Shadow of the Conqueror

by Shad M Brooks

  “Yeah, but not out of affection. She wanted to go with me, looking for security in her ruined life. She was willing to do anything for that, which was why she threw herself at me. And I’m guessing that’s why she threw herself at you.”

  Sain folded his arms. “So what if it is? I’m not an idiot; I know she can’t love me, we’ve just met. But I like her, and I can give her the safety she wants. If she wants to ride me because of that, it’s her choice, but I’d take care of her anyway.”

  Daylen sighed. “It’s not so much her choice but an instinctive and destructive way of coping with what’s happened. She needs to come to terms with it and not continue the same type of abuse, even if it is self-inflicted.”

  “I’ll… I’ll talk to her about it.”

  “Sure you will, because you’d love to be celibate again.”

  “I will! I won’t lie—I like, you know, that. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But if it’s bad for her…I’ll stop it.”

  Daylen was still skeptical, of course, but Sain’s commitment was more than he could demand. “All right, good. Who knows, you two might work out; but regardless, that girl has been abused in the cruelest of ways, Sain, so if you’re taking her under your wing, you better do right by her.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  “Good…and I’m sorry for flying off the handle.”

  “It wouldn’t have felt right if you hadn’t.”

  Daylen chuckled. “Yeah.”

  There was a silence and Sain eventually nodded. “I… Umm, I guess this is goodbye, then.”

  “It is. Don’t waste this, Sain.”

  “I won’t.”

  Sain stood there for another moment before eventually nodding to Ahrek and leaving, closing the door behind him.

  Daylen stood there looking at the closed door, feeling…joy? Not just feeling enjoyment from passing pleasures or comforts—he actually felt genuinely happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this.

  That boy’s life had just been saved, not just physically, but morally and emotionally. It would have been so easy to kill him; he was a pirate on a crew that had attacked them. But there was such light in him. How many people who do terrible things only do them because of the circumstances of their life? Out of everything Daylen had achieved since becoming young again, stopping crimes, punishing villains and killing tyrants, this was the best and most noble act of them all. Redeeming a life from evil.

  “You did a very noble thing for that boy,” Ahrek said, having walked to join him.

  “I gave him money. He’s the one who’s choosing a better life from it.”

  “You did far more than just give Sain money,” the Bringer told him quietly. “You didn’t let him get away with any misbehavior while in our care, and showed by your actions that a man can fight against the circumstances of his life.”

  “Really? I broke his arm, remember?”

  “Well, apart from that,” Ahrek acknowledged with a slight chuckle. “Sain’s light was shining when he left just now. He’s going to do good things with his life. Sometimes all a boy needs is the right type of kick up the rear to see the error of his ways, breaking bones excluded. What you gave him was the discipline he had needed all his life. You’ll make a good father someday, Daylen.”

  That last comment stung. Daylen had been a good father before his life was ruined—a great one. But what about all the other countless children he had fathered since, without even knowing? He wasn’t a good father, nor would he let himself be one ever again.

  Daylen then noticed Lyrah staring at them in consternation. “What?” he said.

  Lyrah said nothing and turned back to sit facing away from them.

  “Oh,” Ahrek said, suddenly looking to Daylen’s new backsword, “I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed till now. Where’s Imperious?”

  Daylen smiled and held out his right hand. Light began to shine from it and quickly formed into Imperious.

  Ahrek gasped, and even Lyrah, who was still listening in, looked and then stood in shock, her mouth hanging open.

  Their reactions made revealing his new trick so worthwhile.

  Daylen raised Imperious and looked at the blade as he spoke. “Seeing the Archon over there do this gave me all the clues I needed. Sunucles are essentially solid-light objects, and as a Lightbinder I can draw light into myself. It’s that simple.”

  “So it’s not creation but light absorption,” Ahrek said, looking to Lyrah.

  Lyrah was visibly perturbed.

  “Another secret of the Archknights, as it turns out,” Daylen said, looking at Lyrah. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all Archons kept a sunforged sword stored within them, as well as a few other sunucles.”

  Lyrah sneered. “If you tell anyone, I’ll…”

  “Hey, I wasn’t the one who used this ability in public.”

  “That was different.”

  “Exactly,” Daylen said. “If my life is being threatened, to hell with your secrets!” He gripped Imperious tightly. “Anyway, even if people see me do it, no one will figure out that I can store sunucles within me. They’ll just think I can create swords in the same way as the Bringer’s miracle. I’m guessing you’ve used that ability in front of people before, and yet the secret is still kept.”

  Lyrah grimaced at him and didn’t reply.

  “Glad to see that we understand each other.”

  “You’ve clearly finished breakfast,” Lyrah said. “Get your things. We’re leaving.”

  “No.”

  “I said—”

  “Oh, shove it up your ass!”

  “Daylen!” Ahrek warned.

  “You shove it too, Bringer,” Daylen said before turning back to Lyrah. “I’m no one’s whipping boy, and you better not try and order me around, girl, or we’re going to have a big problem. Got it?”

  Daylen felt guilty as soon as he had finished. It was so easy to forget who Lyrah was when he became angry or frustrated. His appearance had a very unfair effect over her, and it was cruel to use it even by accident. It was clear that whenever he did, something retreated within Lyrah. She was still broken and afraid. Even now, her face was an image of consternation and hidden anxiety.

  Lyrah held her gaze on Daylen for a moment before turning and walking to her room, shutting the doors behind her.

  Lyrah’s head rested on the doors of her room as she wept bitterly.

  He was more like his father than she could bear. He looked exactly the same; his height and posture, even his way of speaking, were all identical. And when he got angry or annoyed, that was the hardest of all.

  When he spoke that way she was a trapped little girl again, completely under his power. No matter what she tried, that voice cowed her as completely as if she had just been raped all over again.

  Lyrah gasped as her sorrow grew. How could she do this? It was impossible. She had thought she could separate the boy from his father, but he was too similar to the bastard.

  A knock rung on the door, causing her to jump back. She sighed in frustration, angry at how weak she was. She hated being weak and helpless more than anything.

  She tried to take stock and walked away from the door, straightening her posture and wiping away her tears.

  She turned back to the door. “Yes?”

  “It’s me,” came the voice that had been burned into her memory. Without seeing where the voice came from, it was is if the monster himself had spoken, and in that instant her strength vanished.

  Lyrah slowly fell to the floor as she began to cry once more.

  The doors opened and the boy entered, closing them behind him.

  She hadn’t locked it. Idiot.

  “Go away,” she said pathetically through her tears.

  He crossed half of the floor between them and stopped.

  Silence.

  She eventually looked and saw that the boy was crying, too. Why would he be crying?

  “I’m sorry for how I spoke to you,” he
said. “There’s no excuse for it.”

  The idiocy—she wasn’t upset that a teenage boy had spoken strong words to her, and in reality he had done nothing wrong. Her hostility was purely because who he looked like, which wasn’t his fault.

  “You don’t understand,” she said.

  “Actually, I do.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “I lied when I said I didn’t know what my father did to you. I can only imagine what seeing my face must do. You deserve to be free of that bastard forever, and I’m…I’m sorry.” Tears came back to Daylen’s face as he said this, impassioned and heartbroken. “I’m so very sorry for what happened to you.”

  She looked up at him, and saw no lie in his eyes.

  The boy’s sorrow was so keen that it was as if he blamed himself for what his father had done.

  And it was in that moment that something changed within Lyrah. This boy—no, this man—was nothing like his father. The image of Daylen, the young man torn apart by pain, sorrow, and such profound guilt, was such a contrast to the image of the Great Bastard that she had within her mind.

  Lyrah stood, feeling calm for the first time in his presence. “You don’t need to apologize, Daylen.”

  His self-deprecating look conveyed that he didn’t think so.

  “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be judged because of your father.”

  “Perhaps I do,” he said with a cryptic twist of his lips.

  “No, I knew your…your father. He was a cruel and heartless wretch. You’re nothing like him.”

  Daylen laughed, to Lyrah’s confusion. “That’s good to hear. It’s really the whole reason for my life at the moment.”

  “That’s as good a purpose as any, I suppose.”

  They stood in silence, and Lyrah saw something in the young man’s eyes; Age. His eyes looked old and had a depth in them that she couldn’t understand. With those eyes, how he talked and handled himself, and his greater height, it could be very easy to forget how young he was.

  And then Lyrah realized something. For the time they had been looking at each other, Lyrah hadn’t seen the young man’s father. Instead, she saw who he really was: Daylen, the young man, just trying his best to be the best man he could.

  “Would you mind if we left for the constabulary now?” Daylen asked. “I think it’s about time.”

  Was that a veiled concession to her authority? “Yes, that would be good,” Lyrah said, and Daylen opened the door for her as they left.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I needed all my people to obey me and support the war effort, but in the rebellion they did the opposite; and just as if they were fighting for the other side, they had made themselves my enemies. Indeed, their rebellion broke the crucial supply chain to one of the main fronts, causing a massive defeat and withdrawal.

  Thousands of men died, and you can guess who I blamed.

  I pulled out four of my annihilators from the front lines and traveled with them to Daybreak. Once we arrived, in rage and madness I commanded them to level the city with everyone inside. I murdered over a million men, women, and children that fall.

  * * *

  Lyrah had said he was nothing like the Conqueror, and though Daylen was all too aware of how ironic that was, he was trying his very best to be a different man. Hearing these words from a woman with such a personal understanding of who Dayless the Conqueror was brought such light and joy into Daylen’s heart that it was hard to describe.

  Maybe he could actually do it; maybe he could be a different man.

  Thus Daylen was in a very good mood when he left with Lyrah to go to the Prime Constabulary, Ahrek being all too happy to see them off, saying he had some personal errands to make that fall. Lyrah’s companion, Cueseg, said he wanted to spend the fall at the Hold.

  Daylen had even pushed his guilt back to the point that it felt like a soft weight on his chest. His good mood helped, but his guilt was still ever present in his subconscious and Daylen couldn’t help but be constantly and unavoidably mindful of Lyrah and her every move.

  She was such a contradiction; so strong, powerful, and sure, yet so fragile and vulnerable at the same time. Daylen felt totally responsible for that fragility.

  As they walked down the hall to the elevator, he found himself being the perfect gentleman, letting her in the elevator first and opening each and every door they walked through.

  It was as if he was trying to make up for what he had done, as impossible as that was, but the futile nature of the task didn’t mean that he shouldn’t offer this woman whatever recompense he could give, even if that was simply being courteous. He should really offer himself in slavery and let her do with him whatever she wished—but why just her? He had treated hundreds of girls as wretchedly, not to mention the millions he had murdered. The whole world had a claim on him for justice. Maybe someday they would get it.

  With Lyrah being an Archknight and Daylen’s mug printed on every broadsheet in the city, they drew the attention of nearly every person they passed.

  Daylen was already reaching out with his light sense, something he tried to do constantly now, and because of it he noticed something odd.

  Lyrah’s inner light suddenly seemed to shimmer with brightness…and there was something familiar about it.

  She’s using her powers, Daylen realized.

  Being as subtle as possible, he glanced about to try and figure out what ability she might be enhancing.

  I bet she’s listening in on their conversations, Daylen thought. A good idea, in fact.

  Daylen enhanced his hearing and as soon as he did, Lyrah’s head spun on him. “What’re you doing?” she asked softly.

  Daylen leaned down, as Lyrah was half a head shorter than he, to whisper, “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, you didn’t know I could sense our powers?”

  She glared for a moment before repeating her question. “What’re you doing?”

  “The same as you, I’m guessing,” Daylen replied. “Eavesdropping?”

  Lyrah suddenly looked like a child caught trying to steal a cookie, and the light that was shimmering within her stopped instantly.

  Daylen smiled. “Gotcha.”

  Lyrah glared at him, all haughtiness and authority, and her light shimmered once more as if to say that she had every right to eavesdrop even though she had looked as guilty as sin. She walked on ahead of him.

  Daylen caught up and kept on enhancing his ears, knowing full well that she had lost any authority to stop him, and it seemed to bother her—which gave Daylen some type of juvenile pleasure. His courtesy only went so far. Lyrah the person needed endless recompense; Lyrah the overbearing and controlling Archknight, on the other hand, needed to lighten up.

  I wonder how much the knights actually abuse their powers so long as others don’t know? Daylen didn’t really blame them, of course, as he was all too happy to abuse his powers in the same way. Who wouldn’t like to hear what others said when they thought no one was listening in?

  “That’s him! The hero from Treremain,” one person said as they passed.

  “Paper says he defeated the legendary Blackheart and rescued a harem of captive girls.”

  Daylen sighed. The story had broken already? Sain had said that a heap of reporters had been crowded around the ships.

  A quiet conversation caught his attention.

  “Who’s the knight?” one person asked.

  “Looks like his mother.”

  “No, I read in the papers that his mother was some old widow. I bet the knights have gone after him because of his powers. They’ll want to see if there’s a connection with their own magic.”

  Well, the last part was true enough, but Lyrah? His mother? By appearance, Daylen looked young enough to be Lyrah’s son, he supposed, but in truth he was easily old enough to be her grandfather.

  Lyrah’s face had become hard and bothered. This woman’s face always seemed to reflect
how she was feeling, and because of that her mood was very easy to read.

  She must have heard the same comment, Daylen realized, and something about it had upset her.

  She’s concerned that people are seeing a connection between my powers and the knights.

  “Don’t worry,” Daylen whispered. “If people figure out I’m a Lightbinder, I’ll just say that I dedicated my life to your cause and the powers were given to me in my sleep. You know, a blessing from the Light or something.”

  “That will do, I suppose… Thank you,” Lyrah said, yet her mood hadn’t improved.

  “You’re welcome,” Daylen said.

  There must have been something else in the comment that upset her.

  Daylen wondered what. Her regard toward him seemed to have improved a little since leaving their rooms. Still, Daylen didn’t think it was the inference that he might be her child that bothered her…

  Daylen stopped dead in his tracks.

  Lyrah turned to him impatiently, but his realization was so concerning that he ignored it.

  Daylen could have fathered countless children with the girls that had been forced into his bead, and Lyrah had been one of those girls…

  Had she fallen pregnant?

  If so, where was the child? According to the time Lyrah had been in his bed…well, the child would be in their late twenties by now. Were they a good person, or would Daylen have to stop their evil as he’d had to with Blackheart?

  Daylen needed to know.

  “What’s wrong?” Lyrah asked.

  “It’s… Um, I’ll tell you once we get a coach.”

  “Fine. Just keep up.”

  Daylen asked one of the valets outside to flag them a skycoach. The valet stuttered a nervous affirmative in reply.

  Without asking, the valet made sure to flag the finest coach in the line, and when returning, said, “I’ll see that the hotel pays for the expense, Lady Archon—and, um, Mr. Daylen.”

  Daylen was about to say this was unnecessary, but Lyrah cut him off, saying, “Thank you,” in a way that implied such service was totally expected.