Bloodmines: Cheryl Matthynssens

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  Alador could feel the dragon’s amusement coursing through him. “Do all dragons suffer from hubris?” he asked. “It seems to be a consistent trait.” The internal conversation continued as they approached the others.

  “Yes, so remember that, as you become increasingly dragonlike…,” Renamaum cautioned.

  “I will keep it in mind.” Alador smiled. “We will talk more, I am sure,” he quipped, and smiled at that thought as they entered the clearing.

  Henrick eyed him and handed him one of the supply packs. “I had to send the lexital home, as letting it be a target for predators was not an option. You will have to use the medallion to return us to Silverport.”

  “Are you sure I have it down well enough?” Alador asked worriedly as he took the pack. Its weight took him by surprise and it fell heavily at his feet.

  “Let us hope so. I really don’t wish to be part of your bed.” Henrick grinned at him, helping him don the pack.

  Once he was encumbered, Alador turned to the three dragons standing side by side before the peaceful lake. The scene still struck him as surreal. He moved closer to Pruatra. “I will never be able to repay you for the help that you have given me,” he told her, meeting each mournful gaze one by one.

  Amaum took a step forward and bowed his head low. “You honor our father. Complete his geas, and the debt is repaid.” Amaum’s words held an edge of formality.

  Pruatra nodded in approval to her son. “Well said,” she seemed to cough out.

  Rena looked at Alador. “We have already said our good-byes. I have your promise held deeply.”

  Alador nodded to Rena. He had best not put this off longer or he would stay here till the snow fell. Then again, the air felt cold enough that it was probably not long off. “I will visit again when the first buds form in spring: to fill everyone in on the details of the plan. We will strike the bloodmines at the new moon following. Until then, may the gods keep the wind under your wings.” He bowed low.

  Pruatra nodded as their gaze met. Alador felt a lump in his throat, but the dragoness said nothing in response. The three took to the air… It still amazed Alador that such large and heavy creatures could fly. His hair whipped about his face in response to their first few wing thrusts. He watched them until they were small blips, and then turned to Henrick.

  “There is one more thing I would speak of before we go. I have a problem I cannot solve alone, and one I didn’t wish to speak about till the dragons had left.”

  Henrick hefted his pack a bit up off his shoulders. “You have my attention and… curiosity.”

  Alador nodded and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it from the recent tousling of the wind. “Renamaum has said that I have two paths concerning him, and both have their benefits and their costs. I truly do not know which way to go.”

  “I see.” Henrick frowned. “What are the options?”

  “I can totally absorb him and truly become a pseudo-dragon. I will, in effect, know all he has ever known,” Alador sighed. “But he will cease to exist. Or I can let him live inside me, gaining what I can that will not dissolve who he is, and he can counsel me.”

  “I can see the benefits of both. What costs do you see?” Henrick tapped his lips considering.

  “Well, if I absorb him, then Pruatra and his children will lose him a second time. I don’t know if I could bear to do that to them. And if I did, what if they no longer wished to help me?” Alador looked down at his feet. “Yet if I let him go on living within me, I know there are things he feels strongly about. What if something I have to do to complete his geas is not on a path he foresaw? If that happens, he could assert control, or at the very least be a distraction in a critical moment.”

  “It seems to me that you already know what your choice should be,” Henrick answered gently.

  “I know, I know; but… I don’t like it.” Alador frowned. “It's just that I gain from either choice, but at a price.”

  “The choices a man must make when facing war are never without cost: never entirely good and right, but hopefully least bad and wrong.” Henrick took his son’s hand and clasped it firmly. “I swear to you, I will follow you to the very end. I know Pruatra feels the same way, so I have a suggestion…”

  “What is that?” Alador looked at Henrick in amazement.

  “There is a shape-shifting spell that only lasts about an hour. I can find that spell for you. Let Renamaum take his form one last time and bring proper closure to his family,” Henrick eyed his son closely as he let go of Alador’s hand.

  “That is even possible?” Alador returned his father’s gaze with deep concern.

  “Yes, for a short time.” Henrick answered. “Renamaum would know how much time he had, and he would make good use of it.”

  Henrick was right: Alador knew that he had to absorb all of Renamaum or he would never complete the geas. He could feel that in the very depths of him. This suggestion from his father would at least allow some dignity and closure. “Then find the spell. We need to make this happen soon. I am leeching Renamaum away piece by piece...” Alador was worried about the reactions of the three blue dragons. Renamaum could explain it much better.

  Henrick nodded. “I will get everything ready.” Both men shifted uncomfortably in the emotion-filled silence.

  “Okay, so how do I bring you with me with this thing?” He pulled the medallion from beneath his tunic and looked at it.

  “We just have to be in contact,” Henrick answered, moving closer to Alador.

  Alador then understood why Henrick had insisted on his putting the pack on: he needed both hands free - one to hold the medallion and the other to grasp his father. He closed his eyes and pictured his bedroom at his father’s house, choosing a space well away from any furniture. When he felt centered on his view of his room, he whispered the words…

  A strange sense of movement and magic washed over him. The feeling was both exhilarating and a bit nauseating; much like falling in love for the first time, he mused. When the ground felt solid under his feet once more, he slowly opened his eyes. He hoped to the gods that he had not just put them somewhere else or in anything. He slowly smiled as he realized they were both safe in the unoccupied part of his room.

  “Well done, son.” Henrick smiled down at him. “You are stronger than even I had given you credit for. I cannot imagine what you will be able to do when you have fully taken in Renamaum’s gift.”

  “That was amazing,” Alador whispered.

  “Dragon magic usually is.” Henrick pulled free of Alador, who had not yet thought to let him go.

  “Henrick…” Alador was unsure of how exactly to ask this question.

  “Yes?” Henrick took off the pack.

  “Are you under a geas from Keensight?” Alador asked. “Is that a part of your secret?”

  Henrick looked to his feet before finally looking up at Alador. “In a manner of speaking... Ask me no more, boy. All you do is beg lies from my lips. I cannot tell you more right now.”

  Alador eyed the obvious regret written on his father’s face. “All right. It… I just felt some similarities in what you said yesterday. However, I will ask no more for now,” he promised.

  Henrick nodded. “I will leave you to sort this stuff out. Have a servant carry off what you don’t think you need or want. When will you see Luthian again?”

  “Isn’t there some big ball tonight or tomorrow?” Alador asked, considering his father’s question carefully. He shrugged the pack to the ground.

  “I believe that it’s tonight. I didn’t think you cared for such pomp and circumstance...” Henrick looked at Alador almost hopefully.

  “Well, I am not due back to the guard until tomorrow. I think it’s time that I made an entrance in my own right, rather than traipsing after my uncle in the shadow of his power and position,” Alador mused.

  “What do you mean, exactly?” Henrick’s look changed from hope to one of concern.

  “I think I will publicly claim my birthrig
ht as his heir.” Alador was amused by the look on his father’s face.

  “Oh, now I am going! I need to make sure I arrive before you. I want to see the look on Luthian’s face when you claim your position as a right, rather than a result of his largesse.” Henrick put his hands together as if praising the Gods.

  Alador smiled. “I think that Luthian needs to see that his ‘storm mage’ comes at a price. I can’t see a better way of making that clear in the public domain. He has already claimed me: so it is time I took my place as a Guldalian.”

  “I had the perfect robes made for the next ball. I’ll let you see to the packs…” Henrick turned and hurried off make himself more presentable.

  Alador chuckled. He had no idea that Henrick was so fond of such public events. He had not seemed that fond at the dinner they had been forced to attend; maybe he just did not like his brother’s dinners, Alador mused. Alador had never been to a ball, but he understood that there was dancing. He forced away the image of Mesiande the night of the trader’s feast and the homesickness that welled up within him. He had been forced to endure a few lessons from a dance master, insisted upon by both Henrick and Luthian. He knew he could pull off one or two of the simpler tunes.

  He turned and moved to his balcony, looking out over the city and off to the forests. Now, what to wear? It would need to be more spectacular than anything that Luthian had created, or at least comparable in excellence. It needed to make a statement of his sphere and his power. He sat staring off into the woods until finally an idea came to him.

  He moved to his closet and changed into the black leather pants that signified membership of the Blackguard. Moving to the mirror, he then formed a dark blue, pleated knee-length tunic cut away at the front from the waist down, showing his uniform pants and shining boots beneath. The tunic had sleeves at first, but he removed them so as not to become too heated when dancing. Over that, he created a full-length robe of silver, the sleeves draped slightly giving him freedom to move. Smiling, he added a significant detail to the back of the robe: a light blue panel on which was woven a large image of Renamaum, standing out proudly in a filigree of intricate silver and midnight blue threads.

  He surveyed himself in the mirror. Even so, the image was not quite complete…. The young mage added a hood to hide his drab brown hair and the odd white stripe, forming it to drape all the way down to his shoulders. He added a circlet to hold it in place with a shimmering blue stone. Turning in the mirror, he smiled. Even in Silverport he had never seen a mage so bedecked before, but then, he had never been to a ball, either.

  Alador carefully removed each layer, not wanting to have to form them again, and laid them out on the bed. He called for a servant and had him go through the packs with him. There was nothing in there he had any use for, and he suspected Henrick of landing him with a task he couldn’t be bothered doing himself. He grinned at the thought, whereas not a month before, it would have angered him. Dirty and famished, he ordered a bath and a tray of food, then sat down to plot on how to present himself tonight.

  Tonight, he would claim equal partnership with Luthian: a lie he would repeat a thousand times. Tonight, he would declare it for the first time before all of Silverport’s ruling mages. He smiled coldly. Dorien, his oldest brother, had told him to keep his enemies close. He could not think of a more fitting place in which to transform himself into the kind of skilled courtier that his father presented himself as. It would be harder for Luthian to make him disappear if thereafter he gained in popularity and surrounded himself with support.

  The steaming bath arrived and he sank gratefully into it. He realised he now understood Henrick in a way he never had. The memory of the cold words he had thrown at his father made him wince. By being a flirt and a gallant in court, Henrick had made it harder for Luthian just to do away with him. Any removal of Henrick would have to be made to look like an accident, or appear to have been carried out by other hands.

  The game that this city played had just got a bit more interesting. It was like the game he used to play with Terent: sometimes, you had to sacrifice pieces to win. However, the sacrifice had to be subtle: anything too obvious betrayed your intentions and against another skilful player often ended in a loss. He saw no difference in the game of politics that the Lerdenians played. Their game pieces were alive, but they were game pieces nonetheless.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Luthian stood near the dais of the main hall. The tables for banquets were cleared away, and instead, small tables of titbits and drink were set about. Benches lined the walls for those that would become tired of standing. His own corner was set up with comfortable chairs, far from the dais, as that was where the musicians would play from to project the music. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he nodded to the servants to let in the guests arriving early.

  He moved to greet each as they were announced. Eventually, there would be too many, but he always tried to have a morsel of conversation with those that had chosen to come early. He was surprised to see the Trench Lord, Sordith, was one of the early arrivals. He moved to welcome him with an outstretched hand. It always pleased him to see the concerned looks by others when he and the new Trench Lord were of one accord.

  “Good eve, Lord Sordith.” Luthian offered his arm and Sordith clasped it warmly. “I hope you are finding the transition to power is going well.”

  “Well, other than that strange riot that erupted right after you left my hall...” Sordith eyes met Luthian’s in a manner that let the High Minister know he was aware of the causes, “...things have been very quiet. Shipments have been coming as expected, and I have managed to reduce the overcrowding a bit.” Sordith held his hand against his stomach.

  “Oh?” Luthian looked at him in surprise. “How did you manage that?”

  “Upped the wages of the miners and offered to let them build homes in the mining excavations that have petered out while providing them with furnishings at cost.” Sordith smiled. “Production in the mine increased almost immediately by ten percent.”

  Luthian pondered this for a few moments, then slowly smiled. “So by investing a few slips up front, you increased your yield significantly. Wise man... I think I am going to like working with you.” Luthian’s tone held true admiration. If the man could improve conditions in the trenches somewhat, there would be fewer souls willing to throw away their lives in an uprising.

  Yes, he mused, he would have to keep Sordith around for a while. “I think I would like to have you at council meetings. I will have my convenor send you the proper passes and times.” He spotted another member of the council that he needed to speak with before the man was in his cups. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Sordith bowed, but not as low as usual, wincing slightly. “Anything to be of service, my Lord.”

  Luthian moved past him, intent on the council member. His mind was still on the Trench Lord, however, as the man’s physical discomfort had been obvious. He’d been severely injured lately, Luthian mused. How had such a man risen so quickly in the trench? He could only put it down to that quick mind, for he did not seem to be the archetypal warrior: it was usually a man of the sword who rose to the top of the dung heap in the lower city. However, he had clearly emerged the victor from a power struggle of the trench, and that could not be ignored.

  Luthian approached most members of the council over the next half hour. By far the majority were pompous fools easily led by their greed and sloth, but there were a few that he had to be careful of: men who would swiftly take his place if he faltered. He was ever aware of their movements, their bed mates, and even their preferences in particular habits and pleasures.

  He was surprised when his brother was announced. The High Minister had expected Henrick to miss this ball, as he and Alador were supposed to be in some remote area practising. Had the two weeks ended already?

  “Henrick Guldalian, Mage of the Fifth Tier and Master of the Sphere of Fire,” the doorman announced.

  Many eyes w
ere drawn to the handsome mage’s appearance. Luthian’s eyes narrowed as his brother almost immediately seemed to command the attention of the women present. Henrick seemed unaffected by the attention. Unlike his usual entrances, Henrick made straight for his brother, only stopping to give polite nods of greeting.

  Luthian picked up a goblet from a nearby table as his brother approached him. He handed it over, choosing to speak first. “I had not expected to see you,” he admitted, his tone only loud enough for Henrick to pick up. He looked at Henrick curiously.

  Henrick took the goblet with a smile. “Ah yes, well, Alador was quite insistent we make it back in time for your gathering.” Henrick snagged a plate of sweetmeats from a passing servant and set it close by before responding. “You do not often host such socially significant events.” Henrick popped one of the meats into his mouth as he glanced around at the swelling crowd of finely dressed mages.

  “Oh..." Luthian looked about for Alador, "Has he arrived? I did not hear him announced."

  “He was taking a frightful time dressing, so I left him behind. I didn’t want to miss the first dance. You know how I love to avail myself of the opportunities it presents.” As they spoke, Henrick was busy catching the eyes of different women and toasting or nodding to them. He didn’t seem to distinguish between bonded and unbonded, as far as Luthian could tell..

  “Yes: you hardly miss a dance if you can help it,” Luthian chuckled before taking a deep sip.

  The two men stood side by side in silence; each watching the crowd carefully until the music started up for the first dance. Henrick excused himself and set his glass down. Luthian made his way to his corner of choice. He usually did not dance, finding it demeaning to be on the floor apparently indistinguishable from the other nobles of the city.

  The High Minister smiled and shook his head as he watched Henrick make for the very desirable widow, Lady Thoren. The woman’s green dress sank so low between her breasts that Luthian was unsure how she kept them within it. Probably some small cantrip in place, for he had no other explanation as to how she curtsied so low and still maintained even a minimal amount of decency. He smiled, considering dispelling such magic, but decided it was not worth his time. Besides, how many mages would such a spell disrobe? He chuckled and returned his attention to Henrick.