THE SHADOWLORD Read online

  "I, too, will go," Ky said. When the others turned to stare at her, she raised her chin. "If nothing more, I can hold the horses."

  "When you can't even ride?" Okyale murmured.

  Ky's eyes turned flint hard. "I will do what I have to do. Don't worry about me, Kreousa!"

  "Worrying about you never crossed my mind."

  Aradia exchanged a look with Phillipa. She knew the older woman understood the dangers involved in going into Rysalia. It would be necessary to hide behind the camouflage of disguise, something they had done often when traveling outside Amazeen lands. But there was always the chance a keen eye would see beneath the subterfuge.

  "Are you up to this, Ardy?" Phillipa asked.

  "Do I have a choice?"

  Phillip drew in a long breath. "You can always send someone else."

  "Aye," Euryleia agreed. "Let us draw straws."

  Aradia shook her head. "It is my place to do this. If one of us is to be caught, best it is the spoiled one."

  Phillipa cursed lewdly, drawing all eyes to her. She had been a nun before escaping the infamous convent at Galrath, and each time she mouthed such words, it unnerved her listeners. "You are not the only one of us who is no longer a maiden, Aradia."

  "Well, you certainly can not enter the fortress," Ky chuckled hatefully. "As ugly as you are, who could you seduce, Telamon?"

  Her face aflame from the insult, Phillipa put a hand up to the savage scars that gouged her face. Keenly aware of the disfigurement placed there by a Hasdu blade when she was a young girl, the reminder cut as deep as the steel once had. With tears pricking her eyes, she looked away.

  "You know, Ky," Okyale said, "there may come a day when you're going to open your mouth one time too many and someone is going to relieve you of that offensive instrument you call a tongue!"

  "The Rysalians do that as a matter of course with women they wish to bring to heel," Euryleia commented.

  Aradia grabbed Ky's long braid, twisted it around her wrist, and viciously pulled back her head. "Apologize! Right now!"

  "I meant nothing by it," Ky whined, not daring to reach up to extract her hair for fear Aradia would pull harder. As insensitive as the young woman was about the feelings of others, she was very sensitive when it came to her own welfare.

  "I said apologize!"

  "I am sorry, Phillipa," Ky whimpered. "Truly I am."

  Aradia let go of Ky's hair. She reached out to Phillipa, but the older woman stepped back, not wanting her friend's pity. Understanding Phillipa's pride, Aradia let the matter drop. She turned to the others. "I think it best we leave now before the sun is up."

  "Or before our mothers come looking for us," Okyale said with a sigh.

  "Shall I go back to the keep and get the disguises we used last time?" Euryleia asked. "They will hide us better than the ones we used in Serenia."

  "Aye, the robes of the pilgrims, wasn't it?" Aradia returned.

  "Egad, those shapeless sacks of wool?" Okyale asked with a shudder. "They made me itch for a month after I shed them."

  "I haven't washed those enough yet," Phillipa mumbled. "They still smell like the offal we smeared on the hems."

  Aradia grinned. "That may be to our advantage. No one will get too close."

  "Terrific," Okyale grumbled. "I can itch and stink. And a delightful time was had by all."

  "I don't have a disguise," Ky complained. When the others ignored her, she folded her arms over her chest and pouted.

  "What will we do for rations?" Okyale questioned.

  "We can buy what we need along the way," Aradia replied. "Euryleia, go to my chambers. Bring back as much as you can carry. The sooner we get going, the sooner we can set our sisters free."

  "If we can," Phillipa whispered.

  "We will," Ky said, and once again, no one looked her way.

  "Go home, Kydoime," Aradia said. "You will be of no use to us with your leg."

  "You will not let me go with you?"

  "What good would you be?" With her eyes narrowed, her face hard, Aradia looked her half-sister in the eye. "As ugly as your body is, who could you seduce, Valsca?"

  Ky gasped, never having had such words said to her by anyone, leastwise Aradia, who was always mannerly. Seeing the brittle gleam in Aradia's glacial blue eyes, knowing her as she did, Ky realized it would do no good to argue. She nodded, turned, and headed toward the keep.

  "Will she tell her mother what we're up to?" Euryleia inquired.

  "Not if she knows what's good for her," Okyale stated.

  "She won't tell." Phillipa raised her head and shook herself, ridding her of the pain that had momentarily clouded her world. "She will not want it known she was involved if we fail, nor will she want it bandied about that Ardy refused to allow her to go. If she is nothing else, the little bitch is prideful."

  "Remember what the Midworlder told us?" Aradia asked, reminding the others of the sailor from Odess who had washed up on shore after a storm.

  "'Pride goes before a fall,'" Phillipa replied with a smile.

  "Aye, and Ky's fall is overdue."

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  Aradia rode in silence. The night air had turned colder, and though the foul-smelling robe made her eyes water, it kept her warm. She ignored the scratchy stiff wool and concentrated on breathing through her mouth so she would inhale as few of the noxious fumes rising from her apparel as possible. Now and again, snatches of conversation from the other four women made her question the advisability of what they were doing.

  "It's not wise to second guess yourself, Ardy," Phillipa whispered.

  Stretching in the saddle, Aradia rolled her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck. "I am thinking the others were right in deciding not to come with us. Perhaps Ulivia was right and we should have let my mother ransom Orithia."

  Phillipa shrugged then brought a perfumed handkerchief up to her nose and spoke through it. "I am not saying they were right or wrong not to join us, but I don't have their conviction that your mother will be able to intervene and get our sisters back by diplomatic means."

  "No, that's not going to happen. I should know better than anyone."

  "If we wait until your mother can open diplomatic channels between Amazeen and Rysalia, we might be toothless and crooked over like summer squash."

  "She's going to be furious that I am doing this."

  "Do you care?"

  "Not really. It doesn't seem to matter what I do or don't do. I can't get anything right with her. Mother and I have been at loggerheads since I came back from Deseo."

  At the mention of the three years Aradia had spent in the Diabolusian capital, both women grew quiet. Aradia pulled an amber pendant from inside the bodice of her short gown. She stroked the faceted honey-gold surface of the charm that hung between alternately strung jet and amber beads, then enclosed the pendant in her palm, molding it lovingly with her fingers.

  Phillipa looked away. Watching Aradia caress the teardrop-shaped pendant irritated her, for it was a habit Aradia indulged in more than Phillipa thought healthy. "She blames herself for what you had to endure, Ardy," Phillipa, the same age as Aradia's mother, commented at last.

  "And I've never understood why. She did everything she could to have me released." Aradia's gaze softened. "He ignored her every attempt. It would have taken a full-scale war, and even then, I doubt we would have won. He had the might of both Necroman and Serenia behind him."

  "At least he was good to you."

  "He was very good to me." Aradia looked at the firefly embedded within the amber, then tucked the pendant into her bodice. "Had he not been forced to marry the Viragonian snow slug, I might still be with him."

  "Can you blame the woman for not wanting you around?" Phillipa asked. "If you had been in her place, would you have allowed him to keep his mistress, as treasured as you were by him?"

  "I would have gouged out her eyes, pulled out every hair on her head, and sliced away her love pearl. Then he
could have kept her."

  "Be thankful your Viragonian ice princess did nothing more than require her new husband to send you back to Amazeen. You could have wound up in the love dens of the common soldiers." Phillipa's voice quivered. "Or locked in the cold hell of Galrath."

  "He would not have allowed that to happen."

  "Who knows what a man will do once he loses interest, Ardy," Phillipa said, her words dredging up memories of a past best left buried.

  Aradia shook her head, flinging away her memories of Prince Viento Sabina and the many nights of quiet sighs and loving touches in the keep at Devil's Nest. He had not only made her his woman, he had taught her what it meant to be cherished by a man, a concept unknown to the Amazeens. "If the Goddess so wills it and we can't get to Orithia, perhaps she will come under the protection of a man as honorable and gentle as was the man who held me captive."

  "These are Hasdu of which you speak. There is no honor among them, lecherous fiends that they are."

  "You and I both know if Mother does not meet the demands the Rysalians put forth, Orithia will be sold to the highest bidder."

  "How high is high?"

  "Mother offered five-hundred-thousand gold sovereigns for me, but he responded by saying ten times that much would never be enough."

  Phillipa made no comment. Sometimes the pride in Aradia's voice when she spoke of the Diabolusian prince made her uneasy. Like those who rode beside them, Phillipa could not understand how Aradia could have fond memories of her imprisonment, nor why to this day--five years after her ordeal began--the young woman would not say the prince's name. Not for the first time did Phillipa wonder if Aradia had fallen in love with her captor.

  "I don't know Marpe? Are you acquainted with her?" Aradia asked.

  A frown drew the heavy scars on Phillipa's face downward. "I know her all too well. She is a wild girl, prone to violence. Her mother has had trouble with her since the day she took her first step. Frankly, I cannot imagine why Marpe and Orithia are good friends. They are as different as day and night."

  "Orithia is a beautiful girl, and gentle. I am praying she does not fight and wind up brutalized."

  Phillipa smiled. "At least we don't have to worry about her in that regard. She'll be too frightened to cause trouble."

  * * * *

  "Kneel."

  The imperious voice was like a whiplash laid across her back, but she did not flinch, and did not obey the strident command.

  "Kneel!"

  Orithia Valsca's blue eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched tightly, the muscle in her right cheek jumping with impotent fury.

  "Kneel!"

  That one word was a shriek of outrage at her stubborn refusal to bow to an authority she did not deign to recognize.

  Jaelan Ben-Ashaman stood with his arms folded and watched as their prisoner--standing so rigidly immobile before the Tribunal--was hit from behind, the heavy pike slamming viciously into the backs of her legs to send her crashing to her knees on the marble floor. He tensed, but he knew better than to interfere. It would make the Amazeen's punishment that much more severe.

  Orithia fell. The jolt made her teeth click together over the inside of her lower lip, and brought a grunt of annoyance as she tasted her own blood.

  "If you will not comply on your own, woman, you will be made to do so!" the Chief Tribunalist promised.

  Orithia's angry glower lifted to the man. Incapable of pushing herself up from the floor, for her wrists were chained behind her back and her ankles likewise heavily manacled with thick argentine links, she was compelled to do as ordered. But her expression left no doubt of her contempt.

  "You would be well advised to show respect for your betters, woman," another Tribunalist warned, "else you will regret it."

  Orithia's venomous stare shifted to the elderly speaker. For the first time since being dragged before the Tribunal, she spoke. "I'll not show one ounce of respect for this so-called Tribunal. You bastards have no dominion over me! I am an Amazeen princess!"

  His dark eyes wide, Chief Tribunalist Abasi Ksathra pushed back from the Tribunal bench and stood. He adjusted the sleeves of his long red robe, then passed behind the three Tribunalists on his left to descend the dais steps. With a tight smile on his thin lips, he walked to where Orithia was forced to kneel. "You dare to call us bastards?"

  "Aye," Orithia spat, the one word a vile insult in itself. "You are nothing more than that to me!" She started to say something else, but Ksathra's savage slap stunned Orithia, almost knocking her down.

  "Open your mouth once more to insult us, woman," he sneered, "and I will have your tongue removed. King Hasani might well thank us in the long run, though I am sure you can be taught how to pleasure him with that wickedly sharp tool!"

  "Shall I try her first?" Tribunalist Sefu Yazid quipped.

  A wave of laughter came from those gathered. Heads moved together as the men joked among themselves.

  Orithia turned her face from the man standing over her and spat a mouthful of blood. When she looked up at her tormentor, she saw wry amusement on his wrinkled face. That look did nothing to calm her raging fury. She growled with frustration, which seemed to amuse the Chief Tribunalist.

  "You would tear out my throat if you could, wouldn't you?" Ksathra asked.

  "With the greatest of pleasures," Orithia swore through clenched teeth. "Hang you by your worthless heels and drain you dry!" She swept her eyes over the other six Tribunalists. "Every last one of you black-hearted heathens!"

  Ksathra grinned. "Fortunately, you will never be given the chance." He cupped Aradia's chin, anchoring her face so he could look into her hostile eyes. "After all, you are at our mercy here, Amazeen."

  Despite her subservient position at his feet and the bonds that impeded her, Orithia's mindless fury felt like a red-hot poker prodding her common sense. She snarled, then lunged forward, struggling to throw herself on the Chief Tribunalist, wanting nothing more than to wipe that self-satisfied smirk from his twitching lips.

  "Oh, hell," Jaelan Ben-Ashaman sighed as he motioned two of the palace guards to stop the enraged woman warrior.

  The guards moved in tandem like flowing liquid silver and caught their prisoner by the arms to keep her from falling face down. They jerked her away from the Chief Tribunalist, although her thrashing about proved to be more violent and effective than the men could have anticipated. It was all they could do to keep her at bay.

  Jaelan sighed again, rolled his eyes to the heavens, and stepped forward, bending over their captive. "Be still or the lash will be brought, woman!" he warned in a low voice meant for only her ears.

  His words, however, acted as a goad to Orithia's injured pride. Her bellow shook the crystal chandeliers. "Lash me, then, you craven Rysalian bully!" she snarled, struggling uselessly between the two seven-foot-tall muscular Hasdu who held her. Blood-streaked saliva dribbled down her chin as she cursed. "Let your precious Hasani Jaleem know I do not come willingly to his bed! He will have to hog tie me and mount me, for I will never lay a hand to his ugly ass of my own accord!"

  A gasp of indignation moved through the crowd. Angry eyes turned to the Chief Tribunalist. "Can you not curb her, Ksathra?" an older Tribunalist drawled. "If she were mine, I would know how to break her of this nasty habit of insulting her betters."

  The men in the Tribunal Hall nodded.

  "Lash her, Ksathra," another suggested. "She needs to be taught a lesson in manners. Let her understand who owns her and to whom she owes her obedience!"

  "You do not own me!" Orithia shouted, struggling savagely with the two men whose combined strengths far surpassed her own. "You are nothing more than thieves! Rapists and murderers and--" She would have flung another insult had Jaelan not slapped her mouth.

  Dragging her against him, he anchored her to his hip with his free hand. "Be quiet!"

  Her pale eyes shot sparks of molten fire at the man hunkered beside her. So potent was her fury, a red haze of insanity had begun to tint her vision. Sh
e mumbled dire threats beneath the constriction of Jaelan's callused hand. She bucked against her captors in an effort to free her mouth, and sought to sink her teeth into the palm.

  "Stop this!" Jaelan hissed. His hand tightened cruelly over Orithia's lips, savagely pressing her teeth into the tender flesh of her lips. "You are trying my patience."

  "She would try the patience of a saint if Rysalia had any," someone joked. Laughter moved over the crowd.

  "I told you, you should not have allowed this one to live, Ksathra," Rashidi Thole, the eldest Tribunalist, injected. "You should have executed her as you did the other one."

  "She had no hand in killing the Chief Procurer," Ksathra reminded them. "It was not her hand on the dagger."

  "No, but she is no less savage than her Amazeen sister," Thole said. "She sports the tattoo on her ankle for a reason, Lord Ksathra. She has killed. Do we really want to send such a viper to the King's seraglio? Send her to the chopping block and be done with it. She will trouble us no more."

  Jaelan glanced at the woman's legs, bent to the side as she leaned rigidly against him. The tattoo on her right ankle was of a nocked crossbow, the head of the quarrel tipped in vermeil. Legend stated that only an Amazeen who had killed her first man had the privilege of sporting such a wicked symbol.

  "Give me her head for my collection, Milord. I have many Amazeen pretties on a shelf in my bath house where they watch me relieve myself each morning!"

  Hoots of merriment followed the unknown speaker's grizzly words.

  Ksathra glanced uneasily at the men and felt their annoyance. The wrong word, the wrong action, and the woman's life might well be forfeit.

  Jaelan felt the same way, for he lowered his voice and spoke to the Chief Tribunalist. "This is getting dangerous, Your Grace. Perhaps she should be drugged. They will be coming for her this eve, and we do not want her battered when she is to be presented to King Hasani."

  Ksathra watched the Amazeen's brows collide, saw her try to shake her head. "I think you may be right, Commander."