THE SHADOWLORD (10 page)

"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.

"'Do something!' I pleaded with my love.

"'Stop!' my beloved cried, vaulting from his saddle. He strode angrily forward, his hands clenched at his sides. 'What has this man done that you should lash him in this manner?' he demanded.

"The superintendent spoke to him in low tones I could not hear. I watched as the expression on my beloved's face turned from righteous anger to uncertainty. He turned from the defenseless man on the ground--once more striving to get to his feet--and mounted his horse. My love couldn't look me in the eye when he said there was nothing he could do. The worker had refused to obey an order to go into one of the flooded shafts and was to be executed for his refusal.

"I looked back at the worker, who stood but wove from the brutal agony that must have wracked his lean body. Our eyes met. The tawny color looking back at me through black-rimmed sockets--from hunger and weariness and defeat--mesmerized me. In that brief moment, our souls became linked. I felt his hopelessness, experienced the humiliation he had endured. I shifted uneasily in my saddle, feeling the drag of the whip down my own back.

"I couldn't let them take this man's life. Even as I looked at him, a guard threw a rope over a tree branch, the noose waiting to encircle the poor man's dirty neck.

"'This is my birthday,' I reminded my beloved, forcing him to look at me. I saw confusion wrinkling his brow and almost heard his thought--
What has that to do with this?
'You promised I could have whatever I wanted,' I said.

"His eyes widened. 'Do not ask this of me, Aradia,' he whispered.

"'You promised!' I said, standing my ground. 'How often do I ask anything of you?'

"He tore his gaze from me to stare across the clearing, his attention riveted to the stumbling man. That attention shifted to the hangman's noose, then skipped away. 'What is it you want?' he asked.

"'Give me his life,' I answered.

"He flinched. 'Aradia,' he began, his voice low, insistent.

"But I cut him off. 'Give me his life to do with as I please,' I said, 'and I will never ask you for anything else as long as I draw breath.'

"He sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

"The superintendent hurried over. 'This man is a rabble-rouser,' the evil one stressed. 'Let him live and it will be a mistake. We must make an example of him, Your Grace.'

"My beloved slowly opened his eyes and looked into the battered face of the condemned man, standing with the noose snug against his throat. They stared at one another for a long moment, and it amazed me how the worker didn't lower his gaze to such an important personage as a prince.

"'He has courage, beloved,' I whispered. 'Can you not see that?'

"His shoulders sagged. 'I can deny you nothing,' he says softly, then ordered the man set free.

"The superintendent grew livid, his beefy face crimson with anger. Eyes bulging, rubbery lips quivering with outrage, he tried to reason with my love, but the prince had made his decision.

"'What will you have them do, Aradia?' my beloved asked, ignoring the superintendent's hiss.

"'Set him free,' I said. 'See to his wounds, then give him food and water and allow him to return to his home.'

"My beloved nodded. He turned to his Chief Guard and ordered him to see that my instructions were carried out.

"Above us, the sky turned black with the approaching storm. The wind picked up and the air cooled to a comfortable temperature.

"'We must hurry, Your Grace,' one of the guides said. 'Shelter is another mile up the mountain road. If we are to reach it before the rain, we must leave now.'

"My love agreed, and he kicked his mount. As we started moving, I heard a raspy voice call out. I turned to see the freed man loping toward me. His movements were pitiful to watch as he shambled forward. My beloved's guards blocked his path, but I reined in my horse, turned, and met him halfway. Up close, my heart broke when viewing his thin cheeks, the hollows shadowed within the ragged confines of his filthy beard, the blood oozing from beneath the iron bands encircling his scrawny wrists. The cuffs of his torn breeches rode high on his shins, and his ankles were scraped raw, banded with scar tissue from the iron shackles that clanked when he walked.

"'Milady,' the abused man said, his voice cracked from disuse, his lips parched and bleeding. He lifted his bound wrists and opened a hand. In the dirt-streaked palm sat a lump of amber. Before I could take it from him, my beloved reined in beside me and plucked the gem from the hand.

"'Milady thanks you,' my love said, then waved a signal at his guards to draw back the worker.

"I knew better than to say anything, for I'd heard the warning in my beloved's tone. I saw its recognition in the worker's pain-glazed eyes as guards led him away. I did not look back, however, since no worry remained in my mind that the wretched man would be kept safe. The Prince of the Southern Winds had given his word, and that was law to those who heard it. Silently, as a Daughter of the Wind, I prayed for the reprieved man's safety, asking that the Wind be always at his back.

"It was not until we were safe inside the mountain shelter, the rain lashing at the windows, that my love handed the gemstone into my keeping.

"'A rare and precious piece of amber,' he told me. 'Had they found it secreted on his person, he would have been drawn and quartered.'

"I looked at the stone and drew in a breath, for there, embedded in the center of the golden resin, was a perfectly preserved firefly. A web of dust swirls fanned out from it. A lovely specimen I will treasure for as long as I live. To this day, I wear it close to my heart to remind me of all I have lost."

Euryleia dragged the arm of her robe across her eyes. "The Diabolusian prince must be a wonderful man, Ardy, to grant you such a boon."

Phillipa stared at the amber bead. Slowly, she lifted her gaze. "The worker was Lord Jaelan."

"Aye," Aradia replied.

"He owes his life to you," Okyale said with a long sigh.

"And because your Diabolusian showed a weakness by giving in to your request," Phillipa stated, "word of it reached his father."

Aradia hung her head. "That was the way of it."

"And because the king was apprised of his son's momentary lapse of good judgment, he had a way to rid himself of you."

"You call saving a man's life a momentary lapse of good judgment?" Aradia asked.

"In his father's eyes, it was," Phillipa replied. "Your kindheartedness brought you nothing but misery, and now it's allowed that man in there to be in a position to stop you from saving one of our own!"

"He has stopped me from doing nothing," Aradia said, teeth clenched. "I told you, I intend to uphold my vow to rescue Orithia."

"And he'll make good on his vow to stop you." Phillipa looked at the other women. "Gather your things and let us shake the evil of this place from our shoulders. If our sister wishes to truck with the demon, let her."

Stung by Phillipa's nasty tone and angry visage, Aradia said nothing. She watched as the others made ready to leave, with only Euryleia meeting her gaze.

"Come with us," Eury pleaded.

"If I do not return, know I love each of you and my thoughts will be with you."

"Her thoughts are on an amber-eyed devil," Phillipa hissed. She pushed past Okyale and jerked open the door. The sound of her heavy footsteps marked paid to the argument between her and Aradia.

Euryleia's face pinched with concern. "This is not the way it should happen."

"Go," Aradia insisted, taking her friend's arm and leading her to the door. "Ride with the Wind at your back."

From his window, Jaelan watched the women trudging through the mud toward the stable. He winced as the older woman--the witch, he had named her in his mind--hammered savagely at the door to wake the stable boy.

Half an hour later, a long sigh escaped him when he counted the number of robed women riding from the stable. Just as he knew she would, the one named Aradia had stayed behind.

Leaving the window to lie across his bed, his arm thrown over his face, he wasn't sure if he felt anger or exasperation that she had not gone with her countrywomen.

Either way, he knew their paths were destined to cross again.

He would make sure of it.

It proved easy to follow her tracks in the mud. The rain had turned the roadway to a quagmire along which no wheeled conveyance could pass. Even his stallion's hooves made sucking sounds. He kept well behind, knowing where she was going, content to let her travel. He had eaten a leisurely breakfast while his horse was being saddled and had taken to the road an hour after her. The morning light was like dull gray wool spread over the heavens, and a cool breeze kept him alert.

Occasionally he thought of homing in on her thoughts, but a part of him was loath to use his talents to pluck her musings from the ether. Reading her mind had proven effortless the evening before simply because she had not been expecting his invasion of her privacy. Today, however, he knew she would be on guard and might sense him trying to intrude. He knew he needed the element of surprise when dealing with this woman, so he kept his probing in check even though he itched to know what she thought about him.

Over the years, he had thought of her more often than he cared to admit. His nightmares led him back to her that day; his dreams sent him beyond the moment they parted; his daydreams built fleeting scenarios in which they were more than strangers passing on a storm-driven day. The endings of his imaginings were far different than that which had actually happened after she and her prince had ridden away.

Shaking free of the memories, he kicked his heels against the stallion's side. The wind picked up, and when he looked to the west, he frowned at the black clouds building on the horizon. Abbadon fortress lay ten miles to the north, but even at a fast clip, he knew he would not make it before the storm came. With it, he could sense the dangerous lightning. A few miles ahead, though, caves would provide ample shelter. His only concern was whether the Amazeen would stop there for sanctuary.

"Then don't give her a choice," he thought as he heard distant rumbling behind him.

Using his god's-given gift had never proven to be difficult. Most times, nudging people to do as he bid was simply a matter of "thinking" the action into their minds, planting it like a seedling and allowing it to spread its roots. He was careful how and with whom he exercised his supernatural endowment, for once he established control over an individual, it became tempting to continue leading them. His care extended to making sure the object of his suggestion was not aware of his meddling. With a threat looming behind them, he knew he would need to throw caution to the wind and break into the Amazeen's thoughts.

"Are you near the caves, wench?"
he whispered, though his lips never moved. He closed his eyes, picturing her plodding along on the gray mare.

"They are over there," she replied in his mind.

He knew she would not realize she had spoken, would not even remember lifting her hand and pointing to the cave system.

"Make for the one on the left. The one with the smallest opening,"
he sent out to her
. "Do you see it?"

"Aye."

"Go inside. Do not be surprised when I join you. I am no danger to you. Do you understand?"

He saw her nod, then direct her mount toward the cave. Letting out a long breath, he urged his steed to a faster pace. Having no desire to get soaked as he had the night before, he grew anxious. The thought of a dry cave, a shimmering fire built at the entrance to ward off the chilly winds skirling outside as rain lashed, filled him with a peacefulness he had not known for a long time.

Aradia looked up as the shadow fell over her, blotting out the feeble light from the cave's entrance. She did not start, did not reach for her weapon, though the dagger lay close at hand as Jaelan led his horse into the high-walled enclosure. Instead, she went back to trying to start the fire from the brush she had gathered. She cast him an annoyed look as he unsaddled his mount and left it beside her own at the back of the cave. The smell of wet horse became overpowering.

"Need some help?" he asked, running a hand over his wet face.

She shrugged. "The wood's wet. I don't know if we'll get more than smoke."

Jaelan peeled off his leather jacket. "Have faith, wench."

"If I didn't, I would have ventilated you as soon as I saw you, warrior," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around her to ward off the cold.

He chuckled and hunkered beside her. "Shall I start shaking in my boots now, or wait until you've proven you can wield that toy blade with some degree of expertise?"

She snorted, refusing to rise to his baiting. She moved to sit on a low ledge, propping her chin in her hand, staring at him as he fanned the fire to life. "How long do you think the rain will last?"

"Until it ends."

"Oh, clever response, warrior. Shall I laugh now, or wait until you've proven you can wield humor with some degree of expertise?"

"She walks, she talks, she repeats phrases like a parrot."

"Funny. Are you allowed to have a sense of humor, Shadowlord?"

The smile on Jaelan's face slipped away. "No."

Aradia watched him adjust the sticks, then sit cross-legged before the fire, staring into the flames. The red-gold flicker playing across his face lit the amber glow in his eyes, brought out the shine of his dark hair. She thought she had never seen as handsome a male as the one sharing the damp cave with her.