Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (10 page)

“For now.”
Shadowdancer’s mind voice lacked humor and his eyes showed white-edged panic as
he circled away from the thing that had caused their fall.
“Hurry, get on.
The City’s defenses have been triggered. We have no time. We must get out
before the second circle forms.”

His panicked tones still echoed in her head as his strong
teeth sank into her sleeve and he hauled her back to his side. She didn’t
hesitate, mounting in one painful, clumsy motion.

As Shadowdancer raced away the dust cleared enough so
that she beheld what had knocked him off his feet. Two lines of pillars were
growing out of the earth where before there had been nothing but flat
grassland, their substance a strange mixture of stone and crystal. She didn’t
know where the strange pillars had come from, but she and Shadowdancer now
found themselves stranded between the two lines. The nearest pillars reared
high above her head, and they were glowing. Somehow, Sorsha doubted the pillars
were conducive to a long life.

Filaments of energy, then thicker ropes of power
reached across the distance from one pillar toward the next in line. Magic
cascaded between each pillar, faster than Shadowdancer could get ahead of it,
until a sizzling sheet of power was born, blocking their escape to either side.
From what Sorsha could make out through the dust and the distance, the double
row of pillars likely circled the entire city, mountain and all.

Effectively trapped between the two rows of pillars,
Shadowdancer could only gallop at breakneck speed as if all the Wardlen packs
in the land were at his heels. The last two pillars to arise were nearly to
their full height and beginning to glow with power. If he was trying to get
there before...

“We will not make it.”
Even as the stallion confirmed her fears, the last
two pillars merged power, finishing the circle. With both inner and outer
circles now complete, the two domes of power began to move toward each other;
the inner one expanding as the outer one contracted, unhurried and unstoppable.

“What happens when they touch?” She asked the
question, unable to help herself, even knowing the outcome probably wouldn’t be
to her liking.

“If we are still here, we die. I don’t plan to stay
that long.”
He slowed as he spoke
until he ran at a more maintainable pace.
“Do you trust me?”

“What a time to ask me that! Yes, I trust you. What do
you have planned?”

“Lower your shields. We must merge our Larnkins’
power. If our power is compatible, I may be able to use it to open a way to the
Wild Path. If I am wrong… we are dead already.”

“My Larnkin is still too weak from fighting the
Acolytes. I don’t know what to do.” Even as she spoke a small hope grew.

“Together we might have enough power for my plan.
Normally a Herd Mistress can open a gate to the Wild Path from anywhere. She
does not need an archway to do it. Lower your shields now. There is no time for
caution. Even if we succeed it still may burn our Larnkins’ power away.”

“But we might live? I’ll chance that.” She said and
dropped her shields.

Without hesitation Shadowdancer’s power, his Larnkin’s
foreign thoughts, invaded her, but it was nothing like speaking mind to mind.
His thoughts and emotions, his very essence, enfolded hers. Then another wave
of power embraced her, akin to having another capture her mind in a strong fist
and squeeze. His Larnkin spoke to hers in a wordless manner. Another power
commanded her arms to rise to the level of her heart. A silvery blue fire
danced along her arms and ringed her fingers in shimmering light. The magic
built inside, increasing in pressure as it merged with Shadowdancer’s immense
power.

She thought she would split asunder. Instead, she
could only watch in stunned disbelief as her hand began to move. Of its own
accord, it formed twisting, graceful patterns of radiance in the air—their
strange, complex beauty making them all the more frightening. When her Larnkin
had finished the symbol to her satisfaction, she moved on to the next. Sorsha’s
world narrowed to those glowing runes of power and the outside world fell away.
With the last symbol complete, a pale, silvery archway created a road to the
Wild Path.

An errant breeze from that other world blew cool
across her hot cheeks, bringing her back to herself.

Shadowdancer plunged ahead onto the path, mere strides
ahead of the two walls of the city’s defensive magic. With a sound like an
ocean wave crashing against a cliff, the walls of energy collided and crushed
the fragile archway between them. Sorsha had an instant to worry before the
backwash of power reached her. Pain burned along both body and mind for several
agonizing heartbeats, and then blessed darkness came to claim her.

Cold mist crept into her mouth and nose, seeking her
lungs and the heat of life beating within. Choking back a scream, Sorsha
struggled to sit up and found her limbs numbed by the thick mists. The grey
world sprawled outward from where she sat, unchanging for an unmarked distance.
None of the bone white arches were visible from her position. A little shakily
she heaved herself to her hands and knees and took inventory. By the grace of
some benevolent god, not only was she alive, but intact.

At least in body.

On another level, a cold, blank void greeted her. A
piece of her was missing, sheered clean away. The magic which had always
slumbered in her blood was gone, and its lack was a stark contrast to what she
was used to.

Burned away her magic might be, but the will to
survive had not been. She staggered to her feet and stumbled a half a dozen
paces when a splitting headache slammed her with about as much delicacy as an
avalanche. Her legs folded under her and her knees slammed into surprisingly
hard ground. Her vision sparked white at the edges, shot through with a grey
blurriness in the middle. A low moaning invaded the quiet of the place and the
mist seemed to recoil from the noise before idly swirling into random patterns
again. It took her longer than she would have liked to realize the source of
the strange moaning was her own voice.

Sorsha sat down again, telling herself she would only
rest a short time, just enough to muster her strength so she could learn what
fate had befallen Shadowdancer.

The cold mist swirled around her an arm’s length away.
She focused on it as the stuff crept closer to her again, as if testing her
defenses. When it touched her, she felt...something. It was coldly familiar.
She froze in place, hardly daring to breathe. Another bit of mist swirled up
and touched the bare skin on the back of her hand. It sunk below the skin and
there was an echo of sympathetic magic within her.

She grinned as hope rekindled, matching the as-of-yet
feeble pulse of magic within her. “You’ll have to try harder than that if you
wish to kill me!” She shouted to the fates. Then with a pained grunt, she
surged to her feet and made herself walk.

* * * *

She had been walking for candlemarks or perhaps a
whole day. Time was not easily judged in the figureless landscape of the Wild
Path. No sun or moon or shadows. No sounds carried on the cold breeze and even
the soft thump of her footfalls was absent. And landmarks, those were things from
a different life altogether.

In the beginning she had wandered aimlessly, hoping to
run across one of the bone white arches. When that failed, she had begun to
study the mist for long moments, thinking there might be some logical direction
to the swirling mists, like water flowing down hill, or smaller streams flowing
into greater rivers. In the end she settled for travelling in the direction of
the darkest tones, hoping the thicker swirls of mist might resolve themselves
into an archway.

So far her plan had only revealed mist, more mist and
yet more mist.

At least she was regaining a bit of her magic. And she
wasn’t wandering in complete darkness. The fog-like magic gave off a pale light,
enough to see by—not that there was much to see.

Despair had set in some candlemarks ago, and so had
hunger and thirst. While she still had her bow and meager supply of arrows,
there was no source of food. Worse, there was no water either. The likelihood
of her continued survival was growing slimmer by the candlemark. Slow death by
dehydration.

As she was mulling over her unpleasant thoughts, a
sound—the first in many candlemarks—invaded the silence. A cold certainty told
her that undulating cry could only belong to one creature. And had she been
further along the path to starvation, it might even have been welcoming. She
froze in place, her stomach plummeting, as another of the Wardlen’s eerie cries
skittered down her body and raised gooseflesh in its path.

Her reasoning mind said there was no hope of
outrunning them, but instinct spurred her heart into a rapid beat and fear
raced through her blood. Screaming in anger and a helpless rage at the
circumstances which had brought her to this point, Sorsha burst into a run. Her
legs pumped and lungs labored with the will to live. She ran through the mists
uncaring if the pursuing Wardlen heard her. They undoubtedly already had her
scent if their excited cries were any indication.

The Wardlen ran some unknown distance behind, but with
each howl they grew closer and soon she could envision them mere strides
behind, saliva dripping from their fangs and their serpentine, armored bodies
sliding effortlessly through the silver mists.

Her lungs burned and she wondered if her heart would
burst before the predators had a chance to sink teeth into her flesh. Another
sound joined the loud cries of the Wardlen. At first she didn’t understand what
she was hearing. A deep pounding beat, more felt than heard, echoed against her
breast bone. A neigh of challenge shattered the silence of the Wild Path.
Sorsha whipped her head around in time to see a darker shadow vault over a bank
of swirling grey mist to her right. He stormed straight for her, barely turning
aside in time. Sorsha felt the brush of his mane and the slap of his tail as he
galloped past her position.

“Shadowdancer!” Sorsha’s joyful cry nearly matched the
stallion’s scream of challenge tone for tone.

But he didn’t heed her call and continued down the way
she’d come until he was merely one dark shadow among many. Sorsha watched in
shocked disbelief as Shadowdancer reared up, his hooves aimed with deadly
accuracy at something in front of him.

A yelp followed by a snarl echoed back to where Sorsha
stood frozen in shock. More snarls and pained yelps emerged from the thick mist
as Shadowdancer spun and stomped and reared up, striking at the sleek
serpentine bodies darting through the mists. As Shadowdancer stomped the life
out of the last of the Wardlen in his immediate area, Sorsha heard more Wardlen
singing in the distance. A great many more were on their way if she was to
judge by the intensity of the eerie song.

Sharks. With a sense of surreal understanding, Sorsha
realized the Wardlen were like land-bound sharks. Ruthless killing machines
drawn to the scent of blood. They’d been so close to her trail. If Shadowdancer
hadn’t come along when he did...

Her legs grew weak again, but she locked her knees and
after she was certain she wasn’t about to pitch face first into the ground, she
started toward Shadowdancer. She was a Stonemantle after all. And Stonemantles
didn’t faint...ever.

Shadowdancer galloped away from his grisly triumph and
skidded to a halt directly before her. It wasn’t until he turned in a half
circle around her, that she spotted the wet streaks of blood on his hide. His
legs, belly, and flanks were speckled with bites and claw marks. “Light’s
mercy! They nearly got you.”

He snorted, bowed his head and ran his shoulder against
her chest. When she would have continued to study his wounds in shocked horror,
he arched his neck around behind her and shoved her into his body, nearly
grinding her face into his shoulder. Finally understanding what he wanted, she
didn’t waste any time vaulting onto his back.

By the restless movement of his swiveling ears as they
flicked forward and then back, she knew he tracked the Wardlen by their eerie
song while he did a quick survey of their surroundings. She clung to his neck
and pressed her cheek against his mane. While she stroked his neck in sympathy,
she took a deep lungful of his scent and was thankful he’d found her. If they
were to die here, in this unhallowed place, at least they could travel to the
next life together.

With a snort of decision, he turned and went back the
way he had come, perhaps trying to put distance between them and the Wardlens.
His pace was slower, his strides shorter. It was more than just exhaustion.
Shadowdancer’s injuries were far worse than anything she’d collected as she ran
from the Wardlen.

“Thank you for finding me.” She patted his neck.
“Since you haven’t tried to communicate, I assume your mage gift has been
burned away along with mine. I know our chance of escape is nil—still, shall we
see if we can make as many of these Wardlen bleed as possible?”

Shadowdancer snorted and dipped his head at her words
in equine agreement. He thundered on into the endless world of shrouded grey
and shadows. Where before Sorsha had felt acute defeat, now at least she had a
purpose; even if only for a short time: kill as many of the Wardlen as she
could before she died. Her Stonemantle honor would be satisfied at least. She
swung her bow from over her shoulder and hummed an old battle song low in her
throat as she notched the first arrow.

The undulating cries were almost upon them. Sorsha
twisted around until she had a decent view of the path behind. The first of
several Wardlen broke from the cover of the concealing mist. Her humming grew
in volume as the first arrow flew true from her bow. The beast in the lead
stumbled and went down, vanishing into the mists. With a near-deafening series
of excited yelps and snarls, several of the Wardlen fell upon their downed
leader. Others, perhaps not as tantalized by the flesh of their own kind, or
caught up in the thrill of the chase, continued to run after Shadowdancer.

A savage smile stretched Sorsha’s lips into a grimace
and her humming stopped. The next arrow flew swiftly through the air, but
skidded off the tough hide of her intended target.

“Pox.” Sorsha cursed and adjusted her aim before
beginning to hum the low throbbing tones of battle again. Her third arrow
whizzed to its target with the deadly accuracy of the first. Another beast
dropped with an arrow buried deep in its eye.

Her triumph was cut short when Shadowdancer twisted to
the side to narrowly miss being gutted by another Wardlen running silently
alongside. She didn’t take aim at this one, instead leaned closer to
Shadowdancer’s mane and yelled encouragements until he lengthened his stride,
putting distance between them and their enemies.

“That one almost got us. I didn’t even see it. Do you
see more?” The stallion shook his head back and forth slightly, but she wasn’t
sure if he was saying that there were no more ahead or no, he couldn’t tell.

A familiar shape rose out of the mist ahead, and she
was relieved to see the first arch in many candlemarks. They might not be able
to use it to return to the natural world, but at least they had found the path
again. More dark shapes milled around its base. A quick glance over her
shoulder showed only three arrows left in her quill. She notched the next with
a laugh.

“Who wants to live forever anyway?”

“My son, I imagine.”
The voice that invaded her mind was not one she recognized.

But Shadowdancer neighed in welcome and changed his
bearing without a moment’s hesitation. Ahead, another dark mass materialized
out of the mist. To Sorsha’s intense relief, this was not the slithering shapes
of the Wardlen, but a group of Santhyrians carrying well-armed riders. The
first fiery mage blast streaked by, a bare arm’s length from Sorsha’s shoulder.
Continuing past, it collided with a deadly hissing snap deep in the ranks of
the pursuing beasts. It was joined by more magic and soon the howls of Lupwyn,
the raptor-like screams of Phoenix, and neighs of Santhyrian challenges drowned
out the Wardlens’ hunting cries. The mass of Santhyrian bodies flowed around
Shadowdancer. Sorsha exhaled a sigh of numb disbelief.

Their rescuers were furious and efficient, but she
noticed none of them strayed far in any direction. When the Wardlen were firmly
on the run, the Santhyrian who had first touched Sorsha’s mind spoke again as
he matched his pace to Shadowdancer’s.

“I am Darkmoon, Shadowdancer’s sire, and I cannot say
how pleased I am to find you both alive after the trials you have been put
through.”
The newcomer was similar in
size and build to Shadowdancer, but to judge his coloring would take a truer
light then what could be found in the Wild Path. As it was, he looked to be an
inky shadow against the grey mist.
“I know that you and my son are too weak
to mind speak in return. But be strong a little while longer and the herd will
get you to safety.”

Sorsha only nodded in wonder and relief. Uncontrolled
shivers raced up and down her body. The cold of the Wild Path felt twice as
intense as it had before. But a small bubble of happiness sprouted in her heart
regardless. As unlikely as it had seemed mere moments ago, they might just live
to see another day.