The Blackguard (Book 2) (21 page)

“You are truly the son of your father and it is truly pleasing me to know this path was given to one of mine. I give to you the bounties of the sea that you may never hunger and that the treasures you seek are always yours.” Hamaseic nuzzled Renamaum before stepping back.

Rian came next, a bronze dragon that was smaller than the others. “I give you the gift of safety: a cave that no mortal will find, where your fledglings and mate will ever
be safe.” Rian smiled. “Every fledgling should grow in safety. That the mortals betrayed our gifts and steal your fledglings is a crime that they will have to face upon their passing.”

Reistaire, a green dragon only slightly larger than Rian, came in close as the bronze backed away. She did not touch his talon but laid her muzzle against his. “I give to you the gift of nurturing.
 May you nurture those about you and end the hate that rises amongst them. Hate destroys so much of mine. Wars ravage the natural beauty of my creations. Nurture healing and love, so that war is not your first option.”

Krona waited until Reistaire withdrew. Renamaum watched him cautiously. His best friend, Keensight, was a red dragon, but they were not always the nicest of the flights. They were known to be quick tempered and ravaging in their fury. “I give to you the gift of anger. It will be needed to find what you seek. Only in the face of injustice will your anger find root and bring you to your purpose.”
 Krona backed away.

Renamaum looked at Krona, sure that he’d just been cursed. How was anger a gift? His eyes moved to the last dragon, who remained still. The long, wiry black dragon eyed him back with cold hate. “I wish no gift upon this child. His path is against my wishes and my designs,” the black dragon hissed angrily.

Oessyn turned to the smaller dragon. “You agreed to follow the vote of the council. If you fall back now, you will face our wrath. You will gift him to this path, as we all declared,” Oessyn commanded harshly.

Renamaum’s eyes widened with alarm. “I am fine if she doesn’t want to, Great Father,” he murmured. The dragons before Renamaum ignored him, and it seemed like a great deal of time passed while they stared each other down.

The black’s eyes dropped and she growled out. “It is against my will, but I will do as was agreed,” she snarled. She stepped forward, slapping her smaller claw down over Renamaum’s, her talons biting into the top of his forepaw. “I gift to you a swift death when your time comes, that you may not suffer.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “By the mortal hand you will seek to save, you will be given death.”

Renamaum growled in response, not caring she was a goddess. “Then you had best be sure I cannot see that mortal hand for I will deliver him to your keeping.”

Delthera slowly withdrew her claw, its withdrawal more painful than its vicious thrust. Hamaseic laughed; Oessyn nodded as he spoke: “We have chosen well. May the wind always carry you high in your flight.” He spoke with dismissal. All eight dragons howled, and the sound shot through Renamaum’s head. He closed his eyes and buried his head between his great paws, trying to drown out the pain.

When at last the noise ceased, Renamaum opened his eyes. The smell of sulfur filled his nostrils, and he lay once more on the red sand in the great cauldron again. He
didn’t move for a while, gathering his wits. His spells would be greater now, he knew; the power of the pool coursed through his veins, strengthening him. Renamaum finally kicked up off the sand to return to his father; he would need help sorting out the meaning of what he’d just heard. But when he flew up out of the great mouth of steam and smoke, his sire was gone. The ledge was empty. His father had left him to learn what he must.

He landed skittering across the shale. Renamaum was truly on his own. He reared his great head back, crying out a ferocious roar of triumph…And sorrow.

Chapter Fifteen

Alador rose from the depths of his dream to someone calling his name and rocking his body back and forth. The haze of the howling dragon intermingled with a decidedly feminine and annoying call. He batted at whoever was shaking him, hoping she would go away until her words finally got through to him. His eyes opened with alarm.

“Alador! Alador…you are going to be late. You slept through the breakfast bell already.”  Keelee had him by the arm and was attempting to pull him from the bed.

Alador sat up, trying to shake free of his dream. He could still smell sul
fur in the air, and his body tingled with magic. He realized that the room was full of a haze of fog. “What’s going on?” he managed to rasp out. Despite the haze in the room, he felt parched.

“I don’t know. I came in from breakfast and seeing where things are and the room was like this. I thought you would get up with the breakfast bell. I have laid out your clothes since your armor is not here yet. Quick, you are going to be late for your first class.” Keelee held up a fresh shirt for him.

Alador realized he was naked; a flush of emotion and confusion rushed over him. What had he done? He realized by the panicked look on Keelee’s face that he didn’t have time to dwell on last night or why the room was full of a watery haze. Alador jumped out of the bed, much to Keelee’s apparent relief, and began throwing on clothes as she handed them over. He quickly grabbed a belt and his practice sword, slipping it into its sheath. While he was tying up his boots, Keelee put a couple of books together at his desk.

“Your first lesson is on general magic. I have put here all that you need till lunch.” She handed him a pouch with the books and a parchment. “That is your schedule.
 Hurry, the bell for lateness is soon to ring.” Keelee practically pushed him out the door. “You do not want punishment your first day.”

Alador didn’t know what punishment being late would merit, but he was caught up in the urgency of Keelee’s voice and let her push him outside. He glanced at the paper and was glad he’d taken the time to memorize the symbols. He scurried down the hall, cursing as he had to stop to check the symbols at the different passages. A bell began to sound just as Alador made it through the arch of his first classroom, and he slid onto a bench in the back as the bell continued to ring. He looked around: about thirty others were in the room, some armored and some not. Their instructor came in through a side door and Alador breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he’d made it to a seat just in time not to be noticed.

The instructor was a small man and looked to be fully Lerdenian. He had kind green eyes and a soft spoken manner, but Alador noted that everyone paid close attention to him despite that seemingly gentle manner. He had been in enough classes as a small one to know that such respect was usually earned. He eyed the small mage – whose name was Master Arborn – with curiosity, wondering what the others knew that Alador didn’t.

Alador’s first lesson was on sending, a kind of magic he’d use in battle to send information to a single source in the command tent. Each squad would learn whom they would send to through a chain of communication. It
provided organization on the battlefield. It was easier said than done, though – the message had to be short and concise, quick and directed. Any wavering of thought on the sender’s part and the spell would drop off into nothing. Because most of the men here had more training than he did, they were more successful than Alador, who struggled to get the concept.

Finally, the instructor gave him a small metal cone to speak into and told him to picture another person at the other end of the cone. While the cone was small, the mental picture finally allowed Alador to begin sending one word messages. His head pounded with the effort, so Alador was relieved when the bell rang, ending the class. He quickly made some notes in the book of blank pages that Keelee had added to the pouch and headed to his next class.

No one really spoke as they left, and Alador wondered if they had a headache as he did. He didn’t really understand why his head hurt so much, but he was thankful for the dim light. He quickly found his next class and stepped into a room with a large pool in the middle. There were only seven of them there when the bell rang, and Alador could tell that they all knew each other. He nodded when one waved from the other side of the pool.

“So welcome to blue school,” the woman called across the pool, “where you will learn to hate water as you never have before.” A couple of others chuckled. “My name is Ness.” She began pointing around the circle. “This is Rason, Chel, Aldta, Chrisanne, Sante and Cwena.
 Master Thor’el will be along shortly. He’s a fun sort. So what’s your name?” The words came out in a flurry.  Ness was a Daezun-looking woman with the typical brown braided locks. Her eyes, however, were a strange light purple. Alador was beginning to see a pattern – it seemed like everyone he’d met who could use magic had strange eyes, much like his were silver. Did the magic alter a small one’s forming at birth? He knew that magic could change the person who used it, like the way his uncle’s hair had been bleached white. He wondered if perhaps that alteration started at birth.

“Nice to meet you.” Alador smiled at them despite his headache. “My name is Alador,” he murmured, setting his bag on a bench along the side.

“Well met, Alador. How long you known you were a mage?” Cwena was also more Daezun in appearance, though her hair was the color of soft wheat. She was thinner and her voice had a more musical lilt to it.

Alador felt rather bland in comparison to those he stood with as he moved closer to the pool. “I guess I’ve suspected for a few months, but really known? Only about three weeks.” He frowned at the pool of water, remembering the day at the bathhouse when he’d heated the water in his anger and fear, scalding the bullies that had nearly drowned him. Of course, when that had happened, Alador hadn’t realized he’d been the cause.

Rason nodded. “Most of us here are fairly new. This is only my second week. Ness there is about to be assigned to a squad. It takes some getting used to, but you’ll get the hang of it. It is not so bad as long as you do what you are told.”  Rason looked far more Lerdenian than the others, his graceful figure clothed in dark blue robes. His black hair was pulled back, and Alador could see streaks of white through it.

“My bo…” Alador paused considering what he should call Keelee, “…friend said there were punishments for things, but I didn’t have much time to ask for what things, or what punishments.” Alador
blinked as everyone looked down at his questioning tone.  

“I am sure you will find out that soon enough, Alador,” a firm voice called from behind him.
 

Alador turned to see an aged, grinning man. He was clearly an elder of Daezun birth; his sparkling eyes reminded Alador of Dorien, though he was much older. He had that same genuine joy of life in his eyes, and his build was larger than most he had seen in the caves. He, too, was dressed in robes of blue, though they were paler than Rason’s.

“Greetings, Elder Thor’el.” Alador gave a proper address since he seemed to be the type to appreciate it.

Ah, not broken of village life yet, I see. Sad to know that will soon be lost.” The mage tsked as he came to the pool. “Today, most of you will be learning to part water. Sometimes the quickest way to escape is through water, and swimming takes too long. Ness, take Alador to the table and teach him to change liquids.”

Ness nodded and beckoned Alador around the pool. He would have much rather learned to part water, but he supposed he’d be better off starting small. He glanced with longing at the pool before joining Ness at a table where liquid-filled containers were lined up. She sat a chalice of water on the table before them. “This spell is most useful to insure the enemy has not poisoned your water supply. While most of us could never manage a whole pond or lake, we can nullify any substances in our own water barrels. It’s also helpful if you need another form of liquid, like oil, or if you’re sick of water and want wine or juice. Chrisanna over there took all the alcohol out of the barrels at a red sphere party once. Basically, they just had a bunch of juice and water barrels. They were…A little upset over the matter, but we thought it was hilarious.”

Alador grinned. “I once made a keg pop its bung. It was quite enjoyable watching the blustering innkeeper trying to plug it up.”

Ness grinned back and continued her teaching. “You have to know the taste of what you are trying to create. You have to be able to recall that taste in your mouth to make it happen. Which means to make lamp oil, for example, you have to have tasted it.”

Alador wrinkled his nose at that thought but nodded for it made sense. Magic seemed to be tied mainly to one’s senses and the ability to draw forth that power to match the memories. While he knew this was not completely the case, there seemed a large correlation at least in simple spells. “Can you make poisons this way?” he asked curiously, eying the goblet of water.

“You can, but it’s dangerous. You have to remember the taste, so you’d risk the fate of the poison you tasted. Some mages have worked on this with a white mage with them to nullify the poison quickly. Personally, I just like the idea that if I’m sick of water, I can drink anything I’ve tasted before.” Ness smiled at him, picking up the chalice and swirling her finger through it. The water changed into a dark rose color. “My favorite wine. Here, taste.” She took a small sip to show him it was safe.

Alador took the chalice curiously and took a small sip. It was a strange combination of spice, apple, prickleberry, and something he couldn’t make out, but it tasted good. “I see why you like it.” He smiled at Ness, who returned the smile.

“You try it now. Think of something you know the taste of – it has to be liquid – and run your finger through the water.” She nodded to the chalice and crossed her arms, waiting.

Alador frowned. He mostly drank tea, water, and prickleberry juice; he rarely wasted trading slips on drink. He stared at the cup and just decided to go with prickleberry juice. The thought reminded him of Sofie and Gregor, and then he thought of Mesiande as he ran his finger through the water sadly. He looked down to see it had changed color. It was clear again. Prickleberry juice was not clear like water. He took a small sip and wrinkled his nose in surprise. It tasted like salt.
 

Ness stared at the cup. “What is it?” she asked curiously, not willing to try it after his reaction to the taste.

“I don’t know. It tastes like salt,” Alador said with confusion.

Ness put a finger in the water and then put it in her mouth. “It does.”
 She watched him and he squirmed a bit under the intensity of her gaze. She leaned into him. “What were you thinking of when you put your finger in the water?”

Alador thought for a moment. “Well, I was thinking of this juice from home, but then I started thinking of home,” he admitted.

“Are you sad when you think of home?” She looked at him and then to the others around the practice pool before turning back to him.

Alador nodded as a small lump of emotion formed in his throat. “I don’t know any liquids that taste like salt. I don’t know what happened,” he muttered.

“I know what happened.” Ness put a reassuring hand on his arm. “That’s the taste of your tears,” she explained. She gave him a minute to absorb that, watching him stare at the cup. “Okay, we’ll try again, but the thing about magic, Alador, is that you can’t be distracted. You ever shoot a bow?”

Alador nodded yes. “I am a dead shot,”

“Then you have practiced shooting with distractions. You know that no matter what’s going on around you, the only thing that matters is the target, right?”

Alador nodded starting to get where she was going. He didn’t mention the reason he was a dead shot is that, for some reason, the target loomed to him.
 He didn’t know if that was common, and he didn’t want to set himself apart from everyone on his first day.

“Good. Magic is the same way. No matter what’s going on around you, when you chose a spell to use, that must be your only focus. In time, some spells require little thought – they’re almost automatic – but others will need your full concentration. That’s why a battle mage is at his weakest when he’s in the middle of casting a spell – he might not sense the approach of an enemy, or even if he does, he might not be able to stop casting. Some spells have more dangerous results if half-completed than when they’re finished.” She took on the tone of a teacher, and he could tell she’d practiced this more than her fair share of times.

Alador nodded in response, still holding the chalice of salt water. “I see your point: if you lose focus on a target, the arrow will veer,” he agreed, looking down at the chalice in his hand.

“Correct! Try again, and this time keep your focus,” Ness commanded.

He refocused on the cup, using the same skills that Henrick had insisted on when he was practicing the water cantrip. This time when he opened his eyes, the cup looked right, and it tasted like a fine prickleberry juice.

Ness took it from him and tasted it. “Oh, that is good. I’ve never had that. She took another drink and rolled it around her mouth. Alador could tell she was memorizing its feel and taste for future use.

Ness spent the next two hours making Alador turn that cup into as many liquids as he could imagine. She made him taste oil and other items that were liquid-based, such as a simple broth for when food could not be found. Ness always seemed to have an entirely new set of liquids after Alador had gone through all the cups. She even taught him how to turn it to blood, though he could think of no good reason for that particular lesson. Ness seemed quite proud that she could do so. He didn’t comment.