Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (23 page)

The drumming of hooves reached her ears first, followed
by a deep heaving cough.

“Shadowdancer?”

A familiar shape emerged up out of the dark stairway,
one hind leg dragging on each stride as he staggered up onto level ground.
Sorsha gave a cry of joy and launched herself at him.

His arms circled around her shoulders, his face buried
in her hair. Warm, damp breaths puffed against the curve of her neck—it
reassured her. He lived. It didn’t matter he’d scared the Stonemantle
stubbornness right out of her, or if tears poured down her cheeks.

“You’re alive. You scared me to death, you great
idiot!” Sorsha’s mumbled words of love soothed him even as her arms tightened
around his ribs so fiercely she nearly wrung a pained grunt from him. Long
moments later her steely embrace loosened and she caressed his back, his sides,
and down past where his human torso ended and his Santhyrian body began.

Mumbling his own words of love, he placed a gentle
kiss on her forehead, and then he let his hands explore her body, checking for
injury, much as she did him.

Finally, she broke away, stepping back a pace so she
could continue scanning him for injuries. He let her, waiting patiently while
she ran her hands down his legs, hissing in sympathy at all the minor wounds. A
curse dropped from her lips when she examined his right hind leg.

It was hot, probably swelling. A sticky dampness
continued to seep down his hock. He could feel heat and a deep throbbing pulse
in that hoof.

“Stay put. I’ll get bandages.” Sorsha rushed over to
the pack and tore at the buckles as she returned to his side. Shifting his
weight off his injured leg, he closed his eyes and allowed Sorsha to work.
Explicit curses alternated with soothing words of love as she worked upon him.
They were in such contrast he smiled even under the circumstances.

Once Sorsha patched him up as best she could, she
straightened and stood shoulder to shoulder, but didn’t further berate him for
endangering his life. She allowed him his moment’s peace while he gazed upon
the temple in silence. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sorsha
recounting their meager supply of fire arrows.

“Collapsing the tunnel bought us some time, a
candlemark or two at most, but it won’t stop the Acolytes for long. With all
those nets they have down there, they’ll have plenty to convert to rope for
climbing. I bet they’re debating the fastest route to scale the cliff.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Shadowdancer said tiredly. What else
could he say? It was the truth.

“Now what do we do?”

Using it as an excuse to avoid Sorsha’s question—for
he didn’t have an answer—he lowered himself closer to the ground and began
repacking the supplies she’d dumped in her hurry to find the bandages. Sorsha
bent and started to help; all the while he could feel her staring at his
down-turned face. At last, after everything was repacked to his satisfaction,
he glanced up. Her eyes were bright with a sharp intensity, her expression
composed. Though, the small wrinkles in her brow told of her inner battle and
the cost of keeping her expression so calm.

Shadowdancer fixed her with a steady look. “I see no
escape from this.”

“Well, we’re in agreement on that front.”

A wave of bitterness pounded through his blood. He had
failed Sorsha, his herd, his parents, the council, and every other living
creature that shared this land. “I was so close. Deep under the temple there is
a circle of Ward Stones protecting what must be the Staff’s resting place. I
was standing less than ten strides from it, but when I tried to cross the Wards
they judged me incomplete.”

“Incomplete?”

“Because you weren’t with me, and perhaps because I
don’t wear the Mark of the Twelve.”

“Well, that Ward’s just entirely too picky if you ask
me. And while I’m on the topic, if the gods actually wanted us to win, they
could have stacked the odds a little better in our favor, because, by my
reckoning, if you’d waited for me, we would have arrived just in time to see
the Acolytes retrieve the Staff and drain her dry. So that Ward can drink up
its ‘incomplete’ statement until it ruptures its own crystalline....”

Shadowdancer cut her off with a snort of amusement.
“While listening to you insult the Ward Stone circle is certainly diverting, it
isn’t going to help us with our predicament.”

“Sorry,” Sorsha mumbled without looking up. “You may
have noticed I get surly when I’m scared.”

“It may have come to my attention a time or two.”

“It doesn’t help that I don’t have a plan, either. I’m
almost out of arrows and we’re in no condition to fight anything stronger than
a gentle breeze.” She trotted a large circle around him. An attempt to stave
off stiffness creeping into fatigued muscles? Or to burn off nervousness?
“Since we’re out of good plans, do you have any bad ones?”

“No,” he grunted in way of answer, his earlier doubts
and sense of helplessness returning swift and vicious.

Back at his side, Sorsha placed a hand on his shoulder
and gave it a squeeze. “Though I sometimes pretend otherwise, I’m not naive. I
know we’re going to die.”

“No.” He wanted to comfort her, but words failed him.

“You’re a terrible liar. If we’re going to die in the
next candlemark, I’d love to hear something more than ‘no’ from you before we
do.”

“I love you.” He cradled her chin in his hand and
tilted it up, then dropped a playful kiss upon the tip of her nose. “Better
than a ‘no’?”

“Yes, actually.” Sorsha’s smile bloomed into real
humor, brightening her eyes, and softening her features. It lasted a few
moments before fading into a thoughtful look as she stared off into some inner,
far distant place. Wondering about her thoughts, he drew breath to ask when she
suddenly blinked her eyes back into focus and said, “We both agree we’re
probably not going to survive this, and besides the obvious reasons, that’s not
a good outcome. Even if the Oracle takes back the power it gifted to us,
Trensler’s master will still grow stronger from our deaths, and then he’ll feed
on the Falcon Staff.”

Shadowdancer raised a brow in question, wondering
where she was going with this. They already knew what Trensler was capable of.

“But what if we died before Trensler’s men can reach
us?”

He frowned. “You mean throw ourselves off the side of
a mountain?”

“Not exactly.”

* * * *

Inside the temple, the darkness was complete now that
the sun had set. Shadowdancer spared enough power to summon one mage globe, but
he relied more on memory than sight as he ran his hand along the wall, counting
turns and forks in the passageway as he went. Finally, he found the opening he
sought. Yes, there was the first stone step, slippery with damp and slime, and
another below it, almost as bad as the first.

“Careful. We’ve come to the stairway.” Though
Shadowdancer doubted he needed to warn Sorsha. She followed so close on his
hooves every time he slowed or paused she’d gently bump into him. The first
three times she’d knocked into him, he’d thought it was fear that kept her so
close on his heels, but when he glanced back, Sorsha’s upper body was half
twisted to study the darkness behind them, a fire arrow at the ready. Under
normal circumstances, he’d kick out instinctively at anything that came too
near and threatened to tangle or trip him up, but he actually liked having her
close. He found her scent soothing in this ancient, tomb-like place.

“Do you think my plan has any hope of success?”
Sorsha’s voice floated to him from out of the silence.

“Blunt honesty?”

“Always.”

“Even if we can rework the spells on the Ward Stones
and siphon power from them, we’ll burn ourselves out long before we destroy the
remaining pieces of the Falcon Staff. If the legends are true, even Dakdamon,
the great enemy of the Twelve, couldn’t destroy the Staff, only shatter her.
The Staff’s destruction is beyond us, but with luck, we might entomb her when
the mountain vaporizes beneath us. Either way, your plan still has merit. And
we’ll escape Trensler’s feeding.”

They continued in silence. The trip seemed to take
longer this time. More likely he was at the end of his endurance. Slowly the
darkness gave way to a pale bluish light. The ghostly outlines of the walls and
ceiling sharpened.

“Merciful gods, I was starting to think there was no
end to this tunnel.” Sorsha’s relief buoyed his own. He picked up his pace.
Sorsha crowded closer, coming alongside him, obviously as eager as he to get to
the end of this journey.

The dark-walled corridor widened into a vast
underground chamber dominated by the twelve massive crystal pillars. Next to
him, Sorsha halted with a soft gasp. He glanced back over his shoulder. Her
lips parted, but no words came out, her jaw hung unmoving for a heartbeat until
she gathered herself and snapped it closed.

“It’s somewhat similar to a bonding chamber, like the
one below the Oracle’s Tower back at Grey Spires.”

“This seems like a rather remote location for a
bonding chamber—there being no Elementals within a few days ride and all.”

“Similar—not identical. Where a bonding chamber is
designed with twelve great crystal pillars to absorb and contain the immense
magic given off during bonding, this chamber was created for another purpose.
This one doesn’t trap or contain magic, it repels all outside magic. The first
time I touched it, when the magic Ward on the pillars examined me and found me
wanting, it promptly knocked me off my feet and into the nearest wall.”

“That doesn’t sound hopeful. How can we sabotage the
Wards if it’s designed to repel all other magic? We don’t even know if it will
let us near.”

“This Ward Stone circle was created by the Twelve, and
I believe it was designed to only allow bonded pairs to pass, since
traditionally the Twelve were made up of six bonded pairs.”

“You mean bondmates, like Sorntar and my sister? But
we’re not a bonded pair.”

“Do you remember those nights back in River’s Divide
when I was first teaching you to use your magic?”

Tilting her head at him, she dipped her chin once in
ascent.

“When I first asked you to trust me, to lower your
mental shields so I could guide you the first few times, there was more to my
agenda than simply teaching you magic. I was sensitizing you to my power,
hoping through familiarity that your Larnkin would come to favor mine—and, oh,
how well it worked. I was thrilled at how compatible our Larnkin’s were. It
never occurred that we might actually be more than Herd Mistress and Mage.
Bondmates are rarer among the Santhyrians than the other Elemental races. I think
it has something to do with the natural magic of my people. The Lupwyn and
Santhyrian races are Earth and Spirit wielders. Unlike us, Phoenixes, Dragons,
and Gryphons wield fire; Larnkins that command that Element are of a more
powerful kind. The stronger the Larnkin, the greater the chance it will again
form the bond outside the Spirit Realm.

“But the Members of the Twelve are a force outside of
nature’s normal limitations and restrictions. Now that I know who and what we
are, I know we would have been bondmates had our fate been different. Even
though we are not bondmates, I think the Wards will recognize what we could
have been. Together, it might let us pass.”

“Do I detect an ‘or’ coming?”

Sucking in a deep breath he let it out on a laugh.

“It will let us pass, or it will kill us. Me
certainly, as it let me off with a warning last time. I doubt it will be so
forgiving a second time.” Shadowdancer raised his hand to hover before the
burning shield of power as he had once before. With a motion that mirrored his,
Sorsha raised her hand into the same position.

“Oh, well, if that’s all.” Sorsha wrapped her free arm
around his human waist, pressed a kiss against the slope of his shoulder, and
then together they pressed their outstretched hands into the pulsing energy of
the Ward. On a surprised gasp, Sorsha whispered, “I couldn’t ask for a better
companion at the end.”

The gesture warmed a chilled portion of his soul. Not
for the first time, he wanted to curse whatever fate had denied them even a
little more time together.

As if the Wards read his last thought, and begrudged
him even a few more moments with Sorsha, the crystal pillars flared. A faint
blue spark of magic arched up from floor to ceiling on each of the surrounding
pillars. Soon other eddies of wild, turbulent magic danced between the pillars,
disturbing the once smooth surface of the Ward Stone’s dome. Heat washed across
his skin, rising beads of sweat as the air became sweltering.

“Brace yourself.” His shout was swallowed up by a
greater power.

A storm rushed upon them, a tide of heat and magic.
His hair, lifted by an impossible breeze, whipped around his shoulders, his
tail snapped against his flanks. Next to him, Sorsha braced her legs, one arm
raised to protect her face. Instinct screamed for him to do the same, but he
blinked against the bright lights and studied the pattern of the flickering
shield. The rhythm of cascading light was slowing, calming as if whatever had
driven it was exhausted. No, he realized, that wasn’t right either. The magic
wasn’t weakening, it was shifting. The patch directly in front of them thinned
as layers of power were pulled back into the pillars at either side.

He grabbed Sorsha’s arm. “Now,” he yelled over the
crackle of magic filling the chamber. When he lunged, Sorsha didn’t pause and
bolted forward, matching him stride for stride. They hit the diminishing wall
of magic at the same instant.

The shield might have been less, but it still burned
his skin and raised the hair on his body to attention. To his right, Sorsha
grunted but stayed with him. After what was probably mere moments, but felt
much, much longer, they emerged from the fire.