The Blackguard (Book 2) (15 page)

Luthian smiled at Alador as he spoke: “Ah good, you are up. I had a simple lunch laid out for us. I had hoped to eat on the balcony, but the weather is not accommodating.”

Alador watched as the eyes swept over him with that assessing gaze. He felt like the man could strip away the layers and see the thoughts that lay beneath. Apparently that feeling was a trait his relatives shared. Alador steeled himself and smiled. “I feared I may have slept too late. I am ravenous, so you are very kind to have waited for me.”  He had apparently slept far longer than he had thought.  When he had first risen to find the scroll case, it had been morning.

Luthian chuckled. “I sent a firecat to your bed. I knew full well you would rise late. I hope you found her pleasing?”

Alador didn’t miss a step knowing any complaint meant harm to Keelee. “I have no complaints, Uncle. My night was quite enjoyable and the girl quite willing.” He kept his true thoughts far below as he met his uncle’s gaze levelly.  He didn’t like how easily the lie spilled out of his mouth.

Luthian seemed to have expected no other answer, and didn’t press the issue. “Good. I understand you have agreed to let her see to your needs in the future. If you get tired of her, let me know and we will pick another.” Luthian opened the door and indicated that Alador should precede him.

Alador slipped past his uncle into the hall, choosing not to point out that there hadn’t been much “we” involved in that decision. He needed to keep his uncle happy until he had what he needed to strike out on his own. He suspected, with all his father’s warnings, that Henrick would help him when the time was right. The impulsive part of him wanted to grab the High Minister by the throat and shake him until he stopped such a horrid practice, but Luthian had many years of magical training on him, trained guards, and…well, the power to see Alador’s death ordered. He’d blatantly admitted that he had a paid assassin at his command.

The “simple lunch” laid out would have fed a whole family. The servants attending the High Minister were, once more, all beautiful women and the large table was filled with different delicacies.
 Alador was starving, and soon had a full plate sitting in front of him. He noticed that Luthian didn’t eat with the same intensity as Alador saw from his father. Surely both men used similar amounts of power, yet his father retained his color and youthful appearance while the High Minister seemed drained.

Neither spoke for a time, both taking in the posture of the other. Eventually, it was Luthian who casually broke the ice as he spread butter on a piece of bread. “I am curious. What has your father told you of me?” He took a large bite and sat chewing as he waited for Alador to answer.

Alador had expected this question, and set his fork down for a moment as he considered what to say. “Well, he said that you were a powerful mage. That you were High Minister and that the two of you don’t always see eye to eye,” he offered. Fairly harmless information.

“That is all your father had to say?” Luthian looked a little insulted as he set his bread on the plate. His lips twitched in irritation.

“Really, I didn’t know you even existed until we were on our way here,” Alador admitted.  “My mother didn’t really like him talking much about Lerdenia to me. I think they both thought I was never going to pass my tests. Well, my mother hoped I wouldn’t.” Alador spoke the truth, and it felt easier to look his uncle in the eye. “I have thought about what you asked, about what I wanted.”

Luthian picked up a steaming cup of tea and sat back, cradling it in his hands. “If you tell me you wish to go home, I will be quite disappointed,” he mused with a wry smile.

“No, I want to be a powerful mage. I want to learn all I can. I want you to teach me. My father…well, he’s all right, but he doesn’t seem too interested in me knowing anything. I’d hoped that after your words last night, you didn’t feel the same way.” Alador had to take a sip of his tea at that one. He thought last evening that he didn’t want to be embroiled in Lerdenian politics, but that had changed with his realization that he knew what it was he had to do. He felt centered and just a bit more confident since the realization had dawned on him.

Luthian looked very pleased. “Well then, you can spend your half-day with me.” Luthian sat back, like a mouser who’d just eaten well. “I will see to lessons that your Blackguard instructors will not be allowed to teach you.”

“May I request that I have a half-day with each of you?” Alador looked into his cup. “It’s the only thing I ask, Uncle. You have both set upon me like dogs with a bone, but you both have things I need to know. Father seems to have little interest in how things work here, or moving any further up the tiers, but he is my father and he knows things about life I still need to learn. Things that, having lived in Lerdenia all your life, you might not be able to avail to me. He moves between both worlds – I want to learn how to do that. I want to be able to walk on Daezun ground, in time, with as much ease as I want to walk on Lerdenian ground.” Alador sat the cup back down and looked at his uncle. “I have decided that the time of gnashing my teeth at what’s been lost and bemoaning my fate is over. There is much to do and I don’t want to waste my time.” It was easier to state this now that the dream had brought some sense of focus to his current situation, rather than what he’d lost.

Luthian looked at Alador in surprise. “It is not usually allowed, to grant two half days,” he mused stroking his face. He set his cup down with the other hand and considered his nephew’s request.

“Surely the High Minister can afford this one small privilege,” Alador pressed at his uncle’s vanity. “I mean, I have no doubt that your blessings upon their endeavors carry a great deal of weight. There’s no greater mage in all Lerdenia, right?”

Luthian’s chin rose slightly. “Do not play on my vanity, boy, to get what you want,” Luthian said firmly, his irritation at the ploy clearly written on his face.
 ”But no, there is not.”  He slowly grinned at Alador. “I will see it done. However, if I get any word that you are not diligent in your studies, you will have to choose between us.”

Alador pushed his plate away, having eaten his fill. “I assure you, Uncle, my lack of diligence will be the last thing you need to worry about.”

They spent the rest of that morning speaking on several topics before a servant guided Alador back to Henrick’s house. He didn’t go in right away, however, choosing to sit on the steps and look out at the horizon for a while. Alador didn’t mind terribly much that it was raining, and the house offered a little shelter. Luthian had seemed willing to answer most of what Alador asked, but he had the sense that his uncle was biding his time. There was something Luthian wanted from Alador, as much as Alador wanted something from his uncle. It had been a dance that his uncle had been playing all his life, and one Alador had to learn fast. He was fairly sure he’d managed to escape without revealing how he really felt about this place, his uncle or these people.

Alador frowned at his own thoughts and shook his head. He could not judge the Lerdenians by these upper tiers. He suspected that the farmers and miners were not much different from his own people. It was not fair to judge an entire populace by the actions of the privileged – Henrick had made that point, yet Alador knew this as surely as he knew the back of his hand. No half-breed could grow up without a keen awareness that too many people passed judgment without really knowing someone. People judged by what they knew and experienced. They judged by what they’d been told. If all they had was what they’d been told, with no means or initiative to question, then it became fact.

Alador finally rose to his feet. He had things to tell Henrick. He was going to trust him with everything; he’d either die or have an ally. Either way, he was the only one Alador knew that knew a dragon, and Alador had to talk to a dragon. He hoped they could talk. In his dreams, Alador always understood them, so he was fairly certain that they could. He knocked on the door. The same man who’d been there when Alador woke up yesterday opened the door after only a short pause.

“Ah, Master Henrick has been expecting you. Come, come! Let us get you next to a dry fire.” The man hurriedly led Alador through the house. It was so much smaller than the High Minister’s, but to Alador, it still felt far too big. Why did one man need so much space? It
seemed like Lerdenians spent their slips just to show that they had them to spend.

Henrick was waiting for him in the library. Luthian’s room had been full of books, but Henrick’s library went beyond even that. Shelves and specially-made cupboards for scrolls lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The rich, warm wood was a perfect frame to the vast array of leather-bound tomes. Alador stared wide-eyed, as he looked around. Books were a rare treasure amongst the Daezun; to see shelves of them so high that there was a ladder to reach the higher shelves made Alador’s heart pound with excitement. He’d held maybe three real books his entire life. He slowly turned in a circle, staring in amazement. In contrast to the rest of the house, this room was rich in warm tones and was clearly where Henrick spent most of his time.

“It is good to see you in one piece.” Henrick put his pipe down and moved over to Alador, clasping him on both arms. He looked over Alador, first left, then right. “Don’t seem too much worse for wear.” He smiled down at Alador as if they hadn’t parted with harsh words only last night.

“I survived. How much time do we have before I need to report to the compound of the Blackguard?” Alador grinned back, but his tone held urgency. He didn’t have time to waste on Henrick’s humorous antics.

“About an hour or so. Are you in that much of a hurry to find yourself in the clutches of a taskmaster? You realize that this will be no easy training. Luthian sees to it that they are better trained than even the Homeguard.” Henrick frowned as he spoke of his brother and eyed Alador suspiciously as he slowly let him go.

Alador considered how to approach this. He’d been sharing more and more with his father, but he had
decided to give him his full trust. If he couldn’t trust Henrick, he was going to fail anyway; he had nothing to lose. “No, we need to talk. Can we sit?” Alador looked over at the fire. Though it was summer, the rain storm made for cooler weather, and he liked the warmth of a fire. Henrick always seemed to be close to one.

“Of course, of course. You are wet.” Henrick led Alador to the fire and settled into a leather-covered chair. “What is amiss, my dear boy?”

Alador, on the other hand, moved to the fireplace and placed his hands on the mantle, looking down at the dancing flames. “I think I know what my geas is,” he said softly, staring into the fire.

There was a long silence from the man at his side. “Dare I ask?” Henrick’s tone was gentle, and the usual humorous or sarcastic edge had dropped. He reached over and poured a drink from a decanter on the small table between them. Alador could hear the soft sounds of the stopper.

“I saw what they do to the dragons in the bloodmine. I was there with the blue dragon when he could not stop his friend from trying to rescue his egg. I have been very protective of small ones since I found the stone. I need to find a way to stop the bloodmines. They torture the dragons chained there. They take their eggs and treat them as animals for slaughter, not as the noble beasts they are, and definitely not as the icons of the gods they were intended to be.”  Alador turned and looked at his father and there was true pain in his voice and eyes. “I know this is what I am meant to do. I have to save the fledglings.”

Henrick had been half way to taking a drink, but his glass just hovered there, his eyes large as he looked at
Alador. “Tell me, do you know the dragon’s name?” He was staring at Alador as he slowly rose to his feet.

“Why would their names matter?” Alador asked. His father’s reaction had him puzzled.

“Humor me. They… You know both their names?” Henrick stood up and joined him next to the fire.

“Yes. The blue dragon is named Renamaum, and the red one is Keensight. I think that might be just a nickname though…it doesn’t seem like a very regal name,” Alador mused in afterthought. He jumped when his father’s glass hit the floor and shattered. “Are you all right?” he asked, moving to clean up the glass.

Henrick waved him off. “The servants will get it,” he muttered. “Tell me your vision. Please, tell me all of it.” Henrick placed a hand on Alador’s arm, stepping over the shattered glass. “I will see if I can help confirm if that is your geas.”

Henrick’s response still confused Alador, but he did as requested, sharing the vision with as much detail as he could recall. He even shared the thoughts of the dragon he’d felt combined into. After he finished, Henrick remained silent for a long time. Finally, Alador moved to him and touched the hand that still clutched his own arm with concern. “Father?” Henrick looked at him, tears in his eyes. Alador stared at him in confusion – he’d never seen his father have tears over anything. “What’s wrong?”

“The red dragon you saw is the same one that decided I did not need to be eaten. The one I told you of on our trip here. He…” Henrick took a deep breath and turned away from Alador to return to his chair. “He told me a similar version of this tale. If it helps at all, he did manage to free his son. He waited until they went to bring him out of the cave and, with the help of some flight mates, was able to snatch him from them. It was not without additional loss of both fledglings and flight mates.” Henrick sank into a chair and took a deep breath. “You are most likely right. This is probably your geas. It seems like the type of noble thing one would impress at death. If your dragon was there, he likely feared for his own eggs and fledglings.”