The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu

by Julian Benoit

  “Rise, Grandfather,” Aleron directed, holding forth his hand. “You should bow to no one, not even me.” Hadaras took the outstretched hand in his and stood. Then the three faced the assemblage, with Aleron in the center, Gealton to his right and Hadaras to his left. Aleron addressed the crowd once more, “People of Sudea, I fear that this war will see the Nameless One, the Adversary, loosed once more upon the world. Our newfound ally, Thallasia, reports of one, claiming to be Son of the Nameless God, who came to their shores. If he is as he says, he will seek to free his father and even return to him his weapon of power. Gird for war, my people.” He turned away and moved for the door he had used so many years before, upon first learning of his destiny. Hadaras and Gealton fell in behind. Barathol and Gealton looked at one another, then hurried up the steps and to the back, after the others.

  Upon entering the antechamber to the old Steward’s office, Gealton stated, “That went remarkably well. Good speech, Your Highness.”

  “Please, Milord, don’t call me that in private. I didn’t even feel like that was me talking up there. As soon as I touched that sword, it was as if someone else took over.”

  “Well, you need to stop calling me, Lord, as well, so I guess we should just go with our names in private then?”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “That sword, my boy, contains the spark of every king that ever held it,” Hadaras informed them. “It is not simply a reservoir of power, it is a source of compiled wisdom as well, like a book, with many authors. When you hold it, you are in communion with your ancestors and it may take you over, as it did just now.”

  “Well, that explains where that speech came from,” Geldun offered. “I knew you weren’t that smart.”

  An hour later, three ravens winged off to the north, with Hadaras and Gealton watching from the ancient battlements.

  “I hope they find my girl, old friend,” Gealton wished out loud. “I pray they find her and all make it home safe.”

  “I as well, old friend, but I have faith in their abilities to do just that. What I pray for most, is that my boy practices some restraint.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I hope that these years at war have not made him callous to the fact that there are innocents everywhere, even Kolixtla. I hope that he does not let his anger get the better of him.”

  “Is the lad that powerful?”

  “In a word, yes. Considering the sheer force he wielded the day his power manifested, today, he could likely level a city.”

  “You’re worried for his spirit as much as for his life?” Gealton surmised.

  “Yes, now he has claimed the throne. Let us hope he does not ascend it a bloodthirsty tyrant.”

  “Let us hope and pray then.”

  Chapter 31

  Shilwezday, Day 26, Squash Moon. 8765 Sudean Calendar

  The ravens flew high above the jungle canopy of Kolixtlan, cultivated fields in sight on the horizon. They passed over many patches of settlement and cultivation, carved from the dense rainforest, on this journey, but the scene ahead seemed much more expansive than any they had encountered before. Soon, they found themselves over fields of maize and rice, orchards of citrus or banana, as well as, crops none of them recognized. Livestock grazed upon open pastureland, the humped cattle of the tropics looking strange to the southerners. After about one bell from when they first reached the fields, Aleron and his companions caught their first glimpse of the capital city Kolixtla and the Kolixtlani Sea beyond. They could see a complex of stepped pyramids, topped with temples, on the eastern edge of the city and the tall spires of the royal palace, towards the center of the city. Low, flat-roofed buildings, ranging from one to three stories, dominated the rest of the sprawling city.

  The trio memorized a map of the city and knew the approximate location of the government facilities. The original map was over four thousand years old, but the recreation they studied included recent intelligence, mainly gathered by Castian spies. Western Castians can easily pass for Kolixtlani in appearance and spies learn the up to date dialect from captives taken attempting to cross the borders. Smuggling is common along the borders of Kolixtlan and, many Kolixtlanis attempt to cross into Castia each year, to escape the oppressive regime and impoverished conditions of their homeland. Most immigrants gain asylum, as long as their story is verifiable and authorities determine they are not spies. Castia imprisons or deports smugglers, though some enter into Castian Intelligence. As emigration and smuggling are illegal in Kolixtlan, deportation is essentially a death sentence for any Kolixtlani sent back.

  ***

  Eilowyn waited in her “quarters”, in a high tower at the Royal Palace. So far, they were treating her well enough, though heaviness filled her heart at the loss of Aleron’s amulet. Two days prior, her captors delivered her to the Kolixtlani palace. Six female servants, supervised by one she assumed to be a priestess of some sort, took her to the baths and directed her to disrobe and enter the steaming water. Eilowyn understood no Kolixtlani, but the pantomime from one of the attendants was sufficient to convey their intent. Not feeling as if she had any option but to comply, she undressed and made towards the bath. It was then that the priestess caught a glimpse of the blue quartz and silver amulet, screaming an oath in recognition. Two attendants grabbed her arms, pulling her to face the priestess, who unceremoniously, ripped the charm from Eilowyn’s breast, breaking the fine silver chain. The priestess shouted instructions to the attendants and then wheeled about, leaving the bathhouse. Within minutes, a different priestess entered to take up the duty of supervising her bath and subsequent dressing. After they dressed, coifed and perfumed her, the attendants brought her into the presence of the King. As they halted before the throne, she genuflected, knowing that despite their rude treatment of her, propriety and graciousness on her part would likely irk them more than belligerence.

  “Greetings, Princess. I hope your stay with us has been pleasant, so far,” the King said in only slightly stilted Sudean. An elderly man, dressed in robes equally as sumptuous as the King’s, stood off to his left.

  “Yes, Your Grace, your staff has been most gracious in their treatment of me. However, I must tell you that as daughter of the Steward, I have no such lofty title as “Princess”.”

  “Very well, Lady Eilowyn, I applaud your modesty, but as the child of the most powerful individual in Sudea, your worth to us as a hostage more than equals that of any actual Princess the world over.” He continued, saying, “Now, my High Priest informs me that you had in your possession a magical amulet. Would you mind explaining to us what purpose it served you?” The man to his left produced her amulet from beneath his robes. The chain repaired, it glowed from within, with a faint blue light.

  “Your Grace, that was a gift from my betrothed,” she explained.

  “Are magical engagement gifts commonplace in your land?” the King inquired. “My friend here informs me that this artifact holds considerable power.” The other man muttered something in Kolixtlani to the King. “He also assures me that you are no sorcerer. What sort of man is your betrothed?”

  “My betrothed is but a soldier, Your Grace, from a minor noble family. He told me that he purchased it from an elvish craftsman, at no small price. He saved for many months to buy it for me. It is supposed to be warded to protect me and to draw him to me if I am ever lost to him.”

  “Elvish work, it obviously is and it must have cost him tremendously, but I have trouble believing that the Steward’s daughter should be promised to a common soldier. How is it that you father allowed this?”

  “Your Grace, many, to include my father, believe him to be destined for greatness, possibly a generalship. By all accounts, he has dispatched hundreds of your fine fighting men, by his own hand and he is a fine strategist for one as young as he.”

  “Really, My Lady and do you believe your future husband, the fearsome warrior that he is, will come here to rescue you, here at the heart of my kingdom?”

&
nbsp; “Your Grace, I do not believe that to be possible,” she answered. “The charm was only intended for if we became separated, but still close at hand. There is no way he could make his way to me here, over such great distance.” She truly believed this to be true, but that did not prevent her from hoping that she be mistaken.

  “Anyhow, My Lady, my High Priest shall maintain possession of your little charm. It is not often that he has the opportunity to examine artifacts of elvish make, plus, in case there is more to this charm than you allude to, it is best in his safekeeping,” the King explained. “Besides, I have thoughts to wed you to one of my own sons. That would serve better to establish a tie between our nations than marrying you off to some common soldier. I seek an end to this unfortunate war between our countries.”

  Eilowyn’s composure broke at that revelation and she replied in a quavering voice, “I suppose I am at your mercy, Your Grace.”

  “Yes you are, My Lady,” he returned. Visibly beaming at her discomfort, the King continued, “That will be all for you today.” To her attendants, he directed something in Kolixtlani and then they whisked her from the audience chamber and brought to her quarters here in the tower.

  The following morning, she awoke to be taken, once again, to the bath, followed by the dressing room. She returned to her quarters for a simple meal of various fruits, some familiar, others not, accompanied by a cooked porridge of maize. After breaking her fast, two attendants arrived in the room, followed shortly by stooped, aged man, with long straight white hair and beard, carrying two leather bound volumes. Thus began her instruction in the language of Kolixtlan. This morning began much the same as the one before. Apparently, the Kolixtlani are adamant about bathing daily. Finished with breakfast, she now waited on the arrival of her tutor.

  ***

  Stubbs and Stretch wandered out from the market square of Kolixtla and into a back alley leading to their boarding house. Both wore the royal seal around their necks, allowing the foreigners to roam freely in a land normally closed to outsiders. Having spent two days resting in the capital, the hired kidnappers planned to take their leave of the city at next sunrise. Both carried a jug of the local cactus wine, which they swigged from periodically. “We gotta get some shuteye ‘fore morning,” Stubbs commented, “so let’s find us some girls.”

  “Kinda early for them to be out,” Stretch replied, “but we should be able to find an open brothel somewhere.”

  “We got a long road ahead, so we best take advantage of this city livin’ while we can.”

  Three of the mangy local curs trooped out of a side alley, to mill about their feet. The smallest bounced and lunged, as if inviting them to play, so Stretch aimed a kick, which it deftly avoided. While the men were distracted, the largest of the three, a shaggy black mongrel, lunged for Stretch’s throat. Stubbs moved for his sword, but the other two curs clamped onto his wrists, taking him to the ground kicking and screaming. Finished with Stretch, the large black dog lunged in to crush the shorter man’s larynx in his bloodied muzzle and then backed off to replace one of the ones holding a wrist. Thus relieved, the rangy yellow dog moved to a place behind his head. Stubbs could only gurgle, struggling to breathe through his ruined throat, as the dog stared down into his eyes. He felt the layers of his mind peel away, as the thing he knew now could not be a dog, methodically picked through his memories, until it found that for which it searched. All at once, the curs released him and backed away, observing him curl into a ball, gurgling in a pitiful attempt to whimper, as he sank into madness.

  “His name is Cyrus and his friend is Jerod, or was, that is,” Aleron informed them as they trotted off, “before Barry ripped out his throat. They came from Elmenia, which explains how they passed for Sudeans. They dropped Ellie off to the priests at the royal palace two days ago.”

  “What will happen to the one we left alive?” asked Geldun.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe his mind will recover, eventually, if he lives through what Barry did to his throat.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Barathol announced, before doubling back around the corner of the building from whence they came. The others waited for him to return a few moments later. “Broke his neck…couldn’t leave him like that,” he explained on his return.

  “You’re a better man than I,” Aleron complimented. “I was going to let him suffer.”

  “We may be hard, Al, but I don’t think we need to be cruel,” Barathol replied.

  “You’re right, of course. It’s just that I saw what he imagined doing to Ellie when I picked through his mind. I wanted him to suffer for that.”

  “Everyone has dark thoughts Al,” Geldun interceded, “but he didn’t actually do anything to her, did he?

  “No,” Aleron admitted, “he was a perfect gentleman toward her, aside from butchering her bodyguards and train.”

  “Sounds like it was just business then, for them at least,” Barathol offered.

  “Yeah, but it gets kind of personal, when it happens to people you know.”

  Moments later, they were back in their corvid guise, flapping upwards for a better view of the city. “I remember you saying that you use the magic around you,” Geldun started, “but what happens if there’s no magic to be had?”

  “The only place I ever had trouble finding magic was deep in a cave,” Aleron answered, “and even then, it was only certain kinds and I still managed to scrape enough together to do what I needed to do. Why do you ask…worried about changing back?”

  “In a word, yes, I’d hate to be stuck as a raven if a fight’s at hand.”

  “I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” Aleron led them high above the rooftops, winging toward the tall spires of the royal palace. “I can feel Ellie’s amulet in that tower to the back right. I doubt she still has it, but whoever does may know where she is.”

  They alighted upon the uppermost battlement of the tower Aleron singled out earlier. Similar to the situation in Arundell, this battlement was no longer manned, since the city’s fortifications were pushed to a wider perimeter than in ancient times. The three friends veered back to their proper forms, screened by the crenulated wall surrounding the uppermost level. “Where does our gear go when we shift?” Geldun inquired. “How come we don’t end up naked?” Apparently, it did not occur to him to ask in all the weeks prior.

  “I’m not sure,” Aleron replied, in a whisper. “I just picture what I want and the magic does the rest.”

  “Thanks for sharing that with us Al; now I feel much more secure about it,” Barathol commented, facetiously.

  They made for the bulkhead leading to the lower levels. “I can feel the amulet is just below this floor,” Aleron announced. Aleron tried the door and discovered it to be locked from the inside. “Locked! Probably just a precaution, or else they’re genuinely worried about someone scaling the walls to get inside. If that’s the case, it doesn’t say much for their confidence in the people.”

  “Remember the prisoners we’ve taken, Al?” Geldun reminded him. “Every one a conscript, but the officers.”

  “Yeah, not a volunteer among them, if you can believe what they told the terps,” Barathol added.

  Aleron cast his senses to the hatch and soon the others heard a soft metallic clunk emanate from behind the door. He reached for the handle, as Barathol covered the opening with his pike. Geldun set himself to enter first, sword and buckler at the ready, as the hatchway opened, revealing a dimly lit stairwell. Aleron peered in, motioned him forward and then drew his twin cutlasses, in preparation to follow. Andhanimwhid remained strapped to his back, bulky and inconvenient in its full six feet. Barathol took up the rear and the three crept slowly down the stair. Upon reaching the bottom, the stopped to listen and then Geldun carefully checked both directions down the corridor. “Which way, Al,” he asked.

  “Left seems closer.” Geldun stepped to the center of the corridor and faced left. Aleron and Barathol took their places to his left and right, respectively. They
could see the hallway curve to their right, obscuring what lay ahead. Doorways punctuated the wall to the outside, while the smooth granite wall to their right appeared unbroken. Aleron sensed a large chamber to that side and that the amulet lay within. “Let’s talk like this from here on out. I think we just have to find the doorway to this room on the right,” he told them. “Ellie’s charm is in there somewhere.” Clouds of dust rose about their boots, as they quickly and silently made their way. Though the corridor showed little sign of traffic, theirs were not the only footprints. Tracks from soft boots, sporting oddly pointed toes, preceded them. Older tracks of the same sort, going in both directions and leading to many of the doors, could be seen as well.

  The tower was large, but not overly so and they soon came to an ornate copper-clad door, etched with numerous glyphs and sigils. The signs seemed to vibrate and flow before their eyes, the unfamiliar symbols appearing to shift one to another. “This is some strong stuff,” Aleron commented, as he stepped forward to examine the door. “Grandfather showed me living script once and it exhausted him to make even a short spell. This must have taken the maker months to complete.”

  “What’s living script,” Barathol asked, “and what does it do?”

  “Living script makes the strongest wards. Instead of relying on a single symbol, the ward can recite an entire spell, over and over again.” He continued scrutinizing the symbols for a time, commenting, “I can read a fair share of this and I can tell that there’s no way I can break this without the owner knowing about it.”

  “Can you break it fast and dirty then?” Geldun offered. “That may give us a fighting chance.”

  “That I can do.” Aleron held out his right hand, intending to draw off the chaotic red power, neutralizing the wards and then use it to break the hinges and lock. Instead, the door opened for them.