The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (40 page)

Aran stared
out, what more could he say without giving offense. Finally he
turned back to the Archmage and his words were cutting.

“Are you
implying that it is Glaive alone, who has direct responsibility and
power over the province and its people? I think not. Despite my
youth I
am
still the king, and Glaive must understand that I
am no puppet ruler dancing to Glaive’s ambitions and whims.” He
stared at the old man, “I will take Glaive’s advice when it is fair
and equitable, but neither you nor any man on that island is my
master.” He turned away and so did not see the lines of anger
appear in the Archmage’s face. Finally he spoke again, “I
thought
I made that abundantly clear to you after the
battle.”

Maran
struggled to contain his own anger, “You seem to forget that
I
too
am of the Andurian line, and also ruled as an anointed
King.
I
do not take kindly to being cuffed in rebuke by any
man of any time…whether they are peasant, blacksmith, or king. In
striking the Archmage, your actions alone would have had you
pleading for your life in front of the High Circle of Glaive. Think
on that, and consider yourself lucky that I withheld my hand…”

Then his voice
gentled a little, “I understand the birth-pangs of your Ability,
but I tell you this once only—despite your rank you
are
answerable to Glaive and the people of the province”

Sudden anger
flared briefly in Aran’s eyes, “That may well be true mage,” he
growled, “I
am
answerable to the people, but although you
may see yourself as kingmaker, by
blood
I
am
the true
born ruler. That was the title you held, but found too burdensome.
You relinquished direct responsibility, and chose instead the
comfort of your books. I now
accept
this burden and unlike
you
I
shall not run from it.”

Aran allowed a
wry humour to creep into his voice, “Now Archmage, Glaive’s sole
stewardship of the realm of magepower is becoming somewhat
questionable. You are not as knowledgeable as you think. The
Goddess is forging a new balance of power and Glaive needs to
discover its new place in the world.”

Maran
stiffened, “What do you mean by those remarks?”

Aran smiled
grimly, “I will not interfere in the running of Glaive if you do
not interfere in my actions as a Warriormage. We may both be named
mage, but there the similarity ends…”

“Do you work
for the good of the province?” the Archmage asked, his eyes
narrowing.

“Of course,”
Aran replied evenly, “Perhaps more so than Glaive has ever done.
Now…” and he took a deep breath. “Enough of this, we must come to
some kind of resolution. You know where I stand, and I believe I
know where Glaive’s position is in all this. For the most part our
aims and desires are mutual. For the good of the province Glaive
and the Crown must try to work harmoniously together. Do you agree,
Maran.”

The Archmage
nodded.

“Good!” Aran
turned as if to go then paused.

“By the way
Archmage, I know I originally agreed to your idea of establishing a
small enclave of mages at the keep. However I have changed my mind.
When I made that decision I was a child, now I am a man. After what
has transpired recently there is no way that I could allow such an
extension of Glaive’s power into the very heart of my fortress.” He
stared heavily at the old mage, “Do I make myself clear?”

Maran nodded
then looked across at his young kinsman, “Then we are friends?”

Aran paused,
and nodded almost imperceptibly. “Despite everything that has been
said, I am a reasonable man. If you can give me no reason to doubt
you or Glaive’s motives in the future, then I cannot see why we
cannot be friends…at least for the working day,” he added dryly.
“It will remain to be seen what the future holds for us. You may be
my kinsman Maran, but I’d rather choose my own friends.”

The interview
over, Aran turned on his heel and walked off to oversee legio
raising a defensive timber palisade.

For a moment
the Archmage stared after the young king’s retreating back, then
with a sigh and with his thoughts in turmoil, pulled his white robe
closer about his shoulders and returned to the enclave.

*

Aran stood
staring moodily at the teams of legio working with harness, pulley
and rope to lift sections of the timber palisade into the completed
ditch. Under the command of their officers, they laboured willingly
in the slush and the mud to make this semi-permanent camp as
defensible as possible.

“The work goes
well my lord,” said one of the legio Captains, walking up to where
Aran stood.

Aran nodded
then asked, “How soon will the camp be fully ready?”

The officer
stared about him at the already raised timber walls, “The day after
tomorrow if the weather keeps clear.” He lifted his face to the
sky, “These occasional snow flurries will not inconvenience us. I
just hope that steady rain won’t set in.”

Aran shook his
head, “Even though it is still autumn, it is becoming so cold that
any rain will be turned to snow. Our only problem then will be
making certain our defenses are not impaired by mounting
drifts.”

“Aye my lord,”
the Captain agreed. “We will be certainly sending out teams of
diggers each day to clear any drifts from within the camp, and
around the walls.”

Aran stared
out towards the west. “I wonder if the Thakur will be prepared to
fight in winter. They will be expecting to walk straight into
Eldonton, which they believe their advance force would have
captured. Coming upon this large fortified encampment will give
them pause.”

“Will they
swing to the north, lord?” asked the Captain, adjusting the belt
securing his mail hauberk.

Aran shook his
head, “I expect not, it would be a long march and at the end of it
they would have to ford the Titan River—and I’ve never known the
Titan to freeze over properly, not even in our hardest winter
known.”

“They would be
overextending their supply lines,” the officer stated. “No, you are
right my lord, they are banking everything on a quick march into
the already captured Eldenton.”

Aran smiled,
“Once they see the remains of their advance force they will be
going carefully, besides I will be sending small units of the
cavalry to the north of us to dissuade them from attempting the
northern route.”

“And the
forest?” asked the officer, gazing to the south and west at the
dark smudge that was the most northern extent of the Nay
Forest.

“They would be
fools even to try,” interrupted Darven walking up. “It would be
easy to lose an army within that trackless wilderness.”

Smiling at his
friend, Aran asked, “How are you Wolf Leader?”

Darven
inclined his head, “Well my lord…although might I have a word in
private with you.”

Turning back
to the legio Captain, Aran courteously bid him farewell and walked
with Darven the short distance back to the king’s tent. As soon as
they were out of earshot, Darven paused and put a hand on his
friend’s arm.

“Aran…I need
to talk to you.”

Aran gazed
over to the tent, “It will be warmer in there.”

Darven shook
his head, “Alissa is most certainly inside. I need to talk to you
alone”

Aran shrugged,
“Then let’s walk over to the horse pickets…there seems to be no one
there, besides I ought to check that Spirit is being looked
after.”

*

Aran stood up
from where he had been inspecting his mount’s hooves and turned to
Darven.

“Well?”

Darven was
abstractedly stroking the dun mare’s neck.

“I need to
know about this Warriormage Ability. How it will affect me,” he
said at last.

Aran
straightened and brushed the dirt from his hands, “How it will
affect you Darven? I thought you would have had a fair idea about
the Ability already. I mean you trained me and fought beside me
during the ambush….”

“I saw a
natural fighter,” Darven replied uneasily. “As to the other…the
battle rage is not wholly restricted to Warriormages. I know of
Guardsmen in the past that lost their reason during training, and
had to be restrained. It’s not uncommon for a soldier to be so
affected, I mean even the Legions have a name for it. They call it
‘bloodrage’…” He looked up at Aran and his face was grim, “Do you
think I will be prone?”

Aran clasped
his friend’s shoulder, “Darven…you are the most even tempered man I
have ever known. I have not heard you raise your voice once, not
even to a Guardsman who has stepped out of line.” He paused, and
studied the other’s face, “Even during the battle you were a
controlled soldier. Before this war, before I was made king, I had
always thought myself a mild man, but compared to you I am
emotionally volatile.” He looked down and his face tightened, “If
you do get the rage…and I pray you don’t, I think that you will be
able to control it better than I ever shall.”

Darven shook
his head, “I have not been tested like you, Aran. I am a soldier
only. You are the king and must deal with the vagaries of the
Council and Glaive.” He smiled a tight smile, “Besides you did not
hear me rail against the Archmage directly after the ambush. I know
that I surprised both the Archmage and myself by my outburst of
temper.”

“The Archmage
and I have spoken,” Aran said softly. “There is a tenuous peace
between us.”

Darven sighed
in relief, “You have done well. It is not so good that all should
see open animosity between the king and the Archmage. It does our
cause ill when commanders are divided.”

Aran turned
and leant on Spirit’s back, “I can tell you little else about the
Ability” he said, changing the subject. “The rage you already know
of, as well as the increased fighting skills.”

He glanced
around at the Guardsman, “You have already discovered that you will
have an increased awareness…especially of the enemy.” He stared
tiredly out at the late afternoon light, “The other things of which
the Archmage spoke, the killing at a thought, and the creating of
the illusion of wounds and death, will no doubt come to you in
time, as they unfortunately have come to me.”

“You can do
that already?”

Aran nodded,
“How do you think I was able to kill so many during the battle?”
Then his voice grew harsh with remembered grief at his lost
innocence. “In Andur’s name Darven, my mind was already slaying
before my hand had even reached out to complete the blow…”

“How did the
ancient Warriormages learn their trade?” Darven asked at
length.

“Years of
training,” Aran replied curtly. “Learning self-discipline and
recognising their limits. Learning too when those limits ought not
to be crossed, even though their Ability urges all before it.”

“So you will
not fight again,” Darven said finally. “What will be your plans
now?”

Aran stared
into the west, “I have known all along that I must destroy this
Thakurian Warleader,” he said. “Then at last there will be peace
and we can go back to our interrupted lives.”

“You will not
go alone.”

Aran shook his
head, “The Archmage has promised me a small contingent of mages to
accompany and protect me.”

“Mages,”
Darven sniffed contemptuously. “How will they protect you? They
have no more idea of fighting than does a small child.”

Aran looked
around, “So who else should I take?”

Darven took
the few steps to take him to Aran’s side, “You know Wolf Company
will gladly go anywhere you ask them.”

“I cannot take
over twenty soldiers into Thakur…we would attract every patrol in
the west,” Aran stated cheerlessly.

“Then I will
personally select the very best to go with you…” Darven said
finally. “I will not hear talk of you going into the very heart of
enemy territory with only a handful of bookish mages to protect
you.”

“You know I
can protect myself,” Aran said quietly, turning back to his
horse.

Darven stared
at his friend, “How can you my lord, when you yourself vowed never
to fight again.”

“I will fight
to protect my life, and those who are dear to me,” Aran replied
distantly, his fingers again working tangles in Spirit’s mane.
“Unlike you, soldiering is not my life. I must do this thing in
Thakur because there is no other with the lineage or the right to
wield the King’s Sword, but I would ask one favour of you
Darven.”

The Wolf
Leader knelt, “Ask, my king and lord. You know I would follow you
unto death.”

Aran turned
and smiled wryly, “That won’t be necessary. I ask you only to
remain here with the army, and look after Alissa for me when I am
gone.”

“That won’t be
necessary, Aran.”

Aran
immediately looked up at Alissa’s voice, and saw both her and Bini
walk up.

“I came
looking for you my love and finally find you here at the horse
pickets.” She shook her head, “What
are
you two plotting in
my absence.” She stood squarely in front of Aran and shook her
finger in reproof, “You know you are not going anywhere without
me.”

“Or me,” added
Bini cheerfully.

Darven stood
and shook his head, “I obey you in all things my king, but in this
thing I too must disobey.” He grinned at Alissa and Bini, “If those
two are determined upon going to Thakur with you, then I also must
come—besides you would find it very difficult leaving me
behind.”

Aran sighed,
“You are all being very foolish. It may mean your deaths.”

Bini shrugged,
Death comes eventually. I would rather seek it out and confront it,
than have it come for me at night when I am old and alone in my
tent.”

Darven nodded,
agreeing.

“What about
Kiaia and the babe?” Aran asked the Wolf Leader bluntly.