To the group he said, Rise, my friends. I took no insult from you performing your duties. I am still unknown in these lands. I am Zormat, King of Arkus. To Shaggat he said, “Ride back to your people, my friend and spread the word that our day approaches. Prepare for war!”
The hobgoblin wheeled his mount, tugging the reigns of the second yag to follow, saying, “Yes Lord, I will spread the news to all of my people!” before riding off at a brisk trot.
To the leader of the men he said, I must journey to your capital and speak to your king and his priests. What is your name and what rank do you hold among your people?
“My Lord,” the man replied, now standing again, “I am Matlal, Captain of the army garrison at Ixtauhac, just north of here. We have been monitoring your vessel for over a week and we have sent riders south to alert the nearest naval ships in port. There will be warships making their way up the coast by now.”
I imagined as much would be afoot and that could add unnecessary complication. Will they be likely to attack or hail first?
“Most likely, they will attack and then search the ship when all the crew are killed or captured, my Lord.”
That would not happen, but I would prefer not to destroy the ships of my allies. Is there one among you that you can spare to accompany us? And a banner, perhaps, that we might display friendly intent?
Matlal replied, “I will be the one to accompany you, my Lord, if you will have me. We can fly my unit banner off the bow. It will confuse them at first, but they will recognize it as Kolixtlani. That will keep them from attacking before they ask to board.”
Will you not be missed at your post, Captain?
“I will send word to my Lieutenant to assume command, Lord. He is a capable young man who will do fine running the garrison for a couple weeks,” the Captain answered. To one of the lancers he said, “Soldier, get me the banner and move smartly.” As the soldier moved out, the Arkan, rowing the small boat from the ship, was almost within reach of the shore.
***
As Aleron readied the horses that morning, Hadaras recalled the words Cladus had left him with several mornings past, Keep a close watch on that boy, my friend. There is something about him that’s goes beyond him being a half-blood. The lad is a focal point of both light and dark and I sense unfathomable power within him. One of my gifts is a keen sense for potential and I sense in him, depths of potential I have never before sensed in an individual. Given the chance, that boy of yours might even surpass the power of Goromir of old. The words troubled him, as he could not sense Aleron’s potential in such concrete terms. Every sorcerer had his or her own special gifts and if that was Cladus’, he dared not ignore the warning. Also troubling, was the casual resurgence of the name he had not used in four thousand years.
“I think we’re ready, Grandfather,” Aleron called, breaking Hadaras from his contemplation of the events of days past. He was leading the horses to the spot where Hadaras and the bags were waiting. They worked together to finish loading the animals, then donned their helms and mounted. Neither spoke much that morning, as if both were deeply involved in their own thoughts.
A bell or more had passed when Aleron spoke up, “Grandfather, I had a strange dream last night. I was wondering if you could tell me if it means anything.”
“I can try to help you make sense of it, Aleron,” Hadaras replied. “Just bear in mind that most dreams are meaningless, just your minds way of rearranging its memories while you sleep. Only rarely does a dream involve revelation of any sort.”
“Well,” Aleron ventured, “something is telling me that this one means something, Grandfather.”
“Go on.”
“I dreamed that I was in some strange garden somewhere. It was nighttime, but the moon was full overhead and it was nearly bright as daylight. The garden had pools and fountains scattered through it and all the stonework looked very old. Not many of the figures carved into the fountains looked human at all.”
“Interesting, so far, go on.”
“Well, that wasn’t the strangest thing about the fountains,” Aleron continued, “The water in the fountains was all different colors and it glowed like it was lit from inside.” Hadaras began listening intently now. Aleron went on, “You and Cladus were there, together. You were sitting at the edge of a fountain with bright blue water, dipping your mugs into the flow and drinking the glowing blue water. There were others drinking there as well, but I think they were elves, not men.”
“And, what of the other pools?”
“There was another pool, in a dark corner of the garden that had this deep red water. It looked like glowing blood. There were strange men and elves drinking from that one, along with other strange creatures that I didn’t recognize. Everything about that pool said disorder. The stonework was rough but strong and the carvings were a riot of different designs, all clashing with each other. It seemed like the opposite of the blue fountain, where everything was so ordered it was almost too perfect.”
“Were those the only pools? I thought you said there were several.”
“Oh, there were, Grandfather, one for every color of the rainbow.”
“Really and who was at these pools?”
“No men or elves, that’s for sure, but lots of other strange creatures. There was a bright green one that some creature that looked like a walking tree was drinking from. Then it poured a mug-full on the dirt and new plants just sprouted there. There was another that was bright gold, like the sun, that was able to heal things. Sick and broken animals were crawling to it, only to walk away strong and healthy.”
“Were you able to drink from any of the pools,” Hadaras inquired with great interest.
“That’s the odd part, Grandfather. I was able to drink from all of them, even the red one. The people at the red one didn’t want me to drink there, but I just shoved them aside and drank. I drank from every pool in the garden. Then I found an empty basin, in the center of the garden. It looked like it was to have been the focal point, but was never filled.”
“What did you do at that pool?”
“Wow, Grandfather, you’re really interested aren’t you? Does that mean it means something?”
“It might, I’ll have to think on it a bit more”
“I didn’t like the pool being empty, so I brought water from all the pools and poured it in the empty basin.”
“And what happened when you mixed the colored waters together?”
“Kind of what you would expect to happen, the colors mixed to make new colors. The only thing that was different was when I had mixed all the colors. When I’ve mixed lots of colors of paint together, I always end up with some sort of brown. When I mixed all the water from the different pools together, the water turned white and glowed too brightly for me to look at it anymore,” Aleron elaborated. “Why do you suppose that happened, Grandfather?”
“Well,” Hadaras began, “some scholars have ideas about how light works. When sunlight passes through a glass prism, it is split into all the separate colors. So, they think that white light is an even mix of all the colors. But, when we paint something, green perhaps, the paint reflects back the green light and absorbs all the other colors. Because of that, when you mix all the colors of paint, it absorbs all the colors, little to no light is reflected and appears black or brown,” he explained. “That is the best explanation that I have heard for it. It was originally from a physical philosopher from the university at Kaas and I believe most scholars have adopted that view as well.”
“That would make sense,” Aleron ventured, “since the waters were all glowing from within. They were giving off light, not reflecting it.”
“Did anything else happen with the white water? Did you drink that as well?
“Yes Grandfather, though I was not able to look directly at it, I dipped my cup in and drank.”
“What happened then?”
“After I drank, I could look directly into the white water. Then, when I looked around, I could se
e into the minds of everyone in the garden. I didn’t like what I saw in some of them, especially the ones at the red fountain.”
“What did you see that you didn’t like,” Hadaras inquired.
“I saw a lot of dark thoughts, especially with the red fountain people,” the boy continued, “but also at the other fountains too. There were a few at the blue fountain that seemed pure, but not all. I got the impression that the blue stood for order and the red stood for chaos.”
“You said the red stood for chaos, but not evil?” Hadaras asked.
“No, not evil, but the people with evil in their hearts were mostly drawn to that one. It seemed like no one in the garden was completely evil. Some just had more of it than others,” Aleron replied and then went on, “There were only a few who had none at all. There was the tree thing and the keeper of the golden pool and a couple of the elves at the blue fountain. They were the only ones with no evil, but there were none with no good at all,” he finished.
“That certainly was an interesting dream, my boy.”
“Do you think it means something? I don’t usually remember dreams this well.”
“I think this one definitely falls into the vision, over the dream, category,” Hadaras offered. “I will need to think on it for awhile before I can make sense of it, though.”
“Thank you for listening, Grandfather. I have wanted to talk about it. It seemed important, but I couldn’t make any sense of it.”
Hadaras rode on thinking, Important, maybe, perhaps only as important as the unification of all the branches of magic. What importance could that have?
Chapter 8
Corballday, Day 15, Growing Moon, 8760 Sudean Calendar
The pair were riding through wooded, hilly country and had been all morning. The forest alternated between dark conifer stands, where little light made it to the ground and brighter stands of hardwoods. The overall prevalence of certain species indicated that this was no wild forest, but an intensely managed woodlot. “Look, Aleron,” Hadaras said to get the boy’s attention, “do you see the holes in the bark of these maples surrounding us?”
“Yes, I see them,” Aleron replied. “They look like they were drilled. Why would people drill holes in trees?”
“They do it to drain the sap,” he explained. “In the early spring, the local people here draw sap from the trees and drink it as a tonic. There is enough sugar in the sap that they can boil it down to make a sort of beer, or even boil it down to make hard sugar.”
“Sugar from trees?” Aleron asked in disbelief. “Why don’t they do that where we live?”
“It has to do with the altitude, I’ve been told,” Hadaras related. “We don’t have the right kind of maples, because it is too warm where we live. Moreover, even where these grow, they need deep snow and a drawn out thawing period to produce much sap. Up here, it takes a long time for winter to release its grasp.”
“What happens if it thaws too quickly? Doesn’t the sap run anyway?
“From what I understand, it happens too quickly and they are not able to capture as much before it’s over. But, in a completely unrelated point, our passing through this region means we are getting close to Arundell,” he said as they crested a small ridge.
As if on cue, the forest path opened into a small clearing. From their vantage point, the entire Arun River Valley opened up below them. It was a nine hundred foot descent to the valley floor. They could barely make out Arundell through the haze, far to the north, between the west and north branches of the river. They had slowly gained elevation for the three weeks they had been travelling. Now, the massive canyon that formed the upper reaches of the Arun Valley, over thirty leagues wide in places, cut the plateau. The trail descended the steep slope in a series of switchbacks. This was definitely not a cart path. They would have to descend carefully, so as not to injure the horses. “It’s beautiful Grandfather!” Aleron exclaimed and then continued, “How long do you suppose it will take us to get down there?”
“This will take a few bells to negotiate,” Hadaras answered. “It would actually be quicker without the horses. We will have to take it slow, then camp somewhere on the valley floor tonight. We should be able to reach the ferry crossing by mid-afternoon tomorrow. Then, we will be in Arundell by nightfall.”
“It will be nice to sleep in a bed again,” Aleron said, followed by a sigh.
“Who said we would sleep in a bed?” His grandfather chided.
“Grandfather!”
“Just kidding,” Hadaras said, chuckling. “I just wanted to see the look on your face when I said that.”
Hadaras was still chuckling as they started their mounts down the trail. It was rapidly becoming steeper and soon they would need to dismount. The Arun glittered crystal blue in the far distance. The river formed a seaway, two leagues or more in width, allowing Arundell to become a major port city, as well as being the capital of Sudea.
***
Zormat sat in his private cabin, pleased with his progress of the past week. Cutting across the open sea, they managed to avoid any warships sent to intercept them on the way in. The port authorities at Kolixtla stopped them, of course and Captain Matlal’s presence proved useful in negotiating their passage. His few days of contact with the Kolixtlani officer allowed Zormat to absorb a passable knowledge of the local language prior to meeting with the king. It was a strange language, difficult to grasp due to many sub-words making longer words, whose meaning would take an entire sentence to convey in other tongues. The meetings with King Quauhtli and his High Priest Itzcoatl were very productive. Kolixtlan was the most powerful of the nations loyal to the Nameless One and their allegiance to the cause was assured. He instructed Itzcoatl to discontinue sacrifices for the near term, saving the captives for a mass sacrifice when the time was right. Zormat also blessed Itzcoatl and some of his higher echelon priests with the ability to discern true believers from unbelievers. The upcoming inquisition would weed unbelievers from the populace and swell the number of potential sacrifices. When he returned Zadehmal to the gates of Immin Bul, thousands would die and the power of the blood sacrifice would flow into his father. Then, together, they would have the strength to burst the bonds holding the Nameless God captive. As well, he instructed the priests to begin referring to his father as the ‘One True God’. He was nameless only because he needed no name. All other gods were false. Next stop will be Zyx on the Adar coast, then Corin on the Thallasian coast. Both are more backward than the Kolixtlani and lack a strong priesthood, but the missionaries I instructed to be sent will help in that respect. Apparently, the Thallasians were never much more than pirates, looking for an advantage. A few years of missionary effort, followed by an inquisition will remedy that problem. Time to get some sleep. They would set sail at dusk, with the King’s Second Counselor and a Prelate of the newly renamed Church of the One True God. Men were not comfortable sailing at night, but an arkan's vision penetrated the darkness like that of a cat. Zormat was looking forward to this trip.
***
As Cladus made his way to Swaincot, the small village Aleron and his family called home, he came upon the well-maintained cottage of Hadaras and his family, with its meticulously manicured gardens and hedges. As he rode into the courtyard, he saw a content old mare wandering free, cropping the grass. He dismounted and led his mount to the hitching post. The horse looked indignantly at him as he prepared to tie the reins. “You want to visit, don’t you, old friend?” The magician/bard said to the animal. “Go ahead and play; just stay out of trouble.” He looped the reins around the saddle horn, to keep them from tangling and patted the horse’s flank. So, this is where the old elf was raising the lad, very nice spread. Something keeps telling me that boy’s name was no accident at all. Could it be true? The prophecies did state that a new King would arise after a millennia’s absence. With the raw power he could sense at the core of Aleron’s being, it was quite a believable prospect. He made his way to the cottage door; it opened in anticipation of
his arrival. The dark haired beauty in the doorway nearly took his breath away.
“Welcome Cladus, I’ve been expecting you,” Jessamine greeted him. “Come in please and make yourself at home.”
“That would be improper of me Milady, what with the men of the house away,” he replied, stammering slightly. He rarely lost his composure and it was a bit disconcerting. Looking into her eyes, he caught a sense of primordial forests, the likes of which no living man had ever seen and beyond that, the fathomless depths of the space between the stars. This is no more a daughter of men than Hadaras is a son.
“Nonsense,” she retorted, “you will sleep in a proper bed tonight and eat a home cooked meal. Now, unsaddle that horse and come inside, Take your boots off at the door and bring your instrument. You can sing for your supper, bard.”
“Of course Milady,” he answered, composure regained. “Jessamine, I presume?” he continued, with a half-bow and flourish.
“You presume correctly. Now tend to your mount and come inside. I believe we may have a few things to talk about before you start singing. You may store your saddle in the stable if you like.”
***
As they slowly picked their way down the narrow, switch backed trail, Hadaras thought on the dreams his young charge was having of late. Always the dreams revolved around the common thread of colors. Sometimes liquid, sometimes light or vapors, sometimes even solids or his own flesh, the colors and their associated powers, were always the central focus of the dreams. It was a concept the old sorcerer was familiar with, from his long study of magic. The blue power of order was, traditionally the only form available to elves. The Adversary and his halfblood sorcerers preferred the red power of chaos. The other colors he knew, but they were available exclusively to the Alient, not mortals. The boy impeccably described the properties of the various colors. In one such dream, he was healing the injured with glowing yellow hands. In another, he described pulling down a mountainside with the red light of chaos. He then raised a forest upon the destruction with a shower of glowing green rain. Hadaras knew that these were visions, not dreams. Somehow, the Allfather was communicating to the boy and instructing him in the ways of magic, while he slept. Most interesting, was the lad’s description of white, the blend of all colors. Aleron described it as the power of transformation. With the white, he could change one substance to another, or change himself into something else. He described running free across the plains as a wolf and flying high above Aertu as a bird. In so doing, he accurately described places he had never been, to the point that his grandfather knew the exact location to which he was referring. What Hadaras found most troubling were Aleron’s descriptions of elvish wielders of red magic. They were a supposed impossibility, but they were scattered throughout the boy’s dreams. He could not let on to his grandson how much he knew about everything the boy was telling him. Posing as a man, he could not seem to possess any more than a scholarly knowledge of magic. Sorcerous ability cropped up only rarely among men in these days since the halfblood caste was diluted. Granted, there were the scattered halfbloods like Cladus roaming Aertu, but for the ability to manifest in an ordinary man, was highly improbable. Though not unheard of, it involved a concentration into a single individual, of elvish traits present only at low levels in the population.
The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu Page 6
