As they moved up through the tiers, Alador realized that the system was slow and inconvenient. One had to travel to the opposite end of a tier to move up. He also noted that there were no wagon accesses from the second to the third tier. A merchant would be forced to leave the city and go to the ramp to gain access to the upper tiers.
“Sordith, why don’t they make an access route straight up to the top tier?” he softly asked from his half step behind the Trench Lord.
“It is a defensive tactic,” Sordith answered.
“I don’t understand,” Alador frowned. “And why is there no wagon access to the third tier?”
Sordith chuckled. “Haven't gotten into classes on defense in the Blackguard yet, I see. Think about it. I am not going to tell you the answer.” He stopped halfway up the steps to the third tier and waited for Alador to sort it out.
“Well, there is access to the upper tiers via the bridge to the third tier from the plain,” Alador mused. “It seems to me more of a class separation than a defense strategy. I mean, those on the first and second tier seem to hold you in high regard, but I know from my own experience, they don’t hold much love for pure mages.”
“They see pure mages as a barrier between them and happiness as opposed to mere survival.” Sordith pointed out. “Owen, explain to my naive brother the defense strategy.” Sordith eyed his right hand, clearly expecting an accurate answer before starting the rest of the climb up the tiers.
“During a battle, there is a section of the ramp to the third tier that is dropped. This leaves an enemy with only one access into the city; through the trench. There is a walkway along the first tier that looks over the trench. Few tread it due to the stench,” Owen answered stoically.
Alador realized that any army seeking entry into the trench would largely be helpless targets to archers if there was such a ledge. “I see.” He eyed the first tier beneath them, unable to see this ledge because of the shops and houses that lined the street. “So it would be like shooting trapped prang,” he mused aloud.
Sordith clapped his brother on the back. “Hence the reason that a Lerdenian city has never fallen to the Daezun.”
Alador looked up the walls of Silverport as it towered up above them. “A fair strategy,” he murmured. “But I believe one that overlooks one major flaw.” He looked at his brother evenly.
“Oh, and what would you say that is? - given that it has worked for centuries?” Sordith looked genuinely curious. He flashed Alador a bemused look and continued up the stairs.
“What of a siege?” Alador turned to follow Sordith up the stairs.
Sordith chuckled, then answered with clear amusement. “One day, I will give you a true tour of the trench. The trench contains entrances to mines. When a vein is exhausted, the excavated space is used for storage. There are hundreds of such spaces below the city, even below your own mined caverns of the Blackguard.”
Sordith led them through the streets towards the next set of steps up. Alador fell quiet as he eyed the streets above them. He eyed the bridge that Owen had mentioned as they passed it. Sordith was busy making an obvious presence as he moved down the street, leaving Alador free to muse. He realized, as they moved up the tiers, that the only way he was ever going to get to Luthian in a battle was either by surprise or from above.
The only way he was ever going to have a hope of gaining access from above was to make peace with the dragons. If he could get the dragons to work with the Daezun, they could win this war that Luthian was planning. He sighed in despair. He had two major problems to overcome before such a battle could take place. He was as good as dead to the Daezun, and he had shot the one dragon he could approach.
Alador was so lost in thought that he tripped on the stairs to the fourth tier. He sprawled out behind Sordith, cursing as pain shot through his knee. Sordith stopped to give him a hand up. He rubbed his knee, chastising himself for not watching where he was going.
“Perhaps you venture out too soon?” Sordith’s query held genuine concern.
“I was lost in thought, not weak,” Alador grumbled, dusting himself off.
Sordith nodded to his hood that had slipped back as he spoke. “Well then, mind your step. We are almost there.” Sordith set off again.
Alador swiftly pulled the hood back down. Now more aware of their surroundings, he noted that while at the lower levels Sordith had been revered, almost doted upon, this was not the case as they moved across the quieter fourth tier. While the mages moved out of his way, there were condescending glances and a clear indication of dislike. Reflexively, Alador moved his hand to his sword hilt, as did Owen; he felt the tension mounting as the air around them seemed to grow discernibly colder.
“Sordith, it seems to me that it wouldn't take too much start a civil war within this city, would it?” He made sure none but the other two could hear him. Maybe turning the Lerdenians inward on themselves would work to weaken Luthian’s hold. Alador considered this possibility as he waited for Sordith’s answer.
Sordith also checked that no one could hear them before he answered. “You would think so.” He shrugged. “But the magic in the fourth and fifth tiers, combined with the power of The Council, keeps the city in balance.” He waited for a mage to pass before continuing.
“Occasionally there have been riots, but to be honest, it’s the lower tiers that suffer. That’s the reason for my position; not only am I a warden of the goods provided to the city, but I also keep the peace amongst those that live in the lower tiers. It is the lower tiers that pay with their lives, not the upper tiers.” Sordith’s answer was hard with clear resentment. He eyed a woman in a window who responded by slamming her shutters closed.
Alador thought about this as they walked through the quiet streets of the fourth tier. “...because they cannot access the upper tiers without great cost, because of limited entries?”
“And now you understand the layout of Silverport,” came the sarcastic answer.
“So it is a method of separating classes as well as of defense,” Alador mused aloud.
“Lerdenians are a proud and elite race,” Sordith answered as he led the way to the stairs up to the fifth tier.
Owen grinned from ear to ear. “Because we ARE elite. We hold the power of dragons and the swords of the Gods themselves.”
His boast brought a growl of anger from Alador that stopped Sordith in his tracks. Sordith spun and stepped between the two, catching the eyes of his suddenly furious brother. “Easy Al, Owen’s just saying what he’s been taught.” He put a hand on the mage’s chest and pushed Alador backwards to further draw his attention.
“He has been taught wrong,” Alador snarled as Sordith caught his hand preemptively.
Sordith winced as the build up of power sent a surge of current through him. “Control yourself before you draw the eyes of Luthian’s men,” he whispered behind gritted teeth, his tone firm and commanding.
Alador glanced up to see that indeed, the two blackguards at the top of the stairs were definitely watching them. He forced the surge of feral anger away, and the power slowly subsided. Sordith let go of his hand, tossing his arm away angrily.
Owen’s eyes were large and held confusion. “What’d I say?”
Sordith spun to Owen, and Alador noted his eyes were cold and hard as he snarled at the henchman: “I will explain later. This is neither the time nor place.” He strode on up the stairs, forcing both men to follow him.
Alador made a point of ignoring Owen. The oaf honestly believed that he belonged to some superior race because they raped and pillaged the very blood of dragons, harvesting them like a crop in a field. If this was what Lerdenian small ones were taught, no wonder they were arrogant.
If there was a superior race, it was the dragons who had not sought to destroy every Lerdenian city. Alador did not understand why the huge beasts did not rain fire and acid down upon the arrogant Lerdenian people. If he were in charge of the dragons, he would destroy every last glistening stone in the Le
rdenian crafted piles.
“Then we would be no better than those that attack us.”
The thought — voice — brought Alador to a halt. He glanced around to discover who had said it. He realized that it was the same tone and feeling he had experienced right before he had shot the red dragon, Keensight.
'Are you in me?' he thought to himself. Sordith’s question – was such a thing possible? - had made him wonder. There was no answer, and he felt suddenly stupid. He realized he was lagging behind and hurried to catch up.
He stared at Sordith’s boots as they moved onto the fifth tier. If any were to recognize him, it would be here. So watching Sordith’s boots let him stay somewhat indiscernible, but also allowed him to think. Was it true? If the dragons retaliated, would it make them no better? He did not think so. At some point, one had rise up and defend against the tyranny of others. He was so lost in these thoughts that he almost walked into Sordith when he came to a halt.
Alador looked up to see his father’s door. He took a deep breath to brace himself and let it out slowly. Henrick had lied to him at every turn, and yet he could not get Mesiande home or speak to Keensight without the mage’s help. He saw no alternative.
“Owen, stand guard here. Noone is to enter till I return, and I mean no one.” Sordith glanced over at his second and his firm command brooked no argument.
Owen merely nodded and saluted across his chest before turning to face the path from the doorway. He stood feet planted and arms crossed. Alador grinned. He would not want to take Owen on in a sword fight, but even more so, he would not want to take him on in a battle of fisticuffs. He was fairly sure Owen could put him out with a single punch.
Alador inwardly braced himself and opened the door. He knew it was unlikely that Henrick had barred him access. The servants were mysteriously nowhere to be seen as the two men made their way into the hall, their footsteps echoing loudly off the pristine floors.
Alador led the way to Henrick’s favorite room, the only one in the house with any true warmth. As he opened the door to the library, the familiar heat met the cold of the hallway. Alador had not knocked and stepped into the room as if it was his own, more out of habit than intent. Sordith followed and Alador heard him shut the door behind him.
Alador spotted Henrick sprawled out before the fire. He had one booted leg over a chair arm and he was crooked in the opposite corner of the chair. His other leg was outstretched towards the fire. The mage was staring into the fire, drink in his hand.
“Hello Henrick,” Alador firmly called out.
Henrick looked over then staggered to his feet nearly spilling his drink in the process. “Ahhh look, the angry son returns.” The mage was dressed in a simple dressing gown. Henrick’s hair was unkempt, and as he staggered to his feet to speak. Alador realized that the man was deeply in his cups. He had never seen Henrick out of control before and stood staring at him. Now he had no idea what to say, as he had never dealt with Henrick in such a state.
Sordith stepped beside Alador and with a great deal of amusement, stated aloud for both. “Ah, the gauntlets are already tossed, and Henrick has a head start on the wine.” Sordith eyed the table at the side of Henrick’s chair. The wine decanter held only a third of the liquid that had once filled its confines.
“I will have you know I am quite reasonable.” He gave an exaggerated bow and stumbled as he came up. Somehow, he did not spill the contents of his cup. “Come, have some drinksh.” Henrick indicated the bottle to his left, though it took a second or two for him to hone in on it.
Alador sighed softly. “I need him sober.” He turned and moved to the bell pull.
A servant swiftly opened the door in response. “Yes, Lord Guldalian?” The servant bowed low.
“Yesh, bring more wine. A lot more wine.” Henrick shouted out his command.
Alador moved closer to the servant, murmuring in low tones. “Bring tea, lots of it, and food,” Alador commanded. “Don’t bring more wine.” He looked at the servant then to Henrick. The servant followed his gaze and nodded indicating he understood. He repeated the bow and left.
Meanwhile, Henrick had staggered over to Sordith and put an arm around his shoulder. “That boy ish really depressing to be around.” He took another drink of his wine.
Sordith laughed and helped Henrick towards his chair. “Yes, he does have a rather serious manner. Didn’t you ever teach the boy to have a bit of fun?”
Henrick just shrugged and downed his glass before he spoke. “Tried... Boy doeshn’t have a nounce of joviality in him.” He moved unsteadily back to his chair and flopped haphazardly into it.
“That’s not true,” Alador defended with a frown as he moved back to the two men.
Sordith eyed them both and sat down in a nearby chair. “I would have to agree with your father. When did you last do something just for fun?”
Alador blushed and stammered, “Well… There … Um.”
Both Henrick and Sordith laughed heartily. “Besides that Alador... No man would deny that pleasure,” Sordith pointed out.
Alador realized that he could not think of anything since he had left Smallbrook. Well, nothing apart from being in Keelee’s arms. With a deep red hue and a clear tone of embarrassment, he crossed his arms. “Whether I do anything ‘just for fun’ is not the point,” he snapped.
Henrick’s eyes appeared to sober for a brief moment as his soft-spoken answer seemed to shout across the room. “I would shay that’s exactly the point.” His eyes held Alador’s for a long moment. He tried to take a drink and realized his cup was empty. “I need more wine.”
Chapter Nine
It took three pots of tea, Sordith telling stories, and a couple of walks on the terrace before Henrick had sobered up enough to hold a rational conversation. Fortunately, Sordith was quite adept at making Henrick laugh with tales of the nobility, as well as some of the things he had secretly observed. Alador watched and waited. He had removed himself from the conversation, having only one purpose for being here.
He used the time to consider his situation. Mostly, he dwelled on Henrick’s statement about not having any fun being the point. Now that he had thought about it, there had been moments of enjoyment. His favorite was the day he had upset Luthian at the pool in the High Minister’s garden. However, despite these brief moments of amusement, he wanted to go to a home he no longer had. How could he find happiness for himself and Mesiande within his current reality? A part of him longed to go back to the small glade he had dreamed about when he had been ill. When he thought about it even now, it had seemed so real.
He continued his internal review as Sordith and Henrick bantered about which dragon was truly the deadliest. Reality…? What was truly his reality? He was a mage who did not want to be one. Worse, he was in love with a woman he could not bring here. He lived in a city where he could not really trust anyone. Well, that was not quite true, because he trusted Sordith and Jon. He really needed to speak to Jon soon.
However, the truth was that reality was not leading to any happiness. Yet, he thought, railing against his own reality was doing nothing to improve it. If he did not learn to accept his situation, then both Henrick and Sordith were right: he would never be truly happy.
He groaned and placed his head in his hands as if trying to rub away the thoughts that plagued him. This drew the attention of the other two men. He looked up to find them both looking at him. “What?”
Henrick must have sobered enough, because, rather than the easy banter of the last hour, he turned his attention to Alador with more seriousness. “Why are you here?” he gently queried. “You made your position quite clear in our last conversation.”
Alador sighed. “I was angry and confused. I spoke rashly,” he admitted.
“So you didn’t mean the things you uttered?” Henrick pressed, a hopeful look on his face as he leaned towards Alador.
Alador met his gaze evenly, his eyes hard as the anger surged within him. “Oh, I meant them. I just shouldn'
t have said them.”
“That is hardly an apology,” Henrick pointed out.
“I'm not apologizing,” Alador rebutted.
Sordith shook his head at Alador and spoke softly. “Sometimes you are too damn honest.”
“And you not enough so,” Alador snapped as he looked at his brother.
Sordith pointed at himself. “Rogue, thief, Trench Lord… Not in my job description.” He winked at Alador.
Henrick looked between the two men. “Am I missing something here?”
“Yes,” Alador answered.
“No,” Sordith snapped out at the same time. He flashed Alador a warning look.
“If I am going to do this, if I am going to stick this out, I want all truths on the table,” Alador stated. He met Sordith’s gaze evenly until Sordith looked away. “Tell him.”
Henrick looked at Sordith. “Tell me what?”
“I should have left you to Aorun,” Sordith snarled, clearly unhappy as he crossed his arms and set his jaw.
“Yes, well, you didn’t.” Alador did not move from his tense position in the chair. His feet and shoulders were squared, though he had not stood. His eyes held Sordith’s in clear challenge.
Henrick looked between them both curiously. “Someone want to tell me whatever it is that you two are arguing about?” Henrick clearly did not like being in the dark.
“Fine!” Sordith snapped as he glared daggers at Alador. Finally, he looked at Henrick. He stood up and bowed low. “I have already presented myself to you as the Trench Lord of Silverport. It seems I am now to present myself as Sordith Guldalian, your bastard son.”
Henrick stared at Sordith open mouthed for a long moment. He finally closed his mouth and shook his head. “By the Gods, surely you must be mistaken?”
“I don’t think he is,” Alador stated. “When you stand side by side, I can see the resemblance.”
Bloodmines: Cheryl Matthynssens Page 8
