Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (25 page)

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.”

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 but 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?”

“Yes, I know.” He cleared his throat and looked over
her head. “But if Trensler’s men catch us, I don’t want to go to the next world
without you knowing that I would have loved you all the years of my life, until
our Larnkins tired of this world. I would have walked with you until the plains
end and the stars fell. It wouldn’t have mattered if we were forever trapped in
these bodies—it wouldn’t have lessened my love.”

She threaded her arms around his neck and leaned into
him. Darting in, she nipped at his lips. When she was satisfied he couldn’t
mistake her feelings for him, she pulled back. “I think I’ve mentioned this a
time or two before, but I love you. If you need to hear it a hundred more times
to believe it, I’m happy to oblige.” Under her hand, Shadowdancer’s body
trembled ever so slightly.

“I might hold you to your promise, but for now we need
to see where that light leads.” He gestured on down the corridor. Sorsha nodded
in agreement but was less than energetic in following his lead. Exhaustion burned
deep in the muscles of her legs.

Arrayed before her was the wide open dawn-tinted sky.
A few steel grey clouds reflected the pinks and mauves of dawn. Morning was
coming again, the long night almost over. She looked down to find a steep slope
swooping down and away from the tunnel’s exit. Wisps of fog-like magic twirled
away between their hooves, before tumbling away over the edge and on down the
rocky slope. There looked to be a thick layer of loose shale part way down, and
no way around it. The descent would be difficult, but hopefully not impossible.

“What do you think of the slope? Passable?” Sorsha
gestured to the area in question that caused her the greatest worry. “That one
patch doesn’t look promising.”

Shadowdancer joined her at the edge. “We don’t have a
choice. We’ll have to make our way down.” He leaned out over the ledge and
craned his neck. “You’re correct. That part looks treacherous. We’ll have to
take it slow, be careful not to knock loose too much of the shale or we risk
bringing the whole tricky slope down with us.”

Sorsha shivered, not liking the idea of getting
entombed by loose gravel. It would be like being caught in an avalanche, only
worse.

Making a slight disgruntled sound deep in his throat,
Shadowdancer grimaced. “And it’s too exposed. Those spindly shrubs are useless
as cover.”

He studied the slope for a few moments more, and then
suddenly his gaze jerked up to watch something on the opposite mountain slope.
Alarmed, she followed the direction of his gaze. Pre-dawn gloom blanketed the
area in shadow. Sorsha squinted, but couldn’t see what held his interest.

A single eerie call sliced through the crisp air,
rising and falling in a complex pattern, a hauntingly beautiful sound. It was
like a wolf’s lonely howl, but resonated longer and louder than that mortal
forest dweller.

Before the eerie song had even faded into silence, a
grin of pure relief brightened her companion’s face.

“Shadowdancer?”

“If I’m not mistaken, that sounds very much like Marsolwyn,
Queen of the Lupwyns.”

A surge of hope spiraled out from the pit of her
stomach. “She’s here?” But even as she said the words, her hope dwindled. “You
saw what Trensler’s men are capable of. Even an Elder as powerful as the Lupwyn
Queen won’t be able to stand against them.”

“Queen Marsolwyn will have brought friends.”

Before Shadowdancer’s words had faded, the Lupwyn
raised her voice in song again. Others joined in. First two, then four. Then
many more voices joined in chorus. Bright spots of light burst to life all
along the opposite slope until hundreds of mage globes floated upon the air,
their light chasing away night’s shadows. Sorsha shielded her eyes with one
hand. Even though she couldn’t see, her ears told her hundreds of Lupwyns now
raised their voices to the fading night. Chills raced down her back and the
hair on her arms rose to attention.

So many, her ears rang with the loud racket. Blinking
rapidly to clear her vision from the spots of all those mage globes, she turned
her head down to the foot of the slope. Movement deeper in the valley drew her
attention. “Look. Down there.” She pointed even as she tried to focus her
blurry eyes. “I can see Lupwyns running in the valley below.”

“And never has a herbivore been so happy to see a pack
of predators. Let’s join our friends,” Shadowdancer started forward, in his
awkward, limping stride, “for I am heartily tired of this journey, and we need
to get the Staff to the Elders. They’ll know what to do with her.” He paused
and whispered half under his breath, “I hope.”

But she heard his doubt, and briefly wondered what
they’d do if the Elders had no wise council.

“Come on,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re almost
home.”

Relieved, Sorsha grinned, and equally slowly, picked
her way down the slope in his wake.

* * * *

Shadowdancer was correct. The descent made her feel
entirely too nervous. A twitch had taken up residence square between her
shoulder blades, and her stomach tied itself in knots imagining the disaster a
simple misplaced hoof could cause. The absence of cover on the exposed slope
had her glancing back every few strides. They were so close to the end of their
journey, and they couldn’t get caught now—not with the Falcon Staff in their
possession. Sorsha didn’t know exactly how near an Acolyte had to be to harvest
magic, but she thought she was feeling a slight drain even now.

On the slope below them, the first Lupwyns to
arrive—probably advanced scouts—were making their way up. And having as much
difficulty as she and Shadowdancer were with the footing.

One of the wolf-like Lupwyn had almost made it to
their location when he suddenly stumbled. He yelped and lost his balance, his
feet going out from underneath him. He tumbled back down the slope, dislodging
bits of shale and a cloud of dust as he skidded. Twenty strides down the slope,
a scraggly bush stopped his descent.

He lay there, unmoving. Sorsha stared in stunned
silence until she made out the grey metal of a crossbow bolt jutting from
between his ribs. Her mind snapped into survival mode. She faced up slope, her
bow grasped firmly in one hand as she pulled one of the few remaining fire
arrows from her quiver.

In one smooth motion, she fit her arrow to bowstring.
Before she could find a target, something with the force of a mule’s kick
slammed into her shoulder with a grisly sound. The impact rocked her back on
her hind legs. Looking down, she saw a crossbow’s bolt had suddenly blossomed
out of her shoulder.

Sorsha sucked in a breath to shout warning to
Shadowdancer, but a second pain exploded in her chest, and a third lower in her
belly. Two more metal bolts bristled from her torso. She stared at them, one
part of her mind refusing to comprehend what she was seeing. She couldn’t seem
to draw in enough air to fill her lungs. Blood welled from the wounds,
startlingly hot against her skin. Shadowdancer was shouting, and then his arms
were suddenly around her waist. He dragged her down the slope in a vain attempt
to save her from further harm. His lips moved, his eyes were frantic. She felt
the pounding of his heart in his chest, saw the anguish in his face, but his
words were fuzzy, distorted by something beyond her understanding.

An overwhelming need to comfort him overrode the pain
in her chest. Her mind snapped into sharp focus; her ears sharpening to an
unnatural quality. Over the pounding of her heart, she could hear the wind
whistling through the mountains, here the baying of the two other wolf-like
Lupwyns as they bolted past her and dashed farther up the slope. Snarls filled
the air, and then she heard the wails of men. Ah, the Lupwyns were attacking
the Acolytes. That was good, wasn’t it?

But there was something else. What was this cold, cold
power seeping across her body? It reminded her of the Wild Path’s magic,
strangely comforting in its familiarity. However, where the refreshing magic of
the Path gave her strength, this new power seduced her into a frosty trance,
beckoning her to rest her eyes, to sleep.

Her mind flailed for a few moments, still not
understanding why she couldn’t move, or why all her senses were dulling until
all that remained was her sense of hearing.

Then understanding came.

She was dying. It wasn’t fair. Not after all they’d
gone through to get the Talisman. Shadowdancer would be alone, with no one to
understand and share his grief at being trapped in his new form.

She wanted to tell him everything would be all right,
that if there was an afterlife, she’d wait for him—that dying wasn’t so bad.
Her body shut down protecting itself from the intense pain of the wounds. And
dying really wouldn’t be so bad if she could just draw air into her lungs and
tell Shadowdancer all the things she wanted.

Her vision blurred around the edges, and
Shadowdancer’s features became indistinct. She thought he touched her face. His
tears were warm against her skin.

Not such a bad sensation to take with her into the
afterlife.

* * * *

No. Not after everything they had endured. The gods
couldn’t be so unjust. Not Sorsha. Not his Herd Mistress, his little mane
ornament. She couldn’t die. “Sorsha.” His voice broke as an agony unlike
anything he’d ever dreamed washed across his heart, mind, and soul.

She didn’t respond. With a growing sense of horror, he
realized she was limp in his arms, her chest no longer rising and falling with
life. A scream burrowed up out of his chest, long and full of anguish. In his
desperation, he called out to his sire and dam, to Neveyah the Herd Mistress,
to any healer close enough to hear and feel his anguish. But even as he
screamed for help, another rational part of his mind said that death could not
be healed.

As his legs folded under him, he allowed Sorsha’s
weight to pull him to the ground until he slumped next to her body. He held
her, rocking back and forth with great gentleness. Her skin was cold under his
hands.