The Blackguard (Book 2) (16 page)

Alador nodded. He had already figured this much out as he had pieced together all the differing visions since he had harvested the stone. “Father, what is a dragonsworn?
 It was in one of the dreams and I feel somehow that it is important.”

“A dragonsworn is a mortal who has been given the powers of all the flights. There has only been two known in history; it is rare for the dragons to agree on one who is worthy enough to possess such magic. All the flights must believe that the mortal is of a good heart and has the best interests of both mortals and dragons in mind. Let us be honest Alador, such men are rare, if they ever even really existed.” Henrick moved away carefully from the glass and indicated that Alador should sit down. He seemed to be regaining his composure.

“The blue dragon was going to find one. He wanted to find such a man…but he never got to see it done. It’s sad. I think all the isle needs such a man – maybe he could end the feud between the Daezun and the Lerdenians.” Alador sank into his own chair. Henrick must have been very attached to this dragon of his; that it turned out to be Keensight was a little worrisome. “I think it was Keensight who attacked the village.” Alador looked over at Henrick. “If it was, why would he do that? Do you know?”

“I do not. I suspect it had to do with the blue dragon. Despite their differences, Keensight told me that he and Renamaum were close. If the Daezun had
unearthed his friend and he knew where he’d fallen, it is possible he sought to punish them for that desecration.” Henrick sighed. “My dragon friend is rather impulsive.”

“I shot your friend.” Alador swallowed hard. “I shot him because the blue dragon told me where to shoot.”

“Yes, a rather unfortunate issue there. My son shot my best friend.” Henrick smirked a bit at that. “Even stranger that his good friend told you how to repel him. Perhaps you are more than under geas.” Henrick mused. “Yes, maybe you are much more.”

Alador let out an exasperated sigh. “More? I have enough to worry about. What more could there possibly be?” Alador put his hands out, gesturing. “I just now came to terms with the fact I have to save a bunch of highly-guarded dragons and find a way to stop bloodmining altogether. Don’t you think that’s enough?” Alador put his face in his hands as if to wipe the burden from his mind.

“Yes, perhaps you are right. Perhaps one thing at a time. Regardless of what could or couldn’t be, you have to answer a geas. It will not let you do otherwise.” Henrick nodded slowly, coming to terms with what Alador had shared.

“Yes, but now I have a bigger problem.” Alador rubbed his face with both of his hands in a bit of angst at the complexity of all this.

“A bigger problem than a geas? What could be a bigger problem?” Henrick looked at Alador with surprise.

“I can’t do this without help. I need you and, well, I’d thought to ask one other to help me but that seems unlikely now. I’m not sure how to get this done.” Alador let out his breath in another sigh and stared into the fire, watching it flicker and then surge up almost prophetically.

“Whose help do you need and why is it a problem?” Henrick asked, puzzled. “I mean I understand needing my help. It would give me great pleasure to see Luthian’s face when he realizes his nephew has destroyed his most profitable endeavor.”

“I need Keensight’s advice, and...” Alador looked at his father evenly. “I shot him in the throat.”

Chapter Eleven

Aorun stood at the window looking out to the balcony and watched the rain slowly taper off. The harbor was nearly entirely obscured by a foggy haze, and he could barely see the ships. He’d been trying to assuage the intense hatred he continued to feel about the bastard nephew, but even treating the wench in his bed harshly last night had done nothing to calm him. He was still focused on the fact that a half-breed was being afforded privileges that Aorun had to kill to obtain, privileges he’d fought for every inch of the way. Mostly likely, the bastard would have privileges that Aorun never would if the boy were left unchecked. His hatred for all Daezun focused on this new foe, as if everything he hated about the Daezun were rolled up in that little panzet.

He’d spent the morning culling through the sources he had access to so he could determine what leverage he could use. He now knew that the man’s name was Alador, son of Henrick and some Daezun woman from Smallbrook. The man had only recently passed his testing and knew little of the ways of magic. He had arrived in Silverport only two days ago and knew nothing of the city’s ways. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. The most important thing Aorun had learned was that the half-breed was headed into the Blackguard.

Aorun had two men in the blackguard. He’d sent for whichever one could attend him first, though he had directions for them both. In the Blackguard, the training was intense, and the punishment for error was often severe. It wouldn’t be a large matter to see some accident arranged.

There was a knock at the door, but Aorun didn’t turn from the window. “Come!” he directed firmly.

The door opened and Owen sauntered in, not bothering to close it. “I think you will have to go to the High Minister’s house yourself if you want that woman,” he drawled out, plopping down on a chair in front of Aorun’s desk and kicking his muddied feet up on the fine red surface.

Aorun didn’t turn from the harbor, but his answer was one of disbelief. “Surely the chamberlain did not deny my request after all that he owes me? Unless…” Aorun finally turned. “Is she in Luthian’s bed?” It would figure, the man had discerning tastes.

Owen laid his hands behind his head, closing his eyes as he spoke. “Nope! Seems he gave the wench to some relative of his…a nephew or something.” The rain off Owen’s cloak dripped onto Aorun’s floor, creating a growing pool on the fine tile.

Aorun flooded with rage. Luthian only had one nephew. He’d given the woman Aorun wanted for his own to the bastard whelp. He walked over and, without any warning, kicked the chair Owen was lazing in, tipping it over backwards.

Owen scrambled backwards before rolling up to his feet. “By the gods, what did you do that for?” he growled, his hand reflexively going for his weapon.

“Draw it. I dare you,” Aorun snarled. “You are in the Trench Lord’s office, telling him news he does not wish to hear as if it is a mere misstep, and you are dripping on my floor and dirtying my desk.”

A soft drawl from the door interrupted Aorun and Owen. “I hope you do not intend to waste a perfectly good man just because he was the bearer of bad news.” Sordith leaned against the door post. “I am not sure what that news was, but short of learning that Owen is sleeping with your mother and your sister, you both might want to stand down.”  He smirked at the two.  It was clear from his lack of concern that Owen had placed himself in similar situations in the past.

“Stay out of this, Sordith!” Aorun wanted to kill someone right now, and right now Owen was who stood in front of him.

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Sordith straightened up and put his hands out in a gesture of offering. “How about I drag him out of here and kick his arse for you while you meet with that guardsman you demanded?” he suggested evenly. Aorun’s eyes riveted to him, and anger seethed in those eyes with such intensity that Sordith dropped his lazy smile. The last man to draw that much anger out of Aorun had been left on a beetle hill. The flesh eating beetles had taken their time, and Sordith could think of a hundred more pleasing ways to die.

“Yes, get him out of here and bring me that guard!” Aorun snarled. He went to the desk and plopped down angrily. He grabbed his flask, speaking as he uncapped it. “And later Owen, after I go to bed for the night, this floor gets mopped. By you! Disrespecting son of a…” Aorun drowned the rest of his words with his flask while Sordith ushered Owen swiftly out the door.

The door opened only a few minutes later, and a Blackguard strode inside. He smacked his arm over his chest in salute to the Trench Lord. “You sent for me, sir?”

Aorun would have liked the man if he weren’t soiled with Daezun blood. He was smart, used few words, and got the job done. He kept his ears and eyes open, so there
was little going on within the High Minister’s elite force that he did not know.  “Yes, Jayson. I have a job for you.” He indicated the man could sit but smiled when he didn’t move. There had been improvements in his man that living in the Blackguard had made almost second nature.

“I am listening. I hope the usual slips are involved?” Jayson eyed the Aorun with calculation.

Aorun could respect that. If he was going to ask a man to kill someone, he’d best be willing to settle up. “Of course.” He smiled. “There is a new half-breed coming into the guard today. His name is Alador. Privileged bastard of the Guldalian line. I want his life to be hell. Should the opportunity arise where you can take him out and have it look like an accident, take it. I may decide to outright kill him soon enough, but for now I would rather not risk anyone’s placement. I do, however, want a full report of his allies and where he goes. I will be putting one of my lieutenants on him for his half days.”

“Surely one new recruit is not cause for alarm, milord?” Jayson eyed the Trench Lord curiously.

Aorun snarled at those words, causing the guard to take a step back reflexively. “First, do not question me! Second, do not underestimate him. The Guldalian line is renowned for their powerful mages. Lastly, I have my reasons that have nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with alarm.”

“Yes, sir!” Jayson snapped at Aorun’s tone with a reflexive response. “Make the man’s life hell. Kill him if I can get away with it. Anything else?”

Aorun thought for a long moment. “He will have a body servant. A beautiful one with emerald eyes. I want you to get close to her. Be her confidant if you can…Her protector and friend. Do not touch her. I plan to take her from the little dog; she is for me. However, I need to know her fears, her weaknesses and where she goes, as well. She will have her own half day when he is off on his. I want to know what she does with it. Perhaps offer to escort her on her errands and such.”

Jayson smiled. “You are ordering me to spend time with a beautiful woman? I believe that is the best order you have ever given me.”

Aorun looked at him pointedly. “Look, befriend, but do not touch,” he reaffirmed with a deadly tone.

“Yes, milord.” Jayson’s face resumed its bland expression.

Aorun stared at him for a long moment. He was pretty damned sure if the half-breed standing before him got a chance, he was going to touch. Perhaps the beautiful little whore would not be willing to share beyond her duties. He decided that, truthfully, he didn’t give a damn. “Any questions?”

“No milord.
 I will pass this about where appropriate. I will need some brothel passes. I think as far as making things difficult, those will go a long way.” Jayson smiled as he calculated how to torture the new guardsman.

Aorun reached into his desk and found a pouch. He pulled out his personal markers and gave Jayson ten of them. “Let me know if you need more,” he stated.

Jayson slipped them into his pouch. “Will do. Then, with your permission, I will make my own visit and get back to the cave.”

Aorun nodded. “Show yourself out. You know the way.” He leaned back in his chair, no longer really paying attention to the departing guard. He was already so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door close, furious that the girl was out of his reach again. Aorun couldn’t
explain it, but there was something about her, something he had to possess. He wanted to own her, have those eyes beg him for his attention. Mostly, he didn’t want this Alador to have her. He stood and went to wall to look at the map of the isle. It took him some time to find this Smallbrook, but it far too deep into Daezun lands to consider removing Alador’s family. Besides, he’d learned that most half-breeds were outcasts, so it was possible that it was more hurtful to leave them alive.

Aorun tapped the map considering, tracing the borderlands with a finger. His mother had served in the Homeguard. Gifted with the powers of a bronze dragon, she had been fascinating to him. She could touch a rock and turn it into a toy; her ability to shift a stone to any shape she wanted had led to life on the fourth tier. Many thought Aorun was raised in the trenches, but this wasn’t the case, he’d known privilege and luxury. He reached over to a nearby shelf where he’d placed a small stone dragon, which had always reminded him of the ones she would make for him. Aorun ran a finger over the back of it before slowly setting it down.

Not for lack of trying, Aorun had never been able to bring a spark to a testing stone. His mother had tried it many times a year once Aorun was old enough to be considered for training. He’d tried so hard for her, to see that look of approval in her eyes, but he’d always earned a look of love and pity. He knew she’d been disappointed that her son could draw no power from the magics of the bloodstone. He had no innate ability to draw magic.

Aorun didn’t know anything of his father, his mother had only said he was a powerful mage on the fifth tier. He had scrutinized every such mage but could find none that bore a likeness to himself, and she’d never mentioned a name, nor had his parents joined their households. Any
time Aorun had asked, his mother would usually change the topic. To this day, his sire remained a mystery. A hated one – he had not stepped forward after her death – but perhaps he had died first, and Aorun was truly an orphan.

His mother had been called to duty near the end of the war. The Daezun, always good at mining, had taken to living underground and building traps beneath the very ground that the Lerdenian army had to cross. Bronze mages were capable of detecting these holdings, traps and tunnels. His mother had promised Aorun that she would return, but she never did.

One day, he had awakened to find all the servants were gone. He remembered that sense of panic searching through the house and finding a man from the High Council waiting for him at the breakfast table. The man explained that Aorun’s mother was dead and that the house was no longer his to live in. He’d tested Aorun, but as usual, Aorun had been unable to bring a spark to the stone, despite the fear he’d felt. The grief had been overwhelming, but even without it Aorun doubted he could have found that spark. He’d tried so many times before that day. He still continued to try with a small bloodstone he’d purchased, but he had never been able to absorb its gifts.

The man had given Aorun a small sack of silver and told him he had four hours to gather what he needed and to move elsewhere. In with another relative, down to the trenches, out of the capital, it didn’t matter to the man.
 There had been no concern that Aorun was still just a boy. The fact that he had no gifts for magic apparently discounted his worth as a citizen in the official's eyes.   Aorun knew of no family and even a rapid search of his mother’s desk and room had revealed no clues to his heritage. Aorun shook his head to let go of his feelings of abandonment, wandering back to his own desk. He had sworn then that he would kill any Daezun that crossed his path and, for a time, had kept that promise. As far as he was concerned, they were the ones that condemned him to a life in the trenches.                   

Aorun sat down at the desk and grabbed his flask, shaking it angrily as he remembered that he’d just drained it. He sighed and caressed the silver etchings of the sea as he remembered those first few years, entering the trench with nothing more than a pair of backpacks. There were no open homes in the trenches; families protected them viciously. Aorun had found a small indent in the rock wall and claimed it for his own. He hadn’t realized how spoiled and helpless he really was until a group of boys, barely older than he, had beaten him senseless, took everything he’d had, and left him for dead.

That was the day he had met Wieta, a little old woman wizened with too many years, hunched slightly with age. She had taken him to a small cave inside the mines, which had become his home for many years. She had saved him so she could get some help. Wieta had been different, sharp in manner and tone, smart but rarely kind. She had been fair, though. She had taught Aorun how to steal and how to hold a blade. When he was beyond her skills, Wieta found him a tutor. All she asked in return is that he helped her remain fed and fetched her water. It had been more than a fair trade. He’d continued to care for her even after joining the Trench Lord’s men.

One day he’d gone to take her food and found that she’d passed on to the gods. Aorun had seen Wieta properly buried and moved on. He’d never loved her, but he had been grateful; without her, he probably never would have survived the trench.

Aorun threw his flask angrily, wincing as it crashed into a vase on the shelf across from him, both tumbling to the floor as discordant as his stormy emotions. It was not right that someone could be given everything in life just because he could use magic! It discounted all the merit and skill of the man in other areas of his life. Professionally skilled craftsmen were relegated to the second tier if they were limited to only simple magic. If someone had no magic at all, he made his living on the first tier. Many of those that lived in the trenches were allowed out during the day and were hired on for work in those three tiers. Some were even servants in the upper tiers, but they were always forced to return to the trench at night if they had no magic, and if their employer did not allow them to live in the servant’s quarters of their home.