Bloodmines: Cheryl Matthynssens

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  He looked around wildly and spotted the weasel Guarin crawling out of the canal covered in blood, garbage and feces. Sordith retrieved his other sword and waited, blades held low as rain ran down them in bloody rivulets. Guarin made it to the bridge and, seeing Kester’s bleeding corpse, tossed his blade aside.

  Sordith eyed the man coldly. He would have killed him there and then, but he suspected that the wounds Guarin had suffered would fester from exposure to the filth in the canal. It would be a lingering, agonising death, almost certainly involving the amputation of a gangrenous leg - always supposing that Guarin lived long enough to endure it.

  Sordith motioned to the blood-soaked corpse. “Drag that to the dais and see it properly displayed. Make sure that everyone understands the same fate will befall anyone who dares to make such an attempt in future.” Sordith growled and motioned with his sword when Guarin hesitated. “NOW, or I will just kill you where you stand.” The pool of blood around Kester was diluting in the falling rain, small red streams spreading down the bridge.

  Guarin moved swiftly: grabbing Kester’s hands and pulling the dead weight back the way they had come. Sordith stood motionless, blood spilling down his leathers, intent on not showing weakness. Only when Guarin was far enough away did he choose to sheathe his blades.

  He turned on his heel to stride to Madam Auries’ haven of rest and recuperation. He trusted her to see to his wounds. The crowd parted wordlessly as the victorious Trench Lord made his way through.

  It did not take him long to reach the brothel. Once inside, he leaned gratefully against the door jam with arms crossed, winking lewdly at the young women eyeing him. Here, he felt somewhat safe. He and Madame Auries had been friends for turns.

  One of the girls hurried to his side. “May I see to my Lord’s needs?” she murmured huskily, her eyes wide with awe.

  “As much as that would probably be an hour well spent, lass, I fear the Madam will need to see to my personal needs today,” he drawled. The girl noted the small pool of blood forming on the floor and her eyes widened.

  Madam Auries hurried out of a nearby hall, one of the girls having already spread the word that the Trench Lord was on the premises. She hurried to Sordith’s side, took one knowing look and put an arm around his uninjured side. She helped him towards her personal parlor.

  As she passed, the Madam quietly gave firm orders. “Get me needle, thread, and hot water.”

  “And rotgut,” Sordith added wearily as they left the main room.

  “And a stiff drink for his lordship – bring the bottle,” Auries called back as she led him away. Only once he was out of sight of all the other women did Sordith allow himself to let out a moan of pain. He accepted her help as she lowered him onto a settee. “Here, lay back and let me have a look,” she told him firmly. She deftly began to loosen his leather vest.

  “I remember a time where you said that and we spent hours doing more than looking.” He coughed and groaned as his attempt to tease fell flat. He didn’t protest when she moved his hand from the wound in his side.

  “By the Gods,” Auries whispered as she traced the flow of blood from cuts in his leather armor. The severity of the wounds had been hidden by the confining leathers.

  Sordith winced as she probed carefully. He coughed, then snarled out wearily: “No, by an idiot.” He had planned to make light of the wound, but the adrenalin drained from him and pain claimed him. Sordith sank into dark oblivion.

  Chapter Twenty

  It took Alador two days before he could finally really see the airstones. Pruatra had shown her displeasure at his incapacity more than once, casting doubts as to whether Renamaum was present. When he was finally able to sense them - to truly feel and see them - he realized that they were everywhere. Rena had been right: there was no such thing as empty air. It was filled with constant movement.

  The dragons each took turns working with him. Henrick sat by smoking his pipe, whittling, and watching. It was not lost on Alador that when he was working with one of the two younger dragons, Henrick and Pruatra were often deep in conversation. Rena was better at explaining mechanics, and Amaum was better at interpreting what was said using concepts that Alador could understand. The true lessons came from Pruatra, who pushed him to the point of exhaustion.

  She had Alador speeding up the air stones, and then slowing them down. Often, she would have him speeding up half while slowing down another half to create wind. Soon, he learned how to choose what to speed up and what to slow down to direct the wind. Every evening, he would fall into an exhausted sleep.

  He was famished all the time; he now understood why Henrick ate so much. The dragons were hunting for themselves, so they would leave Henrick fish or haunches to cook for the two mortals. There were rarely any leftovers. Alador ate between every lesson, feeling the drain on his own reserves every time he tried to do more than focus on a single task. He was pushed so hard that he was losing all sense of time; all that mattered was the next task.

  He had just finished eating after such a session when Pruatra approached him. “It is time you made a true storm,” she stated quietly. She drew her head high as she gazed at him confidently.

  “I... are you sure? A simple rain or wind storm exhausts me.” Alador rose to his feet.

  “I am sure. Henrick tells me that you must soon return. We are running out of your allotted time.” Pruatra dipped her head slightly.

  Alador realized then that at least a week had passed. He sighed. A fortnight had not been enough time, he thought.

  “All right... So, how do I begin?” He had learned not to gainsay Pruatra. Her answers were rarely confusing but her temper was short.

  She turned in the direction of Keensight’s cave. “Slow the air stones over the cave and bring the temperature down. Hold the slow air stones there.”

  “I... I don't really want to anger Keensight by bringing a storm down upon his cave,” Alador stammered.

  “He is not home,” Pruatra stated.

  “Are you sure?” He looked at Pruatra, wondering if he should question that.

  “I am sure.” She glanced at him with that familiar air of irritation.

  Alador sighed. How had Renamaum kept this female happy? Her daughter had been right: she did have a quick temper.

  “A lot of fish!” came the thought.

  Alador just chuckled. He turned towards Keensight’s cave and was able to swiftly cool the air.

  “Good, now add water to the air,” the dragoness firmly instructed.

  Alador fed water into the air, watching a cloud form above the ridge. He fed it till he could sense a gentle rain falling.

  “Speed up the airstones above us,” Pruatra hissed, her tone condescending and cold. “But do not let go of the rain that falls over the cave.”

  That took all of Alador’s concentration. The air around them slowly warmed from the fall chill it had held. His head began to throb as he held both activities in focus.

  “Now, bring them together,” Pruatra coaxed with a bit more approval. “Slowly now, bring the racing stones below your cloud. Let heat and cold combine."

  Alador was so fixated on moving air stones that he did not at first notice what happened when the warm air slid underneath the cold rainstorm.

  “Let the fast stones go,” The dragoness voice held a touch of pride. “And watch.”

  Alador refocused on the actual sky rather than the stones, and watched as a big anvil began to form. The cloud began to darken. He let the storm go and watched as a few bolts of lightning flashed, then, slowly, it all began to dissipate, though they were assaulted by traces of the wind and rain. Its effects were impressive, although short-lived, because Alador had let go of the storm as instructed.

  “To make a true storm, you will need to feed it longer, but I do not feel like being a target for lightning today.” The amusement in her tone was not lost on Alador as Pruatra wandered off.

  Alador stared in wonder at what he had created, and did not look away u
ntil only wisps of clouds remained. He followed Pruatra over to the favorite spot she had chosen over the last few days and watched as she had stretched out. “What about a simple snowstorm?”

  “Slower air stones, much water,” she answered. “It will be harder when the sun is warm most days. The sun affects weather,” she muttered with closed eyes, “and when it is higher in the sky, the air stones dance happily.”

  “Are dragons affected by cold, Pruatra?” Alador asked, a trifle concerned.

  “Many hibernate when the air is cold, and sleep for longer periods of time. Red dragons, for example, seem to hate the cold. They will either sleep away winter or keep their caves warm with flaming rock piles,” Pruatra murmured.

  “Pruatra, if there are dragons living in the northern Daezun lands, you must warn them to prepare. It will be a hard winter there.” Alador eyed her as he stood near her head, and he kept his hands clasped behind him.

  This opened Pruatra’s eyes. “How do you know this?”

  “Because I will be the one delivering it,” Alador declared.

  “I did not teach you these things to have you bring harm to my kin or the People.” She rose up as her face fins bristled out like miniature wings from her cheeks.

  Henrick seemed to appear from nowhere. “Nor is it the boy’s intent, Lady Pruatra. But some things must be done to bring about a greater good. Alador warns you now so that the warning can be passed. Dragons are far more immune to a hard winter than his own people. He will be warning them as well. “ Henrick put both his hands out firmly. “Trust your mate; the boy cannot go against his own geas.” He placed his hands upon Alador’s shoulders, creating a united front.

  Alador felt relief at Henrick’s sudden appearance. He watched carefully as Pruatra slowly laid down her facial fins. “You know his plan? You agree, fire mage?”

  “I do. It is a hard plan, but one that the leader of the betrayers will not suspect.” Henrick’s voice was soothing.

  “You wear the skin of the betrayers; why should I believe you?” she hissed. Alador glanced back at his father, as the dragon had a good point.

  “You don’t have to believe me, Pruatra. You know Renamaum. As long as he has the power to manifest, do you not think he is guiding the boy?” Henrick squeezed Alador’s shoulders as he kept Pruatra’s gaze. “Well, except when they both lose their tempers at the same time, then neither one of them seems to have any sense,” Henrick chuckled.

  Alador frowned. He could hardly see how telling her that was helping, but for once he held his tongue. He had not meant to anger her, only warn the dragons to the northeast what was coming, so that then they could choose to hibernate or move to warmer climes.

  Pruatra slowly settled, her face fins laying back but still quivering. “I do not like it,” she grumbled unhappily.

  “I don’t like it either, Lady Pruatra,” Alador finally spoke up again. “The woman I love, my family, will be the ones to feel the stress of extra mouths to feed as people move south. I will be warning everyone I can that won’t carry my words to the High Minister.” He moved out of Henrick’s grasp and saluted the dragon. “I swear it.”

  “There will be death.” Pruatra’s stance was stamped in every word.

  “Such is the way of war, Lady Pruatra. You know this better than any,” Henrick gently offered. “But to do nothing, to let Luthian do as he wills, will mean many more deaths, and the increased hunting of your hatchlings.”

  “Why can’t we just eat him?” Pruatra spat out, steam hissing from her nostrils.

  “Another will just take his place. To effect real change, to really make a long-term difference in this battle, a ruler sympathetic to all races needs to be set securely in place.” Henrick pushed his point strongly.

  Alador blinked in surprise at Henrick. “I am just ending the bloodmining and getting rid of my uncle. I want no part in a grand war to grind the Lerdenians underfoot. Besides, Daezuns don’t think that way. They work collaboratively to create a peaceful and content life, something Lerdenians seem to know nothing about.”

  “A good point, which is why it will need to be someone who understands both cultures.” Henrick tapped his lip thoughtfully.

  Alador shook his head. “Don’t even look my way. That describes most of the Blackguard, and even yourself. I want no part of ruling the isle. I want a peaceful vale like this, where Mesiande and I can raise a family.”

  Henrick grinned at Alador as he clapped him on the shoulder. “I am not looking your way. I am just stating what needs to occur for real change. However, your footsteps are rather cast before you, and while you meander, fate keeps bringing you back to the path.”

  “No, Renamaum keeps bringing me back to the path, and when I am done with his geas, I will be free to tread my own path,” Alador defended.

  Rena sat up suddenly as if realizing something. “What if bloodmining is not my Sire’s geas?”

  “What? It has to be!” Alador spun around to look at Rena with a hint of panic.

  “Did he tell you so?” Rena demanded.

  “Well, not directly, no. He sent dreams,” Alador said defensively.

  Rena moved to Alador and pushed him slightly with her muzzle. “Dreams have many meanings. Are you sure the meaning you found was the one intended?” the young dragoness pressed. “Not so long ago, you saw yourself as a mere tool, a vessel. Now, you are a pseudo-dragon. Meanings change as facts reveal themselves.”

  “Wait, I never said I was a pseudo-dragon. I don’t even know what that is! Pruatra called me that.” Alador glanced at all of them.

  Amaum chuckled. “He is rather dense at times. I would have thought our Sire would have chosen one more easily molded.”

  Henrick looked at Amaum. “More easily molded is more easily broken,” he pointed out.

  Alador felt as if he had lost control of the conversation completely, and in addition, they were indicating that he was missing some important point. “Well, what exactly is a pseudo-dragon?” he finally asked.

  “It is not a true dragon, but has many characteristics of a dragon. They are seen as kin. Usually, because they are small, they are fairy mounts.” Henrick moved between Rena and Alador. “In your case, you are slowly absorbing Renamaum. When he is completely absorbed, you will be as much a dragon in many ways as Rena or Amaum.” His hand moved between the dragons and the young mage. “You are just smaller and, well, lack a tail and wings.” This clearly amused Henrick as he grinned mischievously.

  “Are you saying I am turning into a dragon?” Alador was in a full panic now.

  Rena moved around Henrick and put a comforting wing about Alador. “You won’t look like one,” she offered shyly, “…if that helps.”

  “What will I look like?” He looked around at them all in genuine concern.

  Henrick laughed. “As you do now, hence pseudo-dragon: you will still look like Alador, but you will also be dragon kin.”

  “When will this change start?” he asked with concern.

  “It has been happening all along,” Pruatra sadly added. “It is what Renamaum spoke of when he said he could not speak long. Soon you and he will be one.”

  “I won’t be your mate, will I?” He looked a bit worriedly at Pruatra.

  All the dragons rumbled. “Don’t be silly; you are far too small and ugly to be my mate.”

  Alador breathed out his relief. While the ugly part stung a bit, he also did not want any large female dragon to insist on his being her mate. He only wanted one female, and she was not here.

  Rena still had a large wing draped around him. “I don’t think you’re ugly,” she quietly purred in his ear as she nuzzled him gently.

  ‘Time to exit the wing hug’, thought Alador. He politely stepped free. “You all think that Renamaum plans are more than closing the bloodmine?”

  “Time will tell boy, time will tell.” Henrick strode off to wherever he kept disappearing.

  Alador watched as they all separated. Pruatra sank into the lake, followed by A
maum, as was their custom mid-afternoon. Alador realized they had left him with Rena and looked over as he heard her move.

  Rena moved closer and sat on her haunches beside him. “You should try the storm again. Dame says you must leave in two days.” She glanced at him in what Alador considered a suggestive manner, and appeared to flutter her eyelashes. “OR… we could get to know one another better.”

  Alador blinked in surprise and with more than a trace of foreboding as he realized what the dragon was suggesting. “Rena, your father lives within me. We are different species. I don’t think us ‘getting to know each other better’ is a good idea, at least not any better than I know Amaum…” He was doing his best to sidestep her advance without hurting her feelings too much. “So, let’s practice … for now.” He turned his attention to the end of the lake and began again as Pruatra had instructed.

  Beside him, Rena sunk into a pout, or at least, he thought it was a pout. He totally lost focus on the air stones as the realization struck him that another broomstick between the eyes was definitely in the cards.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alador went for a walk along the lake, needing some space away from the younger dragons for a time. Rena had insisted on staying close to him, and Amaum took great joy in teasing and playing pranks on his sister. While the two made him smile, it also made him miss home. They reminded him of his relationship with Sofie, and that brought up a sense of homesickness he had not felt in a while.

  He stood staring out at the lake. The morning was crisp with the promise of winter. Alador could sense something different within himself since he had started casting the weather spell. There was this sense of strength and completeness that he could not remember having felt before when he cast his spells.

  It had been less than two turns, he mused, since he was a powerless village outcast. How far he had come in that time: when he didn’t even have the funds to buy an apprenticeship or leave home. Now he no longer had to worry about slips, and he had the power at his hands to bring a fruitful harvest or to destroy it completely. His mind moved to Mesiande’s words about the man he was becoming. What kind of man did he wish to be?