The Blackguard (Book 2) (18 page)

Alador moved to stand beside his father. “Alador. Alador Guldalian.” The name felt strange on his tongue.

The man’s eyes shot up. “The High Minister’s nephew. We’ve been expecting you. If you’ll grab your things, I’ll take you to the High Master.” He jumped up and walked to the door, opening with a flourish. “After you.”

Alador walked through the door, feeling somewhat nervous. He had no idea what to expect, but he was surprised when Henrick was stopped at the door.

“Sorry, milord. No family is allowed past the door. He will return to you on his half day if he wishes, but for now, only members of the council and the Blackguard are allowed within.” The guard had an arm between Henrick and the doorway.

Alador met Henrick’s eyes and swallowed hard. His father nodded with a look of reassurance. “I will see you soon, then,” Henrick said simply, and, before he’d even turned away, the guardsman had shut the door between them.

“Right then, this way.” The guardsman’s tone became a little sarcastic, and his obliging manner disappeared the moment the door closed.

The cave had been transformed inside. The walls were squared of the same stone that much of the city had been built from, and the many twists and turns had Alador thoroughly lost. There was light along the way from strange glowing rocks, and the white walls reflected their glow softly.

The guard didn’t stop, though they passed a lot of other people all wearing the same leather gear. There was laughter and boisterous voices in those halls, giving away the mixed genders and the equality of this elite group. Finally, the guard opened a door where two men waited on either side.

“Master Guldalian as you requested, High Master.” The guard pushed Alador through the door and shut it behind him.

Alador stumbled into the room, blinking at the sudden change of light. He straightened quickly. The room was bright, with a window that overlooked the distant sea. The man behind the desk looked up at Alador. He didn’t look like a half-breed; in fact, Alador thought he looked fully Daezun. He was short like his kin and had the same mundane shade of brown hair. His, however, was long and pulled back, and his face showed the ravages of time and weather. The two men assessed each other.

“Sit down, Master Guldalian.” The High Master indicated a chair across from him.

Alador set his pack, quiver and bow against the chair and sat down, taking in his surroundings. They were practical: a shelf of books, a table covered with maps, and a desk. Other than that, there was little in the room. “I prefer Alador,” he said quietly as his eyes came back to the High Master, who’d pulled over a page of parchment.

“After this interview, it will be guardsman, so I really don’t care what you prefer.”
 The man wet his quill and looked up at Alador. “What is your sphere of magic?”

“Sphere of magic?” Alador asked, not understanding the question.

“Yes, what type of magic can you cast? Natural spells, fire-based, or maybe ice-based?” The High Master seemed to speak with disdain.

“Oh, water,” Alador said when he realized what the man sought.

“Water? That’s rare. We only have a few in the entire compound, one or two out on assignment. That’ll be useful.” The High Master wrote something down. “How much teaching have you had?”

“Just a short while. I only recently found out I was even a mage.” Alador admitted. “It was only two weeks ago that I was planning a house for a future housemate.” It had actually been less than that. It was amazing how much had happened in the last week; Alador had a hard time fathoming that as he sat there and thought about it.

The High Master looked up with a bit of sympathy. “Just now cast out, then?”

Alador swallowed hard and looked down. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. Maybe he would like it here. The people here would at least know what it felt like to be cast out by their kin…well, those who’d grown up under Daezun teachings would.

“What is your weapon experience?” The High Master continued to press, though his manner seemed less harsh, and he eyed Alador a bit more warmly.

“I’m a dead shot with my bow, but I’ve barely touched a sword,” Alador admitted. “I was a miner by trade and have skills with a pick, but more in its use than as a weapon,” he added as an afterthought. Maybe they
would have uses for miners and he wouldn’t have to stand guard as the men at the final tier had been doing. It did not seem the least bit interesting or pleasant to stand there all day in the hot sun; it was more humid here by the sea then Alador was used to, and that armor didn’t look like it reflected heat in any capacity.

“Most of those brought in are at least fair with a bow, and few solid with a sword.” The man made a few more notes and Alador remained quiet. “It’s a fair life in the Blackguard. The High Minister expects diligence and hard work, but in exchange, we’re well-paid and well-accommodated. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it shouldn’t take you long to adjust. We will keep you too busy to fret about home,” the High Master promised.

His tone became harder as he continued. “However, you will get no favoritism just because your uncle is our benefactor. If anything, you will be pushed harder. Your uncle has made it clear you are not to receive any special privileges other than an extra half-day for his own tutelage. You will start at the bottom like everyone else and you will work your way up. Am I clear?” The High Master snapped his question as was his usual manner.

Alador responded without thinking, used to such authority from elders. “Yes, sir,” he answered with a blink of surprise.

“Good, I will have the man outside show you to your room.” The High Master got up and strode around the desk.

Alador swiftly gathered his things and followed the man to the door. The High Master swung it open and handed a slip of paper to one of the men beside the door. “See the man settled in.”

Unlike most Daezun, this guard had red hair, and his face was freckled. His eyes were the color of burnished bronze. He saluted the High Master. “See right to it, sir.” He beckoned Alador to follow him and strode hurriedly down the hall. When they got to the first turn, he took a left and led the way down a long corridor with many doors. He took a stairwell down and led Alador into a great hall filled with tables and benches. It was quiet in the room, but the smell of food wafted to his nose. His guide paused here and seemed to relax somewhat. “This is where we eat. They feed us well enough. The name’s Flame, by the way.” The man with the hair to match his name stuck out his hand.

Alador shifted his bow and clasped the man’s arm. “Alador.” He looked about. “How many people live here?”

“Two hundred so far, but the High Minister’s said he plans it to house a thousand men and women.” Flame drew himself up a bit. “Right proud to be part of his elite force.”

Alador did not point out he was being trained to kill his cousins; he didn’t know whom he could trust, and Flame seemed to be happy here. He could understand that, to some degree. If he hadn’t had his father to lead and guide him, Alador was uncertain where he would have gone or what he would have done if he’d ever been cast out on his own. There were stories of half-breeds being thrown out before they could reach their first circle. As they moved through the large dining hall, Alador took advantage of Flame’s openness.

“How long have you been here?” he asked as they crossed the hall and into another carved corridor. He tried to take in the route Flame was leading him; usually Alador was pretty good at not getting lost, but he wasn’t used to being so far underground. He’d preferred bloodstone mining, which rarely took him very deep. Here, the walls felt too close, and he eyed the rock ceiling a little warily.

“Oh, I’ve been here about a year. I am battlemage now, orange squad.” Flame turned right as he moved down the hall.

“What does that mean?” Alador asked curiously.

“Well, see, it works like this: you start out as a guardsman. Means you don’t know shite when you start. You work your way up to battle mage. That means you have a basic mastery of your talents for battle. Then you’re put in a squad based on your sphere of magic. I’m fire based, what about you?” Flame paused to look at Alador in front of a narrow door. He checked his paper and then looked back at Alador.

There was silence for a moment. “Oh, water,” Alador replied, realizing he’d been asked a question. “I don’t know a lot, but I know it’s water.”

“See, that will put you in one of the blue spheres. Each company will be made up of at least one of each of the spheres.” Flame grinned widely at him. “Red spheres are the largest and the healing sphere is the smallest. It’s made up those that can heal and purify.”
 Flame swung open the door. “This one is yours.”

Alador blinked. “How do you know one door from the other?”

Flame pointed to the frame around the door. On it, a wave symbol and the number eight had been carved. He held up the paper. “Water sphere and room eight.”

“I am going to get so lost in here…” Alador murmured as he moved into the room. He’d expected, being in the army or military unit, that he would be a room with a lot of other men. The stories of war he’d heard always had men around camps and such, all together in one place. So he was surprised to see a simple
room and that it had a fairly large bed, bigger than Alador’s had been in Smallbrook. He focused his attention swiftly to the room and away from thoughts of home. A wardrobe stood on the far wall beside a weapon rack. There was a desk with quill and parchment, along with a few books. “This is mine? I thought the High Master said no special treatment.”

“All the rooms look like this. Plus, your first books to learn spells and how to harness your sphere is there on the desk. Trust me, you’ll be grateful for the privacy soon enough.
 Everyone always just wants to fall into bed when they get started. Someone will be around to take you to get fitted and then to dinner.” He gestured to his own black leather. “I’m sure I’ll see you about.” Flame reached to close the door and left Alador alone.

Alador turned to ask him another question, but the door was already shut. He sighed softly and looked around, then settled his bow and quiver into the rack, along with his sword. He just shoved his backpack onto the floor of the wardrobe. He would unpack later; it wasn’t like he’d brought much with him. There was one small door that led into a small room with a hole in the floor for bodily needs. He shut the door quickly, the odor in the room was strong and unappealing. Alador flopped down onto the bed, expecting it to be hard, and was surprised at how soft it was. At least his new life would have some comforts. Once again Alador tried not to think of home, focusing his thoughts on everything he’d learned in the last few days. He felt like he’d lived months in the last week.

Mesi,

I want to tell you that I am sorry I killed Trelmar. I know that is probably what you hoped I would say, but I have never lied to you. I am not sorry he is dead. What he did was beyond redemption. I am very sorry that it had such an effect on the villagers, my family, and life in the village. I have so much to tell you and there is not a day yet that I have not missed your sweet smile, your tender touch, or even your scolding.

I am not surprised to hear about Gregor and Sophie. There were signs before I left that Gregor was smitten with her. I find it hard to accept that my best friend likes my sister; it seems like there should be something wrong with that. However, I know he will take good care of her, so I guess it will be okay.

There are some things I need to share. I had been trying to figure out how to tell someone before everything went awry. Since I pulled the bloodstone out of the ground, I have been having dreams. They are hard to explain because they are very vivid, like I lived them myself. Henrick has explained there are stones that are very large and hold all the power of the dragon along with something he called a geas. Basically, a geas is some task the dragon needed completing or that was important, and that task is stuck in the bloodstone, too. I think my bloodstone was this type of stone. It turns out that I took the magic from that stone.

Last night there was a new dream. I think I am supposed to free the dragons. The Lerdenians have this horrible practice where they capture dragon eggs and hatch them, then they keep the new babies to use later for bleeding. I got to see some of the stones created this way. They are much paler, and I doubt they have as much magic in them if taken from a living dragon. It is a horrible practice, and one I think the dragon who lived before my stone had planned to stop. I do not know how I am going to do that yet. If the dream is still accurate, these young dragons are very well guarded. The vale I saw them in looked remote. I don’t know when or how, but someday, I know I have to go at least try to free them

I am writing this quickly at the moment because Henrick is waiting for me to take me to the Blackguard. My uncle Luthian, the High Minister, has this special unit of half-breeds like me. It is here that I will learn to use what magic I have and, I guess, how to fight in an army. I plan to go and learn everything I can as I know I will need to know such things if I am ever going to save those dragons. I am not sure how often I will be able to write. I have no idea of what life within this place will be. I know I get a half-day each week with Henrick, so at the worst, I will write on those half days.