The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (19 page)

“So what are
your plans when we return to Leigh, Master Cody? Have you another
apprentice picked out yet?”

Cody shook his
head, “Nay lad, this is the matter that I had hoped to speak to
thee about.”

Aran frowned,
“You know I cannot return.”

Cody laughed,
“I know that lad, and thou hast thine own lifepath and
responsibilities now. However I do have a mind to ride with thee to
war.”

Aran looked up
suddenly, his eyes filled with questions, “You mean to fight, Cody?
What about your forge?”

Cody arranged
himself more comfortably on the ground and absently began picking
at the long seed heads.

“Long before
thou wert born, and when I was only a lad of thine age, I too
learnt my trade under a master blacksmith. I served under him many
years, and when I could not learn any more he sent me to Sentinal
to finish my apprenticeship under a master swordsmith called
Jerad.”

Aran looked up
in amazement at that and habitually he fingered his dagger,
immediately receiving though his mage-sight the impression of the
man and the making of the blade.

“Jerad is now
long dead,” Cody continued, “However, during those years I learnt
how to fashion the steel into weapons of war.”

Aran shook his
head uncomprehendingly, “I have never seen you make a sword Master
Cody. Did you utterly forsake those skills when you returned to
Leigh?”

The master
blacksmith nodded, “When I attained the sword smithing skills, and
set back upon my homeward journey to Leigh, I looked about me at
the quiet peaceful countryside, and hoped in my heart that war
would never come in my lifetime. I knew then and there that my
blacksmithing skills were the only ones needed…I have not made a
sword since.”

Aran stared
over the fire at the flame darkened face of his old master, “So now
you intend to ride with us and keep our swords sharp for dealing
out death.”

Cody nodded,
frowning a little at the hardness which had crept into Arans’
voice, “If thou wilt allow me lord?”

Aran stared
into the fire and Cody noted with concern the hard lines of tension
and care which now seemed to have permanently marked his young
friends’ face.

“Do you think
I could refuse you this Cody?” Aran said suddenly, harshly,
angrily. “I must do this awful thing because I am king and
Warriormage both. However you are a man of peace and learning, a
master craftsman and a man who I have always considered as a father
to me. Would you make this your choice, your decision? In Andur’s
name I would rather you stayed safe in Leigh and tended your forge,
but I see by your face that your mind is set on this. But why
man…when you could be honourably out of all this?” he asked
abruptly.

Cody sighed
and shook his head, “Because my lord, I could not be an honourable
man if I did not. By the Goddess, I could not sleep straight at
night for fear and worry about thee. What sort of man would I be if
thou wert lying dead or dying on some battlefield whilst I stayed
at home and slept secure in my bed. I would not be a man at all but
some other, less worthy thing.”

Aran nodded,
understanding at last what drove his oldest friend. “Then keep
yourself safe Cody.” he said at last, “And stay well away from
those battlefields of which you speak. Not all who go to war fight
and my mind would rest easy knowing you were back at camp working
the forge and steel.”

Cody smiled
and clambered to his feet, “Lad, I may know how to craft the blade,
but its use is a great mystery to me. Do not be concerned, for I
will only fight if all else is lost, and the province lies open and
undefended.” He smiled and looked down, “I must go for here now is
thy manservant with thy dinner. Perhaps we may speak again on the
road?”

Aran nodded,
“I would like that Master Cody…please search me out again.”

*

The Guard and
those who journeyed with them ate simply that night on a stew of
salted meat and vegetables, mopped up with bread fresh from the
previous day’s baking. Aran supped with his friends, and for a time
they gathered around his small fire and talked of the day’s ride,
and the prospects for the morrow. Above their encampment the stars
shone brightly, for neither of the two moons had yet risen, and the
brilliance of the stars was not dimmed. Darven, with Kiaia’s
assistance, was idly repairing a piece of tack which was starting
to fray, and Alissa, lying on her back was trying to count the
stars. Aran spent the quiet time gazing into the warm coals, and
practising some of the hand-only aids to concentration that the
Archmage had previously taught him. Before long they heard Captain
Taran moving through the camp, calling the lights-out command.
Immediately Darven picked up his mended girth strap, and helped
Kiaia to her feet, and with a softly whispered, “Good night,” made
their way back to their sleeping blankets.

Unbuckling his
belt, Aran shrugged off his heavy wool tunic, and crawled between
the soft wool blankets in his hollow. It took only a moment or two
for his body to discover the hidden stones, and only a moment or
two more for Aran to find a comfortable sleeping position amongst
them. On the other side of the fire, Alissa turned on her side, and
threw her blankets over herself. She raised herself on her elbow
and gazed across the embers to where her king and betrothed
lay.

“Are you
comfortable Aran?” she asked quietly.

Aran opened
his eyes and smiled, “Yes, comfortable enough despite the lumps,
but I can’t help but miss my soft bed…and this is just the first
night of many more to come like this.”

The golden
haired young woman nodded, “I dare say that there will nights ahead
when we will look back with fond memories of this camp, especially
during the winter when we will be sleeping on a frosty bed.”

“Then it is
just as well that we have thick canvas goundsacks,” Aran replied
with a smile, “Otherwise our winter camps will be very chilly
indeed. I would not fret too much Alissa. When the weather worsens,
we shall both share a tent, and the Guard are promised tents by the
southern Legions, so I doubt we will lose a man to the
elements.”

Looking over,
Aran saw Alissa’s answering smile then he heard her whisper,
“Good-night Aran,” and pull the blankets closer about her.

Aran lay back
and looked at the stars. Directly above him marched the
constellations of the Warrior and the Hawk. Suddenly a streak of
light flashed overhead, and Aran saw a falling star plummet across
the sky then fade before it reached the horizon.

‘The Goddess
sheds a tear,’ Aran murmured to himself then touched his own eyes
in the old custom of calling luck to himself after seeing such a
thing.

Turning on his
side, Aran wriggled until there were no more sharp stones jabbing
into his body, then closed his eyes and composed himself to sleep.
The last thing he heard was the beginnings of a chorus of snores
from over near the trees where the Councillors were sleeping.

*

Early
afternoon of the next day found the column winding its way slowly
down the hairpin bends of the plateau road. Most of the group had
ridden ahead to prepare the overnight camp at the bottom of the
plateau, with the remainder of the Guard lingering behind to assist
the waggoners with their teams down the often steep incline of the
road. Aran and Maran had pulled their horses off to one side,
waiting for the last of the teams to pass them by on this the most
perilous section of the road. Slowly, agonisingly, the teams of
heavy horses inched their way down the road till at last, when the
last rays of the setting sun were gilding the horizon, the last of
the wagons came off the mountain. Seeing the lit cook fires ahead,
Aran puts his heels to Spirit and with Maran only step behind,
cantered down the road towards camp.

*

Once off the
plateau, the column made better time and all, including the
waggoners, kept the pace up at a brisk league eating trot.
Conversation at that pace was difficult, so for the most part the
column rode in silence with only the ring of horse shoes against
the rocks to mar the quiet. The countryside off the plateau
consisted of a featureless plain, vegetated entirely by prickly
gorse, low acacia and the tufted, brittle grasses endemic to the
region. Early in the morning they passed the intersection of the
dirt road which led eastwards to Dawnfast.

“The Dawnfast
fyrd is already ahead of us lord,” shouted Captain Taran as he
cantered past Aran on one of his sweeps of the column.

Aran frowned
in puzzlement and turned to the Archmage for clarification.

Maran
indicated the tell-tale evidence of horse droppings on the road and
hastened to explain. “The fyrd is the levy, my lord king of a
number of able bodied men in a village or town. They will be used
as a second line of defence behind the main army if our lines and
shield wall are broken.”

Aran frowned
again, “Have we levied all the towns and villages in the province
Maran?”

“Aye lord,”
the Archmage replied, “It is law that when the province goes to
war, each village and town must contribute sixty percent of its
able bodied men-folk to the army. During this period there is also
a lowering of taxes by sixty percent to compensate for the loss of
the men-folk.” Maran looked about him and sighed, “At least being
autumn most of the summer crops will be harvested by now so there
won’t be famine this winter.”

Aran pursed
his lips, “I lived in Leigh for years and never once heard of the
fyrd.”

Maran
shrugged, “During the generations of peace it was never an issue
and most forgot about the calling of the fyrd. When the messengers
went out to the southern cities and towns to announce your
coronation they also issued the call to arms…” Maran looked across
at his young monarch, “Whilst you were still coming to terms with
being the heir to the throne, the fyrd was being raised all across
the province.”

Aran’s mouth
hardened, “So I would assume that the Thakur know already that we
are marching to war against them?”

Maran looked
up and nodded, “They will no doubt have informers within our
cities. By now they should be getting word of the raising of the
province. My lord, although we may not come upon them by surprise,
I believe however we are ahead of them in the march.”

Aran’s mouth
twisted sourly, “Then I expect that is the best that we can hope
for,” he replied finally. “Although I rather wish we could have
come upon them entirely unawares and ill prepared.”

Maran frowned
at the road, “We may yet have that option, lord,” he said. “We
still have to meet with the Commanders of the southern Legions and
work out the fine details of this campaign. If you think that an
ambush will work in our favour then I believe the war council will
try to work it into their plans. At the moment we have nothing more
arranged than getting everyone together at Leigh…after that it’s in
the hand of the Goddess, and the mind of the war council.”

Aran gazed
into the west, towards the distant, hidden Trident Range. “The one
thing I am certain of is that my career as a soldier will be short.
Sometime in the next couple weeks I must strike out for Thakur and
take on this Warleader alone…”

“Not entirely
by yourself, lord king,” interrupted Maran hastily. “You will not
be asked to undertake this journey alone,” the Archmage reassured
him, “I assure you that there will be a handpicked group along to
help you achieve this goal. No, do not think that you will have to
do this alone. Always the mages of Glaive will be there to lend you
strength and support.”

“At the very
end only I can do this deed,” Aran reminded the Archmage darkly,
“The others may help me get to this place but because I am both
King and Warriormage…” Aran smiled grimly, “I correct myself,
although I am but a half-trained Warriormage I am then considered
the only one who can destroy this woman who dares call herself
Warleader.”

Maran nodded
resignedly, “Alas that is the truth of it. We have always been in
your hands Arantur…I only hope that your magepower, as ill-trained
as it is, is fit for the task ahead.”

“Then pray to
the Goddess, Archmage,” Aran replied shortly, “For in this we are
all in her hands.”

*

With the
weather holding clear and cool, the column made good time along the
coast road with even the waggoners at the back keeping the brisk
pace the leaders had set. Once or twice they had encountered minor
washouts of the road, but with Darven riding ahead and picking out
alternate routes around them, these washouts proved only to be
welcome distractions in an otherwise uneventful day. With the road
so straight and even, Alissa managed to beg time away from her
watchful presence over Terea, to canter to the head of the column
and ride at Aran’s shoulder for an hour or two. The trotting pace
certainly did not encourage conversation, but Aran welcomed her
quiet presence with a smile. At midday they stopped to eat, and
also rest and water the horses which were beginning to tire. After
a brief conversation with Kiaia, Captain Taran ordered that the
pace should be slowed in the afternoon so as not to overtire their
mounts.

*

It was getting
on towards late afternoon when they passed the dirt road which
indicated the turn-off to Eastling which lay far to the north.
Looking about him, Aran noted the presence of churned soil and
horse dung which was clear evidence that the Eastling fyrd was also
ahead of the column from Andur’s Keep.

“My lord
Aran…there is an encampment ahead.”

Aran looked up
and saw Darven trotting down the road from where he had been
scouting ahead of the column.

“Who is it?”
Aran called back.

“Friends,” he
answered enigmatically.