The Warlord's Secret Read online

  The Warlord's Secret

  Lizzy Ford

  Published: 2011

  Tag(s): "fantasy romance" "lizzy ford" "paranormal romance" "young adult" "young adult fantasy romance"

  Chapter 1

  The Warlord's Secret

  By Lizzy Ford

  Edited by Christine LePorte

  Cover art and design by Dafeenah

  http://dafeenah-hiddentreasure.blogspot.com/

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  Copyright 2011 by Lizzy Ford

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover art and design copyright 2011 by Dafeenah

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  Smashwords edition license notes:

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

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  See other titles by Lizzy Ford at http://www.guerrillawordfare.com/

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Excerpt from The Book of the Damned,

  First Warlord of Tiyan

  We found the demon when we took this land near the great cliffs. The local barbarians told us of its power, how it can heal a man from death and stop a storm from destroying a village. After so many years at war, I knew the demon alone could stop the wars that drove us from our home of Karyan across the sea to this barren strip of land along the cliffs.

  I went after the creature, captured it, and forced it into many hosts. It killed them all - -or we did when they went mad. This morn, when we'd given up, the demon told us of the perfect host. Mayhap it was tired from our trials, or mayhap it was trying to deceive us. Its words, however, were true.

  The demon is too strong for a boy under the age of five summers. Those of age to become pages were too old, for the beast twisted their impure hearts and made them attack us. It is evil and would destroy us if it could, but in a host who is pure, it can do no harm. Girls were too weak to hold the demon at all. Even the purest and strongest of them, to include my brother’s daughter, went mad and were killed.

  After several seasons and seventeen children, we discovered the right age for a host. This boy is between six and ten summers, when his body is strong enough to contain the beast and yet still pure. The boy we chose last season survived and can wield the demon’s powers. We’ll kill him when my heir, the second Tiyan ruler of my bloodline, reaches six summers in age. He will become the demon’s host, and will use the demon’s power to defeat our enemies. The demon will be passed to each heir of Tiyan.

  As long as a male from my bloodline is the warlord of Tiyan, the kingdom will never fall to its enemies, and we will use the demon’s magic for the good of all people. The demon says a female heir cannot hold it. If a female heir is ever born, she will fall to the demon’s evil nature, and it will use her weakness to destroy my kingdom. The gods have long favored my line with male heirs - -we have never had this female warlord as an heir. To be sure of it, all females born into my line will be killed. I entrust this duty to none other than my brother, whose sons will forever guide the Warlords of Tiyan.

  Tiyan, above all else.

  ***

  "This is where the scouts were seen yesterday," Rissa, tenth Warlord of Tiyan, murmured as she calculated the distance between the city and her destination.

  The village on the border of Tiyan and the neighboring kingdom was marked by a small black circle on the rough parchment map. The Western Cliffs - -which formed one of Tiyan’s natural defenses - -were marked in yellow, and the violent ocean edging the cliffs in blue.

  "No, it’s not."

  The clipped note in her chief advisor’s voice reminded her of how little he approved of her recent decision to involve herself in war planning.

  "Sirian, I’m certain this is where - -"

  "No, Rissa. If I believed this route dangerous, I wouldn’t send you this way," he replied.

  Yes, he would.

  She ignored the voice of the creature coiled restlessly within her.

  "My last two journeys from Tiyan ended in bloodshed, Sirian," she said even more quietly. "I lost twelve men on my last visit to the villages."

  "And I’ve told you more than once that you need not travel, but you insist," Sirian said. "You return safely. This is all that concerns me."

  "Their deaths concern me."

  Sirian edged closer, his wise gaze and silvering hair the only signs of aging on his otherwise lean frame.

  "Rissa, this was your decision. Before the last full moon, you never desired to visit the villages, or even to venture outside our walls. If you left the war to me, as your father did, we - -"

  "I must keep our alliances strong by delivering the water from the Springs! You know this!" she snapped.

  "If you insist on traveling, you must accept the risk of bloodshed. I’ve chosen the safest route there is, but you’re in danger no matter what route you choose. We’re nearly at war!" he reminded her with a chilling smile that didn’t reach his dark eyes. "If you insist on going, this is the route you must take."

  She bit her lip, not wanting to make yet another scene in front of the waiting warriors.

  "My dear, you’ve not been yourself lately," he added, softening. "Let me go in your place. I will take the magic waters to them and send word that the Warlord of Tiyan is confident in our triumph over the enemy."

  His words sent a tremor of fear through her. The last time she entrusted the Springs to Sirian, they ended up in the hands of her enemies.

  "It’s my duty," she said. "I’m well."

  We are well, the beast seconded.

  She stared at the map for a long moment as the awakening demon shifted within her. Tendrils of coldness stretched from its home within her chest, testing her strength before subsiding into stillness once more. Rissa shuddered and released her breath.

  "I’m well," she repeated.

  But for how long?

  "Then go!"

  Traitor, the beast said.

  Sirian’s sharpness and ingenuity in battle had kept Tiyan safe for years. He’d never been affectionate, but he had never failed to support her father when he needed his most trusted advisor. And yet she long knew the demon to be right: Sirian was no ally of hers.

  The demon’s triumph sickened her. Her father ruled a full thirty summers before the demon spoke to him and drove him mad. At five years into her rule and mere days from war, was she already toppling down the path of madness?

  She stepped into the cool night ahead of an occupied Sirian and threw her head back to see the half-moon.

  "My queen, I ask again to accompany you," said a gruff, seasoned warrior, stepping away from the dark shapes of her awaiting men. "For once, I agree with that ass. You take too many chances."

  "Hilden," she chided with genuine affection. "You’ve looked over me since I was too small to walk. You know how strong I am."

  "I have no children of my own, my queen, but if I did, I’d hope to see them outlive me. I wish the same for you."

  "I’ll come back, Hilden, I promise."

  He’d say no more - -he never did. Her most trusted friend and servant bowed and returned to the dark forms.

  Her eyes fell to the awaiting guards, most of whom wouldn’t survive the night.

  "It’ll get easier," Sirian said, pausing beside her. "Soon, you
won’t even remember them."

  "You’re so cold, Sirian."

  "Only because I know the Spring water you carry is worth a hundred lives."

  "How can anything be worth even one life?"

  "If you thought it were not, you would not go."

  "My queen, your horse is ready," Hilden called.

  She strode to her horse, hands trembling as she took the reins. She rode away quickly, as angry at herself as she was at her closest advisor.

  Despite the danger outside the walls, tension released her shoulders when she’d gone far enough to lose sight of the city’s walls. The ocean air was fragrant and heavy, and moonlight pierced the forest canopy in patches. They traveled through the forest to the rocky cliffs, following a well-worn trail to the border of Tiyan and Nilian, her nearest ally.

  She breathed a sigh as they entered Nilian territory, assured of her safety. This night’s journey was simpler than the past few journeys, as no enemy territory stood between her kingdom and her ally.

  The trail entered another dark thatch of forest, and she arrived soon at the agreed upon meeting place, a meadow marked with a single obelisk. A man in a hood awaited them.

  One of her riders urged his horse into a canter and approached, while she halted her horse, disguised among the men. She rarely revealed her face outside the kingdom, as was decreed by the first ruler of Tiyan so long ago.

  Too quickly, her rider barreled back and halted beside her.

  "My lady, we must go!" he whispered.

  "Not ’til we deliver the Spring waters."

  "My queen, please! The ruler of Nilian didn’t come. He sent a messenger with a warning: the king of Landis seized his family and half his kingdom and swears to destroy it all if Nilian sides with you!"

  Her stomach sank. With her own people under threat, she knew the choice Nilian’s ruler faced. That left her with two allies, neither of which was within half a day’s ride.

  "He said Landis planned to attack you this eve, and he sent his messenger ahead to warn you."

  "Let’s go," she said.

  The messenger across the meadow waved and wheeled his horse. He was swallowed by the dark forest before she could return the wave. Her men turned back, newfound urgency in their movement as they pushed their horses into quick paces. Her own breath was loud in her ears, the sound of her horse’s hooves drowning out everything else.

  They reached the cliff before the first arrows fell. One of the men ahead of her went down with a cry, his horse squealing. He bounded to his feet as another paused beside him. She slowed her horse, fumbling for the magic waters at her hip.

  "Go, my queen, go!" a guard shouted.

  A bellow sounded in the forest behind them, and moonlight gleamed off of the tips of falling arrows and the raised swords of the men that followed them.

  "Take this!" she said, and shoved the bladder at the downed man. "It'll heal you!"

  "We’re all dead men, my queen! Now, run!"

  He shoved the bladder away and slapped the rump of her horse. Her horse bolted, and she ran.

  ***

  Taran of Landis inched his way down the ancient tree, oblivious to the rough bark nipping at his moist skin. Nights near the ocean were humid and heavy despite the constant sea breeze, and he sucked in another deep breath, determined not to take even the heavy nights by the ocean for granted.

  How did he survive fifteen years enslaved in the catacombs by a madman? He shivered at the taste of night-blooming flowers and the salty ocean on the cool breeze. The nights made him think fondly of his old friend, an ancient blind man who saved him from madness in the catacombs.

  The sound of someone creeping through the brush made him pause in his descent to listen. His sight was poor enough that the moonlight hurt his eyes, but his other senses were strong after growing up beneath the ground.

  “I know you’re there, lying in a tree like one of the great cats you track.”

  He relaxed at the familiar voice and spotted the speaker.

  “You’re as quiet as a mad bear, Vara,” he replied just as quietly.

  “Peace, friend, I came to see if you’re alive.”

  “I am,” he said, and dropped the rest of the distance to the ground. “You always come after me.”

  Vara, the only man he might count as a friend if he dared count any, whirled, and moonlight caught his pale green eyes. The son of the ruler of the kingdom of Landis had men enough yet came himself to visit whenever Taran was away more than a few days.

  “I probably always will,” Vara replied. “Are you well?”

  “Your father wishes me inside the walls. I’ve waited a sennight without finding a way to obey.”

  “My father ordered you into Tiyan?”

  “He wants the water from the Springs, which he claims is magic.”

  Taran straightened the satchels strapped across his chest, his gaze returning to the walls of Tiyan. Every night, Tiyan warriors lit channels of fire around the field east of the walls using oil pans propped up by wooden stilts. The light did nothing to illuminate the traps and holes in the field, another of Tiyan’s defenses against its enemies. No man could cross the meadow alive without knowing where the traps lay.

  He’d never been as frustrated - -or interested - -in anywhere before. He’d never seen a kingdom with walls so strong a god must have built them.

  Tiyan was a worthy enemy, perhaps the only one that could withstand Landis’s armies. Was the tiny kingdom strong enough to help him seek his revenge against those who had imprisoned him beneath ground and killed his family?

  “I’d heard of them as well,” Vara said, following his gaze. “Is this all my father sends his best scout to do?”

  “I do as I’m ordered, Vara.”

  Taran glanced at him, wishing him gone. Vara felt a kinship with him after freeing him from the catacombs. But Taran wanted no favors from any man, even one who may have been a good man, had he been the son of any other.

  “Someday, I rule Landis,” Vara said. “And you will be my most trusted warrior. Then you will take an oath to me.”

  “I take an oath to no man, Vara. All you’ve done for me won’t change that.”

  Vara shifted, irritated with his words. The princeling knew as much, and Taran never hesitated to remind him: his loyalty lay to a dead family and a foreign land across the sea, from whence he’d come to this barbaric land.

  “I’ll leave you to puzzle over the walls,” Vara said in a tight tone.

  Taran watched him fade into the forest with a warrior’s stealth. He’d felt a need to apologize the last two times he spoke to Vara, but never would.

  Of everyone he’d known since coming to this land, Vara had been the only kind one, aside from the ancient warrior in the catacombs. Vara freed him, paid for his weapons. He shook his head.

  There were no good men in Landis’s barbaric armies, not even Vara!

  The noises of the forest stilled suddenly, and he cocked his head to the side. The sound of men crashing through the forest grew near fast. He sought refuge in his tree on a branch overhanging the main trail.

  The first form darted through trees and brush, shoving branches out of his path and stumbling. Moonlight glinted off pursuers’ weapons as they crashed through the forest. The first reached the nearby stream and stumbled, falling to his knees in the center of its shallow waters.

  Rather, she stumbled. The scent of pure woman sent a thrill through him, and he leaned forward. Yes, it was a woman’s shape, her body clad in dark breeches and boots, her sleeveless tunic held in place beneath a leather belt. A long, dark braid swung wildly with her movement. Her breathing was labored, her rise from the fall characterized by clumsiness borne of fatigue.

  He dropped to a limb closer to the ground.

  Images of what Landis’s men did to the women of an enemy flashed through his mind. He was a man of war and battle, but he had never been a man to prey on those unable to defend themselves. Caring for the ancient warrior in the catacombs,
Jame, all those years taught him compassion otherwise denied him among the dead in those underground passageways.

  She passed below him. He swung down, clenched her body between his thighs, and pulled her into the protection of the tree.

  The woman fought him, and Taran struggled to stabilize himself, finally wrapping his arm around her neck and forcing her head against him. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, her trembling body slick with sweat. Her scent was distinctly female: rich, musky honey. Her legs dangled helplessly in the air, and he saw the glint of tears on her face.

  She ceased squirming when her pursuers passed below them. No sooner had they gone than a hot, stinging sensation slid down one of his legs.

  Startled, he loosened his grip as he tried to snatch her arm and nearly dropped her. The woman clenched his arm and slid towards the ground until she held only his wrist.

  She looked, and her teal eyes seared into him. He felt the uncanny sensation that she understood his tormented existence. She let go, dropping into a heap on the ground then vaulting to her feet and running.

  He hesitated before vaulting to the ground, unable to explain the quickening of his heart or the sense that the woman's teal gaze - the color of the eyes of Karyan nobility -reminded him of the home he hadn't thought of in years. The shouts of her pursuers prodded him, and he gave chase.

  He heard their whereabouts just before she gave a strangled cry and collided with one of them. He tore into the center of the group, hacking down two men before the other six reacted. By the time he engaged the third, the woman was running once more. She eluded one man and slashed at another with a dagger before sprinting toward the field.

  He fought hard and fast, disturbed by an image of the woman with the piercing eyes being snapped up by a trap in the field. He buried a dagger in the gullet of the remaining man and darted forward.

  The glow of fire made him squint as they neared the field.