Forever yours to command and scold,
Alador
Chapter Thirteen
Alador had almost drifted to sleep when a soft, timid knock on the door drew his attention. He jumped up and swung it open, expecting to see another member of the Blackguard in some capacity – so when he saw Keelee with her arms full, he just stared at her for a moment. “Umm…what are you doing here?” Alador asked. He quickly looked out and, seeing no one else in the hall, dragged her into the room and shut the door. “Seriously Keelee, how did you even get in here?” She obviously was carrying her belongings with her.
Keelee looked pleased with herself. “You said I could come with you,” she reminded him. Her expression immediately changed, her large, emerald eyes widening in alarm. “You did not just say it to keep me quiet, did you?” Her tone shifted to a whisper as she shifted her belongings in her arms.
“I meant like in the servants’ quarters,” Alador replied. “I mean, it’s a large complex, I’m sure they have servants’ quarters…” He looked around at the small room. “Where would you even sleep?”
“I told them I was your body servant, and that means they expect me to sleep with you.” Keelee leaned over and her belongings spilled out onto the bed.
“Why did you tell them that?” Alador asked in horror. “I mean, they already think I’m expecting privileges for being the High Minister’s nephew. What could they possibly have thought of me bring a body servant? What does that even mean? Well...” he stammered, “besides the obvious...umm...” Alador glanced at the bed.
Keelee looked a little offended as she turned to look at him. “They will think you are a damned lucky man and treat you a bit better because you have enough affluence to have a body servant,” she pointed out imperiously. “Unless you do not think I am pretty enough?” She bit her lip, looking hurt now, and glanced up at Alador through her lashes as she brushed the floor lightly with her foot.
“No! No. You’re very pretty. I’m not saying that…I just...Keelee,” Alador sighed, shaking his head. “I told you. I love another,” he pointed out in frustration.
“What does that have to do with me being your body servant?” Keelee looked at him in confusion.
“Well,” Alador ran a hand through his hair. “Daezun don’t have body servants,” he finally replied.
“You are half-Lerdenian,” she fired back. Her hands were on her hips, the same way Mesiande used to stand when she was angry. Keelee’s face melted slowly into a pretty pout. “Besides, I am here and if you send me away I will have to go to the trenches and you said I could stay with you.” She batted those long lashes as she looked up at him.
There was a knock on the door before Alador could answer her. He opened it with a bit of exasperation to see another man in the same armor. This man was as different from Flame as night was from day; he had black hair and hard that were gray, though their hardness broke slightly when he saw Keelee standing behind Alador.
“Was sent to take you to the armor smith. Glad to see you’re settling in already. Afternoon, ma’am.” The guard nodded to Keelee.
Alador nodded and looked back at Keelee who had a satisfied smile on her face. “We are not done discussing this,” he shot back to her before stepping out.
“I will—” Keelee began.
Alador shut the door firmly behind him before looking at the new man that had been sent to get him. There was something about his eyes that seemed unsettling, they were a strange shimmering gray color. “Not here a day and already having trouble with your woman?” The guard asked with a solemn tone as he led him down the hall.
Alador opened his mouth to explain that she wasn’t his, but realized he didn’t know what risk Keelee would be in if he did. Alador didn’t understand how things worked well enough to say much of anything. “A bit of a disagreement on duties and expectations,” he offered with a half-smile. That in itself was true.
“You’re lucky. Most have to sweet talk a woman in the guard or visit the trench to meet their needs. It can get cold in here at night in the winter. At least it’s nice this time of year. Name’s Jon.” The man said. There wasn’t much emotion in Jon’s tone or manner as he led Alador down the many turns and passages.
“Alador,” he offered back, sighing as they made another turn. He was already lost. “How big is this place?” he finally asked, awed and confused by the many twists and turns.
“Not that big; just feels like it in the dim light and all the cross-passages,” Jon answered. He stopped at the corner and pointed to marks just above their heads on the wall, where arrows had been carved at the corner above a set of symbols that lined up. “These are in one of the books on your desk. It helps you navigate through eventually you’ll just know the way.”
Alador nodded. Like the symbol on the door, some were easy to decipher. The symbol for the dining hall was easy as was one for weapons. “I will definitely make a point of learning those first,” he answered.
Jon nodded and led him on down the hall to the armory. The armor smith turned out to be a woman. Her glance was hard and scrutinizing, reminding Alador of the elder Luciesa from his village.
“This is the new lad?” she asked Jon as she walked over to Alador. Her gaze moved over him slowly, like the way a farmer inspected korpen.
“Yup. All yours, Aneta. Just let one of us in the practice ring know when you’re done, and we’ll help him find the dining hall.” Jon saluted her smartly and left the two of them alone.
Alador eyed Aneta as she moved around him with a frown, as if she didn’t like what she saw. “Out of shape. Lean in the waist. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval.
“I am not out of shape,” Alador protested.
“Tell me that in four days and I will buy you an ale.” Aneta chuckled. She patted his butt with appreciation. “Least this part of you is good.”
“Hey!” He jumped forward.
“Stand still. I need to take some measurements.” She left to get a string and a slate, then came back to measure Alador. Apparently she was intent to leave no part of him unmeasured, and spent far more time on the inside of his leg than he was comfortable with, ‘accidentally’ brushing him with her hand more than once. But when Alador moved in protest, Aneta reminded him that he’d be living in that armor and would thank her later when it fit properly.
When all the measuring was finally over, she led him across the hall to the weapon smith, which Alador found more to his liking. The forge fire made the room warmer than the other areas he had been; it was interesting to see how the room had been drafted up so it wouldn’t fill up with smoke. It reminded Alador of the forge at home, and he took a moment to force down the lump that rose in his throat. The weapon smith just pointed him to a rack of weapons, where Alador looked amongst the dull-bladed swords until he found one that felt good in his hands. Its hilt was simple, unlike some, and fit well in his hand. The balance was good, too, and Alador could wield it smoothly. The weapon smith just nodded and tossed him a second blade. He barely caught it with his off hand. “What’s this for?”
“Practice sword.” The man nodded for him to go through the door and went back to hammering on a blade near his forge. He was so obviously not the social type that Alador left him to his work without another word, stepping through the door to find himself outside. He blinked in surprise as his eyes adjusted slightly to the fading light. He stood in a small oasis, surrounded by cliff walls, where large rings had been set out and trees provided shade. The place was full of men and women who talked and practiced swordplay or archery everywhere he looked.
Jon must have been watching the door Alador stepped through; he approached soon after Alador emerged. “Ah, there you are. Aneta must have liked you as that took longer than normal.” He nodded at Alador. “I see you saw the weapon smith, as well. Come, I’ll take you back to your room to drop those off and then we can be off to dinner. When your armor is delivered, you’ll get a proper sheath and belt to go
with that.”
Alador nodded, still a little overwhelmed. He nodded in greeting to a few that stared at him, then quickly followed Jon as he headed through a different doorway. Alador looked for markings but saw none on this door. He thought about asking about it, but decided to keep quiet. He didn’t want to sound stupid. As they made their way through the halls back to Alador’s room, he eyed each turn, noting the passages Jon chose by the symbols on the corners.
“What happens now?” Alador asked Jon as they reached his room. He went in to find Keelee absent, though she’d clearly moved in based on the state of his desk and other small touches she’d added. He set his weapons on the rack and walked back to the door.
“We eat dinner. You have tonight to study, and tomorrow you’ll enter the first level of training.” Jon moved off back the way Alador knew led to the dining hall. “You’ll probably have a schedule waiting for you on your desk by the time dinner’s over.”
Alador shut his door and walked off to follow Jon. “What does that usually entail?” Alador asked. Part of him was excited to be learning magic and swordplay, but part of him was terrified of the changes he knew he’d have to make.
Well, my schedule had exercises to build strength and endurance in the morning, then lessons on battle magic till the mid-day meal. After eating, I had an hour to study, then went to archery practice. Another class on survival magic after that, then I reported to where you found me to spend the rest of the day in sword training.” Jon moved swiftly down the hall as a bell rang, apparently signaling the meal. “It hasn’t changed too much. Now I have classes in battle tactics and leadership as well.”
“What sphere of magic do you control? Or is it rude to ask?” Alador had to move fast to keep up.
“I’m a death mage,” Jon said simply.
“A death mage? “ Alador eyed him carefully. “That’s the power of Dethera, right?”
“Yes,” Jon answered. “I can control corrosive elements, and I have some power with poison, but that seems to have little use to me. I’m told that I’d be of great use in battle though that would mean sneaking into enemy encampments.” Jon said this matter-of-factly, and Alador got the distinct impression that the thought did not appeal to the man leading him down the hall. “My last phase of training will be on infiltrating such encampments.”
Alador was quiet as they walked. A part of him pitied Jon. He could imagine what harm such a mage would do to Daezun food supplies, water and weapons. A non-magical army would need this man killed immediately.
“If you no longer wish to associate with me, I’d understand.” Jon’s tone was terse and his back became stiff.
“Why would I not want to associate with you? You can’t help the sphere of magic you were given by the gods, or the dragons. However, that happens.” Alador frowned picking up the pace again to keep up with Jon.
“I think you’re the first person to ever say that.” He stopped and turned to stare at Alador. “Do you mean it?” His expression was doubtful, and he seemed intent on finding some joke or hidden meaning in Alador’s words or face.
Jon had stopped at the edge of a hall where Alador could see a large number of people moving to another doorway, likely the dining hall as he could smell fresh bread. “Why wouldn’t I mean it? You can’t help what kind of magic you have, can you?” Alador peered at Jon with curiosity.
“You are an odd man, Alador. Be careful, such openness may earn you enemies.” Jon slowly smiled. “But I’ll have your back, that’ll go a ways for you. There aren’t many who like earning the anger of a death mage.”
“I’m used to having enemies,” Alador sighed, wishing that wasn’t the truth. First Trelmar and his friends back in Smallbrook, now this Trench Lord who apparently hated him the moment he saw him, what was a few more on the list? “I could use a friend.” Alador offered Jon his arm.
Jon looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t have friends,” he said, leaving Alador with his arm out.
“I don’t either here. How about we both make a first one?” Alador left his arm out.
Jon took it slowly with a grin, squeezing it firmly. “Done.” He let go and led him into the hall, showing Alador where to get a tray. As they moved down the line, food was heaped onto his tray, all looking and smelling delicious.
“How is it that we’re fed so well?” Alador asked curiously as they moved to find a table off from others. Everyone seemed to give them a wide berth. Alador had no idea if that was because of Jon, him, or a combination of both.
“We don’t get much in the way of trade slips, so they make up for it in other ways. The food is good. We have training and a home. For a lot of people, this is a big step up from life in the trench or out on the land as a half-breed. We have acceptance and purpose here.
“Doesn’t it bother you that they might be training us to fight our own kin?” Alador looked around. A few here looked fully Daezun or fully Lerdenian, but most had traits from both races.
“If they truly cared about us, they would not have cast us out. And remember, not everyone here is Daezun-born. Some are Lerdenian-born, so they don’t have Daezun kin the way you and I think of it,” Jon answered softly. “Some hate their Daezun blood because it’s denied them much in life. Regardless of skill or power, a half-breed can’t rise above the third tier.”
“What were you cast out for?” Alador asked following Jon’s lead and keeping his voice low.
“Same as most: being dirtied with magic. I don’t know why they let Lerdenians into their beds if they don’t want half-breed children born from such a mating.” Jon’s tone was bitter.
“It’s strange, yet my mother is totally smitten with my father,” Alador admitted. “She’s like a middlin whenever he comes around. I always wondered if he used magic on her.”
“My sire never came around. I never met him. Apparently he’s some trader that my mother took a fancy to. Something to do with his purple eyes.”
Alador took the time to look around the now very noisy room. It was filled with laughter and camaraderie, much like a village feast. Men and women were on equal footing here; in fact, some of the women looked far deadlier than the men sitting next to them.
“Do they hold the circle here?” Alador asked curiously.
Jon shrugged. “No need. Women in the guard don’t bear small ones. They take some potion to prevent it. And remember, some are Lerdenian-born; they know nothing of the circle ritual. I think many would find it odd, in fact. Why not take to your bed who you want, when you want to?”
Alador nodded. It was not like the Daezun only shared their bed during ritual; that was just a time of procreation, an assurance that there would always be people in the village who were strong and born at a time that was the least taxing.
Both men finished their dinner comparing tales of their villages and life within them. Neither spoke of kin, the topic seemed just as painful for Jon as it was for Alador.
After they ate their fill, Jon took Alador back to his room. “I’ll see you on the practice fields tomorrow.” Jon moved off.
Alador opened the door to see Keelee waiting on his bed. She was barely wearing clothes, and he looked away. “Keelee, get dressed,” he snapped. His talk of home had only deepened how much he missed Smallbrook and the villagers. The girl on his bed did nothing to appease his homesickness.
Keelee looked hurt but did grab a wrapper close by and shrugged herself into it. “I am sorry,” she whispered with a slight pout.
Alador sat down at the desk and began to look at the books. He found the one about rules and life in the Blackguard and swiftly found the page that explained the markings. “Don’t be. Just…I told you, it’s not going to be like that. I need to study. If you must be here, find something quiet to do.”
She moved to his side and picked up another of his books. “I will just read for a bit,” she said, doing nothing to hide the pouting in her voice.
Alador just nodded. He didn’t look up to see that she picked up one o
f his books, he was more interested in learning how to fit in and get around. He spent a long time reading before looking up, he wasn’t sure how long, but Keelee had fallen asleep on the bed, the book on her chest.
He got up and carefully took the book from her hands. She was, indeed, quite beautiful lying there, fast asleep. He sighed softly. He should feel lucky, not cursed, that such a beautiful woman had attached herself to him. He knew that any other guardsman would likely jump at the chance to switch places with him. He laid the book on the desk, finally noting she had been looking at basic spells. He really didn’t care. If she could learn enough to move her up tiers, then more power to her.
He removed his boots and stripped down to just his britches. He tried to move into the bed without waking her, but that was impossible as she was on the covers. Her eyes fluttered open, their emerald depths mesmerizing. His breath caught as he gazed into those eyes, and he felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach. “Come on, off the covers. I hear I’m in for a hard day tomorrow and it’s best I get some sleep,” Alador called softly.
He realized that the lights in his room were too bright to sleep with, and he peered at the stones that were lit the room. Each of them sat on black pieces of cloth, probably meant for snuffing them. Alador covered them and sure enough, the light didn’t show through the cloth. He left one small stone uncovered in case he needed to get up and see to any personal needs.
Meanwhile, Keelee had removed her wrapper and slipped beneath the covers. As soon as Alador joined her in the bed and was settled, she moved to lay her head on his chest. He started to push her away, but realized her body was cold, and having her gentle touch was soothing, somehow. Alador pulled her tight against him and closed his eyes to find sleep. He’d almost found it when he first felt Keelee’s hands untying his pants. “Keelee…” He whispered. “Stop.”
The Blackguard (Book 2) Page 18
