The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “Let me kill him. I will kill him for you before the day is out,” Maxis promised urgently.

  Aorun gave a small nod to Sordith who nodded back. “See, there is a slight problem with that. If he is killed now, then whispers of my involvement will develop, and I can’t have the High Minster casting a suspicious gaze in my direction.” Aorun stroked his chin and then gave a small, malicious smile. “No, there is only one thing to do.”

  “Anything, m’lord. Speak it and I will see it done,” Maxis swore, dropping to one knee.

  “Ohhh, I know you will.” Aorun smiled down at the guardsman as Sordith brought the sap down hard from behind him. Aorun hadn’t had any fun for some time and was looking forward to this. “Take him below and string him up. I don’t have a lot of time before dinner, so just the upper half today.”

  Sordith grabbed one upper arm, waiting for Owen, who’d finished his leg of fowl and went to toss the bone aside before realizing where he was. Looking around, he finally shoved it into his belt and grabbed Maxis’ other arm, and the two men pulled him from the room.

  Aorun moved around his desk and pulled open the drawer. He withdrew his bottle and took a deep pull before hiding it in the depths of the desk again. He enjoyed killing men, and he especially enjoyed doing it slowly. There was something about their screams that brought a rush of excitement. Aorun usually took himself off to Aueris’ place after he was done; there were a couple women there that had tough constitutions and could handle his aggressions. Maybe today would end on a slightly better note.

  By the time he’d wandered down into the cellars below, Sordith and Owen were already in the process of stringing the man up. Aorun was careful to ensure that those with magic skills were gagged and hung with special metal gloves. Binding them so carefully seemed to minimize the number and type of spells they could cast – Aorun had only seen a few fourth and fifth tier mages have any proficiency without focal movements and words. He helped them by anchoring the man’s feet to the floor, and the three of them stretched Maxis up so that his hands pulled him taut. “Leave us.”

  Owen nodded with disappointment and lumbered out the door; he didn’t need to be told twice since the incident with the rain water. Sordith, however, paused at the door. “You sure about this? He is well-placed.” Sordith eyed Aorun with concern.

  “You heard him; he was seen. Either he has earned the ire of a death mage or will soon be brought before his command. I cannot have my connections to this matter confirmed. If he was so bold, I could only guess that he has not hidden who pays him extra slips.” Aorun eyed the hanging man with clear distaste.

  “I just need to hear you say that it’s his failure and not his…Race that brings him to this end.” Sordith sighed softly, his copper eyes fixing on the Trench Lord.

  Aorun did not look to Sordith. “Let us just say that his failure makes this pleasure all the sweeter. I wish it were Alador that hung here. To hear his sweet screams would be such wondrous music to my ears. To watch the High Minister’s bastard nephew dance before my blades.” He strolled casually around the mage, eying his body as if deciding where to start.

  “Your preoccupation with that man’s death is going to be your undoing,” Sordith warned softly.

  “Fret not, Sordith. As long as my feet are planted on this isle, my death is not going to occur anytime soon, so quit hoping.” Aorun finally looked at Sordith and winked. “I know how I die and it won’t be by some half breed’s hand.

  Sordith just shook his head and slipped from the room. Aorun watched him go. Few men had the assurances that he did of how they would die. As long as he avoided setting up the situation in the first place, he did not fear death. He got one of the buckets of seawater that were kept here and threw it into Maxis’ face, watching with satisfaction as the man sputtered awake.

  “As you can see, you will be doing what needs to be done today. You will writhe here, a victim of your own arrogance.” Aorun went to the table where his tools were kept and picked up a nine-tailed whip. He snapped it a couple times. “I really do not tolerate failure well.” His cold snarl was as cutting as the knife he often wielded. Aorun moved around to the mage’s back. “Let us count out your failures, shall we?”

  He snapped the whip, watching as the nine lines of crystal-imbedded leather tore into the man’s back. “One, you disobeyed my orders.” Aorun twisted the grip as he jerked it back, letting the crystals dig in and tear skin, taking delight in the man’s muffled scream of pain. He did not immediately lash again; he’d learned that if the blows came too fast, a man could quickly numb his mind to the pain. So Aorun waited for that gasp of breath that came with the body’s acceptance of the first level of pain, then snapped the whip out again.

  “Two, having chosen to disobey my orders, you failed to kill him.” Aorun smiled as Maxis tried to move. He was bound too securely, helpless for Aorun’s pleasure. The Trench Lord walked away, coiling the whip, to where he had a mug and bottle stashed. He poured himself a splash of smalgut and downed it before walking back, stopping to look Maxis in the eyes.

  “It is a pity that I can’t let others watch, but I can’t have the entire Blackguard down on me wanting to avenge one of their own.” Aorun reached up and gently wiped a tear from below Maxis’ eyes. “Now, now. No tears. You earned this.” Aorun’s tone was sickly sweet. “We were counting the reasons why, remember?” He snapped the whip a few times as he walked around to the man’s back again. Maxis’ body braced at each snap, and then shuddered when there was no pain to accompany the snap, bringing a smile of perverse pleasure to Aorun’s face.

  “Let’s see…where was I? Ah yes.” He snapped the lash out again; this time the angle crossed the other lines, leaving a trail of bleeding, crossed marks. “Three, you let a black mage know, or confirmed for him, who you work for. This will have alerted my young foe to my plans.” The thought made Aorun angry and he struck the man again. Not finding release from his fury, he brought that whip down six more times, watching in pleasure as the man writhed before him. Blood pooled around Maxis’ feet. The only reason Aorun stopped at six was in the last blow, the mage had passed out and sagged forward.

  Aorun tossed the bloodied whip aside and got another bucket of seawater, soaking the man again. Even as Maxis blinked in confusion, his eyes stinging from salt water he could not wipe from his sodden hair, Aorun tossed the rest of the bucket onto the man’s back to assess his handy work. The salt-filled water washed across the open marks, drawing another scream of agony from Maxis’ gagged mouth. Aorun walked around to face him. “As you can see, failure to serve the Trench Lord is not taken lightly, my dear Maxis.” Aorun’s tone was one of a disappointed father, entirely inappropriate for what he was doing to the man before him.

  Maxis was sobbing now; words begging for mercy could be made out even through the gag. Aorun went for another shot of liquor. This wasn’t assuaging that black need within him. He knew deep down that the only thing that would bring him the release he needed was to have Alador, and now he would have to wait. He would have to bide his time and wait because of this fool. Aorun wanted Maxis to die in as much pain as he could muster. He did not want him unconscious. He considered a moment, tapping the glass against his lips.

  Aorun put the glass down. He went to the table and carefully chose a blade – a knife with a deadly point and a convex blade. He touched the tip and smiled as a small bead of blood formed on his finger. Yes, this would do nicely for what he had in mind. He moved once again behind the whimpering man. "I would tell you this is not going to hurt, but alas, I would be lying,” he said, his soft voice just below Maxis’ ear. A moment later, he smelled the sharp stench of urine.

  Aorun plunged the blade into Maxis, just above the pelvis and next to his spine. The damage to the nerves quickly paralyzed Maxis’ left leg. Aorun waited for the man to quit screaming before he spoke. “Feel that? If I were to stop here, you would be paralyzed for life in that leg. While you can feel where my blade is…” Aorun took a dagger f
rom his belt and plunged into the man’s left leg, “…you can’t feel anything below it.” He peered around and looked up at horrified expression on Maxis’ face as he stared down at the dagger in his leg, pleased to see the pain and terror in the man’s eyes.

  With an agonizingly slow upward motion, Aorun dragged the knife piercing a kidney and went about damaging other organs. Maxis’ screams were loud, despite the gag, as the pain flooded through him. Aorun took delight in moving his way slowly up to the mage’s diaphragm.

  “I am going to go a little higher now. It will stop you from being able to get air. You will live a short time, unable to really breathe. I find it a most interesting way to watch a man die.” Aorun pulled up one more time and pierced the man's diaphragm, abruptly cutting off the man’s muffled screams. Maxis hung there, still alive and trying to breathe, his eyes dazed with pain.

  Aorun moved around front of Maxis again, tossing the knife aside and picking up his bottle without the glass. After retrieving his dagger from Maxis’ leg, he sat on a barrel, drinking as the life slowly faded from guardsman’s eyes. Only when Aorun was truly sure that Maxis was dead did he upend the bottle and head out to the whorehouse. There was more than one way to forget a bad day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Life quickly took on a routine inside the Blackguard caves. Alador would get up in the morning and check under the pillow, but the scroll case was never there: Mesiande had not written him back since his last letter. He could only guess that she’d decided that his writing of magic and dragons was just too much, but he didn’t stop hoping. He had asked Keelee if she had seen it, but the girl had just looked at him in confusion. Alador had warned her that should she find such a tube, she was not to move it. He missed Mesiande, and he still intended to be at the circle next year. He could only hope that she had just decided not to write and that nothing had happened to her.

  Each morning, Keelee would have Alador’s things laid out for him. He felt more secure in the armor he’d been provided, though it had taken some getting used to. Then he’d hurry off to breakfast with Flame, and then to his classes. Alador had studied hard on offensive spells, but he hadn’t seen Maxis again since that first day on the fields. He didn’t know if the man was avoiding him, or if he’d left the caverns. Alador was always relieved to see Jon appear at the end of his time in the practice fields.

  The worst part of his day was the repetition in his magic classes. He could quickly learn simple spells, but his classes still forced him to cast them over and over again. Patience was not Alador’s strong suit; this monotonous repetition of spells was both boring and seemed like a waste of his time.

  Dinner was his favorite time. Alador had found that Jon was extremely knowledgeable, and they’d often return to the fields after dinner to practice, study, or just talk. Jon had shared that he was scheduled to be assigned before the next summer; he seemed pleased enough about this. Alador, however, worried about this – he had a good idea of what a commander would do with the skills that his friend possessed.

  Another reason he liked dinner was that everyone gave him a wide berth when he was with the death mage. He didn’t have to worry about questions about Keelee or his uncle, which sat just fine with Alador considering how exhausted he usually was by dinner. During the rest of the day, it was commonplace for his classmates to ask him about his uncle. Everyone seemed relieved that Luthian had not visited since he’d joined the Blackguard. When he’d asked Jon about this, the death mage had shared that Luthian used to come weekly to the caverns, and sometimes people were severely punished. He didn’t go into details, and Alador didn’t ask.

  His half-days with Luthian became a game of cat and mouse. His uncle would teach him things he wanted Alador to know; Alador would constantly seek the things his uncle tried to keep hidden. In the same game, Alador sidestepped more personal questions about his own desires and goals for fear of giving his uncle something he could use over him. Despite the tension in this strange dance, Alador rather liked his visits with his uncle. Luthian had insured that Alador would meet members of council and upper tiers; Alador was becoming more comfortable at dinners and political appearances, as a result.

  He still felt like Luthian’s new favorite possession, however. His uncle had chosen a wardrobe and always had a servant lay out robes that would coordinate with his own. Alador hadn’t failed to notice that he always seemed to be shadowed by his uncle, much as the backdrops in his brother Tentret’s drawings.

  Alador enjoyed spending his half-days with his father, though. They would discuss strategy, or learn magic Alador knew his uncle didn’t want him to know. He had learned spells like creating a field of magic around him that lesser spells could not penetrate. He had learned how to turn back a spell on the other caster and even how to make himself invulnerable to magic for a short time, though he couldn’t cast as long as he used this kind of protection. He still planned to talk to that dragon, so knowing how to protect against Keensight’s breath weapon was going to be important.

  Henrick was also teaching Alador how to enchant items, something Alador had specifically asked to learn. If he could leave the Blackguard, Alador hoped to start a life as a traveling enchanter as his father. He loved these spells and had enchanted his own blade and arrows. He’d even made sure to include both Flame’s and Jon’s so that they’d have an edge if Maxis and his friends should ever become so bold again.

  The only thing that bothered Alador on his half-days was the sense that he was being followed. He’d attempted to backtrack and catch his shadow, but had failed every time. He’d even taken some unusual routes, but never felt like he had shaken this set of unseen eyes. He had mentioned it to his father, but Henrick had not much to offer. Henrick had suggested that it was likely Luthian had some sort of mage’s eyes on him through a scrying pool or something similar.

  Keelee would go visit her father during these half-days - apparently he was a merchant of some sort on the second tier. Why Keelee could not return to her father instead of the trenches was something Alador didn’t understand. It seemed to him that, as a father, he wouldn’t want his daughter to be a body servant. But Keelee had shrugged Alador off the day he’d mentioned she might go home and, when he had attempted to press the matter, had taken on a full out pout. Alador found himself unwilling to make the woman unhappy. She asked little from him and made life easier by keeping his room clean and his belongings organized. She warmed his bed and often sought his attentions rather than him asking to seek hers.

  Flame had taken to escorting Keelee on her half-days. Alador felt no sense of jealousy; he had meant it when he’d told her that her body was hers. She had made a point of telling him that Flame was always a perfect gentleman. Given Flame’s reputation throughout the caverns, Alador doubted that he was ever a perfect gentleman. He saw them sometimes, heads close together and laughing at some private joke, but Alador let them go about their time together without questions; he didn’t really care to know. It gave him time alone, which was a luxury in the caverns.

  She still slept in his bed every night, and had truly become his body servant. Alador had fought twinges of guilt for the first few weeks, but as time stretched on with no word from Mesiande, he’d become more accepting of Keelee’s attentions. Alador continued to rationalize that she was earning her keep and since he did not force her, there was no harm.

  He still had dreams of the dragons, usually a repeat of the dream from the magic pool or the one of Renamaum and Keensight above the bloodmine valley. He always woke up feeling like he was missing something crucial, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  Fall had drifted in with the fog, and with it, more rain would come in off the sea. The caverns were often damp, but Alador was usually able to keep his room completely dry with his growing mastery of water. The caverns did not seem to change in temperature much, but the dampness made it feel chilly when compared to the heat of late summer.

  It was on such a fall day that Alador was spendin
g one of his half-days to visit his uncle. As usual, robes were laid out. The one time that Alador had come down in something less formal, Luthian had just spelled him with the outfit he had chosen in the first place. Rather than get into a war over his clothing, Alador had given in. He had gotten used to the robes over time and now did not find them nearly as uncomfortable.

  Luthian had been teaching Alador draconic. Most higher level spells, he had learned, were written in this complex language. Last half-day, Luthian had sent him home with a book to practice. It had been a book on the use of storms in magic. How to call lightning, create windstorms and even snowstorms. The spells for an actual storm were complex and required components present to actually draw from. The type of storm desired each had variations in the components required. Alador’s growing understanding of the draconic language had increased throughout the week as he was fascinated with this book. His favorite spell was the one that called lightening. It felt natural to feel the sparks of light dancing in his hands.

  So far, Luthian had not shown up but that was not unusual. Alador was working in the practice room on the creation of a small whirlwind. He laughed with delight as his robes whipped around him sending the small swirling mass around the room at his direction. He had not heard the door open so when the voice spoke, he lost concentration and the dust in the wind fell to the ground slowly as the spiral died down.

  “Very impressive in just a week.” Luthian clapped his hands together slowly as he shut the door and walked further into the room. “I am impressed. I had expected you to still be struggling with the translation a bit.”

  Alador had not wanted his uncle to discern how much he had picked up and was rather frustrated that he had not been more careful. “I find the language fascinating uncle. But I fear I have not got much past the chapter with the wind.” It was a lie, but one that now slipped off his tongue quite easily. Lying to his uncle had become normal to him.