Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2)

by Lisa Blackwood

  “Did we just live through that?” Sorsha asked, sounding genuinely doubtful.

  “Yes, I think so.” With a chuckle, he gave her fingers a squeeze. “But I’ll let you know when I’m certain of that fact.”

  “Well, if this is the afterlife, it’s smaller than I envisioned—less grand. I think I’m disappointed.”

  Sorsha’s humor sparked warmth within his soul. “It’s not completely without merit.” He stroked a finger down her cheek. The Wards still glowed with a pale bluish light and cast Sorsha’s features in the soft hues of twilight.

  She turned her face into his caress, briefly closing her eyes. Moments later she blinked them open again and cleared her throat, all business. “Now what?”

  He looked around the room. Now what, indeed. There was nothing. The space within the great Ward Stone circle was empty. Not even dust marred the smooth stone floor. He trotted the inside perimeter of the energy dome. They were guarding something of great importance—someone didn’t just expend this much power on a lark. He narrowed his eyes, studying the strangely smooth floor with new suspicion. “There.” He pointed it out and Sorsha followed his finger. “Notice how flat the stone floor is? It’s unnatural.”

  “If the slant of the floor is the only strange thing you’ve seen today, then I think you need to pay closer attention.”

  “That’s it.” On a hunch, he slowly cut across the room on a diagonal, and was thankful for his cautious stride when he stumbled and his front hooves disappeared up to his fetlock joint.

  “Merciful gods.” Sorsha’s panic was palpable over the distance.

  He raised his hand and gestured her to come to him. “It’s an illusion.”

  “Whoever built this place was a seriously distrustful soul?”

  “There is a sloping ramp below my feet. Ignore what your eyes tell you and trust your instincts. It’s safe enough—the slope isn’t steep. Come on. We’re running out of time. The Acolytes will surely be scaling the cliff by now.”

  With a curse, Sorsha hurried to follow him. Shadowdancer turned his attention back to the terrain below his hooves. The slope angled downward in a large easy curve. Each circular revolution he made carried him farther into the roots of the temple. He increased his pace. By the tap of Sorsha’s hooves on stone, she’d hurried to match her pace to his. When he descended through the illusionary floor, torches burst to life along both sides of the ceremonial passage. Just ahead, the tunnel opened into a vast cavern.

  “What is this place?”

  “A tomb.”

  Sorsha’s gaze was locked on the first of several towering statues guarding the way. This one was of a female Phoenix, her wings arched above her, a bared sword pointed to the dark ceiling high above.

  “The statues guard the soul on its way to the afterlife. This tunnel represents the soul’s journey to the new life, the long and winding way into the underworld. Once the journey is complete the soul is ready to be reborn.”

  “And at the end of our journey?”

  “We’ll find the Falcon Staff. And what could need rebirth worse than a shattered talisman?”

  “I suppose. But let’s get this over with. There’s something here I find almost—but not quite—as disturbing as the Acolytes chasing us.”

  “As you wish.”

  They continued in silence for the better part of a candlemark. Shadowdancer maintained a stride’s lead the whole time. Sorsha didn’t challenge him for leadership, content to bring up the rear. Sorsha wasn’t kidding. There was something about the place, a deep sense of disquiet. Shadowdancer was so focused on locating the source of his unease that they arrived at their destination before he realized it.

  The air here was stale, far less buoyant than it had been within the Ward Stone circle, its mustiness a heavy coating upon his tongue. The meandering path through the giant statues ended at an unadorned pool nestled under a grotto formed by the tapering junction of two walls. Torches, situated in a crescent shape, circled the front of the pool, reflecting light far back into the grotto.

  A tiny stream, its headwaters hidden from view by one of the grotto’s many outcroppings of stone, leaked out over another ledge and dropped a short distance to the pool below. The soft whispering sounds he’d heard earlier were louder now, seeming to emanate from the gently rippling waters.

  Exhaling a nervous horse-like snort, he trotted up to the pool. And skidded to a halt when he pinpointed what had his senses on high alert. On closer examination, what he’d first mistook as water, sparkled too much and some of the substance flowing over the small waterfall shifted to vapor before hitting the ‘water’ in the pool below.

  Closer now, the soft whispering, like a distant chant carried on the night breeze, crawled across his range of hearing. Incoherent words, murmurs, senseless tones—they sank below his skin, into his blood, muscle, and bones until his Larnkin quivered in answer. Ears straining, he cursed what the Oracle Tower had made him. If he’d been completely Santhyrian, he might have made out the words.

  Sorsha stepped up from behind him, her body brushing against his. He felt her shiver. She cleared her throat in a nervous gesture. “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Though I can’t make out the words. And that’s pure magic, not water in that pool.” As his eyes adjusted to the bright light swirling in the shallows, he spotted a bulky shape under the layers of swirling magic. Power shifted, and the vapors parted. A golden wing emerged for a few moments before the mists enfolded it again.

  “We’ve found her.” A note of awe sounded in his voice even after every incredulous occurrence he’d witnessed in the last moon cycle. His hands shook. Being told by the Oracle that he and Sorsha were Members of the Twelve was one thing; actually laying eyes on one of the legendary Talismans was an entirely different experience. Equal parts fear and a heady sense of responsibility made him light headed.

  Sorsha folded her legs under her and bowed down over the pool like she was praying. Belatedly, he realized it was a wise idea and was just sinking down next to her when she gave a little shrug.

  “Magic hasn’t killed me yet,” she whispered half under her breath and reached toward the pool.

  “Wait,” he shouted even as he made a grab at her arm. His fingers locked around her elbow. Triumph was short lived when he saw her fingers had already vanished into the mists.

  “It’s alright. This is why we’re here, why we were born. You feel it too, don’t you?”

  Her question came as a surprise. So much had happened; he hadn’t had time to think. But yes, when he closed his eyes and just stopped thinking and felt with his soul—this felt right. Here was his fate. Here with Sorsha. No matter how it all ended, this was his fate. Sorsha was his life, the keeper of his heart. He would follow her into the next life if that was required.

  With a small nod, they both turned back to watch the shimmering pool. He reached out and waved his fingers through the magic cascading over the ledge. It landed on his hand, a cool presence against his skin for mere heartbeats before it misted away. It didn’t hurt, and he sensed no danger.

  Again, his eyes slid toward Sorsha’s at the same moment hers looked up into his.

  Now? Her lips shaped the word. He nodded. Together they leaned forward. Sorsha came in contact with something first, the muscles of her arm flexing as if she lifted a substantial weight. He reached deeper, until his cheek was almost touching the surface. His fingers encountered something smooth and cylindrical.

  Sorsha heaved her prize out of the pool. The figure of a Falcon, its wings spread in flight, came free of the mist. She rested it on the lip of the pool then shifted her grip and cradled it against her chest. The soft broken words were clearer now. Clear enough that he could make out a very ancient language—dead for ten thousand years.

  Shadowdancer shivered. May the gods protect us. For the poor Falcon Staff cannot.

  He turned his attention to his piece of staff. A short stub of dark polished wood
balanced in his hand. Gold filigree decorated most of its length. He carefully passed it to Sorsha, then reached back into the pool again.

  Twice more he scooped pieces of the shattered staff out of a pool of its own hemorrhaging magic. While he worked, Sorsha laid out the Staff, piecing it back together. Whole, the Staff would have been near as tall as he’d been as a human. From what he could tell, all the pieces were here, but he still had no idea how they were going to destroy it.

  Sorsha’s plan had sounded logical before he’d laid eyes on the Staff. Now, with its pitiful broken pleas, he couldn’t bring himself to harm the staff, even if he had known how.

  “Perhaps we can still get her to the Oracle?” Doubt clouded Sorsha’s expression.

  “The Acolytes will be flooding into the temple above us, or they may have reached the Ward Stone circle by now. Either way, they will be blocking our only means of escape.”

  “What if I summoned an archway to the Wild Path and we went through it with the Staff? I know the Oracle expressly ordered us not to use the Path, for Wardlens haunt that grey world, but can the chance of being caught by those beasts be any worse than the certainty of having an Acolyte feed on us if we stay here?”

  Sorsha had a point.

  “No. Too dangerous. Unstable.”

  He and Sorsha both jumped at the startling invasion of another’s mind.

  “Wardlen belong to Trensler’s Master now. He feeds there.”

  With growing hope, he realized it was the Staff speaking to them. Perhaps, even shattered, she could still offer them aid.

  “Hunters come.”

  “The Acolytes? We know they’re coming, but where can we go?”

  “Go now.”

  The shimmering non-water swirled up and over the banks of the pool, turning entirely to mist. Growing and spreading, it flowed out over the floor, swirling around their hooves and up their legs before it continued its determined march toward one dark section of wall. There it crawled up the stone and bled into whatever fissures, cracks, and fault lines it could find. With a crack like thunder, a bright flash blinded Shadowdancer. He blinked spots from his eyes and turned to study what the magic had done. A section of wall was gone. Vaporized. As he watched more of the mist flowed into that spot.

  Shadowdancer glanced away before he could be blinded a second time.

  “Follow.”

  The word crawled into his brain, into his very soul, undeniable and wholly inflexible in its simple command. His Larnkin stirred awake, forced him into motion. Sorsha was moving as well, and by her shocked expression, she was no more in command of her movements than he was.

  He shrugged off his pack, opened the flap, and upended all their supplies. Sorsha hurried to his side and shoved pieces of the staff into the pack. “If I was doing this on my own, I’m sure I’d think this was a good idea.”

  “I had no idea one of the Talismans, especially damaged as this one is, would be capable of commanding us so inescapably.”

  “I’m not sure what I find more frightening. Being possessed, or being eaten by Trensler’s minions.”

  “The Acolytes,” Shadowdancer replied in a shaky chuckle.

  “Yes, but this still counts as one of the least enjoyable times of my life.”

  “Too slow.”

  More power erupted out of the pool, shimmering in the air above their heads. The pieces of the staff rattled together in the pack. Sorsha shouted in alarm as the golden falcon in her arms spread its wings. By the abject terror on her face, she would have dropped it if she’d been able. Before he could wonder what the Staff was doing, his Larnkin shifted within him, rising to the surface of his skin. Pale eddies of magic danced along his skin, floating away from him to join the power burning above his head. Another glance at Sorsha confirmed she was experiencing the same strange phenomenon. For one soul chilling moment he thought the power was going to devour them as surely as the Acolytes would.

  Above his head the power shimmered, gathering like a thunderhead on a sweltering summer evening. His breath came in pants. Instinctively, he wanted to shift closer to Sorsha, protect her in whatever small way he could, but his hooves might as well have been rooted into the stone for all the motion the Staff allowed him. Sorsha’s Larnkin was expending power as swiftly as his.

  The burning magic above their heads spiraled in upon itself, becoming denser with each beat of his heart. The tighter it contracted, the brighter it shimmered until it resembled a fiery miniature sun. A pulse began in the magic and he blinked back tears.

  The tight ball convulsed, then it shifted, spearing toward the chamber’s far back wall where the earlier magic had started to excavate a tunnel. Magic hit stone with a resounding rumble and light sizzled across his field of vision as the world exploded with colors.

  Underneath his hooves the ground bucked, shifting and rolling with a fierce earth tremor. Bits of ceiling and shards of the walls crumbled as he watched. Death was coming for them. He shouted to Sorsha. She screamed something back to him, but he couldn’t hear it over the sounds of molten magic and fracturing bedrock.

  The mountain moaned, a long eerie sound, full of weight and resistance. The Staff, perhaps distracted by her other work, loosened her hold on Shadowdancer. Free to move at last, he lunged over the uneven ground and gathered Sorsha in his arms. She held him just as fiercely. The ground gave another violent shiver, then was still and silent.

  Dust floated through the air. Each lungful tasted of gritty stone. He coughed.

  “Are we still alive?” Sorsha asked as she looked around somewhat hesitantly. “Why doesn’t fate just kill us and get it over with? I’m sick of being terrified all the time.” Starting at her shoulders, she quivered in the throes of a full-bodied shake. It coursed down her human torso, the length of her Santhyrian spine, then all the way to the tip of her tail, raising a fine cloud of dust all along her body.

  “Maybe the gods don’t want us.”

  “That’s a cheerful thought.”

  “Hurry. Little time left.”

  Not wanting to give the Staff another excuse to take control again, he draped his arm around Sorsha’s shoulders, and guided her toward where the new ‘door’ had been eaten into the stone.

  Tilting her head, Sorsha studied their escape tunnel. She touched the smooth walls that lay just beyond the threshold. “It’s like the rock was melted. It’s so smooth—glass like. Where do you think it leads?”

  “Out. Beyond that I don’t care as long as it gets us free of this tomb and away from the Acolytes. They’re so close I can smell them.”

  Sorsha cast a nervous glance over her shoulder then swiftly trotted back to retrieve her bow from where she’d dropped it. “Good point. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Smooth walls stretched as far as Sorsha could see in the dim light. Once again she brushed her fingers against the glass-like surface, in awe of such power. Even broken, the Falcon Staff still commanded immense power. Yet the Staff had no choice but to flee from Trensler.

  How much greater was Trensler’s master if two Members of the Twelve and one of the Talismans fled before it? Was it even possible to defeat such an adversary?

  A shiver fingered its way along her spine. Her tail stiffened in fear and she crowded closer to Shadowdancer’s heels.

  Foam dotted his coat and his limp became more pronounced with each stride. Worse, from this angle she could see where he’d started to bleed profusely again. The bandage was dark with blood, and more ran down his leg. With growing concern, she realized he was leaving a bloody hoof print with every stride.

  “That bandage on your leg isn’t holding. And by the way you’re bleeding, I think one of the lacerations must have been deep enough to have nicked an artery.”

  “If we stop now, we’ll die and doom a great many others with our failure.”

  “When you bleed to death, you’ll be just as dead.”

  He only grunted, though he continued at a slower pace. Sorsha had no choice bu
t to follow at his heels—she couldn’t stop him.

  Long moments crawled by, each one feeling more hopeless than the last until Sorsha doubted Shadowdancer’s ability to walk farther.

  “Great Mother of the Plains, thank you.”

  Shadowdancer’s voice jarred Sorsha’s out of her worries. In the distance the corridor brightened, the world of grey took on color, vague shapes sharpened into Shadowdancer’s tail and flanks. He hobbled faster.

  The heady sensation of freedom almost brought Sorsha to her knees; as it was, her legs trembled as if she was again new to her Santhyrian body. Ahead, Shadowdancer stumbled to a halt. Sorsha came up alongside and angled her body so he could rest some of his weight against her side. When he regained his balance, she took another couple steps until she was shoulder to shoulder with him. Without hesitation she reached for him, placing a strong arm around his shoulders. “Don’t quit on me yet.”

  “Sorry,” Shadowdancer mumbled into her hair. His arms came around her shoulders and he bowed his head over hers. Together they paused for a few moments. If she wasn’t mistaken, Shadowdancer took as much comfort from her as she did him.

  “I’ve been a complete ass at times, but please know it was out of fear. Each time I tried to push you away it was fear for you that drove me to it.”

  His words washed over her, leaving a soul chilling dread in their wake. Surprised and fearful, she pulled away enough to look up at his face. His words sounded too much like an end of life confession. The warm weight of his fingers brushed against her lips, trapping her protests.

  “If I don’t survive this—and there is a good chance I may not—I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

  Sorsha ran her hands up and down his arms. “Shhh. We live or die together. Remember?”