The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  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.

  His father was still wiping up the wine he had spit out upon his robes and he looked at Luthian clearly trying to regain his composure. Henrick’s tone was cautious, clearly not swayed by this act of his uncle’s. “I am sure, Brother, you will find that the Daezun did most of Alador’s training. He is quick to learn, deadly with a bow, and already able to practice simple cantrips.” Henrick toasted his brother with his wine. “He is also my son, too quick with his tongue and often has to eat his words.” Henrick glanced at Alador and the warning in his gaze was clear.

  Alador looked between the two men, both were handsome by any maiden’s standards. His uncle had a porcelain quality to him, as if carved from smooth white marble. He had a chiseled face and his eyes, a mixture of lavender and silver, were captivating even to Alador. His father sat in stark contrast, with jet black hair and dark robes that accentuated his swarthier complexion. He was more muscled than Luthian and seemed more at ease in his skin. Both men, however, shared one factor that Alador could not miss: they both exuded an air of insidious danger that was palpable. His father seemed more lethal to Alador at that moment than he ever had. He doubted that any would be able to stand against these two if they were ever united in their purpose.

  “Well then, a good foundation to start with.” Luthian set his glass down. He clasped his fingers together, steepling them as he looked to Alador. He leaned forward slightly, a calculating smile on his lips as he asked, “Let me ask you Alador, what do you want?”

  “What do I want with what, Uncle?” Alador asked respectfully. He was being careful and trying to follow his father’s advice to stick to the questions posed. That one had seemed rather broad.

  “With your life, Alador. What do you want to do with your life?” Luthian’s long fingers continued to move together.

  Alador’s first thought was to live. He swallowed hard. “To return to my people and for them to accept me back, but that seems a little far from my reach. Given that, I would like to learn to be an enchanter so at least I could travel amongst them.” Alador had thought about this a great deal of thought and this seemed the easiest way to be close to Mesiande and his family.

  Luthian’s fingers stopped moving. He tipped his head curiously and frowned. “That is it? Nothing more…” Luthian was clearly searching for a word, “...aspiring?”

  Alador smiled at the wine in the glass. He had been twirling it slightly and the wine was close to the top. “I can think of nothing more aspiring than to be able to protect and assist those I care for at home.”

  Luthian leaned forward and picked up his own glass from the table. “Interesting. Most of those cast out as you have been speak of owning a plot of land, finding adventure or amassing a great deal of wealth. I would remind you, also, that this is your home now. Your people cast you out.” Luthian’s tone held his contempt for the Daezun.

  Alador looked back up at his uncle. He felt something cold and dark shift within him as he looked to the High Minister. It was an uneasy feeling and it must have hit his face as well
for he heard his father whisper, “Alador…” Henrick’s hissed warning had no effect as Alador sat his glass down and leaned forward, as well.

  “I have enough slips to keep me. No one owns the land, it’s the gods’ gift to all the people of the isle, and I’ve had enough adventure with fire breathing dragons to last me a lifetime. Why am I here, uncle? If you really saw me as family, I would have had a letter or word from you, yet I’ve seen nothing all these years. Two can see through lies as easily as one: you didn’t give a damn about me till I harvested that stone.”

  Alador was startled at his own confidence. He could feel his father’s gaze on him, the heat of it was tangible even though he didn’t break eye contact with his uncle. “You said truth between us,” Alador reminded Luthian coldly. He was not going to play these politics his father spoke of; he was going to learn and be rid of these cruel people. Alador sat back in his chair, his eyes boldly meeting his uncle’s.

  Luthian chuckled with amusement. “That I did. I fear I may have opened a box that I will want to shut with that one.” Luthian looked at Henrick. “I like this lad. He has spirit.” He winked at his brother with what appeared to be genuine good will.

  He looked back at Alador, his tone lighter than what had passed between them just moments before. “Then let us be candid, nephew. Your father and I are well aware of the size of the stone you sold for the merchant tried to sell it to me. A stone that large holds a great deal of power and someone untrained with that much power could be a threat to himself and even those he might care about. As your uncle, I would see you trained so that you do not accidentally explode. As the High Minister of Lerdenia, I would see you trained that one day if needed, you could be called upon to protect the isle.”

  Luthian gestured towards the windows across the room. “The world across the ocean is filled with war. One day, it may come to our shore or we may need to take it to theirs. Is that enough truth for you, Alador?” There was a bit of sarcasm in Luthian’s tone. He toasted Alador with his glass.

  Alador weighed his uncle’s words. There was truth to what he said. He didn’t know how to use whatever the stone had done to him. He would protect the isle if war came to it; if war approached the Lerdenians, it was bound to find the Daezun, as well. “For now,” he conceded. Alador could feel Henrick’s tension and finally looked at him. His father’s eyes were filled with reproach, and in that moment Alador hoped he’d be sent to the guard that night. He suspected if he left together with Henrick, he’d get an ear full all the way home.

  The door opened and a man bowed low before his uncle. “Dinner is served whenever it pleases the Minister.”

  “Come gentlemen, I have quite the dinner and entertainment planned. A few friends and council members are awaiting us.” Luthian downed the last of his wine and stood.

  Alador did the same and rose. He liked feasts. He hoped the boards, well, tables here, were as well laid as the feasts at home. Alador suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry and nodded. He wasn’t concerned about guests; most feasts or gatherings involved a lot of people. As they made their way to the dining room, what Alador saw was not what he had expected. There were two long tables filled with people all dressed as finely as or more so than he and his father. As they entered the room, all conversation stopped and everyone rose almost as one. Alador looked at his father wide-eyed.

  “Privilege of power, son. A respect for the position and for some the man.” Henrick’s words were soft as his uncle had stridden ahead to a table that was raised above the others. Henrick indicated that they should follow him.

  “Why is our table away from everyone?” Alador asked curiously.

  “Why? So the food at our table is not handled by any but the most trusted and so that all eyes are drawn to the High Minister and those he chooses to display.” There was sarcasm in Henrick’s voice. “Alador, you will do better to stop comparing. Lerdenia is as different from the Daezun as apple is to a prickleberry. They both might bring forth fruit, but neither will ever taste like the other.”

  Henrick climbed the few steps, and Luthian indicated that he should sit to his left and Alador to his right. Alador didn’t like being out of the line of sight of his father, but sat down uncomfortably as instructed. When his uncle sat, the rest of the room sat down as well and the conversation resumed. “Is it always like this?” He asked his uncle.

  “A little intimidating, I imagine, yes?” Luthian put a hand on Alador’s shoulder as he leaned over at Alador with an understanding smile. When Alador nodded yes, Luthian continued his answer in a slightly more comforting tone. “I actually find it rather droll and usually take meals by myself. However, given your arrival and the declaration of another blood kin in the Guldalian line, many wished to lay eyes upon you. Look around the room carefully. Note those who look to you, and how. There are some out there that are gauging if you are someone they can sway favor with, so as to gain my ear. There are others out there who will hate you just because you have Daezun blood. There are still others out there who want to kill you just to hurt your father or myself.”

  Alador surveyed the crowd before him carefully. His uncle’s words rang true to him, there were some amongst those dining that did not hide their animosity. Others, when they felt his gaze, waved or nodded back. “Why do you not put a stop to it?” He asked curiously. “All the squabbling and killing seems hardly an orderly system to manage.”

  Luthian waved a woman over, and suddenly they were surrounded. Everywhere Alador looked, there seemed to be beautiful women about his age leaning across the table. One filled his glass, while another leaned across in front of him to slide a plate of steaming food before him. Her dress, leaning as she was, exposed most of her breasts to him and he found himself almost not hearing his uncle’s answer. Other women attended his father and uncle.

  “If they squabble amongst themselves, they are less a threat to me.” Luthian answered smoothly.

  Alador found himself caught in the most beautiful pair of emerald eyes he had ever seen as the girl straightened back up. She caught his admiring gaze and smiled shyly. He found himself unable to look away from those eyes as he answered. “Why not just kill off the traitors and make it a law to stop the killing?” he murmured.

  Luthian followed Alador’s gaze and smiled. “Yes, you are definitely are our kin.” He chuckled softly and leaned over to Alador to murmur softly. “You find this one appealing?”

  Alador nodded smiling at the girl. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “You have good taste. She is yours.” Luthian sat up and picked up his glass.

  “Wait, what? Mine? What do you mean mine?” Alador looked over to his uncle in confusion, back to the woman, and then right back to his uncle.

  “You may have her. When you are bored with her, let me know and I will replace her.” Luthian did not seem to find this conversation the least bit appalling.

  “Have her for…” The realization that his uncle was offering her for his bed filled his face, and the flush of embarrassment must have been written clearly, because his uncle laughed aloud.

  “You have had a woman before, yes?” Luthian’s voice was louder than Alador appreciated.

  “Yes, but how can you just hand one off like property? What if she doesn’t want to… you know.” Alador looked at him, clearly upset.

  “If she doesn’t want to participate in the tasks assigned to her, she is welcome to return to the lower tiers from where she came. Most of these beautiful young women do not have a mage’s power and, therefore, use other favors for a higher place.” He watched Alador as he picked up his fork, waving at the women about them. “They are not prisoners, my dear boy. They can come and go as they please.” Luthian’s tone held a quiet tone of finality and he began to eat.

  Alador looked at the young woman who had served him his plate. She was taller and thinner than the women he was used to, and her dark black hair was braided and coiled back to hold the rest of the length still as she served. She glanced back, catching
his assessing gaze, and smiled shyly again before hurrying off to someone’s bidding.

  He looked down at his food and saw a wonderful array of vegetables and a large piece of fish. The aroma was amazing, but Alador’s appetite had faltered. Henrick asked his uncle a question, and though Alador couldn’t hear it over the din of the populace gathered, it gave him time to reflect on the things he had learned.

  He nibbled at the food before him as he watched those below. There were many older men, their hair as white as his uncle’s. There were women as well, most dressed in more finery than he had seen on any woman, even on a house-mating day.

  There was one man that kept drawing Alador’s eyes, because of his lack of embellishments. He was dressed simply and sat without talking to his peers around him. He sipped the wine, but his plate appeared largely untouched. His hair was golden as harvest wheat. But it was the coldness in his eyes that bothered Alador; it reminded him of the way Trelmar had watched him. His uncle was right. Alador hadn’t been here a day, and he already had enemies.

  Chapter Eight

  Aorun waited for Sordith and Owen in his office, fingering a gilded invitation to the High Minister’s dinner. It seemed the man had gone and found himself a nephew. Aorun hated the political dinners he was sometimes given the opportunity to attend, but good information could usually be found there. Aorun’s largest trade item was information. He thought about sending Sordith, but suspected that his right hand was not as forthcoming in his observations as Aorun would like. He dared not send Owen. It would be like letting a flight of lexital into the warehouse: nothing would survive.