Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3)

by Lisa Blackwood

  Besides, in the distance he could now hear the sounds of a large group of approaching riders. That knowledge was much more disturbing than having Beatrice’s death magic crawling across his skin.

  Unable to help himself, he glanced behind, even knowing the riders were still too far away to even catch a glimpse of through the trees.

  “You hear something, don’t you?” Beatrice asked.

  “Acolytes.”

  When Beatrice started to fumble at her belt to free her crossbow, he placed his hand over hers. “No, there are too many to fight. You’ll need to use your magic and kill them from afar. We can’t let them get close enough to feed.”

  “But I can’t feel them. I can’t target them if I can’t feel them. Something has changed. Maybe because we’re still inside the net trap. I don’t know, but I don’t think my magic will be as effective if I can’t pinpoint a target.”

  That was the most disturbing thing he’d heard all day.

  In the past, he knew she’d always felt the acolytes coming. That was how she and her family had managed to survive this long. Had the acolytes found a way to hide themselves from Beatrice’s formidable magic? If so, that made them an even more dangerous foe.

  “Silverblade, I fear the acolytes may already have found a way to adapt to my power.” Her words confirmed his own fears.

  By mutual consent, they continued forward, looking for the edge of the spell nets. They had to reach it and then find a way past before the acolytes found them.

  Silverblade didn’t push the gelding into a gallop, though. Accidentally running right into the acolytes wouldn’t help their situation. Even if the acolytes were adapting, Silverblade doubted they could completely hide their presence.

  He strained each of his dulled senses, hoping to hear some betraying sound or see a flash of movement through the trees that would reveal if there were acolytes ahead of them as well.

  Beatrice tapped his arm where he had it wrapped around her waist. When she knew she had his attention, she pointed to an area of forest just left of the game trail they were following.

  He saw it. A shimmering through the trees. Grey and silver light. But there was nothing pure about the source. Already he could feel the magic draining from his Larnkin.

  “I can feel that thing plucking and pulling at my magic,” Beatrice said with horror thick in her voice.

  He had to agree. But just then the wind shifted and suddenly Silverblade caught a scent—a dry, lifeless odor, almost like an ancient corpse. Yes, that’s what the acolytes’ scent was akin to. If he could smell that in this form, that meant they were too damn close.

  “Hurry. Take your pack and get the fire-starting supplies. I’ll gather kindling. We need to set fire to the spell nets. Quickly now.” Silverblade dismounted and then lifted Beatrice from the gelding’s back.

  He shoved her pack towards her before he darted to the side of the path and started scooping up all the dried leaves and twigs he could find. From the corner of his eye, he saw her tear into her pack and upend the contents on the ground. From that pile, she grabbed the fire striker stones and raced toward the nearest section of spell net.

  Silverblade was only a few paces behind her, fistfuls of kindling in each hand.

  They arrived at the net at the same time. Beatrice grabbed one of the fistfuls of kindling and positioned it at the base of the net. A few well-aimed strikes of her fire stones and she soon had a small trail of smoke rising from the kindling.

  Dropping to his knees a few paces farther down the net, he packed another ball of kindling against the net. When he looked up, Beatrice was already tossing him her stones.

  In a matter of heartbeats, he soon had another tiny fire starting to burn.

  Beatrice was already racing past him to gather more kindling and twigs.

  This close to the spell net, he could feel his magic draining away far more quickly than it had at a distance.

  He was working on his third fire when Beatrice shouted and snatched up her crossbow.

  “Here they come!”

  Silverblade tossed his armful of sticks on the nearest fire and bolted to the healer’s side.

  “There are too many,” Beatrice said as she inserted a bolt into her crossbow. “But for what good it will do, there are two hunting knives in the pack. The metal blades might be better than trying to dismember the acolytes with your claws, although they’ll be able to feed no matter what we do.”

  He grunted agreement and then snatched up the two knives from the pile of supplies she’d upended on the ground earlier.

  “I’ll try to make each crossbow bolt count. But use the knives on anything that gets past me.”

  “How good are you?”

  Beatrice grinned. “I can hit a squirrel running through the tree canopy.”

  “Good. Aim for their knee or hip joints. The acolytes don’t stay dead, but they can’t heal damage either. It will be the best way to slow them,” Silverblade said as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Beatrice and watched the mounted acolytes charge toward them.

  Behind him, the fires crackled and hissed as they ate into the spell net and the flow of magic being dragged from his Larnkin slowed somewhat. A small spark of hope grew in his heart.

  “Now that you can see them, can you command your magic to destroy them like you did before?”

  “I don’t know. That was all my Larnkin’s doing. I don’t know if I can control it.” Beatrice shuddered. “Before the acolytes attacked you, I’d only ever used that power once before. And that time, it used me. I don’t think it’s something I can control.”

  Silverblade knew she feared her magic. He wasn’t a fool. He feared it, too. Never had he sensed such until he’d met her. But the acolytes were more fearsome still. And in this, this one desperate time, he knew they would need Beatrice’s deadly magic if they were going to survive.

  More acolytes on horseback came charging out from the shadows of the forest onto the game trail.

  Whatever doubts Beatrice might harbor about her magic, her aim was true and she unhorsed her first target with a well-aimed bolt to the acolyte’s hip.

  Most of Beatrice’s bolts found targets, but more acolytes appeared, galloping into the battle with no concern for their wellbeing. But that didn’t really come as a surprise. The acolytes’ master had proven time and again that it cared nothing for its tools.

  Silverblade spotted something of interest. None of these acolytes were familiar. This wasn’t the same group as Ironsmith commanded. That was a blessing, he supposed. It meant that those particular acolytes hadn’t somehow managed to catch up.

  If he and Beatrice were able to gain the upper hand, they might be able to escape this group too—or at least one of them might. He glanced at the healer and allowed himself to drink in her fierce beauty.

  He only had a moment, but it was enough. She held the secret to defeating the acolytes within her. Even if she hadn’t, he still would have come to the same conclusion.

  For her survival, he would lay down his own life.

  And once he became an acolyte like these other poor bastards, he trusted Beatrice’s death magic to one day set him free from that curse, too.

  He trusted the healer with his life and death. It was that simple.

  With that thought blazing in his mind, he took aim at the nearest acolyte and flung the knife with all the strength in his arm. He didn’t wait to see the acolyte fall, instead turning toward Beatrice.

  “There are too many. We’re not both going to make it out.” Silverblade started to shove her back toward the spell net, where the fires were even now growing bigger.

  “What? Wait! What are you doing?” Beatrice fought to free herself, but he was stronger and continued to guide her back toward the small but growing hole in the net.

  “As soon as the fire burns a big enough hole, run through it and keep on running until you’re far enough away or the nets have suffered enough damage you can target the acolytes. Kill as many of them as
you can. Don’t come back for me. Go,” Silverblade roared over the sound of the horses’ powerful hooves churning across the ground. “Find others of my kind. Tell them what I’ve learned. Tell them that you were pack to me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Beatrice watched, helpless to stop Silverblade as he bolted forward, his powerful long-legged strides carrying him across the distance faster than she could think.

  He lunged at the nearest horse and rider, driving them both sideways. The acolyte lost his seat and fell to the ground where the panicked horse trampled him. The horse continued its terrified bucking, thinking a wolf was on its back now.

  For his part, Silverblade seemed unconcerned and just clung to it. When another acolyte spurred his horse toward the lupwyn, Silverblade launched himself at him, landing behind the acolyte. Beatrice spotted a flash of silver and then the hunting knife in the lupwyn’s hand severed the acolyte’s neck.

  More acolytes converged upon the lupwyn scout’s location, clearly planning to overwhelm him with numbers. Beatrice freed another bolt from the dwindling supply tucked into her harness’s belt and fitted it into the crossbow. Taking aim, she studied the acolytes and their locations and then glanced over her shoulder at the burning spell net behind her.

  The fire was doing its work and flames now crawled along the rope, eating through the thick fibers. She jerked her gaze back to the fighting. Perhaps if she opened up a path, Silverblade could fight his way free? Firing her crossbow, she toppled another acolyte from his mount before he could reach Silverblade.

  That brief flicker of hope was extinguished a moment later as two other acolytes filled the hole she’d made in the ranks but a moment before. She grabbed her second-to-last bolt and readied the crossbow, but didn’t pick out a target. These last two had to count, because she couldn’t leave Silverblade behind to be fed upon by the acolytes, or worse.

  Besides, she would not leave another to die in her place.

  On a logical level, she knew one of them had to escape to warn the other magic-wielders that the acolytes were far more deadly than any of them had envisioned. The acolytes were showing new powers she’d been unaware they possessed. Someone with a chance to defeat the acolytes needed to know that information.

  “Wait,” the order was barked out by a hooded figure waiting at one side of the battle.

  If she was to guess, it was the leader of this particular group. She did not recognize the voice, so knew it wasn’t Acolyte Ironsmith, nor was it Lord Master Trensler. She counted her blessings. This one might not know of her death magic. She’d take any advantage she could get.

  “Our master wants all Elementals captured alive for study. You may feed upon him, but do not kill him. Restrain him and we will return to River’s Divide.” The leader gestured toward Beatrice where she still stood before the burning spell net. “Our master wants that human as well.”

  Three acolytes broke away from the fight with Silverblade and started in Beatrice’s direction. She leveled her crossbow at the nearest one but dwelled a moment on what the leader had said. So the acolytes were studying the Larnkins’ individual power? They weren’t just feeding or making new slaves out of their victims. As if the first two options weren’t worrisome enough, the acolytes were learning from the Larnkins as they killed them. Charming.

  Beatrice did not plan to feed them. Nor did she plan to give them knowledge of her own deadly power or her healing gifts.

  Behind her, a large chunk of the spell net dropped to the ground, the hole enlarging quickly. A breeze rushed in, making the fire flicker and snap, but the fresher air fanned the heat of rage rising within her.

  The cursed acolytes would not have Silverblade.

  Logic no longer lived in her soul, only passion, rage, and the awakening death magic.

  As the fire burned away more of the net, the weakness swamping her body ebbed and her magic flared colder, expanding out from her body. It lashed out as it had once before, but it didn’t attack the acolytes. Instead, it exploded outward and rushed toward the damaged spell net.

  Even as the spell net blew apart in a thousand disintegrating bits of decaying fabric, the seven remaining acolytes overpowered the lupwyn, taking Silverblade to the ground while he was still astride the panicked horse. As a group, they toppled sideways, but Silverblade managed to twist free at the last moment and avoided getting pinned under the horse.

  But he didn’t escape the acolytes and moments later, he was surrounded again. He still fought, his lethal claws shredding his enemies. Yet even she could see he was weakening, his strikes no longer as swift or strong.

  She’d seen enough.

  The three acolytes assigned to capture her continued their approach until they stood in a semi-circle before her. Beatrice held her arms out wide, daring them closer.

  One acolyte reached for her, his cold, dead fingers closing over her wrist. When he began to feed, she reached out with her power, deep into the mind of the acolyte and beyond it to the creature that controlled it.

  “You wish to study me? Then go ahead—learn the nature of your doom.”

  Her power unfolded within her, a great wave rushing out and her Larnkin back-handed the acolyte who dared to touch her. Before he’d fully disintegrated, her Larnkin was already unleashing her rage upon the next two nearest acolytes.

  Seeing three of his puppets destroyed, the acolytes’ master must have ordered the rest of them to converge on her, for suddenly all the acolytes had abandoned the lupwyn to rush towards her instead.

  Her healer’s magic roused for a moment amid the swirling chaos of cold death to study the lupwyn. Silverblade was gravely wounded but breathing. As long as he was breathing, he was fixable. Beatrice didn’t have time to feel relief, though. The acolytes were nearly upon her.

  Yes, she needed to destroy them. But to do so, she’d have to unleash the full force of her dark power, and that power might prove just as devastating to this land as the acolytes themselves. Her power had nearly slipped her control once before, but that time her Larnkin still slumbered. This time her Larnkin was awake, aware, and wanted to destroy.

  While it might be the only way to destroy the acolytes and save Silverblade, she still fought for control, knowing that this mad, ravaging power that was the opposite of life wanted to consume everything around her. And leave nothing alive.

  Very well, then. The acolytes had forced her hand. It was on their heads.

  Her heart pounding, she turned her head and met Silverblade’s eyes. He’d managed to prop himself up against a tree. He was so very weak, his pack bonds and Larnkin shredded by what the acolytes had done.

  She did not know if her power would protect him as it had before, or if he would be destroyed along with the acolytes. Possibly even along with herself.

  But it was necessary.

  He nodded his head ever so slightly, his eyes telling her he didn’t regret their meeting.

  With a sigh, Beatrice closed her eyes and surrendered to that darkness in her own soul.

  Chapter Twenty

  Silverblade sat with his back propped against a tree trunk. He refused to slump to the ground or surrender to his pain and exhaustion. Yet standing was presently beyond him. He’d try again in a moment.

  Moments were probably all he had left. His Larnkin was dying, but he’d live long enough to see Beatrice destroy these acolytes. It warmed his chilled soul to know she’d live.

  When Beatrice closed her eyes and her expression turned calm, he knew he wouldn’t have long to wait. Her power expanded outward from her body in a rush. He could actually see her magic—his own was gone, but his physical sight could see the destructive wave at work. It rushed toward him, destroying acolytes in the blink of an eye.

  When it touched him, a chill similar to what the acolytes wielded covered his skin, but this chill penetrated deeper, changing. Between one heartbeat and the next, it morphed from a cold chill to a fiery heat. Purifying fire raced over him, leaving him if not untouched, at least
not destroyed like the acolytes.

  His senses sharpened, strength and feeling slowly returned to his body. Other things sank in. The remaining acolytes fled. They didn’t get far, their skin melting from bone. Muscle and blood misted away, their bodies a mere drift of ash upon the breeze.

  Even after the last acolyte was dead, the death magic continued its spread outward into the surrounding forest.

  He’d been certain there were no more acolytes out there. Perhaps he’d been wrong. His mind drifted for a time, his body miraculously growing stronger again. He was just thinking how nice it would be to sleep for half a day when Beatrice’s magic whipped out and latched onto him like a snake coiling around its prey. A moment later, that power was dragging him toward her.

  His head struck a knotted root or some other rocky protrusion, and his already graying vision blackened completely for a few heartbeats. When his senses returned, he was sprawled in front of Beatrice.

  She was kneeling beside him, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking. Silver-gray and flame-like, her magic still flowed away from her in ever-increasing waves.

  The power cascaded over his body, rushing past, reminding him of a raging river. By some miracle or intent on her Larnkin’s part, he was spared the worst of its destructive magic. Even so, he could feel where her power plucked at his dwindling reserves, stripping more away. For some reason, her magic focused on his pack bonds, tearing into them.

  It was worrying, but at least he was alive to worry.

  Forcing himself to sit, he looked around. There were no more acolytes, yet Beatrice still sent her power out into the forest. Was she destroying the rest of the spell net? It was probably wise to destroy all traces of the acolytes so the corruption couldn’t spread, but surely that could wait until they were both rested.

  “Beatrice. Enough.” He reached out and brushed her hair back over her shoulder and uttered a surprised sound before he could repress it.

  Her once-lush golden hair was now brittle, the texture like straw. When he pushed more hair gently out of the way, he saw the true cost of her magic.