Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) by Lisa Blackwood Page A

a cold sweat ran down her back.
    A soft flick of her wrist and a
thick ropy white power bled from the stone archway behind her. Several strands
braided themselves together as they stretched across the distance to her raised
hand. Then the first braid slid across her palm and spiraled around her wrist
before shimming up her arm. It rested on her shoulder not unlike a pet bird.
Then it ruffled her hair as it continued its journey to her other arm. Other
braids of power were reaching out from the archway now, some waved in the air
seemingly aimlessly while others had found their way to Shadowdancer’s hooves.
    He stood rooted to the ground,
his muscles locked tight, his nostrils flared in alarm, and his eyes showed
white around the edges. But he didn’t move or do anything to distract her.
    Emotions flowed from her Larnkin,
not precisely words, nor were they truly images, but the meaning was clear. Her
Larnkin was well pleased with Sorsha’s choice of Stallion Mage. Her Larnkin
nearly purred with happiness. A small trickle of fear caressed Sorsha’s body.
Shadowdancer remained still under her, only the Santhyrian’s ears showed his
trepidation as the power from the arch coiled around his body, too. Linked by
the magic, Sorsha could feel Shadowdancer in her mind. He trusted her. She just
hoped his trust was warranted.
    A motion near at hand caused her Larnkin’s
interest to switch from Shadowdancer to the Acolyte. Apparently done studying
Sorsha, the man eased closer. His one hand was raised in a mirror-like fashion to
Sorsha’s own. But something dark glittered at his wrist. It was misty, hazy,
its shape indeterminate.
    Her Larnkin urged Shadowdancer to
turn and take a stride in the Acolyte’s direction. Closer now, Sorsha could see
what her Larnkin was focused on.
    A bracelet, one with a large dark
stone, decorated the priest’s arm. While her eyes told her it was one thing,
her Larnkin told her something different. The stone ate the light, and more than
light. It ate life energy, magic—all forms of power.
    This, then, was how they were
able to weaken their prey.
    Sorsha tilted her head to the
side when she felt the Acolyte siphon power from her. Her Larnkin raised her
other hand, brought the two together above Shadowdancer’s head and gestured with
the slightest flick of her wrist.
    More thick strains of power
snaked out from the Archway toward the Acolyte, the tendril that had been
wrapped around her arm moments before now led the attack.
    Smoke rose from his body where
the first tendril touched. It charred his flesh, revealed bone. The smell of
burned flesh filled Sorsha’s nose, and her eyes watered as more smoke billowed
up. The combined sensory input of both smell and grisly vision was enough to
turn her stomach. But the absolute silence was the worst.
    He burned. And yet he stood with
his arm raised, the bracelet still absorbing magic even as the slave body died,
mute and emotionless. More tendrils attacked, tearing into his body, until
moments later he vanished in a cloud of ash.
    In a small part of her
shock-numbed mind, Sorsha prayed the man the Acolyte had once been had died at
the first moment of enslavement. Sorsha couldn’t even contemplate having to
endure enslavement for gods-knew-how-long, only to die like that. Burned to
ash, unable even to scream.
    Her Larnkin looked out through
Sorsha’s eyes and took in the scene, studying the wall of fire that was still
advancing on them and beyond it to where Tomb Guards still fought with
Acolytes. Standing motionless amid the gently waving tendrils of magic, Sorsha
felt her Larnkin debate for a heartbeat before she turned her attention to
Shadowdancer.
    With a soft push, her Larnkin
ordered Shadowdancer to move.
    He did. Just not toward the
direction Sorsha wanted him to go.
    “Shadowdancer, wait. Stop.
There’s still time to help our friends...”
    But Sorsha’s pleas came too late,
or Shadowdancer no longer heeded her, for he plunged through the