The Blackguard (Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter Ten

Alador woke up to the sound of rain falling against the windows tapp
ing gently against the edges of his awareness. The wind howled furiously and despite the solid, stone structure of his uncle’s home, the draft made the fire flicker. Alador rolled over snuggled into the soft confines of the big bed, until he remembered that there’d been a girl there with him last night. He opened his eyes and looked about. With a sigh of relief, Alador realized Keelee was gone.

He didn’t want to explain to Mesiande that by his second night here, he’d already had another woman in his bed. Nothing had happened, but it didn’t exactly sound good. At the thought of Mesiande, Alador immediately felt beneath his pillow. His hand touched metal, and he pulled the object out slowly.

In his hand was the scroll tube, just as Henrick had said. She had to have opened it to know how to return it. Alador fingered the top, wanting to remove the letter and yet afraid to do so. He took a deep breath and removed the top, pulling the rolled parchment out and smelling it. It smelled like home – the soft scent of smoke and fields was unmistakable. Alador slowly opened it and began to read.

Alador,

You have no idea how relieved I was to receive your letter.  I am not sure how I feel about the tube it came in.  You and I both know that I could be cast out for using it.  I will brave that to send this to you.  I still love you!  There is nothing to forgive.  You are not responsible for Trelmar’s choices.  Please do not blame yourself for what he has done.

I am having a harder time with the fact that you killed a man, any man.  Dorien says that you didn’t mean too. I will be honest, I don’t know if I believe him. I was at the river.  I think you would have killed him then if I hadn’t been there.  I am not sure how I feel about this yet. It is all very confusing. 

Life in the village hasn’t returned to normal. The mating ritual was not held due to the anger in the village.  They have never missed the high summer before.  It has caused rumors that you have cursed us all.  They are having it next week.   I am scared.  Everything is different.  People do not laugh the way they used to.  Dorien rarely leaves the forge.  The only ones that seem the same are Gregor and Sofie. They spend a great deal of time together. I bet they are going to be housemates someday.

Your mother cries a great deal.  She tries to put on a brave face, but her eyes are often red.  Dorien says they are having a hard time making her eat.  He says not to write to her as it will make matters worse.  I can pass him messages and he will decide what is safe for her to know.  Dorien has changed a great deal, as well.  He doesn’t tease and smile.  People give him a wide path now.  The day you left, there was a fight.  Dorien knocked out six men before he fell before the crowd. Fortunately, you were far enough out of the village I guess. 

I don’t know how I feel about being housemates.  You killed a man.  I feel guilty because you killed him to protect me.  I do love you. I will always love you.  You cannot return here. The hatred is too great.  You say I cannot come there and I will be honest, I don’t know that I want to. I am so confused.

I am sorry that you live in such a cold place.  I would think that, with such beauty at their hands, the people would be kind.  Perhaps there is truth that a beautiful sword may not be the best weapon.  Perhaps that is why they could not win the war.  They are too busy taking out their own to field a proper battle?

I am sorry this letter rambles. I miss you so much. I don’t know what I want.  I don’t know what
to do. Please give me time.  Please continue to write.    I don’t mind you telling me of magic.  Knowing you are still there somewhere gives me some comfort even if it is sad, as well.

Mesi

The words on that paper wrenched the very core of him.  He had done this to his home. He had ruined the circle. He had caused Dorien to fight his own village brothers. The worst was that Mesiande didn’t know if she could forgive him for killing Trelmar. He caressed her signature and the small heart at the bottom of the page. It was hope. While she’d said she didn’t know if she still wanted to be housemates, she hadn’t outright rejected Alador, either; he’d been prepared for Mesiande to deny him completely. It almost hurt more to see the confusion and pain in that letter. Was he being selfish? Should he stop writing her, as Dorien had asked that he not write their mother? His own confusion swelled up and swirled about him.

Alador flopped back down on the pillow, clutching the letter to his chest. His thoughts ran through a myriad of questions that competed for his attention: If Mesiande denied him, what did he have to live for? What purpose could he have, if the only thing he needed was taken from him? Alador’s chest physically ached as these questions fought for answers, and the painful realization that Mesiande literally held all his hope and dreams in her hands washed over him. He didn’t know what he’d do with his life if she denied him. He did know that he didn’t want to live as his father and uncle - that was not how
people should live. It was a cruel and cold society based on privilege, not on genuine care for one’s neighbor.

The fear he’d felt yesterday and the shock of the last week finally escaped from his heart, and Alador tried to choke back a sob. He rolled over and, clutching the letter, let his grief well up and sobbed until he was empty, with nothing left to offer. Reality became hazy and faded as visions of dragons filled his mind again, his grief giving in to exhaustion.
 As the sun rose higher into the sky, Alador slipped back into deep dreams.

Renamaum and Keensight sat on the mountain top, looking down into the valley below.
 Renamaum had a wing in front of the red dragon to keep him from sweeping off the ledge in rage. Below them, in that dark vale, were eight young dragons. They differed in age and color, but each one had one thing in common: large chains bound them to the ground, winding up over their wings, binding them to their bodies, so that none of them could unfold enough to get a proper thrust off the ground.

“Do you see him anywhere? I know he is down there,” Keensight rumbled in the fear and pain that only a father could feel.

“No. He would have barely hatched, and I do not see any that young, old friend.” Renamaum eyed the entire valley below them carefully. “Perhaps in that cave, but it is too small for either you or me to enter. If we wish to save fledglings from this fate, it will have to be done by a creature much smaller than you or I.” Renamaum eyed the red flight leader with sorrow.

Keensight’s mate had been killed in her nest, and the egg she’d nurtured was missing. The broken swords and the dead who’d owned them had been Lerdenian. There was no doubt that the egg had been headed to this place. It was called a bloodmine for the dragon’s blood that was spilled every turn until they became too large to handle. Then, they were outright killed and left to fester where they lay.

Renamaum closed his nostrils down; even from this far distance, the smell of blood and death wafted on the wind. He felt for his friend, who’d lost mate and fledgling all at the same time. Though most Lerdenians believed them to be nothing more than magical beasts, the truth was that such losses would stay with a dragon his entire lifetime – and dragons had very long lives.

“I will kill them all. Let us fly down and release our brothers. Let us rise up and burn every last one of them. I want every one of them to die,” Keensight snarled in rage. He bellowed his rage into the wind, and the dragons below them answered in a mournful call for help.

“Keensight. I understand your anger, but that is to declare war for all the flights. It is not ours alone to do. Besides, look closer. They have their spears of wood aimed at every dragon.  We or they would be dead before we freed the first. We cannot help them alone.” Renamaum wanted to console the dragon, but he had no idea how to help with such a grievous loss.

“I will demand a war from the council. I will demand they rise up and lay waste to the humans’ spiraling cities and crops. I will see their floating wooden toys sunk into the seas they travel.” Keensight rocked back and forth as if he was about to leap into the air, and Renamaum knew he had little time to talk sense to his friend. “They have declared this war, not us!”

“You could do this – that is true. And more of our kin will fall. There is a better way brother, but one that will take time. We find one who can do this work. One who can go into that cave and pull out our eggs and newly hatched. One who can love without constraint and protect without thought. This is what we find.” Renamaum pleaded against the red dragon’s anger, trying to wedge some bit of logic behind Keensight’s rage. “We must lose these brothers to win a war much greater than our own pain.”

“This is
my
fledgling you speak of, you fool! You want me to sacrifice my fledgling that yours might live? I will not! I will find him, and I will free him if I have to claw my way into that cave.” Keensight pushed Renamaum’s wing out of the way and dove for the valley below.  Renamaum knew Keensight’s fight was hopeless, he could do nothing now but watch helplessly

Keensight dove for the first of the spear throwers, his fire rained down with deadly accuracy as his sweeping
path took out two of the wooden constructs.  He banked up sharply but before he could turn to make another pass, the sound of releasing war machines filled Renamaum’s ears. He keened mournfully as four of the chained dragons were killed before his eyes. Their Lerdenian keepers would rather see their prizes dead, their blood draining into the ground then released.

Keensight must have realized the fate of the other four: he banked sharply and flew off into the distance. His howl of frustration, of rage and loss, filled the air and miles around, echoing in the wind as other dragons picked up his cry. It bore the heartfelt grief of a leader losing those he could not bear to sacrifice, the angst of a helpless father, and rage at those who’d stolen all that he held dear.

Renamaum watched him go, and a single tear fell from his great eye. “I am so sorry, my friend,” he whispered into the wind. Then he, too, took up the cry as the dragons of the isle sang their sorrowful song for the fallen.

Alador started awake. He was crying into his pillow, but it hadn’t been for Mesiande. It had been in response to the dream. He had felt the sacrifice, the pain, and the true loss of the dragons. They were losing their small ones to the Lerdenians; losing them to a small, elite group with the natural capacity to absorb what wasn’t theirs. Alador sat up and swung his feet over the bed, resting his elbows on his legs and his face in his hands. He sat that way for some time, trying to make sense of the dream. His face rose slowly as an idea came to him.

Henrick had thought that the Alador’s bloodstone had been a geas stone – a task imbued into the magic that had to be completed. Alador knew what it was. He knew what he was going to have to do: he had to figure out a way to release the dragons in that vale, as well as the dragons held by egg or newly birthed. Alador could get into the cave. He could reach the eggs when the dragons could not. That was his purpose. With or without Mesiande, that is what he had to do. Alador had to save the dragons from the vile practices to which they were being subjected.

He looked round and spotted his clothes from last night, neatly laid out nearby. Alador dressed automatically, his thoughts on the dream. He made sure to stuff the metal scroll case in his waistband beneath his robes. He had much to learn if he was going to free dragons – he needed to find a dragon; he couldn’t help them if he couldn’t talk to them. If he was going to one day release the bloodmines, he needed knowledge, power, and an ally. Let the Lerdenians teach him what they would. He would use it against them. He sat down to lace his boots, considering these matters. It was easier to focus on this than the questions that had led to his grief stricken state.

This determination faltered slightly when the door opened and his uncle stepped in. Luthian was not wearing robes at the moment, but a simple outfit of black pants and a red shirt.
 He did not pull it off as well as his father, thanks to his pale skin and white hair, but the man still drew was a striking figure. Alador took a deep breath. This city thrived on lies, deception, and manipulation - skills he knew that he didn’t have and had to learn fast. He was going to have to fool this man first and foremost.