The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “What about my things?” Alador asked worried about his pack and other belongings.

  “Your room will be as you left it.” Henrick gentled his manner, noting Alador’s agitation. “I will keep here what you do not absolutely need. You can come on your first visit and decide what you want to take with you. Once a week, you will be allowed a half day with me. Come when allowed and I will teach you the things that you will need to know and that the Blackguard will not teach.” Henrick frowned as he looked over his son. “You are still too young in thought for this,” he muttered sadly. “I fear that Luthian will not be swayed in your path.”

  “I am nearly a man by rights of age, and I passed my ritual to manhood with the Daezun.” Alador drew himself up proudly.

  Henrick just sighed as if Alador had just proven his father’s point. “If I teach you nothing else, I want you to remember these things. A ritual does not make you a man. A man has the strength to face what he is thrown in life. If he falls or is beaten, he does not complain but gets up and rides in to face the challenge once more.” Henrick grabbed his son by the front of his robe and pulled him close, looking down into his eyes as if trying to plant his very words in Alador’s head.

  “A man does not lose focus, as a child does,” he continued. “His purpose is unwavering, and though he may find distraction in a wench or wine, he never loses sight of his end goal. Your mind should be on one thing and one thing only: gaining enough power to be free to live your own purpose and not another man’s.”

  Alador went to speak, but his father held up a finger to Alador's lips. “For once, boy, stop your babble and listen. Commit your fractured thoughts to what I am saying in case I do not walk out of that council chamber.”

  Alador swallowed hard at the intensity in his father’s gaze and tone. He realized that Henrick was not acting on showmanship or humor as usual. He could see in his father’s eyes that they were headed into real danger, so he nodded.

  “You must make your own way. Seek council but hold your tongue. Trust no one and nothing but this.” He smacked Alador’s head lightly. “I know you are a smart boy, but you are quick to anger and quicker to speak. Learn to hold that anger and that tongue. Look for men who have learned the same, for they will have wisdom that you will need.”

  Henrick tapped his chin, apparently thinking about what other words he needed to speak to his son, while Alador frantically tried to commit what his father said to memory. “There are rules to magic. Remember, nothing comes from nothing. Magic draws on everything around it and most through you. Because of this, consider the consequences of every spell. What will it draw from and what result will it cause? An example for you, if I use magic to water the apple orchards in Oldmeadow and I do not pay attention, I might very well draw that water from every insect in the orchard. Then there is nothing to bring fruit to its blossoms.” Henrick looked at Alador, beseeching him to remember. “There are rules to all things in life. Pay attention to them, only then will you know when you can break them. You cannot break a rule if you do not know the rule, and the consequence.”

  Alador stood, wide-eyed, at this barrage of information, much of which conflicted with itself. “You aren’t going to die today. You can teach me these things when I come visit on those half-days you mentioned,” Alador said, trying to slow his father down.

  “I do not know the outcome of today, Alador, no matter how many times I have cast a spell to see it.” Henrick looked displeased at this. “Promise me one thing: if my end does come today, find the red dragon that lives high in the mountains, next to a lake of immense size. He will be able to help you, regardless of what may come today. Tell him the man who stuck in his throat sent you.” Henrick eyed Alador with a deep intensity.

  Alador felt as if something squeezed his chest tightly. “I promise,” he managed to whisper to the mage who still stood very close.

  There was a long pause, and then Henrick smiled as if nothing had just occurred. He let go of Alador’s robe and straightened what his grip had wrinkled. “All right then, let us get this business over with. Never a time like the present to see where the path will choose to lead.” Henrick’s easy tone of voice was back, and he turned and strode out the door.

  Alador shook his head and hurried after him. The more answers he discovered about his father, the more questions he had. If he lived a hundred turns, he didn’t doubt that there’d still be unanswered puzzles. His father was truly an enigma.

  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 th
e 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.