THE SHADOWLORD Read online

  Chapter 4

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  A dream came sporadically to Aradia, and as it had many times before, it brought her awake with a gasp. Perspiration pebbled her brow and upper lip. Her eyes wide, her heart hammering against her ribcage, her breath rapid and shallow, she put a quivering hand to her mouth to keep the whimper inside her constricted throat. Looking around, she was relieved to see the others sleeping soundly, her nightmare not having intruded upon their peaceful rest. Willing her breath to slow, her heart to cease its racing rhythm, she swallowed the painful lump in her throat and eased aside her covers, getting to her feet to try to walk off the exacting terror.

  "Are you all right, Ardy?" Okyale whispered, now the keeper of their safety, watching over them through this portion of the early morn.

  "Bad dream. And I have to pee again."

  Okyale moved out of the way of the door. "Be careful."

  Aradia slipped from the room and made her way to the fire pit, where glowing embers cast an orange glow against the mud bricks. She threw another log on the dying fire and took up the poker to settle the wood into the burning coals.

  "Having trouble sleeping?"

  She turned to see Lord Jaelan, lounging in a chair, his bare feet crossed at the ankles and his face hidden in shadows. Shirtless, he sat with arms crossed over a chest covered in a thick thatch of curly hair.

  "It seems we both are," she answered, somehow not surprised to find him up at this late hour. She waited for him to speak again, but when he didn't, she moved to the door.

  "Be careful," he said, echoing Okyale's advice.

  When she returned, her robe damp from the rain, she sat on the rim of the fire pit's hearth to dry her clothing, content to keep the silence he seemed to want. She watched the fire flicker to life and poked at the wood until she felt satisfied the log would burn evenly. Her gaze followed the embers rising up the chimney before she laid aside the poker.

  Though the rain still fell, it came with a much gentler cadence. Lightning flaring soundlessly, occasionally lighting the windows with a soft white pulse.

  "She is beyond your reach, little Amazeen," he said. "You will never see her again."

  She gave no sign of her shock that he knew her true purpose in coming to Rysalia. She didn't look his way, nor acknowledge his words, but continued staring into the flames, recalling Okyale's warning of danger regarding this man.

  He shifted in his chair, the wood creaking with his weight. Out of the corner of her eye, Aradia saw him lift a mug to his lips.

  "Are they alive?" she asked, dreading his answer.

  He remained quiet for so long, she turned to him. As their eyes met, she felt a tremor slither down her spine.

  "One is," he answered.

  A shaft of fear thrust through Aradia's chest. She clenched her hands into fists in her lap. "Which one?"

  "I believe her name is Orithia. She's a small blonde."

  Aradia nodded, somewhat relieved but fearful to ask after Marpe. "And the other?"

  "She killed a man. Her life was forfeit."

  Squeezing her eyes closed, Aradia turned her head, her teeth clenched.

  "Rysalian law is strict when it comes to murder. Punishment is meted out quickly and harshly."

  "Was there a trial?" she asked, but knowing the answer.

  "Had there been, she would have been beheaded. Best she died as she did--quickly and with no pain."

  "How did she die?"

  "Her neck was broken during a scuffle," he said in a matter-of-fact tone that made her cringe. Though she had not known Orithia's friend, Aradia nevertheless mourned a fallen sister warrior. The lives of all women were sacred to her, and she keenly felt the loss.

  "She died protecting my sister, didn't she?"

  Lord Jaelan's left eyebrow crooked up. "You are her sister?"

  "We have the same father."

  "But not the same mother?"

  "Her mother is the domestic queen, as I am sure you must know by now."

  He unfolded his arms and scratched his cheek, the rasping sound loud in the quiet room. "We know little about her, but there has been no offer from your people to pay a ransom."

  She stiffened. "How much are you demanding?"

  He shook his head. "Not one copper senti. The king, himself, owns your sister. She has been taken to the seraglio at Abbadon and will live out the remainder of her life as his concubine, unless he grows tired of her and sells her."

  She stared at him, her fingernails digging into her palms. "That situation will be remedied. I will find a way to release her."

  He smiled, his white teeth flashing as he again crossed his arms over his chest. "I think not, wench. I've granted you this night to think over your situation, but with the first light of dawn, all bets are off. If you continue your insane mission to liberate your sister, your own freedom will be at stake."

  Aradia lifted her chin. "What does that mean?"

  Jaelan shrugged. "It means unless you head back the way you came, I will have your friends arrested and taken to the convent."

  An arrow of unease passed through Aradia's chest. She gripped the wool of her robe to keep her hands from shaking. Though she feared no man, this one created disquiet in her soul. Looking at him, taking in the male beauty of his face, she had a hard time believing he would be so cruel as to turn them over to their enemies.

  "You've been warned," he said, planting his feet on the floor. "If I see them anywhere near Abbadon, I will have no choice but to turn them in."

  He stood, put his hands on the small of his back, and stretched. The very bulk of this powerfully built warrior intimidated Aradia. Despite her many years of training, she doubted she could take him in a fair fight.

  "You wouldn't want to try," he said, coming to stand beside her.

  He laid to rest her concerns about his ability to read her mind. Drawing in a quick breath, she peered into the fire, unable to look at him. When he bent over, putting his lips to her ear, she steeled herself not to flinch, to turn away.

  "It was hot that day at Amberino, was it not, little Amazeen?" he whispered, his breath fanning the wisps of hair at her temple. "There was a storm brewing. Do you remember? That storm turned vicious by late afternoon."

  She turned and looked into his eyes, their golden depths deep with amusement. "W...What?"

  He laid the tips of his callused fingers on her cheek, stroking her flesh as gently as the brush of a butterfly's wings. His eyes held her captive. "As soft as I knew it would be." His gaze moved down to her neckline. He hooked a finger beneath the necklace and lifted it. A fleeting smile crossed his rugged face as he fingered the bead in the middle. "I am pleased you kept this."

  Aradia's heart pounded, while her mouth formed a stunned "O." With a voice that sounded strange to her own ears, she asked, "That was you?"

  He nodded, then withdrew his hand, straightening to his full height. "Go home. I would not like to see anything happen to you. I owe you that much."

  Her mouth suddenly dry, her breathing erratic, she watched him leave, flinching as she took in the thick crisscrossed scars networking his bare back. Legs weak, knees trembling, she stood, covering her mouth with her hands and feeling the cold sweat dampening her palms. She spun around and headed to her room. After scratching at the door to warn Okyale, she pushed open the portal, then leaned against it as it shut.

  "Up!" she said, the insistence in her voice making Oky blink. "Everyone up!"

  Phillipa twisted over on her pallet and squinted. "What's wrong?"

  "Get up, I said! Now!"

  The others stirred, yawning and wiping their eyes. Phillipa got to her feet and came toward Aradia. "Has something happened?"

  "He knows why we're here. You have to leave. If you don't, he'll turn you in to the Temple Guards."

  Phillipa's lips thinned. "You've been talking to him? Did I not warn you to leave him alone?"

  "Didn't you hear what I said? He knows why we're here. You'll not get within a duquain of
Orithia now. You must leave before first light. He's given you until then."

  "Why do I get the feeling you're not including yourself in this flight?" Phillipa asked.

  Aradia clenched her hands into fists at her sides, hoping to keep the others from seeing the tremor that threatened to drive her to her knees. "Because I swore to free Orithia, and free her I will."

  "Without our help?" Phillipa asked, aghast. "Impossible!"

  "If you do not head back to Amazeen, he'll have the guards after you. If you so much as go near Abbadon, you'll wind up in some convent." She held Phillipa's stare. "Is that what you want?"

  "Hell, no! Never again. Never, never again!"

  "Then go. Let me handle this. Better one of us interned in hell than all of us."

  "You shouldn't have asked him to help," Euryleia complained. "If he hadn't known what you were planning--"

  "I didn't tell him. He knew me the moment he laid eyes on me."

  "How?" Phillipa asked. "You've never been to Rysalia."

  Loathe to explain how the Shadowlord had known her, Aradia threw out a dismissive hand. "Does it matter?"

  "It does, if you expect us to do as you ask," Phillipa replied.

  "He reads minds. He knows our very thoughts. That's how he knew what we were about."

  A muscle worked in Phillipa's scarred jaw. "There is more to it. Isn't there?"

  Tears filled Aradia's eyes. "Please, Phillipa. Let it go."

  When Aradia had first returned from her captivity in Diabolusia, she shared quarters with the older woman. That first month, both Aradia's terrified shrieks and the quiet sobs of a breaking heart had awakened her friend many times. Aradia suspected that Phillipa understood the tears, recognized the signs of a woman deep in the throes of love, but the nightmares had puzzled the older woman.

  "Did you meet this man in Deseo?" Phillipa asked.

  "No, of course not!"

  "But you had met him before tonight."

  "We were never introduced, but I had seen him before."

  "Where?"

  Aradia sighed heavily. "It's of no importance. He's not an enemy so--"

  Phillipa took Aradia's arm and pulled her down to one of the pallets. "We are not leaving until you tell us what the hell is going on. I want the truth!"

  Trying to break free of Phillipa's steely clasp proved useless. The older woman obviously had no intention of letting go until her demand was met.

  "All right!" Aradia snarled, jerking on that iron-hard hold, then grunting in exasperation when Phillipa did not release her.

  "It's only an hour before sunup," Okyale informed them. "If we are to leave at first light, you'd better start explaining now."

  Gathering her strength, Aradia yanked her arm from Phillipa's grip.

  A long moment of silence settled like a heavy blanket over a room that had grown cold from the dying of the fire. Aradia pulled her robe closer around her and shivered more from memories than the temperature. When she began her tale, her voice was monotonic, but soon the others heard emotion creeping into the words and sat spellbound...

  * * * *

  "I do not speak of him, the man I grew to love so dearly, because the pain is as fresh today as it was the night I was forced to leave him. On my tongue, his name is both a blessing and a curse. There is not one hour of any day that thoughts of him do not invade. There is not one moment of any night as I lay in my lonely bed that I do not wish myself at his side. My dreams are filled with his face, my daydreams filled with yearnings I know will never be satisfied.

  "We were in love, so much in love that neither of us wanted to be apart from the other. We ate together, bathed together, slept beside one another, his arms around me, my head on his strong shoulder. We took long walks in the hills outside Deseo and rode for miles and miles along the seacoast, camping on the beach to watch the sun come up over the Placidia. There was nothing he would not do for me, nothing I would not do for him. Had the occasion arose, I would have given my life for his. That is how much I loved him then and love him still. Neither of us knew what the fates had in store for us, so we blindly plotted the future, planning a life together, happily oblivious to the evil lying in wait.

  "Had I known what would happen that day, I would have insisted we stay at the palace. But it was my birthday and he wanted to take me to Amberino, to the mountains where amber was being mined, for me to choose the gems he would have made into a necklace for me."

  Aradia paused and pulled the necklace of amber and onyx beads from inside her robe. She lovingly caressed the honey-gold center bead, larger than the others. In the dim glow of the dying fire, those gathered saw the shadow within the stone and leaned closer for a better look, but Aradia disappointed them by curling her hand around the stone, hiding the inclusion in its center.

  "It was unbearably hot that day. As we rode, my shirt was plastered to my chest. Using the ostrich fan he had insisted I bring along did nothing to shift the heat pressing against my face. To the west, storm clouds built rapidly, and he ordered one of his men to ride ahead and make sure there would be shelter, for he knew well the sudden fury the weather can unleash in his country.

  "The horses panted with the exertion of climbing. It was a remote area, wild, though beautiful, in its savagery. We saw the tracks of pumas and the wiggles of serpents etched in the sand. Cautiously, the guides in front and the guards in back watched for anything that could harm us, so I was not afraid as we ventured higher up Mount Calumbre.

  "By the time we reached the mining camp, the day had become miserable with heat. A stench made my eyes water, so he handed me his handkerchief and apologized. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'it was not a good idea to bring you here after all.'

  "I was in total agreement. When I looked around, I couldn't help but feel the despair of the place. Heat ghosts wavered around the sharp rocks and sand devils skipped across the open area before the mine entrance. Guards stood about with rawhide whips curled around their shoulders, and others wore swords and daggers. I heard the snap of a whip hitting what can only be flesh, and I turned to him, my lips trembling.

  "'Punishment,' he said, 'must be handed out when there are infractions. A worker might have tried to steal a portion of his find, or else he has talked back to one of his subordinates.'

  "But I saw the pain in his eyes and knew he didn't like the way things were done in his country any more than I did. We had often talked of the changes he would make once he ascended the throne. He felt strongly about the use of forced labor, and when he became king, he planned to end it.

  "As I looked at him, I saw his eyes shift past mine, then widen, his face draining of color. I turned to see what had caused his reaction, and it was all I could do to curb the roar of outrage that rushed up my throat.

  "The sight of the thin workers bent beneath the weight of pickaxes and shovels as they trudged wearily from the mine's entrance appalled me. They wore little more than filthy rags, breeches held up with belts made of frayed rope. Most were barefoot, leaving bloody prints in the sand, as they plodded along, heads bent with what must have been complete exhaustion. Their flesh was gray, shrunken on their stooped forms, and the foul odor that had permeated the place grew three times as bad.

  "The mine superintendent saw us as he exited. For one moment, anger passed over his face before he carefully put a smile on those evil features. He hurried toward us, a heavy cat-o'-nine wrapped around his beefy arm, the shoulder of his shirt smeared with bloodstains. He bowed and scraped, welcoming the heir to the throne to his humble mine.

  "My lover asked to know why the workers looked so emaciated. He looked around, his teeth grinding, and searched for food wagons. 'Where,' he demanded, 'are the water bearers?' His hands tightened on the saddle pummel, and his horse bumped mine, for even the animal sensed his master's anger.

  "'The water bearers also work the mines,' we were told, 'and as soon as they come out, the water will be provided.'

  "'Why do water bearers mine the amber?' my beloved asked.
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  "'The threat of flooding is ever imminent,' the superintendent replied, 'and the rains have come often of late. Every hand has been needed to pump the water from the shafts so the workers do not die in a flash flood.'

  "My love was so incensed at the pitiful condition of the workers, he ordered the superintendent to have the guards draw the water. When the man tried to argue, insisting the guards must be always at the ready, my wonderful one ordered his own guards down from their mounts to dispense the water.

  "I saw the superintendent's fury, but he would not gainsay the prince. He stepped aside, bowing ungraciously as our guards scrambled to do their overlord's bidding. The superintendent's upper lip raised, while his beady eyes glowed with an evil from which I found it hard to look away. As his attention shifted back to me, I saw such lechery, such vile contempt in his pig-like eyes, I recoiled, reaching out to take my lover's hand. Our fingers entwined, and the superintendent smirked. He knew I was nothing more than the prince's Amazeen bedmate.

  "In the distance, the sky grew darker, and lightning crawled across it like silver serpents. The air turned a bit cooler, but remained stifling. My mouth was as arid as the sand beneath our horses' hooves, but I didn't dare ask for water until the miserable wretches greedily drank the brackish liquid provided them. I looked away as water sloshed over dusty throats, torn shirts, and ragged breeches, and knew this was the first quenching of their thirsts they'd had for some time.

  "My love tightened his grip on my hand and lowered his voice so only I could hear. He promised--on his honor--that conditions would change. He meant to have the superintendent replaced with a compassionate man, one who would see to the workers' needs and would not overwork or abuse them as these poor wretches had been.

  "At that moment, a commotion began at the mine entrance. Two guards dragged a man from the mine by his chained hands. They jerked on his bonds and sent him sprawling, face down, in the rock-strewn sand. A mass of fresh welts, bleeding profusely, covered his bare back, and blood splattered his tattered beeches. He was as filthy as his fellow workers, his hair long and straggly, his face hidden behind a matted beard. He struggled to push himself up, but a guard viciously lashed him across his shoulders, cutting a long, savage stripe. I heard his groan of pain that still tears at my heart.