Bloodmines: Cheryl Matthynssens Read online

  The High Minister loved walking through the upper tiers of Silverport. According to his decree, the streets were white and glistened in the morning sun. There was no sign of garbage, no guttersnipes seeking wallets, or beggars. It was a peaceful walk, where neighbors often greeted each other. All those who resided in the upper tiers were either magi or in service to a mage’s household. It was easy to forget the world he now deigned to visit down below.

  It was a pleasant walk that led from gate to opposite gate, through the length of each tier. The design was not convenient, but served as a defense for the city. If attackers managed to breach the city’s outer defenses, then they would be forced to fight their way down to the opposite end of the street to gain access to the next level.

  With each staircase down, the streets became busier. The third tier was the main tier of commerce. It was bustling with business from those on the two upper tiers as well as those delivering from below, all creating a great deal more noise and congestion than elsewhere. Wagons moved freely on the streets during the day, and call-boys made their way singing out the sales of their masters’ wares. Luthian had always loved the third tier. It had music and personality all its own. The streets still were still pristine as the city thrived in the commerce of the day.

  It was the second tier where the differences really started to become noticeable. The second tier mages had only simple magical skills, such as enchantment, cantrips, or the moulding of stone. The tier also housed those that crafted items to be sold in the tiers above them. Jewelry settings or pottery were regularly created here and sold to merchants and craftsmen above.

  There was another distinct difference, though: despite the decree that the streets be clean and well kept, there was a stench to the air created by the work done on the tier. Human waste, spoiled food, and forge fires mingled into a smell that clung to one’s very robes. The looks from the populace here suddenly seemed less inviting, looks that made the High Minister uncomfortable as he made his way through the street. There was no gratitude on this tier, despite the well-kept road and the assurance of housing and food. People paused to watch him pass, and the looks flashed to him were guarded and distrustful. While Luthian had no doubt that he could protect himself from any here, they were outnumbered. Mobs were notoriously hard to control, and even the most skilled mage could be overrun.

  He continued his descent towards the trench. As they made their way down the wagon ramp to the first tier, Luthian eyed his surroundings. Poverty was more open here. The streets were anything but pristine, and children ran about untended. The overwhelming smell of garbage and human waste forced Luthian to put a scented kerchief to his nose. The crowds parted to let him and his party pass, and a wary silence preceded them across the tier. The Trench Lord’s manor was close to the port entrance to the tier, and Luthian was reluctant to be on the first tier itself any longer than he had to be.

  Called the trench due to its below-city depth, it was a dark place that only got true sunlight when the sun was directly overhead. The city sewers emptied into a canal in the center of the trench and the denizens found or made shelter as they could manage on either side. Luthian stood at the stairs for a moment, looking into the dark depths lit by torches and the dregs of filtered sunlight. The smell alone would have driven him away, and yet people stayed. Not only did the canal reek, but the press of unwashed bodies forced the mingling scents up the stairs to his delicate nostrils.

  The first ministers of the tiered cities had declared the trenches home to those with no magic. A few would find masters in upper tiers that would allow them to live above in exchange for their service, but most that lived here worked in the trenches as well. He could pause no longer, for he could feel the tension in his guardsmen. With great reluctance, Luthian, High Minister of Silverport, descended into the one place he had often tried to pretend did not exist.

  Much to Luthian’s surprise, the inhabitants seemed to pay him no mind. Luthian did not know how they could stand the smell. Even with the scented kerchief, his eyes were watering. He carefully picked his way through the garbage strewn openly about. He eyed the shallow wall areas where people had carved a bit of space for protection from the weather. Others had managed cloth dwellings from scraps of discarded material. The people he passed were dirty and thin. He passed one small child and stopped for a moment frowning. The girl child could not be much more than four, and she was barely dressed. Her large eyes stared up at him in adoration. He gave a trading token to the nearest guardsman. “Give it to the child,” he murmured. He found that the look she gave him was compelling. It was like a small puppy begging for a bit of love.

  “I would advise against that, Minister. If you give a token to one, then you will find every little body in the entire trench suddenly at your side.” The guard looked at him evenly, with no disrespect in tone or manner.

  Luthian frowned. He nodded for them to move on, but his eyes followed the small child as he passed. She would be a beauty one day, if she lived that long. He sighed, not at the plight of the despondent, but rather that such beauty would be wasted. He shook his head and continued to make his way carefully to the steps of the Trench Hall. When he reached the steps, he eyed them with genuine assessment. Aorun had increased the number of statues that showed the harsh ruthlessness of a trench lord. He imagined that few climbed these stairs willingly. He nodded to his guardsman to continue and began the climb to the trench hall threshold. The steps were well tended, and the garbage evident elsewhere was absent here. Sporadic puffs of sea air from the harbor gave some small relief to the stench.

  Luthian did not bother to knock. His guard opened the door and Luthian strode through as if he, himself, lived there. The guard in the hall had his sword out and up before Luthian had finished crossing the doorway. Two of his guards were between him and the Trench Lord’s man in seconds. “Put your swords down, ALL of you. I am the High Minister and welcome in this hall.” His curt, hard tones cut through the air.

  Having recognized this well-dressed intruder, the large oaf of a man slid his sword back home. “E’s been expectin’ you. Right this way.” The big man turned and sauntered down the hall.

  Luthian smiled at this immediate consideration. He usually expected such treatment, but Sordith had been dancing on the edge of impertinence during their meeting. He had been unsure of exactly what reception he could expect from the new Trench Lord.

  When they reached the end of the hall, the large man opened a door and announced loudly. “‘Is Mightiness is ‘ere to see you.” The sarcasm was dripping from the oaf’s mouth, and, without fear, he flashed a grin at Luthian.

  “Send him in,” Sordith’s voice called.

  Luthian moved past the man with a slight frown. Sordith needed to give that man a proper lesson on respect and etiquette, he thought coldly. He entered the Trench Lord’s office and looked around. It was a room meant to intimidate. Luthian recognized the setup, as he also had a similar parlor when he wanted to make a guest uncomfortable. Just as in Luthian’s own office, Sordith sat behind an impressive desk of a red hue. It was an unusual wood color that Luthian did not see often. There was no other chair in the room so Luthian moved to the desk where Sordith sat head bent down as his quill moved over parchment.

  “I apologize for not rising, High Minister, but if I don’t get my thoughts down on this order, I will quite lose what I was about.” Sordith did not look up.

  Luthian’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the man before him. He was not used to waiting for anyone. He took the opportunity to scan the room.

  There were major differences from his own office. One wall held nothing but an array of different weapons. The edges gleamed in the flickering light, and Luthian was certain that all were razor sharp. Two of the other walls had shelves carved into them with a display of unusual items. Some he had seen before and some he had not. The last wall held a double door, which, judging from what he could see from the windows, led to a terrace facing the harbor.

 
His attention was drawn back to Sordith as the man tossed down his quill and rose to his feet. “Right, you are here to see your nephew. I will be more than happy to take you, but I fear your guardsmen must remain here." Sordith’s words held firm command.

  As Sordith spoke, the four men tensed and almost as one, their hands drifted to their sides. Luthian looked over at them and shook his head. He gave a soft chuckle before looking back to Sordith. He put his hands out in an apologetic gesture. “As you can see, leaving me unprotected does not sit well with my guards.”

  “I entered your office unarmed, My Lord. I can hardly say the same of you, even without your men. I hold no magic to burn a man where he stands. However, I am quite certain such men would be upsetting to your nephew’s state of mind.” Sordith’s tone was matter-of-fact.

  Luthian considered this for a long moment then nodded. “Two of you will wait here, two will stand guard outside whatever room my nephew rests in.” He looked at Sordith. “Agreeable?”

  Sordith nodded. “Let’s get this done, as I have work to do. I’m sure you have as well.” Sordith turned and led Luthian back out the door. “Is Alador’s father on his way?”

  Luthian smiled as he walked beside the man. “Of course, I sent for him immediately. However, he has yet to respond, so I cannot tell you when he will arrive.” Luthian let the lie roll of his tongue with ease.

  “Good. I am hopeful that he can prompt some sort of reaction from Alador.” Sordith turned a corner then nodded to the second door. “Your men can post here.”

  Luthian nodded his agreement to the two men who had followed them, then followed Sordith as he opened a door and stepped into the room. The room was simple but elegantly furnished. He looked about for his nephew and spotted him sitting at a table. A plump matron was spoon feeding him. He noted immediately that at each step she had to instruct the boy. He watched as Alador obediently opened his mouth and swallowed on her gentle prompt.

  “Leave us, Millie. You can finish feeding him later.” Sordith’s order was firm.

  Luthian moved to where he could be in front of Alador and eyed him carefully. The boy was pale and gaunt. What drew Luthian’s eye the most, however, was the great streak of white hair that started at the temple and was pristine to the very ends of the boy’s hair. The rest of it was lighter in color as well. Alador was looking right at Luthian, but from the empty look in the lad’s eyes the mage was fairly certain his nephew was not really seeing him.

  “Do you know if Alador was able to cast any spells?” Luthian had only seen such drastic whitening of hair when a mage pulled beyond his strength. It could also account for why the boy was seemingly unaware of his surroundings.

  “I don’t think so. He was strung up with special gloves to stop casting. Aorun had them made specifically for low mages who had offended him,” Sordith answered, leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed.

  “Yes, well, this boy is hardly a low mage,” Luthian murmured, considering the situation before him. He sat down in the chair that the matron had left to get a better look at Alador. He reached out and carefully touched the boy’s face. It was cold and clammy to the touch. Instantly he collated what he saw with what he knew.

  Whatever had happened between Alador and Aorun, Luthian was certain that an intense pull of magic had occurred. The boy was a water mage, so most of the spells he could have cast with that kind of power would have been noted by others. Luthian paused as he mentally replayed Sordith’s report two days earlier.

  “You said Aorun drowned?” Luthian queried.

  “I said either the blade killed him or the water did, yes,” Sordith answered.

  “You also said that you found Alador strung up and that Aorun had been at him awhile. Tell me, Sordith…,” - Luthian’s words were pondering - “…where did the water come from that would have drowned Aorun?” Receiving no answer, the High Minister transferred his penetrating gaze from Alador to the Trench Lord.

  Sordith was staring at him with an intense, considering look. Luthian’s lips twitched up as he pressed, knowing he was on the right track. “The room you found them in was filling with water, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” came the curt answer.

  “You should avoid lying to me, Trench Lord.” Luthian’s tone was cold and hard. “You said no spell was cast. Just how far did he fill the room before he realized that he wasn’t in danger any more?” Luthian looked back at Alador. He had seriously underestimated his nephew. That error may have cost him the storm mage that he needed to take the isle with minimal resistance.

  Sordith kicked off the wall. “What does it matter? Such questions won’t heal him.”

  “It matters because it may determine if he can be healed,” Luthian pressed.

  Sordith eyed Luthian for a long moment. “He didn’t stop until I knocked him out.”

  Luthian blinked in surprise. “How full was the room?”

  “He had filled it to his chin when I finally rendered him senseless.” Sordith eyed the vacant gaze of his charge.

  “I see,” Luthian drawled out. Yes, he had seriously under-estimated the amount of power that his nephew had harvested from that stone.

  “Can he be saved, or will he be like this forever? I will put him out of his misery if there is no hope,” Sordith stated flatly.

  “I will do some research. We will heed the healer’s advice for now, and I will send Henrick to you immediately upon his arrival. I have never seen a mage in such a state, so I have little to offer in wisdom or in hope. However, my library is extensive and I will put mages on this immediately. The boy is important to my plans, and if he can be saved, then he must be.” Luthian rose, smoothing his robes.

  “Important how?” Sordith eyes moved to Luthian as he spoke.

  The man’s astuteness made Luthian smile. “You are not the only man who has ways of finding out things. I fear that is for my knowledge only. But I assure you, I would prefer my nephew very much alive and cognizant of what occurs around him.”

  Sordith’s eyes narrowed, but he did not press the matter. He turned and headed to the door. Luthian took one last look at Alador and followed him back to the office where his other two men waited. Neither man said anything during the short walk to the office nor in the entryway. For Luthian’s part, he was calculating how he could manipulate Henrick into seeing that Alador should be moved to the High Minister’s manor. Luthian only nodded as Sordith bid him an appropriate farewell.

  The guards led Luthian back through the trenches, but this time he was not as aware of his surroundings. When they reached the stairs to the first tier, a small child peering from the shadows caught his eye; it was the same girl he had noticed entering the trench. Halfway up the stairs, he turned and tossed the child a trading token. Immediately after doing so, he looked down at the bottom of the stairs then poured the tokens from his belt pouch into his hands. He stepped back through the two rear guards and tossed the tokens to the bottom of the stairs. Chaos immediately erupted below him as people seemed to materialize from nowhere, and fights swiftly broke out.

  Luthian smiled slowly. He turned and met the smiling girl’s gaze. He put a finger to his lips, and she swiftly nodded.

  “Minister, you have started a full-blown riot. We had best depart before it moves up the stairs.” As if to emphasize the man’s point, the injured scream of a woman pierced the air from below.

  Luthian just nodded and let them hurry him away. The mage smiled as he walked. He judged from the memory of her adoring gaze that she would not forget him or his act of charity. She would come to him when the time was right. In addition, he had left a mess for the arrogant Trench Lord to clean up.

  The High Minister made his way back through the city, wrapped up in his thoughts. The most prevailing one concerned his nephew. Alador had to be cured of whatever ailment held his mind in thrall: because Luthian was unlikely to ever find a storm mage with such power again.

  Chapter Four

  Luthian had sent a magic weave to in
form Henrick to come home immediately. It had been three days, and still there was no sign of the man. His brother had always been irritating, but for the last five turnss he had been more so. Luthian knew damn well he knew how to cast a travel spell. Henrick’s disrespect in not responding immediately bordered on insolence.

  Luthian missed the days when his brother resided on a lower tier and groveled to do whatever task Luthian set before him. Henrick was still biddable, but the groveling had ceased after one long trip to the Daezun lands. He was fairly certain that Henrick had found a substantial bloodstone; if he had, then Henrick was somehow blocking Luthian’s attempts to discern his level of power. His brother’s lack of respect for him - or deference to the post he held - was high on Luthian’s list of major irritations.

  The door to his office slammed open with a sudden force. Both Blackguards stationed in his office drew their swords immediately. It was such a sudden interruption that even Luthian was startled. There in the doorway was his brother, looking quite irritated. The guards looked to Luthian for orders once they realized that it was the High Minister’s brother. Luthian nodded for them to step out, then glanced down to the draft of a speech he had been writing before his thoughts had wandered.

  “Have you become so barbaric in your ventures to Daezun lands that you forgot to knock, brother?” Luthian drawled out, not rising from his desk. He glanced up casually, then picked up his quill to continue working on the speech.

  “I gathered from your message that there was some matter of urgency.” Henrick strode forward as the departing guards shut the door behind him.