The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu (6 page)

But Father, do you not desire to rule over all of Aertu?

I desire worship by all of Aertu and those that do not, to be sacrificed in my name.  It is through worship and the blood of sacrifice that I gain power.  You shall be my representative and rule in my name, as the Son of the True God.  Now go and do as I have directed you.

I will do as you have bid me to, Father.

Go to the edge of the lake, son.  There you will find something that will speed your journey to you comrades.  May the Darkness always be with you, my son.

And also with you, Father.

And so, Zormat, Son of the Nameless One, King of Arkus and the most powerful sorcerer of the Arkans, left the prison of his father.  He strode to the dark lakeshore and, seeing nothing, waited.  Soon he detected a rippling of the water, far from shore.  The water parted for the massive bulk of a huge reptilian creature.  The long sinuous neck bore a large crocodilian head, with elongated jaws full of dagger like teeth.  Its thick trunk bore four long flippers, which it used like feet on land.  The long tail had a flattened cross section, like a leaf shaped blade.  Overall, the creature was easily over fifty feet long.  It looked expectantly at Zormat, as it waddled onto shore.  He walked to the animal and lightly sprang onto its back.  The huge lizard lumbered back into the water and began swimming.  The creature shot across Lake Bul on a northwesterly course that Zormat knew would take them to the outlet of the lake.  They skimmed the surface of the water, the lizard’s tail sweeping side to side, propelling them at an impressive pace.  He estimated that they were travelling at a speed of at least forty knots.  If the beast were capable of maintaining this pace nonstop and down the course of the rivers, they would complete in a day, what had taken him a month to accomplish on foot.

Dawn found them exiting the lake into the wide lazy river.  The beast did not slack in its pace.  Zormat believed they would reach the far shores of the next small lake by late morning. 
Whether we can proceed past that point is the question,
he thought.
 
The river draining that lake to the sea was much narrower and faster than the one they now travelled.  He doubted this massive beast would fit the narrow channel.

By mid morning, they entered the small lake.  The magnificent beast he rode had never once slackened its pace and they cut across the glassy surface like a hot knife through butter.  True to his suspicions, they made directly for the far shore, not the outlet.  The beast obviously knew where it did or did not fit.  The giant lizard lumbered ashore at the site of a small village of thatched huts.  The village looked deserted and the beast bellowed a horrific roar.  Zormat dismounted and patting the beast’s neck said, “Thank you friend.  Now go find some food.”  The lizard grumbled and turned back to the water, looking back to the village once longingly, before sliding back into the lake.  It was obviously disappointed at finding the shore deserted.

The Arkan drew his sword and, resting the blade on his shoulder, proceeded into the village.  The sword glowed deep red, imbued with the magic of the Nameless One.  Two figures stepped out from the cover of the huts.  They were tall and dark skinned, with a greenish tint.  They wore hide loincloths and capes of woven palm fiber and carried short spears with foot-long black iron blades.  Straight black hair extended  to the  brow line  of the vaguely  ape-like faces.  
Some sort of goblin,  it appears, though not one I’m familiar with.  They look a bit like the Arkan half-goblin breeders we once had, but darker.  I think this is a cross with men,
Zormat surmised.

The elves of Arkus were a work in progress at the time of the Great War and became separated from their founder before learning of his breeding programs on the continent.  Zormat knew nothing of the hobgoblin and half-troll races his father developed from breeding his creations to men and westmen.  Here, the Adversary bred men to elves, to create fast maturing halfblood sorcerers to counter those of Sudea and bred goblins and trolls to men and westmen, to refine his creations and imbue them with more intelligence.  The Arkans, with their one-eighth goblin heritage, were intended as a long-term project to create a Master Race of Elves, attuned to the wielding of dark magic.  Zormat was the first of the one-eighths.  To conceive him, the Adversary assumed the form of an elf and bred himself to the best specimen of the quarter-goblin females.  Thus, Zormat is the original Arkan and directed the breeding of the race, in his father’s absence, himself mating with many generations of females, to assure that his father’s legacy permeated the race.   

“Greetings stranger,” The first hobgoblin said in a guttural dialect of Zormat’s own language.  “You bear the mark of our Lord, the Nameless God,” referring to the eight-pointed star tattooed on Zormat’s forehead, “and you bear a weapon of his power.  We have never seen one tame a korkor.  They are the fiercest hunters in these waters.  You must have great power.  What sort of being are you.”

“We call ourselves Arkans and live far across the sea from here.  The beast you call a korkor is one of my father’s creations and as such, it will obey me,” he answered as he sheathed the sword.  “And what sort of being are you?  You look like some sort of goblin, but not any that I have seen before.”

The other two’s eyes widened in shock.  “You are the son of our Lord?” the second one asked in disbelief.  “Please grant us mercy Lord,” he pleaded, as the two fell to their knees and kowtowed.  “We meant no disrespect in how we addressed you.”

“Please, stop groveling and answer my question.  I took no insult and I may have use for you.  You need not fear me, for the moment.”

The hobgoblins lifted their heads from the ground, though they remained kneeling.  “We are called hobgoblins, Lord,” the first one answered.  “We were bred by the Nameless God, for the Great War against the men and elves who worship the false gods.”

“Interesting, my father has been absent from our land, since his imprisonment.  We are unfamiliar with what he was accomplishing elsewhere in the world.  Were any other new races created by my father in these lands?”

“Living in the hills to the south and the northwest, my Lord, there are trolls.  Our legends say that they were bred alongside us for the Great War and they are very different from the mountain trolls they were bred from.  They are fierce and crafty warriors, Lord.”

“Do you know what races you were bred from?” Zormat asked.

“Our legends say that we have the blood of men in our veins, Lord,” the second hobgoblin replied.

As I suspected,
he thought,
now to see if they could help with my journey. 
He still had fifty-five leagues left to reach where he moored his ship.  “That is as I thought.  Now, to business, do you have any means of transport faster than by foot?  I have six days to travel yet, to reach the coast where my ship awaits.”

“Lord,” the first one again, “we have boats that could run the river, out to the sea, but that way is long and treacherous.  Better for you, Lord, would be to ride a yag.”

“Show me one of these ‘yags’ of which you speak

Chapter 6

Shilwezday, Day 26, Sowing Moon. 8760 Sudean Calendar

Hadaras roused himself at dawn, leaving the trance state in which he spent each night.  He could not afford the luxury of true sleep while on the road, but the trance allowed enough rest for his body and mind to maintain.  He could keep it up for years, if needed and he had many times in his life.  He was impressed to see Aleron already tidying up camp.  “Good Aleron, I’m glad you’ve gotten started already.  This will speed us on our way.”

“Thank you Grandfather.  I was beginning to get sleepy, so I figured I would get to work to keep myself awake.  I just fed the horses, so after we eat, we should be ready to go,” Aleron explained.

After a quick breakfast of bannock, from the night before, cheese and dried sausages, they were back on their horses.  Aleron could feel each hoof beat, as his sore behind bounced on the stiff leather saddle.  He winced quite often and Hadaras chuckled to himself. 
It’s amazing that I can still find mindless humor in things after nine thousand years in this world.  I have seen such things in my life as would purge the mirth from anyone. 
He often wondered why he had lived so long.  Three thousand years was an average lifespan for an elf.  Twice that was not unheard of, but he had lived three times what was typical.  His own father had lived nearly six thousand years, which may explain it to some extent.  Hadaras’ mother gave birth to him when his father, Balgare, was a mere nine hundred years old.  Hadaras believed then that if he were to ascend to the throne of Elvenholm, it would be an exceptionally short reign.  Hadaras’ mother, Chaldee, disappeared when he was two hundred-fifty four, leaving King Balgare heartbroken.  For centuries, Elvenholm had no Queen, due to his mourning.  Eventually, the King remarried and when his half-brother Aelwynn was born in 5861, by the elvish calendar, Hadaras gladly passed the title of Crown Prince to his younger sibling.  The job of High Sorcerer was more than enough for him at the time.  Aelwynn, as well, lived over four thousand years, passing through the veil to rejoin the Allfather little more than a century ago, but still Hadaras lived on. 
I’ve outlived my parents, siblings and even my children.  Will I even outlive this precious grandchild riding beside me?

***

Jessamine sat upon a bench outside the cottage, enjoying the morning sun.  At one point, she glanced over to the hedge that had snared her attacker the night before.  She still felt some misgivings for that, but there was nothing that could change what had happened.  She prayed that the man’s spirit was not so maligned that it would reject the embrace of the Allfather when it crossed the veil.  She could sense the thoughts going through the mind of her lover.  Having been conceived when the Cosmos was young, she possessed knowledge that even one so old as Hadaras could not hope to comprehend.  She suspected that his mother, who he knew as Queen Chaldee, was not an elf at all.  None but the Allfather can know when or if Hadaras might die of natural causes.  She could tell that he was not immune to death by injury and he displayed some superficial signs of ageing, but there was something else, not altogether elvish about him.  Jessamine also wondered what import this ancestry would have on her young charge Aleron.  He was heir to the Sudean throne, by direct male lineage, forty generations removed.  Additionally, he was great-grandson of the first High King of Elvenholm and whatever his consort was.  Aleron’s was likely the most unique lineage of any man that had ever lived, even among halfbloods.

***

As the morning wore on, Aleron became more comfortable in the saddle.  The muscles of his legs warmed up and his behind just went numb.  His thoughts mostly revolved around how tired he was.  Four hours of sleep, broken into two-hour intervals, was not what he was used to.  He yawned deeply as he took in the scenery.  The hedge rowed fields had given way to mixed wooded rangeland.  He noted a shepherd tending his flock off to the left.  Ahead and to the right, he could see a small herd of what looked like aurochs.  They all appeared to be brown cows, with none of the larger black bulls among them.  He wondered if they would see elk or wisent on this trip.  He hoped so, but preferably at a distance for the wisent.  The wild cattle had a reputation for unpredictable aggressiveness. 
Grandfather is deep in thought.  He hasn’t spoken in over an hour.  I wonder what he is thinking right now. 
But mostly, Aleron wondered how Hadaras could be so alert with only half a night’s sleep.  Aleron could hardly keep his eyes open, even with the horse jostling him constantly.

***

Zormat looked doubtfully at the odd creature before him.  The yag was superficially similar to a horse, appearing to be, in some way, related.  It stood about five feet tall at the shoulder, the stout body supported on thick sturdy legs.  The feet were the strangest part, being three toed hooves, instead of single or cloven.  The head was vaguely horse like, but short, wide and housing a full set of sharp canine teeth.  Across the pen, he witnessed another yag dart forward and snap up a lizard that made the mistake of sunning itself on a fencepost.  Others in the pen were grazing on forage as normal horses would.  “You ride these things?” he asked the hobgoblins incredulously.

“Yes, my Lord,” the one he knew now as “Shaggat” told him.  “Horses do not do well here, but the yag is from this land.”

“Is it faster than walking?”

“Not by much, my Lord, but it should get you to the coast a day earlier and better rested than on foot.”

“I suppose that is better than walking,” Zormat replied, not quite believing his own statement.  “And how will you retrieve your animal?  The coast is several days ride from here.”

“I will accompany you, as your guide and protection my Lord, if that is acceptable to you,” Shaggat answered, swatting the yag as it nipped at him.

“That is an acceptable solution,” Zormat agreed.  “I will welcome your company and protection, my friend.”  He had no need of guidance or protection from this creature, however, he felt it best to humor him. 
I think it may be advantageous let these hobgoblins feel useful and important.  Happy loyal minions perform better than those held merely by fear of retribution do. 
He planned to use these people in the war to come.  They looked to be more strong and robust than the original breeds of goblin, as well as more intelligent and articulate.  He might even consider bringing some of these to Arkus, along with some men, to improve the breed of goblin there.  These hobgoblins were still ugly, but were more pleasant to look at than those he was familiar with.

This Shaggat was a passable fighter as well.  After the communal midday meal Zormat attended, as guest of honor, a young male stood to challenge Shaggat for his position as Chief over the band.  Shaggat knifed the upstart between the ribs, mere minutes into the duel, exclaiming, “Here’s the meat for tonight’s supper,” as the youth spasmed in the dust, forming red mud from the blood pouring freely from his chest.  Up until that moment, Zormat wondered if this new sort of goblin was too civilized to be effective.  He saw then that these hobgoblins possessed the ruthless streak common to all goblins.