The Blackguard (Book 2) (9 page)

Letter to Mesiande

Dear Mesi,

Let me begin by telling you how I feel about you. I love you very much. I will always love you, regardless of where I am or what I am doing. You will ever hold my heart.

I am so sorry. You have often told me that my temper would be my undoing, and you were right. I do not have regrets for myself, but for you. I am not there with you now when I should be, and I am sorry I cannot be there. I am sorry that I did not protect you. I am sorry you were hurt because of me. I had been looking for you to tell you that I had come into my power and that I would pass my father’s test when I found you. It was never my intent to keep this from you.

The fact that I would have had to leave anyway does not lessen the damage that has been done, or the pain I have caused you. My father says he can get this letter to you by some means, and if you can bring it in your heart to forgive me, I hope you will write back. Even if you cannot or do not, I will send you letters to let you know what is happening here. I hope you will pass the news to my brother, Dorien, even if you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me.

I have already learned a great deal in the short time I have been gone. I sit now in my rooms in Silverport and they are unbelievable. The entire view from my window is unbelievable. You could put the whole of my mother’s house in my bedroom. The bed is big enough to sleep three or four. It stands on a raised pedestal on the floor. Everything around me is white, and not like the white of our homes, dulled with dust and time. I mean white as the new-fallen snow.

The city rises up from the ground in levels. Henrick lives near the top of these many tiers so I can see as a bird for miles. The city is the same white. I do not know how they keep it so clean that it sparkles in the sun. I have not seen much, as we only arrived last night. I will be honest: I do not know how we got here.

Yesterday, while traveling through a pass where the road narrows between the cliffs and the river, there was a rock slide. Our wagon was damaged and one of the korpen killed. Yes, I am fine, though I was bruised and battered. I went to sleep after taking a potion to help with the pain and I awoke in this room. My father says he used a travel spell. I think he had me take the potion more so that I would not see how this is done than to heal my pain. I think he knows that if I could find a way, I would be at your side. I fear, in this regard, that he is right. It is a spell I will endeavor to learn and master. I know magic is not something you are comfortable with, but I hope you will let me share what I learn. However, that is all I will speak of in regards to magic, unless you write back and give me permission.

I did find out something that both distresses me and also makes me curious: my father’s brother is the High Minister of Lerdenia. I am not sure how I feel about this. Part of me wants to hate him, but I do not know him. My father seems to hold him in disdain and has begged me not to trust him. I am not sure who to trust right now. I do not fear my father’s eyes upon this letter. I think he would find me more the fool to put my trust blindly after what he has told me of the Lerdenian society.

You would not like it, Mesi. Do not ever come here. It is not a place where brother helps brother and family helps village. It is a place where only your own power and prestige matter. They kill one another, vying for position. It is a place of little trust and forgiveness. I have yet to see it myself, but my father’s descriptions give me pause. I do not plan to live here any longer than I have to. I do not want to live where I must always guard my back. I should have chosen a god to serve, and now I feel as if I am a place where the gods do not look.   How can any god give to a people that harvest from their own creations? How can any god forgive what the people here do?

If you still wish to be my housemate one day, and if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I will find a place that lies upon the borders of our two people. A place where we can live in peace and where maybe others like me can be welcome. A place where a man is judged by his merit and not the blood that flows within his veins.

I will close for now. I will write as often as my father bids me is safe. I can only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and write back. You and Gregor are the only friends I have in the world, and I suspect that will not change while I live in the city of my father.

Forever yours to command and scold,

Alador

Child,

If you want to write back to my son, place your letter in this tube and lay it beneath your pillow.  Lie upon your pillow and wish the tube to Alador. When he awakes, he will find it beneath his own. This will be the only time my hand will touch these letters or this tube. The matter now lies between the two of you. Tell no one of the letter or the tube and be careful. The tube is spelled; any that pull a letter from it but yourself will see nothing but blank parchment once the tube has been sealed. It will protect the two of you should you find it in your heart to forgive the boy. Please forgive him, lest his moping be his undoing. I find him quite unpleasant company when he is whining and sighing over all he has lost. I would have been forced to pull him from your side even if had he not given justice to the bully that has haunted you both

Henrick

Chapter Seven

As father and son traveled through Silverport, making their way up the tiers, Henrick continued to share facts that Alador might need. They began to fill his head in a jumbled mess. Henrick rattled off an amazing list of names, ranks, political leanings and their spheres of magic. Alador was just amazed that his father could fill so little time with so many details. He soon lost track of it all, so he nodded periodically and looked around.

Alador was more interested in what was happening around them as they climbed the steps to the next tier. Guards dressed in mail armor and blue tabards demanded their passes. Alador’s eyes took in the royal blue tabard with the embroidered silver dragon, the latter of which he knew represented Lyiu, the goddess of prosperity and beauty. Given the city, it seemed a fitting standard. Alador stood in the wake of his father as Henrick offered his pass. It was marked for the family of council and the guard stepped back and thumped his chest in salute.

The streets they passed through were pristine; there was no dirt or garbage anywhere.  The street on the council tier was lined with beds of flowers that seemed fresh despite the heat of the day. Alador could feel the cool sea breeze along with the warmth of the summer sun from where he stood. The higher tiers managed to catch the air here, and seemed less encumbered by the scent of too many people in close quarters.

His father was going on about each councilor as they passed the houses on the way to the stairs to the final level. Alador was sure to nod his head at appropriate times. His mind, however, was on Mesiande. Questions
rushed over him like: Would she accept his apology?  Would she write back? Was she healing? Did she still love him, or hate him? The myriad of concerns were so deafening that he missed nodding as they reached the bottom of the final set of stairs.

Alador suddenly found himself jerked around. “Alador, are you even listening to what I am telling you?” Henrick had stopped moving and was staring at Alador intently. He let go of his son’s arm, glaring at him.

Alador was startled by the sudden stop, but still managed to answer. “Yes, Father,” he said, flushing.

“What was the last Councilor’s name?” Henrick eyed his son with sharp scrutiny.

“Umm I think it was Ellard. Yes, Ellard,” Alador offered confidently.

Henrick sighed with exasperation. “That was two houses ago. We are about to be separated at best and your head is in the clouds. Whatever are you dwelling on now that you cannot pay attention at this crucial time?” Henrick’s frustration was visible in his expression. “Do not tell me that wench, or I swear I will light your boots on fire.”

Alador mouth dropped, and he stammered as he tried to find a way out of this situation. He was not all that certain that his father wouldn’t set his boots on fire. “I...we just sent...I—”

Henrick threw up his arms in vexation. “I give up. You are facing death and you are dreaming about some skirt which may well not even want you now.” Henrick turned and stomped up the stairs, clearly put out.

Alador glared at Henrick’s back with hurt and anger. “What a horrible thing to say!” he managed to sputter. He noticed one of those blue-clothed guards watching him, and hurried up the stairs after his father.

“Truth hurts, child. Learn that now.” Henrick stopped at the top and rang the bell. As expected, a guard opened the door, but this one was dressed in black leather. The leather did not shine in the summer sun the way the previous guards’ had. There was no tabard, just a red dragon emblazoned on each pauldron, the symbol of Krona, god of death and destruction.   The overlapping pieces of leather were each buckled in front by darkened steel and embossed leather, but no metal piece shone against the armor; they were all dulled in the same manner. It was a striking uniform, clearly made for those that needed to move silently or in the dark. Alador looked down at the blade at the man’s side, but he couldn’t tell if the sword was also unpolished, deep as it lay in its sheath.

Henrick showed his pass and the guard waved him through the door at the top of the stairs. Alador stepped through the gate and looked around, once again in amazement. The top of Silverport was a plateau, with another gate some ways off that opened to a narrow land bridge and out to the lands beyond. Alador was uncertain how far those lands stretched. Henrick caught his attention and motioned to his right. “That is where the council gathers for matters of government. This one,” he motioned to the left, “belongs to the ruling High Minister.”

The building was massive, making Henrick’s house look like a small hovel. Alador thought it could easily house half of his village. “How many people live here?” Alador asked in wonder.
  He stared up at the great white building.  Green climbing vines wrapped about the four large pillars that held up the overhang protecting the stairs and veranda.  The two large doors were made of a dark wood.  Statues of dragons were pleasingly spaced along the roof top.

“Well, officially, just my brother. But his staff, guards, and guests of the realm stay here as well.” Henrick moved down the wide path to the steps that led up into a large mansion, and Alador followed at his heels.

The doorman opened one of the double doors for the two mages before him. “The High Minister is expecting you in his private study, Master Henrick.” The man bowed low.

Henrick nodded curtly and led the way through the
foyer and around the great curving stairway. There was a cold and unfriendly air to the rooms they passed through. There was no laughter here, and the few servants Alador saw looked frightened and concerned as they bustled by. They entered a marbled hall that was long enough to have several doors off of it. Henrick’s boots tapped as he walked on the marble floors, and for a long moment, Alador felt as if they tapped a swift death drum. His father had said they might die here today. Then, by the gods, what were they doing here? Why didn’t they flee? He glanced back at the gate they’d crossed with sudden panic.

“Steady, boy! Don’t bolt on me now,” Henrick whispered as he came to stop at a large wooden door.

The door before them was carved, depicting battles with Daezun and dragon alike. It was intricate and fascinating, despite Alador’s anxiety, as he stared at it. “This is stupid,” Alador whispered back.

“Yes, matters of politics often are. Remember, speak only when spoken to and keep it short. Whatever you do, hold that temper.” Henrick threw open the door before Alador could answer and swept into the room, coming to a stop in the middle. “Ah, Brother, how kind of you to invite us to dinner. As you can see, we barely had the time
to clean the dirt of travel from our robes.” Henrick swept a low bow before the man behind the desk.

Alador followed Henrick into the room as the latter stood. “May I present my son, Alador, son of Alanis,” Henrick announced. Alador bowed low as he’d seen his father demonstrate. It was awkward, but he thought he pulled it off well enough.

Luthian sat behind a massive desk, but stood as Alador was introduced. He clasped his hands together. “So this is my dearest nephew, the next generation of our line.”

Henrick murmured back to Alador with a bit of relief. “Doting uncle it is.”

Alador could not hide the grin at his father’s words as he glanced over, but Henrick had already looked away. Luthian came around the desk and Alador got his first good look at his uncle: his hair was white as snow, pulled back behind his head, and he was dressed in dark purple robes with gold trim. Luthian was everything Alador had always pictured the great mages to be. All he needed was a gnarled staff to fit the image of every tale Henrick had secretly told Alador as a child. He couldn’t help but stare as the man strode right up to him and pulled him into a great hug. Alador stood in the hug stiffly, uncertain if he should return the embrace or not.

“Careful, Brother, you will scare the boy right back to Daezun ground,” Henrick warned. His tone held the sarcasm and humor that Alador was used to, but it lacked the warmth that usually accompanied it.

“Right, I imagine this has all been a bit of a shock.” Luthian released Alador and stepped back. “Finding out that you are a mage, leaving your homeland. Where are my manners? Please, come and sit.” Luthian indicated chairs that had been set around a low table. He turned his back to both men, a clear indication he considered them no threat, and led the way across the expansive room and began pouring wine.

Henrick shrugged at Alador, clearly perplexed by the effusive welcome they’d just received. Nevertheless, he followed Luthian and graciously accepted the glass of wine
his brother turned and offered to him. Alador followed and was also handed a glass of wine. He stared at it in wonder, holding it up to peer at its beauty. He’d never seen a goblet made out of glass. In the village, glass was only used for windows because of how expensive it was. The glass decanter and goblets spoke of great wealth. Even with all his slips, Alador would have never squandered it on something like this; he couldn’t imagine the wealth Luthian must have had, to use it so frivolously.

“I hope your journey was without complications.” Luthian looked to Henrick and indicated the chairs again.

“There were a few minor incidents and matters that could be called complications.” Henrick began as he settled into a chair, smoothing his robes.

Alador flashed his father a look of warning and alarm. Surely he wouldn’t tell his uncle about Trelmar’s death. He caught his father’s eyes, but Henrick seemed to ignore him.

“Oh? I hope nothing too damaging or alarming. I would hate to think you had to steal the boy from his kin.” Luthian’s eyes raked over Alador, and he found himself shivering. There was something deadly about this man, even as he was nice.

“In a manner of speaking, I did. Alador killed a middlin and was to be put to death. I weighed our last conversation and decided that your words held wisdom, so I interceded on his behalf with the use of the treaty,” Henrick said as if discussing the weather. He toasted his
brother with the glass and took a drink, watching Luthian intently.

Alador’s heart sank and his eyes dropped to the toes of his boots, his hand trembling as it held the glass. Henrick had just ensured his death. He took a breath to calm himself, imagining for a moment shooting his bow and the center needed to do just that. He was unprepared for his uncle’s response.

“Already blooded. Well, I’ll be.” Luthian paused, sipping his own wine as he scrutinized Alador. “It would seem you truly are of Guldalian blood.” His words were softly spoken.

Alador raised his gaze to the man across from him. “I do not take pride in taking a man’s life, especially not one I grew up with.” He tried to keep his surprise out of his tone and hoped there was an edge of respect.

His uncle held his gaze for a long time, much as when Alador was caught in his father’s, though he felt no pressure against what he come to know as his magic. “Liar,” Luthian finally said softly, grinning. While Henrick seemed to be watching Luthian, Alador felt like prey before his uncle’s gaze.

Henrick said nothing; he watched the two closely, but held his tongue, instead choosing to sip his wine. He looked back at Alador blandly when Alador glanced at him for help.

“Respectfully, my lord, I do not know why you would say such a thing. Trelmar was close to my age and we learned many things at each other’s side.”  Alador’s heart began to race and he was somewhat afraid to keep looking into his uncle’s eyes.

“If you truly were contrite, your words would not be so well rehearsed. There was no emotion behind them. A man who truly kills with remorse holds great guilt when
speaking of it. I see no guilt in your eyes, nor hear it in your tone.” Luthian sat back clearly pleased to have read his nephew so easily. He crossed his legs, which made his violet robes seem variegated in shades.

Alador swallowed hard. “I...am not sure what to say then,” he stammered out. His uncle was imposing, and seemed much more knowledgeable than he should.

“Come Alador, we are family. Let us have no lies between us. Silverport can be a dangerous place and even more so when family turns on family.” There was a hint of a warning that even Alador did not miss. “Though I must say you are proving more your father’s son in every moment. Blooded and a liar, who would have thought such would come from Daezun stock?” This would have been an insult in any Daezun alehouse, but Luthian sounded proud.

“No lies…” Alador murmured. “The man was worse than korpen dung, and a waste of flesh. I’m not sorry he’s dead, but I am sorry for the harm that his death has caused to my village and my kin.” The vehemence he felt for Trelmar was unmasked, and Alador flashed his eyes back up to his uncle.

Henrick spurted wine out, having been taking a drink as his son spoke.  He began coughing and put up a hand to indicate he was all right when Alador looked at him with concern.

“Well…well. Henrick, I take back my words at your failings.” Luthian refilled his wine glass. He shifted his eyes to Henrick, and suddenly it was as if Alador was no longer sitting with them. “You have outdone yourself in the brief times you have been in contact with this young mage. Truly, I am impressed to call him my nephew.”

Luthian’s tone held a sly edge that made Alador’s stomach turn. He dropped his eyes to hide his confusion, deciding in that moment that he did not like his uncle. He took a deep drink of the wine, surprised at its smoothness and welcoming its warmth.