Her Warrior Lord

By

Celia Jade

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Her Warrior Lord © by Celia Jade

ISBN: 1-55410-820-9

Cover art and design by Angela Waters

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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To inspiration. Whenever it catches me.

Prologue

After thousands of centuries on earth, mankind had failed. God appointed the saints to create a new world. Among the crumbled remnants of modern time, several civilizations were borne by the last, strongest survivors. Super humans such as elves, sorcerers, gifted peoples and other mystical creatures shared the land with the common folk. The Lords hoped the variety of life would create the necessary balance to maintain peace and stability.

Chapter One

Somewhere in the Great North Land, between the Lofterning Hills and the Gulf of Noor, 1872.

Kyla Ayslin listened peacefully to the spiritual voices of the nuns during mass, as clear as a bell, without the help of any musical instrument. It seemed to her that the voices could have been gentle flutes or harps--they were so perfect and full of meaning. She turned and looked at her younger brother, Jonavan, standing next to her in the large monastery. At the age of twenty-three she was her brother's only immediate relative. Her mother had died five years ago from a terrible strain of the common fever. No amount of medicinal herbs could strengthen her heart enough to fight it. Kyla had never really known her father since he had left them shortly after Jonavan's birth. He left Darum one night without saying a word. Although she never told anyone, Kyla felt that her father's desertion had made her mother ill. She knew she would never forgive him.

They had a proper guardian, though--Aunt Tessa, their mother's sister. Kyla and Jonavan shared a spacious house with their aunt and her three children and husband, Herold. Aunt Tessa had been like a mother to them after her sister's death. Kyla could never be grateful enough.

Mass came to an end at ten that night. They always held a special service before the seasonal sporting events. Kyla took another deep breath and released it. It was thirteen hours before the games began. She knew she had to sleep well and wake early to practice one last time before she faced her opponents in the king's arena. She was a gladiator, taught by a nobleman friend of the family. Thanks to her relation to Uncle Herold, who was an upper class gentleman, she was given the opportunity to learn sword fighting and perform in competitions before His Majesty and the people of Darum.

"Come, Jonavan, we have to get home. I need my rest," Kyla whispered as the final chants faded softly. Jonathan followed her out of the high-ceilinged building into an arched corridor that led to a marbled walk.

The early spring night brought on a gentle, cool breeze that played with Kyla's long, dark hair. They walked quickly along the path, her tiny heels clicking while her blue cloak flowed about at the sides. She didn't need to look to know that the city guards calmly watched, ever-present within and around the kingdom's walls. Huge trees hundreds of years old lined both sides of the path, cloaking the fullness of the moon. They passed a row of modest houses on a narrow road and turned onto another lined with larger buildings, homes to the upper class. They reached their aunt's home shortly. It was a stately house with smooth tan stone and earthen-colored, folding windows that welcomed guests. Kyla and her brother tiptoed to their rooms not to wake their uncle who slept at this hour as always for he was a man of habit.

As Kyla pulled her white linen nightgown over her head, she sent a prayer to the Gods, asking for strength and courage for tomorrow's competition. She had grown tired from her weeks of practice and sleep overcame her easily.

The next morning, Kyla stood before her bedroom mirror dressed in the proper outfit of a female gladiator. The one-piece garment hugged her feminine curves well, emphasizing her beautifully formed body. She had been training in swordplay ever since she was fourteen and had developed nicely toned muscles without losing any womanly qualities. Her delicate bone structure often belied her physical strength for she was lithe and agile and could take out a man not experienced in fighting. The white outfit was a nice contrast to her healthy, olive complexion. It was made of durable, flexible cotton with stitched-in protective padding at the most vulnerable areas. It started high at the neck and covered her shoulders while the sleeves hugged her arms and ended in a point past her wrists. Gray leather breastplates covered her chest completely and the same material was repeated within the fabric all along her abdomen. A final plate covered her pelvis and the triangular region of her loins. Her shapely legs were outlined within the fitted material that disappeared into calf high, white boots. She had combed her dark brown hair into a thick braid that hung just above her waist. Her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Kyla ran her fingers over the tiny nicks on the sleeves of her uniform, earned during previous competitions. The uniform had brought her good luck and she had decided to wear it again this year. She smoothed her hands over it, realizing that she had filled it out just a touch more. Lately, she had become aware of men's increasing stares but felt she couldn't be bothered with that just yet; her competitions were more important. Last year she had won a fine horse. This year, the prize was a portion of land that she could build a house on for her and her brother. It was an opportunity she didn't want to miss.

She expelled her breath slowly, steadying her nerves. A glance at the small hand of the clock on her dresser told her it was time she made her way to the stadium. The games had already started with the men. The stands would be filled with eager spectators and the king himself.

Jonavan poked his head through the crack in the door. "Kyla, are you ready?" he asked in the voice of a boy who had recently broken into manhood.

"Yes," she replied confidently and they left their aunt's house, Jonavan carrying the large leather bag that held his sister's weapons. As they walked along the path that led to the stadium, Kyla nodded her thanks to the townsfolk that offered her good wishes. After competing only a few years at the seasonal games, she had earned the reputation of a skillful gladiator.

"You're fighting Osianna again, aren't you?" Jonavan asked, his blue eyes glancing her way.

"Yes. And I'll beat her--again," Kyla answered with certainty.

"Ohh…she'll hate that!" her brother snickered.

Kyla glanced up at Jonavan's attractive face, whose features reflected some of her own. "It's competition, Jonavan. Someone must lose and someone must win," she stated.

They reached the arena shortly after and passed the guards at the open gates. They veered off to the right where gladiators and their trainers waited and practiced before their turn. The waiting area was long and wide enough to accommodate dozens of people. Kyla and Jonavan found a spot among the competitors.

"You have to go now, Jonavan. Aunt Tessa and the others should be in the stands in the usual place."

Her brother handed her the bag and glanced shyly at his feet before swinging his arms around her and planting a kiss on her cheek. "Good luck, sister. I know you'll win." He scurried off, leaving Kyla blushing and grinning.

This year though, Kyla didn't have the comforting presence of her trainer, Mr. Ebot. He had been called to special duty by the king himself. This saddened Kyla a little because she always felt proud to show off her skill and dedication to her trainer. She glanced at the bag that encased her beloved swords and placed it against the wall in a more quiet area. She pulled on its string to open it. Her first competition was a solo display of her technique with the use of a Vailin backsword. She would be judged by three men appointed by the king's commander and awarded merit points. Kyla always did well in this part of the competition and felt confident. She picked up the proper weapon and stepped to the side.

Some fifteen feet away Osianna observed her strongest competitor with much dislike. The memory of last year's loss to Kyla Ayslin sprung a bitter taste in her mouth. But this time she had come prepared. "Iago, our little gladiator has arrived." She motioned towards Kyla with a nod of her head.

Iago followed Osianna's gaze and located the other girl. "I see her. Very pretty in that white outfit…" his voice trailed off suggestively.

"Just keep your task in mind," Osianna snapped. "You will be rewarded as promised," she said, and looked up at Iago's plain face. She touched her hand to his chest and traced a line downwards, past his stomach to brush against his groin.

His mouth twisted eagerly. "I can't wait," he drawled and turned his attention to Kyla.

Osianna spotted her trainer making his way through the crowd. "Mr. Filch is here--go now," she ordered.

Kyla was deep in concentration while she rehearsed and could barely hear the noise of the crowd beyond the thick wall. She went through several motions in a final mental preparation. Once the jousting event was over, it would be the female gladiators turn in the ring. She returned to her bag and placed her sword inside. She carried it over her shoulder, winding her way through the other competitors until she reached the gate that gave access to the ring. She looked through the bars and watched as the jousting game came to an end. The sound of the horses' hooves almost muffled that of the crowd's in the stands. Her eyes scanned the people and rested briefly on the king at the very center. Her heart skipped nervously.

She turned away and sat down on one of the benches. The gate master called out the next competition and the first female gladiator. Kyla remained silent and avoided watching the other women in the ring, remembering Mr. Ebot's advice. Finally, her name was called and she entered the arena proudly, her confidence strengthening at the sound of the people's cheer. Her eyes moved along the circumference of the stadium and saw that it was completely filled, which meant that there were at least one thousand spectators present. The stadium was constructed in such a way that if everyone was silent, the faintest sound could be heard.