The Shadow Games: The Chronicles of Arianthem VI Read online

  “Of course,” the man said, reaching for the glasses. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You tell Lagmann he has a friend in Trygg.”

  “No one speaks to Lagmann,” Syn said, “but I will forward your message to Fafnir in Grenjad.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll bring your drinks right out.”

  Syn rejoined the group, hugging the two Ha’kan and taking a seat next to Jorden.

  “The bartender says you have a friend in Trygg,” she said casually to her lover.

  “Did he, now?” Jorden said, smoothing her skirt. Very few knew that the cool and beautiful Lady Jorden was also Lagmann, the allegedly male head of the Guild of Thieves. “We’ll have to take advantage of that.”

  The drinks came and true to his word, the barkeep left them alone and disappeared.

  “Have you heard anything of Skye?” Dallan asked Jorden, hoping the extensive network of spies at Jorden’s disposal had turned up something.

  “No, unfortunately not. We followed up on several leads, all which proved to be false. And you?”

  “A small clue, nothing more. Idonea, Isleif, and Y’arren all felt a tremor from her, something from the west. It eliminates Ha’kan and Tavinter territory, but—“

  “That doesn’t narrow it down, much,” Jorden finished for her.

  Syn was disappointed, and she glanced to the locket the lay nestled between Jorden’s breasts. It was her locket, the only thing she had left of her mother, and Skye had identified it as Tavinter, suggesting that perhaps Syn had been a Tavinter when her parents had been killed when she was so young. Syn had never had friends or a people, but the Tavinter had welcomed her with open arms, an unexpected welcome that Syn only later understood. She had not known the youngster she befriended was actually the cherished leader of the nomadic people.

  Rika glanced up. She thought she had seen a figure in the doorway, or perhaps it was just the change of light as someone walked by outside. She put her hand on her sword, and Dallan did the same. Jorden touched the jeweled dagger she kept hidden at her waist, and Syn prepared to just get out of the way. Her skills were of the decidedly non-lethal kind, those involving deception, thievery, and stealth, but it was those skills that were needed in this situation.

  “’Tis only Torsten,” Syn said, identifying the near invisible figure hidden in the shadow the stairs. He was undetectable to all but a master thief. He stepped forward.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “It’s habit to enter every room like a ghost.”

  “No apologies needed, my friend,” Dallan said. “If it had been any but a Tavinter, I’m sure your brethren outside would have sounded the alarm.”

  Torsten grinned. “Yes, Flynt saw me, as did Aeric. They are well-positioned for your safety, your Highness.”

  “Thank you again for your accompaniment. I don’t think Senta would have let us out of the castle without them.”

  “The Ha’kan and Tavinter complement one another in ways I never would have imagined,” Torsten said, and that was certainly true. The Ranger Scouts acted as surveillance and support for the Ha’kan military, which was brutally efficient in battle.

  “Have a seat, my friend,” Syn said, patting him on the shoulder as she rose. Torsten had been particularly welcoming to her once he realized her friendship with Skye. “Let me get you a drink since I fired the bartender.”

  Syn returned with a mug of ale and Torsten took a swig with appreciation.

  “So how goes Raine’s battle with the undead?” Rika asked enviously.

  “She is astonishing,” Torsten said. “Every time I see her fight, it is a wonder to behold.”

  “I am jealous you get to fight with her,” Rika admitted.

  “She wanted to take the both of you to Hestr,” Torsten said, “but she could not risk you to the vampyr’s bite. The Tavinter have a degree of immunity to the disease….”

  “And the Ha’kan have none,” Rika said.

  “Yes. And the battles are fierce and ugly, and even Feyden was bitten this last time.”

  “Is he all right?” Dallan exclaimed.

  “Yes. Elyara’s potions and enchantments held, but again, the Alfar are far more resistant to magic than the Ha’kan. And then the dragon showed up, in human form, wielding a massive sword that was six feet or more, one so heavy that Lorifal couldn’t even lift it. It was an amazing sight.”

  “Now I am even more jealous,” Rika said.

  “And where is Raine now?” Jorden asked.

  “She has headed off on another quest, this one even more dangerous than those before. She is the only person I know who lessens the number of comrades she takes with her the more treacherous the fight.”

  “That sounds like her,” Dallan said. “Have your scouts heard any news of Skye?”

  “No,” Torsten said sadly, “We are searching as much of the forest as possible, but imperial lands are vast. “We haven’t found anything unusual, except—“

  “What?” Rika prompted, sensing his reluctance.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Torsten said, “but one of our scouts disappeared in an uninhabited part of the Deep Woods.”

  “Did you find him?” Dallan asked, knowing the Tavinter would not rest until they did.

  “Parts of him,” Torsten said grimly, “he was attacked by Hyr’rok’kin and killed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dallan said, knowing how the loss of even one of their own affected the Tavinter. “But why is that unusual? The Hyr’rok’kin roam the forests, and he would have little chance against a pack of them.”

  “Yes,” Torsten agreed, “but there were things about the scene that didn’t make sense.”

  “Such as?”

  “He was running recklessly and full-speed, as if in a panic, when he came upon the Hyr’rok’kin.”

  “So you think he was running from something else?” Dallan asked.

  “Perhaps,” Torsten said, “it’s hard to say. But his trail disappeared within a stone’s throw, as if wiped clean.”

  It didn’t seem like much, Dallan thought. He could have been running from anything “I still don’t see why this is unusual.”

  “When I say his trail was ‘wiped clean,’ I mean it just stopped. The trackers moved outward in a circle and could find nothing. Everything leaves a trace.”

  “So you think his trail was removed on purpose,” Rika said.

  “Exactly,” Torsten replied. “If the scout had simply disappeared, the Tavinter would never stop looking for him. Giving us his body and the means of his death might satisfy us, but we would still have followed his path. But the path was removed.”

  “Darling, do you have those maps?” Jorden asked Syn.

  Syn bent down to the knapsack she had tucked under the table. She pulled out several parchments and unrolled them on the table.

  “These are well-made,” Dallan commented.

  “The local regent is a collector and has—,” Syn corrected herself, “had a nice selection.”

  Jorden examined the offerings and moved two off to the side. The largest of the three she pushed in front of Torsten.

  “Can you show where the dead scout was found?”

  Torsten examined the map, found several landmarks, then pointed to the center of a dark green clump representing the Deep Woods. “He was here, southwest of this rock formation and to the east of this stream.”

  Jorden examined the map. “The nearest town is here,” she said, tapping on the icon representing a village. “It is some ten leagues away from where the scout was killed.”

  “If they are somewhere in this wilderness, they are probably self-sufficient,” Rika said, “crops, livestock, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes,” Jorden agreed, “but supplies have to be replenished sometimes. And Kalfax would be the nearest place to do so.”

 
; Dallan was undecided. This seemed a reach based on a very few clues. She did not want to waste time chasing a false trail.

  “We don’t really have anything else to go on,” Rika reminded her.

  “That’s true,” Dallan admitted. “Torsten, would you send word to Idonea that we are going to Kalfax?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Syn said. “I’ll blend in to a village far better than any of you.”

  “This isn’t one of your towns where you’ve left behind some woman, is it?” Jorden asked.

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

  Chapter 19

  The 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 v
ery 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.