The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu (17 page)

“No business really, other than resupply, of course,” Hadaras replied, they had dismounted and were walking the horses.  “I’m Hadaras the Wanderer and I come simply to introduce my grandson to some old friends.”  The eyes of both guards widened slightly at the announcement.

“We are honored by your presence Lord,” the guard said as he bowed low, his beard brushing the paving stones, a gesture of great honor for a dwarf.  The younger guard quickly did the same.  “I thought you looked familiar,” he continued after returning upright.  “I was just a lad, like this one here, the last time you passed through the city.  He barked instructions to the younger guard in Dwarvish then said, “We are sending word to the city gate of your arrival Sir.  Faergas Goldhammer will be pleased with the news.”  Rather than running off with the news, the younger dwarf began tapping on the key to an odd apparatus, in a halting but somewhat rhythmic pattern.  Soon afterward, the apparatus made clicking sounds in reply, similar to the pattern the guard had just tapped. 

“I am honored by the fact you remember me,” Hadaras answered, bowing low in return.  Aleron followed suit.

“They acknowledge Sir
.
”
  The young guard said in Dwarvish, to his superior.

“Gentlefolk, please enjoy your stay in our beautiful city,” said the senior guard, as he and the other stood aside, holding their axes in the position of salute.

“Thank you, I’m certain we will kind Sir.  Come along Aleron,” Hadaras instructed the boy.

“Thank you, Gentlefolk,” Aleron said to the guards as he passed.  He and his Grandfather towered head and shoulders above the stout pair, though the guards likely massed more than the elf and halfblood.  They stepped through the gate and into the high vaulted tunnel through the massive stone wall, formed of impossibly large  blocks.  “How  did  they  move  stones  this  size?”   he  asked  his  grandfather. The stones lining the tunnel were fifteen feet tall, twenty wide and judging from what he had seen on the outside wall, forty feet long.

“That detail is known only to the dwarves, my boy.  No one was here to witness them build these cities,” The old elf answered.  “Just remember, the dwarves were working stone when elves and men were still roaming the wilds naked and hunting for their keep.  They passed through the wall and into the merchant’s square that served as a buffer between the outer wall and the city proper.  This area is as far as most travelers get when they visit Dhargul and is much like the merchant’s quarter of any city among men.  Many shops and a couple of inns lined the outer edges of the space, but most of the business was taking place out in the open, as traders transferred goods from one wagon to another.  Wagons loaded with tools, weapons, armor, jewelry and precious stones and metals made their way to the outer gate, back to the lands of men.  Meanwhile, carts loaded with foodstuffs, wood, charcoal and fabric moved toward the city gates.  Heavily armed caravan guards accompanied the outgoing wagons, especially those loaded with gold and silver.  They made their way through the throng towards the gates of the city.  The overcast sky was beginning to drizzle and they meant to get under cover before they would need to dry off all their equipment.  As they approached the inner gate, the guards there snapped to attention and one asked, “Lord Hadaras?”

“Yes, my good dwarf,” he replied.

The guards executed deep bows, like those at the outer gate and Hadaras and Aleron returned the gesture.  “Ahead and to the left, you will find the stables, Lord and someone will be there to greet you shortly and guide you to your lodging.  Enjoy your stay in Dhargul, Lord.”

“
Thank you, gentlefolk, for your assistance.  I am certain that we will enjoy our stay in your beautiful city,
” Hadaras answered in Dwarvish, giving the response required of dwarvish etiquette.  He and Aleron entered, passing the thick, outward opening, steel doors, decorated with gold and silver.  A massive portcullis loomed over the far end of the corridor, before it opened into the underground city.  Upon moving into the city, Aleron experienced a sight seen by few outside the dwarven world.  Massive stone columns, hewn from the living rock, supported vaulted ceilings, well over one hundred feet above their heads.  Some columns bore helical staircases, indicating levels above the one on which they stood.  Terraced galleries lined the sides of the expansive underground plaza, switchbacks providing cart access from one level to the next.  Ornate carvings seemed to decorate every surface.  Hadaras spotted the stable area and they made towards it.

“Did they hollow out the entire mountain?” Aleron asked, awed by the sheer expanse and grandeur of the dwarvish city.

“Essentially, yes,” Hadaras replied, “this mountain is riddled from top to bottom.  There are countless levels above and below this main one.”  He continued, “It is even rumored, that one can travel from here to Nhargul, completely underground.”

“But that’s hundreds of leagues away.”

“And they have had thousands of years in which to accomplish it,” his grandfather reminded him.  When he considered the scale of the excavation before his eyes, it was not difficult to believe that the dwarves could have tunneled the three hundred leagues between the cities.

“Grandfather, what are those lamps burning overhead?” the boy asked.  “It’s not the right color for any oil lamp I’ve ever seen.”  The lamps to which Aleron referred hung high in the ceiling and shone with a flickering, blue-white light.

“Those lamps operate on the same principle as a bolt of lightning.  Essentially, they are a continuous spark of lightning, contained in a glass vessel.  As I recall, they employ rods of an extremely pure form of coal, so pure, that it does not readily burn, like other types.  A spark of lightning is maintained between two coal rods,” Hadaras explained.

“What kind of magic do they use to harness lightning?”

“This is not magic.  They have devised a way to generate the same energy as lightning, through mechanical means, but on a smaller scale and can store  it for later use.   The machine  the guards used to  communicate works on the same energy.  It readily travels on wires made of metal and seems to be in some way related to loadstones.”

“How do they make lightning?”

“The machines I saw years ago, used loadstones mounted on a disk, spinning past coils of wire.  Somehow, the loadstones create lightning energy in the wire coils and they use it to power other things, like lamps or that distance talker.  They employ water mills at their dammed reservoir to spin the loadstone disks and generate the energy.  Dwarves are very ingenious when it comes to mechanical things.  Faergas told me once that they learned to make artificial loadstones, many times stronger than the natural ones and use them in their energy mills.”

“Why don’t men use this kind of energy, instead of burning oil in lamps?” Aleron wondered.

“The dwarves are not quick to share their secrets with outsiders.  Men will likely discover this soon enough.  Another thing Faergas told me was that after they began using these lamps, rickets became all but unknown among dwarf children.  It seems even, that one can receive sunburn from working too close to these lamps and rickets occurs in children who do not receive enough sunlight.”

“The light seems whiter than the sun; it kind of hurts to look at it.”

“No, I don’t believe it is a good idea to look directly at them, any more than it is to stare directly at the sun.” 

They arrived at the stables and a groom came out to meet them.  His bushy black beard covered nearly his whole face.  “G’mornin Lairds,” he greeted in thickly accented Sudean.  “Dunt git many o ye tall folk an yer tall harses, but we’ll find ye sum reume.”  Aleron could barely understand the dwarf through the accent.

Hadaras replied in fluent Dwarvish, “
Thank you kind sir.  Where may we offload our baggage and equipment?”

The groom seemed delighted that a foreigner took the time to become fluent in his tongue and replied, “
You can offload your bags right here Sir.  No one will bother them.”
  Dwarves, as a rule, abhor the concept of theft and will not take anything that is not their own.  Often, they will go to great lengths to find the rightful owner of a lost or discarded item and if that is not possible, will donate the item to a charitable cause, rather than keep it for themselves.  Because dwarves are also hard working, as a rule, they have little need for charity and their charitable donation warehouses overflow with items, some quite ancient.  Only during times of war or natural disaster, do they draw down their stockpiles.   The groom continued, “
You can store your saddles here and we can get a cart to carry your bags to lodging, if need be.  But seeing as you’re not dwarves and you made it past the gate, I assume you’re important folk and someone will be along to collect you.”

“Yes, the guards said a representative from the palace will be along shortly to bring us to where we will be lodged.”

“Guests of King Faergas, important folk indeed,”
The groom stated, looking impressed.  Aleron found he could understand most of the conversation, but it was moving too fast for him to actually join in.  He discovered that being able to read another language does not necessarily mean that you are conversational in it.  “
Well, let us get these oversized ponies settled in before they get here.  I’ve a few larger pens for when the foreign dignitaries visit.  I even have a long handled brush to rub them down with.  I’ll take good care of them for you.  They look like fine animals.”
He started in on unloading the packhorse.  Hadaras and Aleron started on their own mounts as well.

“How much will we owe you for your services, Sir, for each day of lodging,” Hadaras
asked, as they unpacked and set the baggage and gear to the side.

“Not a thing my Lord,”
the groom answered him. 
“I’m an employee of the kingdom and this is a free service to guests of the city, as is the lodging, if you were to need it.  Outside, in the merchant’s square, it’s another story.  You would pay for everything out there. 
After they brought the horses in and stowed the saddles, with the groom chatting the whole time, he finally got around to asking,
“So, may I inquire as to your names, Gentlefolk?”

“Certainly, Sir, I am Hadaras and this is my grandson, Aleron.”

The dwarf’s face went white and his eyes got wide. 
“Lord Hadaras, the Wanderer?”
he asked then he bowed deeply, like all the guards before, saying,
“Please pardon my insolence, Lord.  I had no idea you were a Protector of the Realm, ten thousand pardons Sir.”

“Please rise my friend.  There is no need.  I was glad for your conversation,”
Hadaras assured the dwarf, extending his hand in friendship.  The groom straightened and took the elf’s hand in a vise-like grip.

“Sir, it is a great honor to meet you,”
he stated, emphatically, pumping Hadaras’ arm vigorously. “Laddie, dids yer gramper tell yu he’s da only outsider in da

histry o’ da fur kindoms evar neemed a Prutectur o’ da Realm?  Dat’s ar heist oner.”

“No Sir, he did not,” Aleron replied.  “I’ve come to find out that my Grandfather is not one to boast on his achievements.”

“Aye, yoo b’ prood; e’s eh greet mon,” the dwarf told him, as he slapped Aleron on the back with enough force to knock the wind out of the boy.  He apologized as Aleron wheezed to regain his breath, “Surry laddie, Iy furgut ye min urnt so stoot is oos.”

“No problem, Sir,” Aleron assured him, as he regained his composure. 

Hadaras just laughed heartily at the exchange. 
“And may I ask of your name, Good Sir?”

“Daegle, at your service, my Lord,”
the dwarf said, bowing low, once again.

“An honor to meet you, as well, Sir,”
Hadaras announced, bowing in return as Daegle straightened from his bow.  Just then, an ornate carriage appeared, drawn by, albeit somewhat smaller than average, horses, rather than ponies.  The driver was clad in gilded chain mail, with a surcoat of black and red, bearing the image of a golden hammer on the chest.  His golden hair and beard were braided elaborately.  The door to the carriage opened and another individual stepped out.  This one, with red hair, dressed in the same manner as the driver, with the addition of a silver torque and vambraces, indicative of high office.

“Lord Protector Hadaras, The King cordially requests the presence of you and your charge, as soon as you are able,” the important looking dwarf announced, importantly.

“Certainly, Lord Chamberlain,” Hadaras answered. 
“It was a pleasure to meet you Daegle,”
then to Aleron, he said, “Let’s grab our things, my boy and go meet the King.”  The driver set the brake and hopped lightly down.  He and the Chamberlain moved to help with the baggage, as did Daegle and they loaded them onto the carriage roof in a few short minutes.  Aleron and Hadaras entered the carriage, followed by the Chamberlain.  Soon, the cart set out toward the royal palace. 

Chapter 19

Gurlachday, Day 7, Squash Moon, 8760 Sudean Calendar

Good winds from this storm and it looks like it will swing north, missing landfall,
Zormat surmised.  They would reach Corin today but given the choice, he would weather a storm like this one at sea.  The Adari envoy informed him of the Thallasian coast’s regular battering by cyclones each summer.  The sun’s rays, only just revealing themselves, accentuated the bank of black clouds on the eastern horizon.  Today looked be a sleepless day for the Arkans, as they would reach the capital’s harbor by mid-morning and the work would start.  A meeting needed arrangement between him and the pirate king, then with whatever remnant of the priesthood still existed there.

“Three ships ahead to starboard!” the watchman shouted from the crow’s nest.  They had been keeping the coast within sight since nearing Thallasia and an intercepting patrol was inevitable. 

“Cut sails and change course to intercept.  We will meet them head on, not outrun them,” Zormat directed the crew.  “Drop the sea anchor when they get near”