The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu (28 page)

“These are true friends you have here, Aleron and that is a rare commodity.  You will find it to become more and more rare, the higher you go, my boy.  Keep them close and don’t ever forget where you came from,” Gealton advised.  “I believe that after this meal, all your questions will be answered, but not before.”  Hadaras nodded in agreement.

After the mid-day meal, they made their way to the throne room.  Barathol and Geldun had never seen the inside of the edifice and stared in awe at the sweeping architectural detail.  A small contingent of palace guards was assembled in formation, along with several court scribes, to bear witness.  Several citizens who had been touring the throne room gathered to see what was afoot and more came inside from the grounds as word spread.  They approached the raised dais and Hadaras took Aleron and his friends to one side. 

Gealton ascended the dais and proceeded to a spot, just to the right of the granite throne.  Turning to face the assembled crowd, he said, “Come forward, please, Aleron.”

Aleron ascended the dais and strode past the Steward, proceeding up the platform behind the throne.

“Look at the sword!” a citizen shouted, “Look at the blasted sword!”  The sapphire encrusted hilt of Andhanimwhid shone bright blue, even against the bright afternoon sun filtering through the high windows of the throne room.

Aleron reached the top of the platform and, turning to face the gathering, grasped the hilt, thumb side down.  He felt the power course through his arm and into his body.  Knowing now the feel of power, he could tell how much raw energy was housed in the blade and could sense the essence of all the rulers who held it in the past.  Some of his being transferred to the artifact as well, just as it had for his predecessors.  Thus, he became one with the sword and linked to three thousand years of his dynasty, from the last king, all the way back to the original Aleron.  He drew the glowing sword from its granite sheath and turned it point skyward.  The leaf shaped elvish blade shone with a bright blue radiance, filling the hall with a light overpowering the sun.  Aleron then descended and came around to the front of the throne.  He faced the gathering and flipped the sword hilt up, resting the tip against the stone floor and holding the hilt with both hands.

“Behold, citizens of Sudea,” Gealton announced, “Aleron the Second, King of all Sudea!”

At that, Aleron sat upon the black granite throne, vacant for a thousand years, fully signifying his claim.  Stunned silence prevailed, until Barathol began chanting, “Al-e-ron, Al-e-ron,” which was echoed by Geldun and then by the soldiers in formation.  Soon, the entire hall erupted in a raucous chant of “Al-e-ron, Al-e-ron.” 

Finally, Aleron rose from the throne and strode to the front of the dais.  As the crowd became silent, he announced, with voice booming through the huge room, “Citizens of Sudea, I come to you in time of war, the like of which has not been seen since my namesake left you.  I am a direct male-line descendant of that Aleron, as was my father, Valgier, but he was an ordinary man.  I am halfblood, through my mother, Audina, descended of the royal house of Elvenholm.  As such, I am the first direct link between those two houses.  I look forward to leading my people in the difficult times to come, but first, I must leave you for a short time.”  In answer to the looks of dismay that began to form on many of the faces, he explained, “I must go now to Kolixtla to regain what was taken from us.  I go to claim our Queen, from the bondage of her captors!”  With that, he raised Andhanimwhid high.  Crackling blue lightning arced from the tip, filling the upper reaches of the throne room.  The crowd cheered fervently.  When the cheers died down, he announced, “In my absence and as always before, your Steward shall rule in my stead.  In addition, if he so chooses to accept the honor, I would name my grandfather, Lord Marshal Hadaras, known in past ages as Goromir, High Sorcerer of Elvenholm, as my chief military advisor.”

Stunned silence overtook the hall once more, as Aleron again lowered the sword to point down.  The utterance of the name “Goromir”, in reference to a living being, much less a person in the same room, was more of a shock than the emergence of a new King.  Even Aleron’s companions stood slack jawed as Hadaras separated himself from them to ascend the dais.  Genuflecting before Aleron, he said, “It will be an honor for me to once again serve the kingdom.”

“Rise, Grandfather,” Aleron directed, holding forth his hand.  “You should bow to no one, not even me.”  Hadaras took the outstretched hand in his and stood.  Then the three faced the assemblage, with Aleron in the center, Gealton to his right and Hadaras to his left.  Aleron addressed the crowd once more, “People of Sudea, I fear that this war will see the Nameless One, the Adversary, loosed once more upon the world.  Our newfound ally, Thallasia, reports of one, claiming to be Son of the Nameless God, who came to their shores.  If he is as he says, he will seek to free his father and even return to him his weapon of power.  Gird for war, my people.”  He turned away and moved for the door he had used so many years before, upon first learning of his destiny.  Hadaras and Gealton fell in behind.  Barathol and Gealton looked at one another, then hurried up the steps and to the back, after the others.

Upon entering the antechamber to the old Steward’s office, Gealton stated, “That went remarkably well.  Good speech, Your Highness.”

“Please, Milord, don’t call me that in private.  I didn’t even feel like that was me talking up there.  As soon as I touched that sword, it was as if someone else took over.”

“Well, you need to stop calling me, Lord, as well, so I guess we should just go with our names in private then?”

“That sounds good to me.”

“That sword, my boy, contains the spark of every king that ever held it,” Hadaras informed them.  “It is not simply a reservoir of power, it is a source of compiled wisdom as well, like a book, with many authors.  When you hold it, you are in communion with your ancestors and it may take you over, as it did just now.”

“Well, that explains where that speech came from,” Geldun offered.  “I knew you weren’t that smart.”

An hour later, three ravens winged off to the north, with Hadaras and Gealton watching from the ancient battlements. 

“I hope they find my girl, old friend,” Gealton wished out loud.  “I pray they find her and all make it home safe.”

“I as well, old friend, but I have faith in their abilities to do just that.  What I pray for most, is that my boy practices some restraint.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I hope that these years at war have not made him callous to the fact that there are innocents everywhere, even Kolixtla.  I hope that he does not let his anger get the better of him.”

“Is the lad that powerful?”

“In a word, yes.  Considering the sheer force he wielded the day his power manifested, today, he could likely level a city.”

“You’re worried for his spirit as much as for his life?” Gealton surmised.

“Yes, now he has claimed the throne.  Let us hope he does not ascend it a bloodthirsty tyrant.”

“Let us hope and pray then.”

Chapter 31

Shilwezday, Day 26, Squash Moon. 8765 Sudean Calendar

The ravens flew high above the jungle canopy of Kolixtlan, cultivated fields in sight on the horizon.  They passed over many patches of settlement and cultivation, carved from the dense rainforest, on this journey, but the scene ahead seemed much more expansive than any they had encountered before.  Soon, they found themselves over fields of maize and rice, orchards of citrus or banana, as well as, crops none of them recognized.  Livestock grazed upon open pastureland, the humped cattle of the tropics looking strange to the southerners.  After about one bell from when they first reached the fields, Aleron and his companions caught their first glimpse of the capital city Kolixtla and the Kolixtlani Sea beyond.  They could see a complex of stepped pyramids, topped with temples, on the eastern edge of the city and the tall spires of the royal palace, towards the center of the city.  Low, flat-roofed buildings, ranging from one to three stories, dominated the rest of the sprawling city. 

The trio memorized a map of the city and knew the approximate location of the government facilities.  The original map was over four thousand years old, but the recreation they studied included recent intelligence, mainly gathered by Castian spies.  Western Castians can easily pass for Kolixtlani in appearance and spies learn the up to date dialect from captives taken attempting to cross the borders.  Smuggling is common along the borders of Kolixtlan and, many Kolixtlanis attempt to cross into Castia each year, to escape the oppressive regime and impoverished conditions of their homeland.  Most immigrants gain asylum, as long as their story is verifiable and authorities determine they are not spies.  Castia imprisons or deports smugglers, though some enter into  Castian  Intelligence.    As  emigration  and  smuggling  are  illegal  in Kolixtlan, deportation is essentially a death sentence for any Kolixtlani sent back.

***

Eilowyn waited in her “quarters”, in a high tower at the Royal Palace.  So far, they were treating her well enough, though heaviness filled her heart at the loss of Aleron’s amulet.  Two days prior, her captors delivered her to the Kolixtlani palace.  Six female servants, supervised by one she assumed to be a priestess of some sort, took her to the baths and directed her to disrobe and enter the steaming water.  Eilowyn understood no Kolixtlani, but the pantomime from one of the attendants was sufficient to convey their intent.  Not feeling as if she had any option but to comply, she undressed and made towards the bath.  It was then that the priestess caught a glimpse of the blue quartz and silver amulet, screaming an oath in recognition.  Two attendants grabbed her arms, pulling her to face the priestess, who unceremoniously, ripped the charm from Eilowyn’s breast, breaking the fine silver chain.  The priestess shouted instructions to the attendants and then wheeled about, leaving the bathhouse.  Within minutes, a different priestess entered to take up the duty of supervising her bath and subsequent dressing.  After they dressed, coifed and perfumed her, the attendants brought her into the presence of the King.  As they halted before the throne, she genuflected, knowing that despite their rude treatment of her, propriety and graciousness on her part would likely irk them more than belligerence.

“Greetings, Princess.  I hope your stay with us has been pleasant, so far,” the King said in only slightly stilted Sudean.  An elderly man, dressed in robes equally as sumptuous as the King’s, stood off to his left.

“Yes, Your Grace, your staff has been most gracious in their treatment of me.  However, I must tell you that as daughter of the Steward, I have no such lofty title as “Princess”.”

“Very well, Lady Eilowyn, I applaud your modesty, but as the child of the most powerful individual in Sudea, your worth to us as a hostage more than equals that of any actual Princess the world over.”  He continued, saying, “Now, my High Priest informs me that you had in your possession a magical amulet.  Would you mind explaining to us what purpose it served you?”  The man to his left produced her amulet from beneath his robes.  The chain repaired, it glowed from within, with a faint blue light.

“Your Grace, that was a gift from my betrothed,” she explained.

“Are magical engagement gifts commonplace in your land?” the King inquired.  “My friend here informs me that this artifact holds considerable power.”  The other man muttered something in Kolixtlani to the King.  “He also assures me that you are no sorcerer.  What sort of man is your betrothed?”

“My betrothed is but a soldier, Your Grace, from a minor noble family.  He told me that he purchased it from an elvish craftsman, at no small price.  He saved for many months to buy it for me.  It is supposed to be warded to protect me and to draw him to me if I am ever lost to him.”

“Elvish work, it obviously is and it must have cost him tremendously, but I have trouble believing that the Steward’s daughter should be promised to a common soldier.  How is it that you father allowed this?”

“Your Grace, many, to include my father, believe him to be destined for greatness, possibly a generalship.  By all accounts, he has dispatched hundreds of your fine fighting men, by his own hand and he is a fine strategist for one as young as he.”

“Really, My Lady and do you believe your future husband, the fearsome warrior that he is, will come here to rescue you, here at the heart of my kingdom?”

“Your Grace, I do not believe that to be possible,” she answered.  “The charm was only intended for if we became separated, but still close at hand.  There is no way he could make his way to me here, over such great distance.”  She truly believed this to be true, but that did not prevent her from hoping that she be mistaken.

“Anyhow, My Lady, my High Priest shall maintain possession of your little charm.  It is not often that he has the opportunity to examine artifacts of elvish make, plus, in case there is more to this charm than you allude to, it is best in his safekeeping,” the King explained.  “Besides, I have thoughts to wed you to one of my own sons.  That would serve better to establish a tie between our nations than marrying you off to some common soldier.  I seek an end to this unfortunate war between our countries.”

Eilowyn’s composure broke at that revelation and she replied in a quavering voice, “I suppose I am at your mercy, Your Grace.”

“Yes you are, My Lady,” he returned.  Visibly beaming at her discomfort, the King continued, “That will be all for you today.”  To her attendants, he directed something in Kolixtlani and then they whisked her from the audience chamber and brought to her quarters here in the tower.

The following morning, she awoke to be taken, once again, to the bath, followed by the dressing room.  She returned to her quarters for a simple meal of various fruits, some familiar, others not, accompanied by a cooked porridge of maize.  After breaking her fast, two attendants arrived in the room, followed shortly by stooped, aged man, with long straight white hair and beard, carrying two leather bound volumes.  Thus began her instruction in the language of Kolixtlan.   This morning began much the same as the one before.  Apparently, the Kolixtlani are adamant about bathing daily.  Finished with breakfast, she now waited on the arrival of her tutor.