THE SHADOWLORD

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Aradia felt her face flame and snatched back her hand. She spun on her heel and hurried to the women, shooing them into the room before her. Unable to get the door shut fast enough behind her, she leaned against it, breathing heavily. With a shaky hand, she shoved back the cowl of her robe and tore viciously at the covering restricting her face.

  "He thought I wanted him to bed me!" she said, her cheeks blazing.

  "What else was he to think?" Phillipa inquired, pulling her from the door lest someone hear. "Why the hell did you go over to his table?"

  "I don't know!" Aradia whined, snatching off her gloves. She held her trembling hands toward the flames in the fire pit and stared at the golden blaze that reminded her vividly of his amber eyes. "What did the innkeeper call him?"

  "Lord Jaelan, I think," Okyale replied.

  "Jaelan," Aradia repeated.

  "Obviously he's a man who wields power here," Phillipa commented. "Why else would the innkeeper bow and scrape as he did?"

  "He despises slavery," Aradia said. "That much is for certain." She looked around. "Perhaps he would be a good ally."

  Phillipa's eyes widened. Her face turned pale. "No, Aradia, no! You leave that one alone. Do you hear?"

  "Why?" Aradia asked, surprised to see true fear running rampant on Phillipa's scarred face.

  "He is trouble, girl. You could see it in his eyes!"

  "I saw pain in his eyes. Pain and something I could not understand."

  "I agree with Phillipa," Okyale said. "He is best left alone. I sense great danger about him."

  Each woman turned her attention to Okyale. The petite redhead was being trained for the Temple of the Goddess. Her psychic powers were highly regarded, and many came to her for readings regarding their futures.

  "What do you see, Okyale?" Phillipa asked in a tight voice.

  A frown marred the young woman's porcelain features. "It is not so much what I see as what I feel. There is great darkness surrounding him, and I sense the presence of blood."

  "He is a warrior," Aradia said. "Darkness always follows a warrior."

  "As blood is the general result of his profession," Euryleia commented.

  Okyale shook her head, and the auburn ringlets that famed her oval face bounced with the movement. "Not darkness such as touches this one. This darkness is evil, a malevolence that destroys."

  "Leave off, Okyale," Euryleia said. "Ardy has no intention of trafficking with the Rysalian."

  "He is not Rysalian," Okyale said. "I am not sure what he is."

  "Does it matter?" Phillipa asked. "Let us forget him and eat our meal before it grows cold." She took a seat at the table that had been prepared before the fire. "I am famished."

  "As am I," Euryleia agreed, sitting.

  The other women joined Phillipa and Euryleia, digging into the stew and soft bread laid out for their fare. Aradia sat beside Okyale, and exchanged a smile with her friend as Okyale passed the bread tray to her.

  "Marvelous!" Phillipa commented as she sampled the stew. Closing her eyes to its deliciousness, she chewed slowly, savoring the delicate blend of tastes. A groan of pleasure rumbled from her throat.

  "I can see why the warrior rode all this way to have a meal," Aradia said.

  "I have not had such delightful fare since Aello was Head Cook," Euryleia put in.

  The women stilled as a light knock sounded. The door opened, and the innkeeper entered. "There is more stew if you desire it, ladies. The bread, I fear, has been depleted, but there are day-old rolls that are nearly as fresh as when my lady-wife pulled them from the oven. Would you like me to bring more trenchers? Cheese? Ripe fruits?" His smile widened. "Perhaps more refreshment?"

  "No, thank you," Aradia said.

  He shrugged. "Suit yourselves, but as Lord Jaelan says, you will not find the food at the convent as good as my lady-wife's."

  "What does Lord Jaelan do?" Aradia inquired.

  Shock spread over the innkeeper's florid face. "Do? My dear woman, he is a Shadowlord!"

  "And that would be what, exactly?"

  Jubil's chin trembled. He looked at the door, then lowered his voice. "He is one of the Dark Lords of Death. He is in charge of the King's personal security forces, the Shadowlord over the other Lords."

  "In other words, a man to be feared?" Phillipa asked.

  "There are those who move to the other side of the street rather than walk behind him, and none would dare walk in front of Lord Jaelan. He is feared and not a man to be crossed."

  "Then what is...?" Aradia began.

  The man hold up a hand. "It is not wise even to speak of him. Best you pretend you never saw him." Opening the door, he peaked out. Satisfied no one had overheard, he left the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

  "Jaelan sounds like a Rysalian name, don't you think?" Aradia asked.

  Phillipa stopped eating, laid down her fork, and gripped Aradia's arm. "Get your mind off that man! Don't even think what I know you're thinking."

  "What's she thinking?" Euryleia asked.

  Aradia held Phillipa's stony stare. "I am going to need help getting into the fortress at Abbadon. Why not use him?"

  "And how would a postulant to the Wadi go about gaining the warrior's confidence?" Phillipa demanded. "You heard him tell you he's not interested!"

  "I told you, there's darkness emanating from him," Okyale said. "Being a Shadowlord does not sound like a gentle profession. That more than anything should make Ardy think twice about confronting a man like him."

  "A darkness only you sense," Aradia said. "I touched him. I looked into his eyes. If there's darkness, it's a darkness bred of sorrow."

  "You'll do as you want," Phillipa snapped, letting go of Aradia's arm. "You always do." She picked up her fork and thrust it into her plate, scooping up a goodly portion of stew. "And not all your decisions are wise."

  Phillipa's words stung, but Aradia made no comment. She returned to her food, the enjoyment somewhat diminished by the mood that had settled over the table.

  Outside, the elements had turned more violent. Thunder boomed, lightning cracked, shaking the shudders covering the arched windows. Rain pelted the roof, and the wind skirled along the eaves. A wicked night, made more so by dampness that settled in the room, which not even the cheery fire could dispel.

  Euryleia pushed away her plate, wiped clean of any particle of food. "On such a night as this, not even the beasties are safe."

  "I have heard tales of flash floods in Rysalia that come in the dead of night to wipe away entire towns," Tianara, one of the other women who had remained silent until now, said.

  "We are high enough above the Nilus that such is unlikely to happen," Phillipa reminded them.

  "I would suggest we post a watch nevertheless," Tianara said. "I would be willing to take the first shift. I have never been able to sleep when it storms."

  "Nor have I," Aradia commented. "Storms put my nerves on edge. Lord Jaelan must truly love the food here to come out in this deluge."

  Phillipa hissed, got up from the table, and went to one of the pallets. She settled onto the thin padding, turned her back to the others, and pulled the coarse blanket over her shoulders.

  "What ails her?" Euryleia whispered.

  "She seems to have developed a strong dislike of Lord Jaelan," Aradia said.

  "Then stop mentioning him," Okyale suggested. "I don't care for him, either."

  "Did it occur to anyone that he might be one of them?" Euryleia inquired, the last word sinking to a whisper.

  "Them?" Okyale asked.

  Euryleia blushed. "You know--the ones who like other males."

  "Oh, surely not," Aradia snapped. "Perhaps he has a woman of his own and is faithful."

  "A Hasdu faithful to one woman?" Phillipa scoffed, rustling her covers. "They don't know the meaning of the concept!"

  Tianara also got up and went to another pallet. She took it by the corner and dragged it to the door. "I'll keep first watch. If I put the pallet in front of th
e door, no one can enter without us knowing. And if I hear a commotion outside, I'll have time to wake the rest of you."

  "Let me out first," Aradia said.

  Phillipa pushed up from her pallet and turned to glare at her.

  "I have to pee, Phillipa! Is that all right with you?" Aradia hurried out before Phillipa could stop her. As she closed the door behind her, she felt relief at not hearing voices from their room, though she knew the women would be discussing her.

  The common room lay in darkness, save for the flicker of the dying fire in the grate. Deep shadows hovered along the curved walls and cast the furniture in darker shades of black. Fumbling, Aradia made her way to the door to the facilities, grateful when a harsh flare of lightning lit the room in blue-white relief and revealed its location. Bracing herself for the onslaught of wind and rain as she ventured outside, she held the cowl to her head and hurried to the outbuilding that sat a few yards from the inn. Her booted feet splashed through puddles, and by the time she reached the facility, mud coated the hem of her robe and her cowl was soaked. Grinding her teeth, she jerked open the wooden door and rushed inside, the stench hitting her like a damp rag to the bare face.

  Aradia groaned, wishing she could pinch her nostrils closed. Holding open the door, she waited until another flash of lightning lit the heavens and allowed her to see the lantern hanging beside the door. After taking it from its peg, she ran her hand along the wall until she found the tin of lucifers and struck one against the rough plank wall. The meager light flared. She lit the lantern, then hung it back on the peg. She inhaled their pungent odor as she fumbled with her robes, pulled down her short britches, and perched uneasily on the wooden seat. A long sigh escaped her as her bladder started to drain.

  When the door opened and a tall figure strode in, it was all she could do to keep from shrieking. As it was, her gasp could be heard over the din outside.

  "It's only me, wench," Jaelan said, shutting the door.

  Aradia stiffened. She crouched, hiding her flaming face with her cowl. Her bladder had locked on her, cutting off her urine in mid-stream. She watched in dismay as he moved to the far wall and began unbuttoning his leather britches, his back to her. She saw him shift his legs apart, but turned her face away as he began relieving himself into a narrow crevice dug into the wall.

  "You are a sensitive sort, aren't you?" he asked, amusement rife in his deep voice. "You'll get over your shyness quickly enough at the convent. Privacy is not allowed within the Sisterhood."

  Unable to keep from doing so, she snuck a look at him.

  "I hope you are prepared for what goes on at the Convent."

  "I am not sure I understand what you mean, Milord," Aradia said, her voice trembling.

  "I know it is not the case in Diabolusia, but the Brotherhood of the Domination runs the Convent in Rysalia, or did you not know that? The nuns are often requisitioned as bedmates for visiting dignitaries. The price of a night's entertainment goes into the Brotherhood's coffers, and the only thing you will get from it might well be a dose of the clap."

  Shocked, Aradia stared at him, watching as he stuffed himself back into his britches. Her face flamed as he adjusted his privates, then walked toward her. Ducking her head, she quivered with acute embarrassment and flinched when his heavy hand fell on her shoulder.

  "You offered me sympathy tonight, and I certainly was not expecting that from you. Now, I am offering you advice." He lightly shook her. "Go home, wench. Stay clear of the Brotherhood. They will chew you up and spit you out. Do you understand?"

  Aradia managed to nod, hearing the thunder of her blood in her ears.

  He squeezed her shoulder before releasing her and turning away. "Good. If I can save you from that life of degradation, it will have been worth every pass of the lash." He opened the door and walked into the pouring rain, then closed the door behind him.

  Letting out a ragged breath, Aradia shuddered and finished relieving herself. She scooted off the wooden seat, wiped herself on the hem of the already-dirty robe after discovering nothing else to use, then blew out the lantern. She opened the door, somewhat comforted by the clean wash of rain striking her face. For a moment, she stood, letting the moisture cool her. The storm was moving off, the thunder sounding more distant, but the rain still came down in driving sheets. Lowering her head, she ran for the inn's door, sidestepping as many puddles as she could see in the abbreviated flash of lightning.

  Phillipa was sitting in front of the fire, huddled in her blanket and staring into the leaping flames, when Aradia tapped at the door and Tianara opened let her in. The younger woman came to the fire pit and sat beside her friend.

  "You were gone a goodly time," Phillipa commented.

  "Can't you sleep?"

  "He is a dangerous man."

  "How do you know that?" Aradia asked in an exasperated tone.

  "I know a dangerous man when I encounter one. And so should you. Was not the Diabolusian as dangerous as they came?"

  "Not to me, he wasn't."

  Phillipa drew in a long breath, then exhaled slowly. "You will do what you will do, won't you, Ardy? No matter the consequences."

  "I'll be careful."

  "Sometimes careful isn't good enough." Phillipa returned to her pallet, leaving Aradia to watch the fire.

  Long into the night, the sad amber eyes of Lord Jaelan Ben-Ashaman lurked in the undulating flames Aradia contemplated. Those eyes bothered her far more than she would have imagined as the storm shook the building with violent claws.

  * * * *

  Jaelan lay awake in the room Jubil had allotted him, three-doors down from the room where the women slept. As they had all evening long, his thoughts returned to the evil that had once lurked in his world.

  "I remember you, Ai-Hawa," he said aloud, staring at the heavy beam overhead. "I remember you all too well."

  With a curse, he sat up, throwing the covers from his legs. He raked a hand through his hair, gripping the black strands and pulling in his frustration.

  "I have never forgotten you. I remember that day as though it were yesterday."

  The hellish day was burned into his memory as though a branding iron had been applied to his brain, searing the sights and sounds and sensations, the taste of his own blood on his lips, into the recollection that would be there for as long as he drew breath. Nightmares had sprung from that gruesome day and still slipped unbidden into his bed when he least expected them, nightmares that had the power to make him tremble.

  A shudder ran through his tall frame. He felt the familiar ache in his chest, an awareness that often left him moist of eye and barren of hope. For a Shadowlord, it was a dangerous condition that had to be kept hidden at all costs.

  "Aye, I remember you, but you don't remember me, do you, wench?" he whispered, balling his hands into fists and dropping them to his thighs.

  He got up and moved to the window, pushing aside the curtain with the back of his hand. He blinked as lightning flared, driving a wedge of discomfort through his eyes. But he was unconcerned. Storms exhilarated him, thrilled him to the core of his being. Had it been a bit warmer, he would have stripped and stepped out into the deluge, throwing his arms wide to the elements, flirting precariously with the jagged strings of fire that stepped down from the heavens.

  "You are as beautiful now as you were then," he whispered, his gaze narrowing, "and just as dangerous."

  He traced a crooked knuckle through the mist created by his hot breath on the windowpane, drawing the ancient symbol for the wind.

  "Ya-Bint-Al-Hawa," he whispered in his adopted tongue--The Daughter of the Wind.

  A decision had to be made, he thought, as he lowered his hand to the windowsill. Plucking at a loose paint chip, he sighed, wishing he had not ventured to the caravansary this night. That spur-of-the-moment choice might wind up costing him dearly.

  "What you didn't know wouldn't have hurt you, Jaelan."

  And one way or another, he was going to be hurt, he thought.
>
  He turned back to the bed and flung himself onto the lumpy mattress. Sleep, if it came at all, would be a long time arriving.

  * * * *

  Kathleen McGregor paced the confines of her luxurious bedchamber, and as always, ignored the sumptuous surroundings. The ornate Ionarian mahogany furniture, the exotic Viragonian silks and intricate laces, the soft furs and thick Chalean carpets, the gilt-framed paintings by ancient Diabolusian masters, the pearl and jade and jet inlaid boxes from Chrystallus, the heavy brass trinkets from Necroman, meant nothing to her. Their beauty, their priceless value, was lost on her.

  Stopping at the window long enough to see a violent spear of lightning thrust to earth, the Serenian captive flinched. She turned, wrapping her arms around her as a chill shifted through her slim body. Trembling, she walked to the hearth and knelt in front of the crackling fire.

  "Let this test pass him by, Great Lady," she pleaded to the flames. "Do not let him act upon his decision."

  The faint scent of lavender invaded the room.

  Kathleen closed her eyes. "I worry this will destroy him."

  "Have faith in him, Kathleen," a soft voice advised. "He is a strong man and will endure the trial."

  A crystal tear slid down Kathleen's cheek. She hung her head, giving in to the grief that had dwelt in her for many years. "He will suffer greatly because of her."

  "Life is meant to be lived, Daughter. We all suffer in one way or another."

  Kathleen looked up, her eyes overflowing. "But he has suffered enough in his lifetime! Let me protect him from the evil walking beside him!"

  "No one can bend the path of the stars. Jaelan Ben-Ashaman's fate was sealed long before he came into this world."

  Overcome with misery, Kathleen curled into a fetal position and stared at the blazing logs. The heavy burden of sorrow pressed on her chest, and she found it hard to breathe. Despite the heat, she felt chilled to the marrow, her teeth chattering. A growing darkness crouched at the edges of her vision, and she knew monsters--human and supernatural--lurked there as well.

  "Protect him, Alel," she begged her god. "Keep him safe in the hollow of Your merciful hand."