Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2)

by Lisa Blackwood

  Sorsha grinned. “I’m happy you were wrong, too.”

  Apparently tired of waiting his turn, Summer Flame butted his head into her chest, seeking his share of attention. Sorsha obliged with a laugh, the tight knot of apprehension in her middle easing at last.

  After the quick greeting, and the promise of a longer one later, both Santhyrians rejoined the rest of the Herd. Their heartfelt greeting warmed some of the chilly uncertainty in Sorsha’s heart and allowed her to walk into the center of the waiting herd with more confidence.

  She had no idea what to expect when she reached the middle of the large circle, but the small area of trampled grass with twelve complex runes burned into the ground wasn’t it. Somehow, she’d thought healing the Falcon Staff would require a temple, a crystal Ward Stone, and the magical non-water from an Oracle’s pool.

  A laugh had Sorsha glancing up at her sister with curiosity, wondering what Ashayna found so funny.

  “You should see your face.” Ashayna stopped laughing long enough to answer Sorsha’s unvoiced question. “I’m sure I had that same exact look on my face when Sorntar burned that simple circle into the grass. But his Larnkin says the Twelve do not require great temples or worshippers, Ward Stones, Oracles, or bonding chambers to fuel great weavings. We are magic, in its most primal sense. Or at least, that was the nonsensical explanation Itharann fed me. Just nod your head and do what the boys suggest—that’s my plan. The sooner this is over, the happier I’ll be.”

  With an arched brow, Sorsha cast Ash a quizzical look. It seemed while Ash had fallen in love with one of the most powerful of the magic-wielding Phoenix, she had yet to develop much tolerance for magic itself.

  Ash snorted. “Don’t give me that look. I’ve come a long way. A little over six moon cycles ago, I loathed and feared magic like any good, untutored bigot.”

  “Peace.” Sorntar step between them. “We have work to do.”

  The tall Phoenix led them into the circle, pointing each of them to one of the twelve symbols burned into the grass. Sorsha stood looking down at hers. It was a swirling, pretty thing of tight curls and elaborate knots. She hadn’t a clue as to its meaning. Her gaze followed the pattern and it seemed to glow in her mind’s eye.

  Blinking spots from her vision, she looked around.

  Now what? Sorsha mouthed.

  Ash rolled her eyes in her bondmate’s direction, one eyebrow raised. Sorsha followed the move and noticed Sorntar nod to something behind Sorsha’s back.

  Parting down the middle, the Herd allowed Herd Mistress Neveyah to make her way through. She was followed by a procession of others. After a moment’s study, Sorsha recognized some of them as the Lupwyn and Phoenix healers who had tried to heal Shadowdancer after the Wardlen attack.

  Five matching pairs of Santhyrians followed next with heavily gilded litters perfectly balanced across their broad backs. The poles of each litter were padded to prevent slippage, but otherwise were without harness or restraints that Sorsha could see. Only the Santhyrians’ natural grace and perfectly matched strides kept their burdens from crashing to the ground.

  As the first litter reached her position, Sorsha stood on tiptoes and peered at what it held. Not altogether surprised, she spied pieces of the Falcon Staff resting on plush black cushions.

  With a hardy dollop of humor, Sorsha realized the rest of the Elementals treated the Falcon Staff with a great deal more respect than she and Shadowdancer had during their hurry to rescue the talisman. Sorsha touched on the blurred memory of dumping out their supplies before haphazardly tossing pieces of the Staff into the two rucksacks.

  As the first pair of Santhyrians reached the circle burned in the grass, four Lupwyns stepped forward and relieved them of their litter. Neveyah approached them next and gently removed the Staff pieces to place them in the middle of the circle.

  All watching remained silent as the Herd Mistress repeated the procedure four more times. When at last the Staff in its entirety rested among the grasses, Neveyah turned and gave a bow to both Sorntar and Ashayna and then turned and bowed before Sorsha and Shadowdancer.

  “May the Twelve grow strong and true once more.” After Neveyah’s words whispered into silence, she straightened, and then backed from the circle.

  Sorsha watched her go with a sinking feeling and wondered if she’d let her Stonemantle bravado lead her into another awkward situation since she didn’t actually know the slightest thing about healing a shattered Talisman, and nothing Shadowdancer had taught her about her magic was helpful in this circumstance.

  “Don’t worry.” Ash’s mental voice suddenly invaded Sorsha’s worried thoughts. “We don’t actually have to do much, just aid Sorntar by feeding him power. His Larnkin will to the repairs needed.”

  Sorntar started to sing. It startled Sorsha at first; she hadn’t thought of music being a way to summon magic, but as Sorntar’s voice rose from a deep chanting rumble to true soaring song, shivers coursed up and down her spine. And her own magic stirred in answer to Sorntar’s summons.

  Across from her, Ashayna stood with her head bowed. Magic, like a pale silvery fire, flickered along her skin before flowing to the ground. The symbol at her feet glowed with power. Startled, Sorsha looked down upon herself to see a similar sight.

  To her right, Shadowdancer was likewise rooted to the ground, magic flooding from him as he swayed to the power of Sorntar’s song.

  Magic burned around the outside circle, rising high into the air. Reaching higher still, it formed a dome of fiery protection. Sorsha closed her eyes against the intense brilliance. She gasped in wonder, the flicker and dance of magic still visible even behind her closed lids.

  It felt right, summoning power, giving up self for the greater good of the Twelve. They were never meant to be alone, she realized. The Twelve broken asunder was unnatural. She sensed the wrongness of it, four when there should have been twelve, and she vowed to fix that too, after she’d faced the Dead King and freed Lamarra.

  Power overwhelmed her then, and she no longer concerned herself with the future; worries fled before the Falcon Staff’s need. There was only now. And the need to heal what was broken.

  Sorntar’s beguiling song continued to weave in and around them, but Sorsha’s mind started to work once again, and she detected more purpose to his magic as if he was now focusing in earnest.

  Sorsha blinked open her eyes and squinted until they adjusted enough to make out a burning column of power at the circle’s center. Sorntar stood, bent ever so slightly toward the Falcon Staff, his wings out stretched before him, blue fire dripping from his crest, wings, and tail. Ashayna had told her about a Phoenix’s ability to burn without harm, but seeing it still took her by surprise.

  She took a half step back.

  “Easy, love.” Shadowdancer soothed her.

  With more inquisitiveness than fear, she looked back toward the Phoenix in time to see his magic flare. The column of fire surrounding the Staff flared in unison. Then in a blur of motion, Sorntar folded his wings and dropped to the ground in a deep bow. Shadowdancer and Ashayna joined their leader in homage.

  Sorsha dropped moments behind the other two, wishing someone had given her some kind of warning. She chanced a glimpse up at the column of fire to find it gone. In its place, the Falcon Staff stood ruffling her wings. The gilded statue’s talons gripped the delicately carved filigree at the top of the staff. Three gold bands hugged the polished black wood near the top and another three circled the lower third of the staff.

  Not a blemish marred the wood; it was as if the damage had never occurred.

  Sorntar stood first, and then he held a hand out to Ashayna and helped her to her feet. Together they approached the Falcon Staff.

  So focused on what they were doing, Sorsha didn’t see Shadowdancer’s out stretched hand until he waved his fingers in her face. She took it then, giving his fingers a squeeze, and allowed him to pull her to her feet without taking her eyes off the other two.

  The gol
den falcon moved as if alive, preening her feathers and shaking out her wings before hopping onto Sorntar’s offered arm. As Sorntar talked with the Staff, other Elementals began gathering, asking him questions.

  So they had recovered one of the Twelve Talismans. Sorsha wondered what was next.

  Warm fingers brushed along her jaw before cupping her cheek. “Your eyes are expressive, but your mind is closed.” Shadowdancer’s warm breath fanned across her ear. “What are you thinking?”

  “That we still have so much unfinished business.”

  Shadowdancer pulled back a little and his voice sobered. “Yes. I hardly know what to think or where to begin.”

  Sorsha sensed he’d read more into her words than she’d intended. The moment of joy his touch inspired evaporated. “How is it that we won a victory and yet I feel so defeated?”

  “Because you still fear Lamarra’s fate.” Shadowdancer supplied the very thing which caused her the most bitterness.

  “Yes. And duty demands we see to Trensler as well.”

  “But we don’t have to face him alone.”

  With his words Sorsha found her eye trailing back to where Ash stood shoulder to shoulder with Sorntar. The Crown Prince was surrounded by others Sorsha hadn’t met in person, but by their demeanor she assumed they were Elders or Council members.

  “You’re right. At least now we have help. Never again will we be alone in facing either Trensler or Dakdamon.” It slowly dawned on her what the members of the Twelve were to each other. “We’re a family.”

  She studied Ash—the Destroyer, protector of the Twelve. Then her eyes slid to Crown Prince Sorntar’s tall form next. He was the Judge; a figure of wisdom and authority.

  But what of Shadowdancer and myself? She had a harder time picturing their roles in the Twelve.

  “Should I be jealous of a certain Phoenix after all?” Shadowdancer snorted with humor and she remembered back to one evening long moons past when they’d walked the night together, and he’d asked would it have been better if the gods had made him a Phoenix.

  “A Phoenix? No, but there was one fellow I miss. I’d first mistaken him for a drunken sailor who snuck into my room naked as the dawn. Him, I thought rather handsome even as I chased him through the window at arrow’s point.”

  “Oh, him.” Shadowdancer laughed harder. “I think he might be able to make an appearance again someday soon.”

  “I’d like that.” She twined her fingers with his.

  “Good, but first I think our noble leader might have need of us.” Shadowdancer gestured with his free arm, taking in Ash, Sorntar and the growing crowd. “Sorntar is looking more like an untried princeling than renowned Judge, Leader of the Twelve.”

  “You might be right,” Sorsha chuckled. “I think our ‘family’ may have need of us. Lead on, love.”

  Shadowdancer tucked an arm around her shoulders and they made their way over to where Ash and Sorntar were fending off Council members and Elders alike. Sorsha sighed, thinking the next few candlemarks might be more trying than facing down twenty Acolytes. She’d never been fond of politics, but at least the one she loved was with her.

  She’d survive a round or two of politics and then spend some much deserved time with Shadowdancer and their families. And then they would find Lamarra, reunite the Twelve, and deal with Trensler.

  The End

  Afterword

  Thanks for giving Herd Mistress a try. If you enjoyed the read, you may also like Betrayal’s Price, book one of my In Deception’s Shadow series. Death’s Queen, book three, is forthcoming summer of 2015.

  I’m also launching a newsletter for fans, highlighting future projects, sample chapters, freebies, review copy giveaways, contests and more. To gain access to those kinds of fun tidbits and bargains, just visit my website http://www.lisablackwood.com/ and sign up for my newsletter.

  About the Author

  Lisa Blackwood grudgingly lives in a small town in Southern Ontario, though she would much rather live deep in a dark forest, surrounded by majestic old-growth trees. Since she cannot live her fantasy, she decided to write fantasy instead. An abundance of pets, named after various Viking gods, helps to keep the creativity flowing. Freya, her ever faithful and beloved hellhound, ensures Lisa takes a break from the computer so they can rid the garden of cats with delusions of conquest.

  Also by Lisa Blackwood

  Betrayal’s Price:

  A Fantasy Romance Novel

  Chapter One

  Ashayna shivered at the slow tickle of moisture down her back. The day had dawned unusually humid for so early in the spring. Still, her discomfort had little to do with the heat and everything to do with the stomach-souring dread currently tying her in knots.

  Glancing down at the tracks she’d been following since dawn, Ashayna frowned. Her anxiety spiraled up another notch as an unseen force guided her mare around a pile of deadfall, taking the same path as the tracks. Lupwyns had increased their raiding in recent days, and she’d seen similar sights on other scouting missions. At first glance, this set of prints was ordinary enough, but it didn’t explain why she couldn’t set one foot in any direction but forward.

  Lord-Master Trensler and his acolytes would be quick to label what forced her onward as ‘demonic magic’—the darkest of evils. If she had to call it something, she preferred the name ‘sentience.’ It was somewhat less dire than calling herself demon possessed. A chill swept down her spine at the thought. Naming it didn’t help her out of her current predicament, nor did it explain how she’d become possessed in the first place, or why the sentience was so interested in this particular lupwyn’s tracks.

  Time to test fate again. Her stomach twisted as she exerted her will against the sentience and reined in Swiftrunner. Her mare halted with a questioning flick of one ear. Ashayna sought a calm place in her mind while she waited. It didn’t take long for the reaction she had come to anticipate.

  Spreading out like ripples on a pond, waves of hot and cold washed over her, flowing down her arms all the way to her fingertips while other tendrils reached out for the rest of her body. Power. Magic. Heresy. It wouldn’t be long before iron bands of pressure forced her into obedience like it had the last four times she’d stopped or turned away from the tracks.

  “Fine. You want me to follow these damned tracks?” Ashayna challenged the sentience. “I’ll follow them.” With a huff she dismounted and glared at the prints. “But my horse isn’t going to become some lupwyn’s evening meal.”

  She started up the trail, one slow step at a time. With each one, the sentience loosened its hold by small degrees, much like a snake uncoiling from its lifeless kill. A shaky breath escaped her. “I am a Stonemantle. I am not afraid of you—whatever you are. I. Am. Not. Afraid.” She wasn’t certain if she believed herself, and doubted the sentience believed her either.

  Pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead, she tried to stave off the beginnings of a headache left over from the rapid departure of so much power. It probably wouldn’t work, but at least the sentience was content. For now.

  Ignoring the grasping fingers of the wind, she pushed errant strands of hair back from her face. Much like the wind, the sentience was unpredictable and dangerous–and just as persistent.

  Ahead, the prints veered off the path, sloping toward where she could hear the soft rumble of a stream. A hemlock’s expansive branches obscured her view. With a muttered curse, she ducked under the wet foliage. The stench of rotting vegetation rose up to swirl through her nostrils. Prickles of anger danced along her control when her feet slipped from beneath her and she slid to an ungraceful heap next to the water’s edge.

  The sensation of being herded hadn’t ebbed completely. She gritted her teeth, wanting to strike out at something, tired of feeling helpless. But fighting, yelling, or sobbing wouldn’t do her a lick of good. Answers were what she needed most, and the only way to get those was to continue on the path the sentience chose. She flexed her fingers to stop th
eir shaking. She just hoped her own personal curse didn’t get her killed by a lupwyn. Or worse, burned alive. A shudder raced over her at the thought of the punishment awaiting her at the hands of her own people, should her demonic possession be revealed—maybe it would be better to be a lupwyn’s dinner after all.

  Hunkered on her heels she appraised the ground. Ignoring the icy mud and moisture seeping between her boot laces, she sank ankle deep into the quagmire. The tracks didn’t disappear into the water; rather, a little ways north of her position, three sets of tracks now marred the mud.

  She crouched next to the new tracks and skimmed her fingertips along them with a light touch, afraid the saturated soil would collapse. Embedded alongside the familiar prints of a lupwyn was a much rarer track. Human-like, the prints had three elongated forward-facing toes and a thicker, heavier digit at the rear. Each ended in a deep gouge mark where talons had sunk into the soil.

  Sticking a finger in the icy water she measured the depth. A low whistle escaped when her fist touch the mud before her finger reached the bottom.

  “Damn big talons.” Though she’d never seen their likeness, she knew these were made by a phoenix. They fit the sketchy descriptions she’d heard soldiers whisper about when the acolytes weren’t near.

  Was this what the sentience wanted her to find?

  She glanced up, scanning the stream and its bordering trees. Their branches far enough apart, a phoenix flying overhead might be able to navigate between them to land safely in the water.

  A phoenix here?

  This new development explained the increased lupwyn patrols she’d been evading. This was the closest the enemy had ever come to the vast city of River’s Divide. What if they were mobilizing for an organized attack?

  She prowled along the stream, scanning the ground for more clues. A few steps from where the phoenix tracks first emerged from the water, something glimmered in the dappled light filtering through the canopy. Ashayna edged closer until the mystery resolved itself into a bit of silver and a bright slash of indigo. Reaching down, she plucked the silver chain from the mud.