Inwardly, Jon breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course, High Priestess… immediately.”
Jon bowed low and then turned and strode from the room. His heart was pounding with the realization that Morana was forming an army, an army of undead. How could she possibly raise so many? Where would she keep them as she turned them? Or would she try to do it in a single ceremony? Turning one took an enormous effort for a death mage and usually could not be held for very long. What had she learned that he did not know? It seemed he would be spending many hours in the library as soon as this business of mass death was finished.
Chapter Twelve
Before Alador could do anything, he had to find something to eat. He felt if he didn’t he was going to collapse. He had consumed nothing since prior to the storm. His magic drained him and his dragon-self was gnawing at his gut. His mind could not help but reflect on Henrick and his enormous appetite. Alador felt he could rival his father, and his dragon-self, in his need to feed at this moment.
It was too crowded to use the amulet to teleport himself home – there were watching eyes everywhere. He decided as much as he promised Nemara to check on the egg, it could wait a half hour more until he filled his belly. He headed toward the cavern kitchens.
When he arrived at the dining hall there was a multi-layered line out the door and down the corridor. He walked on past and went to the back entry to the kitchen. He and Jon had found this once after a particularly strenuous day and they had helped themselves to an apple pie sitting on a cooling rack.
This time the kitchen was abuzz with cooks, helpers and the massive cleanup crew. The minute the aroma of the food hit him, the beast within him was unleashed. The closest thing was a prep table full of vegetables. He grabbed a handful and gobbled them down, hardly taking the time to swallow, much less chew. Just past that someone was stirring a pot of soup with savory potatoes and hunks of meat bobbing in its bubbling broth. He pushed the man aside and started ladling up a bowl.
“Hey! What the…” the cook protested. “Who do you think you are.” The man tried to elbow him aside.
Everyone in the busy kitchen turned at the man’s protest to stare at the Blackguard who was raiding their kitchen.
Another veritable mountain of a man strode forward. In truth, he was too tall, and way too broad, for either race in the city. Alador had a fleeting thought that he might be a troll from some foreign island captured by Luthian and set to work here in the caverns.
“Out of my kitchen!” the troll man shouted as he grabbed Alador at the collar and by his sword belt from behind. He started toward the door to eject him.
“Master Chef…” one of the dishwashers called, “Don’t… Please.” The young man ran forward and put a restraining hand on the troll’s arm. “That there is Lord Alador. The one what shattered the Testing Dome. I overheard the High Master sayin’ ‘e done ‘is best to stop the wave. Ain’t ‘is fault ‘e couldn’t.”
The troll stopped. Alador hung in his grip, the bowl of soup still in his hand.
“Well, I suppose that does make a difference.” The man mountain released Alador who stood licking his lips with a glazed expression on his face.
The troll took an empty tray to one of the prep-tables and scooped all but a thigh and leg of a turkey they were chopping up off the table. He placed the tray to one side and then physically moved Alador to the table. Pulling up a stool, he plopped Alador down on it.
“Don’t move!” he ordered. “We’ll bring you something to eat.”
Alador did not wait. He immediately dove for the turkey leg and started devouring it.
A succession of dishes was brought to him by various cooks and helpers over the next hour. His servers exclaimed at how much, and how quickly, the slender young mage ate, but he was totally focused on getting the food into him and ignored them.
At the stroke of the hour, the troll man came back to the table. He folded his arms across his broad chest and looked down his long nose at Alador as the young man shoved yet another huge hunk of bread and sausage in his mouth.
“I must admit I appreciate the compliment that you have eaten everything we have set before you, but frankly, you need to leave. I could feed a troop of foot soldiers with what we have fed you so far.”
Alador swallowed and smiled at the man. “I will replenish the stores from my home,” he offered the cook. “I greatly appreciate your hospitality.” Alador rose to his feet. He was satiated enough that he could take time finding a quiet place where he could use the amulet to get home and check on the egg.
He rubbed his greasy hands on the towel some helper had given him earlier. He stuck out his hand to the cook, his disappearing in the troll’s huge hand.
As he turned, he picked up a chicken leg and waved it at the kitchen crew. “Thank you all and keep up the good work.”
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As soon as Alador found a place where he could use his amulet to transport him home, he pulled it loose, focusing on his bedroom and casting the spell. Manifesting at the foot of the bed, he breathed a sigh of relief. Alador always feared that someone was going to move things about and he would appear with a chest for a foot - or worse.
Using a simple cantrip he changed into a simple robe, tied at the waist. He strode into the bathing room and was relieved to see the egg still sitting as he had left it, partially submerged in its rocky nest in the large pool.
He undid the robe and hung it on the wall. Stepping into the water, he made his way over to the egg. The water was slightly cool, and Alador’s dragon-self complimented him on the fact that it had not cooled too much to damage the hatchling, but was not hot enough to change the gender of the egg; his dragon memories had shown him that keeping it cooler guaranteed it would be a female.
To Alador, the water was comfortingly warm after hours of cold driving rain. He carefully turned the egg over as he had seen Nemara do a hundred times. He ran his hand over the sapphire scales and fingered the silver lining. The shell was beautiful.
“What manner of creature are you, I wonder?” he murmured to the egg.
The egg lurched, falling sideways toward him. Alador laughed and sat on the ledge, sitting the egg on his lap. “Don’t be in such a hurry little one, the world is a very unkind place for some.” He smiled at the egg. He did not care what came out of it. It was the only part he had of Rena.
“When this storm is over, I am going to take you to see your Grandmother. She is a nice dragon, for the most part. She can teach you everything you need to know about being a dragon. Most importantly, you will be safe there until things here are done.” He sighed and carefully laid the egg back in its stone nest.
He moved across the deep pool and hopped up to the side. He carefully lit the small burner near the pool. It took a few tries as his fingers were wet, and it didn’t occur to him that he could just remove the water from them till the third try. He shook his head at how easy it was to use magic and yet, he often forgot he had the ability. His thoughts led him to Sordith as he laid some meraweed on the burner. Sinking back down into the water, he let tears fill his eyes.
So many had died today, was Sordith among them? Had he lost his brother? Those he could trust were few in Silverport, he could count them on one hand - Nemara, Bariton and Levielle so far. The sheer impact of the storm and the damage it had done to property and goods was but one level of damage.
His thoughts led him to his uncle. Could Luthian have walled off the trench? Did he detest the lower class so much that he would murder them en mass? It countered his politics completely, especially his teachings around the use of resources. There were so many unanswered questions. The smoke from the meraweed began to fill the chamber and Alador laid back and closed his eyes. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted.
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Alador drifted into a dreamlike state. He smiled as he stared dow
n at the ocean from the council tier. A little voice called out, ‘papa’ and he turned. There, on the green lawn of the tier, sat a little girl. She was about seven years old and was holding a glowing bloodstone in her hand. She had taken such delight in the fact she could make it glow. Alador remembered when Henrick came yearly to test him and he could not get a spark out of it.
Alador didn’t feel confused that she had called him papa. It seemed right for some reason. He moved to her and knelt.
“You are getting very good at that Latiera.”
He scrutinized the child. She had long white hair and the most amazing sapphire eyes. She was Daezun for the most part, but you could see the Lerdenian influence in the angles of her face.
“I learned something new today from Grandmother.” She slowly stood up, her blue smock clearly showing that she was not one to avoid dirt or act the proper young princess. “Watch me.”
“I am watching, princess.” Alador smiled. “Let me see what you can do.”
Latiera grinned and closed her eyes, opening both hands before her. One filled with water and the other fire. Alador stared in disbelief. A water mage could not handle fire, and usually the reverse was true as well.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
Latiera giggled. “I figured it out all by myself. Grandmother calls water and Grandfather calls fire. They both have been teaching me, since my sphere has not been revealed.”
Alador’s vision suddenly shifted. The top tier was engulfed in a raging fire. It was so real he could feel the intense heat. Latiera screamed and he threw up a protective shield.
“Daddy?” the child said in a questioning voice. She reached out her little hand and touched his face. He was instantly pulled back to the present.
He dropped the shield surrounding them and put his hand over hers to douse the fire with a great deal of water.
“Are you okay, Daddy?” she stood peering into his eyes.
“I’m fine, little one.” He would talk to Henrick about his vision; he also needed to find out how such a young mage could call dual spheres. For now, he took the young girl – his daughter! – by the shoulders and asked, “What has Grandfather told you about using fire?” He was trying to be gentle with his reprimand and did not want to step on her excitement.
Latiera’s face fell into a pout. “I was just showing you.”
He could hear her disappointment.
“Sweetheart, the fact that you can do that is amazing. I can’t even do that.” He lifted her chin to look her in the eyes. “This time was fine, but you said you had been practicing. Have you been in the practice room?”
“No,” she admitted.
“When you use spells that could damage things, you may not practice anywhere but in the room. I will make sure that your escorts know to let you enter alone.” He looked up and around to spot her personal guard. The guard nodded that he had heard.
“Really?” She threw her arms around his neck; on his toes as he had been, he was set off balance and they both collapsed into a heap.
Alador was laughing at her excitement. “So, has either of them made you wet and dry dirt a million times?”
“No, why would I do that? It has no purpose.” She laid on his chest looking at him with those great big eyes.
“Your grandfather would not let me do anything else with magic until I could fill the dirt with water and pull it once again.” Alador winked at her. “I think he likes you more than me.”
“He does,” she sighed, “I am cuter than you.”
Alador chuckled. “That you are, princess, that you are.”
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Alador was startled out of his dream. He looked around, uncertain what woke him, when he realized the egg was bobbing next to him. Had he seen this hatchling’s face? He pulled the egg over and when he did, he realized there was no other explanation.
“So, welcome to the world, princess,” he rubbed a scale with his thumb, trying to share the happiness the dream had brought to him. “Latiera… It is a fine name. If you are the girl in my dreams, well then, that shall be your name.”
He realized he had tarried too long in the comfort of steam and meraweed’s intoxicating effects. He carefully put the egg back into the nest and then put a couple of the rocks a bit higher so it would quit bobbing or rolling out of its safe confines.
He pulled himself wearily out of the pool and dried off. He put on the robe and went to the bell pull in his bedroom. His gentle tug was all that was needed. The door opened and his personal attendant, Radney, stepped through it.
“You have a need, Lord Alador?” His soft question held a hint of deliberate mischief; he still refused to drop the Lord title.
Alador sighed. At least the man had honored his request to be called Alador and not Guldalian. “I need to be up at first light, and I fear I will not wake on my own. I need you to come wake me with breakfast.”
“Of course, Lord Alador.” He bowed low and waited to see if there was anything else.
“That is all, thank you.”
He watched as Radney pulled the door shut, then turned and flopped into his bed. It was the thing he needed most. Yet sleep did not find him for a long while; his mind was filled with images of a seven-year-old mage that could hold fire and water at the same time.
Chapter Thirteen
Alador had only just left his bed when he received a summons from the High Minister. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face his uncle just yet, but at the same time, he had appearances to keep. He changed into robes more fitting the council tier and was soon headed up the stairs to the highest level of the city.
The morning fog hung like a shroud over the tiers. The rain and winds had ceased, but the sound of dripping water reminded one of the catastrophe of the night before. The sounds from the city were muted and did not have the usual clamor of a busy morning. There was one new sound, the sound of pain. At times, it was far away and muffled, other times close and loudly demanding. Pain of injury… pain of loss… pain of devastation…
He showed his pass to the guard mindlessly, a routine done hundreds of times. This time, much to his surprise, the guard stopped and redirected him.
“High Minister Guldalian requests you join him in the council chambers,” instructed the guard.
It was rare that he got to sit in on council, but this morning he was sure it was to discuss the storm. He swiftly strode to the council area of the final tier. He was not sure he wanted to sit in on any of the accusations that were bound to be thrown about.
As he approached the council doors, the sound of angry voices increased his hesitation; although he could not make out individual words, he knew they were not pleasant. He paused and nodded to the guard, one he had run into on the tier many times before; Blackguard tended to be the main contingent for guarding the council tier.
“How long have they been sounding like a hornet’s nest?” Alador inquired.
The guard looked at the door and back at Alador. “Since the doors closed, Lord Guldalian.”
Alador grimaced and drew a couple of deep breaths before he nodded to the man to open the door. He slipped into the room, hoping they wouldn’t notice him for a few minutes so he could assess the major points of contention.
“There is no mage that would dare wall off the trench like that without your order!” The mage speaking was from Nemara’s sphere, the green tones of his robe reflecting his status as a high-level nature mage.
“Apparently, there is…or was.” Luthian put both hands out palm up before him. “I swear I had no hand in this.”
While Alador wanted his uncle removed from power, he also knew the city would be devastated by a power struggle in the wake of the disaster. His eyes darted around the table and he was surprised to see Lady Caterine was not present. She was always jumping aboard on one side or the other.
“I assure you that we have the culprit, we just can’t question her.” Luthian
pointed to the empty chair. “Lady Caterine was found dead, but not by the storm’s blow. She clearly had been murdered.”
“How convenient,” muttered Lady Aldemar. She led the healing spheres and she was usually quiet in council.
“High Minister, if I may?” Alador called from where he stood.
Luthian turned to him, looking rather relieved to see him. He nodded for Alador to approach and he stepped aside so the young mage could address the whole room.
“I was shocked, as I am sure all of you were, to find the trench blocked off.” As much as Alador hated it, he had to defend his uncle until he found out the truth of this matter. He had to at least give them all time to plan the High Minister’s overthrow. An overthrow with a chance of success. “Ask yourself ‘Why?’ Why would the High Minister do such a thing? Would he not be wasting valuable resources?” Alador hated referring to people as if they were so much property, to be used as such, but that was how the higher tiers saw them. He had to speak the language of the mage-born. “There is not a single resident above the third tier who would work the mines. The loss of the miners is going to be a devastating blow to the city. Add to this, our current Trench Lord, a man of business and learning, also seems to have been lost in the storm. Another resource wasted.”
Alador spoke slowly, moving his eyes about the table as his uncle had taught him. He took in who was following him and who discounted him before the words left his mouth. “I submit to you that this was a plot to remove the non-magic citizens from the city.” He had already heard Luthian trying to lay the blame at Lady Caterine’s feet and opted to follow in that vein; she was dead and could no longer be harmed. “We all know how vocal Lady Caterine has been about the filth and stench of the trench. It is not surprising, therefore, to consider that she may have done this on her own.”
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