Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3)

by Lisa Blackwood

  “If it causes the Larnkin damage to take a host,” Beatrice questioned, her brow knitting with thought, “why ever would they bother? What do they gain?”

  Silverblade acknowledged her question with a nod. “That question has arisen many times in the history of the Elementals. I think the truth is that they like to meddle in the lives of mortals, but it is also true that Larnkins cannot affect events in this realm without a host to act as anchor. It is their nature to protect and guide.”

  Beatrice tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him and then, with the light of new animation in her eyes, she asked, “Are you saying they take hosts simply so they can manipulate events in this world?”

  A short bark of laughter escaped him. “Yes, that is also a common opinion among the Elementals.”

  “So while they may be manipulative, they are essentially good?” Beatrice poked at the fire as if she was unaware of what she was doing. “I am glad such power is benevolent.”

  “Benevolent implies a type of kindness or caring. And while most Larnkins love their hosts, there are Larnkins with such vast power and ancient knowledge that normal Elementals view them as demigods.” Silverblade paused again, wondering how to explain his understanding of the Twelve Talismans to her. “Light has many champions with which to fight Darkness. But the greatest of Light’s champions are beings who have simply come to be known as the Twelve. Those twelve beings are reborn in times of trouble to take up their talismans and defeat the darkness.”

  He paused, debating how much to tell the human.

  “Go on.”

  With a sigh, he continued. “Long, long ago, the All Father and the Great Mother created twelve souls. Upon them, they endowed great knowledge and magic, enough to destroy any evil that should walk upon the earth. These twelve souls were powerful in and of themselves, but the gods granted them another gift. For each was given an artifact of power to strengthen and guide them. These Talismans would endure throughout the ages, gathering knowledge and protecting it, so that when the Twelve’s mortal wielders were reborn, these Talismans would bestow their memories and knowledge upon their flesh and blood wielders.”

  “That is…interesting.” Beatrice continued to sip at her tea, but he was certain she wasn’t even tasting it on her tongue. Her expression said her mind was leagues distant.

  “Interesting? Yes. Benevolent? Perhaps not. Those ancient beings were born with the power, knowledge, and fortitude to do what was necessary. Yes, they were good. They served the Light. Yet if the histories are to be believed, many of them possessed powers so terrible, so awe-inspiring, that nothing about it would be what I would call benevolent.”

  “And yet, even with these fearsome powers, you would not consider them evil or tainted in some way?”

  Ah. He knew what Beatrice was asking without asking it. “No.”

  “That is good,” Beatrice whispered as she looked down at her own hands. And then, showing her uncanny insight and her ability to read him so easily, she continued. “But this is more than just an idle history lesson isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Silverblade agreed, but didn’t elaborate.

  Beatrice refilled her tea and watched him intently over the rim. She did not interrupt him and seemed willing to wait for him to grapple with what to tell her.

  When Beatrice offered to refill his cup with more steaming tea, he accepted it. Sipping from the heavy stoneware cup allowed him a moment to decide what he wanted to tell her. He had already come this far, he might as well tell her the rest.

  “The Twelve were created to vanquish darkness and they did so without fail for uncounted millennia. It wasn’t until one of the great servants of creation—the tools the gods used to create the universe—turned against them, that the Twelve first tasted defeat. Dakdamon the God of Mists and Time, rose up and created his own dark army, seeking to enslave all the Elemental races. He had wanted the Twelve to ride at the head of his great army as his generals. He nearly succeeded.”

  “These were the beings with near god-like power? And this Dakdamon nearly defeated them…his power…” Beatrice let the sentence die, but she met Silverblade’s gaze, her look saying the rest.

  “A bloody battle ensued, both sides warred for days. When the battle was over, the great demon Dakdamon had been overthrown, imprisoned in weavings of magic so powerful, so primal, he would remain trapped for eternity. The Twelve Talismans were victorious that day, but they’d suffered great personal cost. Their leaders had been slain, the Falcon’s Staff shattered, and the remaining Twelve left to pick up the pieces. It is said that the Twelve are reborn in times of need to battle the Darkness.”

  Beatrice started choking on her tea. He thumped her on the back a couple times until she could speak.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well? Where, by the gods, are they? The land has been overrun with acolytes. How much ‘darker’ does it need to get for these Twelve to put in an appearance?”

  Silverblade brought one hand to rest against the tattoo on his own chest and then reached out and placed his palm against the corresponding one on Beatrice’s.

  She looked at him, her mouth dropping open as her eyes widened with shock. But she soon regained her composure. “You think we’re members of this Twelve?”

  Silverblade huffed. “Well I certainly hope so. Otherwise, the next most-likely conclusion is that these marks belong to the acolytes. And if that’s the case, I imagine we are presently touching our doom.”

  “I have always known I was different. My power too great, always just simmering below the surface, waiting for me to give in, to show weakness. But even then, I could not believe myself evil. Until I’m proven absolutely wrong, I will continue to believe in myself and my magic. What you have told me of the Twelve is actually a relief. If I am one of them, at least my magic serves the Light—even if it is terrible to behold. Besides, my Larnkin hates the acolytes with a passion to match my own. I’m reasonably certain I am not an acolyte’s pawn.”

  Silverblade decided he liked her reasoning, and until he had a chance to meet up with the elders, get examined in detail, and learn what the mark truly was, he’d choose to believe as Beatrice did. As unsettling as it would be to be members of the Twelve, it would be far worse to be on the path to becoming an acolyte.

  They sat for a long time in silence. When the rabbits were finally cooked, he removed them from the fire and held out one to Beatrice. She chewed distractedly on the offering with very little appetite. Silverblade could understand. But he forced himself to eat anyways and after a time, so too did Beatrice.

  *****

  Long after their meal was done, they continued to sit and stare at the fire. Beatrice was content to remain silent. Exhaustion had crept into her body and mind while they ate. Her lids were already growing heavy but she did not want to sleep, not with the acolytes out there somewhere still searching for them. She truly hoped both she and Silverblade were members of this Twelve he mentioned.

  If they were, they would both have a chance to deliver vengeance upon the heads of the acolytes. Her parents had already waited too long to be avenged. Perhaps in the coming days, she would have the chance she’d been waiting a lifetime for.

  Her magic stirred then, her Larnkin rousing. Beatrice’s mind was flooded by a warm, eager power as if the Larnkin was telling her that she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer after all.

  Silverblade shifted where he sat, at last putting down his cup of tea. “We should rest. Sleep while we’re able. Tomorrow is going to be a long day and we will have to keep moving until sunset. We can’t risk resting in the middle of the day and giving the acolytes a chance to gain ground upon us.”

  Beatrice nodded, seeing the wisdom of his thinking. She unpacked her blanket, thinking to share it with Silverblade since he had none of his own, but by the time she retrieved it and turned back to the fire, it was to find he’d already curled up on the opposite side of the fire. The subtle change of positions was enough to signal her that while h
e would keep her with him, he did not consider her one of his pack. He would rather sleep alone than share a blanket with her.

  Hmmm. Well, she was not so emotional as to be upset by his sudden aloofness. Although she had hoped he might trust her as a friend after what he’d revealed about the Twelve.

  She arranged her sleeping mat on the ground and then cast one more glance in the lupwyn’s direction.

  Damn it. Truth be told, his rebuff did sting a bit. But she’d always been set apart by her power, this was nothing new.

  Laying down, she tugged the blanket up around her shoulders and then closed her eyes. Sleep was slow in coming. Before it did, she thought back to what Silverblade had said about the Twelve and how they existed to destroy evil and chase back the darkness.

  “Yes,” she whispered so softly that she didn’t even wake the sleeping lupwyn, “I can believe that I exist solely to destroy the acolytes.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next three days were much the same as that first afternoon. Beatrice and Silverblade rode double for most of the day, occasionally dismounting and walking alongside the gelding to give him a rest. The gelding had grown accustomed to Silverblade’s lupwyn scent and they no longer had to expend an exorbitant amount of time reacquainting the horse to his wolf-like scent each morning.

  She and Silverblade fell into a familiar routine. In the evenings when they stopped for the night, Beatrice would prepare their small camp, building a fire while Silverblade hunted. He’d proven far faster at finding an easy meal and often returned with some prey skinned and ready for the fire in the time it would have taken her to simply track down the prey. After the meal, they would take turns keeping watch while the other slept. Come each dawn, they would break camp in companionable silence.

  There were no signs that the acolytes trailed them, but neither did they want to give their enemies a chance to catch up, so they kept to their brisk pace.

  “I would give almost anything for a santhyrian steed about now.”

  Silverblade’s gruff voice startled her out of her thoughts and she turned her head enough to glance at him.

  “Are they really so much faster than a horse? And I mean a normal horse, not this slow plodder.” At her question, his eyes slid from where he’d been scanning their surroundings, to meet hers.

  Up close, his eyes still stunned her, even after days of seeing them. The huge, black pupils contrasted against the ice-blue irises and both were ringed with yet another darker shade of blue. Those eyes would be striking on any creature, but against his darker skin, they practically glowed.

  It took her a moment to realize he was talking.

  “It’s not so strange that two nomadic species would ally themselves together. Yes, lupwyns are predators and santhyrians are herbivores, but both species accept the other’s differences.”

  And apparently he’d already answered her question about how santhyrians compared to horses and then he’d moved on to the next topic.

  “Have you even been listening to me?”

  She felt a blush heat her cheeks at being caught. “No,” she answered truthfully.

  He muttered something under his breath in his own language. “If you want to become an apprentice, you’re going to have to learn how to listen. It is required for mentors to talk to their apprentices…”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just I was distracted.”

  “By what?” He looked away and started scanning their surroundings again. “Do you sense danger near?”

  “No. It’s not that type of distraction.”

  “Then what?” he asked, meeting her gaze with his questioning one.

  “Your eyes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I was distracted by them.”

  He jerked like she’d physically slapped him and averted his gaze, mumbling a hasty, “I’m sorry. I know I must look strange to you. My intentions are not to frighten you, but sometimes I forget how unusual I am now.”

  “Oh.” Beatrice looked over her shoulder at him again. It took a few moments but she finally caught his gaze with hers. “Your eyes are beautiful. It’s not fear that distracts me.”

  His eyes widened slightly in surprise and before he could look away, she clarified. “You are different, yes. But you are still breathtaking—handsome, even.”

  “Well then.” The tip of one fang flashed as he grinned at her. “I suppose you should consider yourself lucky not to have to look at an ugly mentor for the next century.”

  A betraying heat marched up her face, but she kept her expression serious. “I am honored just to have a mentor. Although, I spoke the truth. You are not ugly.”

  As she watched, one corner of his lip curled up in a smile. “Even though I should be old enough not to care, thank you. No matter one’s age, a male always likes to hear a beautiful female tell him he is handsome.”

  After that, Silverblade had continued his explanation about how although santhyrians shared a physical appearance with their equine relatives, in every other regard, they were something else entirely. A proud, fierce people—warriors in their own way. As likely to run towards danger as to flee from it.

  But Beatrice’s mind was still focused back on his earlier words. Beautiful female. It wasn’t the first time a man had called her that, but it was the first time she cared. She had to bite back the stupid grin that kept trying to spread across her lips.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mid-afternoon light slanted through the tree canopy overhead, casting the game trail they were following in dense shade. Only the occasional bit of dappled light managed to penetrate the thick branches overhead. It was hard to pinpoint the exact time without seeing the sun in the sky, but Beatrice guessed they still had several candlemarks before the sun sank below the horizon.

  Closer to evening, they would start looking for a suitable place to make camp. She’d noted some time ago that the lupwyn was less choosy than she in regards to campsites. Any bit of flat ground seemed to serve him well enough. She preferred a few more amenities. Shelter, a cooking fire, a brook or stream deep enough to wash in.

  By her estimate, they still had five candlemarks before they would make camp for the night. In truth, Beatrice was already drowsing, the sway of the horse’s gait almost enough to put her to sleep.

  “Sleep if you’re tired.” To add emphasis to his words, Silverblade’s strong arm tightened around her waist, a silent promise that he would not let her fall.

  For his part, the gelding was a reasonable, levelheaded creature so it was probably safe to close her eyes for a little while.

  She was doing just that when her Larnkin stirred. A chilled magic that had nothing to do with her healing power uncoiled from where it had lain dormant since the last time it had sensed acolytes attacking Silverblade.

  Her exhaustion forgotten, Beatrice jerked to attention and summoned her healer’s magic to scan their surroundings. She sensed nothing. Heart pounding, she ‘looked’ again, expanding her magic farther.

  She still sensed nothing. Absolutely nothing. That in itself confirmed what had awoken her death magic.

  Silverblade sat ramrod straight behind her. “What do you sense?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered with growing panic. “I sense nothing in all directions. Only the acolytes’ strange magic feels like this. It’s how I’m able to track them. Acolytes feel like a lack of magic and life energy. They’re a void, a hole in the fabric of the world. But instead of it being localized to each acolyte, this is everywhere.”

  “A trap,” Silverblade said, voicing her own thoughts.

  “It has to be. But how?” Her healer’s magic had always warned her before when an acolyte was near.

  “The net traps, like what the delegation encountered. None of us sensed those cursed things until they dropped down upon us all.”

  “But how did they get the nets in place without my magic sensing the acolytes themselves? They had to have placed them around us.”

  “Perhaps this trap wasn’t meant for
us specifically. Lupwyn scouts patrol these lands. This could easily have been set days ago, its magic dormant until a magic wielder stumbled into it and ‘sprung’ the trap, triggering the magic.”

  Silverblade’s words were not reassuring, but another, even more unpleasant thought surfaced. “Even if we escape this one, there could be more.”

  “There could be.” Silverblade urged the horse back into a trot. “Worry about escaping this one first. Last time, only fire magic had much of an effect upon the spell nets. I think because the fire magic was able to destroy the mundane nets used to anchor the acolytes’ magic. I don’t have fire magic, but regular fire might work just as well.”

  “I think it likely that this trap might have a way to alert its makers once it’s sprung. We may not have much time before the ‘trappers’ come to see what they’ve snared.”

  “You might be correct. All the more reason to find the outer edge of this trap quickly.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  An ominous silence had settled over the forest. Silverblade hadn’t heard another creature since Beatrice’s first alarm warned them about the acolytes’ trap. Lacking anything else to hone in upon, his senses focused on the clomp of the gelding’s hooves against the hard packed dirt, and the sound of Beatrice’s slow, steady heartbeat.

  Those sounds soothed him and chased away dark memories about the last time he’d stumbled into an acolyte’s trap.

  Beatrice’s formidable death magic continued to build, rising up above her skin. It bled across the space between them and began to crawl along his body where they touched. Had there not been acolytes nearby, he was sure the sight would have caused some concern, but his own weakened Larnkin seemed to draw strength from it.