The Shadow Games: The Chronicles of Arianthem VI (15 page)

“I hope not,” Syn muttered, although she had been such a womanizer prior to meeting Jorden it was entirely possible.

Chapter 19

T
he sky was bright blue and a mild wind made the wheat stalks sway in a gentle rhythm. Signe was walking along the path adjacent to the fields. She waved to a few of the field hands and they waved back. They then looked fearfully toward the main house lest their impropriety be seen by the mistress. They liked the young companion of the mistress, but the mistress herself provoked only dread.

Signe hummed to herself, enjoying the warmth of the sun. She wore a richly embroidered vest and pants, and comfortable leather boots that Eydis had brought her. Her love had given in, if only slightly, to her desire to walk about the countryside. Signe was still forbidden to enter the forest, but she could wander through the orchards and around the cultivated fields.

Something dark slinked from the forest and Signe shielded her eyes from the sun. She thought at first she had imagined it, but then she saw the movement again. Whatever it was, it had flattened itself low to the ground and was now creeping toward one of the farmhands who had waved to her. He had his back to the creature and was oblivious to its approach.

Signe was indecisive. She didn’t want to yell out to the man if it was just one of the dogs playing. But she didn’t want to do nothing if there was any chance the farmhand would get hurt. She could see the wheat move behind the man and that the source of the disturbance was slowly closing in on him. She began wading through the wheat toward him, debating whether or not to sound a warning.

She regretted saying nothing for the man screamed in terror as something launched itself from the cover of the crops and hit him square in the chest. He went down and she could no longer see him, although the thrashing of the wheat told a terrible tale. She knew she should run and get Eydis, but instead, began running toward the fallen man.

His screams were terrible and other farm hands began running toward him as well. But Signe was closer and reached him before any of the others. She began to shake when she saw the creature he held at bay, a horrible, black, dog-like creature that foamed at the mouth and was covered in pus-oozing sores. Its skin was leathery, more like armor than hide, and its gnashing teeth were inches from the man’s throat, closing in as the man’s strength failed and his grip could not keep the teeth away.

And then Signe was no longer shaking. She hooked the toe of her boot beneath the man’s fallen shovel and flipped it upward into her hands. She swung the blade about in a great arc and the farm tool cut a wedge into the leathery skin. And she had swung with such force it dislodged the beast from the man and he was able to roll free of the monster.

But now the beast was focused entirely on Signe, and its blood red eyes were filled with fury and hate. Signe felt oddly calm and held the shovel crosswise across her chest, gripping the handle with both hands. When the beast charged, she thrust it outward and hit its leaping form, jamming the wooden staff in the monstrous jaws. At the same time, she allowed the beast to take her backward so that she rolled on her back, carried the beast with her, and came up on top of it on her feet. She jammed the blade of the shovel down with an immense blow, and cut deeply into the monster’s neck. She trapped the flailing body beneath her boot, lifted the shovel once more, and this time decapitated the beast’s neck cleanly. She stood panting as the beast writhed beneath her, then at last was still.

“You killed a hell hound,” the farmhand said in disbelief. “You killed a Hyr’rok’kin hell hound.”

Signe stared at the shovel in her hand. It was not a weapon per se, but it felt so natural in her grip. In fact, this entire situation, as strange and perilous as it had been, felt more natural than anything she had experienced for some time.

“Oh my love!” Eydis exclaimed, rushing through the wheat. She pulled Signe to her breast. “Oh by the gods, you’ve been hurt!”

“It’s not my blood,” Signe said numbly. She appreciated Eydis’ concern, but everything was shifting before her gaze. Nothing seemed right. Her head hurt horribly. The last thing she remembered before was Eydis crying over her as she passed into darkness.

Idonea pulled the vial from her robes. It glowed far brighter than it had before, illuminating the entire cave in soft light. Isleif looked upon the red glow with hope, as did Y’arren. Idonea concentrated and held the vial of blood out so that she could get as clear a direction as possible.

“Bring the maps,” Y’arren commanded, and her attendants brought out armfuls of parchments, spreading them before Idonea.

“It’s in this area,” Idonea said, pointing to the large swath of green that represented the Deep Woods, “I’m certain.”

Y’arren smiled. “And only yesterday we received word from the Ha’kan that they were going to Kalfax,” she said, pointing to the village on the edge of the Deep Woods.

“I knew her friends would find her,” Isleif said, “I knew it.”

Signe lie in the bed, her eyes closed against the aching in her head. The cool compress on her forehead was welcome and her eyes fluttered open to settle uncertainly on Eydis.

Ingrid dipped the towel in the water basin once more and dabbed at the girl’s forehead. She, too, was indecisive, but it was lust that was fueling her uncertainty. As much as she had enjoyed bedding the girl, the passivity in her nature, the passivity that she had actively encouraged, was beginning to wear on her. The sight of her taking down that Hyr’rok’kin devil dog, although worrisome, had been exciting, thrilling even.

Ingrid knew if she allowed the girl’s true nature to emerge she risked the blank stasis of her mind. The passion that ran in that blood would likely trigger all sorts of memories, including clues to her identity and possibly her real relationship with the sorceress. But right now, Ingrid didn’t really care. If her memory began to return, she could imprison the girl and still take pleasure and blood from her, which might be more enjoyable, anyway.

“Is something wrong?” Signe asked.

“No, no,” Ingrid said, setting the wet compress aside.

Signe did not think that was true. Although Eydis seemed much the same, there was something subtly different about her, a sharpness to her movement, a slightly harder edge to her voice that had an air of inevitability. The woman shifted her weight on the bed and took Signe’s wrists in her hands, guiding her arms above her head and pinning the wrists to the mattress. She leaned down and kissed her on the lips, parting them, not gently, while she again shifted so that her weight settled atop the lean body.

For Signe, the acts were confusing, so contrary to Eydis’ usual tender advances she was not certain how to respond. But where her mind was uncertain, her body was not. When those hips settled between her legs, her own raised up to meet them, pressing against the woman through her clothes with fierce need. And she returned the relentless kiss with wanton desire.

“Mmm,” Eydis murmured. She secured both Signe’s wrists with a single hand and reached down to the girl’s shirt front. Signe was astonished at the woman’s strength, for she easily held her arms trapped without exhibiting any effort, and she was more astonished when, with a short yank, Eydis sent all of the buttons of her shirt flying across the room. And then the shirt was open, the mouth was on the breast, a hand toyed with the nipple of the breast that was still free, and the other hand dove into her pants where with very little preamble they thrust up inside her, sending maddening shocks of sensation that hardened the nipple in the sorceress’ mouth, causing her to smile a wicked smile that would have chilled Signe to the bone. But the girl could see nothing for her eyes were closed against the onslaught of pleasure that overcame her, and somehow her wrists were still restrained above her head although Eydis was making good use of both her hands.

There was a brief pause as those hands unbuttoned her pants and with a smooth, practiced motion, yanked them to just below her knees. This secured her ankles as effectively as whatever was securing her wrists, and when Eydis moved that hungry mouth down the lean stomach, she was able to spread the bent knees while locking the ankles with the tangled pants, settling her lips on the aching need between Signe’s legs.

And now Signe had no control at all. Her arms and legs were restrained, but her hips thrust upward, completely under the command of that mouth and tongue. The sorceress gripped the strong thighs that thrashed beneath her, maintaining the spell upon the wrists while her tongue tortured the soft flesh. The hips matched the relentless circular motion with a desperate grinding and it was not long until the body tightened, then gave way, climaxing with an abandon the sorceress prolonged until the girl had nothing left and the hips collapsed back to the bed.

Ingrid rested her head upon the taut stomach, enjoying the smell of her captive and the salty taste of her skin. She could hear the heart pounding in the chest, feel the blood pulsing through the veins beneath her cheek. The girl’s breathing slowed, a testament to her physical condition given the exertion of her orgasm, and Ingrid gave her but a moment to recover.

“And now,” she said, releasing the wrists and propping the girl’s head upon two pillows, “you will return the favor.”

Signe could not even speak, so overwhelmed by the physical contact and the dramatic change in her lover’s demeanor. It was not unwelcome, for that sex had been more fiery and satisfying than anything before, at least anything that she could remember. Eydis pulled herself into a kneeled, seated position so that she sat upon Signe’s stomach, straddling her. She then raised herself to her knees and leaned forward, grasping the wrought iron railing of the headboard. This put the girl’s mouth in perfect placement between her legs and Signe did not hesitate, wrapping her arms, which were now inexplicably free, about the sorceress’ legs and burying her tongue in the softness there. Ingrid gasped, for this was one of her favorite positions, one in which she was still dominant and could regulate the amount of pressure dispensed by the one beneath her. But really, that control was not needed for the girl was so skilled all Ingrid had to do was support herself with the railing while that beautiful little mouth drove her to ecstasy. And in the end, she had as little restraint as the girl, for her hips writhed against those lips and that tongue as they peaked then prolonged her climax to perfection. And Signe, who had given up trying to make sense of anything, enjoyed the sight of the hardened nipples above her head as her lover lost all control.

Ingrid collapsed, fought to regain her breath, then moved to lie behind the girl. She wrapped her arms and a leg about her captive, and with little more than a gentle suggestion of a spell, the girl was asleep. Ingrid was not one to enjoy the afterglow of sex, but at the moment, she was distinctly drowsy. The room smelled delightful, of struggle and passion and lust. And her last thought before she fell asleep was that the Ha’kan had trained that little Tavinter well.

Many, many miles away, Raine lie on her bedroll, her head propped up on her knapsack. Her thoughts were on tomorrow and the catacombs they hoped to find, when she felt the sensation, the slightest tug on the filament that connected her to Skye. It was curious, an omen neither fair nor foul, a brief stirring as if Skye were attempting to surface from a deep lake. Raine pondered the sensation late into the night, regretting many times that she could not search for the girl.

Chapter 20

L
orifal used his axe as a walking stick as the three began making their way up the mountain that bordered the lakeside town. Although the barkeep had been unwilling to disclose the location of the catacombs, his vague description of “up there” led them to believe the sepulcher might be somewhere north of the town in the mountainside. Many tombs in Arianthem were built by taking advantage of natural features of the land such as tunnels and caves.

“I wish we had a Tavinter with us,” Raine said.

Feyden was a skilled tracker and Raine as good as he, but he silently agreed.

“This might help,” Lorifal said, brushing away a tangle of vegetation from a decrepit stone pillar.

Raine grinned. “Yes, it might indeed.” The pillar had a worn wooden sign, one so weather-beaten it could hardly be read. But the symbols upon it, and the directional arrow, were clue enough the bearing they should take.

“I guess we’ll head that way.”

Now that they knew what to look for, the path became clearer. There were flat stones winding through the forest, as if at one time the footpath had been paved. Most were covered with green lichen and overgrowth, but some still protruded through the forest floor. From time to time they came across another stone pillar that would assure them of their course.

“Seems a long way to carry a body,” Lorifal commented. “My people bury their dead within the mines where they worked, so the blood in their veins can merge with the veins of ore.”

“The Alfar have great tombs within the cities,” Feyden said, “nothing so far away as this.”

“My father’s people burned their dead and let the ashes fly on the wind,” Raine said, “and my mother’s people embalmed their loved ones and buried them in mausoleums. But the imperials are superstitious and bury their bodies far away from their towns and cities. They have shrines where their loved ones can be remembered and mourned, but they want the bodies as far away as possible.”

Lorifal snorted, and Raine sought to explain. “Although necromancy is rare and difficult magic, for some reason, human mages tend to be more gifted at it than other races.”

“And they have a history of using it stupidly,” Feyden said. “Who can forget the uprising of Solveig?”

Raine laughed. “Yes, that was a disaster. The dead, unlike the undead, are fragile and grow more so as time passes. A would-be wizard had the idea to raise an army of corpses, but it was a shambling mass of body parts and decomposing flesh. They couldn’t fight at all, leaving a trail of appendages that broke off with the slightest exertion. But the stench was dreadful, and people were horrified at seeing the remains of their loved ones shuffle toward them, then collapse into pools of filth.”