitish stone littered the ground below the stairs. A few rugged grasses and wild flowers grew up among the pillars. One hardy vine had climbed up and over the lintel of the temple’s main threshold, softening the pale stone more.
Shadowdancer eased closer to the steps and tested one with a hoof. It felt solid under his weight so he scrambled up the stairs and into the darkness of the temple’s mouth. A sense of extreme age and deep sorrow pressed in from all around. He fought the urge to back right out of the temple again. My journey is almost at an end. I must do this.
The way ahead was darker, but as his eyes adjusted he could make out the shape of a vast open chamber. At least the temple was still upright. If the ceiling had crumbled, he didn’t know how he would have gotten to the Falcon Staff in time. With a bitter smile, he reflected this wasn’t the best thought out of endeavors. If he was lucky, he’d live to make better choices in the future.
At the far side of the structure, along the back wall, he found another opening and a set of stairs leading down into yet more darkness. There weren’t any torches convenient, and without knowing how far away Trensler was, Shadowdancer was reluctant to call upon more magic that might announce his location. With a whispered prayer he started down blind.
Midway down, or at least what he hoped was midway, his eyes adjusted to the night dark place, and he realized it wasn’t as dark as he had expected. Pale blue light glimmered weakly far below. Shadowdancer continued to place one hoof ahead of the next carefully as he continued down.
At the bottom, a disheartening sight registered on his tired mind. In the center of a room that looked similar to the Oracle Tower’s bonding chamber, twelve great crystal pillars circled a small raised dais. Unfortunately the pillars were active. A powerful Ward guarded what lay on the altar.
Muttering a curse, he walked around the perimeter of the pillars. Reaching out, he held his fingers less than a hand’s span away from the bright field of energy; close, but not quite touching that power where it flickered with such brilliance just below his hand.
Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance, and his finger tapped against the shield. Magic from the Ward hummed across his skin—seeking, hunting, searching. Studying him, Shadowdancer realized with growing apprehension. He waited with breath trapped in his lungs.
Nothing happened for a few moments, and then the Ward’s magic invaded his mind. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t fight it. It sought something from him, and he had to let it in. Dragging deep steady breaths in through his nose and out past his lips, he fought against the rising pain as the Ward’s raw power probed his mind, digging out whatever information it sought. After a moment the power’s sharp grip lessened. Power receded from his body, but it left one word blazing within his mind.
Incomplete.
His nostrils flared in fear and understanding. Of course, he should have expected something like this. The Oracle had warned him in its own way. Sorsha completed him. And while they were once of the Twelve, they no longer bore the Mark, and the Wardspell protecting the remains of the Falcon Staff would also have expected a bonded pair. Two complete Larnkins. Not one half. Even if he was an Oracle’s Harbinger.
With an angry flickering, the Ward’s power contracted down into a fine point, fusing his hand to the pale blue power, holding him in place while it decided what to do with him.
A soft whine filled the air, quickly growing into something far fiercer and higher pitched.
“Forgive me,” Shadowdancer shouted as panic flooded his body. “I meant no deception!”
The Ward softened. Eyes widening in surprise, Shadowdancer thought it would free him, then realized the foolishness of that thought as the power contracted vice-like around his hand and dragged him relentlessly a half step closer. He scrambled against its unyielding pull, all four hooves churning for traction but he couldn’t extract himself. With an angry crackling hiss, the Ward bowed outward, slamming into him with the force of a tropical wind devil. His hooves fought empty air for purchase and then he was flying. The chamber’s outer wall was rushing to meet him, his swift flight cut short by the solidness of stone.
Pain edged him back toward consciousness. He fought it, wanting the blessing of oblivion a little while longer. But the nagging pain nipped at him until he opened his eyes. He shifted his legs cautiously; they moved and seemed relatively unharmed, but the left side of his body felt like one big bruise. Blood coated his cheek where he’d bitten his lip. He moved his fingers up to touch the cut and winced.
His fingers were too swollen to bend into a fist and bones grated against each other in his wrist. Painful, broken and useless, he pressed his arm against his side. Sitting up, he surveyed the rest of his body for damage. By some blessing, he wasn’t otherwise seriously injured. The rest of his limbs were whole, his body free of swellings. He could take full deep breaths, so his ribs weren’t broken. He carefully slipped his arm with the broken wrist under the straps holding the quiver of arrows to his back. He’d have to set it later. He silently cursed his luck; he wouldn’t be firing arrows anytime soon. So much for all Sorsha’s archery lessons.
After
he came to his feet, he returned the way he had come.
Back in the large entrance chamber, shadows stretched long fingers out from dark corners, rallying now that the sun’s strength was waning. As he emerged from the temple, and navigated the stairs leading back to level ground, he took in the vivid colors of sunset with a sinking heart. He’d been unconscious longer than he’d hoped. He cast a nervous glance down the steep path cut into the side of the cliff. It was the only way down. No help for it then. He’d just have to get down and away before Trensler reached this location.
He’d failed the Oracle. There was no way to save the Falcon Staff from Trensler. Not without Sorsha, and she was too far away, tucked safely high in the mountain. Safe for now, but nothing would remain safe if Trensler got his hands on the Staff.
So close. The Falcon Staff had been somewhere just behind the Ward. Bitterness churned in his gut as he picked his way down the trail.
He was navigating the bottom third of the path when a flash of white among the trees caught his attention.
Shadowdancer froze as one of Trensler’s Acolytes emerged from the undergrowth, others followed close on his heels. They were moving unnaturally slow, their motion hindered by something pale suspended between their horses. The white that had first caught his attention—it was a fine netting. The Acolytes had brought nets with them. Shadowdancer’s body tensed with growing fear as he silently watched the Acolytes erect a number of nets at the base of the cliff. Nets to entrap him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Unease coiled in Sorsha’s gut as she studied the terrain directly before her. Ahead, the tracks of Trensler’s mounts vanished into the river. She’d have to leave the cover of the underbrush to make the crossing. That moment of fearful vulnerability would be compounded by her inability to hear anything over the rush of water.
She looked back the way she’d come, and then to the front again. Shadowdancer was somewhere ahead—hunted by Trensler. If he was found, he’d only have the bow and limited supply of arrows to protect himself against the Acolytes. Sorsha ran a hand along the taunt string of the bow looped over her shoulder. While she might not be as strong as Shadowdancer, she was far more skilled with her bow, and it provided the only safe way to deal with the enemy.
One more glance at the opposite shore assured her she was alone in the immediate area. With a deep breath, she plunged down the gentle incline of the bank and into the shallow waters of the stream. Sand gave way to deep mud. It sucked at her hooves and she fought for her footing. Emerging on the opposite bank, she scanned for enemies a second time, and then bolted up the slope and into the woods.
She was just bending down to study the tracks left by a half dozen enslaved Santhyrians when her Larnkin stirred awake for the first time since she’d met Trensler face to face. Panic flooded her mind, her body trembled with reaction. There was danger…but not to her.
Shadowdancer.
He was in danger.
Before she’d fully thought it out, she was galloping in Shadowdancer’s direction. Her Larnkin gave her no choice, forcing her along the path the Acolytes had taken, seemingly uncaring if they’d left one of their number to act as a rearguard. Kicking up dust in her wake, she loosed her bow and reached over her shoulder for one of the Oracle’s fire arrows. Her Larnkin continued to scream warnings that Shadowdancer’s life was at risk. She fitted an arrow to the string and glared up ahead.
Dark shadows of the forest gave way to the orange and gold light of sunset. Blinking to clear the sunspots from her vision, she continued forward, ready to aim even though she couldn’t see her prey yet. She could sense them, though, taste the dark essence of their power—the pain they caused the land as they drank the sacred energy surrounding the temple.
A dark cloaked figure stood next to his mount, his gaze locked onto his prey farther up the mountain. The sound of chanting reached her ears. She couldn’t make out the words over her own panting breath, but it didn’t matter what they said.
When Sorsha raised the bow and thought of flames, the arrowhead burst to life with greedy fire. The twang of the bow string sounded loud to her sensitized hearing. With a meaty thump, the arrow found its mark between the Acolyte’s shoulder blades. Smoke curled up, and fire hissed.
The force of the blow spun the Acolyte around, but she didn’t pause to study his expression beyond noting his shock. How many innocents had this creature killed to feed the ravenous hunger of his master? He crumpled forward as he continued to burn. Well, this one wouldn’t be feeding his master any time soon. She notched another fire arrow; it flew as unerringly as the first and found the heart of another dark target.
Two more arrows flew from her bow. The first was another clean kill, but the second flew wide, just grazing a young Acolyte’s arm. Her speed carried her past him and she couldn’t stop her headlong pace in time to turn and finish him off. She continued ahead, into the midst of another grouping of the Acolytes. Too many blocked a direct route to where Shadowdancer stood, trapped between the cliff wall and a corral of nets, so Sorsha took a longer, less direct route through.
She took down another Acolyte, but surrounded by the remaining priests, she could feel them start to drain magic from her. She didn’t have much time. If she was going to help Shadowdancer, she needed to finish off more of them now, before it was too late. She was bringing the bow to bear again when an Acolyte sent his mount crashing into her. She staggered back, but kept her balance. Another arrow flew wide, bounced off a tree trunk and skimmed along the dirt under the net. The arrow continued a bit farther until finally coming to rest near Shadowdancer’s front hooves.
The two Acolytes coming at Shadowdancer from opposite directions paused for long moments, and then realizing the flames only spread as far as the fuel allowed, started forward again.
As if she and Shadowdancer were linked, one mind, body and soul, they lunged into motion together. Sorsha drew another arrow and took out the Acolyte on Shadowdancer’s left flank. The big Santhyrian spun his hips around, catching the man on his right with a powerful kick. While the two nearest enemies were down, Shadowdancer drew an arrow from his quiver and impaled the Acolyte he’d kicked. It wasn’t until he straightened that she spotted his bound wrist and understood why he wasn’t using his bow.
Sorsha lunged into a canter, plowing into an Acolyte who didn’t get out of her way in time. At the feel of soft flesh and snapping bones under her hooves, her stomach started a slow continuous roll of nausea. Horror finally penetrated her adrenalin filled mind. The Acolytes, as much as she hated and feared them, had once been human. These were her own kind she was crushing—pitiful, enslaved creatures though they were. Perhaps sensing Sorsha was less than resolute, her Larnkin took firmer hold and reached out to the nearest enemy with her power, studying him. Sorsha could feel what her Larnkin had learned.
In life, his name had been Keldar, a kind-hearted young man—he’d loved nature and healed whatever wounded animal might cross his path. But now, where his bright spirit had once been, was a cold, soulless power. Its thoughts flowed along the mental pathway, its endless hunger, desire, and madness washing over Sorsha’s mind. An incomplete being. Flawed from the moment it had been created. She broke out in a cold sweat as she met Keldar’s gaze. He had long ago become a soulless slave. These Acolytes were no longer human; instead they were empty shells occupied by something evil. Though it was as pointless to feel pity for Keldar as it was for any of them, she felt sadness all the same as she released another arrow.
Keldar toppled backward off his mount, his cloak engulfed in flames.
Death was a blessing.
Sorsha notched another arrow for Light’s cause. Drawing in a deep breath, she held it a moment, and then released it accompanied by a great battle cry. Words of an ancient language poured from her mouth as another arrow guided by her Larnkin’s magic found its mark.
She charged across the field, grass slapping at her legs as she galloped. Arrow after arrow found Acolytes even as they dr
ank her magic.
If she was to die, she would die with honor.
She charged toward him, her hair a wild ribbon behind her, tail arched like a banner in the wind, and her powerful legs carrying her closer to death with each stride. She was grace, and she was death. She was his bondmate, his Herd Mistress. And her stubborn Stonemantle bravado was going to get her killed.
One enemy after another fell before her arrows, but more were coming up behind her, emerging from the forest, and his beloved no longer had the element of surprise. Of the two dozen Acolytes, a good half were still very much alive. And organizing for an assault.
Sorsha thundered up to his side. “Where is he?”
After scanning the faces of the Acolytes closing in on their location, and not seeing one face in particular, Shadowdancer understood her meaning. “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t Trensler be here?”
“Maybe Trensler’s master doesn’t want to risk his highest ranking servant?”
“Perhaps.” He would have said more, but the dozen remaining Acolytes were maneuvering their nets within capture range again. “Up.” Shadowdancer circled around and physically shoved Sorsha toward the narrow path leading back up to the temple. “Move now. Or we die here.” He herded her faster, pushing her from behind when she tried to slow enough to take aim at the enemies. “Later, when we’re higher and out of feeding range.”
“But I’ve got a shot.”
“You’ll be able to hit your targets just as well from a slightly safer distance.” As he herded her farther up the mountain trail, he made certain to keep the bulk of his body between Sorsha and the enemy below. While he hadn’t seen any archers among the Acolytes, that didn’t mean there wasn’t any. Sorsha scrambled up the next incline and paused at the turn, bracing herself in an attempt to take a shot at the shrinking enemy below. Shadowdancer blocked her and tried urging her on up.
Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) Page 22
