The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “Of course, milord. I have picked a special lady for you. She has a bit of spirit and a mouth to her, so if that bothers you…well, just leave her gagged or fill that mouth with other intentions.” Veaneth’s dark chuckle made his meaning clear, and Sordith laughed with him.

  “I like this man. Knows the proper place for a woman – on her back and before my bidding.” Sordith clapped the man hard on the back once more.

  Veaneth winced under the blow. Seeming to be in a hurry to get rid of the more affable but physical rogue, he hurried them down the hall to their appointed rooms, making sure Sordith’s was opened first. Jon’s was across the hall from both Sordith and Alador. He opened each door with a flourish, saving Alador’s for the last.

  Alador entered his room as the door shut behind him. He pushed back the curtain between the door and the rest of the small room, and was appalled to see a young Daezun, not much older than Sofie, chained to the bed by all four limbs. She was naked and clearly displayed for him. He took a folded blanket and gently covered her as she glared at him.

  “I’m not here to hurt you in any way. I’m going to take the gag out of your mouth so we can talk, but I need you to be quiet, understood?” Alador asked gently. He reached up after a moment and pulled the gag out of her mouth.

  “You’re all filthy pigs! When I get loose, I’m going to kill every one of you!” the girl spat at him.

  Alador sighed and put the gag back into her mouth forcibly. “All right. Let’s try this one more time, and if you can’t behave, then I’ll just have to leave you here like this. My name is Alador, and I’m here to help you escape – you and anyone else who wishes to go. However, if you continue to snarl and spit then I will leave you here till everyone else is gone and you are the last. Do you understand? Nod once.” Alador’s tone was firm, but gentle.

  Very slowly, the woman nodded once. Alador smiled and removed the gag again, though he was more cautious this time. The girl didn’t curse or spit at him, but she did watch him with clear distrust. “What’s your name?” Alador asked softly.

  “Tarea,” she answered. Her eyes looked over him. “Are you really going to get me out?” Alador could see the glimmer of hope amongst the doubt.

  “Or die trying.” He grinned at Tarea, trying to put her at ease. “I’m hoping for ‘out’ over ‘dying,’ but I could use some help.” He looked around and saw a key to the chains that held her up on the wall. “If I let you go, are you still going to try to kill me?”

  “Unless it’s some trick, then I won’t kill you. Touch me and I will rip a piece of you off and shove it where it doesn’t belong,” Tarea promised with hateful vehemence.

  “Well, we can’t have that.” Alador laughed softly and moved to fetch the key. He decided he was safer starting at her feet; Tarea could probably do some serious damage through sheer hate alone if she were totally freed. He wondered if Jon or Sordith were having any luck with their ‘purchases’ for the night. Carefully, Alador freed her feet and then one hand. Tarea watched him warily as he moved around the bed to free the other. When she was free, she scooted back hard up against the headboard, holding the blanket tight around her. Alador looked about but saw no clothing. “Where are your clothes?” he asked softly, knowing that loud voices or sudden movement might set her off. She had that same hurt, betrayed look he’d seen in Mesiande’s eyes, and it was tearing him apart.

  “The Master…” She spat at the mention of ‘Master,’ “says we don’t need clothes till we are filled with a small one.”

  “How long have you been here?” Alador asked, making sure to give the bed a wide berth as he carefully poured a drink. He started to take a sip from it, but decided against it at the last moment – he remembered Sordith’s warning that the drinks might be spiked. Dulling the woman’s senses down, however, probably wouldn’t hurt with as tense as she was, so he offered Tarea the glass instead.

  She took the drink from him gratefully, staring into it for a moment before drinking deeply with obvious thirst. “I guess maybe three months,” Tarea answered after she’d finished. “I lost count of days ‘cause sometimes men only come for a couple hours.” Her hands began to shake as they held the goblet.

  Rage tore through Alador. He wanted to kill the man right now. He wanted to move through the halls and rip out the throat of everyone that helped chain these women down. And men… If Jon had gotten what he asked for, then there was a man chained down in his quarters. The men, to be forced to serve other men…” Alador shuddered at that thought, then realized that Tarea was watching his face, and forced himself back to the task at hand. “If I can get you out of the city and give you some slips, is there somewhere you can go?” She looked to be full-Daezun, so maybe she wasn’t an outcast.

  “Yes. I can return home,” Tarea whispered. She still clutched the blanket to her chest with one hand, and her eyes reminded Alador of a cornered fawn.

  He decided to keep her talking, partly for information and partly hoping to see her terror fade. “How did you get here to start with?” he asked. There was peace, so how was it that women were being taken this way, he wondered?

  “My mate was a half-breed that came into his magic. He was forced out, so I came here with him. We thought to make a home with him in the guard he’d heard about.” Tarea’s voice broke. “He died when they came to take me from him. They just killed him for no reason. He wasn’t even armed at the time.” She began to cry, despite her vehemence when Alador had first walked into the room.

  Alador took the goblet from her shaking hand and refilled it, pressing it firmly into Tarea’s hand and urging her to drink. He hoped, for her sake, that it was drugged. He didn’t know what to make of her story; part of him was glad now that he hadn’t brought Mesiande with him. Would this have been her fate, as well? Would she have been wrenched from him, or would his uncle have used her as leverage for control? Alador realized if Luthian ever found out about Mesiande, that is exactly what would happen. He was grateful that the only ones that knew about her were Henrick and Keelee; he had no doubt that Luthian would use his love of Mesiande to get anything he wished from Alador. At that moment, Alador realized that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to protect Mesiande.

  They sat and talked for a while about where Tarea had come from, and about her mate, Jayte. It wasn’t long before Alador realized that Sordith was right; the wine was drugged. He took the goblet from the woman and urged her to lie down. Tarea sleepily did Alador’s bidding without complaint. He tucked the blanket about her and returned the goblet to the decanter. For an hour, Alador paced the room, anger seething within him. As much as he wanted to be with Mesiande, regardless of what his father found, he could not be with her. As long as Luthian was in power, he could not reveal his feelings for her or anyone else in Smallbrook. He could see now the true depths of depravity that his uncle was capable of, and he had no doubt that if Luthian ever learned about Mesiande, he would use her against Alador.

  Finally, he could contain his rage no longer, and he tore out of the room. “Veaneth! Someone get me that bastard!” He moved down the hall towards the main hall. He grabbed a guard there by the tabard. “Take me to the Master’s room. How dare he try to drug me!?” Alador raged. The guard’s eyes flew open wide; he didn’t even try to bat a lash as he took Alador down to Veaneth’s quarters. Sordith and Jon were right behind him before he came face-to-face with Veaneth. Veaneth must have heard Alador bellowing, as he came stumbling out into the hall, belting his robe shut as he went, his fleshy, naked body quivering with his hasty movements.

  Sordith was hissing behind him, “Not the plan, not the plan…”

  “Bugger the plan!” Alador bellowed. He grabbed Veaneth’s robe and jerked him forward to his nose. “You tried to drug me. You tried to drug the nephew of the High Minister himself, you underhanded, sniveling dog,” Alador hissed out.

  “I assure you sir that the wines have only enough to relax and empower the senses. It would have worn off long before you had de
cided to leave.” Veaneth had paled and his hand went into his robe pocket.

  “Yes, I imagine that’s why the woman in my bed who I gave a drink to so as to make her ready for me is now nothing but a biddable child. Did you plan to rob me of my every slip, Master Veaneth?” Alador drew the man’s face close so they were nose to nose, his posture one of the angry patron, eyes blazing.

  “Of course not, milord! I would never cause harm or foul to the High Minister’s kin or guests,” he whined out, not quite meeting Alador’s gaze. “Here, a gift! Let me make it up to you.” Veaneth pulled a beautiful glowing emerald from his pocket. “I offer you this as my apology.” He held the stone up, and Alador felt his gaze drawn to it. He knew immediately that this was the object his father had warned him about, but, despite his knowledge, it was all he could do to snap up a magical barrier, something he still wasn’t very good at. The moment Alador’s went up, he heard Jon curse and knew that his friend had shielded as well. He stepped back a little, still holding Veaneth’s robe.

  Sordith was not so lucky. He stepped forward, eyeing the stone. “I think we should take his offer and go, Alador,” he murmured.

  Veaneth grinned in triumph. “Protect me! They plan to take it from you!” he screamed at Sordith, pointing at Alador. Sordith, as if by hand of another, jerked and drew his blades, spinning to slash across Alador’s midsection. In that same moment, Alador – who still held Veaneth’s robe – spun so that the blades caught Veaneth across the back. Veaneth screamed and fell to his knees, his emerald falling to the ground. Alador brought his heel down hard on it, but it didn’t break – it rolled next to the large man who’d become nothing more than dead weight in Alador’s hands. Alador released him, staggering backward.

  Jon, in the meantime, had turned to face the guard that had brought them down the hall. His robe disappeared and his armor reformed even as the guard’s sword had cleared its sheath. Jon’s hand flashed up, a black arrow forming in it, and he sent it flying toward the heart of the guard before the man had even taken his third step toward him.

  Alador heard the rasp of sword and sheath behind him as he stepped back from Veaneth, and spun back to the wall, attempting to change his robes back into his armor. He was caught between Sordith and the other guard, who moved forward, trying to catch Alador between the blade and the wall. Alador dove to the ground next to Veaneth, feeling the sword whistle just past his skin. He rolled to the guard’s feet, kicking out in an attempt to bring him to the ground with Alador. The most he managed was to get the man to stumble for the wall. Alador turned to roll up and saw Sordith bearing down with both swords. There was no way he’d be able to deflect Sordith; he raised both hands in pitiful defense, but Sordith flew over him and disemboweled the guard. Alador rolled back up to his feet, hearing the sound of boots running toward them. “Are you back?” he questioned as he spun about, looking for Jon.

  “Wasn’t gone,” Sordith answered as he turned to meet Veaneth’s second room guard. Alador just glanced at him in disbelief.

  Jon, in the meantime, had pulled his blade and was caught in a battle with another hall guard. Alador took the moment to shift back into his armor and pulled his sword. He kicked Veaneth over to see that he wasn’t dead; the man was grasping for his emerald, but his fat and his injury kept it just out of reach. Alador struck the glowing stone with his blade, shattering it. Veaneth cried out weakly and started to mouth something; Alador responded by impaling the man through the heart. He couldn’t risk Veaneth casting a spell, not now in the middle of combat. He knelt, leaving the blade quivering in Veaneth’s chest, to search for the keys. It took a moment, but Alador finally felt them cold against his fingers. He stood up, assessing the situation.

  “You two need to quit playing,” Alador called out to Sordith and Jon, who were both still engaged with the guards. Alador took a moment to center himself; it took longer than normal to find that well of power within him. He focused on a storm’s magnificence until he felt his hands tingling with power. “Down!” he yelled. Both Sordith and Jon dropped instantly, and Alador fired out two bolts of lightning, one after the other from each hand. The two guards twitched violently under the bright white light before they too dropped to the ground. Jon and Sordith swiftly dispatched them. Alador reached down and ripped his sword from Veaneth’s chest.

  “Ideas. Now,” Alador snapped as he turned and strode for the main hall.

  “Can you make fog?” Jon asked, moving forward to stride beside Alador, who nodded in response. “Then you and I can take the four outside. That leaves at least two we know of for you, rogue, can you handle that?” Jon snapped.

  “On it.” Sordith turned in the opposite direction when they reached the center entryway.

  Jon and Alador approached the main door quietly. Jon knelt down and nodded for Alador to feed the fog under the door. It took Alador a few moments to sense a source of water he felt safe pulling from, and then a few more to create it into fog. He felt like it took forever, and the pounding of his heart seemed to beat the moments out loudly. Alador had a harder time creating fog – it was difficult to envision, elusive and shifting as it was. The water vapor seemed to form in snake-like tendrils from his fingers. He shut his eyes, not wanting to know what Jon intended for fear it would break his concentration, and continued pulling the water and feeding it through his hands into the dense fog he’d imagined. Alador kept his concentration until Jon put a hand on him.

  “That’s enough,” Jon whispered. Alador opened his eyes and shook his hands – they felt cold as ice. He stood, looking at Jon, who lifted his hand to sign that they should wait. The sound of a dropping sword and body could be heard through the door, and Alador moved to open it. Jon caught his hand. “Not yet. Let the air clear,” he warned softly.

  “What did you do?” Alador asked just as quietly. He wanted to look, but trusted Jon enough to know that he should do as he was told.

  “Just laced it with a bit of sleeping poison,” Jon answered.

  Alador nodded and the two waited. The house was quiet now except for the sounds of their breathing. Alador decided to take it as a good sign – there was no outcry from Sordith. Finally, Jon nodded and they both eased out the door. Alador knelt to check the first guard, only to find that the man was obviously dead. “I thought you said it was a sleeping poison?”

  Jon just shrugged. “Dosing is not my strong suit,” he admitted.

  Alador grinned. He’d planned to kill them anyway – they couldn’t leave any witnesses that might be able to identify them as members of the Blackguard. He rose and headed for the gates, wary of any other guards that Sordith may not have noted. “Again?” Alador mouthed. Jon just nodded.

  The fog was easier this time as the fog was already forming on the streets, rolling in from the harbor. He could simply take that and pull it slowly together until it formed a ball before him. Alador concentrated, carefully keeping it steady, and watched in fascination as Jon turned it green. Jon nodded and Alador carefully fed the fog through the close-set bars of the gate. Again, both men dropped. While they were waiting, Jon mimicked holding his breath and dragging them in. Alador nodded he understood. As soon as the two men slumped, he and Jon moved, opening the gate and bringing the guards in. One was still alive, but Jon ended that problem swiftly with his thin dagger.

  Alador turned and headed back into the house confidently, striding through the door without caution. Jon followed a little ways behind him, his movements warier. Neither of them saw the waiting guard until Alador felt a sharp pain, cold as ice, driving into his back. His eyes widened in shock as he looked down to see a sword point sticking out from just beneath his ribs. He hadn’t heard or seen the guard…how could they have missed him? Alador dropped to his knees, clutching his chest as the sword withdrew. He was dimly aware of two knives flying over his head; Sordith had arrived, just a little too late. Time seemed to stretch as Alador fell forward, the floor approaching slowly as he sank into blackness.

  Chapter Twenty-Thre
e

  Renamaum looked down at the small blue dragon that lay battered on the rocks of the shore, broken and floundering. The tide was coming in – the smaller dragon would clearly die if it stayed where it was, but it was large enough that Renamaum would never be able to move it to safer ground. The small dragon looked at him, waiting for death.

  “What were you thinking?” Renamaum growled down at it. “Do you think that a battle is a game? That there are rules?”

  “I thought all was safe. Our foe was defeated and left the field to the victor,” the small dragon croaked out, thrashing helplessly, its injuries too great for flight.

  “Never assume that a foe is defeated. The best ploy is to let your enemy think he has won.” The large dragon nuzzled his smaller flight mate. “You must remember this for your next battle.”

  “I do not think I will have a next battle.” The small dragon laid back against the rocks, its breaths coming in great gasps, too exhausted to keep trying to escape.

  “So you will give up and let the ocean’s waves drown you?” Renaumam scoffed. “You fought so bravely for what is right, only to lay back and die now? I thought you better than this.”

  The little dragon’s eyes flashed with anger. “What would you have me do? You cannot save me and I cannot fly,” it hissed in defeated vehemence. “When the waves come, I will flounder till I am beat against the rocks.”

  “If that is what you choose, then that is what will happen.” Ranaumam shook his head and looked down at the dragon. “I will leave you to wallow in your defeat, but first, allow me to leave one word of advice.”

  “Advice when I am about to die?” The smaller dragon growled in frustration. “What possible advice could you give me that would be of any use?”