The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “Is your death friend joining us?” Sordith asked curiously as he refilled his glass.

  “Yes. He seemed as offended as I was about what’s happening. And before you ask, yes, he knows that it means taking on the High Minister.” Alador flopped down on a linen covered chair.

  “And the Trench Lord,” Sordith pointed out, moving to another chair.

  “I might have not mentioned the Trench Lord,” Alador answered, resting his forearm across his eyes.

  “You’d think the man would have the right to know about that, Alador,” Sordith said, settling into another chair after removing its cover.

  “Yes, but you work beside the Trench Lord. You’ll know if he’s one of the Trench Lord’s men. I didn’t mention it specifically so that you could set eyes on him. If he is one of the Trench Lord’s men, then we kill him. I’m really hoping he isn’t; I rather like the man,” Alador answered evenly, not looking at Sordith.

  “Growing up quickly, aren’t you lad?” Sordith’s tone was soft and held sadness, but he nodded in approval of Alador’s foresight.

  “Seems like I don’t have much of a choice in this city,” Alador replied.

  The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, drawing their attention. “You could put five families in the front hall,” Jon stated matter-of-factly as he entered.

  That was my first thought.” Alador smiled at Jon. “Jon, may I introduce Sordith. Sordith, this is the mage I spoke about, Jon.”

  Sordith rose to his feet, and both men stood assessing each other. Neither moved to acknowledge the other. Alador sighed. “Do you know him Sordith?”

  “Nope,” Sordith answered evenly. “He has a determined cut. I like that.”

  “Why should he know me?” Jon’s eyes flashed to Alador. “You said nothing about working with some back-alley rogue.”

  Sordith bristled at that insult. “I am far better than a back-alley rogue.”

  Alador stepped between them. “This is the Trench Lord’s man who has decided that honor is more important than slips…” Alador began.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I never said that,” Sordith sputtered waving his hands to the negative. “I said I didn’t like being involved in such dealings. Slips, well that is a whole other matter.”

  Alador rolled his eyes. “Fine, he doesn’t like slavery either. Better?”

  “Much.” Sordith relaxed a little.

  “You can’t trust him,” Jon said flatly.

  “People told me that about you, Jon,” Alador pointed out.

  “They were right – you can’t trust me either.” Jon’s eyes were still on Sordith.

  “How about this: after this last week, I don’t trust anyone, but that doesn’t mean we can’t go kill this bastard together. Think you two can put your egos down long enough to go kill a man?” Alador was ready to smack their heads together. And people usually thought he was childish.

  Jon considered this for a long moment then nodded once. “I think I can manage that.”

  Sordith grinned. “Killing a bastard is just one step below slips,” he offered, puffing up his chest proudly.

  Alador took a deep breath. He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was going to kill someone tonight. It had been different when done in anger; Alador couldn’t get the niggling thought out of his head that killing was still wrong, even if the cause were right. “Okay, Sordith. What’s the plan?”

  Sordith nodded and led them both over to the table, tossing the linen aside. He laid out a crude sketch of the compound. “These are the holdings on the far opposite side of the Blackguard Caverns. He pointed to the gate to the street. “There are two guards on the outside and inside here.”

  Alador looked at the map carefully. “So these won’t be a problem going in – it’ll be getting out.” He looked from the map to Sordith.

  Sordith nodded; Jon was silent. “There is a guard at each entry to the house. None of the windows open except the long windows to Veaneth’s veranda. There are three guards that wander the halls and, as far as I can tell, another two that stay close to Veaneth. He is running it much like a brothel. Those that have the slips can come visit the Daezun. The Daezun men, although drugged, don’t look too unwilling and have a fairly regular stream of women visiting, plus they can choose the Lerdenian women that are forced into the house whenever they wish. The Daezun women are pretty much chained to their beds, so if you really mean to release them, we will need to get the keys from Veaneth.”

  Jon eyed the map. “I foresee another problem.”

  Both Alador and Sordith looked at him expectantly. When Jon didn’t volunteer the answer, Alador prompted him. “Which is…?”

  “Once you free them, where will they go?” Jon asked. “If they return to the trenches, the Trench Lord will just round them up again. They cannot remain on the tiers.”

  Alador hadn’t considered that. “Is that true? If they return to the trenches, will they be easily found?” He looked at Sordith with concern.

  Sordith nodded. “Daezun stand out there. They’re either killed out of revenge for those who’ve been injured or lost in the wars, or rounded up by Aorun’s men. If you really mean to save them, we’ll have to get them out of the city.” Sordith sighed at that thought. Alador’s desire to save the slaves had added a twist to things.

  Alador put both hands on the table, considering. “The refuse wagons leave first thing in the morning and travel down the bridge. I saw them a couple of days ago when leaving my uncle’s early in the morning. We take them out that way. Sordith, can you get me four such wagons? We can hide some inside with garbage on top and the others can leave as collectors.”

  “It’ll take some slips, but I can make it happen,” Sordith answered. “The best time of night will be to hit them just before day break anyway. The stream of customers will have ended by that point, and all will be quiet.”

  “Except that we need to be in the house before then, or what would I be calling for?” Alador pointed out.

  “It’s run as a brothel,” Jon calmly reminded Alador. “You don’t go to inspect it - you go to enjoy its pleasures.”

  Alador’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “I can’t force a woman to see to my needs,” he pointed out. “That’s what we’re supposed to be rescuing them from, remember?”

  Sordith chuckled. “So sit and have a drink with them, and gag them if they won’t shush till we’re ready to act. I like this plan, Jon. I knew I liked the cut of you.”

  “I still don’t trust you,” Jon answered stoically.

  Alador sighed. “I’d best go change, then. I will have to change into some robes – and Jon, you too. Sordith will not raise a brow armored. I have robes in my room we can wear.”

  “I fail to see the use in that. I’m not going without my sword and armor.” Jon brought his hands up in a flourish. A shadow swirled about him, and his clothes changed into black robes with no embellishments.

  “We’re going to buy ourselves three women for the night. Live it up Jon, pick something with a little flourish,” Sordith chided.

  “I like black,” Jon answered, his voice devoid of emotion as his eyes moved to Sordith. Sordith just nodded at the death mage. “Right then, black it is.” Sordith just shrugged, not willing to press the matter.

  Alador had remembered his father’s lesson so stringently about how magically empowered clothes were easily dispelled that he had gotten use to just dressing. He considered Jon’s point. If he used his armor and changed it to robes, it would be a simple matter to change them back. He concentrated remembering the many different robes of the high council and found in his mind’s eye, a dark blue robe trimmed with the same silver as his eyes.

  Sordith nodded. “I can tell who has the money. That’s more like it.” His hands moved comparatively between the two mages.

  “Wait here, I need to get some slips. I’ll be back in a moment,” Alador stated. He headed for the door. “Try not to insult each other too much while I’m gone.” He hu
rried up to his room to fill a belt pouch, moving quickly. Jon really didn’t seem to like Sordith, and the last thing he needed was for the death mage to kill the man. On his way back down, Alador grabbed two of his father’s fine cloaks. One was a black with red lining, the other was one he hadn’t seen before, but matched his robes well – black with silver lining and an embossed dragon on its back. He hoped Henrick wouldn’t mind.

  When he entered the library, both men were standing at the table, neither speaking to each other. Alador tossed the red trimmed cloak to Jon, who caught it deftly. “Ready?”

  Sordith actually looked relieved to see Alador reappear and led the way out of the library. As they were headed out behind Sordith, Alador glanced at Jon, who seemed quite pleased with himself. “What happened while I was gone?”

  “I made it clear what would happen to him if this were a trap,” Jon answered.

  Alador glanced at Sordith’s back as he slipped out the front door, and shuddered slightly. He decided he didn’t want to know how Jon had made his point.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By the time, they’d arrived at the stables, laughing and joking as if under the influence, Sordith had arranged for the four wagons to be left by the gate just before sunrise tomorrow. They’d have to have the slaves freed just as the wagons arrived if they wanted to keep them safe. Sordith saluted the stone-faced Lerdenian guards that stood at the gate. Alador was relieved to find that they weren’t Blackguard – he couldn’t fathom how even half-Daezun could condone what happened here, nor did he want to kill his own brothers-in-arms.

  “Good evening, fine sirs! We’ve come to buy a couple hours with a lass or two.” Sordith winked to the guards.

  “Did you make prior arrangements, sir?” one of the guards asked imperiously.

  “Surely the High Minister’s own nephew does not need an appointment to spend time with a comely lass. I assure you he is quite generous with his slips.” To make his point, Sordith palmed a slip into the man’s hands.

  “The High Minister’s nephew?” The guardsman looked Alador over; Alador drew himself up fully and let the silver of his cloak glimmer in the evening light.

  “I suppose Veaneth would be proud to have such a patron.” The guardsman nodded and the other opened the gate.

  They entered breezily, and though they blustered like the drunken patrons of the upper tiers that all three had seen at one time or another, each of them had sharp eyes on their surroundings. The door was opened for them and they all stepped into a warm hall, where a beautiful woman with long, blonde hair came to take their cloaks. Her dress left little to imagine, her charms boldly displayed as she carefully hung the cloaks on pegs on the wall and then ushered them into a private parlor.

  After she had closed the door, Sordith stepped up to the small bar. “Step one. Get in.” Sordith breathed out with a wink at the other two. “I wouldn’t drink anything here.” He surveyed the bar and beckoned them close, speaking his warning in whispers. “Often times, customers are drugged slightly so as to be convinced to spend more than they intended. We will need our wits sharp.” They looked about the room; Alador couldn’t help but feel like there were eyes on him.

  Both mages nodded, and before either could respond a corpulent man with a balding head stepped into the room. “By the gods, it is true! The High Minister’s nephew himself. I assure you, milord, that all is in order.” The man bowed a few times and grabbed hold of Alador’s hands to lay a fleshy kiss on the back of it.

  Alador snatched his hand away in disgust, the man’s hand had been cold and sweaty. He unconsciously wiped it off on his robe. “I want a full tour so that I may report to my uncle, and then my two friends and I here will take three for the night. Separate rooms, of course,” he demanded, mimicking Luthian’s cold, hard voice.

  “Any preferences m'lords?” Veaneth asked rubbing his hands together in anticipation. His face was greasy from too much food and his nose was red from other excesses.

  All three answered at once. Alador and Sordith both snapped out female, Jon requested a male. Both Alador and Sordith looked at Jon simultaneously in surprise, but Jon’s face held its usual bland blankness.

  “And race?” Veaneth asked, apparently not fazed by Jon’s response.

  “I would like to spend some time with a full Daezun, as they never once let me in their circles,” Alador stated coldly. “I think I deserve to know what I have missed.” He crossed his arms as he stared at Veaneth.

  “I don’t care,” Sordith paused with a grin and mimicked the feminine shape with his hands, “as long as she is comely.”

  “Nor I,” Jon answered, staring in disgust at Sordith.

  Veaneth nodded and gestured grandly towards the bar. “I will have those rooms prepared, and then I will return personally to give you the tour. Why don’t you all have a drink while you wait?”

  Alador had hated this man the moment he laid eyes on him; Veaneth was the example of excess and greed, and his voice contained forced, whining subservience. Still, Alador said nothing, choosing instead to nod that the man’s offer was agreeable. Veaneth hurried off.

  Jon looked at Alador. “Why did we not just kill him then?”

  “We need to know how big this place is, and how many we’ll have to sneak out,” Alador pointed out. “The tour is necessary. I don’t want to blunder about trying to free people that might not want to leave, or people who’d prefer to sheathe their daggers in my gut.”

  Sordith nodded. “Best to know what we’re up against.”

  “Ah, that makes sense,” Jon answered simply.

  It was not long before Veaneth returned and took them on a tour of the whole area. Now that he was closer, Alador noted that the man smelled of wine and sour sweat. He was hard-pressed to walk along Veaneth and look properly impressed. He kept his hands clasped behind him as they walked. Keeping his horror at what was happening here was difficult for Alador, trying to look the part of assessing lord. The room where those soon to bear small ones were kept was easily the most appalling part of the tour; there must have been twenty or more pregnant woman there.

  “I was under the assumption that those here were prisoners, but I see they are well cared for.” Alador looked to Veaneth for an explanation.

  “The High Minister wants the children to hold gratitude to him for their care in childhood. We do all that we can to insure that those with magic are given the finest care.” Veaneth preened at the praise.

  “I see. And those without magic?” He asked his chin rising slightly.

  “We put those down,” Veaneth answered casually as he unlocked the door.

  It was all that Alador could do to school the shock from his face before looking at Veaneth again. “I have it on good authority that many half-breeds do not come into their powers until they rise to adulthood. It seems premature to kill the children before they can be truly known. Explain.”

  “Yes, that is true of those with the eyes. But those without, well, they never have gifts in magic,” Veaneth explained matter-of-factly. “We weed those out right at birth.” He spoke as casually as someone might discuss the planting season and not the murdering of babies just because of what color their eyes were. He opened the door.

  This room had small ones of varying ages, all of which half-breeds. Although the door to the room had been locked, at least the small ones inside seemed well cared for and fed. There were toys for the children and the rooms were clean.

  Alador stopped for a moment, staring at the curious children that had stopped their play to examine their visitors. Every child had the eyes of the Lerdenians. Not a single child had the plain brown eyes of the full-blooded Daezun. Alador knew his own eyes were silver; Sordith’s behind him were copper. Faces flashed before him and of those with power, not a single one had the plain brown eyes. “Has there ever been any of power with the Daezun eyes?”

  “Not that I have a record of,” Veaneth answered. “I was the one who brought this to the High Minister as a way to te
ll those who will come into power from those who will not.” He beamed proudly as he looked about, offering sweets to the children that had clustered about him.

  Alador wanted to kill him right there. It took everything he had to stay his hand – he didn’t want the small ones to witness this foul creature’s death. “And what of the ones that reach the age of testing and don’t manifest?” Alador managed to keep his voice even, though with great difficulty. He glanced at Jon, but as usual, couldn’t read the man’s emotions.

  “We plan to send them to the mines or the brothels. If they don’t come into power, well, they can be used for rebreeding. That latent talent is still in there. Anyone who has bred animals knows this; you weed out those with the qualities you don’t want and you rebreed those with the qualities you do.” Veaneth was quite proud of the children displayed before him. “Of course, this is the first batch so a bit of guesswork at the moment.”

  Sordith walked up, intent on drawing focus from Alador’s hardening face; Alador was losing his ability to hide his disgust and rage. “And make a fair bit of extra slips in the process, eh Master Veaneth?” Sordith dug an elbow into the man’s fleshy side as if to tease and play, though the blow was much harder than usual for such a gesture.

  Veaneth exhaled a rush of air at the elbow’s contact and, rubbing his side, moved off. “Yes, well there is no harm in earning a little extra for expenses and a few skills that maybe I wouldn’t have found otherwise,” he pointed out. When they were all out, he locked the door, and Alador noted which pocket he slipped that set of keys into.

  “Now, to those rooms you ordered, shall we?” Veaneth lead them back upstairs.

  As they walked up the stairs, Sordith dropped back beside Alador, using Jon as a buffer between them. “Rein in your temper or you will give us away,” he hissed.

  Alador took a few deep breaths and nodded once they were back up into the main hall. “I am most impressed, Master Veaneth. Depending on the performance of your choices tonight, I assure you that my uncle will soon know the full range of my thoughts on this process.” His double-edged meaning was lost to the man who smiled with pleasure.