Adairos by Christopher Heath

She rode through the dim gray of dusk, storm clouds rolling overhead, stubbornly refusing to shed their waters. They reached out in all directions across the firmament, steadily backlit by vibrant sheet lightning. A breeze blew strong and clean, a portent of the tempest to come. Grasslands swayed and bent to the racing winds, then rose again to brush her roan's underside as it cut a path with heavy hoof toward a black tower on the horizon. A sinister, flickering ruby glow that bespoke sorcery in its vilest coils emanated from a dormer window. Adairos knew she must hurry.

"I thought we left the Amazona bitch for dead," laughed Trivvic when he first saw her long black hair fluttering in the winds and the signature glaive she carried like a lance. "I'd skewer her with an arrow if not for these damn winds."

"Save it," grunted the heavyset Olbrut, mounting his steed and lowering a spear. "I'll defeat her on the field and gain LeeVan's favor this night."

"She's probably half-dead anyway," Trivvic responded, climbing in his saddle and wishing to share in the glory.

"She'll be full-dead when I get through with her."

The two galloped down the hill to meet Adairos, quickly gaining speed. Trivvic trailed behind, sword in hand and waiting to finish her off if she should somehow defeat Olbrut.

When Adairos saw LeeVan's lackeys and recognized them for who they were, she narrowed her eyes and set her jaw, urged her mount even faster with sharp kicks to its ribs. Olbrut seemed supremely confident on high ground with his long spear stretched out before him. Adairos knew she could change all that with but a subtle tactic.

As they neared, she moved her arm in quick circular motions. The bamboo shaft responded in turn, and the blade swirled in an ever-larger arc. Her adversary found himself caught fully off guard by this foreign, limber weapon and method of attack; he tried to follow and parry the blade by circling his own spear, but could never manage to connect. A cry of realization was suddenly stifled as the glaive cut into his breast and threw him from his horse. His body was lost in the tall grasses.

Trivvic's eyes widened as he tried to defend with his sword, but the blade quickly began circling again and marked him as well—he hit the ground with a thud, gasping out the last of his life.

Adairos found some satisfaction at the first taste of revenge. It felt good to impose her will again upon the weaker sex and reclaim her rightful superior status. Raised in a land where men were but slaves and cowered to female might, she had found it a cultural shock experiencing firsthand the land of Tal'El'Lorm and the role reversal of the sexes. It was rarely spoken by her sisters that men ruled the other lands, and though she had heard a tale of it once, the woman who had uttered it was ousted as a blasphemer and severely whipped for the atrocity.

It was fate's misfortune when—on her first voyage to capture slaves—a mighty storm destroyed the ship and washed her ashore to a land ruled by men. She thankfully found a small amount of wreckage on the shore, including scattered weapons and a breast plate baring the embossed crest of the leopard raised on hind legs, which she still wore.

She searched the shoreline for hours, finding no other survivors. Eventually, she assumed all her sisters had died. She soon met a man upon the beach, and he spoke to her in the dialect of her people, through sorcerous art. His name was LeeVan. She felt his power and knew him for what he was, perhaps that is what drew her to him—for it was the first time she had witnessed strength in a man. He became her constant companion. Slowly she became accustomed to the lands, learned of Tal'El'Lorm's culture while planning a return to Amazona. Repulsed at first by the role of women in society, she later came to accept it, and studied how they cooked and cleaned, raised children (even boys), loved men. She even learned to care for LeeVan while they shared a life in Sord'Lorm, loved him as she never could have in her homeland. She now spat upon those feelings and vowed never to love man again as thoughts of revenge crept into her psyche. But she let go of her hate, thought instead of the instinctive need for a reunion that drove her onwards.

Several arrows flickered past, driven off course by the relentless winds. They came from the tower's pointed parapets, where several archers perched. Adairos saw them fade from view—apparently frustrated by nature's fury.

She hurried onward, toward the tower. Eleven lightly armored men exploded from an arched portal to greet her, short swords, axes, and spears in hands. A sea of dirty grins leered at her as lust and bloodlust shone in their eyes.

Adairos charged into them with a vigor she had not felt since leaving her homeland. Trained as a warrior from the time when she was old enough to wrestle, the conflict seemed as a natural event to her battle-honed senses. Still, she knew the odds to be stacked against her. The rains fell fiercely then.

Her glaive impaled the leader of the pack, skewering him fully and lancing the ground. She felt the bamboo shaft bend near the point of breaking, but she spurred her mount onward and thrust with all her might till the weapon snapped asunder. The longhaired warrior swiftly planted its jagged edge into the chest of a man that rushed her side.

A heavy axe cleaved her horse out from under her and it slid across the rain-slicked sward, crushing a man and scattering the rest as they fell back in confusion. Adairos tumbled from the saddle, but arose with a dagger in each hand, pulled from a leather bandolier. She quickly whipped one into the neck of an old white-haired mercenary, and swung wide to slice a man across the face. She dive rolled to the edge of the pack to avoid being surrounded, even as a hand axe whirled over her head. The nearest henchman chased her, and as she arose, dodged a swinging double-bladed moon axe. The momentum and strength behind the attack buried the sharp edge deep in the soft, muddy ground. Before he could withdraw it, she put her foot on the haft and leaned forward, just within reach to pierce the attacker's lungs with a deliberate jab. She could barely see the others through the ensuing downpour.

A short thick sword darted in—a clean swift thrust, and she gave the man credit as she jerked her head aside to suffer only a crimson streak across her temple. She sliced his wrist and the sword fell into the grass. Adairos feigned an attack, buying time to retrieve the fallen weapon in her left hand. She tightened her grip firmly upon its wet hilt.

The remaining four battle-ready men approached more cautiously now, trying to surround her. They studied her lean form of hardened muscle, and shook at the savagery in her eyes, which glared from a comely face of prominent jaw and high cheekbones. She grinned wickedly and launched another dagger in the blink of an eye. It came to rest in the groin of a young thug, and he fell to the ground, doubled over and screaming, trying to delicately pry the blade free.

Adairos charged with sword in hand; the others scattered and ran, on occasion zigzagging and nearly falling on the wet grass, wondering if a dagger would be planted in their backs. They all made it safely down the hill, and Adairos was sure they thanked the gods for their fortune.

She glared up at the baleful, coruscating ruby glow and reeled at the horror of what she suspected could be happening in the tower's solar. She paused only to catch her breath and collect her strength before approaching the open gate. The howling winds and cries of the wounded formed a discordant dirge. To Adairos' ears, they sounded a warning.

She gathered her courage and quickly discarded the poorly fashioned short sword in favor of her exquisite daggers, then entered beneath the tower's archway and left the iron-banded door open as she flung her hair from her face and wiped rainwater from her eyes. Adairos stepped into a small foyer only to spy a closed door across the way.

The foyer door opened almost immediately, and she met with more resistance. Three men barred her path, tentatively, and they seemed surprised that she had made it this far. They carried bows and quivers on their backs, and Adairos could tell by how they handled their short swords that they were ill suited to the ways of hand to hand combat. She deftly slew the three with surgical precision in twice as many seconds.

A series of glowstones lit the dining hall of cold flagstone floor and walls of rough-hewn rock. A long table with chairs occupied the center, and two wooden doors faced opposite sides, one open, revealing a wooden staircase beyond. A hearth toward the back burned dimly, and a spit held cuts of mutton being slow-roasted. She wasted no time winding her way up the staircase that followed the circumference of the tower.

She ignored all side thresholds and continued as far as the stairs would take her, till she came to a set of ebon double doors inset with whale bone. The portal burned, syrupy crimson flames danced upon its surface. Numerous carvings depicted vile demons performing gross perversions upon the flesh of women.

Adairos studied the carvings, saw the twisted ugliness of demons as a projection of man and renewed her vow never to love one again. She felt sick to her stomach and was reminded of the pain as she traced her finger along the scarcely noticeable scar on her abdomen. The priestess healers had done their job well; they knew injustice when they saw it. She should have been dead back in Sord'Lorm, but she managed to crawl her way toward the Temple of Hevera after the attack—where she caught the eye of a priestess and was taken to aid. Now Adairos would reclaim what was hers.

She opened the door to view a chamber glowing ambient red. LeeVan stood tall and menacing with arms crossed. He wore a black robe with runes stitched in thread-of-gold. His smirking, sinister face twisted sardonically, and his piercing eyes studied her every nuance.

Adairos breathed deeply, steadied herself. She had always been fascinated with LeeVan, and though she hated him, staring into his eyes once again seemed surreal and dream-like. This was the first time she had seen him since the betrayal. She could feel her heart pounding, her limbs shaking.

In a sudden fit of resolve, she entered the solar to confront him, but was instantly overwhelmed by a shroud of searing, crimson flame. Adairos screamed as it burned, flung her arms wildly, and fell to the ground to try to smother the arcane blaze that encapsulated her form.

She became vaguely aware of LeeVan towering above, and abruptly rolled toward him and lashed out, planting a dagger in his foot. The blade pinned it to the wooden floorboards beneath as he howled in anger and pain. Adairos spun away as LeeVan pulled the weapon from his bone.

With each second the burning subsided, and slowly the Amazonan warrior arose, gathering her strength. The desperate attack had bought her time for the necromancy to wear thin. Her skin felt as though stung by a thousand and one pinpricks, and her soul ached, her mind sluggish.

LeeVan stood, recovered, his fist now an emerald flame, waiting to be unleashed. Adairos gazed across the room toward a sacrificial slab, and the small, grotesque creature that sat upon it. Its slick, wet skin of pitch contrasted with white fangs and violet eyes. Two stunted, barbed wings shone with gold-flecks.

"I thought you had died, Adairos my love," LeeVan addressed, sounding sympathetic. "My orders were misunderstood, so that is why Olbrut and Trivvic drugged you and cut the child from your womb. But you managed to live for this bittersweet reunion. Are you satisfied?" The sorcerer's words were obviously meant to mock her.

"I will have your head on a platter," Adairos warned, easing her way toward the babe, glancing down upon it. "This cannot be our child."

"Oh?" LeeVan laughed. "Do you think the seed of a sorcerer will grow a thing of beauty? You are a strong woman, and have given me a worthy sacrifice to my gods.

"Was it mere coincidence we found each other soon after your ship sank, and all your sisters died? No. Oh, no. It was my sorcery that sabotaged the ship in rough waters, it was my sorcery that saved but one of you from a watery grave." A ghost-white phantasmal image—a miniature replica of the Amazonan slave ship on which Adairos once sailed—rolled across LeeVan's robe, then disappeared.

Adairos stood in silence, stunned by the revelation. She remembered the seaworthy ship sinking with apparent ease in the heavy chop, and recalled the swells of water that arose to single out her sisters, dragging them under and sapping their strengths. She remembered almost drowning, only to have strong currents throw her back to the surface. With the explanation of sorcery guiding her hindsight, she could now see that it was true; LeeVan had murdered her Amazonan kin. Her hatred for the sorcerer grew stronger; he seemed to pride himself in causing pain.

"This is our child?" Adairos questioned softly, as she stepped closer to it, a sudden look of love in her eyes. "This is what I've carried in my womb?"

"Your matronly instincts are noble," LeeVan returned, his words also soft now, as if love had somehow found its way into his heart at last. "My mother left me, when I was young. It is hard, is it not, to see a mother and child separated? I will be generous; long have I been haunted by my own feelings of abandonment."

LeeVan pointed toward the window. "The time is almost upon us—when the bright moon shines through the clouds, the evocation will be complete, and the sacrifice need be performed. But … if you leave now, I will trouble you no further. I have years to produce a new offspring to sacrifice." LeeVan smiled frailly. "Take the child and go, we need not shed more blood. Have your happy ending." LeeVan winced in pain, took on the cast of a coward. He projected himself as a man bent on self-preservation and thus wishing a peaceful resolution.

Adairos nodded and moved as if to scoop the babe in her arms. Swiftly, she sent a dagger through its throat, causing it to choke as ichor spurted from its mouth. She felt the dagger tip press against the hard slab and wiggled the blade. Blood saturated the altar.

LeeVan fell to the ground, physically pained by the action. "You whore!" he gurgled, clutching his throat.

"This is not my child!" she screamed. "I am a warrior from Amazona, not some street walker from Sord'Lorm. I have keen, wary eyes that have seen your impish familiar skulking in the shadows. You expected me to care for this thing till it murdered me while I slept, then returned to you. Ha! I knew you were a man of the dark arts, but my love for you once made me foolish. I thought that you loved me also. No more."

"I do!" LeeVan managed to say, now rising, a hand still on his throat, eyes pleading for mercy.

But Adairos was a warrior that shunned mercy, considered it a weakness. She lunged for the sorcerer, cold steel clutched in her hand. He sidestepped the attack and swung downward with a fist of glowing emerald flame. LeeVan heard the dagger clang on the floor just as he felt another enter through his ribs. He tried to strike again, but stumbled and fell. He mumbled some incoherent, broken invocation as Adairos drove another blade into the back of his neck to ensure the kill. She watched the body lay still for only a moment as she caught her breath.

Adairos studied the room, soon found the faint outline of a door, visible to only the keenest of eyes. She dragged LeeVan's body before it, and used his hand to push it open, moved his arm past the threshold. A ward unleashed upon the corpse, and the body of LeeVan took to flame, the smell of burning flesh filling the room. Adairos dragged him toward the window by his heels.

Outside, the sky had grown dark and grim, and the storm still vented its wrath. The moon shone brightly through the clouds and she knew all would be fine.

Cautiously, Adairos approached the portal and peered through, her heart fluttering with hope. Beyond the doorway, she saw LeeVan's cot. Upon it, wrapped in a heavy quilt, lay a beautiful baby. It sucked on a bladder of milk.

She entered and stood over the child, smiled, and noted that its eyes seemed sharp—like hers. She had never seen anything so innocent, so pure. A pride swelled in her breast with each passing moment, and she felt wetness stream down from her eyes onto her cheeks. Wiping them aside, she realized they must have been tears. She had seen them in her homeland under only the most painful of circumstances; she had seen them in Sord'Lorm under wholly different, joyous situations. Those scenes must have delved deep into her psyche, for now they were mimicked with sincerity, and she felt complete as a woman at last. Of her sisters from Amazona, she pitied them their customs and extreme emotional disciplines; she knew now she could never return to that life.

Adairos slid the cover down, her heart skipping a beat as she gazed upon the infant's smallish manhood. Immediately, she knew that her vow would be broken. She felt love in her heart for this babe who would grow to be … a man.