The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “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.

  Henrick 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.

  Alador 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.

  Henrick 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.

  “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.”

  ‘Our 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.