The Blackguard (Book 2) (17 page)

It was a system that Aorun hated, and he’d often found ways to undermine it until he became Trench Lord. The Trench Lord was a part of the system. He had thought, as he worked his way up, that he could change things. Create more equality for the Lerdenian people. But it hadn’t taken him long to realize that he’d had far more power to make changes as a nameless man in the Trench Lord’s service. Now, if any of his men crossed the lines, it was Aorun who paid the price. If any hint of rebellion or subterfuge against the mages w
ere detected, it was Aorun they would hang out before everyone so others would take note of and learn that even a Trench Lord had lines he could not cross.

Aorun got up and stared at the harbor, watching the great masts sway in the gentle moving water. He would gladly sign on as a mere hand if he were not so terrified of the things Wieta had told to him; she’d been something of a fortune teller. Aorun had never been able to figure
out if she had a true gift or just got lucky enough to keep others seeking her services. Either way, it was how she earned her meager slips.

Wieta had told him over and over what she’d seen for him, and Aorun had it memorized. He whispered it softly to himself: “The sea shall rise up in a bond of betrayal and rip all that you have gained from your hand. From your blood, dragons will rise up free and hungry. Your death will unite brothers that shall one day seize the thrones of the Gods.” He hadn’t, and didn’t, know what Wieta had meant, but he’d believed her. If he kept his feet on solid ground, than the sea could not claim him.

Aorun frowned out at the water. He could not go beyond this isle without risking losing all he had acquired or his very life. He could, however, deny this half-breed what should have been Aorun’s by birth. He was a full Lerdenian. He had risen up by his own hand, brain, and skill. He suddenly hoped Jayson didn’t find a way to arrange an accident. Aorun wanted to kill this Alador himself. He wanted to take him below to the room he used when he needed information and spend a very, very long time with him.

Chapter Twelve

They both sat in silence, absorbing Alador’s revelations. It was Henrick who once again broke the silence with a long, drawn out sigh. “You want to make an ally out of the dragon that you shot?”

“It’s the only dragon that I know of that someone knows how to reach out to and actually speak with. I don’t suppose you know two?” Alador looked at him hopefully. “Like, did he ever introduce you to a friend?”

“No, I do
not
know two.” Henrick sighed. “You realize he will probably eat you.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Well then, I’ll have to convince him that eating me isn’t in his best interest,” Alador said. “I’m not ready yet. Maybe one or both of us will find another dragon in the meantime, one that might not be quite as irritated with me.” Though Alador’s words shared his hope, the only other dragons he’d ever seen had been a long ways off.

“Yes, because I make it a routine to convince dragons not to eat me,” Henrick shot back with a frown, his voice thick with sarcasm. There was a moment of silence, and he sighed again. “Do you know how lucky I was to walk away from that encounter?”

“Father, I have to find a dragon. Without the dragons as an ally, they might think I mean to hurt their fledglings when I go to close this mine,” Alador said with a frown.

“How are you going to do that? If it was easily done, do you not think that the dragons would have already done it?” Henrick pointed out, disgruntled. “It seems to me that if it were a matter of just attacking it, the issue would have been settled long ago. They are not weak creatures.”

“I don’t know yet. What I do know is that a direct attack obviously doesn’t work, so, however, I do it is going to have to be well-orchestrated.” Alador’s thoughts were racing. “It has to be subtle, or an army will be waiting,” he pointed out. “And it’ll need the cooperation of the dragons.” Alador sat back. “Can you ask your dragon friend a question for me before he decides to hate me?”

Henrick smirked. “I can try. What would you have me ask?”

“I need to know if a blue dragon named Pruatra still lives. If she does, maybe I could reach out to her instead,” Alador mused. “She was Renamaum’s mate.”

“I can ask, but he will want to know why I want to know.” Henrick pointed out, eyeing his son.

Alador hadn’t considered that. After a moment, he answered, “Tell him the truth. The one that harvested Renamaum’s stone is asking for her. Maybe it will make him curious enough to overcome his own hate.”

Henrick nodded. “Brave move. I hope you do not mind, but I think that I will leave out that it is my son for the time being.” Henrick grinned at Alador. “I rather like living,” he stated simply.

Alador laughed at that. “A wise thought, I think.” He grinned over at his father. “I’m going to go write a letter to Mesiande, and then we can go turn me over to this Blackguard. I’ve arranged for uncle to allow me two half-days so I can learn from you both.”

Henrick looked surprised. “How did you manage that one?”

“I learn quickly. He wants something from me. Something specific, I think. As long as he thinks I hold
him in confidence, he’s rather accommodating. I’m going to try to use that as long as I can.” Alador rose to his feet. “I know I have much to learn, and I’m willing to learn what I can from him as long as it’s available. Dorien taught me once that there is no better opportunity than to watch your enemy work, for in that is your opportunity to discover how to best him.”

“I have always liked Dorien,” Henrick mused softly. “I will be ready to go when you have your things gathered. I will meet you in the front hall when you are ready.” He did not rise with his son; instead, he stood and stared at the fire.

“I won’t be long,” Alador promised and turned on sharply to head out the door. He found the way back to his own room with minimal difficulty.

Alador wrote out a letter to Mesiande, hoping she would understand his meaning. He rolled it up and placed it in the tube, then laid it under his pillow and concentrated on her for a time. He was swept away as the memories of Mesiande washed over him painfully: her braided hair always threatening to escape its twisted confines, her soft, rounded body pressed closed to him, the sparkle in her eyes as she teased him, and the scolding in her voice when she stood at the archery range, hands on those perfect, small hips, scolding his form. Alador’s heart ached with every tender memory. There was a good chance he would never be able to hold her again. He knew that she would be trained for the circle in another’s arms. All these things melded into the memory that was his Mesiande, his love, his heart. He couldn’t imagine any other taking her place in his soul.

When he could stand it no longer, Alador checked under the pillow: the tube was gone. He caressed the dent where he’d placed it, then sighed softly and left the bed, moving around the room. He stored things he wanted to keep safe and only loaded the backpack with a few changes of clothes, some writing materials, and a handful of slips. He changed into a simple shirt of undyed linen, then eyed the weapons on the wall and took down a sword, testing it. It was weighted well and fit his hand. Alador also saw his bow and smiled, taking it from the rack. Thanks to his father, it hadn’t been lost in the rockslide. He strapped the sword around his waist. The last thing he took was a boot knife, which he slipped into place down the sheath that was prepared on the outside of his right leg. Alador stood before the mirror. He hardly looked formidable, but it would have to do.

He joined Henrick in the hall, hoping he hadn’t kept his father waiting long. Henrick’s hair was slicked back, and he was dressed impressively in a deep red shirt, a black vest, and matching britches. His boots shined a deep and rich black, as well. At his belt was a short sword, and though the handle looked decorative, Alador doubted the blade was. He was learning not to judge his father by how he presented himself.

They didn’t speak as they went through the fifth tier to the stairs down. It had stopped raining and the summer sun was beginning to dry the stone streets. The air was oppressive and close much as the bathing house at home. Silverport’s population increased as they descended. The fourth tier had many mages socializing or busily making their way on errands. Small inns and taverns were irregularly spaced throughout the tier, and there were still a few shops here and there.

One shop had a bloodstone sign in front of it, and Alador stopped grabbing his father’s arm.
 “Can we go in here for a moment? I want to see something.” Alador nodded to the shop.

Henrick noted the sign and nodded. “Just do not cause a ruckus; we do not have that much grace.”

Alador nodded and stepped inside. The shop had little to recommend it as he entered. There were bloodstone unguents and pouches of powdered bloodstone on the shelves, most likely something herbalists sought, Alador decided as he moved toward the counter. The shopkeeper came bustling forward, eyes darting over their weapons and Henrick’s demeanor and bowed low.

“Good day
milords, good day. How may I assist two fine, honored men this day?” His hair was fiery red, his eyes a strange dark jade color. His clothing spoke of money, but it was of simple design. He rubbed his hands together, taking in the men before him.

“I was hoping to see your assortment of bloodstones, maybe five stone weight?” Alador asked. Henrick looked at Alador curiously.

“Yes sir, yes sir. Let me fetch that tray.” The man hurried off and soon came back with a large array of stones. “This is my finest selection close to that weight.”

Alador went through the small stones carefully. He picked one up, then another and soon was sorting the tray. There were many stones that, while cloudy to show they had not been harvested, were almost pink in color rather than red.

“You know your stones,” the man said, watching Alador with sharp eyes.

“Yes, I have much experience with them,” Alador murmured. “How much are these over here?”

“They are all in the one slip range, sir.” The shopkeeper smiled wide. “Small enough for jewelry enchantments.”

“So you cheat your customers?” Alador eyes narrowed, but he kept his tone casual as he looked the shopkeeper up and down.

The man’s face reddened. “I most certainly do not.” He puffed up with indignation.

Alador waved his hand over the lighter stones. “These are harvested from living dragons and likely to be light on the magic they should hold.” He moved his hand over the dark red ones. “These are from deceased dragons and will hold more of the true power of their magic. You’re lucky that more of your customers don’t know this.” Alador leaned across the board between them. “Some might kill a man for selling them a watered stone as quick as they might kill over watered wine.” His voice was low and cold.

Despite the warning Henrick gave Alador, he stood slightly back from his son with his arms crossed, his smirking smile a testament to his thoughts. He made no move to interfere or interrupt. Meanwhile, Alador’s eyes were locked on the shopkeeper, who swallowed noticeably.

“I buy my stones from one vendor. I assure you sir, I do not know what you mean by watered.” The shopkeeper eyed the lighter stones with concern, and his eyes moved to dart about the shelves, as well.

“I want the name of your supplier then; he should be educated on his merchandise.”

“I get them through one of the Trench Lord’s warehouses,” the man murmured, picking up a lighter stone.

“I see.” Alador straightened up. “Do not charge equal fees for these stones. They might as well be fake.” He pulled two slips from the bag and scooped up two of the nicer stones from the true stone side. “If I hear that you have been, I will personally see that my uncle hears of your theft from the mages of the upper tiers.”

“Your uncle?” The man looked at Alador worriedly.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Luthian Guldalian?” Alador asked as he shoved the two stones into his pack. His voice held a bit of controlled condescension.

“You are the High Minister’s nephew?” the man squeaked.

“Seems so. Best keep my words in mind,” Alador snapped as he spun on his heel and headed for the door. Even as he stormed out the door, he could hear the shopkeeper begging for forgiveness. He didn’t pause to give it credence. He was angry that the Trench Lord was a part of his uncle’s vile practice. Not surprised, but still indignant.

“You did hear me say not to cause a ruckus, yes?” Henrick mused as he strode to catch up with Alador.

“I didn’t punch him, did I?” Alador pointed out as he moved down the tier.

“Apparently we have a different definition of what exactly a ruckus is,” Henrick said with a wry smile. “Before you walk us to the end of the tier, take the next right for the stairs down.”

They dropped down to the next tier. The streets were filled here. This tier was plainly where most trading took place. There were carts with vendors and shops on almost every street front, crowded together. The mass of bodies felt pressing; Alador had never seen so many people in one place. Henrick took the lead and led him through the crowded tier to the far end.

Here, the tier ended in a cave that dug into the cliff side. Men in the Blackguard uniform stood to either side with a standard of black flying above them, the red of the
dragon fluttering in the sea breeze. The city had been left behind, and the harbor stretched out below them. Alador stared at the large-masted ships as he stood at the barrier meant to keep people from falling to the rocks below. “I have heard of ships, but I’ve never seen one in person,” he whispered. Beyond the breakwater was the ocean, and soon he was captivated by the view. “Or the ocean.”

“The ocean is a wide expanse. It takes the fleet many days to just cross to the nearest isle.” Henrick moved beside him.

“Have you ever sailed it?” Alador asked. The ships looked massive, the men moving about their decks barely more than small bugs.

“I have crossed it a couple times.” Henrick admitted. “The people are as different in look and manner as the Daezun is from the Lerdenians. Many lands are unoccupied. Perhaps one day, we will travel together to see the world.”

“Do foreign ships ever come here?” Alador asked curiously.

“Not often. The Lerdenian fleet is better equipped for such crossings. I am sure that, over time, more will come as other nations learn to conquer long voyages,” Henrick offered. “Alador, we have delayed enough. It is time for us to deliver you to the High Master.”

Alador nodded. He took a deep breath of the clean sea air, and one last look at the birds flying about the harbor. He suddenly felt like he was giving up his freedom. He glanced over at the great hole in the cliff that seemed ready to swallow him and hefted his pack. “Let’s get it over with,” Alador murmured, heading for the opening.

The two guards made no move to stop him. He guessed that he was either expected or that they just let
half-breeds in. He and Henrick moved deeper into the darkness, where the air became cooler despite the torches that lit the cave. They came to a man who sat with his feet propped up on a desk, half-dozing. He sat up suddenly at the sound of footsteps. “Good day. How may the Blackguard be of assistance?”

Henrick stepped forward. “My son has come to enlist,” he said firmly.

The man assessed Alador, taking in his shorter and bulkier build. He nodded and picked up a quill. “Name?”