THE SHADOWLORD Read online

  To be drugged was something Orithia feared. Not to be able to have free thought and movement cut a deep swath of horror through her being. These men could do anything to her while she was under the influence of the Rysalian Keeper's hellish pharmacoepia of mind-altering brews, and she would have no way to protect herself. She stilled, pleading the only way she could with the man keeping her silent to spare her the ordeal of the Keeper's needles--with her eyes.

  Jaelan looked into that frightened blue gaze. "What choice have you given us?" he asked, hardening his heart to the fear he saw building in her pretty face. He removed his hand from her mouth. "You brought this on yourself."

  "Don't..." Orithia began, only to be cut off as a squat man in a dark blue robe stepped up to her. She glared hotly at the Keeper and started to curse him, too, but she didn't get the chance.

  From out of nowhere, it seemed, the Keeper produced a gleaming steel needle, its end dripping with amber fluid. Aradia's throat closed against the sight. Without speaking, the Keeper wrapped his left hand around her right arm and jabbed the needle into the thick muscle.

  "Sleep soundly," Jaelan said as she turned accusing eyes to him.

  "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she managed to ask before the fiery payload from the hollow needle rushed through her shoulder and spread insidiously up her neck and into the neuropath ways of her brain, burning a painful trail as it went.

  Jaelan shrugged as he stepped back. "No, Anide, I am not."

  Heat washed throughout Orithia body. "Damn," she mumbled as her legs turned to rubber. Vaguely she wondered what the Rysalian word anide meant. Had he cursed her again? The guards tightened their grip as she sagged like a rag doll between them.

  Her vision began to waver, and she stared unseeingly at Ksathra's ruddy face. The undulating blackness crept along the periphery of her vision, expanding toward the center as her hearing became hollow and tinny and the faces of her abusers moved far, far away.

  "No woman will be allowed to challenge the authority of the Tribunal," Ksathra said in that stern voice she had come to hate.

  Lassitude set in, a calm, tranquil peace that made Orithia smile despite the nagging fear that things had gone irretrievably wrong in her world, that she was in deep trouble.

  She shrugged. What difference did it make now?

  * * * *

  Kathleen McGregor looked up as a sound broke her concentration. Laying aside the shirt she was mending, she got up from her chair and walked to the double doors of the solarium. She opened the portals and ventured onto the narrow balcony that jutted out over the gardens. The balcony, enclosed from top to bottom with ornate scrolled ironwork resembling a fancy cage, allowed a cooling breeze to waft into Kathleen's chamber. So close were the intertwined scrolls, not even her slender hand could be wedged between them.

  The intruding sound came again. She raised her head toward the heavens to watch her pet raven soar on the thermals. His angry caw warned her that visitors approached.

  "From Asaraba?" she asked, though her lips never moved.

  "Nay, Lady. They are from Dahrenia," the raptor answered. "They bring the Prince's new concubine."

  Kathleen frowned. She put a hand on the iron rail. "Is Lord Jaelan accompanying them?"

  "Aye."

  Sorrow sent a shaft of pain through Kathleen's heart. She turned from the balcony and entered her room. After closing the doors behind her, she returned to her chair, took up her sewing, and sat down. But with the next stitch she made, tears filled her vision and blurred the fabric. With a sigh, she laid the sewing in her lap and bowed her head.

  "You are still having the dreams?"

  Kathleen nodded.

  "His destiny is entwined with that of the Amazeen."

  Kathleen did not reply, nor did she look up as her companion came to stand beside her.

  "Sometimes dreams are only dreams, Milady."

  "Not mine."

  The high priest placed a gnarled hand on the young woman's clasped fingers. "Put him out of your mind, child." He flinched as two of her tears fell on his mottled flesh.

  "She will make his life miserable," Kathleen said.

  "She will make everyone's life miserable." The priest sighed. "Mine more than most."

  Kathleen looked up, her eyes full of hurt. "Yet your misery will be like a drop in a well compared to the sea of despair he will know at her hands, Your Grace."

  High Priest Rajkon Xanth watched with pity welling in his aged heart as the girl covered her face with her hands and gave in to her grief. Clumsily, he patted her shoulder, not knowing what else to do. He looked around, wishing someone else were in the room with them, someone who could help ease the burden of her hopelessness. As Kathleen's confessor, he was the only male allowed to be alone with her, and she was the only female at the Monastery of the Sands at Alladoni. He was about to offer her another word of consolation, but a knock at the door saved him. Closing his eyes in gratitude for the interruption, he answered the summons.

  Sekhem Neter, the Chief Guard, looked past the priest and settled his hawk-like glare on the sobbing girl. He grunted with displeasure, then turned his attention to Xanth. "The entourage from Dahrenia is here, Your Grace. The Master wishes for that one to be brought to the assembly hall."

  Rajkon nodded. "I will bring her shortly, Captain."

  Neter's jaw tightened. "See she is properly veiled," he snapped.

  "All will be as it should be, Captain." The priest moved to the shut the door, but the Chief Guard clasped the wooden panel to stay its closing.

  He locked gazes with Rajkon. "And make equally sure she does not speak unless spoken to."

  Rajkon raised his chin. "Are these commands from the Master, or are these your suggestions, Captain?"

  "They are not suggestions, Your Grace," the Chief Guard sneered. "They are my orders to you!"

  "Shall I suggest to you where to put your orders, Captain?"

  Neter's eyes flared. He released his hold on the door and strode away.

  "Insufferable bastard," Rajkon mumbled as he closed the door.

  "He is a dangerous man," Kathleen whispered. "And one day will cause Jaelan much trouble."

  "I've no doubt of that." Rajkon turned to face her. He shook his head at her tear-ravaged face. "Go and make yourself presentable."

  "Why?" she asked, pushing wearily to her feet. "No one will see me behind the veil."

  "Humor me, child."

  Kathleen smiled, the first smile to touch her face in several weeks. She cared deeply for the priest, for among all the Brothers, he alone was her friend. Though many grudgingly respected her for the gift the Gods had bestowed upon her, most despised her and loudly objected to her presence. A handful actively plotted against her, but so far she had the protection of the Master, and while she did, she feared little for her safety.

  "Go, I said!" he insisted, shooing her toward the cloakroom at the south end of the solarium. "We can not keep the Master waiting."

  While the young woman washed her face, Rajkon walked to the double doors and looked out. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and searched for the black shape he knew must be about. When he caught sight of Sable, Kathleen's raven, perched high in the branches of the oak that shaded the garden, he nodded.

  "Protect her, Dark One," Rajkon prayed. "She is the hope of our kingdom."

  The raven bounded from the branch and landed on the balcony railing, its talons gripping the iron bar. Cocking its blue-black head to one side then the other, it seemed to be studying Rajkon through the glass. Seemingly satisfied with its findings, it shook its glossy black feathers, then lifted its foot and began preening, dismissing the human specimen.

  Rajkon chuckled and turned away. He knew the Black Ascendancy would protect Its own, and no manner of coaxing from him would alter the decree of the Gods and Their ladies.

  "I am ready, Your Grace."

  The priest held out his hand. "I shall be at your side, child."

  Kathleen took
his purple-veined hand. "And I am grateful for your company, Milord."

  Rajkon looked over the thick gray gauze that covered her from head to shoulder. To hide such delicate beauty behind the ugliness of the veil was a sacrilege. But to the majority of his Brothers, a woman's beauty held no allure, and the sight of a womanly face offended.

  "On this day of days," Kathleen told her friend and confessor as they left the solarium, "the veil hides more than my face."

  Though he was not surprised that she had read his thoughts, Rajkon was nevertheless unnerved, as always. He, as well as most of the Brothers, possessed powers of the mind, but none as great--or as successful--as Kathleen McGregor's. He probed her mind but could not pluck her thoughts from the ether. "What else will the veil hide?"

  "The tears I have shed and will continue to shed for as long as I live. Tears for Jaelan Ben-Ashaman."

  Rajkon flinched. "Try not to dwell on these things, child. There is nothing you can do to help him."

  Kathleen kept her mind closed to the casual prying of her friend. She had learned early on to securely lock her thoughts so they would not be "read" by the men in the fortress. It was easy for her to do, but often left her drained to the point of exhaustion. She had lethal enemies among the Brothers. Those who hated her were consistent with their mind probing and unrelenting in their quest to find her weaknesses. Protecting herself took all her conscience effort and even carried over into nighttime when she had to place herself in a deep trance to keep her secrets safe from mind intruders while she slept. The Brothers never allowed her to rest.

  "When will they be leaving for Abbadon Fortress?" she asked.

  "Three days from today. They will arrive on the Feast of Aluvial."

  Kathleen lowered her head. "A day of celebration even for a slave."

  Rajkon frowned. "Jaelan is far from being a slave, child."

  "He was sold into slavery as surely as I stand here. Would you like to be sold to the highest bidder, Milord? Sold to a despot like Hasani Jaleem?"

  Rajkon stopped, took her arms in his trembling grasp, and shook her. "Stop this." It was on the tip of Rajkon's tongue to remind her that King Hasani was her sovereign lord and should not be spoken of with such disrespect. But technically, that was untrue. Kathleen was Serenian, bound by blood to the ruler of that land, King Ciernan McGregor, her kinsman. Instead, he shook her again, but gently this time.

  "Nothing good will come of this obsession you have with Jaelan Ben-Ashaman, child," the priest stated. "He is beyond help, so pray stop arguing about it. I am sick to death of hearing about the ill that has befallen him. I, for one, will be glad when he arrives safely within the walls of Abbadon and his name silenced on your wayward tongue."

  Kathleen started to protest, but the stern look that rarely visited Rajkon Xanth's face made her think twice about voicing her opinion. She clamped her teeth together, curled her hands into fists, and stood silently.

  "Dreams are often only dreams," the old man muttered. "They are not always prophecies."

  Mine are, Kathleen thought, careful to not let the old priest "hear."

  Rajkon drew in a long breath, then exhaled slowly, allowing his pent up nervousness to escape. "Be the obedient child I know you can be, Kathleen, and do not draw attention to yourself in the ceremonial hall. If the Master asks you to speak, be circumspect in what you say and respectful in the way you say it. Is that clear?"

  She lowered her head, not trusting herself to speak for fear of angering her friend.

  "Meekness does not become you," Rajkon said with a chuckle.

  She shrugged.

  "And neither does arrogance. Behave," he warned and started down the corridor.

  She followed a few steps behind the old priest as they made their way to the ceremonial hall. It would not do for a Brother to see her walking beside Rajkon as his equal. Despite her position within the fortress, there would be a severe punishment for such presumptiveness. She waited until the guards opened the tall black doors and Rajkon entered before walking to the doorway. She studiously avoided looking at the door panels with their obscene engravings of naked men cavorting together in lewd postures. She kept her gaze directed to the golden throne upon which the Master would take his lawful place.

  "You may enter," a guard said.

  Kathleen inclined her head in acknowledgment. As she joined Rajkon at the north end of the room, she became aware--as she always did--of the hatred aimed her way. She could feel the anger, the mistrust, like a sentient life form crawling over her skin. A chill ran down her spine as she passed one man in particular; his hooded eyes stabbed her with raging intensity. Coming to stand directly behind Rajkon, she felt thankful for the old man's sponsorship. When the gong sounded for those assembled to prostrate themselves at the arrival of the Master, she sank to her knees, her head bowed, her eyes squeezed shut.

  As he passed where she knelt, Kathleen felt the Arch-Deacon Jahannum Dahur stop beside her. She tensed, knowing she would experience his attempt to pry open her sealed mind. When it came, the invasion was as unsettling as it always was, and when the Master failed to breech her mental defenses, she felt his annoyance.

  "You are well, Chosen One?" Dahur inquired.

  "I am, Your Eminence," Kathleen answered, digging her nails into her palms.

  "Such a waste." The Master sighed. "It is beyond my ability to understand why the Black Ascendancy would grant such power to a female."

  It was always the same for Kathleen. The man who ruled the Brothers would stare silently at her for a minute or two. This day was no different.

  As Dahur moved on, Kathleen allowed a heavy breath to escape her parted lips. Dahur terrified her, sickened her. She had seen him order men to a hideous death, and had once witnessed a ritual so vile, so evil, it had caused her to take to her bed for many days. That Dahur had immense powers of his own, was capable of utterly destroying her if he could get past her mental barricade, was ever at the forefront of her mind. Above all the other men at the fortress, Dahur was her worst nightmare. His brother, the Prelate of Justice Gehenna Dahur, was her worst enemy.

  "Rise!"

  The rustle of wool robes, the creaking of joints, and the clearing of throats shifted through the room as the Brothers got to their feet. But Kathleen remained in her respectful posture, knowing not to rise until she was given leave to do so. She had learned long ago to ignore the pain in her knees.

  "You may rise, Chosen One," Dahur announced.

  Surprised she had not been forced to stay in her cramped position as long as usual, Kathleen thankfully stood, her hands clasped tightly at her waist, her head down.

  "Come here, woman," the Master ordered.

  Without delay, she hastened to the throne, staring at the black marble floor beneath her feet. In her peripheral vision, she saw robes moving out of her way and knew these men would rather be lashed than allow her clothing to touch theirs. She stopped at the step that led to the dais and waited.

  "You have been here how long now?"

  "All my life, Your Eminence," she replied.

  "And how old are you?"

  A shudder ran through Kathleen, but she did not lift her head. "I am thirty-seven, Your Eminence."

  "You know you will never leave this place, do you not?"

  "I have been told so, Your Eminence."

  A murmur came from those gathered.

  "But you do not believe you will live out your days behind these walls?"

  "If it is the Gods' will, I--"

  "That is not what he asked," Gehenna Dahur interrupted.

  "Perhaps I did not understand him, Lord Dahur," she said and could hear Rajkon's irritated hiss. "Would you repeat what he asked?"

  Utter silence filled the room for what, to Kathleen, seemed a long time. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her nails as deep into the flesh of her palms as she could stab them.

  "Look at me!" Gehenna thundered.

  Kathleen lifted her head. Through the thick gauze, she saw fury
mottling Lord Dahur's ugly round face.

  "You would play word games with me, woman?" he shouted.

  "No, Your Grace. I--"

  "Silence!"

  Once more, the lack of sound felt like that of a tomb. The eerie stillness made the hair stir on Kathleen's arms, and a clamminess trickled down her spine.

  "I assure you, woman, you will never venture past these walls alive," Gehenna Dahur said. "The Brotherhood will never allow you to utilize the forbidden powers you possess. Is that clear?"

  "Perfectly clear, Lord Dahur."

  "If it had been left up to me, I would have drowned you at birth upon seeing the twin crescents in your palm!"

  Her nails gouging into the telltale birthmarks, Kathleen remained still.

  "That is enough, Gehenna," the Master said. "Go back to Rajkon, woman."

  Kathleen curtsied to the Master, and hurriedly backed away, knowing if she turned her back on him, they would beat her to within an inch of her life.

  "Where is the Amazeen?" the Master asked.

  "She was taken to the seraglio, Your Grace," Gehenna answered.

  "A fitting place for a whore."

  "I am told the King's Commander of Security is with the entourage," Gehenna purred in his brother's ear.

  The Master's brow quirked." So, Jaelan is here."

  "And as handsome as ever," Gehenna quipped.

  Both men laughed.

  As the doors of the ceremonial hall closed before her, Kathleen's heart leapt to her throat. The Brothers hated Jaelan Ben-Ashaman and had done everything they could to wrest him from the King's protection. That they had failed had fostered within their sect a vicious determination to eventually succeed.

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  Jaelan laid his head against the cool marble rim of the bathing pool, closed his eyes, and tried to relax. He was bone-tired, angry with himself, and plagued by a variety of physical problems that irritated him more than they should. A wicked headache pulsed above his right eye; his right shin throbbed; deep scratches on his arms and chest stung as the warm water lapped against his body; and the dull ache in his groin was a vivid reminder that he hadn't been as careful as was normally his wont.