The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (20 page)

Aran held his
tongue until Darven drew nearer.

“Which
friends?” he asked a little impatiently as he waited for Darven to
turn his horse around and take up the pace beside him.

“The fyrd from
Eastling and Dawnfast my lord,” he grinned. “They saw our dust and
guessing our party, have prepared an encampment for us. There is
pig already roasting.”

Aran smiled
tiredly, “Good, I’m famished.” He looked around, “Is there any
place we can water the horses?”

Darven shook
his head, “Not here. The nearest fresh water is leagues away. We’ll
need to open one or two of the water barrels tonight. The fyrd has
their own water so they’ll not need to impose upon our
supplies.”

Aran shrugged,
“I’m not worried about that…another day and a half will get us to
Haulgard and we will be able to replenish everything there.”

Darven nodded
and then laughed, “I’ve already spoken to some of the men from
Eastling. I’ve known a few of them since I was a little boy and
they recognised me immediately, despite the passage of years.”

Moving his
stiff shoulders Aran looked across at the Wolf Leader, “Have they
any word on the plainsmen?” he asked. “For of all the people in the
province they are the ones who have the most frequent communication
with the plainsmen.”

Shrugging,
Darven kicked his horse into a faster walk, “They didn’t say
anything and I didn’t think to ask.” He glanced across at his king,
“I guess that it will be a while before we hear of their plans…” He
pulled a face, “that is if they have any plans at all.”

“I hope they
do,” Aran growled, “We are dependent on their assistance.”

*

Minutes later
the column pulled off the road, and into the camp located in a wind
sheltered hollow ringed by mature acacias. At their entrance, the
men gathering in the camp paused in their tasks to gaze in
fascination at the newcomers.

“Arise men of
Andur,” called out Captain Taran in a load voice whilst spurring
his horse forward in order to ride to the front of the column. “For
your King has come.”

Aran saw the
peasant soldiers exchange startled glances and hastily clamber to
their feet. As his company approached, he noticed them scanning the
riders, trying to identify their king from amongst the many
unfamiliar faces. Aran pulled his horse up and held up a hand to
stop the column. Throwing back his cloak and removing his shapeless
old hat, he brushed the hair from his eyes and gazed at the
clustering soldiers.

“Men of
Andur,” he said clearly, “I am Arantur, High King and last of the
Andurian line. I greet you and thank you for heeding the call to
arms and joining the raising of the fyrd.”

There were a
few rough cheers from the soldiers at that.

Aran smiled
grimly, “The enemies we face are the descendants of the Serat who
once ravaged our land. We must overcome them for if we fail, we
ourselves shall be overcome.” Aran waited for the burst of nervous
muttering and conversation to die down then continued on, “We
welcome you and ask that you join our company. We are all bound for
one battle so we of the north should ride as one, as friends and
companions all.”

They all
cheered at that, and Aran swung off his horse, almost immediately
he was surrounded by a group of soldiers vying to attend him.
Smiling he handed the reins of Spirit to one older man, knowing
that this one time he ought to let others attend him and that any
show of self-reliance or independence would be misunderstood.

*

Later, whilst
sitting at his fire, Aran put down the remains of the spare ribs,
and with the back of his hand, wiped the grease from his mouth.
Immediately the empty dish was whisked away by a hovering soldier,
and Alem handed him the washing bowl, and a drying cloth to clean
up. This task performed, Aran sat back on his blankets and gazed
about him.

The group that
had started out from Andur’s Keep day before had now swelled to
over three hundred horsemen, and the hollow that comprised their
camp, fair overflowed with men and their mounts. Everywhere was the
pungent aroma of cooking meat, overlaid with the aromatic smell of
the acacia wood being burnt. The wind had dropped, and in the still
air the wood smoke hung over the hollow like a pall. There was a
step at Aran’s right shoulder, and he turned to see Mage Trevan
bending over with a goblet filled with warm mulled wine.

“A drink my
lord?” he asked.

Aran smiled
and nodded, taking the goblet, and sipping the fragrant liquid.

“How have you
been, old friend?” Aran asked, cradling the warm goblet in his
hands.

Trevan
hunkered down and carefully arranged his robes about him. “Well
enough Arantur,” he replied, “Although it seems to me that I have
never stopped being on the road.”

Aran studied
the elderly mage, “Aye! That’s true enough…I guess you are overly
weary of travelling.”

Trevan
shrugged, “Yes and no. Yet it seems that if I settle for too long I
get the yen to up and travel again…” he paused and wryly shook his
head, “The road has become part of my life, and I think that
nothing could keep me away from it.”

“Would you
prefer to be settled Trevan?” he asked at last. “Archmage Maran has
told me that you are to be my resident Healermage. Would you like
that position at Andur’s Keep?

Trevan looked
up and met his king’s gaze, “I remember the Archmage speaking of
that, of a small enclave of mages resident at the Keep. It is a
good idea and I support it, although I must decline the
position.”

“Why not, have
I said or done anything to make you wish to be otherwise?”Aran
asked puzzled, and just a little miffed.

The mage
quickly shook his head, “No Sire, it’s just that the road will
always beckon, and I will be unhappy settled anywhere for any
length of time.” He smiled gently, “If you could perhaps keep a
room for me. So if I am passing by I may have somewhere to
stay.”

“Of course,
would you not reconsider? Priestess Delana will be there…” Aran
added with a smile.

Trevan shook
his head, “Delana and I are sparring partners only. Once, a very
long time ago we may have joined our lives, but that time is no
longer, and we both know that our life paths must go in very
different directions.”

“So what will
you do?”

Trevan tiredly
got to his feet, “Initially I’d like to return to Glaive for a
month or more. It’s been a score of years since I have spent any
time within those walls, and there is some research I’d had my mind
on doing for a while now. After that I will return to Andur’s Keep,
and see how you are progressing.” Trevan smiled, “I doubt that you
will need much guidance. Blood will show Arantur and you are
already becoming quite a capable king, besides I believe this war
will further strengthen you. By the way…” and he looked down at the
young man sitting opposite him. “I approve of your decision to
choose Alissa for your queen. She is a fine young woman and will
surely prove to be an admirable consort.”

Aran stiffly
clambered to his feet, “After the Keep, Trevan? Will you then keep
travelling?”

The mage
nodded, “I will continue as always and travel the province
employing my Ability in healing the sick. There are many
Healermages who spend their time in contemplation and research, but
I am not one of those. My first obligation is to the sick. So I go
where they are.”

“I will miss
you,” Aran said simply, clasping the shoulder of his old friend. “I
hope that Maran will find me someone as special to replace you.”
Aran turned away, his shoulders hunching against the future loss,
“I’d rather hoped you would hang up your boots and staff and retire
to the Keep.” Turning around, Arans’ face was a study in
conflicting emotions, “You must do as your heart dictates old
friend, however I ask only one thing of you.”

“You are my
king and my friend, Arantur,” the mage replied. “I could deny you
nothing.”

“Only that I
would have you beside me when Alissa has children, I could not bear
to lose her to the final darkness the way her mother was lost.”

Trevan smiled,
“There is no fear of that. Alissa is as strong as Dela was weak.
However put your mind at rest. I shall be there; in fact nothing
could keep me away from such an event.”

Aran nodded
then sculling the last of the mulled wine, handed the mug back to
Trevan who took it without a word.

“Arantur”

“Yes.”

Trevan
nervously spun the mug in his hands, “There is something you need
to know, about your Abilities that is.”

Aran gazed at
the mage with questions in his eyes, “What is it?”

Trevan frowned
into the night, “Do you remember that night on the tower ramparts
before I left for the north?”

Aran nodded
silently.

“Do you
remember me telling you that I had sensed that something had
changed about you?”

“I
remember…”

“I told you
that nothing had changed, that there was nothing to concern
yourself about…” Trevan’s voice trailed off then he looked across
at his king. “Forgive Arantur, but I lied. Your Abilities have
changed.”

Aran frowned,
“In what way?”

Trevan took a
deep breath, “They have melded, merged. Metalmageing and
Warriormageing have become one powerful Ability.”

Aran stared
past his old friend and into the darkness of the night, “Why did
you not tell me this before?”

Trevan’s mouth
tightened, “Even though I felt certain of the change, I did not
understand its ramifications.” Then he grimaced, “I still don’t
really…”

“Have you
spoken to the Archmage about it?”

Trevan shook
his head, “There has not been time or opportunity, and since it has
been a number of weeks since the Scanning. Sometimes I felt I may
have been mistaken.”

“And are you
mistaken?” Aran asked shortly.

Trevan shook
his head, “There is a bond between us Arantur, one that seems to be
missing between you and the Archmage. As soon as I returned I
sensed a change in you. You have become stronger, harder, and
implacable. I would not have credited so drastic a change in only a
matter of weeks, but yet it has happened.” Trevan looked up, “Some
of it has come from being King, and I mean how you could not change
after such an elevation. However the seeds of the change were
present in you the night of the Scanning. I do not fully
understand, however what I do know is that even though you are now
Metalmage and a Warriormage both, this melded Ability is new.”
Trevan shook his head, “I have never seen nor heard anything like
it.”

“Will this be
a problem?” Aran asked finally.

Trevan
shrugged, “I don’t know. In all my experience I have never known of
Abilities merging.” He looked across at the young man, “Yet you
have ancient, lost Abilities. Who’s to say that this isn’t normal
for a Warriormage…we have no knowledge on how they exploited their
talents.”

Aran chewed
his lower lip, “So what should I do?”

Trevan sighed,
“Nothing, just be aware that these Abilities are strange and
unknown and best used with caution.” The mage gathered the folds of
his robe closer about him as the creeping chill penetrated, “I
can’t advise you any more than that Arantur. The rest is up to
you.” Trevan shook his head, “I guess now that I’ve told you I
ought to tell the Archmage too, perhaps he already knows but had
decided not to say anything. I hope I have been right to tell you…”
Trevan fretted.

Aran placed a
comforting hand on the old man’s arm, “Thank you for telling me. It
is right that I should know…” Aran frowned, “Although the
implications of such a change have quite escaped me. Don’t worry
Trevan, I will think on these matters.”

Trevan nodded,
“Then I will bid you a good night my king.”

Aran watched
the old mage walk away into the bustling camp, then with a sigh
that spoke volumes, turned back to his fire and his ever present
thoughts about the war ahead.

*

A day and a
half later the combined company reached Haulgard Port.

Aran sat
astride Spirit and stared at the distant yet towering walls of this
the ancient capital of the province and tried, unsuccessfully to
comprehend its vastness. Brought up in Leigh, Aran had always
thought of his home town as large, but that provincial
understanding had been broken when he had come to Sentinal. Now
even Sentinal diminished to insignificance against the vast bulk of
Haulgard and its walls.

“So, what do
you think of the city?” Alissa asked, riding to join him at the
head of the column.

Aran shook his
head, “I was just wondering how it ever fell to Warleader Andur,”
he said.

“Large does
not mean invulnerable,” she replied. “Even the stoutest walls can
fall if the enemy is strong enough. Walls can fall even quicker if
the people within are weak, or have a mind for rebellion.”

“Aye, I
remember now,” Aran mused. “The strength was weakened from within
so Andur could successfully attack from outside.” He stole a glance
at Alissa and saw that she too was staring at the city with
considering eyes.

“There is a
lesson in this Aran,” she said at last, “And that is never to let
the people become so discontented that they will rebel against you.
The Serat learnt that to their loss and misfortune.”

Aran grinned
suddenly, “That won’t be a problem for us today. Listen beloved,
they are blowing the horns to welcome their new king into the
city.”

*

Upon sighting
the city, it did not take long for the column to armour-up and
organise itself into ranks of five abreast. After a hurried
conference with Captain Taran earlier that morning, it had been
decided that Aran should lead the company in, whilst being flanked
by the highest ranked of the mages, Councillors and the Guard.
Although the welcome of the city seemed assured, Captain Taran was
adamant that all should ride in fully armed, not wanting to risk
one man’s life to an assassins blow.