Read Online The Halfblood King: Book 1 of the Chronicles of Aertu by Julian Benoit - Free Book Online
Authors: Julian Benoit
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up the path, the brush gave way to larger trees, mostly oak, with some ash. They could smell the smoke of a cook fire ahead and knew that they would not be alone that night. “Be on your guard Aleron. We cannot know what sort of people we might encounter on the road, or what their intentions might be.”
“I understand, Grandfather,” He answered.
A bit further, they were able to hear faint music, from some sort of stringed instrument. They proceeded with caution. What bothered Hadaras was not so much that there was someone ahead, but that he had no sense of the one ahead. I can pick out the minds of most men from miles away, but of this, I sense nothing. When they rounded the last bend of the trail and came within sight of the sheltered glade, just below the top of the hill, they saw the man. Seated on the ground, with his back against a log, he had his legs stretched toward a modest fire and was playing a zither, held in his lap. The intricate tune he plucked from the strings was hauntingly beautiful. He ignored the newcomers, until his song was complete. Hadaras and Aleron dismounted and simply stood immersed in the strange melody.
The stranger stopped playing, looked up at the pair and said, “Welcome friends. I hope you enjoyed my meager attempt at musician-hood. Please, make yourselves at home. I have little, but what I have is yours to share. My name is Cladus.” He stood then, gently leaning the instrument against the log. He was tall and generally handsome, with long brown hair and moustache, but no beard. His eyes were a bright emerald green that seemed ill matched to the man’s complexion. He wore sturdy boots, with trousers and tunic that, though worn and mended in a few spots, were of good quality and clean. He wore no sword, but he had a pair of long knives fixed horizontally to the back of his belt. His lone horse was picketed beneath a large sheltering oak.
“Well met Cladus, I am Hadaras and my young charge here is Aleron. We have food to share as well and would welcome a place at your fire.”
“Excellent, let me help you with the horses then.”
After they unpacked and rubbed down the horses, Aleron led them back down to the waterhole to drink their fill. When he led them back up the hill to picket then and tie on their feedbags, Hadaras and Cladus had the rabbits dressed and spitted over the fire. Hadaras had mixed up a pot of bannock. Now he was busy winding the dough around sticks for baking over the fire. Cladus used one of his long knives to reduce longer limbs to usable firewood lengths. The knife’s blade was over a foot long and thick, with a spear point shape and a single cutting edge.
It seemed more like a butcher’s cleaver than a fighting weapon. Hadaras commented, “That’s a Sultean seaxe, isn’t it? Not too common this side of the mountains.”
“Yes, I spent a few years with the westmen. The people are nice and friendly up there, though the girls play a little rough,” he added, in jest. He looked at Aleron as he said it, with a mischievous glint in his eye. Aleron was happy the light of the fire masked the redness of his face as he settled down by the men. Cladus continued, “Looks like you need to get this youngster to bed. He looks dead on his feet.”
Before Aleron could reply, Hadaras agreed, “That’s the plan. He didn’t get much rest last night with the two of us swapping watch shifts.”
“Don’t worry, young man,” Cladus said to Aleron, “you will eventually learn how to sleep with one eye open. All of us who travel the wilderness alone acquire the skill.”
After they ate, Aleron settled into his bedroll and promptly fell asleep, as Cladus played a new tune on the zither. He identified himself to the others as a travelling bard, earning his keep with songs, stories and news, wherever he went. After the boy was sound asleep, the bard stated, “Let’s not pretend
“I understand, Grandfather,” He answered.
A bit further, they were able to hear faint music, from some sort of stringed instrument. They proceeded with caution. What bothered Hadaras was not so much that there was someone ahead, but that he had no sense of the one ahead. I can pick out the minds of most men from miles away, but of this, I sense nothing. When they rounded the last bend of the trail and came within sight of the sheltered glade, just below the top of the hill, they saw the man. Seated on the ground, with his back against a log, he had his legs stretched toward a modest fire and was playing a zither, held in his lap. The intricate tune he plucked from the strings was hauntingly beautiful. He ignored the newcomers, until his song was complete. Hadaras and Aleron dismounted and simply stood immersed in the strange melody.
The stranger stopped playing, looked up at the pair and said, “Welcome friends. I hope you enjoyed my meager attempt at musician-hood. Please, make yourselves at home. I have little, but what I have is yours to share. My name is Cladus.” He stood then, gently leaning the instrument against the log. He was tall and generally handsome, with long brown hair and moustache, but no beard. His eyes were a bright emerald green that seemed ill matched to the man’s complexion. He wore sturdy boots, with trousers and tunic that, though worn and mended in a few spots, were of good quality and clean. He wore no sword, but he had a pair of long knives fixed horizontally to the back of his belt. His lone horse was picketed beneath a large sheltering oak.
“Well met Cladus, I am Hadaras and my young charge here is Aleron. We have food to share as well and would welcome a place at your fire.”
“Excellent, let me help you with the horses then.”
After they unpacked and rubbed down the horses, Aleron led them back down to the waterhole to drink their fill. When he led them back up the hill to picket then and tie on their feedbags, Hadaras and Cladus had the rabbits dressed and spitted over the fire. Hadaras had mixed up a pot of bannock. Now he was busy winding the dough around sticks for baking over the fire. Cladus used one of his long knives to reduce longer limbs to usable firewood lengths. The knife’s blade was over a foot long and thick, with a spear point shape and a single cutting edge.
It seemed more like a butcher’s cleaver than a fighting weapon. Hadaras commented, “That’s a Sultean seaxe, isn’t it? Not too common this side of the mountains.”
“Yes, I spent a few years with the westmen. The people are nice and friendly up there, though the girls play a little rough,” he added, in jest. He looked at Aleron as he said it, with a mischievous glint in his eye. Aleron was happy the light of the fire masked the redness of his face as he settled down by the men. Cladus continued, “Looks like you need to get this youngster to bed. He looks dead on his feet.”
Before Aleron could reply, Hadaras agreed, “That’s the plan. He didn’t get much rest last night with the two of us swapping watch shifts.”
“Don’t worry, young man,” Cladus said to Aleron, “you will eventually learn how to sleep with one eye open. All of us who travel the wilderness alone acquire the skill.”
After they ate, Aleron settled into his bedroll and promptly fell asleep, as Cladus played a new tune on the zither. He identified himself to the others as a travelling bard, earning his keep with songs, stories and news, wherever he went. After the boy was sound asleep, the bard stated, “Let’s not pretend
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