The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu (3 page)

As Aleron stooped into a crouch, attempting to breathe again, Hadaras stood, saying,  “Remember this Aleron:  It is always possible to transform a position of disadvantage into one of strength, whether in combat, or elsewhere in your life.  You simply need to think your way through the problem and wait for your opening.”  He patted the boy on the shoulder as he passed and said, “Put your gear up and clean yourself off at the trough my boy.  Supper will be ready soon.”

Aleron caught his breath quickly.  The padded leather practice coat had rigid plates attached at key locations, to discourage serious injury.  As well, the five years of daily martial training his grandfather enforced had whipped the now fourteen-year-old Aleron into excellent physical condition.  Hadaras tired the youth out with pushups, pull-ups and sprints around the yard, before any of the actual combat training took place.  He often resented the warm-up training and suspected that his grandfather was only doing it so that Aleron would not win the bouts.  Hadaras always told him that it was important to warm up first, to avoid injury.  That did not explain why his grandfather never needed a warm up.  What he failed to realize, was that his grandfather was building his strength and endurance.  At the same time, he was showing him what it would be like to fight tired from the physical exertion often required to get within range of an enemy.   He made his way to the cabinet where they stowed their practice gear.  He removed his heavy leather gauntlets first, then the practice helm, with its skirt of heavy chain mail protecting his neck and finally the coat.  He wiped down all the metal parts with an oily cloth and placed the equipment on the appropriate hanger for each.  The sword, carved from a straight-grained stave of ironwood, was wiped it down with the same oily cloth and placed upon the weapon rack.

Aleron made his way to the water trough, pulling off his sodden tunic as he went.  He dunked his head and shoulders into the cold water for two or three seconds.  The breath exploded from his lungs when he came back up.  He doused his tunic in the trough, then hung it over a fence rail to drip dry.  Despite the cold water, Aleron’s face, neck and torso were still flushed red with heat. 
At least I’m not sweating so much anymore
, he said to himself.
Why does it seem like this never gets any easier?  No matter how much better I get, each time is just as hard as the last. 
It seemed as if his grandfather had an endless capacity for ever-higher levels of combative skill.  No matter what Aleron brought to the fight, Hadaras had the counter-attack to match it. 
If the old man is still this good now, I wonder, what was he like in his prime?  He must have been damn near unstoppable. 
Aleron had seen other old soldiers in the city before.  He had noticed that his grandfather did not bear the numerous scars that those old veterans had one-and-all. 

Hadaras was impressed with Aleron’s performance that afternoon. 
That was the first time in a very long time, that anyone has managed to tag me like that,
He thought. 
His speed and agility are becoming more elvish than human every day. 
He recalled, from before the war, the half-elf children of the Sudean nobles.  They usually matured much earlier than their elvish cousins, reaching nearly the same level of physical prowess in sixteen years that an elf child would wait forty years to achieve.  Hadaras had fought in the Great War, under a different name, over four thousand years before and Aleron was beginning to remind him of the boy’s namesake. 
He looks like the man and fights like him.  It’s amazing that the traits could breed true after so many generations.  It’s as if I’m looking at the young Prince again, after forty-one hundred years,
he thought as he watched Aleron approach the house. 

The King was one-hundred and five, just in his prime, when the Nameless One cut him down on that barren plain, in the midst of the vast central jungle.  Crown prince Aelwynn, Hadaras’ younger brother, fought beside the man who was his best friend and blood brother.  The two grew up together in each other’s households and were fast friends for decades.  Members of House Sudea were the only humans ever allowed to visit Elvenholm.  The way was barred to the ships of men and even the greatest mariners of Sudea could not so much as catch a glimpse of the island nation. 

“Hey Jessie, what’s for supper?  Aleron hollered as he strode through the door.  “I’m starving.”

“I roasted a pork shoulder, since you didn’t bring home any fish this morning, Aleron.”  She replied.  “Did you wash?”  She asked him pointedly.

“Of course I did Jesse.”

“Don’t you give me that “Of course I did” line.”  She scolded.  “With you, it’s definitely not a given.  Now go get a clean tunic on and make sure the dirty one gets to the laundry.”

“I cleaned it already.”  Aleron declared.

“Rinsed in the trough and hung on the fence does not make it clean!”  Jessamine informed the boy.  “Make sure it gets inside before dark, or the coyotes will be wearing it tomorrow.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

After a hearty meal of pork, potatoes and greens, followed by the daily chores of cleaning up after supper, Aleron took a lantern and retreated to his room.  He was tired and sore from the afternoon’s exertions.  Lying prone upon his bed, he resumed reading the latest book Hadaras had assigned, this one on the history of Sudea.  He was just getting to the part where Azrael, the last High Governor, declares the independence of Sudea from Elvenholm.  The governor knew that he was nearing the end of his life and wished for his half-blooded son to follow him in leading the colony.  Before then, the position was not hereditary and High Governors were always elves, appointed by the King at Elvenholm.  The King acquiesced, in part because he feared how a protracted war would damage his kingdom.  Men were far more numerous than elves and halfblood sorcerers were extremely common in Sudea.  A war between Sudea and Elvenholm would have resulted in massive losses to both sides.  Aleron had read many different histories these last several years.  Histories of elves, men and dwarves, some by authors of the people discussed, others written by outsiders looking in.  Hadaras taught him to read Elvish, Sudean and Dwarvish and was in the process of teaching him Coptic, the language of their neighbors to the northeast.  Elvish and Sudean were nearly the same language and he could find some common words between Sudean and Coptic, but Dwarvish was very different.  Dwarves seemed to run words into each other, forming ever-larger words to communicate ideas, rather than building sentences.  Hadaras told him that the language of the westmen was similar, as was that of the Kolixtlani.  His grandfather even professed that the languages of the westmen and the dwarves bore so many similarities, that they must have been the same people at some time in the distant past.  It seemed to be Hadaras’ intent to teach Aleron every major language in the world, for the apparent purpose of forcing him to read every single history book in the world.  Aleron often wondered why his grandfather thought so highly of scholarship.  He did not believe soldiers were scholarly, as a rule.  At these times, his grandfather reminded him of some aged university professor.  At least, how Aleron imagined one would be, since he had never been anywhere near a university.  There was, however, no questioning the man’s martial abilities. 

***

Hadaras sensed Aleron drifting off to sleep.  He sat across the table from Jessamine.  They had both let their guises down, knowing Aleron to be sleeping and no one near the house.  To spy upon this pair would be next to impossible for any being in existence.  Hadaras’ elvish features gave him a much younger visage than he normally wore.  The only clue to his advanced age was his snow-white hair.  Jessamine was obviously not man or elf, but something else, her skin literally glowing golden, in the dim light of the kitchen.  She was Aelient, an immortal child of the Aelir, the ancient teachers of elves and men.  Her chosen form was that of a wood nymph, the golden skin of her face and hands merging seamlessly into her gown of deep green leaves and her dark hair seemingly intertwined with vines. 

Hadaras spoke first:  “That boy is almost grown now.  Soon, he will want to get on with his life.”

“What you say is true, my love.”  She replied.  “The children of men are ever so eager to  make their way in the world,  their time in it being  so short.  They are like sparks from the fire, burning so brightly, but winking out so soon.”

“Yes, they speak of the virtue of patience, because it is a concept so alien to them.”

“I have often thought that they have just as much life in them as your people, but by their nature, they plow through it in a fraction of the time.  Always in a hurry, they strive for progress and conquest, to the point that they are ever on the brink of mutual destruction.”  She surmised.

“They were always so inclined, were they not?”  He asked.

“Yes, they were.  Even so far back, as when they were all of one race, dwarves and westmen included, they quarreled among themselves, imagining differences between groups as an excuse for competition.  Eventually, the imaginary divisions they created became real.”  She informed him.

“Do you realize, that for all the centuries we’ve known each other, this is the first time you have validated my suspicion that dwarves and westmen were once the same people?  And on top of that, you claim they have a common origin with men as well?”  Hadaras inquired, with surprise.

“Yes… I suppose I let that slip.”  She answered coyly.  “We aren’t supposed to tell you that, but I guess our long familiarity has eroded my guard to some extent.”

“So what were they like, these first men?”

“Well, I guess there’s no point in concealment anymore.  The first men came into being in the grassland, north of the southeastern desert, in what is now Coptia.  They had faces much like the westmen, but their bodies were taller and more slender.  Their skin was very dark, like the Coptians.”

“Coptia has no grasslands today.  The land goes back to jungle as soon as it’s no longer tilled.

“Aertu was much colder then.  The sea ice reached all the way to the northern and southern coasts and thick sheets of ice covered the far northern and southern lands.  So much water was locked in ice, that there was little rain to sustain the forests.  Aertu was a world of ice and grass in those days.”

“How long of a time was this…how long ago?” he asked.

“That particular episode lasted for over one hundred fifty millennia.  It happens in cycles and that one ended around fifteen millennia ago,” she answered.  “Just so you know, it’s moving in that direction again.  The world was much warmer ten thousand years ago.”

“And I thought it was just my old bones making me think the winters were getting colder,” he observed.  “Men, westmen and dwarves act very differently.  How were the first men?”

“They were very much like the men of today.  westmen and dwarves became less warlike when they adapted to the cold of the north.”  She replied.

“Interesting, that the harsher conditions would lead to a less competitive people.”  He observed.  “You would think that the opposite would be the case.”

“It seems with men, that hardship often breeds cooperation.  When they have all that they need, that is when they quarrel the most,” she said, then adding, “But remember, my love, there is nothing quite as fearsome in this world as a cornered dwarf.  They all have the capacity for incredible violence.  Your people had to be taught how to fight.  The peoples of this land have it ingrained in their very being.  I believe it was the Allfather’s means of ensuring their survival in the presence of the Adversary’s creations.”

“Too true,” Hadaras replied, “but back to the subject, Aleron will soon be in a hurry to do something with his life.   He has no way of knowing that he stands to live ten times the span of a normal man’s life.”

“You can only hope that we have raised him properly, so that his hastiness does not lead him down the wrong path.  I do not think that anyone could have done better in preparing Aleron to rule than you, my love.”  She reassured him.

“Thank you, my Dear.  I just know that he has much further to go, before he is ready to assume his inheritance.  After one thousand years kingless, Sudea does not need a boy-king on the throne.  Better to let the Steward guide the kingdom, until Aleron is truly ready.  The problem is what to do with him until that moment arrives.”

“I’m sure that dilemma will work itself out.  He still has a couple of years before he will be ready to leave the safety of our nest.  Now come to bed you old fool.”

“Who are you calling old?” He joked, as he rose to comply.

“I’m not old.”  She answered, as her features transformed to those of a beautiful, dark-haired elf.  “I’m “Timeless.””

Chapter 3

Corballday, Day 21, Sowing Moon, 8760 Sudean Calendar

Aleron walked along the narrow lane that led to the village from Hobart’s farm, Hobart being Geldun’s father.  It was late afternoon and Barathol and Geldun walked beside him.  The boys had worked the last two days to get Hobart’s planting done.  Tomorrow they would do the same at the farm of Danel, Barathol’s father.  They had a few coins in their pockets and being thirsty after a hard day planting, were heading for the inn for a draught.  The summer beer was light enough that the boys could afford one or two pints before evening chores.  Aleron had a few days off from his training to help his friends, so he could afford it as well.

“So you’re leaving next week?”  Geldun asked him as they walked along.  He was still the smallest of the trio, but wiry and strong.  He had just turned fifteen and was developing a chiseled handsomeness that, along with his golden hair and quick tongue, was making him popular with the girls in the village.

“Yes,” Aleron answered, “we leave on the new moon, in just four days.”  Aleron had yet to turn fifteen and though taller than the others, at nearly six feet, he still had his boyish looks.  He wondered if he would ever grow a beard, the wispy moustache he cultivated being the only hair growing upon his face.