The Netheron Chronicles by Joseph Black (the giving tree read aloud txt) 📕

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Behind the cabin he heard a rhythmic pounding and crashing, and knew, before he saw, that his grandfather was chopping firewood, he crossed the clearing briskly, grinning in spite of himself at the thought of his grandfather. He turned around the edge of the house, the soft grass replaced by a path of pebbles crunching under his feet, and came face to face with the old man.
Edrin Netharu was a tall man, much like his only grandson, but the family resemblance stopped there, he had long grey – white hair, in compare with Taurens brown and relatively short hair, he had a thin hawkish face with a long nose, and sharp black eyes, in compare with Taurens strong, muscled, but not thick, face, blue eyes, and more normal nose. He always wore the seemingly same black frayed robes, and was now carrying an axe over his shoulder. Behind him a heap of splintered firewood was lying all over their back yard.
He grinned up at Tauren and glanced at the buck in surprise”. Hello boy, seems like you did well enough today.” He said with a nod at the buck.
Tauren pushed past him and lay the buck down on the rough pine boards of back porch of the cabin, the old man followed, stroking the soft fur of the bucks back reverently his eyes half sad as they always were when Tauren brought in his kill.
Tauren nodded in agreement with his grandfather’s statement.” Yep, I caught him by surprise; he didn’t even get to run.” He still felt bad about having had to kill it though, and wondered why his grandfather, who had mercilessly killed any number of men in the wars, was sad at the death of one dumb beast.
The old man nodded.” Well, why you don’t get this cleaned up here. I’ve got to finish this firewood.” The old man swung the axe to a ready position and paced back to the firewood, while Tauren began the messy work of cleaning the buck.
Some half an hour later Tauren finally looked up from his work, a heap of meat, wrapped in rough brown paper lay to his side on the porch, he saved the antlers and hide; they would sell well too.
The sun was getting quite low on the horizon, and he knew it would soon be time to head for Carmenton with the meat. He and his grandfather had decided the day before that Tauren and he would spend the night in town if Tauren caught anything, he had been hunting for two weeks now, and was glad that he had caught something at last, even if it had to be on the day before Recruiting day.
That night there would be a festival in the town where all the men between the ages fifteen and fifty would be gathered together in the village square by the mayor. (Though Tauren wouldn’t be, seeing as he was with the Arrels group) And the next morning a group of judges would have a quick test for each man, assessing his abilities and attributes, and then one out of every five of them would be chosen, and sent to the army base in Fandrinad Province to be trained for three months before they were sent to Arreland for a 20 month service period.

The Arrels had been in control of Netheron for almost a hundred years, the story of how they had come to power was one that the Arrels did not encourage in spreading, and as a result, nobody spoke of it, and over the years it had slowly faded into legend, and that, even, was fading to myth.
Of course it was one of those questions that people required an answer to, and there was a story that was told in the land, about how the people of Netheron had, after the Arrels had saved Netheron from their ancestral enemy Halavarde, almost seventy five years before, all announced the Arrel king their protector and lord.
And so it was that there was always a presence of the mysterious Arrel warriors on Netheron.
But Tauren didn’t believe that story in the least; it was a fake he decided. The people of Netheron definitely regretted their ancestor’s decision now.
Tauren had talked with his grandfather about it, and the old man had not denied that the circulating story was a fraud, but he had seemed to agree with the Arrels; the true story should be suppressed.
Tauren knew that his grandfather knew the truth, but he had still refused to tell him. At the end of these refusals he had simply sighed and dropped the subject, after all, they had little to complain about under the Arrel rule, the taxes where light, the laws where simply enforcements of morality, and the Arrels only requirements where that there be a quite small force of their professional soldiers in every town with a population of more than five hundred, and of course, that one out of every five men between the ages of fifteen and fifty, be recruited every year to serve two years in that mysterious war with that mysterious land of Halavarde.
Even though that last rule was a hard one, and nobody who had left Carmenton for those wars had ever come back, recruitment day came only once every 5 years, and chance had had it, that Tauren had just turned sixteen only a month before recruiting day.
He sighed, wrapping up the meat, antlers, and hide in a bundle and heaving it onto his shoulder, and heading across the clearing to where there was a small pasture and stables where they kept the two horses which they used to do the little traveling they did.
He saw his grandfather coming toward him from the cabin, dressed in a new set of robes. He set his load down on the soft grass, then, unclipping the latch to the pasture gate, he called the two horses over to him, they tossed their heads and trotted over to him; they were small horses, both light bays with white hooves and lower legs, but one had a white spot on his forehead, while the other had a black one.
His grandfather stepped up and took the one with the black spot, grinning and muttering to the horse, that one was his horse, T’hune, and led him over to the stables where he started saddling and bridling him with the hands of an expert.
Tauren heaved his load up with one arm, and led his horse over to the space beside his grandfather, wishing for two things that his grandfather had, that ease and skill with horses, and a better knack for picking names, his poor horse was named White, a name that his grandfather called bland, and Tauren couldn’t help but agree.
It took them only a few minutes of silent work in the small straw strewn stables to get their horses saddled and loaded with whatever they were bringing, Edrin swung easily into his saddle, mockingly holding a hand out to Tauren.” Need some help there?”
Tauren shook his head, a nervous feeling deep down in him, he was a hunter, not a warrior, his grandfather had taught him how to use a sword and spear, and of course he was a decent hand with his bow, but he wasn’t ready to go out to war and fight other men, fight people who were trying to kill him, and who knew that if they didn’t then he would have to kill them.
He sighed and leaped up onto his horse, the meat behind him, wrapped in the hide, while Edrin carried the antlers. He leaned down and picked up his bow from where it lay, leaning against the wall of the stables, he nodded to Edrin, and together they turned their horses and headed by the still, silent cabin, and into the woods.
It was terribly unlikely that he wouldn’t be selected, he was strong, almost as strong as some of the Arrels even, he was healthy, plus, he had some skill with weapons. His grandfather didn’t try to assure him he wouldn’t be picked out and Tauren knew he knew the chances where against him not being selected. It wasn’t that he was afraid, not really, he was a bit, but he was ready, and confident in his own skills, he wasn’t afraid that he wouldn’t come back though.
The leaf strewn trail beneath them crunched dryly as the horses headed through the trees, about them Tauren heard an occasional scuffle of movement as some small creature ran off into the underbrush as they approached. The breeze still blew through the treetops, sending leaves flowing down to rest about them.
They rode in silence for about an hour, drinking in the timelessness of the great forest, the amazing feeling of moving through the swirling leaves, the towering trees about them rustling quietly, the twilight about them enhancing the abundant colors; without paying too much attention to details, one began to feel as though the forest where . . . unearthly, majestic, and picture perfect . . . and almost alive itself.
As far as Tauren was concerned, they reached their destination far too soon, and he almost commented on it as they stepped out onto the banks of the Ivy Flow, the river that ran through the valley in which Carmenton lay, but he held his tongue, for there, before them, was Ivy Falls, and never had he seen them looking so majestic.
The Ivy Flow flew over the cliffs that bordered the northern valley, and then took a thousand foot, color strewn, glistening fall into a wide pool carved out of the earth at its base, before continuing its course down the valley, through the mat of fields, and by the little splotch of buildings that was Carmenton.
On the far side of the valley they could see the mountains rising above them, covered in dense forest. To their right the valley wound away for miles before it flattened out and joined the plains that constituted much of Netheron.
Edrin nodded, smiling.” Let’s go. Can’t enjoy the view till we faint and fall off this blasted cliff.”
Edrin didn’t like heights, but Tauren knew that he was enjoying the evening just as much as he was, he nodded in answer and they turned to their left, away from the rocky bed and flowing current of the Ivy, and began the slow trip down the side of the cliff.
A wide trail had been cut in it some years ago, by a people who had left no legacy for their deed; down this they went, hugging the white cliffs, and guiding their horses the best they could, being careful not to fall, for if they did they would have a straight fall for hundreds of feet, then a hard stop at the bottom.
At last they reached the base of the cliff and began their journey down the rough,