Bloodmines: Cheryl Matthynssens

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  He brushed her hand from his face roughly. “The fact you didn’t give him the case is the only reason I won’t kill you. However, Keelee, I’ll never trust you. Return to Sordith; I gift you to him.” He pushed her back from him and the closeness of the bed hit the back of her knees forcing her to collapse down onto it. Alador added. “He’ll see to your keep and well-being.”

  “You are sending me to the trenches?” she clutched the bed cover on either side of her, her knuckles white.

  “No, Keelee,” he sighed out in exasperation. “I am sending you to the Trench Lord, who actually gives a damn what happens to you. I suggest you don't betray him as you did me.” He picked up her cloak from the end of the bed and tossed it to her. “Get out!”

  Keelee caught the cloak and stared at him. Her face was white and her eyes wide as the tears slipped free and flowed down her cheeks. “Please…” she begged softly.

  “Don’t make me throw you out of the caverns, Keelee,” he snarled. “Go to Sordith.”

  Keelee turned and fled from the room. She did not close the door and her echoing soft sobs did nothing to appease the anger that Alador felt at finding her in his room. He sat on his bed and flopped backwards, his hands over his face not only to hide from his own pain and frustration, but also to shield the soft scent she had left in her wake.

  He had not needed that interruption in his thoughts, as he was playing a dangerous game; one that not only risked his own life, but everyone he cared about. He groaned at the thought of Keelee and her ability to distract him. His plans required focus, and the last thing he needed was distraction.

  He felt no sympathy for her. She had chosen her path: he might have kept her close if she had not betrayed him. He lay there for some time, just trying to regain a sense of peace and balance.

  When he finally calmed the anger that had overtaken him, he changed into the armor of the Blackguard. Alador was thankful that Sordith had sent it around so quickly. He felt safer with his armor donned and his sword again on his belt. He set out to find Jon.

  It took him a bit of time to find him as some of the rotations in class had been changed since he had last been here. A member of Jon’s sphere directed him to Jon’s room. He found the door and knocked lightly, realizing he had never been inside before this.

  “Come,” the bland voice called, reassuring even from the other side of the door.

  Alador opened the door to see Jon’s feet on his bed. The way the bed was situated behind the door, he did not see all of the death mage until he had fully entered the room. Jon looked up at him with that face that held no emotion. Alador realized he had rather missed Jon and his cold quips.

  “About time you crawled out of under the Trench Lord’s skirt.” Jon sounded irritated. He did not look up from his book, a sure sign of Jon’s displeasure.

  “Hey, I nearly died,” Alador pointed out, a little hurt by the cool reception. “Give a man a chance to heal.” Alador glanced around the room. The walls were covered in chalk drawings of a woman dressed in armor. She reminded him of a dragon in many ways: actually being depicted with a dragon in some of the drawings, and in others with a strange, green, flowing spray from her hands. Some of the drawings were explicitly sensual.

  “I gave you a chance to heal, but that damn rogue of a nursemaid had you so closely sealed in that I couldn’t even get news if you were mending or not,” Jon said, affecting indifference and still not looking up.

  “Yeah... Sorry about that.” Jon had not moved from his position on the bed. He was sitting up with feet crossed before him. Alador indicated the end of the bed. “May I?”

  “Suit yourself.” Jon continued reading as if intent on ignoring Alador.

  Alador sat at the end of the bed, facing the drawings. “Careful Jon, I might think you missed me so much you are fighting back tears of joy at having me to yourself again,” Alador teased. “Perhaps I should offer you a hug.” He smirked at Jon, hoping playful words might soothe the mage’s displeasure.

  “The moment you do, I will fill your mouth with the vilest concoction I can imagine,” Jon murmured with his curiously menacing monotone, still not looking up.

  “Who is this on the wall?” Alador asked, hoping to draw Jon out with a change of subject.

  “The dark goddess, Dethera,” he answered, finally looking at the wall. “She won’t stay out of my dreams. Lately, they have been incessant.” Jon sighed and frowned. “They have been so intense that I have been talking to a couple of men who have returned from guarding in the North.” Jon looked at Alador, the intensity emanating from him suddenly concerning. “Did you know that there are no black dragons in the bloodmines?”

  Alador looked back at Jon in surprise. “No, I didn’t know that.” He moved to sit cross-legged on the end of Jon’s bed. He was truly puzzled as to why that would be. “Maybe their eggs are harder to reach,” Alador offered as a possible solution.

  “I don’t think so.” Jon closed the book and set it aside. “It would be to her advantage if other dragons fell by mortal hand. Dethara seeks the souls of mortals and dragons alike. The more war there is, the more power she holds from the souls of the fallen.” Jon looked at the drawings on the wall. “What if she is telling the Lerdenians where to find the other nests?”

  Alador blinked in genuine surprise. “The gods created the dragons, why would one sacrifice almost all of them?”

  “Power,” Jon stated with a menacing coldness. “Maybe she is not content in just being ‘one’ of the gods,” Jon suggested.

  “Isn’t this the goddess you serve?” Alador was growing worried.

  “Yes and no.” Jon admitted. “An odd predicament. I do not condone the sacrifice of other flights of dragons, and yet the one from whom I draw power appears to be doing just that. I did not choose the black sphere; it is where my powers manifested,” Jon blandly pointed out. Jon looked at him for a long moment. “I have asked to be assigned.”

  Alador was deeply disappointed. He had hoped to involve Jon in his plans. Now he was learning that Jon, bound in duty to his goddess, might very well be forced instead to oppose him. “Why?” he asked.

  “I am going to see for myself,” Jon answered. “I am going to the bloodmines. It was easy to get the assignment as very few volunteer.”

  Alador tensed as he felt Renamaum shift in him angrily. “How can you go guard that atrocity?” he growled.

  “I have a decision to make, my friend. It will not be an easy one.” Jon caught his eye with deep seriousness. “I will either follow the path of my Daezun blood and look for weaknesses in the mine to help bring it down, or I will follow my Lerdenian blood and goddess to protect her will,” Jon made this announcement so simply that the horrific impact of it took a moment to sink in. Jon took a deep breath. “I can do that best by seeing first hand what occurs within those hidden walls.”

  Alador knew that few were aware of the way to the mines. Having a man inside would be a benefit. In this case, depending on Jon’s decision, it could also be devastating. “If you decide the bloodmine abomination is Dethara’s will and that you will follow her, when next we meet..." - Alador swallowed hard - “it will be as enemies.” He felt true sadness at having to admit this.

  “Indeed, that’s true. I make you this solemn vow: whatever my decision, I will never kill you,” Jon stated with cold bluntness.

  Alador chuckled nervously. “Why is that not reassuring?”

  “Because you know there is a lot I can do that won’t kill you, I suspect,” Jon casually stated. He shrugged. “I know you hate the mines, and I know from our talks that you wish it to end. I hope that if we meet on the field of battle, it will not be on opposite sides.” Jon paused looking back to the drawings on the wall. “But this decision is one of faith and moral code. It is not one that I can make based on a brief friendship. It will define the man I will become.”

  Alador felt a sense of sadness. He knew Jon well enough to know that he was not going to be able to convince him to take anot
her path. “Then I ask that whatever you decide in the future, you guide me to a few guards I can place a basic trust in before you leave.” He looked up at Jon hopefully. “Apparently my judgment of what is trustworthy is tainted.”

  “I do know a few mages that hate Luthian and all he upholds. I suspect they will be willing to help in any matter that opposes the High Minister. I will give each one a paper with Dethera’s mark and tell them to seek you out.” Jon’s offer was solemn and sincere. He swung his feet off the bed and sat to face the wall.

  “When do you leave?” Alador asked.

  “In two days.” Jon seemed completely unaffected.

  “I will be sad to see you go,” Alador admitted.

  “You will just be sad not to have anyone to save your ass when they come calling with swords and daggers.” Jon’s attempt to tease and his brief smile were hardly humorous.

  “That’s true,” Alador admitted with a frown. “But you've truly been a friend, and I don’t have many of those.”

  “Must be that winning personality you have,” Jon grinned again ever so slightly. His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

  “Yes, it must be that.” Alador chuckled. “I leave tomorrow to take care of another matter that, unfortunately, I cannot share till you decide your path.”

  “So tonight is our farewell,” Jon pointed out.

  “Yes, yes it is.” Alador smiled at Jon. “Let’s go grab dinner and a farewell drink.”

  Jon swung off the bed. “That is the best thing you have said since you got here.”

  The two men left Jon’s room. The evening was spent on lighter topics, good stiff drinking, and a couple of willing bed mates.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lexital were strange creatures that could carry a single rider because of a natural dip in their strong necks. These unique birds had a curved beak with what looked like the sail of a boat rising above both beak and eyes. Their necks were long and serpentine, moving side to side as they steered through the sky. Their eyes were red and trimmed in aquamarine, and their wings varying shades of blue with a ridge of red that seemed to arch out mid-feathers. This was especially noticeable in flight.

  Alador’s lexital landed gracefully beside his father’s own bird. The flight had been exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. He had only had a few minutes of instruction. Fortunately, his lack of skill was redressed by the lexital’s inclination to follow her mate rather than test his skills. It also did not help that he was still suffering the lasting effects of his farewell to Jon. They had stayed up far too late and drunk far too much mead.

  Alador unbuckled the saddle harness and slipped shakily to the ground, eyeing the great bird with amazement. He held the reins in his gloved hand, petting the lexital with the other to show his appreciation for its compliance.

  “A bit unnerving the first time, as I said.” Henrick spoke with amusement . He came around wide to make sure the bird could see him

  “Yes, a bit. However, I see why you like flying. The view was indescribable.” Alador was still caressing the lexital’s head, while the bird was happily letting him loosen the shafts on her crest’s pin feathers.

  Henrick smiled. “I do love the feel of the wind on my face. However, do note that the higher you fly, the colder that wind becomes.” Henrick held his hand out for the reins. “Here, let me tether them. They won’t fly any closer to Keensight’s cave. I have tried, and they have panicked every time.”

  Alador handed them to him and stepped back from the bird. He did not even want to imagine what a panicked lexital was like. “So, we walk from here?” He looked about. They were in Daezun lands, judging by the terrain. It was the familiar rock and scrub brush that he knew so well. To the east of him, hills rose up, covered randomly in rocks as if the gods had tossed them down. Some of the boulders appeared larger than a dragon.

  Henrick was tying the two birds to a larger bush with a solid base. “YOU walk from here,” he stated in an amused voice, glancing over at Alador.

  “You’re not coming?” Alador looked at him in surprise. “You said you’d take me to him.”

  “I have brought you to him.” Henrick gestured up at the hill rising up beside them. “However, he said if I joined you at the cave, he would finally eat me, and this time I don’t think he was playing.” Henrick looked at Alador with obvious concern. “You don’t have to do this. We are only an hour’s flight south of Smallbrook. We could fly up there and I could sneak Mesiande to you. You could make things right with the girl,” Henrick offered. “I am not sure you are well enough for this, son.”

  “I told you not to call me that.” Alador glared at him, his response snarled in an almost feral manner.

  “I am not going to stop just because you have some fool idea that I lied to you. I will say it one more time. I have never lied to you.” Henrick sighed in defeat. “Maybe the dragon can knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

  “I know you used a spell on my mother.” Alador’s accusation seemed to be solely centered on this one statement.

  “I have never said I didn’t,” Henrick stated. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care for her or enjoy her company. It doesn’t mean I don’t give a damn what happens to the child born from the pleasures of that night.” He glared back at Alador.

  Alador shuddered at the thought, not wanting to imagine his mother in that way. “It was a use of dark magic, a magic may I remind you that you said was a violation of all the rules of magic.” Alador glared at him, the accusation still strong in his voice.

  Henrick threw up his hands and sighed out in defeat. “I don’t want to fight with you when I may never see you again. Please. What is done is done. You exist because of that night. You should be grateful.”

  “Grateful that I am the result of a dark magic used in violation of a sacred trust from the dragons themselves?” Alador continued to belabor this point. “That might make the damn dragon eat me in itself.” He looked up at the hill. “Which way do I go?” he demanded.

  “Alador, a glamour spell doesn’t subjugate the will of another.” Henrick grumpily stated. “It merely makes the one casting it a little more appealing. Your mother was free to choose as she wished. I did NOT compel her.” Henrick’s tone implored Alador to understand. “Besides, I have changed a great deal since the day you were conceived. May I point out that it was nearly thirty turns ago?”

  “As you said, what is done is done.” Alador said with a terse finality. “Now, which way do I go?” Alador repeated the question, not looking at Henrick.

  Henrick watched his son for a long moment before turning in defeat to get a pack off his own lexital. “There is a path just across the stream near that large tree next to the cliff face.” Henrick pointed it out before continuing. “It will take you up the hills and on into a hidden valley. Within that valley there is a lake. Find the stream that feeds it and follow it to its head. You will see a beautiful waterfall and if you look up then you will see the cave.” Henrick brought him the pack. “It is a half day’s hike to the valley, and maybe another two hours to the cave.”

  Alador had been listening intently to Henrick’s instructions. He eyed the indicated tree that Henrick had pointed out as he absently took the pack. “Will you be here when I am done?”

  Henrick nodded. “I will wait here for three days. If you are not back by then, I will come looking, and if I don’t find you, well, then, I will assume that Keensight has eaten you.” Henrick smirked slightly. “I would prefer not having to make that apology to Luthian. Sorry, I let a dragon eat him. I am not quite sure how I would explain that...”

  Henrick sighed: it was clear that his stubborn son had stopped listening and his attempt at humor had failed. Alador had nodded tersely and strode off, heading for the tree. He was determined to speak to Keensight, now more than ever. The mage needed the help of a dragon, and Keensight was the only one that either he or Henrick knew how to find. He only hoped the dragon had not decided to take off for a couple o
f weeks rather than speak with him. As he moved to part the brush heading out of the small clearing they had landed in, he heard his father call after him.

  “May the gods be with you; and for once, watch that tongue of yours!” Henrick’s tone held true care and concern.

  Alador just smiled coldly as he moved on, not looking back. He was done watching his tongue. If those that crossed his path did not want to hear what he had to say, they had best not ask. He made his way across the stream, keeping an eye on the tree that Henrick had indicated. Everything he had planned, everything he needed. now depended on winning Keensight over to his cause. He found the path and began the climb. When he was high enough, he looked back to reassure himself that Henrick had kept his word.

  Sure enough, he could see Henrick moving about the clearing setting up a tent. A part of him still wanted to trust his father, but he could not get Luthian’s words out of his head. His father had known what he was about when he entered his mother’s circle. Alador could not find it within himself to let go of that painful fact and move on. He had managed, after Sordith’s scolding, to let go of some of the other wrongs that he had held Henrick accountable for. This one continued to haunt him.

  He rolled his shoulders and shifted the pack to a more comfortable position before continuing to follow the trail. It was faint in places, and in others there were rock slides that had obliterated it altogether, making the climb more difficult. More than once, he was forced to backtrack to find the path again. In addition, the higher he climbed, the more biting the wind became, no longer constrained by the small vale below. He pulled his cloak about him, securing it more tightly to keep the wind out. The cold did not bother him as much as the cutting edge on the wind.

  While he made his way up the path, his mind raced through the hundreds of ways he could approach this dragon. Apart from Henrick, he had never heard of anyone who had spoken to a dragon. Even in the old tales, there were no actual instances of Daezun and dragons communicating after the Great War. He knew that they had communicated all the time before the great betrayal of the pact.