Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3) (10 page)

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.”

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.

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.”

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.

Besides, in the
distance he could now hear the sounds of a large group of approaching riders.
That knowledge was much more disturbing than having Beatrice’s death magic
crawling across his skin.

Unable to help
himself, he glanced behind, even knowing the riders were still too far away to
even catch a glimpse of through the trees.

“You hear
something, don’t you?” Beatrice asked.

“Acolytes.”

When Beatrice
started to fumble at her belt to free her crossbow, he placed his hand over
hers. “No, there are too many to fight. You’ll need to use your magic and kill
them from afar. We can’t let them get close enough to feed.”

“But I can’t feel
them. I can’t target them if I can’t feel them. Something has changed. Maybe
because we’re still inside the net trap. I don’t know, but I don’t think my
magic will be as effective if I can’t pinpoint a target.”

That was the most
disturbing thing he’d heard all day.

In the past, he
knew she’d always felt the acolytes coming. That was how she and her family had
managed to survive this long. Had the acolytes found a way to hide themselves
from Beatrice’s formidable magic? If so, that made them an even more dangerous
foe.

“Silverblade, I
fear the acolytes may already have found a way to adapt to my power.” Her words
confirmed his own fears.

By mutual
consent, they continued forward, looking for the edge of the spell nets. They
had to reach it and then find a way past before the acolytes found them.

Silverblade
didn’t push the gelding into a gallop, though. Accidentally running right into
the acolytes wouldn’t help their situation. Even if the acolytes were adapting,
Silverblade doubted they could completely hide their presence.

He strained each
of his dulled senses, hoping to hear some betraying sound or see a flash of
movement through the trees that would reveal if there were acolytes ahead of
them as well.

Beatrice tapped
his arm where he had it wrapped around her waist. When she knew she had his
attention, she pointed to an area of forest just left of the game trail they
were following.

He saw it. A
shimmering through the trees. Grey and silver light. But there was nothing pure
about the source. Already he could feel the magic draining from his Larnkin.

“I can feel that
thing plucking and pulling at my magic,” Beatrice said with horror thick in her
voice.

He had to agree.
But just then the wind shifted and suddenly Silverblade caught a scent—a dry,
lifeless odor, almost like an ancient corpse. Yes, that’s what the acolytes’
scent was akin to. If he could smell that in this form, that meant they were
too damn close.

“Hurry. Take your
pack and get the fire-starting supplies. I’ll gather kindling. We need to set
fire to the spell nets. Quickly now.” Silverblade dismounted and then lifted
Beatrice from the gelding’s back.

He shoved her
pack towards her before he darted to the side of the path and started scooping
up all the dried leaves and twigs he could find. From the corner of his eye, he
saw her tear into her pack and upend the contents on the ground. From that
pile, she grabbed the fire striker stones and raced toward the nearest section
of spell net.

Silverblade was
only a few paces behind her, fistfuls of kindling in each hand.

They arrived at
the net at the same time. Beatrice grabbed one of the fistfuls of kindling and
positioned it at the base of the net. A few well-aimed strikes of her fire
stones and she soon had a small trail of smoke rising from the kindling.

Dropping to his
knees a few paces farther down the net, he packed another ball of kindling
against the net. When he looked up, Beatrice was already tossing him her
stones.

In a matter of
heartbeats, he soon had another tiny fire starting to burn.

Beatrice was
already racing past him to gather more kindling and twigs.

This close to the
spell net, he could feel his magic draining away far more quickly than it had
at a distance.

He was working on
his third fire when Beatrice shouted and snatched up her crossbow.

“Here they come!”

Silverblade
tossed his armful of sticks on the nearest fire and bolted to the healer’s
side.

“There are too
many,” Beatrice said as she inserted a bolt into her crossbow. “But for what
good it will do, there are two hunting knives in the pack. The metal blades
might be better than trying to dismember the acolytes with your claws, although
they’ll be able to feed no matter what we do.”

He grunted
agreement and then snatched up the two knives from the pile of supplies she’d
upended on the ground earlier.

“I’ll try to make
each crossbow bolt count. But use the knives on anything that gets past me.”

“How good are
you?”

Beatrice grinned.
“I can hit a squirrel running through the tree canopy.”

“Good. Aim for
their knee or hip joints. The acolytes don’t stay dead, but they can’t heal
damage either. It will be the best way to slow them,” Silverblade said as he
stood shoulder to shoulder with Beatrice and watched the mounted acolytes
charge toward them.

Behind him, the
fires crackled and hissed as they ate into the spell net and the flow of magic
being dragged from his Larnkin slowed somewhat. A small spark of hope grew in his
heart.

“Now that you can
see them, can you command your magic to destroy them like you did before?”

“I don’t know.
That was all my Larnkin’s doing. I don’t know if I can control it.” Beatrice
shuddered. “Before the acolytes attacked you, I’d only ever used that power
once before. And that time, it used me. I don’t think it’s something I can
control.”

Silverblade knew
she feared her magic. He wasn’t a fool. He feared it, too. Never had he sensed
such until he’d met her. But the acolytes were more fearsome still. And in
this, this one desperate time, he knew they would need Beatrice’s deadly magic
if they were going to survive.

More acolytes on
horseback came charging out from the shadows of the forest onto the game trail.

Whatever doubts Beatrice
might harbor about her magic, her aim was true and she unhorsed her first
target with a well-aimed bolt to the acolyte’s hip.

Most of
Beatrice’s bolts found targets, but more acolytes appeared, galloping into the
battle with no concern for their well-being. But that didn’t really come as a
surprise. The acolytes’ master had proven time and again that it cared nothing
for its tools.

Silverblade
spotted something of interest. None of these acolytes were familiar. This
wasn’t the same group as Ironsmith commanded. That was a blessing, he supposed.
It meant that those particular acolytes hadn’t somehow managed to catch up.

If he and
Beatrice were able to gain the upper hand, they might be able to escape this
group too—or at least one of them might. He glanced at the healer and allowed
himself to drink in her fierce beauty.

He only had a
moment, but it was enough. She held the secret to defeating the acolytes within
her. Even if she hadn’t, he still would have come to the same conclusion.

For her survival,
he would lay down his own life.

And once he
became an acolyte like these other poor bastards, he trusted Beatrice’s death
magic to one day set him free from that curse, too.

He trusted the
healer with his life and death. It was that simple.

With that thought
blazing in his mind, he took aim at the nearest acolyte and flung the knife
with all the strength in his arm. He didn’t wait to see the acolyte fall,
instead turning toward Beatrice.

 “There are too
many. We’re not both going to make it out.” Silverblade started to shove her
back toward the spell net, where the fires were even now growing bigger.

“What? Wait! What
are you doing?” Beatrice fought to free herself, but he was stronger and
continued to guide her back toward the small but growing hole in the net.

“As soon as the
fire burns a big enough hole, run through it and keep on running until you’re
far enough away or the nets have suffered enough damage you can target the
acolytes. Kill as many of them as you can. Don’t come back for me. Go,” Silverblade
roared over the sound of the horses’ powerful hooves churning across the
ground. “Find others of my kind. Tell them what I’ve learned. Tell them that
you were pack to me.”