The Blackguard (Book 2) (27 page)

“Why, I had not thought of that.” Luthian eyes moved to Alador as if surprised. His hands stilled and he put the two index fingers to his lips.

“Liar,” Alador fired the accusation right back at his uncle. He knew damned well before his uncle could turn his eyes to outside conquests, he had to bring his own isle under a single rule.  It was hidden and hinted at through every history and tactical lesson he had received so far inside the caverns.

Luthian reached over to pick up the bottle and refill his glass. “It seems our truce of honesty has ended in both directions.” He picked up his glass and toasted Alador. “All right, yes, this had occurred to me.” He took a sip, letting the tension build in the room.  “If the Daezun were forced to turn to Lerdenian for help from the weather’s unrelenting onslaught, a war could be avoided.”

“So many people would die before that happened. The villages would turn to one another for assistance, first…The Daezun would have to be desperate before they turned to Lerdenia for help,” Alador pointed out coldly. His eyes narrowed as he watched his uncle.

“Alador, shall we be frank with each other?” Luthian shifted his posture – he was no longer the doting uncle, but the ruler of the Lerdenian people. He crossed his legs, very relaxed in his revelations. “I
will
rule this isle.” He took another sip of wine before continuing. “I will do it regardless of whether or not you help. You have the power within you to ensure that this happens with the least amount of loss to your people. People, I will remind you, that cast you out, and yet you still seem to harbor a kindness towards. If you decide to not help me in this task, well then…” He paused, swirling the wine in his glass, “I fear a war like no other will be fought upon this isle. You have seen what the Blackguard can do. I am willing to wait until enough are trained to insure that the Daezun fall. I am a patient man; I can and will wait for the right time.”

“You have maybe three hundred Blackguard. That’s hardly enough for an invasion,” Alador pointed out, working hard to look casual despite what he was learning from his uncle.
             

Do you think you are alone, Alador? Do you think that you are the only bastard your father spawned? Why do you think Lerdenians travel at the time of your ridiculous mating circle? You are, but the first of the crop now coming into my keeping.” He eyed his nephew with cold calculation. “I assure you that there is no love for you in your father’s heart.” Luthian’s tone contained some mockery and a hint of sadness, like he pitied Alador for not being able to see this.

“You are but the first of the army I created. The first of the half-breeds that, as they come into power, will be cast from Daezun arms and into my own.” He gestured open arms with both arms, his wine glass sloshing slightly. You are the product of my patience.” Luthian let this harsh realization wash over Alador. “Every mage out at circle has a spell of enchantment to insure they are chosen as much as they can endure throughout the night. Nights…Like the one your father spent some thirty years ago in Smallbrook.”

Alador’s cake had been halfway to his mouth as Luthian’s cold, calculated words washed over him. He set it down, no longer hungry. He could feel the blood drain from his face; Alador had always feared this; always
suspected that his father had used some sort of spell on his mother. She always became giddy as a middlin when Henrick was around. “My father, he knew of your plan to breed this army of castoffs?” Alador asked in an almost deadly whisper.

“Of course he knew. Henrick likes his women and was more than happy to have a good excuse to bed as many as he could. I am quite sure he has a woman in every village. You have seen him with women, did you think he held your mother in some special regard?”

Luthian snorted in contempt and sipped his wine casually. “He detests the simple village life the Daezun insist on clinging to.” Luthian swirled his wine, watching his nephew squirm with a cold smile. “He used to whine every time I sent him out to keep the good will or to check on you. Once he even went as far as to complain because he wouldn’t be able to wear a new robe to a ball.”

“You’re lying.” Alador stood slowly. Anger began to course through him as he looked down at his totally calm uncle.

Luthian shrugged. “Ask him, Alador. Ask him, yourself, if he knew what I was doing. Ask him if he loved your mother all those times he crawled into her bed. Ask him how many siblings you actually have. I doubt he truly knows.”

“You bastard,” Alador hissed angrily. “Why tell me this? Why break the trust I was building here?”

Luthian didn’t answer immediately. He picked up a small sandwich and took a bite, looking at it as if to appreciate its fine flavor. “First, you are the only bastard in this room. My parents were properly bonded.” He looked up at Alador. “Secondly, you deserve the truth. We did promise that when we first met. Lastly, you seem to be forgetting that you're only truly safe place is in my good will.” The man’s tone held a deadly edge of confidence as Alador stood over him, hands clenched.

L
uthian slowly set his wine down and picked up a cake. “Go ahead, Alador, strike out at me if you can. I know that you want to.” He didn’t even bother to look at Alador, he merely sat there with an imperious grin.

A
lador wanted to; he wanted to take every offensive spell he knew at that moment and send them crashing down to wipe that smile from his uncle’s face. He wanted to leave nothing in that chair for anyone to identify. But he knew that his uncle would not have shared this – would not simply sit there calmly – if he did not have some plan. Not to mention that any spell Alador could cast would likely be nothing more than a mere irritation in the face of the power Luthian held.

It was then that Alador realized that the Blackguard were
in
the room, facing him, standing on either side of the door, when they usually stepped out of the library during Luthian’s meetings with Alador. He did not look directly at them, but he could see both of them tense and ready. He knew that look; he’d seen it a hundred times in practice.

“Well played, Uncle.” Alador answered softly. “I will not give you that satisfaction. If you want me to grovel, you will have to act first. I will not raise my hand to you.”

Luthian popped a cake in his mouth with a satisfied smile. “Smart man. However, I do not want you to grovel. Wait!” He put up one hand and shook his head. “I promised honesty – it would be nice, but not necessary.” Luthian grinned up at Alador as he dusted off his hands. “I want you to learn what is needed to bring the storms. I know you have enough power to do it. I have received reports of how easily simple spells come to you.  I found these reports disturbing since you always seemed to struggle with the simplest of tasks I have given you.  This tells me that you are also gaining skill in the game for power.” Luthian’s calculating gaze brought a skip to Alador’s heart.  Luthian continued triumphantly. “I know about your skill with a bow. A little weak with a sword still, but progressing. I really have no need of you at a battlefront, so that small flaw does not worry me.”

Alador stood there for a moment, trying to regain some kind of center. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he could feel his face flushing with the anger that coursed through him. His mind was racing. He had already known; his father – no, Henrick – had warned him that his uncle was conniving and cold. Henrick had failed to mention, however, how much involvement he’d had on the plans for Luthian’s ma
nipulations. Had all these lessons been the result of this attempt to bring forth the power Luthian wanted? Were the reports from his instructors in the guard, from Keelee or from Henrick himself?  How long had Luthian known that Alador had been faltering his power?

“I find myself suddenly quite tired and no longer hungry, High Minister. With your permission, I will withdraw for the evening. You have given me much to think about.” Alador bit out the words tersely.

“Of course, Alador. I am sure you have much to consider.” Luthian held up one finger.  “One thing before you go.” He waited until he was sure he had Alador’s attention. “You will learn this spell. It is not a request, but an order. If I catch you downplaying your kill or power, I will kill you. Do you understand?” His voice was quiet, but hard, and held no room for argument. Luthian did not bother rising as he usually did when Alador had left in the past. He sipped his wine, watching his nephew.

Alador stared at him for a long moment; he could
hear the shifting of the two Blackguard behind him. “Yes, I understand.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door. The guardsman opened it as he approached. Alador stopped and turned back. “One thing of my own,
uncle
.” He twisted the word with sarcasm.

“Yes,
nephew?” Luthian rose with his glass of wine in hand.

“I will
never
use it on the Daezun.” Alador’s tone held an edge of promise as he turned and strode off, not bothering to hear if his uncle had a parting comment.

Chapter Twenty-One

Alador had been unable to sleep that night; the conflicting, distressing information he’d had just learned from Luthian had swirled around in his head incessantly, keeping him awake. He left the High Minister’s home before Luthian had even risen for the day, lost in thought. On some level, Alador had known that Henrick must have somehow been a part of all this, or the man wouldn’t have been able to warn him about the Blackguard and Luthian’s plans. But the way his uncle had just laid the information out there had shocked Alador. He wanted to believe in his father, but much of what Luthian had said rang with honesty. There was some comfort in knowing that the best lies were told with truth mixed in, but Alador couldn’t confront Henrick about it until the man returned from his rounds, and he wasn’t due back for some time.

Alador made his way slowly down to the third tier, his mind whirling; he was so lost in thought that he had to set a poor old woman upright after almost knocking her to the ground. “Sorry,” he murmured, already falling back into his thoughts. The morning was still new, so the streets were quiet and nearly empty. Aside from the stray person like the old lady going about their business, the only traffic was the refuse carts that were still hauling garbage off the tiers in the faint, early morning light. The shopkeepers weren’t even out to set up their shops for the day yet.

Alador was glad for the quiet streets as he made his way back to the caverns – it allowed him to think. There was one thing he did not doubt: his uncle was not his friend. Luthian had made it clear that his role of doting uncle had come to an end. For a man who claimed to have such patience, he hadn’t lasted long in the part of a loving family member. Alador had wanted to kill Luthian. By the gods, he still wanted to kill him. Thanks to Luthian, Alador felt like he’d been cast adrift yet again, feeling totally alone and questioning everything around him.

Alador returned to the caverns in a foul mood. Keelee wouldn’t be back until after his first classes, but that was for the best – Alador didn’t want to take his anger out on her. He threw himself into his studies to take his mind off Luthian and Henrick, particularly when it was time for weapons practice. Alador had advanced to the second ring since his arrival, having mastered basic skills.

Seeing his mood, his instructor, Toman, had chosen to pair off with him today rather than assign Alador to another student. At least he wouldn’t be forced to soften his blows. Near the end of the class, the instructor had just decided to let Alador spar rather than practice a particular skill. “I don’t know where your head is, but it’s clear you have something you need to vent.” Toman saluted Alador and dropped down into a readied stance. “Come on, show me your best and see if you can disarm me.”

Alador, still seething with the anger he’d been unable to resolve, didn’t need to be asked twice. He danced forward daringly to strike out at the man before him. Steel clashed against steel with far more force than the ring usually heard echoing loudly about them. Those who were in the same ring paused their eyes drawn to Alador and Toman.

The instructor eyed Alador with surprise as the two spun from one another, readying for the next blow. “Anger is any swordsman’s downfall, Alador. You know this.” He barely had the words out before Alador had once again leapt forward, moving swiftly with three alternating blows. Toman blocked them each with practiced efficiency, though the effort would have left any other lagging behind in the face of Alador's fervor.

Alador’s next strike sliced the air with an audible hiss before it met with Toman’s blade in another sharp clang. The swords continued to connect again and again, bringing all other practices to a stop around them. Soon a silent ring had formed around their circle. Alador would not relent, his anger fueling blow after blow. He was aware of only one thing, and that was the man before him. The fact they were using practice blades would help nothing if any of his blows connected.

Toman was a renowned fighter in the Blackguard, and few had bested him. To see him fight in more than coaching practices was a rare event, and as the two battled on, more and more joined the circle to watch. Toman’s skill was being tested in the face of Alador’s seemingly unflagging energy. Alador's vehement blows struck again and again against Toman's blade, a frenzied tempest of whirling and slashing metal. The wiser, more experienced man kept waiting for Alador to tire and lower his weapon, yet still Alador pressed on. Twice, Toman tried to lift a hand to end the duel, but each time he’d been forced to defend himself before he could stop the fight. Alador was lost in his rage – he wanted to kill something, and this man before him had allowed him to release that rage he’d been holding since leaving Smallbrook.

The two men circled around each other, Toman sweating with the effort as he sought a way to disarm his pupil. His expression was one of pure concentration as he tried a questing blow at the lad's hand or a swirling riposte to leverage the sword away. Neither man spoke nor did they seem to notice the growing throng of students around them. They had eyes for each other only.

Alador lunged in an attempt to plunge his sword deep into his adversary; Toman barely stepped out of the way, bringing his sword up from underneath and forcing it farther from his side. He immediately countered trying to knock Alador in the head with the flat of the blade. Alador ducked and backpedaled, bringing his sword back up to the ready. His eyes were sharp with anger, hurt, and the desire to kill. Toman must have recognized the look – his stance changed in response, preparing to defend his life rather than against the possibility of a broken bone.

Alador came hard and fast. His sword flashed left and right, and the swords rang out with each cut. The blades snapped with sound as the two spun about one another. Toman pivoted right and tried again to knock out the man standing before him, but Alador was ready for him. His sword caught Toman’s, and he twisted so that its dull point raked across the older fighter’s bracer, turning Toman's similar attempt to disarm Alador earlier against him.

The instructor’s sword slipped from his grip and slid across the sand with a hiss. Silence reigned at that moment, the crowd catching their breath in the unnatural stillness. Time seemed to slow. Toman dove for his sword, but Alador beat him to it; his foot was on the hilt just as Toman reached it. Alador raised his sword to drive it into the man’s heart when a large figure flung itself toward him, tackling him over.

“Stop! Stop, it’s just practice! Get your senses, you idiot!” Flame yelled as they went crashing to the ground.

Alador was so stunned by the tackle and by this third person that, for a moment, he acted on pure instinct, reflexively grappling with Flame, who’d grabbed Alador’s sword hand. Flame was joined almost immediately by Jon, and the two of them managed to hold Alador down with some difficulty.

“Alador, damn it man, it’s me, Jon,” he hissed. “Snap out of it!” Alador’s struggling eased a little, and Jon looked at Flame. “What did you say to piss him off this badly?”
 

Alador stopped moving, staring up in confusion at the two men sitting on his chest who seemed to be arguing. He blinked at them, panting from the exertion of the fight.

“Me?” Flame looked over in surprise, both his hands now holding down Alador’s sword hand. “They were already like that when I came around.”

“Get off me,” Alador hissed. “Flame didn’t say shite. I just…lost my temper for a moment.”

Flame eyed Jon who nodded and the two of them slowly let Alador go as Flame answered him. “Remind me never to make you angry,” Flame answered. For once, his tone lacked its usual playful banter.

Alador pushed himself to his feet, sheathing his sword, and looked around for his instructor. Toman had retrieved his sword sometime after Alador had been tackled, and stood facing him. Alador immediately saluted him. “I apologize – you’re right. My temper is my downfall.” He waited unsure of what would befall him for attempting to kill his mentor.

Toman just saluted him back with a look of pride. “Tomorrow, you are to report to the advanced ring.” Then he pivoted and strode away, the silent ring of men about them parting to make way for the weapon master.

Alador watched him go, unsure of whether he had just been praised or punished. He suspected that, without anger, he was going to be soundly beat for a long while. Then again, he had just disarmed one of the best fighters on the fields. The uproar slowly built around them as a flood of guards surrounded him, congratulating him and commenting on the fight. Alador was overwhelmed by slaps and calls.

When the crowd began to filter out, Flame came up and slapped him on the back. “Well, that ended better than I expected. Well fought. I honestly thought for a moment that you meant to kill him. I would have stayed out of it otherwise.” Flame nudged him in the ribs. “Can’t have my richest friend getting strung up or put to the sword.”

Jon glanced coldly at Flame. “He was trying to kill him, you fool. It’s a good thing you tackled him, or he would have. I wasn’t close enough to reach him in time.”

Alador glanced at Jon, not answering. He knew that if Flame hadn’t interrupted him, Alador would have badly injured or killed Toman, even though he’d been using a practice blade. Flame looked at Alador for a long moment. “I hope you aren’t that stupid?”

             
“I was angry,” Alador conceded, liking that thought better than stupid.

             
“If I killed everything that made me angry,” Jon stated solemnly, “there would be a trail of bodies.”

Alador glanced at Jon. “Somehow, I don’t doubt this.” Alador glanced about as the circle continued to break up. Some were still approaching and slapping him on the back as a way of congratulations before moving on to dinner. “Flame, can you go check and make sure
Keelee made it safe? She was uttering strange fears before half-day and I need to speak to Jon.”

             
Flame’s face immediately brightened as he put a reassuring hand on Alador’s shoulder. “I’ll do one better; I’ll take her to dinner.” Flame sauntered off while Alador just shook his head.  

“
For as much time as he spends with your body servant, I hope you’re charging him for a share of her services.” Jon watched the flamboyant guardsman as he pushed and bantered his way into the caverns.

“
Charge him? What do you mean?” Alador sat down on a bench and grabbed up a rag to wipe his face, then pulled out his sword. He’d nicked it some – time to dull it some more so that the jagged edges wouldn’t cause undue injury.

“You know, to pay for part of what she costs you.” Jon sat down beside him.

Alador looked from the sword to his friend. “I don’t pay her,” Alador answered. “I…she just asked me to go with me.” He eyed Jon in confusion.

“Body servants don’t just come with you – they’re paid companions. If you aren’t paying her, then someone else is,” Jon pointed out logically.

Alador’s eyes narrowed. Maybe she was spying on him for his uncle. Had the plea to be saved from his uncle’s designs been just an act? “I have told Flame and Keelee that what they do is their business,” he bit out a bit harder than he’d intended.

“Yes, I can see you are totally unaffected,” Jon conceded sarcastically.

Alador flashed him a cold look as he drove his sword back into the sheath. “I am not yet calm from fighting,” he pointed out. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice. You’re still alive,” Jon fired back.

Alador cracked a grin on that answer. “All right, point taken. I didn’t ask you to stay back so we could speak of Keelee.” He glanced about. The fields were almost empty now, and the bench he’d chosen had no cover for eavesdroppers, so he felt safe to speak. “Jon, what are your thoughts on people being sold to another person for…whatever purpose?” Alador looked at him. “Not like Keelee, who chose that life, but against their will?”

“You mean slavery?” Jon asked curiously. “I don’t take kindly to the idea. If you need to have a man do a task, there are plenty willing to work just for a roof or some food. No need to take away their freedom.”

“I have come to learn that there’s a…small situation regarding slavery on the third tier, and I want to put an end to it. I was wondering if you’d be interested in assisting me?” Alador spoke the thought as a question; if he couldn’t trust Jon, then he might as well die because he didn’t want to be in a world where no one was trustworthy. After his confrontation with Luthian, Alador realized was running out of people he could turn to for help.

“When do we leave?” Jon asked with utmost seriousness.

Alador cracked another smile. “I was hoping you would say that. I want to use my next extra half-day, but there’s a problem with that – it’s not your half-day.”

“I have a couple earned passes. I can use one,” Jon answered. “I never had a use for them before, so I’ve just been storing them away.”

“Don’t you have anyone out in the city that you like to visit?” Alador didn’t get earned passes; he already had two half-days. He did earn kitchen duty every now and then, but usually that was for tardiness.

“Nope. I don’t make friends,” Jon pointed out. “Well, except you, but you’re strange.”

              “Well, thanks,” Alador said sarcastically. “I will get you a pass to the fourth tier for dinner.  My father left some for me in case I ever wanted to bring someone with me.  I think it only fair to warn you, to take out this place of slavery is to act against the High Minister.”