Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (6 page)

From his cliff-side perch, Trensler gazed down upon
the port city of River’s Divide as it stirred awake for the day. Even situated
halfway up the rocky slope, he still couldn’t escape the ocean breeze, its
briny essence quick to permeate every surface—be it skin, fabric, or animal
hide—with equal abandon until everything held the same ripe scent of salt,
seaweed, and fish entrails.

Trensler wrinkled his nose at the heavy scents of
mortality. The cries of sea birds and merchants selling their wares broke the
early dawn silence, adding to the patchwork chaos below.

The farther from the docks one traveled the fainter
the smell of salt and fish became; but only in the fields far inland and the
wilds beyond could one be truly free of the odors altogether, he had learned.
He frowned with distaste.

Soon, he’d be free of the rank scent of mortality
altogether if he continued to serve his master well. But not just yet. There
was business to attend to again today in the port settlement.

His gaze trailed across to where the great town houses
of the privileged stood on the far side of the harbor, away from the docks and
smells of fishing. On one prominent hill, overlooking its lesser cousins, sat
the Stonemantle Residence. Its courtyard was awash with the day staff arriving
and soldiers busy with various tasks.

Near the stables two figures, dressed in rich riding
skirts, made their way to the front of the large building where grooms already
had two sleek, well mannered horses saddled and ready.

Ah, it looked as if his ‘business’ was going to be so
kind as to come to him. He stood, stretched out kinks, and quickly followed the
trail up to the bluff’s peak.

Once there Trensler raised one arm and gestured behind
him. A soft rustling of robes, followed by the sound of hooves on dried grass
answered his summons. Keldar came out of the forest leading two horses. He
passed the reins of one into Trensler’s outstretched hand and then bowed.

“My Lord, what are your orders?”

“Hunt down the General’s daughters before they reach
the protection of their horse-like companions. I don’t want a repeat of the
river fiasco.”

“As my lord wishes.” Keldar bowed again and then
mounted his own steed. Eight more dark clad Acolytes emerged from the shadowy
tree line to follow Trensler’s second in command.

* * * *

“Sorsha...my gelding can’t keep this pace.”

Lamarra’s out-of-breath-comment only reinforced what
Sorsha had already known a quarter candlemark ago, but hadn’t told Lamarra so
as not to frighten her. “We can’t stop. Shadowdancer said the Elders were
explicit with their orders. But we’ll have to slow our pace or risk bursting
your mount’s heart.”

Sorsha slowed her mare to a fast trot, which seemed
almost too much for Lamarra’s gelding to maintain. The poor beast was no
hunter, his build better suited to pull a plow than maintain this mad dash
across the wilds. Lamarra leaned forward to pat her steed's sweaty neck, and
her lips moved in what Sorsha thought might be a silent apology to the stoic
beast.

Foam dotted the coat of Sorsha’s bay mare too, and a
spike of guilt shot through her for riding the mare so hard, but she feared
Trensler’s men more. Besides, if Trensler caught up, he’d probably kill their
horses and leave them to be ravaged by predators, thereby shifting suspicion
from himself and his men when she and Lamarra didn’t return.

If they died out here in the wilderness, General
Stonemantle would never know what befell them. A cold helpless rage soured
Sorsha’s gut, one she did her best to hide while she called encouragement to
the two tiring horses.

Lamarra cast a quick look behind her. “I don’t think
we’re still being followed,” she said, with barely a thread of doubt in her
voice. “Perhaps the Elders subdued the Acolytes or at least waylaid them?”

Fate isn’t as kind as you, my deceptively
gentle-hearted sister.

Lamarra faced forward again, her expression devoid of
emotion, as if the doubt Sorsha had heard in her tone was nothing but the
imaginings of her own overly stressed mind. Out of all three sisters, Sorsha
supposed Lamarra had mastered their father’s stony mask the best.

Queen-like. That label fit her second oldest sister.
While Ashayna was the warrior-heir of the Stonemantle name, Lamarra was the
regal queen. With a hint of chagrin, Sorsha realized trying to live up to the
two was probably what had first awakened the rebellious part of her nature. If
Sorsha couldn’t be a warrior like Ash, she’d be damned if she was going to be
the perfect lady-in-waiting to the ice queen Lamarra—no matter how much their
mother had tried to shape such an outcome for her youngest daughter. At least
that had been Sorsha’s thinking up until a few months ago when Ashayna had been
taken from them.

In the days following Ashayna’s kidnapping, Sorsha
discovered Lamarra wasn’t as cold or controlled as she outwardly showed. As for
herself, Sorsha began to understand there could be balance between the two.
Outwardly, she could be the noble lady, while still secretly protecting her
family from the Acolytes and uphold her duty to the empire, thereby honoring
her warrior’s heart.

She just didn’t know how until she’d met Shadowdancer
and he’d taught her about her magic. Now she had direction. A purpose. She
could learn to balance a woman’s wisdom with a warrior’s heart. If she was allowed
to live long enough to explore it.

“I haven’t heard sounds of pursuit in over a
candlemark,” Lamarra said, sounding somewhat surer of herself as she glanced
over her shoulder for the second time.

“You might be right,” Sorsha lied easily.
Just
because we can’t hear them doesn’t mean they are not still there.
“And
we’re almost to the rendezvous point. Shadowdancer and the others are faster
than our horses. They’ll already be waiting. We just have to get there before
Trensler’s men catch us.”

Lamarra slowed her gelding, allowing him to walk.
“Your mare has better stamina than my mount. Ride ahead. Find Ambassador
Shadowdancer and then come back for me.”

Sorsha snorted and arched an eyebrow at her sister.
“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard...noble...but stupid.”

Lamarra frowned but urged her gelding back into a
trot. “When Trensler catches both of us and drains us dry, don’t blame me.”

They rode in silence, keeping their own fears close.
No
good would come from voicing them anyway
, Sorsha mused. Instead she turned
her attention back to her mare, calling encouragements even though with each
passing stride the certainty of failure grew stronger.

“That’s good, Shadegrove. Once we’re with the
Santhyrians, I’ll turn you lose and you can find your way back to your cozy
stall. There’ll be warm mush and lots of hay. You’d like that, wouldn’t you
girl.” Talking to the mare helped Sorsha ignore the nervous churning of her
stomach.

At the sound of her rider’s voice, Shadegrove swiveled
her ears back to listen. When her mistress fell silent, the horse relaxed her
silky ears, but after a handful of paces the bay snapped her ears forward
again, arched her neck and skidded to a halt. She nickered once, one short
questioning call. It was a strange sound, not one Sorsha recalled the mare
having made in the past.

“What is it? What does she hear? We can’t be at the
rendezvous site yet.” Lamarra halted her own gelding next to Shadegrove.

“No. Pray it’s just some predator, or the Santhyrians
come to find us and not Trensler’s men.”

At the slight pressure of her heels on the horse’s
sides, the mare began to walk again, if somewhat more reluctantly. Sorsha
strained her ears, but at first she didn’t hear any sounds out of the ordinary.
After several more heartbeats, she heard the first faint sound of hoof beats.
It wasn’t a predator then. At least, not one of the animal variety. There was
no way to tell if it was Santhyrians or Acolytes on horseback.

* * * *

As the newcomers drew nearer, Sorsha soon discerned
the rhythms of at least three horses moving at a furious gallop. Three. Surely
it had to be the Santhyrians. In the past the Acolytes had always attacked in
greater numbers.

She hoped her hunch was correct and urged her mare
forward into a trot. But as a precaution, she freed her bow and reached behind
for an arrow. Lamarra followed close at her heels.

Just ahead, a huge dark shadow emerged out of the
undergrowth, devouring the distance between them with his long legged strides.
At his flanks, his two companions, one pale like the moon and the other the
deep red-brown of old blood, matched his swift pace.

Black as the darkest hour of the night, he was, and in
that moment, surly attitude and all, more beautiful than any creature she’d
ever laid eyes on. “Shadowdancer!”

Shadowdancer surged ahead of the others, reaching
Sorsha and Lamarra in mere heart beats. He shot past with his head arched high
and his tail raised in challenge, before skidding to a halt and facing the
direction Sorsha had just come. He sniffed the air for a few moments, snorted,
and then spun on his heels and trotted to her side.

“You’re still being hunted. One of the Elders has been
injured. The others are still engaged with the Acolytes, but half of Trensler’s
men broke off and are now following your trail. Get on my back. Hurry.”

For once, she was more than happy to hear and obey one
of Shadowdancer’s blunt commands.

“I still think we should have found a way to warn
Father about Lord Master Trensler. He’s a danger to anyone who so much as shares
the same air with him.” Lamarra looked deeply unhappy. She held fistfuls of
Summer Flame’s mane in a white knuckled grip and exhaustion had cracked her
queenly mask. Fear showed through.

“I don’t think Father possesses what Trensler
wants—Father has no magic.” Sorsha studied her sister where she sat Summer
Flame with about as much grace and poise as a sack of grain might have managed.
The bay stallion had even allowed himself to be fitted with the saddle from
Lamarra’s gelding. Luckily he and the half-blood draft gelding were of a
similar size.

Unfortunately, her mare’s saddle hadn’t fit either
Shadowdancer or Winter’s Frost.

When Sorsha suggested the two stallions share
Lamarra’s saddle, switching it between them during rests, Shadowdancer had refused,
saying he’d rather be sucked dry by Trensler than suffer a saddle on his back.
No amount of reasoning on her part had changed his mind. With a sharp mental
comment about it being his damn back, the conversation had closed.
Unfortunately come day’s end, it was going to be her poor knees and thighs that
were sore from trying to protect his spine. She rolled her eyes at another case
of misguided male pride.

At least she was in peak shape, having ridden
Shadowdancer bareback for a few candlemarks each night for the better part of
the last moon’s cycle.

“We can’t know that Father’s lack of magic will
protect him from Trensler.” Lamarra frowned.

Sorsha admitted she felt the same bone deep terror,
but the General hadn’t gained his rank by being an idiot. “Father’s smart. He
would have figured out the Elementals have a specific interest in Ashayna, and
that’s why she was taken as a war prize. It won’t have taken him long to
realize other members of the family have gained favor among the Santhyrians.”
Sorsha tapped Shadowdancer’s shoulder for emphasis. “He’ll guess we might have
magic as well.”

“You’re expecting father to be reasonable. Yes, he’s
smart. And yes, he probably figured out everything before we did—but he’s still
going to be furious at us for running off.”

“No, he’d consider it a strategic retreat.”

“And your General can always blame my brother for your
kidnapping,”
Winter’s Frost sent from
where she scouted some distance ahead.
“The Council is already mobilizing an
army of mages to aid the three Elders. They’ll warned the General and fill in
any details he’s missing.”

Sorsha could just make out the pale bulky form of the
mare through the mist a few hundred paces in the distance.

Before Sorsha could form an answer, the mare’s mind
touched hers again.
“That’s the best we can hope for.”

“You’re right. My father has nothing Trensler wants.
Besides if anything happens to the General, there will be war between
Trensler’s Acolytes and men loyal to my father.”
Even though Trensler hunted her because of it, Sorsha
was thankful for her magic. It allowed many benefits. She learned more each
day. And fate willing, she’d have an entire lifetime to learn. If Trensler
didn’t sniff out their trail again. This morning’s events could have turned out
much worse.

Lamarra cast another look over her shoulder. The fifth
in the last hundred paces. Worry itched between her own shoulder blades, and
Sorsha was tempted to glance behind.

“Lamarra if you don’t stop, you’re going to make me
jumpy.”

Lamarra winced. “Sorry. It’s just...I….”

“I know.” Sorsha didn’t have a soothing answer. She
felt the same nameless unease.

They rode in silence for a while after that.
Shadowdancer’s smooth trot lulled her. Half drowsing on his back, Sorsha closed
her eyes for a brief nap. She trusted him to warn her of terrain changes or
other dangers. The last few days and nights, while interesting, hadn’t been
restful and exhaustion was fast creeping upon her.

“You’re going to fall and break your neck.” Lamarra
commented in a tired voice.

“Hmmm.” Sorsha said by way of answer.

Lamarra snorted in a rather good imitation of Ashayna.

Sorsha grinned, and said, “Careful, you’re sounding
like our older sister”

“At least Ash knows enough not to fall off a horse and
get herself killed.”

Summer Flame arched his neck and looked at his rider.
“Sorsha’s
in no danger. Perfect balance is a basic level skill of every Herd Mistress.”

Shadowdancer swished his tail hard enough it slapped
along Sorsha’s back. Sorsha felt his tension through her legs where they
contacted his sides.
Interesting.
She wondered what a Herd Mistress was.
If she was to guess, she’d say Summer Flame had let something slip, and by the
way Shadowdancer pinned his ears and snaked his head toward Summer Flame’s
shoulder, it was something Shadowdancer wished hidden.

First chance she got, she would question the flame
bright bay. Preferably when Shadowdancer wasn’t around.

Shadowdancer cocked an ear back, and his tension
doubled.
“Horses. Approaching unnaturally fast on the trail behind us.”

Summer Flame slowed, dancing sideways as his tail
flared out behind him. The stallion’s conviction to face the enemy—brave but
fatally foolish—was clear as day. By Lamarra’s alarmed look, she didn’t know
how to persuade Summer Flame from his plans.

“Don’t stop. We can’t win in a fight against them.”
Shadowdancer swerved, biting at Summer Flame’s flank.
Flame squealed and bolted in the direction Shadowdancer left open.

Sorsha leaned forward, closer to Shadowdancer’s mane
as the stallion surged into a gallop, herding the other two Santhyrians ahead
of him. The landscape to either side blurred by, yet she felt no fear. They
were together, and Shadowdancer could out run even the fastest horse over a
distance.

“Yes, I can out run anything natural and most
unnatural creatures, too. But I don’t know what Trensler is or how far reaching
his power. When he chased us before, he had already fed upon us and was able to
strengthen his men’s horses with magic. If he has now fed upon an Elder’s
power, the horses may possess greater endurance.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Sorsha swallowed
convulsively, fear sharp and dry in the back of her mouth.

“Hold on. Don’t fall off. And later, should we
survive, I’ll let you reward me with a good rubdown.”
Shadowdancer’s mental voice was laced with humor,
however, it didn’t cover the touch of panic
“If we make it to one of the
Wild Path’s permanent archways, we might just live to see another day.”

From Shadowdancer’s nightly lessons about magic and
history, Sorsha remembered a few snippets about the Wild Path. It was a grey
world of stone arches and deep mists, able to cut long journeys shorter. A
Stallion Mage could summon the magic required to awaken one of the arches he’d
mentioned. Ashayna had her own stories to tell of that place. While it was a
way to cover great distances in a shorter time, there were other dangers,
beasts that hunted in packs and could run down even a Santhyrian over a short
distance.

With a shiver, Sorsha remembered the look in Ashayna’s
eyes when she’d told of how Sorntar had been bitten by one of the beasts and
nearly pulled off his mount. If Ashayna hadn’t been there that day, Sorntar
might not have survived the Wild Path.

But somehow, with the very real danger of the Acolytes
closing in from behind, the threat of unknown beasts didn’t seem so fearsome.
“So if we can outrun them and reach the archway first, we’ll be able to lose
them on the Wild Path?”

“Yes, that place confounds even the most experienced
hunters; we should be able to lose them there.”

Sorsha certainly hoped that was the case. She could
hear the sound of hoof beats a distance behind them, drawing closer.

In front of them, Winter’s Frost was pulling ahead.
Summer Flame was close on her heels, with a very frightened Lamarra clinging to
his back.

“I’m not fully recovered.”
Shadowdancer admitted, his reluctance coming clear
across the mind link.

“Then I’ll just have to even the odds a little in our
favor.” Sorsha freed her bow from over her shoulder and drew an arrow from her
quiver. As Shadowdancer raced after his two herd mates, Sorsha cast swift
glances behind, waiting for the first enemy to reveal himself. Then she’d show
him why archery was her second favorite activity. Ashayna wasn’t the General’s
only daughter with a warrior’s heart. Even as a child, she’d wanted to ride
among the ranks of the Horse Archers in her father’s army.

She turned, twisting enough to see behind her, but not
so much she jeopardized her balance. On the trail behind her, six Acolytes
spurred their horses into greater speed. A normal horse couldn’t maintain a
Santhyrian’s pace, yet these horses were slowly closing the distance. Sweat
lathered their dull coats and bloody foam dripped from their mouths to splatter
on their chests and necks. They were close enough she could see blood trickling
from their flared nostrils.

Before another candlemark expired the Acolytes’ mounts
would be dead. Sorsha just hoped she and Shadowdancer weren’t already growing
cool themselves. She sighted down her notched arrow, focusing on the lead
rider. With a twang, the arrow sailed away.

The Acolyte jerked with the impact. His black robes
flared around him. Then barely discernible to Sorsha’s eyes over the distance,
something black—a strange coil-like mist, crawled over his form before it bled
away. A moment more and he toppled over the back of his horse’s rump and hit
the ground with the dead-weight-landing of a corpse. The moment he died his
mount stumbled, as all life seemed to go out of it, too. The horse’s front legs
folded under it. Momentum slammed the horse’s head and neck into the ground and
flipped its hind quarters on top of itself. Sorsha’s stomach churned at the
sharp snaps of breaking bones and the heavy wet sound of violated flesh.

Shaking off the horror of watching the horse go down,
Sorsha’s mind reached out to Shadowdancer,
“The bastards can die. Just not
by magical means. We can win this yet.”

Another arrow flew true to its mark, slaying a second
Acolyte. Hope swelled in her chest. She fit another arrow to the string, and
was picking her next target, when she spied more enemies approaching in the
distance.

Many more.

Curse it. The ones she’d picked off were only advanced
scouts. The main group had far too many, fifteen or twenty riders. It was
impossible to get an exact count through the trees.

“Shadowdancer, there are too many. I don’t have enough
arrows.” Not that she could take down twenty riders before they pulled her from
Shadowdancer’s back, but she decided not to say that aloud.

“We’re almost to the archway. Take out the rest of the
nearest group.”

Sorsha barked out a short humorless laugh. Easy for
him to say.

She notched an arrow and let it fly. Then another and
another until her arms burned with the strain. Some flew wide. Many more found
their intended targets. One after another the nearest Acolytes fell to her
arrows.

She faced forward and leaned close to the stallion’s
mane once again. Shadowdancer lengthened his stride as the trees thinned.
Ahead, a small meadow remained defiant against the encroaching forest. The sun
dappled meadow would have been beautiful in other circumstances.

Shadowdancer didn’t slow as he jumped a fallen tree
and bounded into the meadow. Pounding across the grass, he flew toward where
Summer Flame and Winter’s Frost waited. He skidded to a halt three paces in
front of a sun-blanched stone archway.

Gods. This close, the thing was huge. Five Santhyrians
could ride abreast under its immense curve.

Sorsha held her breath until her lungs burned. Her
senses came alive, and the queasiness from killing the Acolytes melted away,
fading under the new emotions her Larnkin expelled. Excitement. That was the
only word she could think to call the emotion rolling through her Larnkin at
the moment.

Studying the arch, she waved a hand out in front of
her as if she could touch the power suspended underneath the stones. Without
doubt she stood shadowed by something far more solid than empty air. A chill
raised the hair on her arms.

Viewed through the archway, the trees on the opposite
side of the meadow were blurry, their rich greens muted. Everything held a
misty quality.

From her perch on the back of Summer Flame, Lamarra
straightened her spine and rubbed her hands across her arms as if cold.
Shivering, she looked over her shoulder. “Sorsha?”

Sorsha barely acknowledged Lamarra.

She couldn’t.

Just at that moment her protective shields fell away.
A power unlike anything she recalled seeped into her blood, bones, and mind.
For many heartbeats, she just sat, absorbing the power, glorying in the
sensation to the point she forgot all else. Until the thunder of hooves brought
her back from wherever her Larnkin had been daydreaming. Yet it was hard to
concentrate with that cold, scentless, weightless power flowing out across the
meadow from the still unopened archway.