The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Page 10

  Aran shuffled the many papers in front of him, “How do you see our preparedness Darven? Are we yet ready to ride to war?”

  Darven scanned the scrolls and papers and shook his head, “Sire, we have not yet heard from the small garrisons based at Anderere and Andromach. So far we have received word from Haulgard, Sentinal, Leigh and the towns to the north of us and on the banks of the Titan River. The messengers are still on their way from the far southern towns.” He looked up at Aran, “Sire we cannot afford to march without these additional troops. Be patient my lord, we should have word by mid-week.”

  Aran scratched his head ruefully, “They know we are to all assemble at Leigh at month’s end. I would rather quit this place sooner as I don’t know how long it will take us to get there.”

  Darven put down yet another parchment and smiled, “Do not worry my lord king. We are all mounted and will make good time. It is the foot soldiers of the Legions that will need to hurry themselves to meet our time and place.”

  Aran nodded, “We have given them all good warning.”

  He turned back to Darven with a frown, “Have we any more information about the Thakur? Are their armies still continuing to gather?”

  Darven rummaged through the scrolls, and finally fished one out of the pile on the high table. “This is the latest information Sire, from the Earthmages flying over the borders.”

  Aran took the scroll from his friend and carefully scanned it. “There is no change then from last week, like us they seem to be waiting for the remainder of their army to gather.”

  “Aye Sire, they seem to be in no great hurry, which means that their intelligence is yet to inform them of our own mobilisation.”

  Aran sat back with a sigh, “Thank Andur for the Earthmages and their transformations. If we didn’t have their reports we would be woefully advised and ill-prepared, and in no fit state to ride to war.”

  Darven nodded, “They will learn soon enough of our preparations Sire. I too wish that we could be on the road sooner, to catch them napping as if were, but we are dependent on our army being at full strength, and until we get word from the south we cannot move.”

  Aran steepled his fingers together and regarded the shape it made. “We are as prepared as we are likely to be, but it is a great pity we have to wait.”

  “When will you speak to the Council about Alissa, Sire?” asked Darven, changing the subject. “It has been two days now since your coronation. Will you speak to them before we ride?”

  Aran frowned and nodded. He was not looking forward to his confrontation with the Councillors, and found himself putting it off hour by hour, trying to delay the awkward meeting. “I will have to speak to them,” he mused aloud.

  There had been a large feast the night of the coronation and Aran had been looking forward to having Alissa sit on his right hand at the high table. However the Councillors had been there before him, and coming to the table he found to his dismay that the Councillor’s candidate had been foisted on him as his companion for the feast.

  “I’d hate to hurt her feelings Darven,” Aran mused, thinking about the girl the Council had chosen as Queen candidate. “I mean she really is such a quiet, timid little thing. She has none of Alissa’s fire or brilliance.”

  “What is her name, Sire?” asked Darven wonderingly.

  Aran laughed, “Would you believe it. I’ve forgotten entirely.”

  Darven smiled and shook his head, “She does not sound like she would be a suitable Queen, Sire.”

  “I agree. We are going into war and I need someone strong and reliable by my side. Not a timid little nothing that would faint at the first suggestion of battle.”

  Darven neatly gathered the scrolls in his arms, stood and bowed his head. “Then Aran,” he grinned with a return to his customary relaxed speech. “I would advise that you see the Council this very day, before they get too accustomed to the idea of their own candidate becoming your queen.”

  Aran looked up and his face wore a pained smile, “Aye…I guess I must.”

  *

  “How should I see them?” Aran asked anxiously. “Enthroned, or in the Great Hall?”

  Maran stared into the fire, “That’s a difficult question. If you receive the Councillors in the throne room you will certainly give the impression that you are serious about this and will tolerate no opposition. However it may put you out of favour if you go about it with the full authority of kingship. It’s a very delicate matter.”

  Aran put his hands in his head, “I know, I know…I’ve been trying to work a way around this issue all morning,” he lamented.

  “On the other hand,” added the Archmage, “If you receive them casually in the great hall it may give the impression that you think that this is a light matter…worthy of no great occasion.”

  Aran looked up at the Archmage, “That crossed my mind too. However what other option do I have?”

  Maran frowned then a fleeting smile crossed his lips, “I think you should receive them here, in your private hall. It is intimate, private, but it speaks heavily of the Andurian line of kings and queens that have resided here. It has the degree of ceremony that you will need to remind them exactly who you are and of which lineage you are descended.”

  Aran looked about the hall with new eyes, “Yes…of course. Shall I call for them now?”

  Maran nodded, “May as well. I’ll sit back and watch…” he stared at the young king, “This is your fight Arantur. My presence will show my support in this, but it has to be your words to win them across. Remember, the result we want is for the Council to support Alissa as Queen. We cannot afford to get them off-side, especially not with this war coming on at us.”

  Aran grimaced, “I will be as diplomatic as I can, given the circumstances.”

  Maran stood, “Then I will fetch them.” He chuckled mirthlessly, “I dare say they will come at once for they have been on my back for a private audience with you for the past twenty-four hours…”

  Aran stood and looked out the window, “Should Alissa be here?”

  Maran shook his head, “No, leave her out of it. She will only be an unnecessary focus for their anger and disappointment.”

  “What about their Candidate?”

  “Terea?”

  “Aye, her, I keep forgetting the girl’s name.”

  Maran laughed sourly, “A remarkable girl, remarkable in her ability to be so forgettable.” Then the Archmage’s face tightened, “No…she will not be invited to this audience. It will be hard enough for you to retain the decorum of the meeting without that girl’s emotions and hysterics getting in the way.”

  *

  Aran rearranged the chairs in his private hall for the third time in as many minutes, nervously trying to create the correct atmosphere for this most difficult of meetings. Glumly he knew that although he was now king, he still had a long way to go in order to earn the people’s respect and admiration. Aran was certain that whatever came to pass in this private meeting would soon be circulating around Andur’s Keep in a matter of hours, and most likely be across the province in a matter of weeks. Aran knew that his character and disposition would be scrutinised carefully today by the Councillors, and it would be a long climb back to favour if he failed to achieve some kind of reconciliation with these men and women. Suddenly there was a brief knock upon the door and Archmage Maran stuck his head in.

  “Are you ready Sire?”

  Aran nodded, and quickly sat down on one of the chairs which he had arranged into a small circle in the centre of the hall.

  Glancing over at the door, he watched as the black robed Councillors file in. As soon as they saw him they bowed their heads and murmured “Sire” or “My lord king”, but it was obvious that none of them had been inside the royal chambers, and all were curiously looking about them. The Archmage smiled reassuringly at Aran and took the seat immediately on Aran’s right.

  “Welcome to the King’s Hall,” Aran said briefly, “Please make yourselves comfort
able, there are chairs provided.”

  Quickly they sat down, waiting wordlessly for him to speak.

  “My lords and ladies of the Council, I have asked you to come here because we need to discuss the matter of choosing a Queen for the Province, my future consort.”

  Aran saw them nod and smile.

  “I understand that you have already put forward a Candidate for this role.”

  A large florid man stood up, “Yes my lord king. My daughter Terea…you met her at the feast.”

  Aran nodded and motioned for the Councillor to sit.

  “I have given this matter much weighty thought, and would first like to hear why you as a Council believe this girl is the one most suited over all to be my Queen.”

  Another Councillor, a small greying man with an elaborately waxed beard stood. “Sire, if you would allow me. I would like to speak on behalf of all the Council.”

  Aran nodded.

  “My lord king,” the Councillor began, “It has been long standing tradition for the line of Andur to choose their spouses and consorts from either within the ranks of the Council or from the Old Families of Haulgard. This is done to join Andur’s Keep with the capital of the Province, Haulgard Port.” He smiled and Aran indicated that he should continue.

  “Sire, when we received word about your imminent coronation we searched our ranks and Haulgard’s Old Families for an unwed woman of suitable birth, breeding and quality…”

  Aran’s mouth hardened, it sounded like the Council was discussing a prime brood mare for mating.

  “All except one were found wanting. Most were not of a compatible age. Some were ugly or had an unpleasant disposition, and some even were found not to be maidens. Only young Terea measured up to all these exacting requirements and so she was selected.”

  Aran nodded his understanding, “My lord Councillor, you speak of her as young Terea. What is her exact age?”

  The Councillor glanced at his companions, “Sire, she is but lately turned fourteen.”

  Aran felt Maran’s start of surprise by his side.

  “Fourteen?” Aran’s mouth hardened even further, “Isn’t that a little young to be married?”

  The Councillor stared uncomfortably at Aran, “Sire, all who were older were no longer maidens. Besides it is common practice amongst the nobility to betroth their children at a young age.”

  Aran stared at the Councillor, warring emotions written plainly upon his face, “My lord Councillor, have you anything further to say?”

  The black garbed man shook his head, then bowed and sat down.

  Aran took a deep breath, and then let it out, “My lords and ladies of the Council, I have heard you out but I must say now that I cannot in all faith and honesty accept your Candidate as Queen.” Aran watched the frantic looks and growing anger move across the faces of the Councillors.

  “Your Candidate Terea sounds like a lovely girl, and I would have accepted her but for several heavy reasons….”

  The florid faced Councillor Ordac, who was her father stood up, “My lord, she is without blemish. She is kind and virtuous…”

  Aran shot the florid man a look of censure that immediately sat him down without a further word.

  “If you will permit me, I will tell you why I cannot accept your Candidate.”

  The Councillors glanced at one another and the greying man who seemed to be their spokesmen, nodded.

  “Good!” Aran stated his lips a hard line, “Firstly, you may be aware I am the last living Warriormage and am also a Metalmage.”

  The Councillors nodded grimly.

  Aran waited for their attention then continued on, “Since discovering I possess these Abilities and after living with them, I believe that I can only marry another mage or one who has a latent Ability. Thus my Queen must be one who shares and understands the complications and demands of possessing a mage Ability.” Aran stared at the Council. Wordlessly they gazed back.

  “Secondly I am about to embark on a war. This will not be some minor border skirmish, but a full-fledged campaign from which many will not return. Thus my future Queen must be strong as steel with a quick and ready mind. She must also possess a character which is able to endure battle, hardship and privation. This woman must demonstrate some understanding of battle tactics, be able to ride for many hours and many days without tiring or delaying the column, and at the end of it she must be able to wield a sword or spear to defend herself from ambush or attack.”

  Aran saw the dismayed glances of the Councillors and pressed on. “Thirdly and lastly I insist that my Queen be of a similar age to me. You say that Terea is just turned fourteen, in Andur’s name she is still a child! How can you in all honesty expect a child to come ready to the marriage bed? Not only that, how can you expect a child to possess the mind and maturity to rule a nation if I were to be killed at this war?”

  The spokesman stood up. Aran motioned him to speak.

  “Sire, do you really intend your Queen to ride at your side to war. Would it not be safer for her to reside here at the Keep?”

  Aran shook his head, “No…history has shown that the Keep is not a safe haven. Have you forgotten already the terrible deeds done here to my ancestor, King Alexi and his family? As a Warriormage I believe that the safest place for my future Queen is at my side.”

  “It has always been custom for the Andurian line to choose from those at Haulgard!” the florid Councillor burst out unhappily, realising despairingly that his high ambition for his daughter was coming to naught.

  Aran shook his head again, “Not so Councillor,” he said quietly, “My esteemed ancestor, Warleader Andur, hierarch of the Andurian line chose his own Queen from the common people.”

  The Council spokesman glanced at his fellows, then finally turned and addressed Aran. “Your conditions are heavy my lord king but they are not unreasonable given the crisis we are facing.”

  The spokesmen turned to his companions, “With this new knowledge and conditions, I must now ask Council to vote whether or not we should continue to petition our King with Terea’s name for Queen, my lord Archmage could you please count the votes.” He sat back down.

  Maran stood, “Councillors of Andur raise your hands if you wish to continue this petition.”

  Aran sat back and watched as three hands were held aloft. The most stridently waving hand belonged to Terea’s father.

  “Councillors of Andur, raise your hands if you wish to withdraw the petition.”

  Nine hands were slowly raised. Aran sighed in relief.

  “There is a majority vote,” Maran said finally after carefully counting the hands, “Despite the two abstaining…you will withdraw your Candidate.”

  The spokesman stood again, “Sire, if you will grant us just a little more of your time?”

  Aran nodded, the tightness easing from his face.

  The spokesmen turned back to the other Councillors, “Lords and ladies of the Council search your minds and memory. Can you think of any one woman of Haulgard who meets these strict conditions.”

  Aran scanned the faces before him. Most were blank, a few brightened then frowned. Finally after several minutes of low discussion, a heavy silence fell upon the Councillors. With a resigned sigh the spokesman turned back to Aran.

  “My lord King, we cannot put forward another name. There is none that we know of who meets your strict criteria.”

  Aran smiled for the first time in what seemed an eternity, “Then my lords and ladies of the Council I would ask you to consider the one I would put forward as my Candidate for Queen. She is a woman whom I believe is well suited to this role. She is a woman who has showed uncommon sense and strength of character. She has also been scanned at Glaive, and is possessed of the latent Earthmage Ability. She is a woman who is adept at weaponry, and has demonstrated a deep understanding of battle tactics and has a keen mind and decided opinions. She is honest, forthright and mature, and her beauty, which in my mind is considerable, goes beyond her skin to her very so
ul.”

  “Sire, I believe you speak of Lady Alissa, daughter of Captain Taran,” one of the Councillors replied.

  Aran stared intently at the Councillor, “You are correct. I do speak of Alissa. Is there any serious reason why she should not be considered a Candidate?”

  “She is not nobly born! She is not of Haulgard!” the florid Councillor burst out then was hurriedly hushed into silence by his peers.

  Aran nodded, “That is true, but does it matter that I choose not from Haulgard. High King Andur chose outside that city and Queen Baranta was well loved and respected by the population despite her lowly origins.” Aran looked up and met the eyes of Terea’s father, “Remember my lord Councillor that I was raised by kind, simple, country folk…I have no prejudice against the common people.”

  Maran stood abruptly, “Yet Alissa is not wholly untitled.”

  Aran turned to stare uncomprehendingly at the Archmage.

  “Aye Sire,” Maran said intercepting Aran’s wondering look, “You remember that I told you that Alissa’s mother was of the plainspeople?”

  Aran nodded.

  Maran smiled, “However what is not generally known is that Dela, Alissa’s mother was the daughter of a minor Clan Chief. The Clan Chiefs are the equivalent of Haulgard’s Old Families, and although we do not normally recognise the plainspeople’s complex structure of nobility and hierarchy, generally speaking Alissa is as nobly born as any in Haulgard.”

  Aran was astounded, “If Dela was the daughter of a Clan Chief, why did she leave her people?”

  Maran laughed, “Because Aran she fell in love. Besides she was not a strong woman and the rugged, uncompromising life on the plains did not agree with her health.” Maran sighed, “Even life itself was too heavy for such a gentle soul. For the mere act of birthing such a fiery little daughter took the last of her strength, and she died upon the birth bed. Even Healermage Trevan, who is quite strong in his power was unable to pull her back from the final darkness.”

  “Lord Maran, Archmage of Glaive.”