The Blackguard (Book 2) (20 page)

“Same as most: being dirtied with magic. I don’t know why they let Lerdenians into their beds if they don’t want half-breed children born from such a mating.” Jon’s tone was bitter.

“It’s strange, yet my mother is totally smitten with my father,” Alador admitted. “She’s like a middlin whenever he comes around. I always wondered if he used magic on her.”

“My sire never came around. I never met him. Apparently he’s some trader that my mother took a fancy to. Something to do with his purple eyes.”

Alador took the time to look around the now very noisy room. It was filled with laughter and camaraderie, much like a village feast. Men and women were on equal footing here; in fact, some of the women looked far deadlier than the men sitting next to them.

“Do they hold the circle here?” Alador asked curiously.

Jon shrugged. “No need. Women in the guard don’t bear small ones. They take some potion to prevent it. And remember, some are Lerdenian-born; they know nothing of the circle ritual. I think many would find it odd, in fact. Why not take to your bed who you want, when you want to?”

Alador nodded. It was not like the Daezun only shared their bed during ritual; that was just a time of procreation, an assurance that there would always be people in the village who were strong and born at a time that was the least taxing.

Both men finished their dinner comparing tales of their villages and life within them. Neither spoke of kin, the topic seemed just as painful for Jon as it was for Alador.

After they ate their fill, Jon took Alador back to his room. “I’ll see you on the practice fields tomorrow.” Jon moved off.

Alador opened the door to see Keelee waiting on his bed. She was barely wearing clothes, and he looked away. “Keelee, get dressed,” he snapped. His talk of home had only deepened how much he missed Smallbrook and the villagers. The girl on his bed did nothing to appease his homesickness.

Keelee looked hurt but did grab a wrapper close by and shrugged herself into it.
 “I am sorry,” she whispered with a slight pout.

Alador sat down at the desk and began to look at the books. He found the one about rules and life in the Blackguard and swiftly found the page that explained the markings. “Don’t be. Just…I told you, it’s not going to be like that. I need to study. If you must be here, find something quiet to do.”

She moved to his side and picked up another of his books. “I will just read for a bit,” she said, doing nothing to hide the pouting in her voice.

Alador just nodded. He didn’t look up to see that she picked up one of his books, he was more interested in
learning how to fit in and get around. He spent a long time reading before looking up, he wasn’t sure how long, but Keelee had fallen asleep on the bed, the book on her chest.

He got up and carefully took the book from her hands. She was, indeed, quite beautiful lying there, fast asleep. He sighed softly. He should feel lucky, not cursed, that such a beautiful woman had attached herself to him. He knew that any other guardsman would likely jump at the chance to switch places with him. He laid the book on the desk, finally noting she had been looking at basic spells. He really didn’t care. If she could learn enough to move her up tiers, then more power to her.

He removed his boots and stripped down to just his britches. He tried to move into the bed without waking her, but that was impossible as she was on the covers. Her eyes fluttered open, their emerald depths mesmerizing. His breath caught as he gazed into those eyes, and he felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach. “Come on, off the covers. I hear I’m in for a hard day tomorrow and it’s best I get some sleep,” Alador called softly.

He realized that the lights in his room were too bright to sleep with, and he peered at the stones that were lit the room. Each of them sat on black pieces of cloth, probably meant for snuffing them. Alador covered them and sure enough, the light didn’t show through the cloth. He left one small stone uncovered in case he needed to get up and see to any personal needs.

Meanwhile, Keelee had removed her wrapper and slipped beneath the covers. As soon as Alador joined her in the bed and was settled, she moved to lay her head on his chest. He started to push her away, but realized her body was cold, and having her gentle touch was soothing, somehow. Alador pulled her tight against him and closed his eyes to find sleep. He’d almost found it when he first felt Keelee’s hands untying his pants. “Keelee…” He whispered. “Stop.”

He looked down at her just as she glanced up at him. The pale glimmer of light was just enough to show the need flickering in her eyes. Alador swallowed hard as he gazed into her eyes and, without thinking, moved a lock of ebon hair from her face.

“Give me just a short time and if you still want me to stop, I promise I will,” Keelee whispered back, her large emerald eyes locked on his. His breath caught at the vision of beauty framed in a curtain of shimmering hair, and he found that he couldn’t look away. His heart began to pound in his chest.

“Keelee, I love another.” He groaned as her fingers touched him. His body was betraying him even at the grazing touch of her fingers on the lacings of his pants. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest, acutely aware of the hard nipples against his skin even through the gown.

“I am not asking for your love, Alador. I am asking for your warmth and comfort,” she whispered as she slid down his body. She trailed hot kisses down his chest and he tangled his hands into her hair. He’d intended to pull Keelee back up when her mouth sank down around him. His eyes flew open in surprise and an immediate moan of pleasure escaped his lips.

Though Alador’s fingers clutched tightly in her hair, he did not stop her.

Chapter Fourteen

Renamaum sat on a cliff top overlooking the sea; under the waves below him was the cave he had grown to know so well. He deeply inhaled the rich air, filled with the scent of sea spray and kelp and his eyes followed the gulls that drifted on the air without the need to beat their wings. The fog had lifted and the pale blue of the sky stood in deep contrast with the dark green water, cut with lines of white, foaming waves. Renamaum’s time as a fledgling was coming to an end today; last evening his sire had told him that it was time for him to find his own way. His dam had laid a new clutch earlier in the month. The two eggs were laying in the pool Renamaum had hatched and spent a great deal of time playing in.

His nostrils flared with emotion and steam heaved from his depths, boiling up in the cool air.
 Renamaum felt old enough to leave his nest and had often been away for days at a time, but there was something different between choosing to leave the cave on his own adventures and having his father tell him that it was time to set out for good. He understood this request: there were tales of dragons slaying their younger siblings in jealousy. Renamaum didn’t feel jealous of the new eggs, yet some part of him felt as if his heart was being ripped free.

He could hear the resounding snap of his father’s wings as he came sailing in on the coastal winds, but didn’t turn to look at his father. He dipped his large head in respect as the ground shifted with his father’s landing and swallowed the lump in his throat as his father shook the water from his wings. Renamaum knew they weren’t parting for a lifetime – he was just leaving the cave – yet a piece of him felt like they would never meet again. For a brief moment, Renamaum wondered if this is what fear felt like. He’d heard the word before, but he had no idea its true meaning. Was this lump in his throat fear? Did he fear to leave the safety of his father’s shadow and his mother’s comforting nuzzles?

“It is not the end, son but a beginning.”

The deep rumble of his father’s voice finally drew Renamaum’s full attention, and he turned his head to meet his father’s gaze, swallowing hard. “It does not feel like a beginning,” he confessed.

“All things turn and, in that turning, some things must end for another to begin.”

Renamaum snorted in frustration. “Must you always talk in riddles? Can you not speak to me without contrite sayings and soothsayer visions?”

His father chuckled, a deep rumble vibrating the rocks beneath him. Though Renamaum was fully grown, his father was easily a third larger. Barnacles clung to his scales, covering him in dark clusters that made him look far more threatening, and standing as a testament to his preference for sleeping on the ocean floor. It amazed Renamuam that his father could still take flight, and wondered if his father used the aid of magic to help his large form take to the air.

“Words have power, my son. Words can cut to the heart and soothe the deepest hurts. They can be puzzles that leave another pondering for days. I prefer to cast my spells of words in ways that make others think. It is a fault, I fear, that has come with age.” The massive blue sea dragon stretched in the morning sun. “We have far to fly. Words can be spoken when we rest.”

Before Renamaum could answer, his father thrust off the ground and over the cliff, dropping only a few feet before catching an updraft and, using his powerful wings, began to climb into the sky.  Renamaum sighed. He had no idea where they were going. His father had said this would be his last lesson, the most important one.

Renamaum jumped into the air, slightly more agile than his sire, and beat his wings to catch him. He exhilarated in long flights. His father had taught him how to use the winds to fly most efficiently. Father and son flew high: the rounding of the land made the distance shorter at great heights, and they could climb until they found a wind headed in the same direction to fly more efficiently. The land fell away below them as they set out over the great sea.

Renamaum had never flown so far. He and his father flew past the small isle where many bronze and red dragons had taken roost; they flew down the coast of the great land where most of the flights had migrated so many turns ago. They stopped only once for water and food, but there wasn’t much in the way of speaking. Renamaum knew better than to ask where they were headed, and he could think of nothing else to say. This last lesson was the main thing on his mind. What could he learn that required such a great flight?

Many hours later, his father swirled down toward a small island that had only come into sight as they descended. Renamaum peered at it curiously as they circled down; there didn’t seem to be anything spectacular about it, just a rocky mountain rising up from the ocean floor. Red, glistening streams of lava were spilling down its sides, steaming in violent hisses of protest as they fell into the ocean.

Renamaum’s father came to rest on the edge of this active cauldron of water and boiling rock. The rock was warm with the surrounding heat but solid enough; Renamaum landed roughly, tired from the great distance they’d flown. He looked around, seeing nothing that would have drawn his father to this spot. Perhaps his father was tired and only meant to rest here.

“Your final lesson, my son. You have done me proud. I have dreamed the day I would lead you here.” His father puffed steam wearily from his nostrils.

“What lesson? This is but new land boiling up and into the sea.” Renamaum glanced around. There was no sign of life here, not even small seabirds.

“Yes, through the great heaves of the land, through the decay of the gods’ work, new life springs forth. It is not
why you are here. Close your eyes, my son; listen with your heart. Here lies the gods’ gift to our kind.” His father gave no other hint.

Renamaum looked around curiously, but saw nothing that he could call a gift. There was no great treasure to start a lair, no female waiting for his call. What gift could the gods have left when they’d deserted dragonkind upon their making?

Renamaum sighed and closed his eyes, reaching out with other senses. He flared his nostrils and then shut them swiftly, the sulfurous smell of the burning rock and too strong for comfort.  He listened, hearing the gurgling of molten lava, the hissing of steam, and the snaps of rock breaking and cooling around them. He sat searching for some time when he felt it – a strange tingling deep within him where he reached for his magic. Renamaum focused on that and felt a call to his very blood. His heart began to race, and the call grew stronger with every pound, pulling him further within himself.

Renamaum’s eyes flew open as a rumble of need raced through his veins, a rush so exhilarating that he cast about for the source. “What is that?” he growled out, searching about for this pulsing magic.

“It is a gift. It is the pool of magic placed where only dragons can go and where only dragons can sense. It is a place to heal, to renew, and to take on your final gifts of power.” His father smiled at his son’s reaction.

“Final gifts?” Renamaum looked at his father in surprise. He knew all the spells his father had taught him well.

“You will see, and you will understand. Find the pool, Renamaum, and receive your birthright.” His father lay down on the flat ground where he’d chosen to land.

Renamaum closed his eyes again, searching for the pull. He took to the sky. The boiling depths below him made the winds unstable, dropping and gusting at random, so Renamaum had to be careful as he searched making his way lower into the crater. Pockets of boiling rock and steaming pools dotted the crater; Renamaum scoured the ground, looking for the pool his father spoke of
so fervently.

Finally, he found it, lying in the center.
 It shimmered in the evening sun, reflecting all the colors around it. This pool did not boil and froth; it was not like the pools around it. The surrounding ground was not rock, but sparkling red sand; Renamaum flapped his way down carefully, unsure of the stability. He put one talon to the ground, testing the solid nature of the stone and the warmth of the ground. Finding it not uncomfortable, he landed and lumbered to the pool, watching his reflection staring back at him. He reached out with a talon and broke the mirror-like surface, wondering how it was so smooth with all the shifting and heaving of the ground around it.

The simple touch of that water to his talon sent a shiver all the way to the end of his webbed
tail.  Renamaum didn’t know what he was supposed to do now that he found the pool; he sat back on his haunches, staring at it. It wasn’t large enough to swim in, and it could hardly be safe to drink, given his surroundings. He did not look to his father for help, this was his lesson, and he had to learn it on his own. It was supposed to be a gift from the gods. If this was true, then each god put something into it.

Renamaum puzzled it out for a long time before reaching his head down and taking a deep mouthful. Power surged through him at its touch, but Renamaum was positive he wasn’t supposed to swallow; he called for the power of heat and, when the water was hot enough, blew it up into the air in a cone of steam. The steam rained down around him in a warm shower of magic-filled drops.

Renamaum’s head suddenly filled with pain, and he cried out. He tried to move out of the steam, but he couldn’t make his limbs work. As his vision swam, Renamaum became certain that he’d failed his test, failed his father. His heart lurched more at failing his father than at his own imminent death. He staggered forward, falling onto his underbelly. His head pounded with his fear and thudded to the ground. Darkness claimed his sight, and he lay gasping with his last breaths.

After a few long minutes, Renamaum’s breathing eased, and he realized that he no longer heard the sounds of shifting rocks and hissing steam. The scents had changed to those of a cool spring evening, rich with the
nectar of flowers. He slowly opened one eye, then raised his head, looking about him in disbelief. He was lying in a green field now, a blanket of stars glittering above him. Renamaum forced his large body back up onto his feet and looked around for his father or for some clue that would tell him where he was. It was then that the saw them, globes of light slowly moving toward Renamaum from all directions. He swung around with concern, watching them come, and growled out a warning.

Eight shimmering balls of light slowly circled him, radiating power so intense Renamaum knew that no magic he had would ever compare. When the shimmering figures of light finally stilled, they swirled into the form of eight dragons, each a different color. Had he died? Was this where dragons who died laid their hearts in their final flight?

His eyes traveled the silent circle, shifting uncomfortably. Suddenly, he knew. All his life he’d wondered about the gods that had supposedly created him, the great beings that had created the wondrous world he traveled, were now around him. He bowed as low as he could, keeping his eyes locked on his own talons.

A great voice sounded in Renamaum’s head. “All is well, child of Hamaseic. You are safe in this circle.” He was not sure if he’d heard the words, or just felt them. “Look upon me.”

Renamaum slowly raised his head to look into the kind eyes of a great gold dragon that could only be Oessyn. He could not find words to speak, and his gaze locked with the great beast before him. His father had let him fly to council once, and he remembered seeing Rheagos in that council cavern – it had been the only gold dragon Renamaum had ever seen before this. He found his eyes caught in the gaze of that magnificent beast before him.

“You will bring about the salvation of your kind, child of Hamaseic. Though you will not see the fruits of your labor, your path is one of great importance.” Again, Renamaum felt the words resounding in the depths of his very soul.

“What must I do, O Great Lord Oessyn?” Renamaum managed to keep the tremble out of his voice. He now knew what fear felt like.

“You must only be who you are, child. Within you is the blood of a hero and the heart of your people. In time, your very essence will return the promises of your making. Your fledglings will know peace upon your land,” Oessyn declared.

“I will not live to see this pact restored?” He asked not certain he liked this thought in any way. At least he knew he would live long enough to have fledglings.

“It is not your path,” Oessyn agreed. He stepped forward and put his talon over Renamaum’s, making the young dragon flinch in preparation. “I gift to you
, life within death.”

He stepped back, and the great silver dragon, Lyiu, stepped forward. Her scales were the brightest Renamaum had ever seen; most silver dragons kept their scales dull so they wouldn’t draw the attention of hunters. “I gift to you
the ability to see the beauty in all things, for there is ugliness in many, yet within each is a pearl if you but seek it.”

Renamaum nodded his thanks, overwhelmed by the magic swirling within him. It was dizzyingly powerful, liking spiraling down in freefall.

The white dragon, Ninet, was next. Her talon was cold, like a frozen lake. “I gift to you sight within the darkest night. May you ever find your way, even when hope seems lost. May you find your voice when it is most needed.”

Renamaum wondered if his father had gotten his weird way of speaking in riddles from this circle of gods around him. He had no idea why they gave him such gifts or exactly what their meaning was. He suspected whatever they meant was more than what they said; in fact, he could feel something was forming deep within him that he didn’t understand. Hamaseic, the great sea dragon, stepped forward. Renamaum was also fairly sure that the gods weren’t really dragons, but perhaps this was a form they felt he would understand.