Betrayal's Price (In Deception's Shadow Book 1) (4 page)

“Far be it of
us to control you, Ashayna, but know this. Magic will never be denied—and your
father will join you before this night is over.”

After the
guards awoke, Ashayna fled the tent to seek out Captain Nurrowford.

A stiff
mountain breeze ruffled Sorntar’s feathers as it blew through a courtyard in Grey
Spires. Even a playful wind couldn’t distract him this day. He whirled,
ignoring the slap of both scabbards against his thighs. He paced about the
courtyard, cursing his sisters’ stupidity for getting captured. Fear had been
replaced by chaotic waves of anger when his mother first told him his sisters
were safe. They had gone with Queen Marsolwyn, seeking the humans for some
purpose. His cooling anger left a yawning pit of uncertainty in its wake.
Vinarah had seen something so intense it sent her running off to Marsolwyn. But
what?

Sorntar
concentrated on reining in his apprehension, only to realize he was still on
edge from earlier in the day when his wings had twitched with the sensation of
being watched. He’d even thought he’d detected a faint essence of someone else’s
power.

His Larnkin
hadn’t roused, so he’d put it out of his mind. Now the nagging sensation was
back, worming its way into his mind, setting his teeth on edge.

He wanted to
blame his unease on his newly waking power. But whatever it was, it wasn’t the
same restlessness that had been hampering his concentration for days now as his
Larnkin gathered power. Soon it would wake fully. When it did, it would turn
his well-organized life into a muddle of raw emotions and chaotic magic surges.

When he reached
a waist-high stone wall, he peered down. In the stone-tiled courtyard below, the
wind tugged at the manes and tails of a small herd of santhyrians who waited
with their riders for word from his mother. To their left, a mixed species
group of nervous-eyed apprentices prepared to summon a Gate. Off to one side,
his father conversed with Elder Cymael.

Tension built,
vibrating along his feathers while something tightened in his stomach. He
hesitated to name it dread, although it was close kin. In his arrogance, he had
craved responsibility, had nearly pleaded for it. But now, doubts assaulted
him.

He shook out
his wings to dispel the nervousness before he descended the stairs in two
bounds, his wings and tail spread to ease his landing. His talons barely
touched the bottom step before he stalked to where Summer Flame awaited him.

With a sigh, he
scratched the stallion’s neck, working loose a few hairs from his winter coat
while they waited for the others to be ready. The routine gesture was more for
his own reassurance than performing any function the santhyrian required. Summer
Flame gently nibbled his shoulder in a less-than-subtle reminder.

“Yes, I know,
time for us to be off.” Sorntar edged around his santhyrian friend in time to
see apprentices summoning a Gate. Born of twin columns of fire, the newly
emerging Gate stretched across the courtyard. Its two ends curved and joined at
their uppermost peaks until it blanketed the entire east wall in liquid power,
forming a flaming archway big enough for six santhyrians to walk abreast.

Sorntar was
about to congratulate the apprentices when the Gate flared. A cold, silver
energy arced across its surface. He’d never seen such a sight. A chill radiated
off it in waves, penetrating his shields and sinking below his skin.

Thunder ripped
through the courtyard. A stronger flow of power poured forth from the Gate,
hammering everyone within reach. A young lupwyn apprentice standing too close
yelped and collapsed in the boneless manner of the unconscious.

Sorntar rushed
to her side and arched his wings, trying to absorb more of the magic to prevent
permanent damaged to the youngling. In less than ten heartbeats, the Gate
morphed into a seething monster of brilliance and rage. Pale tendrils flailed
out from its center. One brushed the feathers of his crest, narrowly missing
hitting him in the head. He scooped up the fallen lupwyn and leapt into motion.
He’d barely made it three paces when a burning cold tendril coiled around his
ankle. A strong tug, a sickening blur of motion and he was moving. A breath
later he slammed into the ground with bone jarring force.

Dazed, he
blinked and looked up to see his bodyguards surrounding him. One guard took the
lupwyn from him, while another fought to pull him free of the tendril’s grip.
The Gate pulsed again, then lashed out. It slapped guards and delegation
members aside like hapless dolls. As fast as it had come, the maelstrom of
power ground to a halt. Silence, broken only by soft panting, echoed across the
courtyard.

Sorntar blinked
up at a purpling night sky. Lifting his head, he winced. Pain flashed through
his brain. Almost in the same moment, the Gate tightened its grip on his ankle
and heaved. A renewed surge of panic flooded Sorntar’s body. Then he felt
it—the slow spread of heat through his blood as his Larnkin came to full
awareness. It didn’t fight the Gate, instead surveying the scene, calming and
stabilizing the rogue Gate’s chaotic magic. With a sickening clarity, the Larnkin
gathered itself, power flowing through him like a tidal wave…every ounce of it
focused on the Gate.

* * * *

Ashayna rubbed
at her eyes, but the night-shrouded landscape didn’t come into any better focus
as she led her gelding towards the prisoners. Fear tangled her thoughts. Did
her father still live? How would she cope without him? She needed a plan but
her chaotic thoughts kept distracting her. Silently, she cursed the sentience
in her blood. A Larnkin they called it. The power stirring with newfound intent
in her blood could only be one of those creatures.

Once she had
reported back to Captain Nurrowford with the news that a delegation was on its
way, he had ordered her to ride with their prisoners. Her return route took her
along the river. Wind rustled in last year’s bulrushes and caressed trees,
shivering their leaves. The tranquil beauty of this place would be something
she’d miss, if she lived to miss anything.

She scanned the
area between the river and camp, noting everything seemed ready. Horses were
saddled, riders gathered the few remaining things they would carry with them.
Both foot soldiers and horse archers were already breaking camp. Ashayna would
follow with the prisoners, leaving the heavy cavalry to protect the flanks and
rear.

Her thoughts
were interrupted with the sudden explosion of terror from her gelding. His eyes
rolled in his head, muzzle tightening, teeth bared. Screaming a warning into
the night, her horse reared, hooves pawing at the air. Again and again the
gelding reared, his hooves tearing into the ground as he danced beside her.
Ears flattened, he tossed his head, ripping the reins from Ashayna’s grasp.
With a final snort, he turned, thundering along the trail toward the safety of
the paddock and the other horses who picked up on his distress and shifted and
nickered in restless discontent.

The hilt of her
sword bit into her hand, Ashayna studied a distant line of trees, expecting to
see glints of silver against shadowy trunks as armored lupwyns flooded out of
the darkness. The sound of the men’s voices raised in alarm was the only
indication of danger, of something moving beyond them. Yet her eyes could see
nothing. No army of beasts, no weapons, nothing but the darkness of the night.

Prickles of
power washed over her like rain. Now she knew what had spooked her gelding.
Foreign power sunk below Ashayna’s skin, past blood vessels and muscle, seeping
into her bones. Her own magic flared, eagerly examining this new power.

Barely a hand’s
span above the ground—in a swath wider than several horses riding abreast—the
air rippled, making her queasy. Then, as though a torch had been applied to
pitch, the air exploded into twin columns of fire, each burning with a white,
unnatural light. The force of their creation blew Ashayna’s hair back; wind
whistled through the tents, kicking up a smattering of dust. Two columns of
light bathed the entire camp in a strange illumination, brighter than the full
moons.

Officers
bellowed orders to soldiers, and the dull, metallic sound of weapons being
drawn echoed throughout the camp. Distantly she heard Captain Nurrowford shout
her name, ordering her to fall back, but Ashayna couldn’t take her eyes off the
wall of magic. Ashayna stood enthralled by the spectacle as her Larnkin merged
power with the columns. She gasped at the rush of magic flooding outward. A
small, quiet part of her mind was grateful her magic remained invisible. The
columns’ strange white fire intensified, leaping across empty space, taking the
shape of an arch. Towering over them, it continued to grow, to gather power—until,
with a great resounding clap of thunder, it shuddered, the flames dancing
through the night. Her Larnkin trembled, but continued to feed power to the
arch, wanting, needing something Ashayna did not understand. Falling back a
pace, she shook her head to clear it of the echoing noise and eyed the arch
with greater concern. It looked stronger but less stable, and it continued to
hemorrhage power.

Men shouted,
horses screamed. The air was heavy and thick with the stench of fear, of blind
panic, and of magic. Queen Marsolwyn’s urgent calls rose above the storm. “Run.
The Gate’s gone rogue. Run, now!”

A deep, rending
sound issued from the archway, like the creaking of a falling tree that twisted
and groaned as it broke and began to fall. Ashayna shook free of her Larnkin’s
peculiar desires. Instinct gored her. She turned and ran. A clap of thunder
rumbled across the camp, shaking the ground and heaving her off her feet.

Flashes of
magic, like forked lightning, bombarded the camp. One hit a poplar at the edge
of the paddocks. The tree exploded in a burst of leaves and wood fragments.
Horses screamed and bucked. A few horse archers pursued their mounts, while
others simply tried to keep themselves and their mounts out of harm’s way.
Closer at hand, a group of heavily armored men-at-arms were making their way to
her position.

Another bolt
slammed through the abandoned line of tents, shredding or snapping everything
in its path. The canvas of the nearest tent smoked around the edge of a
substantial hole. By the haze curling out of the interior, it looked like magic
could spawn true fire. Soldiers huddled on the ground, keeping their focus upon
the arch, trying to estimate where the next strike would fall before they began
moving forward again. A new, higher-pitched hum emanated from the arch.

Kandarra
dropped next to Ashayna, her wings flowing over the ground. “You should see
your face.” The phoenix chuckled, her shoulders shaking with the force of her
mirth. “Don’t worry, we’ve managed to protect everyone from the mage blasts
that thing’s throwing, and by the sound of it, the Elders on the other side
seem to be getting it under control.”

Forks of
lightning no longer arched across the camp. Maybe Kandarra was right. “What is
it? What happened?”

“That was a
Gate. And your Larnkin destabilized it by accident. Unless you tried to
assassinate my brother and other members of the delegation?”

“No…no, I
wouldn’t. I swear.” Would they believe her? She hadn’t known there were others
on the other side of the gate. What if those Elementals thought it was an
attack….

“Relax,
Kandarra is teasing.” Marsolwyn hunkered down next to them. “Your Larnkin is a
youngling, just learning her strength. No doubt, she was curious about the Gate,
and when she tried to explore it, lost control. Now hurry, toss your sword
close to the Gate. Later we’ll claim its iron-tainted metal interfered with the
Gate’s magic.”

Ashayna did as
instructed, if somewhat awkwardly. Her blade glittered in the light of the
archway.

Queen Marsolwyn
nodded. “Now move towards the shelter of the tents. I’ll go delay the soldiers.
Kandarra, stay with Ashayna and inform me if her Larnkin misbehaves again.”

Ashayna boiled
with questions, but Marsolwyn had already vanished. With little else to do, she
allowed herself to be led to the nearest tent, the last in a line running along
the curve of the river. The tent had withstood the wild magic with little
damage, only the flag pole was missing.

Near at hand,
soldiers were organizing into ranks. Yet none noticed her standing in the
shadows. She’d bet her favorite dagger Kandarra used magic to hide them.
Exhausted, Ashayna rested her back against one of the tent’s support poles.

The Gate
shuddered once more, and as the fire within the arch vanished, a blur of indigo
was expelled onto the ground a few paces away. With a sharp snap, the Gate
disappeared. The lump on the ground shivered. Massive wings unfolded. Another
phoenix had just joined their midst—somewhat against his wishes, Ashayna would
bet. When he finally gained his feet, he shook his head with a hiss.

Even over the
distance, Ashayna heard his enraged tone. He remained where he was, his talons
flexing in the soft earth, and one hand resting on a hilt of a sword encased in
an ornate scabbard.

No longer
blinded by the Gate’s bright light, she could make out his features. Ashayna
caught her breath, her heart dropping. She’d seen him before. Gems shone in his
longest crest feathers. Gold glittered at his neck and circled his bare biceps
and wrists. His high, finely honed cheekbones and a narrow blade of a nose
reminded Ashayna of a bird of prey. Piercing blue-black raptor’s eyes, several
shades darker than his feathers, surveyed the humans nearest him.