The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu (15 page)

“Neither here nor there,” the sergeant commented.  “If they are on your trail, we’ll kill em just like we kill all the others that try to get in here.  Goblins are pretty easy to kill.  It’s the trolls that give us trouble.  It takes a heavy bow to pierce one of their hides and they’ll shed an axe blow like heavy plate.  You go on in and tend to your animals.  They don’t look too bad  for running  since noon yesterday,  but I’m sure they  could use some rest, oats and water.  Your boy looks ready to fall out of the saddle, though.”

“Let’s go Aleron.  Thank you, gentlemen and enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” the sergeant replied sarcastically, as the other guard opened the gate for them to pass.

They passed the massive iron gates and through the thick stone wall, twenty feet high.  More guard patrolled the ramparts.  It was obvious that Freemarket existed only through force of arms, in this goblin infested territory.  Hadaras commented, “Goblins and trolls tend to congregate near roads and settlements in the wildlands, hoping to prey upon travelers and unwary townsfolk, just like bandits in the more settled lands.  Good job acting exhausted, by the way,” he added when they passed out of earshot of the guards.

“Why, thank you, Grandfather.  Don’t they have bandits out here as well?”

“Some, but not as many, due to the goblins and trolls.  They make an easier living closer to civilization.  When you do find them, however, they are big trouble.  Usually, they form large bands for mutual protection and live in fortified villages, for the same reason.  Freemarket was once such a town.  After a few generations, the thieves became legitimate businessmen.”  The stables hadn’t moved since last Hadaras had visited.  They made directly there to put the horses up.  Luckily, they had locked storage available, for an additional fee, so they did not need to lug all their gear to the inn.

Later that morning, after securing rooms and a large breakfast, Aleron asked, “So what are we doing next, Grandfather?”

“I think it would be best to lie low today and get some real sleep.  We should try to fit the story that we rode sunrise to sunrise.  It wouldn’t due for us to be seen wandering around, if our story becomes known.  In addition, we do not know what the long term effects of your intervention may be.  I wouldn’t want the effect to suddenly wear off somewhere inconvenient.”  And so, they settled into their room.  The   furnishings   seemed   somewhat   coarse   and   rustic,  but  clean   nonetheless.  The following day, they would explore the outpost and lay in supplies for the long trip to Dhargul.

***

“Grandfather, who is Jessamine, really?” Aleron asked, after they had settled in.  He had been pondering many questions since discovering the truth of the legacy he was heir to and asked periodically, as new ones came to him.  He now knew the details of his parent’s death, at the hands of an assassin.  He knew that Hadaras was really Goromir, High Sorcerer of Elvenholm, from the histories, likely the oldest elf on Aertu.  He learned that his grandfather had fathered many children and had outlived them all.  It occurred to him, that Hadaras had no other children, recently, aside from Aleron’s mother, so Jessamine was unlikely to be an actual relation of his.  He was somewhat hurt and resentful at the years of deception, but it was not in his nature to hold grudges.  Young as he was, he understood the necessity of what his grandfather did, after the Kolixtlani killed his parents.  “She’s not really my cousin, is she?” 

“No, she is not, my boy,” Hadaras answered.  “She is a friend, who cares very much about you and me.  We have been friends for many years and she agreed to help me take care of you.”

“Is she an elf too, or a human, or is she something else?”

“Something else, lad, let’s just leave it at that for now.”

Aleron knew when he wasn’t going to get anymore information out of his grandfather, so he cut his line of inquiry short.  It did not require much imagination to figure out what “something else” could mean.  She obviously was not a dwarf, goblin or troll, so the only thing left was Aelient. 

***

Later that evening, when Hadaras spoke to Jessamine on the events of the past day, all she had to say on the subject was,
Well, it looks as if our little boy is growing up.  I cannot say why the Allfather is allowing him access to magic usually reserved for my kind.

He was able to wield the red alongside the blue, to no ill effect.  I have never seen a man who chose the red, able to return to using the blue.  He claims that there is nothing inherently evil in the magic, just that it is chaotic in nature,
the ancient sorcerer related.

It could be that chaotic power is the inevitable choice of those who choose evil, not that it turns them to evil.  It may be that both blue and red were always open to men and we simply misunderstood the nature of the red and avoided its use for the purpose of good,
she hypothesized.
  The blending of powers is what strikes me as the most unusual aspect.  That ability may place him on par with the Aelir.  Even we Aelient cannot accomplish that.

I see the outcome I fear becoming the more likely each day that Aleron is as much the fulfillment of the old prophecy, as he is the new.

That does appear to be the case, my love.  For what it’s worth, I am sorry for that.

Chapter 16

Zorekday, Day 30, Haymaking Moon, 8760 Sudean Calendar

Three more weeks of travel brought Aleron and Hadaras nearly to the headwaters of the Arun River.  They were moving less than twenty miles per day through the steep, rugged terrain.  Fifteen days earlier, they reached the ten thousand foot elevation marker and the border crossing with the dwarves.  Hadaras’ name alone was enough to gain them passage and Aleron reflected upon how well known his grandfather was, even under his assumed name.  Grandfather told him some of the other names he had lived under, in the four millennia since Goromir disappeared from the knowledge of Aertu.  Many of the other names were also prominent in the historical accounts Aleron read since early childhood.  The old elf was continually moving the world as he moved within it.  They worked their way slowly along the narrow path, barely wide enough for two small carts to pass, hewn directly into the side of a sheer cliff.  To their left and arching overhead, was a smooth finished rock wall.  To the right, was a low stone railing that appeared, as it would do little to keep one from toppling over the side and falling to the foaming water hundreds of feet below, where small fields were visible along the far side of the river.  The dwarves used every inch of arable farmland within their harsh environment, specially adapting crops to the high altitude and short growing season.  “Isn’t today supposed to be a day of rest, Grandfather?”  Aleron asked, between yawning.

“Would you prefer that we rest right here?”  Hadaras asked in turn.  “It may be a bit inconvenient to have to break camp every time someone needs to pass us by.  I think, perhaps, that we should wait until we reach a turn out, constructed for such purposes.”

“Sorry Grandfather, I didn’t mean that I wanted to stop right now.  It just seems like we’ve been riding forever.”  Aside from the occasional way station, spaced several days apart on the trail, there had been little to break the monotony of the trip.  Once or twice a day they would pass trader’s carts heading back to the lands of men, loaded with manufactured goods and occasionally they would pass up a cart loaded with foodstuffs or fabric, heading to Dhargul. 

“It certainly is a long journey,” Hadaras agreed, “but well worth it.  Dhargul is a sight worth seeing and very few non-dwarves are permitted entry into the city proper.”

“How is it that you are so well known here, Grandfather?”

“I did a favor for King Faergas Goldhammer, long ago.  He is still quite grateful for it.”

“What did you do for him and why do they call him ‘Goldhammer’?”

“As for your first question, my boy, I helped rid him of a minor case of demonic possession,” Hadaras explained.  “He is one of the few individuals alive who know my full identity.  As for your second question, he has a gold hammer.  He says he prefers the heft of it for fighting mountain trolls, which he still enjoys doing, on occasion.”

“He still goes out and fights trolls himself?” Aleron asked.  “Isn’t he too important for that sort of thing?  I mean, what if he gets killed?”

“Aleron, my dear boy, what I am about to tell you, I hope you take to heart and never forget.  A king who styles himself too important to himself defend his territory and people, is no longer a king in truth.  The king exists for the people, not the other way around.  The kingdom belongs to the people and the king belongs to the kingdom and thus the people.  When a ruler believes that the kingdom and people exist for his own benefit, he becomes a tyrant and the people eventually overthrow tyrants.  No one person is indispensable, not even the king.”  That left Aleron to ponder the words of his grandfather, quite possibly the oldest and wisest mortal being on the face of Aertu.  He recalled the histories of some other nations, such as Ebareiza, whose kings and emperors faced regular usurpation over the ages.  “Look, here’s a place to rest now.”  The dwarves quarried away a spur of the mountain, leaving an area over thirty paces across.  Fast growing grasses and shrubs, specially bred by the dwarves for this purpose, provided much needed forage for horses.  Hadaras led them of the path and they dismounted, picketing the horses alongside the most recovered looking sward.  “This would be a good place to camp, but it is too early in the day for that.  There will be other opportunities further along the path.”  The builders also carved several alcoves into the face of the mountain, as well as a larger, covered stable area. 

The tremendous amount of effort expended by the dwarves to build this road and the way stations along it was mind boggling to anyone who took the time to think about it.  This fact was not lost on Aleron, who asked, “Grandfather, how long did it take the dwarves to build this road?  It seems like an awful lot of work.”

“This being the major artery between Dhargul and Arundell, the dwarves have developed this route more than others,” Hadaras answered, “and if I recall correctly, it took them well over a thousand years to establish it to the point you see today.”

“A thousand years…?” 

“Yes, but bear in mind, the route was established much earlier and what you see now is the result of improvements.  This section of the trail used to follow the river and then climb steeply out of the valley at the falls.  This gradual climb took centuries to carve into the cliff face.  Dwarves build nothing shoddily, so once they build a road, they spend very little on its upkeep and it endures for thousands of years.”

“That’s not the way men build, is it Grandfather?”

“No, unfortunately lad, men, being the short lived creatures they are look for quick results and don’t often build things to last.  There were exceptions of course, like the monuments of Cop and the royal hall at Arundell, but nothing built on Aertu can match a dwarvish structure for longevity.”

“How about elves, how do they build?”

“Elves build for beauty.  We care not that it will not last forever, for we value the aesthetic above all else.  Our structures are quite durable, nonetheless, but no match for those built by dwarves.”

“Thank you, Grandfather.”  Aleron seemed satisfied with the answer.  “I’d like to look around a little, if that’s all right.”  Hadaras nodded in affirmation and Aleron wandered off to explore the shelters and stables.  He found the manure heap, next to the stables.  It was obvious that someone came through regularly to clean the area and the manure likely used to fertilize the grass and shrubs.  A raven flapped in, taking roost on an outcropping overhead.  Aleron looked up at it and it in turn, eyed him quizzically.  Thinking little of the bird, Aleron decided to practice magic while they waited.  He did as Hadaras had shown him and projected a thin beam of blue radiance from his hand, using it to reduce a stray stone into precisely spaced slices, like a loaf of bread.  He found that he could feel the measurements through the power he wielded.  He tried to do the same to another stone with the red power, but found the precision was not there.  The stone split violently and haphazardly and he soon had a small pile of rubble where the stone once was.  He then picked up one of the wafers he made and held it in his right palm.  Around the stone, he generated a blue glow, while in his left palm he produced red.  Closing both palms around the disk, he focused on a cliff wall facing him from across the valley and visualized the disk striking a point on the rock face.  In a flash of maroon light, the stone shot across the valley, to the point Aleron focused upon.  He saw a puff of dust and several seconds later, heard the crack from the impact.

Hadaras looked up from his repose on the finely crafted stone bench he chose to lie on.  “Easy boy, you don’t know who might be here in these hills to witness. Be careful.”

“Yes, Grandfather, I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.”

A voice cackled behind him, “Indeed, good advice my grandson gives you.”  Aleron whipped around to see the raven had hopped down to wall of the refuse bin.  “I haven’t seen the likes of that in many an age.”  As Aleron’s jaw dropped in disbelief, the black bird continued, “Why don’t you try mixing all the colors, like I showed you.”  The bird underwent a transformation before his eyes, going from black to luminous white.  Without another word, it took wing and shot impossibly fast up the cliff face and into the sky, dwindling to a point of light before winking out.

Aleron rushed to his Grandfather and in a shaky voice asked, “Did you see that?” 

“See what?   You were just flinging stones and I closed my eyes for a quick nap,” he replied.

“That raven just spoke to me.”

“It spoke?” he asked, sitting suddenly upright.  “What did it say to you?”  He knew that aelient could take many guises and not all were benevolent.

“It said it hadn’t seen anything like that for many an age.”  Hadaras looked even more worried and Aleron continued.  “Then it said that I should try mixing all the colors, like ‘IT’ showed me to.”