Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2)

by Lisa Blackwood

  “Yes.” And to her great surprise, there was no doubt in her heart.

  “Then drink of the pool deep below and await me.”

  Sorsha bowed to the Oracle, but her mind was already on her future.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was mid-afternoon when the wind carried the scent of water, awakening Shadowdancer’s thirst. He slowed his pace, easing into a trot as he studied the land in more detail. A river ran nearby. By his reckoning, this one cut across the plains and widened as it passed near the temple. And if his memory served him, he was no more than three day’s gallop from his destination. He’d made good time and there was still no sign of Trensler or his men. Unless the Acolytes had an unusual mode of travel, he was well ahead of them.

  He should be able to rest for a little while before continuing on his journey. While his body benefitted from brief rests, his heart and mind dreaded the idle moments. It allowed far too much time to think and dwell on things he’d rather not. Each time he looked down upon himself, his stomach involuntarily tightened with revulsion. Even after a day and a half, he wasn’t used to it—his new body. It didn’t move right, nor did it feel right—he carried more weight on the fore, and there were other subtle changes as well. His forelegs were more muscular and his hooves wider, more like what one would expect in a human’s draft horse. With a chagrined grimace, he imagined he wasn’t much more elegant than one of those heavy weights, either. The worst had been when he’d awakened at dawn and thought he’d had his Santhyrian form back. Then he’d awaken fully, and remembered the true horror of his situation.

  How could he have been so stupid, so arrogant as to assume the Oracle’s Mark was something as benign as a simple tattoo? He’d known the Oracle’s gifts were more like curses.

  If he was honest with himself, it wasn’t his new body that upset him. He could run again, feel the earth under his hooves, the wind in his mane. This body was actually stronger than his original, and even with the bulky muscles, he was fast. That part brought him joy.

  Oh, but the cost.

  Memories of that first glorious night, when he’d finally taken Sorsha as his mate, flashed through his mind with painful clarity. Never to be able to touch or caress her again, never to feel her arms locked around him, her body warm against his. He slapped his tail against his rump and broke into a thundering gallop, rest far from his thoughts.

  The Oracle’s price was too high.

  He had come to terms with life as a two-legged. Loving Sorsha completed him, filling a hole in his soul he’d been unaware of all his life.

  But now Sorsha thought him a monster. She hadn’t been able to hide her shock or revulsion the first time her eyes had tracked down his human torso and seen where it merged with a Santhyrian’s lower body. His fists clenched and his stomach tightened into a heavy knot. He’d lost everything. When he’d galloped away from Sorsha, they’d both known he was riding out of her life. It was for the best, he reminded himself.

  Melancholy occupied him long enough that he reached the river before he realized it. With a mental shake, he returned to the task at hand. After awkwardly lowering himself to his knees, he cupped his hands and drank while he continued to dart glances around him.

  Having to kneel to drink was one of the few weaknesses his new body possessed. The position left him vulnerable to predators for the few precious moments it took to gain his feet. Thirst quenched, he struggled back up and continued scouting southward along the river for a time.

  The sun had lowered considerably in the sky when he found something more unsettling to dwell on than the strengths and limitations of his new body. Cutting southwesterly across the plains, heading in the same direction he’d chosen, were tracks from at least two dozen horses.

  So he’d been wrong.

  No human patrol from River’s Divide had ever invaded so deep. These could only be Trensler’s men. And they were ahead of him, not behind. Though there was one glimmer of hope. To judge by some of the tracks, Trensler’s horses were exhausted, stumbling and weaving badly even at a walk. It wouldn’t take Shadowdancer long to out run them. He could still skirt around the Acolytes, gallop to the temple and rescue the remains of the Falcon Staff.

  He glanced at the orange and pink sunset with a frown. Since his transformation, Shadowdancer had discovered his night vision was as limited as a human’s. It wouldn’t help his cause if he inadvertently stumbled upon Trensler’s camp. Perhaps it would be best to shelter in the trees for the night and then start out at dawn.

  After a few moments searching, he found a suitable place to stop for the night. He folded his legs under him to rest, and for the first time since he’d entered the Oracle’s pool, he allowed himself to feel hope. He would fulfill his duty and Sorsha would be safe from Trensler. It didn’t matter if his life now belonged to the Oracle. As he saw it, his life in exchange for Sorsha’s safety and continued freedom was a fair trade.

  Rhythmic drumming of hooves on dirt intruded upon Shadowdancer’s idyllic dreams. With a mental shake, he glanced up from the mesmerizing flames of his small camp fire and gazed through the sheltering dense underbrush, but couldn’t see anything because of the gentle incline of the land around him. He’d picked this sheltered little gully specifically because of its ability to hide his fire’s light, but it also meant he didn’t have much in the way of line of sight.

  Still blinking the fire’s afterglow from his vision, he struggled to his hooves, and stretched, limbering up muscles stiff from overuse and damp ground. A groan changed itself into a sharp hiss as he continued to hurriedly work sore muscles in case his hiding place was found and he had to bolt. For the same reason, he lunged for his pack and then eased away from the dense branches of his sleeping area. Moving closer to the outside of the thicket, he hoped to catch a glimpse of the newcomer without giving away his own location.

  By the sound of it, whoever they were, they were alone. Could it be a straggler from Trensler’s group—maybe one who had already killed his horse and had to go back and get another from River’s Divide? Even as he thought it, he discarded the notion. No, there would not have been enough time for that—no horse could travel that fast. A Santhyrian then? Perhaps a scout sent by his father?

  He eased forward out of his nest, into the outer edge of his shelter. Still concealed by the greenery, he could watch the newcomer and decide what to do after he reasoned out a course of action.

  The newcomer crested a hill and trotted into view.

  Try as he might, Shadowdancer couldn’t think. Before he realized it, he was moving. First one hesitant step, and then another, and another, until he was suddenly galloping toward Sorsha. Finally spotting him, she shouted in recognition and came to a halt, her chest heaving like a bellows, her hands braced at her waist, bent slightly forward. Stunned, he watched sweat trickle down her neck. He caught glimpses of it between the laces of the leathers she used to protect and cover her upper body. That much of her was as it should be. But everything else…

  As if his hooves were somehow a mirror reflection of hers, he halted too. A small cloud of dust drifted away from his hooves in Sorsha’s direction.

  “Get over here. I’m not taking another step.” Sorsha’s scolding tone had only about half of its usual bite. She glanced up, her lips pressed into an uncertain line.

  Speechless, he continued to study her as sweat dripped down her human torso and mixed with the foam dotting her Santhyrian lower body. Her legs shook like a new foal’s.

  “Seriously, get over here so I can lean on you before I fall down. I’ve just run in less than a day the same distance that took you almost twice as long.”

  “Sorsha, why?” His brain started to recover. Speech was returning at least “How?”

  “Why?” She sucked in another breath, still winded from her run. “I hadn’t counted on it taking most of the first day just to learn how to use these.” One at a time, she picked up each leg before stomping the hoof on the ground. “As for the ‘how’, that’s p
retty obvious. Luckily, the Oracle also made me faster than you. I’m here to help you with the quest. The least you could do is say thank you, or better yet, take my saddlebags.”

  After unhooking the two long bows from either side of her burden, she bent nearly in half trying to reach the girth strap clinched around her horse-like barrel. With a grunt of relief, the girth loosened. She struggled out of the harness and then tossed the overstuffed packs at him. He caught them by reflex alone, his mind still chewing on her words, trying to make sense of them. In one small part of his mind, he realized the Oracle must have fashioned the harness and pack system for her.

  “How could you be so stupid as to trust the Oracle after you saw what he did to me?”

  “Trust?” Sorsha chuckled while she adjusted a quiver full of arrows, and then looped one of the bows back over her shoulder. “Not a chance, but it did what I asked.”

  “What you asked? You wanted it to do this to you? Make you into a monster like me?”

  “You think I’m a monster?” Her voice tightened with ugly, turbulent emotions.

  Heaviness settled in his chest. He’d not meant the words and was already forming new ones to sooth away the hurt. “That’s not what I…”

  She turned sharply on him. He lunged backward and a little to the side as her heels flashed in his direction. Apparently annoyed with her miss, she whirled back around and slapped him instead. Her eyes were wide with indignity and color rode high on her cheeks. Her tail flared like a silken banner behind her. “I’m not a monster and neither are you. Only the gods know why I love you, you great ass, but I wasn’t about to let you vanish from my life. Don’t ever refer to yourself as a monster ever again. We’re the Oracle’s Harbingers.”

  “I didn’t…I wasn’t.” Words wouldn’t come; his mind was still in shock. “Forgive me, I did not mean that as it sounded.”

  “Besides, the Oracle said we had to do this together. You said a human couldn’t keep up and you couldn’t carry me. So…” She shrugged. “Now, are you going to be gallant and pass me some water from the pack or not?”

  Her words finally penetrated his shock-numbed mind, and he rummaged in the pack until he found her water sack. While she drank small sips, he mulled over what Sorsha had done to herself.

  She’d undergone this transformation for him, so he wouldn’t be alone. She hadn’t said it aloud, but he’d sensed the meaning at the heart of her words. No. No, no, no, no. She was the Herd Mistress. She was not for him. Or the Oracle, for that matter. She was supposed to be an untouchable symbol of hope and renewal for the Herd. But, now, in a single act of self-sacrifice, she’d just banished herself to a life of exile alongside him.

  This was wrong.

  Sorsha flicked a sideways glance at him. He felt his ironclad resolve waning. Very wrong…

  And yet, he couldn’t help but study her form and found her pleasing to look at. Under the foam of exhaustion, her coat was a deep brown, like a dark wet wood. It shone in the sun, the same shade as the hair on her head. The hair of her lower body blended into the golden brown of her human torso, smoothly, gracefully. He could only imagine what she would look like once she was groomed. He stepped closer and touched her shoulder.

  At the contact, she shied away from him, her body language suddenly uncertain. She turned in a slow circle, still panting from her run. “What do you think? Do I meet muster?”

  “Hmmm?”

  It took him three deep breaths to organize his thoughts, and then her condition finally registered on him. Sweat dripped from her coat and steam rose from her body in the cool evening air. “You’ve half killed yourself. You need to walk and cool down.” Concern sharpened his words, and Sorsha baulked at the command. Seeing the stubborn flare in her eyes, he merely placed a firm arm around her human shoulders. When she resisted his urgings, he swatted his tail against her rump. She yelped in surprise and danced in place before moving into a sedate walk.

  “You could have just asked.”

  “I did.”

  She muttered something dark under her breath, and then looked down at her forelegs, as she walked in a slow circle beside him. By her expression, she was still as uncertain of her body as he was of his. Somehow, it made him feel better—marginally.

  As she walked, silence stretched between them, like a fissure in the ground, eroding away the trust and deep sense of companionship that had once been between them. He needed to say something to her, something that would help, not harm.

  When he couldn’t think of anything, he bent next to her and ran a hand down one hind leg. “You’ve got some swelling here.” He moved to the next leg and examined that one too. After he’d looked her over, he pointed in the direction of the river.

  “To the river. Now.”

  Sorsha sighed, her shoulders slumped, but she knew enough about equine and Santhyrian physiology not to question him. When she dutifully plodded in the direction he’d indicated, he followed, herding her as surely as his Santhyrian nature demanded.

  Once at the river, Sorsha paused only long enough to unlace and shuck her leather vest before cautiously wading in. Shadowdancer, sniffing at himself, realized he could use some sweetening up, and followed her into deeper waters.

  Shadowdancer watched as Sorsha swung a foreleg, striking the water playfully as she waited in the shallows for him to finish his own bath. The play probably helped distract her from all the questions she must have wanted to ask. He knew he had many unanswered questions of his own, and no one to answer them. It was his own fault for departing the Oracle so quickly.

  When he came up behind her, she whirled back toward him. “You never answered my question about whether I met muster. Is it because I’m the ugliest, most poorly conformed, sway-backed old nag you’ve ever laid eyes on?” Sorsha twisted to look over her shoulder with a little shrug. “It’s hard to tell from this angle.”

  “You’re beautiful.” The words spilled from him without thought or conscious decision on his part. But he did not want to take them back.

  “Oh…” she let her words trickle off into silence, and then seemed to change her mind a moment later. “You’re sure you’re not just saying that to make up for the earlier comment about being a monster?”

  Shadowdancer pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes. Catching her under the chin he lifted her face up to meet his gaze. He pressed kisses to both cheeks, her nose, and gave a quick caress of lips. He placed another kiss on her forehead. “You’re still my fierce, beautiful Herd Mistress; the mistress of my heart.”

  She tilted her face up to him, her expression transmitting her joy. “It doesn’t matter to me what shape you wear, either.”

  Her words speared deep into his heart, and he wrapped both arms around her shoulders, hugging her to him, while he mumbled softly into her ear. For the first time since he’d awaken in the Oracle’s pool, he was no longer quite so frightened. This was Sorsha. Their souls had been entwined through many lifetimes—the Oracle’s words had even given credence to what Shadowdancer had always sensed. She loved him when he was still a Santhyrian, she loved him when he was a man. Of course, she would still love him even when he was the Oracle’s Harbinger.

  Hand in hand, they made their way back to Shadowdancer’s small camp.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Now what?”

  In the wake of her question, she heard Shadowdancer shift position. Blinded by the light of the camp fire, she couldn’t make out his expression, but he’d been abnormally quiet since they’d eaten their dinner of cooked oats and greens. Strangely—or perhaps not so strangely—she found leafy greens far more appealing than she used to.

  “You’re thinking again, I can tell.” She swished her tail against her flank for the sheer novelty of it.

  “Actually, I’ve been in contact with my father.”

  Sorsha cursed herself silently for not figuring that out sooner. The Oracle had healed Shadowdancer’s Larnkin; he’d now be able to communicate with his Herd, with his family.
What had he revealed to them, she wondered? “Sorry if I interrupted.”

  “You didn’t. I finished a while ago.” He sighed, and looked into the fire. “I was just watching you.” He paused again, and then continued with another slight hesitation. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Well, myself, I’m still warming to my horse’s ass.”

  He laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t referring to physical beauty. Though, you do make a lovely Harbinger.” He chuckled again. “You have a bright soul and a caring heart—they transcend worldly beauty.”

  Heat bloomed on her cheeks. Never comfortable with compliments, Sorsha sought another topic. “What are we going to do about Trensler? He’ll gain a whole day’s ride while you wait for me to recover.”

  “I doubt Trensler has made it that far ahead of us. The way he and his men treat their horses, if he doesn’t allow them rest, the poor beasts will begin to drop out from under them. No matter how much Trensler’s master is salivating for the shattered Falcon Staff, Trensler is shrewd enough not to strand his men out here, deep in our territory. My father and the Lupwyn Queen are gathering an army, and will meet us outside the temple.” Shadowdancer nodded his head toward the Oracle’s gift. Both long bows and the two quivers full of arrows rested against a tree trunk within easy reach should they need them. “I passed on the information about long range weapons and non-magical fire. They’ll avoid hand-to-hand combat if they can.”

  “Then we just have to get there before Trensler and get the Staff’s remains safely away.” Sorsha reached out for one of the Oracle’s unique arrows, still in awe that the liquid-filled shafts retained perfect balance. She twirled it once, and then brushed her thumb over the black arrowhead with its strange bead of glass at the center. All it took to ignite was the smallest trickle of magic and the command to burn. Then the non-magical fuel within the shaft would leak out and incinerate the intended target.