THE SHADOWLORD Read online

  "I see you've added a few more battle scars to your already-abused body."

  Jaelan opened one eye, looked at the one who had spoken, and snorted. "Go to hell, Aluino."

  "All in good time, my friend," Aluino Vasquez said with a chuckle. "All in good time." He hunkered down beside Jaelan. "I heard she made you speak a few octaves higher for a while there. Is that true?"

  A long sigh came from Jaelan, but he refrained from relieving his friend's curiosity. He licked his swollen lip.

  "You know," Aluino said, pulling off his boots and socks and rolling up his pant legs, "I can't remember the last time I saw you with a black eye. Do you recall when it was?"

  "By the Prophet! Your feet stink, 'Lui!" Jaelan scooted away from the offensive stench, only partially extinguished when Aluino sunk his feet in the water.

  "I've been riding most of the day," Aluino replied, wiggling his toes. "You didn't answer me."

  "I can't even breathe with that foul odor permeating the air. How the hell do you expect me to be able to think, much less speak?"

  "You don't seem to be having any problem squawking, gallo." His friend chuckled. He leaned back on his elbows and regarded Jaelan. "Tell me about the pretty one I hear it took four Hasdu warriors to subdue after she mauled your family jewels."

  Jaelan frowned, thinking about the ruckus. As Commander of Security, he had been called by the Chief Procurer's assistant just as the trouble began. When he entered the slave market, he saw two women struggling with the Chief Procurer and the attendants of the Chief Slavemaster. At first, the foul language from the tall redhead had amused him and every other man watching the spectacle. He had stood laughing, listening to bets on how long it would take for the tall one to be subdued, until a dagger suddenly appeared in her hand. Before he or anyone else could react, she had buried the blade in the fat gut of the King's Chief Procurer, his entrails tumbling to the wooden platform in a steaming heap. No one knew how the woman had gotten hold of the dagger, but as soon as she committed her deadly deed, the Chief Slavemaster's attendants wrestled her to the ground.

  "Don't hurt her!" the other woman cried out.

  Short, slender, blonde, and as tanned as her companion was tall, stout, crimson-haired, and pale, the one who Jaelan learned was named Orithia tried to reach her friend. She struggled with the Chief Slavemaster, bucking and twisting in his muscled hold, striving with every ounce of her strength to break free. Her shouts pleading with the Chief Slavemaster's attendants not to harm the redhead went unheeded. Even over the shrieks of the blonde and the grunts of the men trying to wrest the dagger from the woman warrior, the pop of a snapping bone rang over the crowd.

  Not an arm or leg, but a broken neck. As the Chief Slavemaster's attendants moved back, leaving the still one sprawled on the plank flooring of the auction platform, all eyes went to the fair-haired beauty.

  Jaelan's frown deepened as he remembered the blonde going perfectly still in the grip of her captor. Behind his closed eyes, he could see the stricken look that drained her face of color and opened her full lips in shock. He had taken a step toward her just as her eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped in the Chief Slavemaster's arms.

  "I hear you brought her to the fortress," Aluino remarked. "She had fainted?"

  "Aye." Jaelan stared at the lush greenery at the far end of the bathing chamber. "When she awoke, all hell broke loose."

  Aluino grinned. "So I heard. Caspar said she came after you with talons drawn."

  Jaelan touched the long scratches that streaked his chest. "Her prophet-be-damned fingernails felt like razor blades."

  "Have you grown so weak in the King's employ that you allow a wisp of a girl to get the better of you, Ben-Ashaman?"

  "That wisp of a girl is an Amazeen warrioress of royal blood, trained from the womb to fight men and to win at all costs. I should have remembered that."

  Aluino arched a thick black brow. "But you thought you could handle her on your own, eh, amigo?"

  Shaking his head, Jaelan reached for a sea sponge and a thick bar of soap. He lathered his arms, wincing at the deep gouges pitting his flesh. "She appeared so docile on the slave platform. I thought I saw fear in her eyes, believed she was intimidated by her predicament, so I let down my guard. I sure as hell won't make that mistake again! I walked into the room, saw her sitting on the floor glaring at me, and went to help her to her feet. Before I knew what was happening, she sprang up and came at me faster than a cheetah. It was all I could do to keep her from raking my eyes. As it was, she head-butted me in the mouth, bit me on the shoulder, then kicked me in the shin. During all that, I didn't want to hurt her until she drove her knee into my groin."

  "And after she'd done all that?" Aluino inquired with a smirk.

  Jaelan cast his friend a nasty look. "I wanted to break her stubborn neck!" Jaelan grumbled, then winced at what he'd said. "Ignore that. A bad choice of words."

  Aluino's smile disappeared. "Did the attendants mean to kill the other woman?"

  Jaelan shrugged, then wished he hadn't, for the scratches on his chest came to burning life as he pulled apart the forming scabs. "I don't think so, but she would have been executed anyway for killing the Chief Procurer."

  "True. So what will happen to this one? Is she really destined for the King's harem?"

  "That was a foregone conclusion as soon as the slave traders discovered who she was. But I'll tell you, if she doesn't practice self-restraint, she'll wind up with her head on the chopping block instead of on a silken pillow beside our king. She's already in the seraglio and will begin her training tomorrow morning."

  "I pity her trainers." Aluino chuckled.

  "So do I."

  In silence, the men relaxed in the warm bath. When Aluino spoke again, he pulled his feet out of the water. "You say she is of royal blood. How closely is she related to the Amazeen queen?"

  "She is the niece of the Defense Queen," Jaelan answered. "And supposedly the daughter of the Domestic Queen, though I doubt it."

  "They have more than one queen?"

  "One for defense, and another for domestic rule. They are generally sisters and share sovereignty. In this case, I'm told they are cousins."

  "I can not imagine women sharing anything," Aluino quipped. "Especially not the rule of an entire country."

  "It seems to work for the Amazeen."

  "You know, I have heard tales," Aluino said as he dried his feet with his smelly socks. "They enslave men, keep them for mating purposes, and make them perform tasks other cultures reserve for females. It is said they kill their male offspring, or else send them away to live with a nearby tribe."

  "I've heard that, too. I've also heard they have their right breasts burned off in order to draw a bow and throw javelins more efficiently."

  "When you were struggling with that wildcat this morning, did she have both love globes?"

  Jaelan blushed. "I was too busy fending off her wicked nails to take count, Vasquez."

  "You'll let me know if you find out, won't you?"

  Jaelan snorted.

  "They must be an insensitive lot if it is true about their breasts. Apparently dying with your body intact is not a concern of theirs. Another tale I've heard is that they pluck out the right eye and cut off the right thumb of their male captives so they cannot wield weapons against them. Do you believe that could be true?"

  "I've no idea," Jaelan answered. "And I've no desire to find out." He stood, turned, and levered himself out of the pool.

  Aluino watched his friend shake off the water like a hound. "Well, let's hope they don't come after you and take you prisoner for helping to enslave one of theirs."

  "One thing's for certain, I won't be as gentle with the next Amazeen I come into contact with." Jaelan patted dry the vicious scratches on his chest.

  "Did you have the Healer look at those wounds, Commander?"

  Jaelan stilled. He did not turn to greet the speaker, for he recognized the voice all too well. One glance at Alui
no, whose swarthy complexion had turned pale, was all the confirmation Jaelan needed to know a demon from the bowels of the Abyss had joined them.

  "I have no need of a Healer, Lord Gehenna," Jaelan replied, wrapping the towel around his naked body and tucking the end at his waist.

  "One never knows what filth lies beneath the nails of an impure female. I am told she is having her monthly flow, so she is doubly unclean. I must insist you present yourself to Healer Dromos immediately. We do not wish you to become ill from your injuries. We would be remiss in our duty to His Majesty should you suffer any misfortune while in our care."

  Jaelan ground his teeth, a muscle working in his taut jaw. He made no reply, but nodded in reluctant acquiescence. Turning his back to a man he hated, he snatched up his clothes.

  "You look to be in virile health, Commander, but even a Shadowlord can get sick, given the right circumstances," Gehenna called in a purring voice. When Jaelan stiffened, looking around to pierce the man with a hateful glower, the Prelate of Justice grinned nastily. "I order you to present yourself to the Healer. You do not wish to become ill, do you?"

  Clutching his clothes in a brutal grip, Jaelan stared at Gehenna Dahur, who sauntered from the room. Breathing harshly, in shallow gasps of anger, he muttered a quick farewell to Aluino and stalked away, his bare feet slapping the tile floor.

  * * * *

  Jaelan's teeth ground audibly as the Healer cleaned the scratches on his abdomen with strong astringent. It wasn't the medication's sting that bothered Jaelan, but the press of the stocky man's very-white fingers as they roamed at will over his chest.

  "This one could become infected, Commander," Dromos commented with tsking sounds to accompany his pronouncement. "We must watch it closely, for the scratch is deep and wide."

  "I know how to disinfect and care for wounds, Lord Dromos," Jaelan replied through clenched teeth. "A Shadowlord heals quickly, as I'm sure you know."

  Dromos looked up through bushy eyebrows and smiled coyly, his eyelids fluttering like those of an adolescent girl. "Oh, I know how well you care for your body. Your healing capacity is legendary, but I would like to..."

  Jaelan shoved away the Healer's hands and slid down from the examination table. He crowded Dromos until the man had no choice but to step aside. Turning his back on the short, balding man, he grabbed his black uniform shirt, thrust his arms into the sleeves, and closed the ebony buttons with brutal jerks. He would not look at Dromos, who pressed his stubby fingers against his rubbery lips.

  "You are such a powerfully built warrior, Commander, in the prime of your health. It would benefit us greatly if you would allow me to study you, to measure the depth of your--ah--abilities. Your kind are--"

  "You will not get the chance to measure anything of mine, so stop hinting."

  "But could you not see the benefit to science if we could but--"

  "No!" With an irritated snarl vibrating in his throat, Jaelan jammed the tails of his shirt into the open waistband of his black leather breeches, then worked the closures at his privates. After buckling his belt, he snatched his leather jacket from a hook on the back of the door.

  "Do you need anything for the discomfort of those scratches, Commander?" Dromos asked breathlessly.

  Jaelan opened the door, intent only on leaving the claustrophobic room with its sweaty Healer, who smelled of rutabagas and rancid grease.

  Dromos followed his patient. "I could give you something to make you sleep better at night."

  Jaelan stopped, turned, and awarded the Healer a brutal stare. The low growl that came from the depths of his hatred for men like Dromos made the effeminate man take a quick step backward, putting distance between them.

  "I need nothing from your pharmacoepia of mind-altering drugs." Jaelan's feral eyes glistened with an emotion that made the Healer shudder. "I prefer living with my eyes wide open."

  "I...I understand." Dromos took another few steps away from the fury that had settled on Jaelan's hard features.

  A predatory smile tugged at Jaelan's full lips. "It's good that you do, Dromos. We certainly wouldn't want a misunderstanding between us, would we?"

  The Healer's head swiveled from side to side, his parted lips making wet sounds as they flapped. "N...no, milord Commander. We would not."

  With one last insulting sweep of his savage gaze over the man, Jaelan strode down the corridor, his hands balled into fists. He paid no attention to the people moving out of his way, pressing against the wall to avoid his notice.

  * * * *

  Orithia woke to a pounding headache. The light from the candle at her bedside caused acute agony. She tried to shift position, but found her arms and legs weighted down. With great effort, she managed to lift her head and saw her wrists and ankles circled with chain. A curse hissed from her dry lips, and she gingerly returned her head to the pillow, hopelessness raging with infinite fury for the occupation of her mind. Grimacing at the distasteful feel of her menstrual blood oozing unchecked between her thighs, she wiggled uncomfortably.

  "Consider your condition a blessing, Pale One," someone said from the room's darker recesses.

  Flinching, Orithia craned her head. She saw only a deeper silhouette hovering within the darkness. "Who are you?"

  A tall man with arms the size of goodly size tree trunks emerged from the shadows. He was as black as a moonless night, but his flesh glistened as though highly oiled. His short, heavily embroidered cotton vest lay open over his broad, hairless chest, exposing bulging pectorals. His billowing white pantaloons accentuated the solidness of his hips and long legs, and the pale blue turban wound around his large head made his flesh seem even more ebon.

  "I am Sulaimon, Pale One," he replied, the index finger of his right hand spiraling from forehead to chest in a series of quick downward circles. "I am your personal protector."

  "Go away," Orithia demanded, the sound of her voice excruciatingly loud and increasing the throbbing in her temples.

  The dark man moved closer. "The Mistress can not begin your instructions until your womanly flow has ended," he said, a glass appearing in his oversized hand.

  "Is that water?" she asked, running her dry tongue over equally parched lips.

  "Aye, Milady." Sulaimon bent over her, scooping one huge hand under her neck to lift her head.

  Not too proud to accept the quenching of her arid throat, she gulped the cool liquid, reveling in the sweet taste. A few dribbles escaped the corners of her mouth and slid soothingly down her neck.

  "The tenerse causes the body to dehydrate." Sulaimon gently lowered Orithia's head to the pillow. "You will require large amounts of water to ease the dryness."

  Unfamiliar with the drug that had brought about her unconsciousness, Orithia licked her lips and lay with her eyes closed. "Are there side effects to that evil brew?"

  Sulaimon set aside the empty glass and straightened, crossing his muscular arms. "If it is mixed with other things, it has adverse properties."

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Such as?"

  "When in its natural state, undiluted--as it was when given to you--it induces deep sleep. If mixed with vinegar, it severely lessens pain. Healers give such potions to women during childbirth. Yet if mixed with the juice from taro, it heightens pain. Such is given during Tribunal torture sessions."

  "So it is basically harmless?"

  Sulaimon shrugged. "Not entirely. Should it be mixed with wine, it will cause stupor, hallucinations, and an unpleasant ringing in the ears that lasts for hours. Added to milk, it becomes a strong aphrodisiac that brings about strong arousal. Many a violent rape has been committed while a man is under the drug's."

  "But it won't kill you. There are no lasting effects from its administration."

  "I did not say that. When mixed with any type of fruit juice, it is an effective poison, and if added to ale or mead and administered over a long period of time, it has been known to cause irrational anger or madness that can cripple and result in irreversible blind
ness." He shook his head. "Tenerse is a dangerous drug in careless hands."

  "And other than helping a woman give birth, there's no good reason for its existence."

  "That is not entirely true. Mixed with water, it is administered to the Shadowlords to control them."

  Orithia frowned. "What is a Shadowlord?"

  Despite his size and obvious physical strength, the dark man shivered, his meaty hands tensing on his muscled biceps. "The Lords of Death. It was a Shadowlord with whom you fought, Pale One. You are lucky he did not hurt you, for they are not known for being gentle with women. I am told he has said he will not treat the next Amazeen he meets with as much politeness. You wounded him many times over with your sharp nails and teeth."

  "Are you talking about the brute in black?" Orithia questioned, her eyes narrowing in memory. "The one who dared to put his filthy hand over my mouth?"

  Sulaimon nodded. "His name is Jaelan Ben-Ashaman. He is the Lord High Commander of the Shadow Force, a position awarded to him by the King."

  "Next time I meet up with him, I won't be as gentle with him, either! I'll nail his worthless hide to the wall."

  Sulaimon grinned, his white teeth sparkling within the confines of his ebon face. "I would pay much to see Ben-Ashaman lose a match to anyone, but especially so a mere female."

  "I have outmatched many men in my time! Ben-Ashaman could not stand against my dagger!" Orithia blushed when she realized the dark man saw through her empty boast.

  "The Shadowlord has thirty and seven winters, Pale One," Sulaimon said. "In all that time, he has yet to lose a fight. His enemies lie crumbling to dust and Ben-Ashaman lives to fight another day. You will never be given the chance to see if you can best him, but it would have been a match upon which I would have eagerly placed money."

  She tugged at her bounds. "What does that mean? Are you afraid I would win?"

  Sulaimon's smile slipped away. "You will not be given the chance to fight the Shadowlord or any man, Pale One. From this day forward, you will be at the beck and call of whomever purchases youm and no master will allow a dagger to find its way into your hand."