The Blackguard (Book 2) (6 page)

“You didn’t bring me here for my opinion. You are well aware of that.” As if to make his point, Sordith stepp
ed out the doorway to stand guard on the other side.

Aorun grinned but did not follow to rebuke the man; Veaneth, the stable lord, was approaching. Veaneth had two of the Blackguard with him. The half-Daezun looked young, but hard. Their faces held no emotion as they walked a half-step behind the mage. Aorun bowed only slightly as Veaneth entered. The man was of the third tier, and normally he would not have bowed at all, but the High Minister had commanded Aorun to work with the man. He had no respect for Veaneth, who was soft and held little magic. What little he had was in the way of charms and illusions.

Aorun did not regret his own inability to channel magic; he watched those who had it and it seemed to Aorun that most mages served themselves. Few truly did anything worthwhile with the skills they had, other than to make others with less magic fawn upon them. Aorun had earned respect through steel and action. It seemed far nobler than those who waved magic to stand apart, like this man before him.

Veaneth was balding, and his face was cruel; not like Aorun’s hard look, but like someone who enjoyed what he did. Veaneth only acknowledged him with a slight nod. Aorun frowned, but decided to let the slight go. He heard Sordith’s soft growl and was glad the man had stepped outside. Perhaps Aorun should have brought Owen, after all…he would keep that in mind for future meetings.

Veaneth moved down the line of bowing Lerdenians and half-breeds, tsking as he went. “This is the best you could find?” He looked over at Aorun, then stopped in front of the two Daezun and scrutinized them. “These are not half-breeds.”

“The specifications for your needs are not like loose stones just lying about to pick up.   Yes, those are full Daezun found on our borders. We had never brought Daezun in before, but thought to offer them should they meet your needs.” Aorun spoke as if they were bartering silks or art. “I am sure that such a pair would be good for your stables. There is certainly a man or two who would pay to degrade them.”

Veaneth nodded. He pulled out a strange little stone he used when he assessed the merchandise. As usual, the fleshy mage went down the line one by one, starting with the half breeds. He put the stone in the hands of the first one. It lay mutely in her hand, and she looked up at him, her dark brown eyes filled with confusion. Veaneth shook his head and moved to the second, a solid male with deep sapphire eyes that had a hint of sparkling silver in them. The stone hummed softly in his hand, and he too looked up at Veaneth with confusion.

“I will take this one.” Veaneth said, scooping up the stone. A Blackguard grabbed hold of the man and hauled him off to the other side of the room.

Veaneth moved down the line to test each one, taking the two half-breed men, one half-breed woman, and all of the Lerdenians except one very beautiful farm girl. She was fair in face, with golden locks and the silver of power in her eyes, yet Veaneth had not wanted her.

Aorun was surprised at this. “What is wrong with that one?” he asked curiously. “She meets all that you have asked.”

“Hips are too narrow,” Veaneth said bluntly, approaching and assessing the two Daezun.

“What of these two?” Aorun asked. If the mage didn’t take them, he’d send them to the mines or the inner sewers.

“Look at me,” Veaneth stated firmly to the two men.  Both men forced their gaze up, their Daezun spirit dancing in their eyes.

“They are fresh, and not of the mines?” Veaneth asked, licking his lips as if anticipating a great meal.

“Yes, as I said, we found them at the edges of the farms,” Aorun replied, watching Veaneth closely.

“I will take them both,” Veaneth answered softly.

Aorun nodded to his two men and they each grabbed ahold of one of the two Daezun and half-dragged them over to the others; the Daezun’s feet had been bound, and they couldn’t walk themselves. Aorun nodded at his two remaining men, who responded by taking the three women out of the room. Aorun followed behind them. He did not know what Veaneth did once he left, but Aorun knew he wanted no part of it. “Take these three down to the brothel and see if Aerius will take them.” The three women began to cry, and Aorun was startled to feel a hand on his arm.

“I want the Lerdenian farm girl.” Sordith’s voice was hard, but his words held respect.

Aorun looked at him with surprise. Sordith had never asked for a woman before, let alone one that was not there by her own choosing. He eyed his man carefully; Sordith’s eyes were on the woman, and there was something there in them. Lust, maybe? Aorun smiled slowly. “About time you became truly one of us.” He smacked Sordith on the back. He’d had enough of women who didn’t know what they were doing last night. He doubted this lass had much knowledge, given the fresh farm look of her. “She is yours. Go and do what you will.”

Sordith looked at Aorun coldly, with hard and calculating eyes. “Anything I want?”

For a moment, Aorun almost felt sorry for the girl. “Of course. I cannot deny one of my best. You may do with her as you please. She is yours. You have my word that none will interfere.”

The young woman cast herself at Aorun’s feet. “Please, milord. Just let me go home, I beg of you! I will insure my father gives extra in exchange, beyond the general tax.” Her hair was spread at Aorun’s feet as she kissed the toes of his boots.

Aorun wrinkled his nose at the obvious groveling. Groveling had never moved him. “Get her out of here before I ruin that beautiful face,” he said disdainfully to Sordith.

Sordith grabbed the woman by the arm and started down the hall. The girl was kicking and screaming as she was pulled, and in exasperation, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder as he strode off.

“Have fun, my friend. I think that one is going to tire you out,” Aorun called after him. He laughed outright, his laughter trailing after Sordith and his squirming prize.

It was a good hour before Veaneth and his men reopened the door. Owen had joined Aorun after Sordith left, and both had waited outside.  Aorun with far less patience than Owen. The latter seemed content to clean his nails with his knife.

Veaneth came through first. Like every other time, those that he’d chosen walked single file between the two guards, even the two Daezun. They had a familiar glazed look in their eyes as they filed past. Veaneth stopped beside Aorun as he handed him a purse. “Sorry that took so long. The two Daezun took longer than I usually need. One of them is extremely strong-minded.”

Aorun just nodded. He didn’t like the look of pleasure on Veaneth’s face as he watched the line stroll by, he just wanted the slimy dung bag out of his house. “It is always my pleasure to serve the council.” Aorun bowed and spoke as was expected.

Veaneth nodded and followed the last guard out. Aorun managed to hold his disgust till they were out the front door, and only then did he look at Owen. “I feel dirty. I will be in my rooms taking a bath,” he snarled as he bounced the bag in his hand. “This is far too light. Send two squads out and have them look for Daezun too close to our border. He seems to pay better for them.”

Aorun turned on his heel and strode to his room. He wanted the sour stench that the mage had left behind washed far away. He could still hear the screams coming down the hall from Sordith’s room, but they were replaced suddenly by silence. Good, the man had finally gagged the wench. Aorun finished his way into his room, closing the door to solitude and leaving the rest of the world behind him.

Chapter Five

Alador’s scream of warning was cut off as the cascade of dirt and rocks landed on the wagon. He’d managed to bring a hand up to shield his face, but that wasn’t enough to deflect the rock from sending lights shattering through his vision. The world became a tumbling mass of rock and dirt, and terror coursed through Alador as he fought to shield himself with his arms.

His last moments of recollection were the wagon tipping over the edge of the road. He was flung from his seat and into the cold, murky depths of the river. The sunlight above the water seemed too far away –
How would he make it back to the surface? – And then darkness took him.

A
lador could hear water rushing nearby when he awoke, spluttering, and lifted his head slightly to cough water from his lungs. He was lying in the shallows of the river, his body scraping against sharp rocks. Everything hurt. His head pounded like a death drum at a funeral, slow and felt throughout his body. Despite the warmth of the summer evening, he was freezing. He had no idea where he was or how long he’d been there. He carefully flexed his limbs, relieved when he found that nothing was broken. He forced himself to crawl up onto the rocks farther out of the water until he finally reached a sandy section of the river bar.

Despite being fairly sure nothing was broken, every inch of him screamed like he’d just been beaten by Trelmar again. There had been plenty of times when Alador could have sworn Trelmar and his friends had
broken something after one of their beatings, but they’d always been careful not to break anything, they just made everything hurt. It was an unpleasant and yet not an unfamiliar pain that he suffered now. Alador flopped down and let the late sun warm him. It hadn’t fallen behind the hills yet, but it would soon. 

It took a while for the memory of
the landside to come to him, and when it did, Alador forced himself onto his knees with a groan. Henrick might still be buried, or he might be in the river. He could still be alive. Alador looked around, trying to get his bearings. The rockslide must have pushed the wagon over the edge and into the river that hadn’t been more than a few feet below them.

The problem now was that Alador wasn’t familiar with the area, and had no idea how far downstream he’d gone. Based on the sun’s position at the cliff’s edge, he’d been out for at least an hour, which only gave him about two hours of usable light left. Alador patted himself down and noted that he had nothing but his knife, which thankfully hadn’t come free of its sheath on his belt.

Alador forced himself to his feet. Based on the direction of the water’s flow, he was on the wrong side of the river. Just upstream, however, it looked like the river was calm enough that he’d be able to wade or swim across before it shoved him down to the next rapids. Alador forced himself to move, every muscle protesting. His boots were wet and uncomfortable, but he dared not take them off. He didn’t want them to shrink, and the thought of trying to cover the rocky ground barefoot was an unpleasant one.

It took Alador about a quarter of an hour to work his way up to the head of the still water.  He waded out carefully, hoping the river would stay shallow enough for him to wade, rather than swim. Luck was not with him;
Alador was forced to swim a good third of the distance. He finally stood on the other side, winded and shivering, and concerned that he felt so cold.

Alador stood for a moment, hugging himself for warmth. He needed to get dry. He remembered the cantrips he’d worked on the morning before and focused. It took him longer to find that well within him, but when he did he focused his thoughts to dryness. Hoping this would work, Alador closed his eyes and pushed his hands down and out, imagining the water leaving him. He opened his eyes and frowned: he was steaming, but that wasn’t really what he needed. It was warmer, at least.

He tried again, imagining the water returning to the river as he shoved down his hands and then pushed them to the river.  He smiled as the sense of wetness left him. He opened his eyes to find that, except for his boots and his belt, he was naked.

“Dammit,” he muttered in frustration. Now what was he going to do? Yes, he was dry, but being naked was worse off in the wilderness. Not only that, but his knife had disappeared, as well. He should have just stayed wet. He had to get to Henrick, and he was delaying when time could be precious.

“If you are done playing, we really have work to do before dark.” The lazy amused tones that could only belong to Henrick drew Alador’s eyes to the bank above him.

“I was trying to get dry.” Alador muttered. His head hurt, his body hurt, and he was standing there, more embarrassed that the spell had failed than that he was without clothing.

“You succeeded,” Henrick quipped back with a deep-throated laugh. “You appear quite dry.

“Yes, we are all amused.” Alador’s anger was evident in his voice. His arms flailed about in frustration at his predicament. “Any suggestions on how I can get them back, and...Are you okay?” He frowned up and scrutinized the mage. Henrick seemed whole, and he was completely clean, as if they hadn’t just been wiped off the road by dirt and rock.

“Yes, I am okay. You do not get to the fifth tier without learning a spell or two to protect yourself. Fortunately, you gave me enough warning. As for your more pressing need...” Henrick smirked. His finger went up and down Alador with clear amusement. “If you can take something away, then you can add it back. Its elements are around you. Well maybe, they could have floated down the river.” He tapped his cheek in consideration. “I guess you will just have to try.”

“How do you suggest I do that?” Alador glared at the smirking man. He needed help, not lessons.

Henrick crossed his arms in clear disappointment as he looked down at Alador. “Do I really have to tell you that?” His tone was one of arrogant condescension. “I really would like to think you were a bit smarter. I mean, if I give you all the answers, how will you ever truly learn anything? How will you learn to be creative and to be your own man?  Surely your Daezun half did not give you stupidity and narrow-mindedness. I cannot fathom that as your mother is such a delightful woman.”  Henrick’s eyes roved over his naked son.

“Do not talk to me about that ever again.” Alador glared up at Henrick in anger. “She is my mother, and I still don’t know if you used a spell on her.” Alador spit out the accusation he’d carried for some time.

Henrick uncrossed his arms, tossing them up in frustration. “Well, by the gods, you would think you could be a little more grateful. Spell or not, you exist because I was in her furs that night.” Henrick turned his back on Alador. “The wagon is about a mile back. I am going to head back and make some dinner. Join me in your current state or stay and figure it out. I really do not care.” Henrick disappeared back into the brush.

Alador stared after him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. As he glared at where his father had disappeared into the bushes, Alador considered his dilemma. He could trek the mile back naked, but he only had one other set of clothes. He thought about what his father had said. What was done could be undone. It seemed to him that dissolving something into its basic parts would be easier than binding them back together, but Alador had been told to try. He doubted, given the depth of their conversation before the rockslide, that his father was lying to him.

He considered what he’d done before, working to recall the thoughts and motions he’d used the second time. Alador wanted his clothes back, but not the water. He decided he would start with just some leggings, which would probably be the easiest, and if he could manage no more than that, at least he would be appropriately covered. He knew that the leggings had been made of linen, and that linen was made from flax. He concentrated on flax and reversed the motion of his hands, then looked down to see flax plants all around him.

Alador sighed softly. It was a start. He tried again but imagined linen this time. Sweat beaded down his forehead at the level of his concentration. It took a couple tries, but he soon had the linen cloth before him. He tried again and this time looked down to see his leggings. He smiled with triumph and pulled them on. Deciding that he was covered enough and too tired to keep going, Alador
began the trek back. He hoped there was a shirt still in the wagon, or whatever was left of it.

By the time Alador arrived, Henrick had already recovered what he could find from the wagon. A fire was burning, and the smell of roasting meat made Alador hungry. Henrick looked over and frowned when Alador approached. Whether it because of their argument or because he was only wearing leggings, Alador felt contrite. He dug through things that Henrick had managed to recover and was relieved when he saw his pack. All his slips were in there. He pulled off his boots, now that they were dry, then pulled out his other pair of pants and a shirt and slipped them on.

“Couldn’t get your clothes back?” Henrick asked casually, watching him. Amusement danced in his gaze.

“I hurt from head to toe. My head is pounding. I’m glad I could get this much,” Alador snapped, not feeling up to his father’s sarcasm. He flopped down at the fire. It was getting dark. “How bad is the damage?” Alador decided a change of topic was his wisest course while he sat and held his head.

Henrick sighed. “You really like to focus on the worst of things, don’t you?” He poked a piece of wood into the fire beneath the spit of food. “The wagon is destroyed, and one of the korpen was pinned in the traces and drowned. The other is wandering down the road from us, eating contentedly. A third of the supplies are gone, and I lost my enchanting pack.” Henrick rattled off his list as he took a piece of meat off the fire and pushed it over to Alador.

“What is this?” Alador asked sniffing it. It looked familiar but smelled strange.

“Fresh korpen,” Henrick said. “Figured we might as well get one final use out of it.”

“Oh.” Alador poked at it. It was rare to sacrifice a korpen for food. He’d seen it done in times of difficulty, but they had more worth as beasts of burden if other food was about, particularly since it was difficult to get to the meat beneath their hard exoskeleton. He forced himself to try it; the meat’s juices set off the hunger in Alador that seemed so much greater since had found the bloodstone. He ate with fervor after the first couple of bites, and Henrick kept the stick full with meat until Alador finally finished.

“You must have had to work really hard to get those leggings,” Henrick murmured as Alador shook his head, turning down a fifth piece.

“I told you, my head is pounding,” Alador said. “I had to work damn hard to get this far.”

How did you do it?” Henrick asked curiously as he went to one of his own bags and pulled out a small red vial.

Alador explained the steps he’d taken with some pride. He’d figured it out by himself and was rather pleased with himself. When he was done, Henrick handed him the vial. “What is this?”

“An elixir that will ease that headache and some of the other bruises.” Henrick eyed him for a long moment. “Why did you not just make pants?”

Alador looked at him in frustration. “I couldn’t figure out how.”

Henrick raised a brow. “I assure you, it is quite easy. Watch.” Henrick stood and concentrated for a brief second. Colorful dust swirled around him, then his pants became black and his shirt a deep emerald green. It didn’t appear to take Henrick any effort.

“You said magic can’t be made from nothing. It has to come from somewhere,” Alador pointed out in
frustration, frowning. “There’s no leather just lying around.” He also knew his father was already wearing the clothes, so really he’d only changed the look of them.

“The elements that make them up, Alador. The base elements,” Henrick stated. “Try again. Imagine your clothes as you would like to wear them. By the gods, imagine the best you can,” Henrick challenged him. “Unless you want to look like a poor village lad. Then, cast the magic to create them.”

Alador laid down the vial and stood to do as he was directed. He found in his mind’s eye the nice clothing he’d seen at larger gatherings. He imagined black leather pants with a silver buckle. In his mind, he saw another man’s grey linen shirt and black vest. When Alador had them securely in his mind, he lifted his hands from his sides and up over his head, as if forming them up. In response, Alador felt a strange movement on his skin. He dropped his hands, startled, and opened his eyes. Dust fell around him.

“You almost had it. Why did you stop?” Henrick asked with amusement.

“It felt...odd, like a snake coiling around me,” Alador admitted.

H
enrick chuckled and shook his head. “I have done it for so long that I will admit I do not even notice. I guess that is an apt description. You are prepared this time. Do it again,” he coaxed.

A
lador closed his eyes, taking less time to reform the image than before. He focused on the well at his core and pulled his hands palms-up to the sky again. The strange whispering trickle moved over his skin but stopped after a bit. Alador looked down to see the outfit that he’d imagined.

H
enrick grinned. “Not my first choice in clothing, but well done.” Henrick clapped his hands together in approval. “Well done my son,” he said with pride. “Now, take that potion. It will make you sleep, but when you awaken, the pain will be gone.”

Alador grinned back, looking at his clothes with pleasure. It was the first thing he’d felt truly pleased with since they’d left Smallbrook. He picked up the red vial from where it lay and looked at it in his hand. “I suppose this tastes terrible.” Alador’s smile faded and he grimaced as he uncorked the vial.