One afternoon, when Aleron asked him whether he was dreaming about magic, Hadaras answered, “That appears to be the case Aleron,” continuing, “but I know not why you would be dreaming of such things nearly every night. It must mean something though.”
“But I only recall reading about the blue and red, when it comes to magic. The story of the final battle of the Great War said that blue and red magic shot like lightning across the sky and the weapons glowed in those colors too.”
“Those two are the colors allowed for elves and men. Elves wielded the blue exclusively, while men were capable of wielding either, depending on their alignment,” Hadaras answered.
“Where there ever men who wielded both?” Aleron inquired
“Yes, there were some, who began on the side of good, who were swayed by the lies of the Nameless one. Once they wielded the red power of the Adversary, they never returned to the wielding of blue.”
“That’s odd,” the boy mused. “In my dreams, I can switch from one to the other easily and sometimes I blend the two. When I do that, it makes this purple light, that’s good for moving big things. It’s like a mix of brute force and precision. I dreamed I was using it to lift huge boulders and hurl them to a spot leagues away, where they were needed to build something. Then I used the blue light to cut them into perfectly square blocks.”
“What were you building?”
“It looked like some sort of fortress, a tower with walls four arm-spans thick, but what about the other colors Grandfather?”
“A tower, interesting…The other colors were known to exist, but from what I’ve read from scholars of magic, the others were not for mortals.”
“Oh…” The boy stopped his questioning and rode along, seemingly deep in thought.
Hadaras thought on that and other conversations he and Aleron had on the subject of the boy’s dreams. Could the red be wielded without the wielder becoming evil? Red was associated with death and decay, but were those forces not necessary for new life to arise? The red force of disorder could be seen as complimentary to the green force of growth, as much as it opposes the blue force of order. The lad claims that none of the forces seemed inherently good or evil, just that good or evil individuals preferred one to the others, definitely food for thought. He wondered what all these visions meant for Aleron. They were starting early, for one thing. Most halfbloods didn’t start showing signs of ability until well into their seventeenth year and elves, much later than that. For Aleron to be experiencing visions, not even into his sixteenth year, was prodigious, to say the least. His thoughts returned to the trail. The narrowing, just ahead, meant they would dismount and lead the horses on foot.
***
Cladus took in the details of the kitchen, as Jessamine prepared tea for them. It was comfortably spacious, but just so, without being wasteful of space. The architecture of the cottage was simple, spare and unadorned, but still quite graceful, very elvish in its sensibilities. The hardwood planks of the floor were beautifully polished and waxed, a rarity in a country cottage. “You have a very beautiful house,” he said, for lack of anything better to break the ice.
“Thank you Cladus. That’s kind of you to say about our modest little abode,” Jessamine replied. “Hadaras told me about you. He said you possess remarkable abilities of perception.”
“I suppose so,” the bard agreed. “It comes in handy in my profession, to anticipate what the customer would like to hear next.”
“So, what do you perceive in me?” She asked, as she set the teacups on the table and took her seat across from him.
He hesitated a moment, before replying, “Like Hadaras, I sense you are not a child of men, though you may appear to be. But I also sense that you are not an elf, but something more ancient still.”
“That will suffice, I believe you are as Hadaras said you were,” she concluded. “At this time, it is probably best not to go into detail about who I am, though I’m sure you can come to your own conclusions.”
“Understood Milady.”
“Now, what did you perceive about my dear Hadaras?” she inquired.
“I have arrived at my own conclusions on that as well, Milady. I sensed that he is impossibly old, even for an elf and ‘Hadaras’ is only one of many names he has gone by. There is something beyond elvish in his makeup. He is possibly the most powerful sorcerer I have ever encountered. That was all I could gather from him, the rest was too closely guarded.”
“That is certainly an impressive skill you have there, Cladus and it appears to be a passive one, that doesn’t require you to probe the individual you read. I felt no intrusion, though your assessment of me was accurate,” she admitted. “What did you sense of our young Aleron?”
“Well, with that lad, there it becomes complicated.”
Chapter 9
Carpathday, Day 16, Growing Moon, 8760 Sudean Calendar
The ferryman said, “One silver piece for you and the boy and one and a half for each of the horses. That makes for five and a half silver.”
“I don’t have any half-pieces with me,” Hadaras explained. “Will you take five even?”
“Don’t you worry my good man,” the ferryman replied. “I have plenty of half pieces. Give me six and I’ll give you back a half.”
“Very well,” Hadaras agreed, opening his coin pouch. The man was obviously not interested in haggling.
“Thank you kind sir,” the old man said, after receiving his money. The boat won’t depart for another half-bell or so. Have to wait and see if a few more customers show up.” He had the look of an old sailor and probably saved his pennies for years to buy this boat and the rights to this route. The dozen oarsmen rested in place, obviously not interested in embarking any sooner than necessary. “That’s a strapin’ young lad you have there. He your grandson?”
“Yes he is,” Hadaras replied.
“Does he know how to use that sword on his side?” the ferryman asked, with doubt in his tone.
“More than passably,” Hadaras answered, adding, “He’s probably more than a match for most of the trained recruits in the ranks.” A couple of the bored looking oarsmen perked up at the statement.
“I’m going to join the army or the navy next year, after I turn sixteen,” Aleron interjected, beaming at his grandfather’s compliment.
“Go for the navy youngster,” the old sailor offered. “Sea pay is better’n land pay, plus you get to see more of the world, cause you get places faster. If you’re really that good with a sword, the marines would likely take you in a heartbeat.”
“Thank you sir, I’ll definitely take that into account.”
The ferryman smiled and patted Aleron on the shoulder, as they guided the horses up the loading ramp and onto the boat. As they tied off the horses to the center railing, they saw dust in the distance. Soon two riders came into view, hurrying to catch the ferry. Apparently, they would have company after all on this trip.
The new arrivals dismounted and commenced negotiating the fare with the boat’s owner. The horsemen were decked out in the Sudean royal livery of blue tabards emblazoned with a four-pointed star, in gold. “Royal couriers, by the look of them,” Hadaras said of the men as they paid the fare. They led the lathered mounts onto the boat, as the ferryman scanned the distance for any more late arrivals. He untied from the dock and hopped onboard, pulled up the loading gate and proceeded to the tiller. On cue, the oarsmen lowered the oars into the water and pulled in unison. The ferry pulled away from the dock as the pilot lowered the tiller and pushed as if attempting a hard left. As the oarsmen pulled, the ferry canted into the current, appearing as if to aim far to the north of the city, when in fact they were travelling straight across to the dock on the opposite bank. Fully half their effort went toward fighting the current of the Arun as it flowed to the sea.
“Are you really Royal Couriers?” Aleron inquired of the men who had joined them.
“Aye,” said one, a tall red-haired man of about thirty, with what looke
d to be perpetual sunburn.
He didn’t seem interested in elaborating, but that did not deter Aleron from asking, “Do you like it? I mean, is it exciting?”
“It’s a job, just like any other,” said the second courier, a bit younger than the first and not as tall, with sandy hair. He was a bit more friendly to the boy, continuing, “It’s better than soldiering at least. The hours are still long, but I get to sleep in my own bed more often than when I was in the ranks. Not nearly as exiting though. This is more of a settling down and raising a family job, than an exciting one.”
“Aye, that it is,” agreed the tall redhead, loosening up a bit. “Being a soldier’s a young man’s job. Once you got a wife and younguns, bein’ out campaigning isn’t so much fun anymore.”
“I keep telling the lad he should think about university, but he wants a career at arms,” Hadaras said.
“He can read?” asked the older courier.
“Four languages and working on the fifth,” Hadaras informed him.
“Damn boy, you could be a court scribe. Why would you want a soldier’s life when you could life at the palace and make twice the money?”
“What Grandfather isn’t telling you, is that he’s been teaching me to fight for almost as long as he’s been teaching me to read,” Aleron interjected.
“Your good with that sword then?” the younger one asked, looking from Aleron to Hadaras for confirmation.
Hadaras nodded, as Aleron answered, “I’m not too bad, I think. It’s hard to say, since I only fight my grandfather and a couple of my friends.”
“I wouldn’t mind sparring with you for a bit, if you’re willing and your grandfather doesn’t mind,” the young courier announced. “We have a little time, don’t we Karl?”
“We can spare a few minutes Bruno,” the elder answered.
“I have no problem with it,” Hadaras agreed, “as long as we lay down a few ground rules first.”
“Agreed then,” Aleron stated.
The ferry was nearing the opposite bank and the ferryman lifted the tiller out of the water. The oarsmen on the left side reversed direction, pushing the oars, rather than pulling and the ferry spun around to bring the stern to the dock. The pilot deftly tossed a loop of rope over a post on the dock, as the rearmost oarsmen stowed their oars and joined him in pulling the boat tight to the dock. He tied off the up-current side of the stern, saying, “Good work boys.”
“Thanks Dad,” one of the hulking oarsmen replied.
“Looks like we’re gonna have a show. We’re ahead of schedule, so we might as well take break boys,” The ferryman said to his men.
After off loading the ferry, the oarsmen followed the passengers off the boat. A few passengers were waiting on the return trip and the ferryman announced, “We’re taking a short break, ladies and gentlemen and we will board in about half a bell.” Some of the potential passengers grumbled among themselves, but none spoke up to complain.
Karl, Bruno, Aleron and Hadaras hitched their horses and found a clear area near the docks. The ferry crew dragged benches over so they could watch, while they took their mid-morning break. The new passengers and some dockworkers noticed the activity and wandered over as well. Hadaras spoke up, “Now, if the boy is to do this, there will be some rules. Until now, he has only sparred with practice swords, never live steel. Aleron, you will wear your helm. Bruno, it’s your choice to wear yours or not.”
“Aye,” Bruno agreed, while Aleron nodded in affirmation and went to retrieve his helm. Bruno simply pulled his mail coif over his head and fastened the gorget across his throat. Aleron did the same and placed his helm on his head.
“You will strike with the flats only,” Hadaras continued, “with no thrusting and no intentional strikes to the head and neck. Daggers are to be used for blocking only. Are we agreed?”
“Yes Grandfather,” Aleron agreed.
“Of course,” Bruno replied. “I’ve no intention of harming the lad. I just want to see how well you’ve trained him.”
“Then let’s get started,” Hadaras announced.
The two faced off against each other, separated by four paces. They both drew their dagger and tossed them to their left hands, following with their swords. When Aleron drew his, Karl remarked, “That’s an elvish blade if I’ve ever seen one.” The blade was long and slender, with a leaf shape and a long central fuller that changed width along with the blade. The quillions arced gracefully forward and a teardrop shaped pommel completed the hand and a half hilt. Bruno’s sword was a typical Sudean issue arming sword, the blade four fingers wide at the hilt and tapering abruptly to the armor piercing point. “Where are you folks from?” inquired Karl.
“We come from Swaincot, near Ellesfort, on the bay, but I served up in the colonies years ago and acquired a few souvenirs,” Hadaras replied.
“That’s some rough duty up on the border,” Karl commented. “I was always glad the dwarves never asked for our help up there,” he continued.
“Are you ready lad?” Bruno asked.
“Ready!” Aleron answered.
They slowly circled one another to the right, as right-handed fighters often do. Suddenly, Bruno darted to the left, attempting an offhand strike to Aleron’s right hip. Aleron deftly executed a low block and then whipped his own blade in a graceful arc, trying to connect with Bruno’s shoulder. If not for the ground rules, he would have gone for a head shot. Bruno barely parried the shot, his eyes widening at the speed of the counterattack. The dance went on for several more minutes, with neither swordsman scoring on the other. Finally, as Aleron blocked with his dagger, he managed to catch the other’s sword with the forward pointing quillions, locking the blade with a twist of his wrist. Bruno, surprised by the teenager’s strength, was unable to free his blade, as Aleron took his sword arm in a blindingly fast attack. The strike to the arm was immediately followed by a strike to the opposite leg, so fast that the onlookers could barely see the flash of steel in the sunlight. Bruno let drop his weapons, raising his hands palm outward to signify his ceding the match. As the weapons clattered to the ground, a few of the oarsmen cheered, while the others groaned. Apparently, a few wagers had been made on the outcome.
“Corball’s Balls!” Karl exclaimed, “The lad’s as fast as an elf too! How old is the boy?”
“Not quite fifteen,” Hadaras replied, chuckling at the ancient soldier’s explicative.
Karl raised one eyebrow, “And he already fights like that and that big too? He just beat one of the best in Bruno there.”
“Fine work lad!” Bruno exclaimed, closing in to embrace the boy. “Your grandpa wasn’t joking about you. You’re the best I’ve fought in a long while.”
“Th-thank you sir,” Aleron stammered. “You are very good yourself, though I’ve only fought my friends and my Grandfather here. You’re almost as fast as Grandfather.”
Karl raised the eyebrow again, this time at Hadaras, then said, “Come on Bruno, we need to get going, or there’ll be hell to pay when we’re late. You folks have a good day,” he finished, as he moved off to their horses.
“Good day to you lad,” Bruno said before collecting his weapons. “Keep working at it and you could be the best swordsman in the kingdom before long.”
As the couriers rode off, Karl said to Bruno, “They’re from Swaincot, a little cow town near Ellesfort. Last place I expected to find a nest of scorpions.”
“You aren’t joking Karl,” Bruno replied, “That kid was the fastest I’ve ever run up against, excepting a couple elves and he said his grandpa is faster.
“The old man claims he served up in the elf lands, on the border. He doesn’t look like he has a scratch on him though. He’d have to be damn good just to get sent there and better than good to make it back in one piece.”
That explains the elf-blade the boy wields.” The men continued discussing the bout as they rode towards the city at a brisk trot. Bruno was not used to losing and wanted to know everything he did wrong. Karl didn’
t have much to tell him other than that he just wasn’t fast enough.
The oarsmen were laughing and slapping each other on the back as they exchanged coin. Win or lose, they all enjoyed the show. The ferryman began accepting fares and the passengers began filing onto the boat. Many of them were laughing and talking about the match they had just witnessed. Aleron stowed his helm and untied his and the packhorse, as Hadaras untied his own mount. They mounted up and Hadaras led the way toward Arundell.
“That went well,” Aleron commented, “Bruno was really good and a pretty nice fellow too. I half expected him to be angry when I beat him.”
“I think he was too perplexed to be angry,” his grandfather replied. “According to Karl, Bruno is one of the best swordsmen in the city. They recruit the royal couriers from the best of the army ranks.”
The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu Page 7
