Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (15 page)

Never mind
,
she told herself,
I’m not playing.

Sorsha picked up the damp towel she’d been using on
her hair. She balled it up and flung it at Shadowdancer’s naked ass. He made a
most satisfying grunt of surprise. She didn’t look up at him even though she
could feel his intent stare like a caress against her skin—she knew he was
studying her expression by the intense feel of his scrutiny. Sorsha smoothed
the bedding and crawled under, feeling for the first time the soft, tight knit
weave against her skin.

The sound of soft foot falls against the carpet
reached her ears. Still, she jerked in surprised reaction when he gathered the
corner of her coverlet and tugged it up around her neck. His hands settled on
either side of her shoulders as he leaned closer. Her stomach fluttered with
nervous energy as possibilities played out in her mind. Warm lips, bordering on
fire, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well, Herd Mistress. Dream of me.”

With that he returned to his own bed and burrowed
under the blankets without a backward glance at her. He tugged and pulled at
the coverings until he had it the way he wanted. After a moment his breathing
eased into sleep.

“Seriously?” He’d gone to elaborate lengths to keep
her off balance; she couldn’t believe it was over that easily. Then it came to
her. He’d said it himself. He loved a good challenge. And he always won.

Sorsha huffed out another curse, but admitted he’d won
that round.

* * * *

Shadowdancer galloped as fast as his hooves could
carry him and he still couldn’t out run the baying of the Wardlen hunting him.
Sorsha was lost, somewhere out there. Hidden in the mists. He could sense her,
taste her fear in his mind. He needed to get to her, but the Wardlen were in
front of him as well, closing in on all sides. They were going to reach her
first.

“Sorsha!” he screamed along their mental link as
terror filled his soul.

“Shadowdancer, I’m here.”

Someone was shaking him, one hand upon his shoulder as
another was caressing his cheek in soft soothing strokes. A warm body was
tucked up against his. Her scent teased his senses, rich, welcoming, fertile.
The dream Wardlen fell away as the nightmare loosened its hold. He was among
his herd. Sorsha was safe. They were no longer trapped in the grey mists of the
Wild Path.

“Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

He blinked up at her. Her lips were so close, her warm
breath washed across his face. She smoothed his sweat-dampened hair off his
forehead and behind one ear. Sorsha was alive, unharmed. Relief and joy welled
up within him, desire close on their heels. He wrapped one hand around the back
of her neck and dragged her closer.

He’d intended for the kiss to be gentle, but need
broke free of the restraints he’d placed upon his emotions. Against his better
judgment, the kiss turned possessive. He couldn’t get enough of her taste, the
feel of her soft body against him, the silky heat of her skin against his.

Her night robe blocked him so he simply pushed it
aside, exposing her body to his eyes. He’d seen her before, but now he wanted
to touch. All his noble reasons why he shouldn’t paled as he ran his hands over
her curves, touching, caressing, learning what stoked the fire in her blood.
She welcomed his touch, sighing her pleasure one moment and laughing the next.
They were meant for each other. He no longer cared if he was the right choice.
She was his. He shifted them until he was above her.

And by the Mother of the Prairie, how Sorsha
responded. Her fingers trailed over his shoulder blades, then explored down the
slope to the small of his back. She continued to caress him, finding what he
liked as her power welled up, cascading over him. It was too much, he couldn’t
catch his breath, couldn’t caress her enough, couldn’t pull her close enough.
His fingers bit into her shoulders. Goddess, he was going to break her.
Panting, he rolled off her onto his side. Another wave of her power rolled
across him and he forgot why he’d broken away.

“Shadowdancer?” Sorsha’s question came out sounding
breathy and confused. Even a little uncertain. “I’m sorry my magic escaped my
control. Did it hurt you?”

“No. Never.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead
to sooth her. Nothing so simple could reassure him. “Your power overwhelms my
senses. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

She smiled up at him. “I’m not that much smaller than
you now, and I’m rather tough—far from breakable.”

“I…” He sighed, but it didn’t do anything to ease the
new tension building in his body. “This form is very new.”

Sorsha started to laugh. “And I’m in too much of a hurry.
Not very lady-like of me.”

“No. It’s not that. Your Herd Mistress’s power, it
steals every last scrap of restraint I possess.” He started to get to his
knees, but Sorsha persuaded him back down and caressed his back in a slow
motion he found soothing.

“We have candlemarks until dawn. There’s no rush.” Her
fingers tracked down along the length of his spine.

“Good.” He closed his eyes, but a smile curved his
mouth. “It will take at least that long for me to get my fill of you.”

She chuckled in delight at his tone, and placed gentle
kisses along the underside of his jaw.

* * * *

The first fingers of pink stole across the sky and
Shadowdancer was still awake, still watching his beautiful Herd Mistress as she
slept. With her body curled against him, he could feel her sleeping mind; feel
the power coiled below her skin. His Larnkin was somewhat stronger from their
lovemaking. Perhaps, if given enough time, he could be healed?

Sorsha mumbled something in her sleep. He leaned down
and kissed her awake. After a moment she blinked sleepy eyes at him.

He gave her a half-hearted smile. “I see my resolve to
do what was right lasted about as long as I feared it would.” When Sorsha would
have said something, he placed his fingers over her lips. “I won’t return to my
high noble ways, and I promise I’ll want to do this again, as often as you’ll
allow. I know I can’t be your Stallion Mage, but we’ll figure something out in
the long term. For now, sleep.”

“Hmm...I can think of an activity more interesting
than sleep.” She proceeded to show him what was on her mind.

He chuckled, more than willing to play along. “And I
believe it’s my sacred duty to keep the Herd Mistress happy.”

Spring arrived in the high prairies with the fury of
blustering storm winds, driving rains, and swollen rivers. The winds shredded
tents, the rains drenched the travelers to the skin, and the bloated waterways
made fording all but impossible. Of the three, it was the last which annoyed
Trensler the most—his Acolytes were above bodily comforts, but even the magic
fed horses found the rivers too swift. He’d already lost three priests, their
mounts unable to keep their footing during the first attempted crossing.

At some unforetold point downriver, both drowned
horses and riders would emerge from the swift waters and make their way back to
him. Even in death they were unable to break their oaths. Trensler frowned as
his annoyance grew; the beasts would likely be of more use than his drowned
priests. It did not take any great intelligence to carry a rider and follow
simple commands. But Trensler would need every one of his remaining Acolytes in
the coming days. Sharp wit, or at the very least a living mind, would be needed
to carry on in his absence. Even his Master, Trensler mused a touch
sacrilegiously, was limited in what He could heal or restore. And Death wasn’t
something easily healed, not even with near limitless, god-like power.

“Keldar,” Trensler called as he reined his mount
around a storm shattered tree where it partially blocked the path. This day,
the tree was just one of many obstacles, another reason to curse the rains and
wind and their endless attempts to slow his progress. But neither his, nor his
Master’s plans would be defeated by something as capricious as the elements.

His most reliable Acolyte halted his mount alongside
Trensler’s and allowed the gelding its head. The beast sniffed at the young
green grass, then an old reflex kicked in and it snatched a mouthful. It chewed
for a moment then stopped. Hunger didn’t entice it to swallow and bits of green
debris rained back down, uneaten and forgotten. Not so much as a hint of
expression flickered across the horse’s face, its eyes the milky-white of the
recent dead.

Several of the Acolytes’ beasts hadn’t survived the
necessary pace. Even reanimated, Keldar’s beast and the others’ horses would
only be of use for a limited time, days at most. It shouldn’t matter; they’d
soon have what they sought. Once they possessed that ancient power for his
Master, Trensler would have enough power to enslave an entire herd of
Santhyrians, and they’d make far superior mounts. A touch of humor sparked to
life within Trensler and he chuckled. Perhaps he need not wait that long.

Keldar glanced over at him. “My Lord?”

Trensler guided his horse into a small clearing and
dismounted before answering his subordinate. “I was just thinking we could use
new mounts.”

Keldar’s eyebrows arched together with confusion.

“Oh, Keldar, never get so cynical that you fail to
appreciate the gifts life drops in your path.”

At Trensler’s words Keldar glanced around the
forest-bound glade once more, then his gaze turned inward as he awaited an
explanation with his customary politely cold silence.

“Trailing behind, less than half a day at best, you
will find two of our enemy’s scouts advancing on our back trail. Take five of
the Acolytes and deal with the problem, and this time feed from a distance and
avoid their arrows. As for their Santhyrian mounts, capture and enslave them.”

“As my lord commands.” Keldar bowed from the saddle,
and then turned his mount, calling out to the other Acolytes.

Trensler watched as Keldar, and those brothers he’d
selected to go with him, guided their mounts back into the trees.

* * * *

The sun had started its descent toward the western
horizon by the time Trensler heard the distant sound of rapid hoof beats
echoing through the forest. A short time later Keldar burst into the clearing
astride a great beast of a Santhyrian. Massive hindquarters propelled the
dappled grey stallion toward Trensler’s location. A bright chestnut mare
followed close behind the stallion. With a quite word from Keldar, both beasts
skidded to a stop an arm’s length away from Trensler.

From his closer proximity, Trensler couldn’t help but
notice the stallion’s lifeless eyes, even now clouding over into milky,
lifeless orbs.

“Was it necessary to kill them?” Trensler allowed some
of his displeasure to leech into his voice.

Keldar dismounted, dropped to his knees and bowed so
deeply his forehead brushed the ground. “Forgive me, High Lord Trensler.”

“Rise and explain.”
Though, there is likely nothing
to forgive.
Trensler admitted to himself. Keldar was never guilty of rash
decisions.

The Acolyte held his bow two heartbeats more, and then
with more grace than many his height could manage, he rose in one swift,
elegant move. “Both Santhyrians possessed strong wills, too strong to overcome
in a timely fashion. Now that we know the secret to capturing a Santhyrian,
acquiring others shouldn’t prove too difficult a task. If we’d had more time,
we could have captured these ones alive, but I feared dallying too long might
endanger our greater plans. While I fed from this one’s rider,” Keldar patted
the dappled grey stallion almost affectionately, “I discovered our enemies have
sent a host of their most skilled warriors on our trail.”

“You have done well. Now, I must part with you and the
other brothers to complete our Master’s next command. Are you prepared to complete
your mission, even unto death?”

“May I be so blessed!” Keldar bowed again. “I will not
fail our Master. I will follow your instructions to the letter.”

“I have every confidence in you, my son.” And
truthfully he did. However, he wondered if his Master was slightly less
confident, and if the second quest, the one Trensler would undertake alone, was
a way for the Divine Speaker to guarantee his long term plans.

Keldar bowed and continued. “Thank you, Lord-Master. I
shall find the broken Talisman.”

“Go with my blessing, and may it lend speed to your
quest.” Trensler approached the dappled grey stallion and mounted while his
Acolytes lashed supplies onto the other Santhyrian. When all was ready,
Trensler glanced at each of his Acolytes in turn, weighting their skills and
individual strengths. Yes, this group should be successful in their quest. Fear
swirled in his heart as he wondered if he would be so fortunate in his own. He
had been warned of the dangers in breaching an Oracle’s defenses.

Sorsha rummaged through the discarded bedding as she
searched for her vest. Stooped over, the leather of her breeches shaped to her
bottom in a way Shadowdancer found strangely pleasing. When he’d still been a
Santhyrian, he hadn’t been particularly moved even by her total nudity when
they had bathed together in a pond or river. But now, such a simple sight had
him smiling in appreciation.

She whirled around on him, her vest clinched in one
hand. “Have you heard one word I’ve said?”

Try as he might, he couldn’t keep a lazy smile from
tugging at the corners of his lips. “No. Your back was turned; the words
muffled. My hearing isn’t as good as it used to be.”

Sorsha snorted. “Sure, and I’m a sheep.”

Shadowdancer tilted his head to the side. “I don’t see
the resemblance. Maybe if you bent over again?”

Her chin tilted up and she bestowed him with a
particularly dark frown. “Can you get your mind focused on things of greater
importance than bedsport? We need to find out Trensler’s location and what his
next plans are.”

“I know how we might find out.”

Sorsha pulled her vest over her loose white shirt.
“How?”

“Did Ashayna ever mention her ordeal with the Oracle
Stone?”

“No. Ordeal? That doesn’t sound good.” She paused
lacing her vest and looked him in the eyes. “But since you’ve mentioned it,
this must be something that might help us. Go on.”

“Help or harm. No one is truly sure of the Oracle
Stone’s purpose, but they do have vast knowledge at their disposal. And right
now we need as much knowledge as we can get. The Oracle might know what
Trensler is and how to stop him. It might even be able to tell us how we might
heal our Larnkins.”

“You haven’t learned to mask your expressions yet, and
it just said ‘omission’ in startling fashion.”

“I’ll try harder in the future.”

“So, what didn’t you mention?” she pressed.

“The Oracle may help us—if we pass its tests.”

“By the way you say that, I assume those tests are not
easily won.”

“No. The knowledge an Oracle imparts is never easily
gained, or free.”

“But we’re going to go milk it for what we need to get
our families back, aren’t we?”

Shadowdancer laughed. “Yes.”

“There’s just one problem.”

“Only one? Our luck must be changing for the better.”
Shadowdancer shook his head, but only cleared his throat and continued. “I don’t
think we’ll be able to return to Grey Spires and use that Oracle Stone. I doubt
my father has shared his thoughts and musings with the rest of the Elemental
Council. If the Phoenix Queen came to suspect we are of the Twelve, it’s
logical to assume she will think we are as corrupted as Sorntar. And since he
was able to hide his darkness…”

“I see our luck is back down in the gutter. And the
Council, they will lock us up the first chance they get?”

“I fear so. I know my father, and the only reason he
trusts us is because we almost died in Crown Prince Sorntar’s trap. With Summer
Flame and Winter’s Frost held prisoners, my father needs someone who will bring
my sister and Flame back alive, no matter what Sorntar may have done to them.
And my father needs the tasks accomplished without the Elemental Council
learning of it.”

“You’re not implying what I think you are, are you?”
Sorsha pursed her lips, eyes narrowing in anger.

“Yes. To prevent any possibility of Dakdamon escaping
his prison, the Council may kill all those they deem touched by his taint.”

“The Council would seek to kill Ashayna? Even their
own crown prince? And the Santhyrians, too?”

“Yes. Dakdamon is that dangerous. He nearly defeated
the Twelve. According to the records in the oldest part of the library, he is
the greatest adversary the Elementals ever encountered. And in other
circumstances I might have agreed with the Council and their severe action. But
with this new unknown threat Lord Trensler represents, I can’t help but think
the Acolytes are the greater of the two evils. Dakdamon wanted to rule us.
Trensler wants to eat us.”

Sorsha paled. “We must find Ash, Sorntar, and our
friends before the Council has them hunted down. But how will we find them?”

“That’s where the Oracle comes in.”

Sorsha frowned. “You just said we can’t go to Grey
Spires.”

“There is another Oracle. My father knows the
location. His Herd Mistress guards an ancient map.” He inclined his head,
staring at but not really seeing the tent canopy. Instead, with his mind’s eye,
he again visualized that age-worn map. “I saw it once when I was still a colt.
There were temples and sacred sites marked upon it. One was another Oracle.
It’s situated far to the north where the Sea of Grass merges into a very old
range of mountains, near the ocean’s edge. It’s a dangerous place and a long
journey. Legends speak of lost spirits haunting the mist-shrouded valleys,
supposedly exiled there after failing the Oracle’s tests.”

“I didn’t need that much detail, thanks.”

He glanced back to Sorsha in time to see her wince.
“We’ll be riding north, where winter still claws for life. It would be too easy
to get caught in a late spring storm. We must plan carefully, prepare supplies.
Crippled as we are, we’ll need the Herd’s help to get there.”

“I’m prepared to do whatever I must. And may fate damn
me if I fail in my task.” Her lips pinched and her eyes took on a fierce
determined squint. From her look, he knew what she’d left unvoiced. Lamarra.
Once Ashayna, Winter’s Frost, and Summer Flame were safe, Sorsha planned to go
after Lamarra.

Shadowdancer only hoped the Dead King held Lamarra
captive for her safety, not for another, darker purpose. The present Dead
Rulers had reigned for millennia, the exact number Shadowdancer wasn’t
completely sure, but he remembered the Herd Mistress telling him a story many
years ago. She’d told of how the present Dead King had taken up the burden of
power from the old king. That meant the present Dead Queen was the elder of the
two rulers. If Lamarra was her replacement, there was nothing Sorsha could do
to save her sister from that fate. Shadowdancer didn’t speak his musing aloud,
and prayed it was never required of him.

“What are you thinking?”

Sorsha’s question caught him off guard. He flailed for
a moment, lost in the deep brown of her searching eyes. A commotion from
outside the tent saved him having to answer her question. Over the drum of hoof
beats, he caught snatches of words among the shouting as the riders drew
nearer.

“What’s going on?”

“My mother, Windrunner has returned. And she’s brought
a great number of others with her by the noise.” He swore. If she’d brought
more of the council members with her, there might be no rescuing of Ashayna,
Winter’s Frost, and Summer Flame. “There’s more.” He paused to listen, but only
caught one word….Trensler. “She brings news of Trensler.”

He saw the same worry reflected in Sorsha’s eyes when
she met his gaze. Then she blinked and the intensity of her look broke. She
bolted for the tent flap. Shadowdancer was just half a stride behind her.

* * * *

Sorsha paced the confines of the Herd Mistress’s tent,
moving out of the way of several Lupwyns busily stowing supplies into canvas
packs. She couldn’t stop her feet from moving and once again she wished for
even a drop of the Herd Mistress’s composure. Exhaustion weighed heavy on
Sorsha’s shoulders, but nerves kept her in a restless hyper state. Jittery
didn’t begin to describe how she felt. She made one more revolution of the
tent, shortening her circle until she returned to the table where the source of
her current disquiet waited. The ancient scroll, its surface marked by
intricate lines and ruins, which Shadowdancer had informed her was a written
map of sorts, rested unfurled upon the table, looking innocent enough. But
every time her gaze fell upon it, a cold chill raced down her spine.

Her Larnkin was disturbed by the scroll, or, Sorsha
mused, fearful of where the map led.

Neveyah stood beside the table, her dark eyes missing
nothing, her serene expression a false calm hiding a banked rage. Sorsha had
only moments ago witnessed that temper as Darkmoon, Shadowdancer’s Mother, and
Neveyah debated Shadowdancer’s plan to visit the Oracle.

Darkmoon slammed a hoof into the carpets, his tail
swished in agitation.
“Sorsha and my son must go here, to the Oracle.”
He nosed the old map with his muzzle, shoving it toward where his mate and Herd
Mistress Neveyah stood shoulder to shoulder.

The Herd Mistress stood calmly, arms folded across her
chest.

In contrast, Windrunner pinned her ears, and snapped
at the map.
“It’s suicide. I will not allow my son to get himself killed,
nor will I allow the new Herd Mistress to throw her life away, either.”

Darkmoon reared back from the table to trot a tight
circle within the tent, almost the same exact path Sorsha had just taken. With
tail swishing in anger, he returned to the table.
“With your own ears you
have heard the reports of this Trensler’s power. And if Sorsha and our son are
indeed members of The Twelve, the Oracle may be the only means to restore their
Larnkins. It is not up to us to naysay what the Mother of the Prairies has set
in motion.”

“You have no proof.” The Herd Mistress glared at
Darkmoon.

“Sorsha stole my son back from Death,”
Darkmoon countered.

Neveyah frowned, a deeply unhappy expression. “Yes,
maybe she is of the Twelve...but she is still so young, her Larnkin weak. At
least allow them time to heal and train.”

If only Neveyah would side with Darkmoon, Sorsha
groused silently to herself, maybe then they could sway Shadowdancer’s mother
and finally accomplish something other than this useless circular arguing.

“Really, I’m not half as weak as you think.” Sorsha
managed a neutral voice knowing only sound reason could persuade Neveyah.

The Herd Mistress turned dark eyes upon Sorsha. “You
must understand even many fully trained Elementals have failed the Oracle’s
tests. If you even reach it. To journey into the Northern Mountains is dangerous.
Winter doesn’t surrender to spring easily there. And there is more than just
your life at risk. The Herd depends on the power of their Herd Mistresses. If
you die, you won’t just be killing yourself, you will be jeopardizing other
lives.”

“Sorsha and I are already in jeopardy,” said a cool,
confident voice. For the first time in half a candlemark Shadowdancer weighed
in on the argument. “As is everyone.”

Shadowdancer didn’t look up until he finished lacing
his new boots. Distractedly Sorsha realized the boots had to have been
magically made, or brought from some other location, since she hadn’t seen
anyone with human-like feet except Neveyah, and anything of hers certainly
wouldn’t have fit his much larger frame.

Shadowdancer padded up to the table and tilted his
head at the map. “Mother, you’ve already said Trensler was seen here, and
here,” he pointed to an area a good three days ride from River’s Divide,
“before the scouts stopped reporting.”

Windrunner snorted with impatience.
“That’s all the
more reason we should do as Neveyah suggests and spirit you and Sorsha away
while there is still time. If Trensler is as dangerous as it seems he is, then
it is our duty to protect you both until you are healed and trained.”

A bitter chuckle escaped Shadowdancer and he turned
his back on the table. “What none of you what to admit is that I’m a cripple;
there will be no swift healing for me. Only something with the strength of one
of the Twelve Talismans or an Oracle has the kind of power it will take to heal
my Larnkin. Unless you and the other Elders have been keeping secrets I am
unaware of, the hiding places of the Twelve Talismans were lost to time. So the
Oracle is the only option. I don’t even know why we’re still standing here
discussing it.”

Sorsha’s lip twitched with humor at his snide tone.
“Shadowdancer is set upon finding this Oracle and I won’t let him go alone. We
must do this together.” She sought for a calm she wasn’t feeling. How to get
the Herd Mistress to understand? “He is a part of me. If something happened to
him I think my Larnkin would depart this world with his.”

“You are not a bonded pair.” Taking a half step away
from where she stood toe to hoof with Darkmoon, Neveyah started in Sorsha’s
direction.

“Are you so sure of that? I’m not.”
Darkmoon’s cool statement dispatched the growing
tension in the room.

Perhaps seeing the determination in Sorsha’s eyes,
Windrunner finally yielded and relaxed her high-headed battle stance, giving
her head and neck a shake to ease the last of her anger. But it was to Neveyah
she turned.
“For the first time I find myself uncertain what to think or
what actions I should take. In the last day, I have witnessed events like
nothing I have seen in all my life. I have seen Crown Prince Sorntar and his
corrupted Larnkin wreck havoc upon Grey Spires—I heard reports from the guards
how Sorntar survived having his throat torn out before he kidnapped Ashayna and
others. How his Larnkin, one believed to be tainted by Dakdamon, was able to
hide from us within the heart of our own power. By all that is holy, he was
able to trick even the Dead King, and trigger the spells guarding our city. We
were blessedly lucky that none lost their lives to his treachery.”