Shadow Countess: A Fantasy Adventure Romance

by M D Baker

  While we could’ve stopped earlier in one of the small towns along the way, Tayson drove us forward until it was nearly dark, forcing us to make camp by the roadside. Although his haste was understandable, I would’ve preferred the comfort of an inn to the cold ground, but the envoy seemed intent on reminding me that he was in command of this expedition.

  A carefully stacked pile of wood was arranged in the center of the small clearing as soldiers began setting up a number of tents. When one of the Cyndhari fumbled with his flint and steel, I cast Flame, the more powerful version of Spark, channeling just enough energy into the spell to hurl a tiny ball of fire into the wad of dry tinder stuffed beneath the logs and branches. Startled shouts erupted in response to the burst of flames, and though my petty act of mischief caused no real harm, it brought a thin smile to my lips.

  I barely managed to conceal my surprise when Tayson’s guarded comment startled me.

  “I expect you have something a bit more impressive for the raiders plaguing the Blackwood, Countess.”

  “Would you like a demonstration?” I turned on him, daring the envoy to take me up on the offer.

  “Another time, perhaps,” he retorted, purposefully ignoring the implied threat.

  Despite my loathing for Tayson and how much I dreaded his company, there was another I hated even more. The man who’d claimed my former home had also slain my father and was likely responsible for Valda’s death as well. Although I didn’t know his name, the thought of being forced to work with that despicable bastard, let alone for him, made me want to vomit. I was certain the urge to slaughter the foul beast would eventually prove too great to resist. So, before the envoy could wander away, I swallowed a rather significant portion of my pride to request a small bit of mercy.

  “You know who I am, my Lord.” Tayson looked on as I choked out his title. “And who my family was. It would be a kindness if I could continue working with you rather than the… butcher who rules over Blackwood Keep.”

  “Would you sit with me for a moment?” His voice took on a strange tone when he responded, gesturing towards a pair of chairs that had been set up a short distance away.

  “Of course.” I followed, once again having no choice but to yield to Tayson’s request.

  By the time we were seated, a soldier had placed a pair of cups on the small table between us, and Tayson poured the wine, passing me one full glass while he took a deep sip from the other. Although I cringed at the thought of sharing his hospitality, as the long moment of silence dragged on, I cautiously tasted the red liquid.

  “Do you know how the war began?” The envoy didn’t meet my gaze as he spoke, staring off into the growing darkness beyond the campfire instead. “Not the stories that are commonly told, but the real truth of it?”

  “Farren responded to raids across the border from Cyndhar,” I replied, remembering all too well the cause of my misery, yet the subtleness of his point wasn’t completely lost on me. “Much like the ones you’re facing right now, I suppose.”

  “You’re half right, Countess.” Tayson raised his cup in a mock toast. “But we weren’t the only ones sending our troops onto foreign soil.”

  “What are you saying?” I inquired, feigning confusion even though Tayson’s words had been perfectly clear. Making him repeat the accusation allowed me the brief moment required to cast Intention, ensuring that any lies he told were put to the test.

  “I’m telling you that both kingdoms violated the peace.” The firmness of his words was validated by the softly glowing blue halo surrounding him as he spoke. “We stole your grain and livestock to feed our starving people while your forces plundered our mining camps for ore.”

  The spell could be inconclusive at times or defeated by one skilled in deception, but its indications were beyond question—the words Tayson spoke were the absolute truth. Hiding my shock at the revelation behind a hurried gulp of wine, I wondered how this secret had been kept for so long, and just how ‘secret’ it really was.

  “Our soldiers committed the first real atrocities,” the envoy admitted, still bathed in the faint blue haze that only I could observe. “But Farren’s response to those acts went beyond any notion of warfare.”

  “Once our forces were finally gathered, we were able to reclaim the land that had been taken, though I sometimes wish we hadn’t.” Tayson’s eyes locked on mine as he stopped gazing into the distance. “I was only a squire at the time, yet the things we witnessed still haunt me to this day. Charred and broken bodies were all we recovered, Countess. Not a soul was left alive to be rescued.”

  “Lord Devron led the army I was with, and I fear the sight of so much needless suffering pushed him beyond reason,” he continued, the expression of pain on his face too genuine for me to ignore. “In direct defiance of the orders of our King, he pursued the men who perpetrated that violence until we finally cornered them.”

  Tayson paused to drink once more, draining his cup and refilling it before continuing again. While I was uncertain where his story was headed, I couldn’t help but feel some empathy for him and those who’d been so brutally murdered by my own people. War was cruel by its very nature, but the senseless barbarity he spoke of had no place even there.

  “The battle was long and bloody, but with our numbers, the outcome was never in doubt,” he explained, once again avoiding my gaze. “Lord Devron wasn’t satisfied with our victory, however, and once the identity of our opponent was revealed, he sought even further vengeance.”

  The small mouthful of wine froze into a solid lump in my throat as my fingers tightened around the cup in my hand. Tayson wasn’t quite done with his story, but I knew its end well enough.

  “We marched straight through to Blackwood Keep, passing by every enemy outpost along the way until we were camped outside its gates,” he spoke in a bare whisper. In the darkness, Tayson’s hazel eyes took on the orange glow of the fire, perfectly suiting the grim turn in our conversation. “The fortress would’ve fallen to a siege with few casualties, but Lord Devron insisted on an immediate assault.”

  “The Lord fell among the first wave, struck down by a bolt of lightning from your step-mother, so you won’t find him in command of the Keep, Countess,” Tayson’s voice grew bitter as he recounted the loss, though a small part of me rejoiced at Valda’s triumph. “I hope that serves to ease your discomfort.”

  “What befell Lady Valda?” I inquired, daring to prod at his unease in search of an answer to her fate. “Do you know?”

  “I’m afraid she didn’t survive the battle,” he replied coldly. “Her body was found still guarding the library doors, surrounded by those she’d slain.”

  It was a fitting end for the only mother I’d ever known, and though it brought me a great deal of sadness to know that she’d passed, I was glad to hear she hadn’t been made a captive. Valda had gone out exactly how she would’ve wanted.

  “So, who rules over Blackwood Keep?” For all the news of Tayson’s disclosures, the question remained unanswered.

  “With the passing of Lord Devron, his eldest son Markus took control of the family’s main estate, while the younger was granted the Keep,” he replied, rising from his chair to signal the end of our conversation.

  “Does this Count have a name?” The cryptic reply forced me to ask.

  “Yes,” he spoke over his shoulder as he walked away.

  “He’s called Tayson, my Lady.”

  Chapter 10

  It took some time and two full glasses of wine for me to recover from Tayson’s revelations. Although I’d never had the opportunity to truly get to know him, coming to grips with the horrific acts perpetrated by my own father was no easy thing. We’d been taught that only Cyndhar committed such atrocities and had thoroughly demonized them for their apparent barbarity, yet it seemed we were just as guilty as they were, perhaps to an even greater degree. So, what did that make us? It wasn’t a question I was comfortable asking, but once I’d grasped the full meaning behind it, I stomped my w
ay around camp until I caught sight of Griff keeping watch over my tent.

  “Did you know?” I hurled the accusation in his face.

  “About what, my Lady?” he replied, pretending not to understand the question. But Griff was a soldier, and for all his skill at arms, he was pathetically inept in the art of verbal deception.

  “My father,” I spat at him, heedless for any concerns of decorum. “What he did during the war.”

  Griff had the decency to look me in the eye when he finally answered. “Yes.”

  “The things that were done were not of his choosing,” he explained as I collapsed into a chair that was thankfully left beneath the small canopy. “Lord Aldon was under orders from the King himself.”

  “Why?”

  “We could never hope to win, my Lady,” he confessed. “Cyndhar’s army is far larger than our own. His Majesty imagined that the destruction would bring them to the negotiating table where we could bargain from a position of relative strength. It was a calculated risk that did not play out in the manner the King envisioned.”

  While there may have been some logic to it, the cold calculation behind King Herrold’s decision completely ignored the consequences of his actions. Having felt the bitter sting of loss for myself, the countless families destroyed by my own people was a tragedy beyond my comprehension.

  “What other evils have been carried out in Farren’s name?” I pushed when the images of slaughter summoned one of my most painful memories. “Did we also send assassins to murder our enemies in the night?”

  Griff stiffened at the indictment, apparently recalling his failure to shield my mother from harm. “I cannot say, though it pains me to admit that it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “My Lady—” Griff attempted to offer some explanation before I silenced him.

  “I’ve had quite enough for one night,” I responded, holding up a single hand as I retreated within the confines of my tent.

  Although I expected to find only minimal furnishings, my foul mood wasn’t alleviated by the luxurious accommodations—quite the opposite. The thick carpet and soft bedding were much nicer than typical traveling conditions warranted, and I found Tayson’s consideration only more galling, knowing that he’d been aware of the truth all along. At best, the suffering we’d both endured had been equal, yet in my ignorance, I’d returned his courtesy with nothing but scorn.

  I owed the man a heartfelt apology, yet even with the truth finally laid bare, I still couldn’t bring myself to string together the words. After a lifetime of looking down on his people as little more than a pack of wild animals, embracing this new reality wasn’t going to be easy. Perhaps the morning would allow me to see things more clearly, but as I laid my head down on the pillow and stared into the darkness, I found little consolation in that blatant lie.

  My discomfort remained firmly in place the next day, and I tried to distance myself from Tayson while gathering my courage, but the effort was wasted. I quickly realized that he was avoiding me. Obviously, my offense was even greater than I understood, yet I couldn’t bring myself to go to him.

  Rather than deliver the confession he deserved, I allowed my attention to be diverted by the idle chatter of the soldiers surrounding me. Although they’d been somewhat restrained the previous day, the Cyndhari began to talk more freely amongst themselves as we moved closer to the border.

  Catching stray pieces of their conversation revealed no hints of any devious plots, however, only the typical banter that was common among such warriors. The idle boasts and bawdy jests mirrored the familiar refrains of the troops that manned Blackwood Keep in my youth, reminding me of home despite their uniforms’ red color.

  “My entire life has been one lie after another,” I whispered, scooting my mount closer to Griff as we crested a small hill. “Was there ever any truth to it?”

  “A great deal, my Lady.” A hint of empathy peered back at me from his typically steely eyes. “Though much of it was hidden from you at the time.”

  “I miss them both,” I responded to his thinly veiled reference to my father and Valda. “I wish they were here to help me make sense of things.”

  “This changes nothing.” Griff’s jaw tightened into a look of determination that I’d come to know well. “Your father was a decent man who had the misfortune of being forced to choose between honor and his King.”

  “As for Cyndhar, they remain our enemy,” he declared without a trace of doubt. “The differences may not be as obvious as you’d like, but never forget that.”

  Despite his conviction, I was having an increasingly difficult time believing that—or at least I was having trouble understanding why there was so much tension between the two kingdoms. In some ways, we should’ve been natural allies. Our common border and the distinctly different nature of our lands cried out for brisk trade, perhaps even an alliance of sorts.

  Most of Cyndhar was dominated by rocky and mountainous terrain, ill-suited for farming yet rich in minerals. In contrast, the wide plains of Farren were the exact opposite; fertile ground that lacked so much as a single productive mine. The embargo against Cyndhar forced Farren to purchase ore and finished metalwork from Raska to the north at a considerable markup, while Cyndhar traded for farm goods with Hamar at a similar disadvantage. The economics alone should have provided enough incentive for the kingdoms to work out their differences, yet the conflict continued festering for generations.

  “I’ve lost my entire childhood, the father I never knew, and two mothers to Cyndhar,” I replied instead. “I don’t need to be reminded of who my enemy is.”

  Griff only offered a curt nod of acknowledgment as we continued on in silence, but my thoughts remained plagued by a nagging series of doubts—not to mention the apology I had yet to offer Tayson. The crystal-clear lines of distinction that once defined my existence had been shattered, taking with them my sense of purpose. Though I still longed to reclaim my home, I wondered if I should continue pursuing that goal, or if Lord Aldon’s misguided actions had rendered my title over those lands completely invalid. It was a question only time and a great deal of thought could possibly resolve. Fortunately, I seemed to have an abundance of the former, while I could only hope that I’d manage to muddle my way through the latter.

  I retired gracefully inside my tent the moment it was put up, leaving orders with Griff that I was not to be disturbed. In truth, I was hiding from my troubles. Wrestling with my conscience was unfamiliar territory and not an endeavor that would be made any easier by Tayson’s unwanted intrusion, yet several hours spent in contemplation failed to resolve any of my lingering doubts. Even with all I’d learned, I still lacked the full picture of things; there were just too many missing pieces to the puzzle I was trying to put together. Sadly, I knew exactly where those answers lay, waiting to be discovered—only in Cyndhar would I find the remaining bits of truth I was searching for.

  If I could uncover them before the pursuit cost me my life.

  Although so many questions still dangled above my head, with a plan of action in mind, I slept better than I did the night before. Nothing had changed. I still had to venture back to Blackwood Keep and help defeat a force that was likely made up of my own people, but I had a path forward that promised at least some clarity at its end. Whether that would come in the form of peace of mind or the stillness of the grave was yet to be determined, but like so much of my life, the outcome was beyond my control.

  Once camp was broken, we resumed our steady march towards the border, and the Cyndhari troops became increasingly at ease with each passing mile. The small fortress on our side of the Stillwater had only just come into view when Tayson’s gray stallion trotted forward to pull alongside me.

  “It was unfair of me to withhold so much from you, Countess,” he spoke before I could, delivering a heartfelt apology that was rightly mine to offer. “I only ask that you forgive me for allowing you to proceed so far under a false assumption.”

  I took full advantage of the o
pportunity he’d so clearly provided to atone in a dignified fashion. “We’ve both offended each other more than enough, my Lord. Perhaps we should put the issue behind us and move forward in a more cordial manner?”

  “That has always been my goal.” Tayson smiled, and I found an odd sense of relief in his warm grin.

  “It was my understanding that Farren’s sorceresses relied on their magic for protection.” His eyes briefly flickered over my armor and weapons as he spoke. “Do you know how to wield those, or are they just for show?”

  Giving away even a hint of my capabilities to an enemy would’ve been unwise, but I detected no sign of subterfuge in Tayson’s question, only a genuine sense of curiosity. Considering my own vast ignorance about Cyndhar, it seemed fair to provide him with a tiny bit of enlightenment in return.

  “What you say is true enough,” I replied over the glaring objection in Griff’s eyes. “But I can assure you these are not decorations.”

  “A woman of many talents, I see.” He inclined his head slightly in a mocking salute that held no real malice. “I look forward to learning more of your secrets, Countess.”

  Spurring his horse forward, I watched while Tayson moved to the head of the small column of soldiers, issuing a series of orders along the way. There was something strangely intriguing about the Cyndhari Lord that I just couldn’t put my finger on, but my musing came to an abrupt halt with Griff’s interruption.

  “You may need to keep an eye on that one, my Lady,” he grumbled. “He’s a fox trying to work his way into the henhouse, I fear.”

  The nobility of Oldbridge were a devious bunch, sparing not a single bit of guile to work their way into an unsuspecting maiden’s good graces. The arrival of so many desperate Unlanded in their midst set loose a swarm of circling buzzards eager to feast upon our barren corpses, many seeking to claim the virtue of an overly naïve daughter or disheartened heiress. One in particular had been heedless enough to earn the mocking title ‘Countess of Sheets.’ Staving off false suitors and other pretenders had become almost second nature over the years, so while Griff’s words had been spoken in earnest, they’d also been completely unnecessary.