The Blackguard (Book 2)

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  “When you cannot fly, my dear fledgling.…” The dragon leapt into the air as he called down, “you swim.”

  The sound of voices blended fuzzily in Alador’s ears, like an obnoxious buzz. He shifted and felt a strange stab of pain in his ribs. Slowly, Alador opened his eyes for a brief moment…Then quickly shut them against his too-bright surroundings.

  “Mistress Vera, I think he’s waking up!” a voice called.

  “Don’t shout,” groaned Alador, moving a hand to his aching head. It felt like it thumped along with his heart.

  “Yup he’s awake.” That could only be Flame with that boisterous, joyful voice. “Close one, there, Alador. I was sure you were a goner a couple times.”

  “What happened?” he croaked out, his throat dry and aching. He was trying – and failing – to piece together how he ended up…Wherever it is he was now.

  “Jon brought you in. Said the two of you got jumped. He didn’t have a scratch on him, of course. Figures. Why couldn’t they have stabbed him?” Flame grumbled.

  “Flame, no offense, but go away,” growled Alador. The man’s loud voice was competing with the booming of his own heartbeat.

  “Fine thanks I get for sitting with you. He’s all yours, Mistress Vera. Woke up grumping.” Flame’s boots sounded off across the floor.

  A soft feminine hand moved Alador’s hand away from his head to rest a warm cloth on his head. It felt wonderful. “The potion we gave to keep you still has a kick to the head when you wake. Lie still and give yourself time – it will subside.” The voice was kind.

  Alador put his hand back over the cloth, glad for its warmth. “Is Jon really okay?” he asked, beginning to recall the evening. He had no idea what had happened. Had they failed? Had they accomplished nothing? No, Alador knew for a fact that the bag of refuse named Veaneth had died, at least. There was satisfaction in that alone. But he couldn’t ask any questions, not now. Flame must have stayed nearby to insure that Alador stuck to the story of getting jumped. Did Flame know the truth? Alador really needed to talk to Jon.

  “Jon is fine. As your friend said, the mage seemed to have escaped without a scratch. I’m afraid you lost whatever slips you were carrying, though. Jon said he gave the man what you both had to stop him from doing any further harm…you should have just given the man your slips to start with. Life is far more precious than a few slips of medure,” she scolded softly. Alador groaned his hand going back over the compress. It figured that Jon and Sordith had cast him in the role of the aggressor. But then again, everyone knew Alador had a temper, so he supposed that fit. His head hurt too much and he had too little information to speak, so he just nodded – and immediately regretted the motion. The sharp intake of his breath must have given him away.

  “Lie still,” Vera scolded. “It will pass. I’ll return regularly to change the compress until you can manage without it.”

  Alador slipped in and out of sleep, waking when Mistress Vera changed the compress, slipping back under with its comforting warmth. He had no idea how much time had passed when he was finally able to open his eyes and smile at the woman who was putting the compress back into a pail of steaming water.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Yes. How long have I been here?” Alador asked. He looked around, taking in his surroundings.

  “Three days,” Vera answered. She must have read the alarm on his face – her hands moved to hold his shoulders down before Alador could even try to sit up. “Not yet,” she scolded.

  “Three days? I’ve been here three days?” he squeaked in frustration, his voice rising an octave.

  “You did almost die, Alador. I would think that thanking the gods would be of a higher priority than squealing about a few days of sleep,” Vera chided him firmly. She let Alador go when it was clear he would remain still. “I don’t know what it is with you people in the guard, you’d think you would be grateful for a couple days without lessons.”

  Alador put his hand to his chest; the memory of the sword point piercing through his chest was still visible in his mind’s eye. It was tender, but he felt no bandages. “I thought I was pierced,” he whispered, looking back up to the healer.

  “You were. In fact, the damage was so bad that we had to send for a mage of the golden sphere. Fortunately for you, a few of them were still around. They tend to be sent out quickly. He was able to bring you back from Delthera’s door in the nick of time, though it was nearly beyond his skill. The blade barely missed your heart. What kind of man stabs another in the back?”

  Alador didn’t volunteer what he was sure was the right answer – ‘a desperate one’ – if the guard had seen any of the bodies they’d left lying around, he’d certainly been desperate. Alador watched as Vera left, then he tried to reflect on what he could remember. Slowly, he was able to remember everything right up to when he’d seen Sordith throw the two knives over his head. He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything after, but nothing came. It looked like he was going to have to wait until Jon came to see him, or until he was released from this temporary healer’s prison.

  It must have been several hours later when Alador woke up to find Jon sitting by his bed. Jon looked at him with disdain. “I think it quite unfair that I have to continue my studies while you lay on your back taking a leave of absence.”

  “I did nearly die,” Alador pointed out. He managed a weak grin as he put his hand over his chest.

  Jon offered him a large tankard of water. “Yes. Thankfully, you didn’t – I would have found that much more difficult to explain,” Jon answered.

  Alador took it gratefully. “Were…we…I mean, did they…you know?” Alador looked about to see if anyone could hear them.

  “All those that wanted to were loaded into the wagons, along with all the slips you had, and sent out of the city with the dawn refuse wagons. We left the children be – they were happy, and the mothers willing to stay had good care of them,” Jon answered.

  “How many left the city?” Alador asked softly. He realized he was thirsty and downed the water.

  “All but ten,” Jon answered with a shrug. “For some of them, that was a better life.”

  “But then…won’t they know who attacked the stables?” Alador frowned. “My uncle will find out.”

  “Oh. Your rogue took care of that,” Jon stated stoically.

  Alador looked confused. “How, pray tell, did Sordith ‘take care’ of that?” He eyed Jon curiously and warily, though he felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders as he realized that their plan had freed so many.

  “He told them Aorun sent us.” Jon grinned wickedly.

  “That’s going to get him in trouble with the Trench Lord.” Alador looked alarmed for his friends.

  “Sordith said that he doubted anyone would put the pieces together, and he was fairly certain that, after the slips he left and a fair amount of the strange wine Veaneth had, there would be few – if any – who’d be able to quite recall the three men that came calling.” Jon shrugged. “It seemed sensible.”

  “My cloak? If it’s still there, the High Minister will think it was my father.” Alador panicked and sat up, wincing at the pain in his chest.

  “Faith, my friend, faith. It has been safely returned to your father’s home, and the house is once again sealed.” Jon finally smiled. “Your friend Sordith made sure we left no clues behind.”

  “I thought you didn’t like him,” Alador pointed out, lying back once again.

  “I don’t.” Jon shrugged. “But it’s his neck that’s close to the Trench Lord. It would seem that, at least in this matter, he has a good reason to keep from being linked back to the crime.”

  Alador sighed with relief. “Any rumors on the streets or in the halls?” he asked.

  “Not that I’ve heard. I have permission to take you back to your rooms.” Jon tossed simple black robe onto the bed. “You might want something to wear. Your armor has already been repaired and sent to your room as well.”

>   Alador was stiff, but he managed to get the robe on over his head with minimal discomfort. He’d been in bed for three days, so he supposed his stiffness was normal. Jon brought him his boots, and soon Alador was ready to leave. It took effort to move, and Alador felt weak, but the two slowly left the healers’ hall. Alador didn’t see Vera anywhere, but he made a note to come back and check with her later.

  “I would have expected to wake up to a distraught Keelee, but I don’t remember seeing her,” Alador stated as they made their way slowly through the halls. Jon nodded, but didn’t answer; Alador picked up on his friend’s silence and glanced to his friend. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What are you not telling me?”

  “I think your body servant has decided to give her services elsewhere,” Jon answered softly.

  “Unless she’s moved in with Flame, I highly doubt that.” Alador said stopping in the hall. He said she hasn’t come back from her half-day.” Jon’s answer was factual, with no inflection. “It seemed like the most plausible conclusion.”

  “She hasn’t been here for three days? Not even a word to Flame?” Alador asked with concern. He started moving again, this time with more purpose.

  “Slow down. You did just nearly die, remember?” Jon picked up pace to keep up with Alador.

  “Yes, and in the meantime, Keelee might be in trouble. She warned me that something was about to happen…what if she left to try to stop whatever it is?” Alador snapped out.

  “What is it with you and wanting to save everyone?” Jon rolled his eyes as he kept up with Alador. “You are one man. Maybe some people don’t want saving, like those that got left behind in the stable. Ever think of that?”

  “At least we gave them a choice, Jon,” Alador snarled. “People should have a choice of who they want to be and how they live their lives as long as that choice does not infringe on the choices of others.”

  “You’re an idealist, do you know that?” Jon was finally showing something resembling anger.

  “Someone has to be in this god-forsaken city. There is little to redeem it in the eyes of beast or mortal.” Alador was too tired to argue and focused on walking and breathing; his chest burned with each intake of breath.

  Jon also fell silent at Alador’s words. They reached his room, and Alador flung open the door hoping to see Keelee there…But she was nowhere to be found in the small room. Her hairbrush was still on the desk. Alador moved to the wardrobe and threw it open. It was still full of her dresses.

  “She hasn’t taken another.” Alador sat down on the bed, tired and concerned. “She wouldn’t leave what little she owns behind.” He sat and thought for a long moment. “Jon, can you get me Flame? I have never been to her father’s. I doubt anyone expects me for duty, so I’m going to check on her…If Flame has a pass, maybe he can take me.”

  Jon nodded. “If he doesn’t, I have an extra I can give him.” Jon turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  Alador forced himself back onto his feet wearily and began to search his desk for any sign of warning or note she might have left. He hoped to find some clue to this warning she’d tried to give him. Finding nothing, Alador moved to go through her things in the wardrobe. At the back of a drawer, he saw a glimmer of silver; he reached deep within, grabbing hold of a tube and pulling it out. It was the silver case that Henrick had given him to write back and forth to Mesiande. Alador’s mind raced. Why did Keelee have it? He slowly made his way back to sit on the bed and stared at it. How long had she had it? Did it ever send? Was his own letter still within? His heart racing, Alador slowly opened the case and dumped out a letter in Mesiande’s hand.

  Alador,

  I know that it took me a while to write this letter back to you. I hope you can forgive me for the pain it must have caused you to wait for it. I had a lot to think about. I have come to realize that even if you had not killed Trelmar, you would have had to leave anyway and that the village would have seen to his hanging. So really, things are as they would have been even if he had not died at your hand.

  I have been thinking a lot about magic lately. I know that the Daezun hate the Lerdenians for their magic, but I do not think that is the truth of it. We were all one people once, if the stories are to be believed, so the Daezun must hate the Lerdenians for how they got their magic. Otherwise, they would hate dragons too.

  I think that if anyone were going to see to freeing dragons, it would have to be a half-breed. Someone with Daezun beliefs to see the task through, and with Lerdenian magic so they can actually pull it off. So I am glad, if this is truly why you have these dreams. Just be sure. I would hate to hear that a dragon ate you. It never bodes well to have one’s future mate eaten by a dragon.

  Dorien says to tell you that the device you spoke of is a bolt thrower. It is used to take out large animals that cross a set path or can be used from a harbor to defend against ships. He said to tell you that, much like a bow, if you disable the drawback, it will not fire.

  I am very proud that you are going to use your powers to save a dragon. I know you worry about me leaving or not wanting to be with you because of your magic. I worry that you will find me dull without any. I hope that I did not take too long in writing this back. If you don’t write me back, I guess I will know that you have decided I took too long.

  I have to go to the celebration of Sofie’s naming day tomorrow. It will be sad to have it without you here this year. Gregor continues to dote upon her, and I am sure they will housemate. Gregor is going to circle next year. I don’t think the gods gave Sofie a child this last circle, but I suspect Gregor will see that matter taken care of at the next circle.

  I miss you so very much. I miss the way you would look at the stars as if you could see something there that I couldn’t. I miss the way you would watch out for the small ones and teach them things. I miss the fact that, until you found your stone, I could outshoot you. I miss your hugs and I miss your kiss. I love you, Alador, and I do not want anyone else to be my mate. I am going to next year’s circle. Please! Write me back and tell me you will be there.

  Mesi

  Alador stared at the pages. If Mesiande had written this and sent it the night before Sofie’s naming day, then she’d written back to him about six weeks ago. She must have been completely heartbroken, thinking that Alador had changed his mind. He wanted to dash to the table and write to her right that moment to make things right. He also wanted to find Keelee so he could choke the life out of her. She had known that he was looking for this, and she’d kept it from him. Now, he wanted to find her to ask her why. He sat heartbroken, staring at the letter. His uncle had hinted about the things he’d known. Now, more than ever, Alador suspected that Keelee was in the employ of his uncle as more than just a body servant. Had she told him of this magic tube? Henrick had said that no one but Alador and Mesiande would be able to read anything inside it, but he doubted that applied to his uncle.

  Alador buried his face in his hands, letter still clasped in one as he rocked back and forth in misery. He could not be with Mesiande as long as Luthian lived. He knew what his uncle wanted from him, and he had no doubt about the lack of power he had with which to face off against Luthian. He doubted it would be more than an irritation to the most powerful mage on the isle; he’d almost died to a mere guardsman! Alador was no match for the High Minister. His only trustworthy friends were a flamboyant fire mage, a sullen death mage, and the right hand of the Trench Lord. A fine group they made.

  The door opened and two of those trustworthy people came in. Flame looked around. “She still didn’t come back?” he asked with a frown.

  Alador looked up in misery. “No. And now I need to speak to her about lying to me. Can you take me to her father’s store?” Alador asked. “She had some dream that something bad was going to happen. I should have listened to her,” Alador stated, already exhausted.

  “Of course. I have a pass. I can get us out,” Flame answered. “It’s not your half-day, but Jon said he’d give you o
ne of his earned passes.” Flame looked to the death mage.

  Jon handed Alador his pass. “Want me to come, too?” he asked with concern, eyeing Alador, who looked pale at best.

  “No, I’m just going to ask her father where she might have run off to. I hope she’s just hiding there for some reason.” Alador put the letter on the table and changed from his borrowed robe to the soft linen that he wore beneath his Blackguard uniform, then started buckling on pieces of armor.

  “Do you feel well enough to do this, Alador? I’m a little concerned,” Jon murmured.

  “Careful Jon, I might think you have feelings,” Alador teased, grinning over at Jon to ease his mind. Truthfully, Alador just wanted to crawl into his bed

  “I’ll deny it with my dying breath,” Jon answered. “I can be concerned for a friend’s well-being without having feelings.”

  “Concern is a feeling,” Flame offered brightly, grinning with mischief.

  “Shut up,” Jon answered. He turned on his heel and strode out, shutting the door behind him.

  Alador just chuckled and finished dressing. He strapped on his sword, already feeling more comfortable with the familiar weight at his waist. There was no sign of where he’d been stabbed, though he caressed the spot on his armor. The repair was flawless.

  “You sure you’re up to this? I can go check without you,” Flame offered with unusual care. “You look kind of done in, to be honest.”

  “It’s a walk. I have been in bed for three days. It will do my muscles some good, and we don’t have to hurry,” Alador pointed out. He forced a smile to his face, though he didn’t feel like smiling – he had to know if Keelee was working for his uncle, and he had to hear from her own lips why she’d kept the case from him.

  “Good point.” Flame nodded. When Alador was ready, Flame led the way through the halls and out the of the cavern entrance to the third tier, and into the heavy rain and wind, their cloaks whipping out around them. Neither of them spoke much. Breathing the cold, damp air was like breathing fire in Alador’s left side; speaking was not high on his list of priorities. He and Flame traveled down to the second tier, and finally Flame ducked out of the wind and up to a shop front. The door was locked and the windows were dark, but he knocked loudly anyway while Alador looked around. Hardly anyone moved about the streets, even though it was only just past midday – the driving rain was probably keeping most people at home. A stream of water ran down the center of the angled street.