“That doesn’t sound right at all,” Aleron observed.
“No Aleron, breeding men like cattle would be an atrocious assault to freedom, making us no better than the Adversary. He did as much before the Great War, enslaving elf maids and breeding them to his sorcerers to build his own halfblood caste. He did worse to the females of other races, breeding them to his trolls and goblins. One thing that many don’t realize is that the Nameless One had no intention to destroy the free peoples, just enslave them. He would take away our free will for our own well being, relieving us of the heavy burden of choice.”
“It was just a thought.”
“Just not a good one,” Hadaras concluded. “The Halfblood Caste is a thing of the past and only happened because there were enough of them to form a viable ruling class and exclude all others. There were quite a few moral quandaries surrounding that choice to begin with, but the Sudeans arrived at the system on their own. Both the mundane population and the halfbloods agreed to the arrangement and any were free to marry outside the caste, as long as they were willing to give up their titles.” He went on to say, “When we elves returned to Sudea, we saw no reason to try to change the system, since the people arrived at it through the exercise of their own free will, even though we did not agree with the caste system ourselves.”
“Didn’t my mother intend to reestablish the Halfblood Caste through me, Grandfather?”
“Yes, my boy, that was her intent,” he conceded, “but that was a misguided sentiment on her part. It takes more than one person to found a population, so where are all the other halfbloods to come from? Then, would you divest the noble families of their legacy and supplant them with these new halfbloods? Or, would you force them all to marry elves? Where then would all these willing elves come from? It was never very feasible to begin with, plus she did not live in those times, to see the impingement on free will that the system entailed.”
“I understand, Grandfather. I want to be able to marry who I want and I wish the same for any children I may have too.”
“Good,” Hadaras replied, with a gentle smile. “I’m glad you are able to see the view from the mountain, rather than the bottom of the valley,” puzzling Aleron with the metaphor. He would have to think about that one.
Aleron found the elves to be most charming and courteous, if a little stiff and aloof. He got the feeling that many of them believed themselves to be above him. He surprised more than a few with his intelligence and quick wit. Overall, they had an enjoyable stay, but when it was time to leave, Aleron was more than ready to move on. He could tell that even his grandfather was tiring of the snobbishness of his own people. Hadaras lived in the colonies for most of the last fifty-five hundred years, sometimes in the guise of a man, but mostly as an elf, under different names at different times. In every instance that he returned after living among men or dwarves, there was a period of adjustment to the strict social mores of his people. He liked it less each time he experienced it.
One intriguing piece of news came to them while at Wynn: Due to their ability to communicate over long distances, the elves receive news from their envoys around the world, far quicker than could ever be achieved through overland travel. Reports from around Aertu told of Thallasian envoys arriving at all the capitals of the east and south. So far, the westmen seemed to have been left out, but it was likely that they would receive ambassadors as well, soon enough. The Thallasian diplomats, the one at Arundell especially, told of fresh entreaties by representatives of the Nameless God. It seemed that the Thallasians were not receptive to their advances and chose to seek allies elsewhere. It was dark and foreboding news, but good all the same to find that not all of the Adversary’s former allies were pleased at the prospect of his return. Kolixtlan and Adar, however, were already back in the Nameless One’s pocket. The most distressing part of the news was that these emissaries for the Nameless God were elves, wielding red magic. This news created quite a stir among the people of the colonies. Hadaras wondered how the Adversary managed to communicate with his followers, though he always believed that the god would someday find a way through the bindings that held him.
As they rode into the old familiar yard, the old mare came trotting up to greet her long lost companions and much snorting and nickering ensued. Jessamine stood at the doorway to the cottage, next to the rose bush Aleron remembered so well. It was definitely good to be home.
Chapter 25
Feast of Korelle, Zorekday, Day 6, Growing Moon. 8765 Sudean Calendar
Today is a good day to be a marine, Aleron thought. It was Zorekday, dedicated to the god of the sea and a traditional rest day for Sudeans. It was also the feast day of Korelle, the goddess of wind and sailing, meaning extra rations for all. He lounged on the foredeck with Barathol, Geldun and other fellow marines, passing around a jug of smoky tasting Elmenian usquebaugh. He was rubbing olive oil along the blades of his freshly sharpened cutlasses. Barathol reached over and grabbed the bottle of oil, pouring out a palm full and rubbing it into the new tattoo he acquired in Corin. An incredibly detailed viper, rendered in deep blue ink, now coiled around his heavily muscled upper right arm. Barathol took quite a fancy to the Thallasian custom, as had many Sudean sailors and marines since the two nations began collaborating nearly four years earlier. The young warrior now sported several pieces of body art. “You’ll be quite the sight behind a plow in Swaincot, with all that artwork, Barry,” Aleron commented.
“I’m not thinking that will ever happen, Al,” he replied. “I think I like this line of work too much to go back to plows and cows.”
“What, hacking up Kolixtlani and Adari sailors? I will admit, you are pretty good at it.”
“We are, you mean,” Barathol corrected him. The trio remained together after training, because they proved to be such an effective assault team. Aleron, gifted with preternatural speed and agility, gravitated to the dual-sword form, while Barathol’s solidity and strength made him an unmatched pike-man. Geldun favored a medium punch-buckler and cutlass, functioning as a tenacious obstacle, around which the other two worked. The last summer before the boys enlisted, Hadaras conceded to train them together as a team for the first time. The three arrived for training in Arundell, already knowing their preferred weapons forms and having a basic grasp of group tactics. Three and a half years later, their team could carve a path through an enemy formation, like a hot knife through butter. Geldun had nothing to add to the conversation. When they looked to him for comment, they saw that he was asleep against the bulkhead. The extra rations and liquor apparently, had taken their toll. The others had a chuckle at his expense and went back to what they were doing.
Their ship was six days south of Corin, heading back to Arundell for month-long furlough at their homeport. They had spent the past six months in the northern sea off Chebek and Thallasia, patrolling for Kolixtlani and Adari warships. Now, winter was in full swing for the northern half of the world and the northern waters too treacherous for the ships of the enemy. Though the coast remained heavily fortified, they could afford to minimize seagoing patrols. Other, unfamiliar ships were spotted over the years, but they always avoided the blockades and took flight when pursued. The Thallasians confirmed that these new ships were similar to the ship sailed by the elvish emissaries for the Nameless God. A fleet remained to overwinter in the north, maintaining the blockade of the Wabani Inlet to the Kolixtlani Sea and to be ready, in case these strange elves arrived in force. Rather than attempt to run the blockade, the elvish vessels remained in the treacherous waters close to the northern ice. It seemed as if they were searching for something. They had been spotted approaching from the east and the west and High Admiral Kor believed they originated from the other side of the world, in an area where the sea ice seemed to run further south than was normal. He thought there to be an uncharted landmass in that area and the sea ice maintained through the magical efforts of these elves.
Aleron was curious about these strange elves as well. His grandfather
suspected them to be descended from the abductees of four millennia past and having somehow been twisted to the use of the chaotic red energy. The Thallasians said they were darker complexioned than was normal, indicating an admixture of some other race. Hadaras thought it was likely man or goblin.
At this moment, however, Aleron did not care about any of that. He was looking forward to seeing Eilowyn again, though there were still months to go, before they would reach Arundell. Aleron began courting the Steward’s daughter a few months after returning from the yearlong journey with his grandfather. True to his word, he returned to Arundell to see her, before he enlisted that fall. During that visit, he made plain his intentions to her father that he intended to wed Eilowyn, if she would have him. Together, they concocted a fiction, to explain away why the Steward’s youngest daughter was to be engaged to a lowly marine private. The outward story was that Aleron was of a minor offshoot of a noble house, but had yet to accrue the necessary capital to purchase a commission. It was common practice for the sons of petty nobles to enlist in the ranks and save up to buy a commission. Many said that, indeed, they made better officers than their more well to do counterparts who directly purchased their commissions. Most believed that Gealton was simply doting on his daughter and conceding to the whim of a spoiled child, especially those nobles who had hoped to arrange a match for their own sons with the Steward’s daughter. It helped that Aleron rapidly gained a reputation as one of Arundell’s most skilled fighters, at such a young age. His future career looked bright and some believed he could ascend to the rank of General one day. Aleron and Gealton, of course, knew that he would never be a General, but it was good reinforcement to their story.
His friends were more startled than most, with Geldun asking, “How did you meet her to begin with?”
Barathol asked, “How come you never told us that Hadaras was a nobleman? Of course, that does explain you being rich as you are.”
Aleron explained what was known to a few in Arundell, that Hadaras and the Steward had served in the army together, so that was how he became introduced to Eilowyn. He also claimed that Hadaras preferred those around Swaincot not to know of his noble birth, believing it would invite unwanted attention. A simple army pensioner was an identity more conducive to maintaining his privacy. The young men had since heard tales, verging on the legendary, implicating Hadaras to be one of the greatest fighters in recent history. They had no idea that, under his myriad aliases, he was one of the greatest fighters and the greatest sorcerer in all of history.
Today, Aleron was a Sergeant and his two friends were Corporals. Even now, Barathol and Geldun should have teams of their own and Aleron should be leading a squad, but the three were simply too effective as a team, for the command to break them up. There was much talk of sending them back to the marine training camp as combat instructors, but that would have to wait until this “war that wasn’t a war” cooled down. In the meantime, Kolixtlan and Adar were being increasingly troublesome, while wild men and other denizens of the Central Jungle increased attacks on their neighbors. There were even reports of hobgoblins and half-trolls crossing Kolixtlan and making trouble in Castia. After three years of intermittent skirmishing, it did not look like things would cool down anytime soon.
Soon, Aleron and Barathol were dozing, along with Geldun and half the other marines on board. Sailors passing by either shook their heads and chuckled or scowled in disgust. Though some might be jealous of the marine’s lack of responsibility when under sail, none would trade for their responsibilities upon landfall on unfriendly shores.
Late that night, Aleron found himself in the storeroom adjacent to the galley. Sleep was eluding him, due in part to the redolent afternoon he enjoyed. He often took advantage of times like this, seeking a private place to practice magic. He cast out his senses and soon found one of the ubiquitous rats, prowling behind some barrels. It was not one that he had encountered before, so it came willingly when he called out to it. Most shipboard creatures he encountered previously scurried away quickly as soon as they sensed his presence. It was not that he was ever cruel to them; it was just that the things he did to them were a bit disconcerting for the poor animals. The ship’s cat bolted whenever she caught sight of Aleron and oddly, became overly sympathetic to the rats and mice in the past few weeks. He heard the cook complain that he would have thrown her overboard for uselessness, if he didn’t think she was pregnant and there was hope for a good kitten. Aleron conceded to himself that he probably shouldn’t have turned her into a mouse last month.
The little gray rat hopped into his palm and looked up at him with beady black eyes, twitching his whiskers, as rats do. Aleron concentrated and in a flash of white, a small parakeet stood on his palm, looking bewildered. He quickly gained control of the bird and calmed it, then he sensed through the creature. It was indistinguishable from the one he examined near Corin a week earlier, except that its mind was still that of a rat. The rat’s mind, however, was rapidly realigning itself to the thought processes of the bird’s brain it found itself inhabiting. Aleron sensed the dim intelligence of the rodent expanding to fill the exponentially greater capacity of the parakeet. The bird stretched its wings and hopped about his palm. Before it progressed much further, he bent his will and the little grey rat once again sat on his palm. He expected the creature to bolt, as soon as it gained its bearings again, but this one was different. It just sat and looked at him expectantly. He felt again for the rodent’s thoughts and received a deep sense of longing from the animal. It wanted him to change it back. He tried to project an impression to the little creature that being a parakeet would not do in the cool dry lands where they were heading . Aleron did not think that a rat could mope, but that’s just what this one did, as it flopped onto his palm and curled into a ball. He felt bad for the little rodent, having had a short glimmer of intelligence, only to return back to its meager capacity again.
As he stroked the animal’s fur with one finger, a solution came to him. He once again focused his will on the rat and another flash of white preceded the appearance of a young raven in the place of the little grey rat on his palm. There, little friend, he spoke into the bird’s mind, now you will be able to live where we are going. He set his hand down on a barrel and the raven that was once a rat hopped off. It stretched out one, then the other wing, looking at each in turn and then it lifted one foot to examine it as well. Aleron reached into his pocket for a piece of hardtack he was saving and broke off a corner. He offered it to the bird, which took the bread and swallowed it in one gulp. He broke up the rest of the bread and set it atop the barrel for the bird.
Moving his own awareness into the head of the raven, he looked through its eyes as it plucked up the pieces of hardtack and swallowed them down. The rat’s mind was in here as well, straining to fill the vast space now available. Aleron was surprised to discover that there seemed to be enough room for his mind in here as well. He had long avoided changing himself into anything other than a man, fearing that he would not have the intelligence to bring himself back. Here, however, was a mind with nearly the same capacity as his. When new and unformed, a raven’s brain would be more than accommodating to his mind. The ravens he previously studied possessed minds already formed to their natural purpose and so he did not realize the potential mental capacity of these birds. He decided that this was a form he could use to move quickly, over large distances and still have hope of changing himself back to normal at the end of the trip.
Come along, my friend, he spoke to the raven, holding out his arm. Let’s get you out into the fresh air, where you can learn about the wind. The young bird hopped atop Aleron’s forearm and he reentered the galley, extinguishing the glowing white orb he conjured to see in the dark storeroom. He grabbed another half loaf of bread someone had left on the table and made his way to the stairs. A portly night shift sailor trundled down to the galley, in search of a snack. He nodded to Aleron in recognition, as they passed at the foot of the stairs. The sailor sa
w only a marine, hands swinging at his sides, as Aleron exited the galley.
On the main deck once again, he made his way to the forecastle, the upper deck of which, was currently empty. This far out to sea and under minimum sail, only one guard was required up in the crow’s nest. Closer to shore, they would have shielded lanterns hanging from the bowsprit and at least two watchers on the foredeck, on the lookout for reefs and shoals. He bounded up the ladder, one-handed, the bread tucked under the arm holding the bird. He then set the raven on the deck, along with the half-loaf, saying, now stay clear of the edge until you get your wings straight. If you fall over the edge before you learn to fly, you will be lost. He picked up the stout rope meant to block the exit from the foredeck, where it dropped to the main deck and hooked it to the railing on either side. Come on over here and grab hold of this rope. You can practice flying, while you hold on tight. The bird understood, because Aleron was projecting the thoughts into its mind, rather than using any actual words. It hopped over to the rope, flapped its wings a few times and then looked up expectantly at Aleron. He reached down, it hopped onto his hand and he helped it up to the rope. Once there, it spread its wings into the breeze , which, fortunately, blew from directly behind. Good night, little friend; I will be back to check on you at dawn, he reassured the raven, before swinging over the railing and dropping to the deck below. With only a few bells before dawn, he proceeded below decks to find his berth and get some real sleep.
The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu Page 18
