Sordith nodded to her and found the vortex again before glancing back at the two men. He glanced back just in time to see Luthian erupt into flames. A gasp of alarm and some cheers sounded throughout the arena. Surely no man could withstand such burning flames upon his own body? Had Valmere used Luthian’s own sphere against him?
Luthian’s back was exposed, but for the moment … if he were alive… Valmere could not approach him. Sordith’s eyes found the vortex as they settled over Luthian’s discarded dagger. He watched wide-eyed as the dagger transformed into a lithe snake of fire. It was maybe two feet in length. It began to move towards the two men.
Looking back at the battle, he was just in time to see Luthian’s body crawl towards the vial as the flames slowly flickered out. The fire mage took the stopper out with his teeth and downed the potion. He was willing to let the vines reform around him to get this potion and the only reason that Sordith could think that a mage would do that is if the potion gave him a distinct advantage or if it were needed to stay in the fight.
Luthian had been able to shift enough within the growing vines to send fire out again towards Valmere. Valmere had been rushing in with dagger in hand and the mage was too close to avoid the flames. Valmere's arm burst into flame and he staggered backwards.
As Valmere was pulling out a vial and dousing his arm, Sordith looked for the snake. It had made up three-quarters of the distance to the two men. What was the purpose of the snake? Luthian had prepared it from the beginning, so Sordith knew it had a deadly purpose.
“This is it.” Lady Aldemar said with excitement.
Sordith glanced back to see Valmere approaching the now helpless High Minister. It was unlikely that there was to be any escape from Luthian’s rooted prison if the earlier body of fire had not totally freed the mage.
The crowd held its breath as Valmere knelt close to slit Luthian’s throat, his dagger poised. It would seem that Luthian was not resigned himself to this fate. A small flaming dragon seemed to erupt from his body, narrowly missing Valmere who dove to the side in surprise, his dagger skittering out of reach. Valmere and the crowd watched wide-eyed as the dragon circled back around.
Sordith’s eyes sought the snake. It was as if everything slowed down at that moment. Valmere grabbed hold of one of the vines that began to pulse with a strange green light, he pressed the thickening vine over Luthian’s throat. The small dragon was diving in towards the nature mage, flaming talons outstretched. Sordith watched as the small flaming snake coiled up and struck its fangs deep into Valmere’s calf then swiftly coiled about his leg.
Valmere let go of the vine as his pants leg burst into flames. He pulled a vial from his pouch and shook it over the flaming snake. The dragon disappeared as it struck where Valmere had been. The illusion burst into a shower of flaming stars.
The fire mage had managed to work one hand free, and he brought that hand up towards Valmere’s back. Even as the crowd yelled their warnings, fire shot out the high minister’s hand, catching Valmere in the rear. His pants went up in flames and Luthian did not stop, caressing the fire upward even as he was fighting the choking vines.
Valmere fell forward as his whole body burst in flames. It appeared to Sordith as if the fire came from within the nature mage, not from the hand of flame Luthian held before him. The screaming torment never left the man’s lips, but the torturous moments were etched into his face before fire filled his eyes and mouth. Valmere fell slowly forward into the dirt. The crowd erupted into a cheer as Luthian just fell back against the ground, the vines slowly withering about him. The dome turned blue once more and returned the way that it had formed, rising up, then snuffing out as it returned to the top.
Luthian was slow to roll up as he glanced at the nature mage. Valmere’s pants were still aflame, the rest of the corpse blackened. Luthian moved to the man’s body and waved his hand over the small snake. It disappeared and Luthian picked up a dagger from where the snake had fallen. He slipped it back into its sheath, the only sign of his own distress was the small quivering of his hand that Sordith did not miss.
Sordith looked over at his companion. Lady Aldemar had both her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were filled with tears as she stared at the fallen corpse. Sordith took a gentle hand and guided her from the councilors’ stand.
“I suggest you are not seen here, my lady. I suspect that things for many of you have just gone from bad to worse.” Sordith warned. “If he can rid himself of one, how long before he turns on the group that stands against him?”
Lady Aldemar just nodded and once clear of the booth, hurried off into the growing crowd that was now leaving. Sordith made his way up the stream of exiting Lerdenians and found the ramp down to the arena. The guards held him up for a moment till he flashed the medallion of his office. He slipped through the door and joined Luthian as he was leaning against the table where his robe still lay. Sordith took note of the three guards stood between the arena walls and Luthian.
“You know. If I am going to work with you, I would really appreciate if you didn’t cut things that close in the future.” Sordith crossed his arms and leaned against the arena wall. It was just tall enough to prevent him from sitting on it comfortably.
Luthian looked up wearily. His eyes were encircled with dark haunting bruises, and his pupils held a bit of flatness giving away how fully drained he was feeling. Despite his appearance, his sarcasm hung thickly between them. “I assure you, Trench Lord, I was hardly set to build suspense for your amusement.”
Sordith uncrossed his arms and swooped up the robe. His mannerisms were confident and flamboyant, but his words held hissed caution. “Best you are not showing any weakness right now,” he warned. He helped Luthian put the robe back on. He considered briefly that he could rid Alador of their uncle right here and now. By the time Luthian had buttoned up the red robe, Sordith had already discounted the idea.
Sordith pulled a small flask from his belt. “It burns going down, but it should give you enough to get you back to your manor.” Sordith words were so low that even the guards nearby could not have been sure of what he had fully said.
Luthian glanced at him appreciatively and took the vial. Downing its contents, he set it on the table, leaning on the surface with both hands. His eyes closed as he muttered. “Thank you, Sordith. If you would be so kind to watch my back, my guards can see to my immediate surroundings.”
This was as much an admission of weakness as any had probably ever heard from Luthian Guldalian. Sordith nodded. “Of course. We both know many that might wish to take advantage of a moment of weakness.”
As he followed Luthian from the arena, the trench lord could not help but admire his uncle. The man had fought to the end where many would have resigned themselves to their fate. Sordith was torn. He suspected that he and his uncle were far more alike than he wished to admit.
Surely there was a way of mending things here where he would not be forced to choose between his newly found brother and his uncle. He kept his hands on his swords as they made their way out of the arena, his face set in a formidable expression. It was not for the benefit of any that might attempt to kill Luthian in that moment. No, it was at the familial predicament he found himself in; Sordith could not help wondering if he had not been better off as an orphan.
Chapter Thirteen
Alador slept deeply, his body and mind exhausted from the trials of the day before. Between his body being transformed into a dragon, the exertions that Renamaum had put it through, to the shock that his mind had gone through from the spell: he had very little reserves left. His muscles complained at the exertion and his head pounded with thoughts that had been shoved into its depths
The tantalizing scent of food was what had drawn him from the depths of healing sleep. He sniffed and realized that his sense of smell had increased. Without opening his eyes, he knew that there was fresh bread, fruit, and sizzling meat. The meat was what had teased his senses, the smell of cooked flesh bringing him up from the
last vestiges of sleep. He opened his eyes and shielded them from the light, the intensity only reminded him that his head was aching. He sat up and groaned as every muscle protested.
He looked around the room and smiled. Every detail was vivid as he scanned the room, not just the color but the edges and angles seemed sharper. It was much as it had been when he had been in dragon form. His eyes were drawn to the table where the food had been spread out. A bath awaited him by the fire as well. He sensed the servant before he spotted him on the other side of his bed.
“Lord Henrick requested that you join him in his library as soon as you are bathed and well fed. He said a letter has come that needs your immediate attention.” The servant looked about. “Can I get you anything else, Lord Alador?” He moved forward to check the food table as he spoke.
Alador was frowning at the news of a letter. Who could have known he was here that would have sent written word? Did his uncle still have men noting his every move? He forced his legs over the side of the bed grimacing as he answered the servant. “No, thank you. That will be all.” The servant bowed and left quietly. Despite his body’s screaming protest at every move, he forced himself up and over to sit at the prepared table.
He started in on the meats first. Only after the sausages had been devoured did he turn his attention to the rest of the food that had been laid out. He moved to the bath and sank into the hot water before the small flickering fire heaving a sigh at soothing heat. The water eased some of the aches and quieted the distraction of his body’s complaints. Alador could have stayed there till the water cooled, but the word of a letter was too distracting for him to remain long in the bath. He swiftly dressed, donning a pair of leather breeches and a green tunic. He would don his uniform for the guard after he had spoken to Henrick.
He considered for a moment. Did he want to call him Keensight or Henrick? Probably better to call him Henrick so that he did not give away the secret that the mage had guarded so closely. He chuckled as he pulled on his boots. The signs had all been there, but it was so far-fetched that it had never occurred to him. He secured his lengthening hair at the base of his neck and left the room.
He entered the library with a confident step. Henrick looked up from his sorting of books and nodded to his desk. “It is a letter from the council. I do believe your test has been approved for I can think of no other reason for it to come with such formality.” He went back to his sorting of what he would take with him and what was to be left behind.
Alador’s heart began to race as he picked up the letter to see that held the seal of the council. He was not sure if he were excited or fearful. Had Luthian been true to his word and arranged for him to test as any other Lerdenian mage? He tore open the envelope and as he read, a smile spread across his face. He was glad that his back was to Henrick as he worked to settle his excitement.
“You are right. I will be allowed to test.” Alador exhaled the tight breath he had been holding. He did not need the training in the Blackguard now except in matters of the sword. Renamaum’s knowledge of spell casting was pulsing through him. He knew that he still needed to gain in magical strength, but knowing spells was no longer an issue. His mind raced over five or six spells that he had never considered. He put a hand to his head at the accompanied pulse of pain that resonated with the realization.
He turned, holding the letter out. “I have two weeks to prepare,” he stated.
Henrick turned from his books and moved to Alador to take the letter. “Two weeks? Why, whatever will you do with the extra time?” The sarcasm was more prevalent than usual. Henrick’s eyes held an edge of pride.
Alador grinned and his chin came up slightly. “I do have to regain strength and there are other matters to attend.” He plucked at his sleeve as if they were small unimportant things, then looked up at Henrick who was setting the letter on the desk. “I have a request,” his voice was low and warm, but there was a firmness to it.
“Oh, I recognize that tone.” Henrick chuckled and turned to face Alador. “My old friend is not completely gone I fear.” Henrick grinned at the surprise on Alador’s face. “What is it that you wish?”
Alador paused for a moment wondering what part of his words were not his own? “Take up residence outside Smallbrook.” Henrick went to protest, but Alador had no intentions of giving him the opportunity. He continued forcefully, “My mother is at her happiest when you are around. Just, I don’t want any half-dragon siblings.” Alador looked at Henrick with a bit of hope in his eyes. “She deserves to be happy. She has never taken a house mate, and I know Dorien is hoping to establish a home of his own if he hasn’t already.”
Henrick wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I hold your mother in a great deal of fondness and truly care for her.” He crossed his arms defiantly. “However, I am not the type to set down roots.”
“You were once,” he reminded him. Alador took a deep breath. “You both deserve a little comfort, and I need Henrick more than I need Keensight right now.”
“You do realize that I am the same being?” Henrick looked amused.
“Are you?” Alador challenged. “I think you have been playing a Lerdenian for so long you have become one.” There was a haughty tone to his voice that surprised him. Alador continued a bit more gently. “I don't really see Keensight prancing about a ball.” He pressed on before Henrick could answer. “Your words and insights might be similar, but as I hold Renamaum, you hold a piece of my father.”
When Henrick turned and puffed up his chest, for a moment even Alador could not deny the similarity between man and dragon. “I will have you know that these mortal balls are no different from prancing around the skies and dancing in and out of clouds to impress one another: It is just a prelude to cart wheeling.” Henrick defended. “Call it what you like, but such things are just another form of mating dance. I would point out that it is no different then the mating ritual your own people hold at the summer solstice,” Henrick reminded him.
“When is the last time you mated as a dragon, my friend?” Alador asked, moving to look the man in the eyes.
“That is none of your damned business!” Henrick blustered.
“Perhaps not, but if I am right then you have not in some time. Yet if all the rumors are to be believed, you are quite prolific as Henrick.” Alador casually picked up the letter and tucked into his tunic. “I suggest you think about that,” his voice held a sharp edge of sarcasm.
“Damnation boy, I think I liked you better as a whining fledgling.” Henrick puffed out.
“Too late. You and Renamaum took that choice from me.” Alador did not sound angry, more amused at the older mage’s expression. “Now you will have to sleep in the bed you both so painstakingly created.” Alador put both hands out palm up and bowed to the man.
“Yes, well he is not here to put up with the end result,” muttered Henrick clearly unhappy with that thought.
“As to similarities, you avoided the question. Will you go to Smallbrook?” Alador asked again. He moved to stand before his father.
“Yes,” he growled out. He suddenly shook his finger in Alador’s face. “But not to bond with your mother.” Henrick was truly flustered now.
“I think a little courtship would now be the most I am asking.” Alador grinned. “Like you usually do,” Alador paused and stroked his chin. “You will just be there more often.”
“I was thinking to still move about as an enchanter.” Henrick frowned at Alador’s words.
“Yes, well that won’t work long without giving away your use of travel spells as soon the roads become impassable for wagons.” Alador poured himself a drink then turned back to look at Henrick. “Besides, I need you to ensure that there is nothing out of place in the coal room. I will be coming to see Dorien in a week. Oh, and also, I will need the amulet.” He put out his hand for it.
Henrick rolled his eyes as he reluctantly pulled the talisman out of his tunic. “When did you suddenly become the one making all the decisions?”
Henrick griped.
“About a day ago now, I would think.” Alador grinned and took a sip. “Does it really pain you to give up one small treasure?”
Henrick pulled it up and off his neck. “It is hardly a small treasure.” He gazed at it longingly. “I am sure Renamaum had similar feelings when he flew the skies and had his own hoard.”
Searching his memory swiftly, Alador shook his head. “Renamaum’s treasure is hidden away, and he only visited it when he had something new he wished to add.”
Henrick’ eyes glistened as they riveted to Alador. “Well now that he is gone, surely you can tell me where THAT is.” He held out the talisman as if holding it hostage for the information.
Laughing, Alador swiftly snagged the amulet from where it dangled from Henrick’s hands as he shook his head no. “I might have need of that treasure to secure our plans,” he pointed out.
“I assure you that a dragon never has enough treasure in his pile.” The man looked genuinely put out. He stomped around his desk, putting distance from the younger mage who had clearly gotten under his skin.
“So lay out for me what is next,” Henrick said, sitting down at his desk.
“Well, I need to arrange with Sordith to send supplies subversively to the Daezun. I need to warn my brother of what is to happen.” Alador sighed. “I do not plan to tell him it is I that will be bringing the winter.” Alador took a sip of the strong wine. “He would not understand.”
“Good to know. I might have let that tidbit slip.” Henrick nodded. “What of Mesiande?” There was a softening of Henrick’s tone as he mentioned the middlin.
Despite being pleased he had not minimized Mesiande for a change, Alador still frowned. “I fear I have erred beyond repair there.” Alador admitted.
Henrick rolled his eyes. “Never think a cause hopeless till it is truly lost.” Henrick pointed out. “Until she chooses a house mate other than yourself, the battle is not over.” The mage tapped his fingers on the desk. “Actually, it is not lost till you are dead, after all, you could always just kill off such a rival.” He folded his hands together across his chest as he leaned back in the chair.
Pseudo-Dragon (The Blue Dragon's Geas Book 4) Page 13
