The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  Alador felt a strange twinge of possessiveness, despite having given them his blessing to spend time together. His arms tightened around her reflexively. “If you want to move in with him, Keelee, I wouldn’t stop you.”

  “Maybe one day. Unfortunately, Flame doesn’t seem the type to settle on one woman.” Keelee sighed against his shoulder. She looked up at him, those eyes catching him as usual.

  Alador considered Flame’s reputation. “No, you’re probably right. At least, not yet.” He kissed the top of her head again and slowly let her go. “I had best get going. Since you know something’s coming that’s going to cause me pain, let’s see if we can minimize that. I don’t want you to go out of the caverns without me or Flame.” Alador slowly set her upright as he considered. “I can’t think of what you could do that would cause me pain unless you were hurt. So, let’s make sure you stay safe, all right?” He tapped her nose gently and forced a smile. The truth was, he was a bit concerned about her dream, but he couldn’t stand to see her so upset.

  Keelee smiled back up at him uncertainly. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hands. “All right. I hope your day is restful. I will get this laundry done and go see my father. He likes it when I come to cook for him.” She rose, ever the example of grace, scooping up the laundry she’d dropped.

  Alador watched her go with a concerned gaze. He couldn’t think of anything she could do that would cause him harm; he’d seen her practicing spells, but most of her abilities lay in simple cantrips. Keelee had never shared dreams before, but with Renamaum haunting his own quite regularly, Alador was hardly going to discount hers.

  Standing outside the cavern to the Blackguard stronghold was the most boring duty of those he sometimes was given. Few came to the gaping cavern opening and those that did were there on business. Most of the day was spent staring down to the corner of the tier. If he were lucky, he would get the harbor side of the opening. At least then, he could watch the docks, as well.

  After Alador had finished guard duty, he scooped up his cloak and headed out of the caverns. He’d made sure his council pass was visible before he even left the water sphere halls. He was in a fair mood; his uncle had promised a night without feasts or entertaining. Alador had known for some time that his uncle was showing him favor because there was something he either needed or wanted. He didn’t know what this secret desire was, but he knew it had something to do with the whirlpool spell. The way Luthian had spoken on Alador’s last half-day, suggesting they speak privately at his next visit, made Alador fairly sure that tonight was the night he’d find out.

  Alador spent the entire walk up to the top tier lost in thought. Between what his uncle wanted from him and the thought of having to take out Luthian’s stable lord, Alador had a lot on his mind. He had no doubt now that he was going to help shut that stable down, but he didn’t know where that would leave him with his uncle. He hoped he and Sordith could manage it in a way that his uncle would never know it was him, but that would mean killing anyone that would dare speak of it, and Alador struggled with that thought. Another part of him didn’t care if Luthian found out. With each passing week, he had come to admire his uncle’s skill with politics and subterfuge, but he hated him for the foul creature that he truly was under all that snakelike charm.

  The door was opened for Alador before he ever reached it. The guardsmen were all Blackguard, but he didn’t recognize any of them; he supposed that only those that had graduated to an assignment were allowed to guard the High Minister. Alador made his way to his room that he had been allocated for when he visited. As usual, a robe was laid out waiting for him. He quickly divested himself of his armor and washed up. He had been on duty at the port gate earlier that day, so the wash was needed. His uncle didn’t like him wearing weapons, but Alador still kept a boot knife on him at all times regardless. He did not trust his uncle, and even if he had, Luthian had a great deal of enemies that would gladly supplant him if they could.

  Alador slipped on a light blue robe. Of the colors his uncle chose for him, he found he liked blue best; he’d always liked it by the water, but now with the powers of a large sea dragon, Alador found himself even more partial to things that reminded him of any body of water. He checked himself in the mirror. He’d started growing his hair out at his uncle’s request; now it was at an irritating length, unruly and always in his eyes. Last week, he’d given up and used magic to make it long enough to pull back to the nape of his neck. Alador took out the hair tie and slicked his hair back with a little water, attempting to tame the unruly locks.

  Satisfied that he looked like a proper mage, Alador set out for the practice room. He was met by a young woman who whispered swiftly that Luthian was waiting for him in the library. This was unusual, usually Luthian joined him at his studies. He nodded to the young woman and turned to set off in the direction of the library.

  It never boded well to keep Luthian waiting as it seemed that he ran his life on a strict timetable. When he reached the library, he knocked on the door, as was his uncle’s preference, and waited for one of the guards inside to open the door for him. When he entered, Luthian was sitting before a warm fire with a small table loaded with food set between the two chairs. Alador bowed low before Luthian. “Uncle, ever a pleasure to see you.” Alador smiled with the same oily charm his uncle often used.

  Luthian smirked into his glass of wine. “Liar.”

  Alador smiled and slid into a chair. “I learned only from the best, sir.”

  “How goes your training this week?” Luthian asked, as was his custom. His tone and casual manner had become commonplace.

  “Nothing new this week. I’ve been practicing the maelstrom and learning the spells of lightning and combining that energy with water. I love working with the elements of a thunderstorm – I find them most intriguing.” Alador poured himself a cup of tea.

  “Can you create a storm yet?” Luthian asked watching the young man before him.

  “No. I’ve not even been able to form a small raincloud yet. I am still quite early in my studies, Uncle. I pray to the gods you would not expect me to master that in less than a season?” Alador looked up at him curiously. “I was quite excited to master the whirlpool.”

  “I suppose I am impatient,” Luthian admitted. A tight smile graced his lips, but not his eyes. “I have plans, and I need a strong storm mage to make them come to fruition.”

  So this was it – he had need of Alador’s powers for something specific. “What plans? Perhaps if I understood what you were seeking, I could focus my learning to help you meet your goal.” He presented himself as the ‘ever-willing-to-please’ pupil but deep down he suspected that Luthian knew it was as much an act as his doting uncle routine was.

  Luthian set down his wine glass and sat back in his chair. His fingers tapped together; the man was clearly considering what to share with Alador. “There is a country in the Otherlands that has a large fleet with the capacity to infiltrate our shores. It is my suspicion that a recently lost trader vessel was not lost to the ocean, but to their fleet.” He looked at Alador with such intensity that Alador’s cup stilled in his hand. Luthian’s voice quieted and he stared past his nephew, as if imagining the immensity of the storm he sought. “If a mage could bring a storm, he could protect our shores and drive this fleet onto the rocks. You would be a viable protection to the isle, Alador. Or, should we decide to stretch our own wings beyond the isle, a valuable person to have at my side were we to encounter any resistance.”

  Alador sat for a time, watching his uncle, forcing himself to take a drink of his tea. He did not miss the look of greed in his uncle’s eyes, nor the licking of his lips as he finished speaking of resistance. “Surely, you have other storm mages?” He asked the question with a boy’s simple curiosity. However, his eyes were locked on his uncle with a far more discerning gaze than the tone of his voice implied.

  “None that can manifest a strong enough storm to crush an attacking fleet. It is my hope, nephew, that
this large stone of yours has given you enough power to protect this isle before the enemy can ever set foot upon it.” Luthian had not moved from his relaxed position, confident in his words as his fingers tapped together.

  “What of your own vast power, Uncle?” Alador flashed him a look of admiration.

  Luthian’s eyes darted to him. “Do not think I am too weak to do such – that is not the problem. A fire mage could bring fire down upon such a fleet and yes, he could wreak much havoc.” Luthian put a hand out, palm up, and it filled with a ball of dancing fire. “But if their ships have mages, they could shield against such fire just as easily.” He closed his hands dramatically, snuffing the fire. “But a storm? Few would suspect a mage behind a storm. There have only been a few in history who could draw such mastery from the elements.”

  Alador carefully set his teacup down and picked up a bit of cheese, tossing it into his mouth and chewing before speaking. The tension between them was thick. “Such a mage could also destroy Daezun crops, drive them into the ground with pelting hail, and flood them from their riverside villages.” He picked up a cake and sat back to watch his uncle.

  “Why, I had not thought of that.” Luthian eyes moved to Alador as if surprised. His hands stilled and he put the two index fingers to his lips.

  “Liar,” Alador fired the accusation right back at his uncle. He knew damned well before his uncle could turn his eyes to outside conquests, he had to bring his own isle under a single rule. It was hidden and hinted at through every history and tactical lesson he had received so far inside the caverns.

  Luthian reached over to pick up the bottle and refill his glass. “It seems our truce of honesty has ended in both directions.” He picked up his glass and toasted Alador. “All right, yes, this had occurred to me.” He took a sip, letting the tension build in the room. “If the Daezun were forced to turn to Lerdenian for help from the weather’s unrelenting onslaught, a war could be avoided.”

  “So many people would die before that happened. The villages would turn to one another for assistance, first…The Daezun would have to be desperate before they turned to Lerdenia for help,” Alador pointed out coldly. His eyes narrowed as he watched his uncle.

  “Alador, shall we be frank with each other?” Luthian shifted his posture – he was no longer the doting uncle, but the ruler of the Lerdenian people. He crossed his legs, very relaxed in his revelations. “I will rule this isle.” He took another sip of wine before continuing. “I will do it regardless of whether or not you help. You have the power within you to ensure that this happens with the least amount of loss to your people. People, I will remind you, that cast you out, and yet you still seem to harbor a kindness towards. If you decide to not help me in this task, well then…” He paused, swirling the wine in his glass, “I fear a war like no other will be fought upon this isle. You have seen what the Blackguard can do. I am willing to wait until enough are trained to insure that the Daezun fall. I am a patient man; I can and will wait for the right time.”

  “You have maybe three hundred Blackguard. That’s hardly enough for an invasion,” Alador pointed out, working hard to look casual despite what he was learning from his uncle.

  Do you think you are alone, Alador? Do you think that you are the only bastard your father spawned? Why do you think Lerdenians travel at the time of your ridiculous mating circle? You are, but the first of the crop now coming into my keeping.” He eyed his nephew with cold calculation. “I assure you that there is no love for you in your father’s heart.” Luthian’s tone contained some mockery and a hint of sadness, like he pitied Alador for not being able to see this.

  “You are but the first of the army I created. The first of the half-breeds that, as they come into power, will be cast from Daezun arms and into my own.” He gestured open arms with both arms, his wine glass sloshing slightly. You are the product of my patience.” Luthian let this harsh realization wash over Alador. “Every mage out at circle has a spell of enchantment to insure they are chosen as much as they can endure throughout the night. Nights…Like the one your father spent some thirty years ago in Smallbrook.”

  Alador’s cake had been halfway to his mouth as Luthian’s cold, calculated words washed over him. He set it down, no longer hungry. He could feel the blood drain from his face; Alador had always feared this; always suspected that his father had used some sort of spell on his mother. She always became giddy as a middlin when Henrick was around. “My father, he knew of your plan to breed this army of castoffs?” Alador asked in an almost deadly whisper.

  “Of course he knew. Henrick likes his women and was more than happy to have a good excuse to bed as many as he could. I am quite sure he has a woman in every village. You have seen him with women, did you think he held your mother in some special regard?”

  Luthian snorted in contempt and sipped his wine casually. “He detests the simple village life the Daezun insist on clinging to.” Luthian swirled his wine, watching his nephew squirm with a cold smile. “He used to whine every time I sent him out to keep the good will or to check on you. Once he even went as far as to complain because he wouldn’t be able to wear a new robe to a ball.”

  “You’re lying.” Alador stood slowly. Anger began to course through him as he looked down at his totally calm uncle.

  Luthian shrugged. “Ask him, Alador. Ask him, yourself, if he knew what I was doing. Ask him if he loved your mother all those times he crawled into her bed. Ask him how many siblings you actually have. I doubt he truly knows.”

  “You bastard,” Alador hissed angrily. “Why tell me this? Why break the trust I was building here?”

  Luthian didn’t answer immediately. He picked up a small sandwich and took a bite, looking at it as if to appreciate its fine flavor. “First, you are the only bastard in this room. My parents were properly bonded.” He looked up at Alador. “Secondly, you deserve the truth. We did promise that when we first met. Lastly, you seem to be forgetting that you're only truly safe place is in my good will.” The man’s tone held a deadly edge of confidence as Alador stood over him, hands clenched.

  Luthian slowly set his wine down and picked up a cake. “Go ahead, Alador, strike out at me if you can. I know that you want to.” He didn’t even bother to look at Alador, he merely sat there with an imperious grin.

  Alador wanted to; he wanted to take every offensive spell he knew at that moment and send them crashing down to wipe that smile from his uncle’s face. He wanted to leave nothing in that chair for anyone to identify. But he knew that his uncle would not have shared this – would not simply sit there calmly – if he did not have some plan. Not to mention that any spell Alador could cast would likely be nothing more than a mere irritation in the face of the power Luthian held.

  It was then that Alador realized that the Blackguard were in the room, facing him, standing on either side of the door, when they usually stepped out of the library during Luthian’s meetings with Alador. He did not look directly at them, but he could see both of them tense and ready. He knew that look; he’d seen it a hundred times in practice.

  “Well played, Uncle.” Alador answered softly. “I will not give you that satisfaction. If you want me to grovel, you will have to act first. I will not raise my hand to you.”

  Luthian popped a cake in his mouth with a satisfied smile. “Smart man. However, I do not want you to grovel. Wait!” He put up one hand and shook his head. “I promised honesty – it would be nice, but not necessary.” Luthian grinned up at Alador as he dusted off his hands. “I want you to learn what is needed to bring the storms. I know you have enough power to do it. I have received reports of how easily simple spells come to you. I found these reports disturbing since you always seemed to struggle with the simplest of tasks I have given you. This tells me that you are also gaining skill in the game for power.” Luthian’s calculating gaze brought a skip to Alador’s heart. Luthian continued triumphantly. “I know about your skill with a bow. A little weak with a sword still, but progressing. I rea
lly have no need of you at a battlefront, so that small flaw does not worry me.”

  Alador stood there for a moment, trying to regain some kind of center. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he could feel his face flushing with the anger that coursed through him. His mind was racing. He had already known; his father – no, Henrick – had warned him that his uncle was conniving and cold. Henrick had failed to mention, however, how much involvement he’d had on the plans for Luthian’s manipulations. Had all these lessons been the result of this attempt to bring forth the power Luthian wanted? Were the reports from his instructors in the guard, from Keelee or from Henrick himself? How long had Luthian known that Alador had been faltering his power?

  “I find myself suddenly quite tired and no longer hungry, High Minister. With your permission, I will withdraw for the evening. You have given me much to think about.” Alador bit out the words tersely.

  “Of course, Alador. I am sure you have much to consider.” Luthian held up one finger. “One thing before you go.” He waited until he was sure he had Alador’s attention. “You will learn this spell. It is not a request, but an order. If I catch you downplaying your kill or power, I will kill you. Do you understand?” His voice was quiet, but hard, and held no room for argument. Luthian did not bother rising as he usually did when Alador had left in the past. He sipped his wine, watching his nephew.

  Alador stared at him for a long moment; he could hear the shifting of the two Blackguard behind him. “Yes, I understand.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door. The guardsman opened it as he approached. Alador stopped and turned back. “One thing of my own, uncle.” He twisted the word with sarcasm.