The Shadow Games: The Chronicles of Arianthem VI Read online

  Raine thought they were finished, but the vampyr whirled about once more. “The only way you are going to get what you want is to kill Pernilla. And the only way you’re going to get to her is to give up that prize.”

  “I will consider your words,” Raine said, stiffly polite. She excused herself from the room, hearing the sound of breaking glass as the door closed. She made her way back down the dark passageways, lost in thought. Although the exchange had gone much as expected, something she had said or done had provoked Malrona’s fury far out of proportion to the conversation. It puzzled her, for she could think of nothing that would so incite the vampyr.

  Chapter 22

  Volva rode the young dragon hard, her luscious breasts bouncing with her exertion. He was doing a very good job of maintaining his erection without climaxing prematurely, something she had found irritatingly common amongst the lesser dragons. Drakar had been right, it was far easier to seduce her kind into loyalty than to try and reason with them. It might be the one thing to turn the tide of Talan’s recruitment, for her kind were driven by lust and controlled by their passions. Drakar did not offer up much good advice, but his hatred for his mother had been so useful. She would use him, let him rape his sister, enjoy the show, then kill them both.

  This thought gave her such pleasure, the inner spasms that preceded orgasm peaked and she bore down upon the poor creature beneath her with such vigor that the appendage of a normal creature would have been pinched right off. But for the young dragon it was a relief, for he could finally let go of his control and exploded into the woman on top of him.

  “My Queen!” he gasped.

  The title gave her as much pleasure as the hardness between her legs, and she continued to ride the young man until she was completely sated and so was he, although the latter was merely a byproduct of her satisfaction. She collapsed on top of him, burying her face in his reddish-brown hair. He smelled good, masculine, sweaty, young. His stamina and control were impressive. She raised herself up slightly, her breasts pressed to his muscled chest, so she could look into his hazel eyes.

  “When this is over, you will become a respected member of my court,” Volva promised.

  “I live for that day,” he said fiercely. “And will do whatever you wish.”

  “I wish you to bring others to my fold. It’s time that our kind came out from the shadows and ruled this world as is our due.”

  “It will be done,” he promised, and Volva smiled as her lips traveled down his torso and toward the organ that was somehow springing to life and tumescence once more.

  “Good boy.”

  Many hours and many hundreds of miles later, a mid-size dragon glided into Kylan’s keep. He transformed, ran his hand through his reddish-brown hair, then hurried into the castle. He found the one he was searching for, the elegant matriarch who stood with her back to the room, staring out the window at all of Arianthem.

  “Yes?” Talan said.

  The lesser dragon went to one knee. “It is as you said, your Majesty. Volva seeks to turn our kind to her cause through seduction.”

  “And is she successful?”

  “Not with me,” the young dragon said vehemently. “But others fall to her.”

  Talan examined the young man at length. Kylan had chosen him personally, both for his skill in bed and his loyalty to her. The man was patient beneath the gaze.

  “Did you enjoy fucking her?”

  “Of course,” he said without hesitation, a concession that met with Talan’s approval. “But it’s not something I would choose to do again,” he added, of which Talan approved even more.

  “Why do you think they are gathering our kind?”

  “I would guess that they are staging for an attack. An attack against you.”

  “I believe you’re right,” Talan said. “I thought they would wait for the Hyr’rok’kin invasion to begin, but Volva’s hatred of me is driving her forward.”

  “Jörmung hates you even more,” the lesser dragon warned.

  “Yes, I am aware of that. And when this is done I will have another sword, this one made from his bones.”

  The Ancient dragon’s casual malice and utter confidence steeled the young dragon, for this situation was bad and unraveling. He did not wish to speak his next words, but he had no choice.

  “There is something else, my liege.”

  “What?”

  “I cannot be sure, but I thought I saw Drakar in Volva’s company.”

  The Ancient Dragon became very still and the young man feared he had wounded her greatly. She did not move, but her very immobility told him she had heard his words.

  “Hmm,” was all that she said, staring out at the vast country, and the lesser dragon knew he had been dismissed.

  Chapter 23

  Kalfax was a small but bustling town. It had a fair amount of commerce from travelers, situated on the trade routes that ran along the Deep Woods, and Dallan and Rika were able to blend in without attracting any attention. They found an inn with a few spare rooms and a place to secure the numerous weapons they had carried concealed on their persons, and once their load was lightened by a hundred pounds apiece, they left the tavern lightly armed to wander about the village.

  “There isn’t much here,” Dallan said, fearful that they were just wasting time in the backwater town. “I almost hope that Idonea didn’t get our message so she doesn’t waste the trip.”

  “Don’t give up so soon, my friend,” Rika said. “Syn will be here soon and she will look at this place with different eyes. And look there, a small temple of Sjöfn. This place can’t be that bad.”

  The Ha’kan worshipped the goddess of love above all deities, so Dallan took the presence of the small sanctuary as a good omen. “You’re right. Let’s look around.”

  Kalfax had a sizeable market given the remoteness of the town, and merchants hawked everything from fine jewels to fresh vegetables. Sheep bleated in a nearby pen, and the steady clang of a hammer on anvil rang out from the smith’s shed. A slender, roguish figure slipped in behind the two Ha’kan, a maneuver so skilled that any but the battle-hardened warriors might have missed it.

  “Hallo, Ha’kan,” Syn said, taking a bite from a fresh peach.

  “Did you steal that?” Rika asked, eying the fruit.

  “No,” Syn said, peach juice running down her chin. “Well yes, but no.” At Dallan’s frown, she explained. “I filched it out of habit, then felt bad, so I went back and reverse pick-pocketed the vendor, put coin in his purse instead of taking it out.”

  Dallan just shook her head. Most thieves would have been caught in one or the other reckless acts, but Syn could probably fleece the entire market without anyone being the wiser.

  “I have to stay in practice,” Syn said, taking another bite from the peach.

  “Where’s Jorden?”

  “She’s over there,” Syn said, gesturing with the peach. “We make something of an odd couple, which attracts too much attention.”

  “She attracts a sizeable amount of attention by herself,” Rika commented, admiring the lovely noblewoman. She wore a deep green gown, the color highlighting her blue-green eyes and the low cut neckline framing her perfect cleavage. Vendors fell all over themselves trying to serve her.

  “That’s part of the game,” Syn said, tossing the peach pit to the ground and wiping her hands on her pants. “While everyone drools over her, I’m able to do pretty much whatever I want.”

  “One of the few games you two play that don’t involve you being tied up,” Dallan commented, causing Rika to grin.

  “Hmm,” Syn said with a slight frown, still not entirely comfortable with her streak of submissiveness that Jorden had carefully cultivated then brought to life, “that will most likely come later.”

  “How long have you been here?” Dallan asked.

  “Only a
few hours, long enough to find at least one thing of interest.”

  Dallan tried to control her excitement. “What?”

  “There’s a caravan over behind the smith,” Syn said, taking another peach from her pocket, “one that’s loading up all sorts of staples: sugar, spices, corn flour but not wheat, white wine but not red, some liqueurs and elven textiles, some roots and herbs, none of local origin.”

  “Did you take a complete inventory?” Dallan asked, noting the oddly specific list.

  “No, unfortunately not. The head of the caravan was a twitchy little guy. Wouldn’t strike up a conversation to save his life.”

  Syn could see the two Ha’kan were not following her, especially her account of the inventory, so she explained. “The people on the caravan, unlike every other chatty person in this town, won’t talk at all. That made me curious, so I checked out their supplies. Wheat grows here, corn does not. The spices and herbs do not grow here. Everything they have in their wagons can’t be made or grown here.”

  “Ah,” Rika said with dawning comprehension. “So if there is an outpost in the Deep Woods, these are the things that would have to be shipped in. Syn, that’s brilliant!”

  “Half of being a good thief is knowing your mark,” Syn said, shrugging, “but that’s no guarantee it’s the outpost we’re looking for. It could be some crazy noble holed up in the middle of nowhere.”

  “But the Tavinter scout disappeared not far from here,” Dallan said, “and Idonea felt a stirring, one at least in this general direction….”

  Dallan did not want to hope, but it was the most promising lead they had yet.

  “We must follow the caravan.”

  “That might be a problem,” Syn said. “When I say these men are twitchy, they are genuinely spooked. They would say nothing, which means they’re afraid. If we’re caught following them, I’m sure they’ll break off and that trail will disappear forever.”

  “When do you expect Torsten?”

  “A few days,” Syn said.

  “What about Aeric, Flynt, any of the other Tavinter?”

  Syn shook her head. “They travel with Torsten. You convinced them a little too well that the two of you were fine on your own.”

  “Damn,” Dallan muttered. She would have given anything to have one of the Tavinter near. “Do you think the caravan is leaving soon?”

  “Hard to say,” Syn said, “they look ready. They could leave at any time.” Out of habit, Syn’s green eyes were scanning the crowded square, flitting from person-to-person until they settled on someone they knew, startled.

  “Oh no,” Syn said, “that’s this town.”

  Dallan followed her gaze. “Uh oh,” she said, and took several steps away from Syn to examine some books on display with great interest. Rika was equally engaged in moving the other direction and pretending she didn’t know Syn. She began testing some melons for ripeness, having not a clue what she was doing, but thumping them all zealously just the same.

  The woman made eye contact with Syn at about the same time Syn saw her, and the woman frowned. She had a gentle comeliness about her, and for a moment Syn thought the priestess would just let the moment pass. But she did not, rather the lovely lady squared her shoulders and started across the market toward her.

  “Why, hello,” Syn stammered, desperately trying to remember her name, “Nona.”

  “My name is Noma,” the priestess said in the charming accent of the locale, “and I’m surprised you would show your face here again.”

  “I can explain,” Syn said, then realized she absolutely couldn’t.

  “Don’t bother,” Noma said. “Just please leave before you cause any trouble. And don’t steal anything. The temple doesn’t need any more of your donations.”

  “I—, I—,” Syn said, but she had nothing, and the priestess turned on her heel, her vestments swirling about her, and headed for Sjöfn’s sanctuary.

  “Ah, crap,” Syn said, gloomy. She turned away from the wretched encounter, then jumped when confronted by a pair of seething blue-green eyes.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Jorden said, her eyes flicking to the retreating back of the priestess. “And a supplicant of Sjöfn, how appropriate. I’m going to beat you.”

  “How would that be different from any other night of my life?” Syn muttered.

  “Maybe I’ll let your friends watch,” Jorden said as Dallan and Rika rejoined them.

  “I would like that,” Rika volunteered.

  “But,” Jorden said, her eyes returning to the priestess as she disappeared into the temple. “She may be the only one to provide us the information we need, so you’re going to have to go make up with her.”

  “What?” Syn exclaimed.

  But this was not Jorden speaking, but rather the coldly professional Lagmann, head of the Guild of Thieves. “You’re going to pump that priestess for information, figure out a way to get on that caravan. The clergy always know everything about a town.”

  Dallan was impressed with the aloof proficiency of the Guild leader, but then the Lady Jorden returned.

  “And then I’m going to beat you.”

  Syn came up quietly behind Noma as she kneeled before the altar of Sjöfn.

  “I thought I told you to go away.”

  “Look,” Syn said, terrible at this sort of thing. “I’m sorry. I know that I did you wrong.”

  Noma stood, and Syn was reminded of her wonderful smell, flashing back to the time she had spent in a nearby alcove kneeling before the priestess and absorbing every bit of that scent.

  “I knew that things would not last between us,” Noma said, her humble dignity a stab in Syn’s chest, “but for you to just disappear, that was heartless.”

  “I know,” Syn said. “But I didn’t come back here to steal things. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m here to help a friend.”

  Noma examined the scoundrel before her, surprised at her findings. “You’re telling the truth.”

  “I am,” Syn insisted, “I don’t know that I’m any better person than I was when I was here before, but I at least have found better people to befriend. And I have lost someone who is dear to me, someone who is dear to an entire nation. And she is a much better person than I will ever be.”

  Noma sat down on a marble bench, her hands in her lap. This was so different for Syn, because she never returned to the scene of her crimes. Syn’s heart fairly ached for the gentle, unassuming beauty.

  “What can I do to help?” Noma said.

  Syn released the breath she did not know she held. “The caravan. The one about to leave. Where is it going?”

  “No one knows,” Noma said. “Save those on the caravan itself. One of my distant kinsmen rides with that group, and he will say nothing about it.”

  “What is it?” Syn asked at Noma’s troubled expression.

  “He acts fearful all the time, and I can tell he dreads when the time comes for the caravan to leave.”

  “How often does it go?”

  “Once a month.”

  “And how long is he gone?”

  “A week, sometimes longer.”

  A week, Syn thought to herself. That didn’t narrow things down much. It could be three days out, one day there, three days back. Or it could be one day both directions, and the rest of the time spent on site. She could see that Noma was mulling something over.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you truly doing this to help a friend?” Noma asked, “Not some stunt to rob them blind?”

  “They carry staples,” Syn said, knowing that Noma would be more persuaded by her practicality than her questionable decency, “not valuables. I would not risk my life to steal some sugar.”

  “I’ve seen you risk your life for less.”

  “And I assure you,” Syn said desperately, “I’m as reck
less as before. But this is far too important.”

  Syn always had possessed a strange honesty for a thief, Noma recalled, and that fact helped her make up her mind.

  “My kin was just telling me he wished he could find one more person to help with this load. It’s larger than average. No one ever helps them unload on the other end, so he must take what help he can. But he will not approach anyone in the village.”

  “But he might take in a stranger, one you could vouch for.”

  “Yes,” Noma said, “he might.”

  Syn returned to the inn where Dallan, Rika, and Jorden were waiting. She relayed Noma’s words and the tentative plan to them. Time seemed to crawl by as they waited for word, but in truth, it was not long before a young boy brought a note for Syn. The graceful scrawl said that the caravan departed first thing in the morning, and that whoever was to go should meet behind the smithy at that time and ask for Packer.

  “I will go,” Dallan said.

  “You’re not going without me,” Rika said, “and if it’s only one of us, it should be me.”

  “It can’t be either one of you,” Syn said crossly. “Both of you will stick out, for divine’s sake. You’re gorgeous, you’re huge, and you look like royalty, and if the sorceress is there, she will recognize you instantly.”

  “I could go,” Jorden said, “the sorceress has seen you, but not me.”

  “No,” Syn said firmly. “You are also gorgeous.” She sighed. “I will go. I’m the only one who looks like a commoner. And no offense, but I’m a better thief than you and can hide myself more skillfully than anyone here.”

  Jorden smiled, for the conceit was a pretense, and she knew it. “My, this protective streak, this sudden nobility, it’s really quite exciting.”

  “Really?” Syn said, hopeful that perhaps Jorden would forget all about Noma.

  “I might even let you tie me up.”

  “Really?” Syn said in disbelief, even more hopeful.

  “No.”

  Dallan and Rika both laughed. “You’re very brave, Syn, and I trust your abilities. We don’t even know what you’ll find on the other end. But this is purely scouting, no action. If you find anything, you get back here as quickly as possible. By that time, Idonea and the Tavinter will be here.”