The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “The lower the tier, the simpler the dwellings and the more people there are to inhabit it. The higher the tier, the grander the home and the fewer people there are. Odd, is it not, that a home that could house a village of the Daezun houses just one mage here, his family and his servants?” Henrick sat down and picked up the steaming cup of tea that awaited him.

  “Why are there fewer people, besides the fact that the tiers become smaller as you climb?” Alador asked slipping into the seat at Henrick’s right. He was amazed to see the dishes before him, and he waited as Henrick began heaping food on his plate.

  “You must pass the mage test to a higher tier. There are fewer mages that can pass each level of testing,” Henrick answered, filling his plate high with some sort of round, sizzling meat, cheese, and bread.

  Alador sat and considered what his father had told him about Lerdenia during his visits. “You are of the fifth tier. Isn’t that the highest tier?” he asked, beginning to pull a small number of different foods on his plate. He recognized the eggs, so he made sure to get plenty of those.

  “Tested tiers. Yes. The fifth is the highest tier. There are two tiers above this. The council’s tier is next, and above that are the High Minister and the Council Hall.” Henrick was apparently in an affable mood this morning, and seemed willing to indulge Alador. He glanced over at his son, who picked at and tried out the new foods.

  “Do we have any other family besides your brother?” Alador liked what he’d tasted so far; the sizzling meat was spicy and left a bit of a bite on his tongue.

  Henrick shrugged and finished a mouthful before answering. “If there is, I am unaware of it. Our father died when we were young, and our mother died in the way of the tiers. We returned to the third tier until we were old enough to begin working our own way up,” Henrick answered.

  Alador was trying to understand how this tier system worked. He ate in silence for a while before asking his next question. “So family can be on different tiers?” he asked.

  Henrick nodded. “My brother has always been above me. I prefer it that way. I have managed to stay out of his way.”

  “You said before that people killed to move up in the tiers, but now you say there are tests. Are those…Two separate ways, or is killing part of the test?” Alador asked carefully.

  “You can test, but even if you are a tested fourth tier mage, if there is no hall willing or able to receive you, then you must wait. Most prefer not to wait, so they choose a hall to their liking and, if they can, remove the mage that stands in their way. As that mage moves up, the mage below who has tested but did not wish to kill can also move up.” Henrick tried to explain the system, but it was rather convoluted. “For example, if my brother had chosen to host me when he was a fifth tier mage, I could have lived with him as a fifth tier mage.”

  Alador tried to imagine life split from brothers and sisters, mother and father. In the villages of the Daezun, family was everything. If your brother or sister did take a home of their own, they were still close, and often one home became a central point for meals and laughter. He ate as he considered, and his father was content to leave him to his thoughts. As usual, Henrick seemed to eat an enormous amount of food, but his servants seemed prepared for this, given the amount of food laid out for just two of them. “Don’t people get punished if they kill a mage in their way?”

  “Only if they are caught. No one looks too closely, except those that might have a shade of feeling for the one who was killed, and the Council only banishes those stupid enough to get caught red-handed.” Henrick took a sip of tea.

  Alador stared at his father in disbelief. “How can a society...how can people stand to live somewhere where murder is as common as rain? I’d think it’s a world of fear, when anyone might try to kill you for a place of power. How can someone always live in fear?” Alador asked. “Why don’t they leave?”

  Henrick sat back with his cup of tea as he considered Alador’s question. “Not all Lerdenians choose to live in the tiers. Many have farms or other homes outside the cities. They may or may not have or practice skills in magic. Some have potential, but no training. Those that choose to live in Lerdenian cities are usually one of three types. They might have been born here and know no other way to exist. They would be just as astounded to see the villages of the Daezun as you are to see Silverport. What seems perhaps evil to you is seen as normal to them. Evil is always in the eye of the beholder. “

  Henrick took a sip before continuing. “The Daezun see the Lerdenians as evil because they broke a pact made long before our time, and because we are willing to go through great lengths to harness magic. Yet they hate an entire nation for the few that experience higher than the third tier. For the most part, while Lerdenians can learn magic, few have a natural disposition to it or are born with innate skills. A country is judged by the actions at the top. Such is the way across the world. Nations are judged by their rulers, and not by those that live within the borders.”

  Alador listened with fascination, considering his father’s words carefully. They had merit. If the Daezun were judged by men such as Trelmar, even Alador could see why the Daezun would be hated. “What are the other two types?”

  “The second type…Those who have found no other way to live and see living in the city as a necessary evil. Those who live in the trenches or those in the first tier. Sometimes they are motivated by slips, and sometimes they are motivated by the need to survive. Both are powerful motivators,” Henrick answered, staring absently down the length of the table.

  “The last are motivated by the need for power, for prestige, or recognition. These are the most dangerous, for they will go through great lengths to gain what they want and often have little conscience to hinder their advances.” He sipped his cup and then glanced at Alador.

  “You live in the fifth tier…does that mean you fall into the last category?” Alador asked softly. He looked disappointed at his father.

  “That would be the usual assumption. However, I assure you that I live as I do strictly as a necessary evil. You will be in the Blackguard and that will be your necessary evil. We do what we must because we must do it.” Henrick put his cup down and pushed his plate away.

  “What is it that we must do?” Alador asked as he spread preserves over a generous portion of bread.

  Henrick pulled out his pipe and filled it before answering Alador. “What I must do, I am not ready to share, but it involves staying in my brother’s good graces for the time being. Your purpose has yet to be revealed. If your stone was a geas stone, eventually you will realize what it is you must do. The best way to prepare you for what a dragon might have pressed upon you is to ensure that you are capable of fighting. The best way to do that is to put you in the Blackguard –again, your necessary evil.” He lit his pipe and watched Alador with an expression that made it seem as if his words had just explained it all.

  Alador’s stomach heaved at this thought. He set his half-eaten piece of bread down slowly. “What if I refuse whatever it is this dragon pressed upon me?” He would not kill for a dragon. He would not fight his own people. He would not hurt his village. Alador’s mind raced with all of the things he knew he would not do.

  “I don’t know. I honestly have never known anyone who did not finish a geas and still lives. It seems to me, given this, that your options are limited: complete the geas, or die.” Henrick puffed out smoke rings casually, as if they were discussing the weather and not Alador’s life. “I am sure I have given you much to think about. Why do you not return to your room and write to your little skirt you left behind?”

  Alador’s heart leapt at the idea of writing to Mesiande, and for a moment he couldn’t think of anything else to ask. He missed her so much, and though a lot had happened since he’d fled the village, Alador still pined for her the most of everything he had left behind. His heart sank as quickly as it had leapt. “When a village takes your name off the book of life, no one can communicate with you. You might as well
be dead.”

  Henrick rolled his eyes. “I am a mage of the fifth tier. You do not think I can get one little letter to your lady love? I am really quite insulted.” He drew deeply off his pipe, slowly blew it out, and looked at Alador. “Besides, I never told you to put your name on it.”

  Alador slowly grinned. He rose from the table, eager to go write a letter to Mesiande. Surely a chance to explain would help him repair much between them, and maybe, once he’d settled this whole subject of magic, he could send for her. He knew how to farm and so did she. Perhaps they could find a small farm on the edge of Lerdenia, where none would bother them. Hope flared in his eyes.

  “One last question,” Alador began. “How did we get here?” He wanted to know this before he left to go write to Mesiande. He scooted in his chair as he looked at his father.

  “It was clear that my plans for a slow trip so that I could teach you were foiled by the slide. You were in need of rest and healing, so I simply used a travel spell.” Henrick puffed the pipe as if it had been no more than a simple matter, looking at Alador with a smile.

  “Why don’t you just use this spell all the time?” Alador asked in amazement. He knew that he’d much rather just be somewhere then ride along behind slow, scrabbling korpen.

  Henrick shrugged. “I like to travel, and I hate spending spells I do not have to. It is careless and vain. Besides, flying is usually so much more exhilarating.” Henrick rapped his pipe out on his plate. “Now, off with you then. I have some business to attend. Stay in your rooms until I return. I want you to practice with the wet and dry cantrip when your letter is done.” Henrick’s tone held sure dismissal and an end to the conversation.

  Alador snapped his mouth shut. He was determined that if there really was such a spell, that he would get his father to teach it to him regardless of it being careless or vain. It meant he could visit Mesiande whenever he wanted to. “Yes, Father,” Alador politely answered, leaving this battle for another day. He left his father at the large dining room table. For now, he would write to Mesiande and explain everything. Maybe she would find it in her heart to forgive him. Maybe, just maybe, she would wait for him.

  Chapter Six

  Once Alador finished his letter, he set about practicing. He didn’t have any dirt, so he took a small square of linen he found in the closet and started wetting and drying it. It was getting easier; he almost didn’t have to search for that well of power within him anymore. He didn’t know what else to call it, a “well” is what it felt like, this pool at his core. Alador sat and thought about it for a while, bored with his task. He wondered if it had always been there, and he just hadn’t noticed before…or had it appeared when he’d taken the bloodstone from the ground?

  Whatever the case, Alador was very aware of it now, and found it easily. He wondered if all magic was this way, nothing more difficult than imagining something and just…making it happen. He decided not to experiment, but the thought did concern him; what if he couldn’t control it?

  Alador had no idea how much time had passed until his father strode through the door without knocking, wearing a formal robe of black with red thread and trim. Henrick did not offer a greeting, he just walked to the closet and pulled out a dark blue robe, trimmed in silver. “Put this on,” he ordered, tossing it to Alador.

  Alador caught it in surprise. He’d seen his father short with him before, but now Henrick actually seemed angry. There was a deadliness to him that Alador didn’t like. “What’s wrong?” he asked, holding the robe out with distaste.

  “Your uncle has decided we will attend him, now. He has denied my request to allow me time with you as my son. I suspect that we will part ways today.” Henrick moved towards the open windows and stared off into the horizon. “Always at such a frantic pace. Bah!” he snorted out with disdain. “There is never enough time.”

  Alador turned the robe around. “Do I have to wear this?” he asked as carefully as he could. He didn’t want to offend his father, but robes just seemed…Unmanly to him.

  “It is a status symbol, Alador. It tells all that you are of mage blood and, therefore, accorded a certain level of respect. I will not go before Luth—the High Minister with my son clothed as a mere farming peasant,” Henrick snapped without turning. “I do have some standards to uphold. Pull your shirt off and wear it. You may keep your britches if you feel more comfortable,” he commanded.

  Alador quickly did as he was told. He saw that the robe had a place for a belt, so he removed his and put it on around the robe, making sure his knife was still secure at his waist. Henrick remained silent, staring out the window.

  Alador realized that he’d have no idea what to do if they were going to part ways. “I wrote the letter,” Alador started with hoping this offer hadn’t changed. He needed to make sure it got to Mesiande before anything else. She had to know how sorry he was and how much he still loved her. He moved to the desk and looked hopefully at his father.

  “Yes, let us take care of that first.” Henrick pivoted on his heel and strode to the desk. “I will add instructions, should she decide to write you back.” He picked up Alador’s quill and with strong strokes wrote an additional note at the foot of the letter. He sanded it and then, before Alador could look at what he wrote, rolled it up and shoved it into a silver tube with strange markings on it. “Take this and put it under your pillow. Lie upon the bed and think of your little skirt. Fix her in your mind’s eye.”

  “I wish you would quit calling her that,” Alador muttered. He took the tube and examined the markings written on it, strange symbols and lettering he wasn’t familiar with. “What language is this?” He asked in amazement, tracing the lines along the tube with a nail.

  “Draconic, the language of magic. You will learn it soon enough. Now go see your letter off,” Henrick ordered, arms folding with impatience. He nodded to the bed as if time was wasting.

  Could it really be that simple, just wish it to her? Alador went to the bed and slipped the tube under a pillow, then hopped up and stretched out. Alador sighed gratefully when his father went to stare out the window. Closing his eyes, he imagined her. Her braided hair, desperately trying to escape its confinement. Her sparkling eyes as she laughed at him. The way she would put her hands on her hips when she was yelling at him for something she’d decided needed a proper scolding. A knife seemed to pierce him as he realized how much he loved her and how much he needed her. The feeling twisted the longing and loss back to the surface of his thoughts.

  “That should do it. We need to be off, and there are still other things I need to tell you.” Henrick’s tone was firm as he turned from the window and headed for the door.

  Alador sat up, somewhat startled. He felt beneath his pillow. “It—it’s gone!” He moved the pillow to be sure.

  Henrick rolled his eyes. “For a man nearly grown, Alador, you are in many ways still such a fledgling.”

  Alador’s eyes flew to his father. “What did you say?”

  “I said you are in many ways still a small one.” Henrick repeated stopping to look at Alador with exasperation.

  “That isn’t what you said.” Alador slipped off the bed. “You said ‘fledgling.’ Why did you say fledgling?” He searched his father’s face anxiously.

  “I am quite sure that I did not,” Henrick replied with a frown.

  “You did!” Alador moved to Henrick, who now looked confused.

  “If I did, what does it matter? A slip of the tongue.” Henrick said, looking flustered as well as confused.

  “Yes, a slip of the tongue,” Alador murmured, eyeing his father suspiciously. Had his father been the voice? Was his father making the dragons in the dream to convince him of some task that was this supposed geas? “I have only heard that term in my dreams, Henrick,” Alador accused.

  “Here, you will call me Father,” Henrick ordered tersely. “I most likely heard it from my friend, the dragon. It was a slip of the tongue or your imagination. We have more pressing concerns than a wor
d misspoken.”

  Alador knew he hadn’t misheard the mage. It made him wonder if he could really trust his own father. He felt like a pawn in a game he didn’t understand. “What other matters?” Alador asked feet planted and arms crossed.

  “This is your third tier pass. It is to always be on your belt.” Henrick held up a silver square with three eyes on one side. He handed it along with a copper one to Alador, forcing Alador to stop his childish posture and take the passes. The copper square had a large P with a strange dragon looking mark on one side, with five eyes on the other. “This other is a pass to come to me. It holds my mark so if you are found anywhere in the fifth tier except en route to or in my home, it will not protect you.”

  “Protect me from what?” Alador asked as he took them and inspected them curiously, still cautious about his father. He felt a strange tingle in his hands as he held them.

  “A mage found above his tier and without a pass is put to death without explanation or trial.”

  “What if you lose it?” Alador asked worriedly.

  “I do not recommend that,” Henrick breathed out, his manner tense and worried.

  Henrick’s ability to understate the obvious was irritating. Alador frowned but tied the pass to his belt as directed. He held the other one, curious at his father’s choice of mark. “What else?” Alador eyed his father. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with the other square, but his father moved over to take it out of his hand and drape it around his neck. Alador stood staring at his father as the man tucked the pass under the front of his robe. It was cold against his chest.

  “Luthian may take many paths today, and I am not sure which will be his choice. It is often determined by his mood. He may be authoritative and order you to the guard as is his right as High Minister. He may choose to go the route of doting uncle.” Henrick turned away from Alador, his voice hard and cold. “He may just kill us both. I do not know Alador. This is a fork in the road which cannot be divined.” Henrick’s shoulders drooped somewhat as if the thought tired him. He braced and turned back to look Alador firmly in the eyes. “Be wary. Speak only when spoken to and do not elaborate. Once you are in the Blackguard, there will be little I can do to protect you. You will be on your own except when you can slip away to visit.”