Aleron’s companions were both the sons of farmers and days like today were becoming rare, as their responsibilities at home consumed more of their time. It was widely assumed that Aleron, not having a trade to follow his father into, would be the one most likely to take to the sea or join the army.
***
Hadaras watched the boy leaving that morning and thought of how much Aleron reminded him of his daughter, Audina, who had given birth to the boy. He was tall for his age and had inherited the golden brown hair and silver eyes of his mother, as well as her stubborn streak. The lad had it in his mind that he would become a soldier or a sailor and there was no detracting him from that line of thinking, though Hadaras was certain that he was destined for far greater things than that. He thought back on that day, over fifteen years ago, when his daughter announced that she was getting married:
“Father, I have decided to be married.” She told him
“That is certainly good news.” He replied. Audina had been born in the colonies, well after the Great War, so she was relatively young, but at five centuries of age, it was about time she chose a mate. “Do I know him?”
“I’m sure that you do Father; he is from a fine old family.”
“Good, what is his name and what family?”
“Valgier, of House Sudea,” she replied frankly.
Hadaras’ demeanor took on a dark cast, as he stated, “That is a human, who does not even know the house to which he is heir to. House Sudea is extinct, as far as men are concerned. I have already determined that he is not the one.”
“I am aware of that, Father and I have been watching him since he was a babe, just as you have. I have seen that I can love him, for he is pure of heart and a vision has told me that he is to be the sire of the one.”
“And what makes you believe that you are to be the mother of the one? I have watched this family for nearly a thousand years, ever since I discovered the bastard nephew of Alagric’s, the son of his dead brother, living on the streets of Arundell. I have waited since, for the right time and the right heir, to come together. I have worked all these years to assure the family remains far from power, to avoid any inopportune discovery of their birthright. What makes you think you know better?”
“Father, the prophecies have all stated that a millennium will pass before a new king rises to the throne. If the heir is to be born, it must be soon.” She said.
“The prophecies were not that specific; they were all written to say “millennia” not precisely how many. Plus, they say nothing of how you are to be involved.” He retorted. “I should know, I wrote some of them myself!”
“Though I realize why you hide who you are from our people, it does not change the fact that we are of the royal house of Elvenholm and you abdicated the throne in favor of your younger brother. A child of this union would reestablish the half-elven royal line, with greater legitimacy than ever before, having blood ties to both Royal House Sudea and Royal House Elvenholm.” She replied coolly. “In addition, the vision came to me, because it pertained to me. Perhaps you should seek revelation as it pertains to you, Father, as to whether what I tell you is true or not. Regardless, my decision is made and I will be journeying to Sudea soon.”
Hadaras often thought of that fateful day and of those that followed, when he would pass through, posing as an itinerant craftsman, plying his wares to the remote villages. Valgier never knew it was his father-in-law who stopped by every few months, selling tools and trinkets, repairing tack and shoeing horses and mules as needed, though the old farrier always took an interest in how Aleron was doing.
Hadaras thought most of all about the day he had been too late to save them from the Kolixtlani assassin who murdered the young couple. The agents of the Adversary knew of Aleron’s existence and though they may not know that he is anything but a halfblood, that would be enough for them to want him. Halfbloods often developed frightening powers, when the pure spirit of the elf blended with the impure heart of the man. A halfblood sorcerer could master both dark and light aspects of magic and they were highly sought after by the Nameless One during his time in power. This casting about for them by his agents indicated an increase in his power. The old wards of binding had weakened after all these years. He renewed them after the murders, travelling in secret through the jungle to Immin Bul, but he was certain the Adversary would find some way around them eventually.
***
By mid-afternoon, Aleron was on his way home with two good-sized carp dangling from a stringer. They were having a good haul, but his friends needed to return home for their chores. Aleron needed to get back home as well, and to get the fish cleaned quickly. Grandfather promised to start teaching him an elvish dual-scimitar form that looked viciously effective when he demonstrated it yesterday.
Chapter 2
Zorekday, Day 18, Squash Moon, 8759 Sudean Calendar
Sweat dripped into Aleron’s eyes as he circled Hadaras around the makeshift ring in the stable. They were practicing great-sword this afternoon and the summer heat was oppressive. Somehow, the heat never seemed to bother the old man; he was barely perspiring. Aleron shook his head to dislodge some of the moisture. If he were to reach up to wipe his brow, the bout would be lost. Hadaras was incredibly fast and never let an opening pass. Aleron had the bruises to show for it too. Both were fighting in a right-handed stance and Hadaras stepped forward with his left foot, taking a low chop to Aleron’s forward leg. Aleron dodged back to avoid the blow, then surged forward to take his grandfather’s exposed left shoulder. The old man rolled left, bringing the sword up vertically to block the incoming strike, then counterstriking to Aleron’s left collarbone, bringing him back to his original guard position. Aleron barely rolled his wooden practice sword left to protect his shoulder and then it was as if his reflexes saw the next move before his mind had even processed it. As Hadaras’ sword was deflected, Aleron snapped the tip of his into a backhand strike to Hadaras’ own shoulder. Then, as his grandfather released his right hand from the hilt, Aleron rolled his blade into the same offside leg strike his opponent had just attempted. Having no way to defend his forward leg, Hadaras took the blow and dropped to his knees. Aleron circled Hadaras, looking for an opening, as the old man pivoted to remain facing him. To yield was never an option during these bouts with his grandfather, so he would have to finish it. He teased out feints, which Hadaras either ignored, or deftly blocked. Finally, as Aleron saw his opening and closed in for the kill, the opening suddenly disappeared and the tip of Hadaras’ sword took Aleron in the midsection, knocking the wind out of him.
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.”
The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu Page 2
