The Blackguard (Book 2) (7 page)

“Of course; nothing good for you ever tastes good,” Henrick quipped.

Alador wrinkled his nose and upended the vial. True to his father’s word, the potion tasted vile, and he coughed a few times as he handed the now-empty vial back. It only took a few moments before Alador’s head felt light and swirls of color welled up in his vision. He lay down, and the colors faded into darkness as the potion and exhaustion took hold and drew him under.

Alador’s first realization as he awakened was that the ground beneath him was soft and warm, not hard and cold. There were no rocks digging into his side, or bugs biting at his neck. He smiled and nestled deeper into the bed, then realized that the last thing he remembered was a riverside campfire. He opened his eyes slowly, it took a few moments as his eyes felt heavy and crusted with sleep. 

He
looked about, his mouth gaped open as his gaze traveled around the room. It was the largest room he’d ever seen. Did the bed have its own roof?  He moved stiffly to the edge of the bed and looked up. From the bed’s roof hung beautiful drapes made of a material he wasn’t familiar with. Alador fingered it curiously, then slowly sat up and looked down at himself in confusion. He was in a white gown. Where was he? He put his feet over the side of the bed, and a slight Lerdenian man seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Good morning, m’lord. Shall I fetch your breakfast?” The golden-haired man asked bowing two or three times. His accent was thicker than Henrick’s but still understandable.

Alador started when the Lerdenian spoke, his eyes riveting to the man. He realized that the man must be a servant and relaxed, but only slightly. Alador was famished, so he nodded mutely, but as the man turned to scurry off, Alador called out for him. “Wait! Where am I?” he asked, eying the man curiously.

“
You are in Master Henrick’s home. Where else would his son be?” The man smiled and hurried off.

“
Where else, indeed,” Alador muttered.

Alador spotted a pitcher of water beside the bed and a glass.  It took three glasses before the parched feeling in his throat began to abate.  How long had he slept?

He felt much better, but as he looked down, he realized he did not want to eat in a white linen nightshirt. He imagined an outfit similar to the one he’d made by the campfire, and found the well of power within him. Alador was pleased to find that he was successful after the first try this time. His legs were clothed in a heavy brown material, and he wore a deep green shirt that laced up the front from his lower rib cage. Alador tied it loosely shut and imagined a pair of comfortable boots. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he’d managed to create a pair of shining black boots. He sat down and pulled them on, his stomach rumbling with hunger in response to his spells.

Alador moved away from the bed to inspect his surroundings. The room would have easily housed half of his mother’s home despite the bed on a raised floor in the middle. Everything was white and gold, except for the contrasting blue tapestries by the windows and those hanging from the bed. He moved to the large, tall windows that went all the way to the floor and looked out. There was a balcony outside, so he opened the windows and stepped out onto it.

The warm summer day still had some of the morning’s freshness as Alador took in the view. He blinked in amazement. Laid out below him were white, shimmering roofs that seemed to spiral out as Alador looked down, creating tier after tier all the way down to the plains. There, farms stretched out as far as he could see. A strange, darkened moat surrounded the city below him, but Alador could see no water in it. The streets that he could see sparkled in the sunlight with a dazzling array of light and color. The view took his breath away. It was so foreign to him, but Alador could not deny its beauty.

Beyond the plains full of farms were a line of trees. He focused on those, and as the line jumped forward, he inhaled sharply. They were the most graceful, spherical trees he had ever seen, all of them dense and deeply green. They didn’t even seem to have leaves in their waving green boughs. No wonder his father always returned here, the beauty of this place was undeniable.

Alador stepped back into the room after spending a long while assessing the city, the busy streets, and the bustling movement of morning activity. From this vantage point, he saw that the roof over the bed was limited, no larger than the bed itself. The actual roof was another ten feet above the bed, giving the room a cool, airy feel. The wood was gilded with gold leaf, as was the writing table set by the fire. Two doors stood side-by-side in the room; Alador opened them to find another room full of clothing, boots, and robes. As he looked at them, Alador realized they were all fit to his build. Why would mages order clothing when they could just form them with magic?

“Because what is made by magic can be dissolved easily and without much thought by a better mage,” a voice said. There was a whispering of magic across Alador’s skin, and he found himself nude. “Besides, it is a waste of your power. Remember, magic uses the mage’s energy.”

Alador turned to grimace at his father. “How did you know what I was thinking?” he asked, concerned again his father was using magic against him, though he’d felt nothing that time.

“Never play cards in the trenches, son. Your face is as easy to read as a child’s book.” Henrick grinned. “Your man told me you were awake. I thought I would take you to the dining hall since I am sure you have questions.”

The moment Henrick finished speaking, a multitude of questions flashed through Alador’s head. He opened his mouth to start spewing them, but his father held up a hand. “Let us eat and then talk. I suspect if I begin to answer now, I will be chewing my arm off before we ever found the hall.”

Alador nodded back. He began to move to his father when he realized he was still naked. He felt his face flush and went back into the closet. He realized that though there were mage robes, something he’d never worn, most of the clothes here were of a cut he was familiar with. Alador quickly pulled on a dark brown pair of pants and a deep red shirt. “How did these come to be here? Was I
unconscious for that long?” he asked with surprise as he put on a belt.

“It has been expected that you would come to live here, every year, for the last three years. I made sure the room was readied every time I went to test you,” Henrick answered, waiting against the desk as Alador dressed.

Alador was surprised by that admission. He remained silent, pulling on a pair of boots. He had no idea his father had been expecting him to pass so eagerly. One of the walls had plenty of weapons to choose from, so Alador picked a knife and sheath and secured them to his belt. That was enough for now, and he felt better after arming himself at least partially. He also saw his pack and kicked it with his boot. It was heavy, and the clink of medure made him feel secure that he was not without slips. His bow lay on the small rack above his pack, along with his quiver.

“How did you know I would pass?” Alador asked curiously as he returned from the closet.

“You are my son.” Henrick shrugged. “I would expect no less from someone of our bloodline.”

‘O
ur bloodline? Is it strong with magic?”

“You do not know? I always thought your mother would tell you,” Henrick answered.

“No, she never said anything.”

Henrick nodded. “Come, I will explain as we walk.” He led Alador out of the room and into a hallway that was no less impressive in its striking walls and marble floors. “Our family has always been blessed with a strong line of magic. Very few of our children have ever failed in their testing, as far back as Lerdenians have had magic,” he explained.

“So your line is from the first mages that served the dragons?” Alador asked not sure if he liked being directly part of that line. He still had no respect for his Lerdenian ancestors’ betrayal of their oath to protect the dragons, as the dragons had protected them.

“Our line,” Henrick corrected with a grin. “Sorry Alador, you cannot choose your bloodline. I fear you are as stuck with it as I am. But I will be honest with you: we descend from the great mage himself.”

Alador stopped. “The one that took the life of the dragon he was sworn to protect?” Alador’s face showed his horror as he realized how little about himself he actually knew. Why had no one told him all this?

“Yes. Do not worry, Alador. One does not develop into who they will be just because of the blood that flows in their veins. They also become who they are by the choices they make and the friends they keep.” Henrick turned back to grab ahold of both of Alador’s arms gently. He looked with seriousness into his son’s eyes. “You have been raised with a gentle heart. I doubt that will change because of who your great grandfather – well, many ‘greats’ back – was in the past. It does mean, however, that magic flows deeply in our blood, and more so in you if your stone was as I suspect.” Henrick let him go and turned to move down the hall.

Alador stood for a moment, digesting this, before following after his father. The hallway, the stairs, and the floor below were no less grand than the rest of the house. Henrick’s home was entirely decorated in variations of white, gold, and peach colors. It made the black robes he wore stand out more, and Alador suspected that the effect was orchestrated. His father looked striking dressed as a mage.

They entered the dining hall, where Alador saw a table that could have easily sat twenty, though only two places were set at one end. “Are all homes in Silverport
this…magnificent?” he asked, looking around. He was still in awe.

“The lower the tier, the simpler the dwellings and the more people there are to inhabit it. The higher the tier, the grander the home and the fewer people there are. Odd, is it not, that a home that could house a village of the Daezun houses just one mage here, his family and his servants?” Henrick sat down and picked up the steaming cup of tea that awaited him.

“Why are there fewer people, besides the fact that the tiers become smaller as you climb?” Alador asked slipping into the seat at Henrick’s right. He was amazed to see the dishes before him, and he waited as Henrick began heaping food on his plate.

“You must pass the mage test to a higher tier. There are fewer mages that can pass each level of testing,” Henrick answered, filling his plate high with some sort of round, sizzling meat, cheese, and bread.

Alador sat and considered what his father had told him about Lerdenia during his visits. “You are of the fifth tier. Isn’t that the highest tier?” he asked, beginning to pull a small number of different foods on his plate. He recognized the eggs, so he made sure to get plenty of those.

“Tested tiers. Yes. The fifth is the highest tier. There are two tiers above this. The council’s tier is next, and above that are the High Minister and the Council Hall.” Henrick was apparently in an affable mood this morning, and seemed willing to indulge Alador. He glanced over at his son, who picked at and tried out the new foods.

“Do we have any other family besides your brother?” Alador liked what he’d tasted so far; the sizzling meat was spicy and left a bit of a bite on his tongue.

Henrick shrugged and finished a mouthful before answering. “If there is, I am unaware of it. Our father died when we were young, and our mother died in the way of the tiers. We returned to the third tier until we were old enough to begin working our own way up,” Henrick answered.

Alador was trying to understand how this tier system worked. He ate in silence for a while before asking his next question. “So family can be on different tiers?” he asked.

Henrick nodded. “My brother has always been above me. I prefer it that way. I have managed to stay out of his way.”

“You said before that people killed to move up in the tiers, but now you say there are tests. Are those…Two separate ways, or is killing part of the test?” Alador asked carefully.

“You can test, but even if you are a tested fourth tier mage, if there is no hall willing or able to receive you, then you must wait. Most prefer not to wait, so they choose a hall to their liking and, if they can, remove the mage that stands in their way. As that mage moves up, the mage below who has tested but did not wish to kill can also move up.” Henrick tried to explain the system, but it was rather convoluted. “For example, if my brother had chosen to host me when he was a fifth tier mage, I could have lived with him as a fifth tier mage.”

Alador tried to imagine life split from brothers and sisters, mother and father. In the villages of the Daezun, family was everything. If your brother or sister did take a home of their own, they were still close, and often one home became a central point for meals and laughter. He ate as he considered, and his father was content to leave him to his thoughts. As usual, Henrick seemed to eat an enormous amount of food, but his servants seemed prepared for this, given the amount of food laid out for just two of them. “Don’t people get punished if they kill a mage in their way?”

“Only if they are caught. No one looks too closely, except those that might have a shade of feeling for the one who was killed, and the Council only banishes those stupid enough to get caught red-handed.” Henrick took a sip of tea.

Alador stared at his father in disbelief. “How can a society...how can people stand to live somewhere where murder is as common as rain? I’d think it’s a world of fear, when anyone might try to kill you for a place of power. How can someone always live in fear?”  Alador asked. “Why don’t they leave?”