The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Read online

  Aran shook his head. “Then marry her. We leave end of week, which still gives you a day to arrange it.”

  “I guess.”

  “Then why still the long face?”

  Darven lifted out some more swords, “Law states that there must be a wait of at least a month between betrothal and the wedding…”

  Aran nodded, “I know, I must wait six months…”

  “But we are not yet betrothed.”

  Aran gazed at his friend in disbelief, “You aren’t betrothed yet?”

  Darven mutely shook his head.

  Aran grinned suddenly and happily, “Get betrothed tonight, with us! We will make it a joint celebration.”

  Darven looked up, hope brightening his eyes, “You do not mind?”

  “Of course not,” Aran laughed, “Besides the law states that if a betrothed woman’s husband suddenly dies, any children of the union are formally recognised as if they came from a marriage bed. Don’t worry Darven, your son or daughter will not be illegitimate.”

  The Wolf Leader smiled hesitantly, “Then if I return safely from the wars, I will marry Kiaia the very next day.”

  Aran frowned with a sobering thought, “Damn, I was counting on having Kiaia along to manage the horses. If she is with child she won’t be able journey with us.”

  Darven shook his head, “Don’t worry, she has arranged for others to do that work, besides she says she will ride with us until we reach Eldenton. Then she will settle there to await the birth of the child...”

  Suddenly both men looked up at a sudden disturbance at the door of the armoury. Archmage Maran stood there, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  “My Lord King?” he called, peering into the darkness.

  “Aye Archmage, I am here,” Aran answered, putting down the sword he had been inspecting.

  “Sire,” the Archmage walked over, “We have finally received word from the southern towns.”

  Aran looked up inquiringly.

  A broad smile transformed Maran’s aged face, “They state that their garrisons are at full strength and readiness, and…” he gazed at Aran’s dust marked features, “By now they will already be on the march. My lord, we can leave as soon as we are able. The Province is now ready to go to war.”

  “What of our preparedness, Archmage? How soon may we ride?” Aran asked walking up.

  Another figure materialised beside Maran. Captain Taran had been close on the heels of the Archmage since hearing the news.

  “Sire,” he interrupted bowing, “I have spoken to all concerned. We are almost at readiness. Once final packing is complete we can be set to ride as early as dawn tomorrow.”

  Aran looked back and saw Darven nod in agreement.

  “Then alert all who should know,” he said turning back to the others, “We will ride at first light. I would come upon our enemy unawares.” He looked up and saw Maran frown, “If then not completely unaware, for their intelligence will soon alert them to our movements, at least whilst they are not in their full strength.”

  *

  Aran laid the last item of his spare clothing into his saddlebag and carefully buckled it closed. Walking over to the door of his chamber, he placed the saddlebag by the door in readiness for the morrow.

  Glancing down, he saw himself dressed in one of the many fine tunics the keep’s seamstresses had only recently sewn for their new young king. Fingering the heavy blue wool with its simple braid pattern of oak leaves intertwined on cuff, neck and hem, Aran wondered sadly when and even if he would return to this place—wearing in its halls the kingly attire that now was stored against moths in the wooden chests at his feet.

  He was taking with him only two of the new tunics. He had picked out those made of the heaviest, warmest wool and of the darkest, least damageable colour. Several pairs of heavy wool hosen, undergarments, new boots and a new, fur lined cloak had been added to his existing travelling clothes. He wore the king’s crown for the coming betrothal, but as soon as that was over it would be stored away for safe keeping with the other items of his regalia. His armour was already packed away in the wagons, ready to be brought out when they neared their final destination. Two items only were never far away and worn always when he was awake. They were the King’s Sword resting in its scabbard and belt, and the second was the Great Seal ring which he habitually wore on his right index finger. Aran studied the ring and saw on its oval face a small, simplified version of the spreading oak tree which was the mark of the Andurian line. Aran smiled, he had not had reason yet to use the great seal, but at dawn tomorrow he would officially put his seal onto the written parchment authorising the province to go to war. This parchment would travel with the company, and be shown to every Legion and garrison commander that arrived at the assembling place. Then there was a quiet knock on the door and Aran looked up from his musings.

  “Sire, they are all gathered in the throne room.”

  “Thank-you Alem,” he replied, “I will be along straightaway.”

  Aran picked up a small pouch and tied it in readiness to his belt. Finally he pulled his fingers through his braided hair, and settled the silver oak-leaf crown firmly upon his head.

  “Let’s go then.”

  Aran walked from the chamber and Alem fell in behind, a quiet shadow at his heels.

  *

  It took only moments to gain the Throne Room, and Aran stopped at the doors to survey the great crowd of people clustered around the dais. Upon seeing him, they immediately knelt, and Aran walked up quickly through their midst to seat himself upon the King’s throne. Archmage Maran and the Priestess Delana appeared to stand at the foot of the dais in a similar way to the day of his crowning.

  “My Lord King, “announced Archmage Maran “We have two betrothals this night, Wolf Leader Darven of Eastling asks to be hand fasted to head groom Kiaia, and High King Arantur asks to be hand fasted to Alissa, daughter of Captain Taran.”

  Aran nodded, “That is true.”

  The Priestess stepped forward, “Wolf Leader Darven and head groom Kiaia please present yourselves here.”

  Darven and Kiaia stood and walked up to the dais. Both were tidily dressed in their feast clothes.

  “Would Darven and Kiaia’s witnesses please be in attendance.”

  Captain Taran and Alissa stood and joined the others at the dais.

  The Priestess turned to the witnesses, “Do you come here of your own free will?”

  They answered, “Aye Priestess.”

  “Do you know and vouch for these two who wish betrothal?

  “Aye Priestess.”

  “Do you know of any reason why these two should be not be betrothed?”

  “Nay Priestess.”

  The green garbed priestess nodded, “Good, you may return to your places.”

  She waited until they were again kneeling, then took the hands of Darven and Kiaia and clasped them together. She picked up a yellow and white patterned cord and winding it about their hands bound the couple together. Finally she took out a small flask of consecrated water and poured a small amount over their joined hands.

  “Darven and Kiaia, you are now in the eyes of the Goddess and the law, officially betrothed. Although you are not yet man and wife, any children conceived or born of this union will be of your flesh and name. You are now commanded after at least one month, wherever you may be, to present yourselves to a Priestess to have the union formalised in marriage. Be certain to take your betrothal cord with you as it will be required at the ceremony.”

  Carefully she untied their hands and with a smile, presented Kiaia with the cord.

  “You may go now.”

  The Priestess turned and nodded to Aran.

  “High King Arantur, and Alissa, daughter of Captain Taran please present yourselves here.”

  Alissa smiling walked up to the dais, Aran stood and walked down the few steps to join her.

  “Would Arantur and Alissa’s witnesses please be in attendance.”

  Master Cody an
d Captain Taran stood and joined the young couple at the foot of the dais.

  Aran looked up and saw the happiness and pride written clearly on his former master’s face.

  The Priestess turned to the witnesses, “Do you come here of your own free will?”

  They answered “Aye Priestess.”

  “Do you know and vouch for these two who wish betrothal?

  “Aye, Priestess.”

  “Do you know of any reason why these two should be not be betrothed?”

  “Nay, Priestess.”

  Delana nodded, “Good. You may now return to your places.”

  She waited until they had returned, and were again kneeling, then took the hands of Arantur and Alissa and clasped them together. Aran immediately felt Alissa’s narrow warm hands tighten in anticipation under his fingers. Priestess Delana turned and removed from the seat of the right hand throne a deep blue cord bound in narrow gold thread and with tiny oak leaves embroidered at each end. Returning to the couple, she slowly and carefully wound the cord over their joined hands, binding Aran and Alissa to each other. Aran felt the firm tightness of the cord, and gently squeezed Alissa’s hand in reassurance. Finally the priestess retrieved the small flask of consecrated water and poured the remaining liquid over their joined hands.

  “Arantur and Alissa, you are now in the eyes of the Goddess and the law, officially betrothed. Although you are not yet man and wife, any children conceived or born of this union will be of your flesh and name. You are now commanded after six months, wherever you may be, to present yourselves to a Priestess to have the union formalised in marriage. Be certain to take your betrothal cord with you as it will be required at the ceremony.”

  Carefully she untied their hands and with a smile and a bow, gifted Alissa with the cord.

  “High King Arantur, you may now return to your throne. Alissa, daughter of Taran, please wait here.”

  Aran returned to his seat and turning, smiled at the young blue gowned woman standing so alone at the base of the dais. “Alissa my betrothed, come here,” he said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. Alissa turned and with a puzzled nod, ascended the three steps to stand squarely before her king and future husband.

  “Please kneel.”

  The young golden haired woman soundlessly dropped to her knees.

  Aran carefully opened the pouch at his hip and shook out a small silver ring. He turned it over thoughtfully in his hands, and then held it up for everyone to see. “All present here, you are to bear witness to this the ancient betrothal ring of the Andurian line. The hand on which it is placed is immediately identified as the future Queen, consort and co-ruler of this province.” Aran stood and taking Alissa’s right hand slipped the ring upon her forefinger, and then whilst still holding her hand with his left hand he quickly unsheathed the King’s Sword and in one quick movement, placed her ringed hand upon the hilt which was now protectively covered by both his hands.

  Aran, whose full concentration was upon the sword, the ring and the woman before him, heard the startled gasp from the watching crowd as the sword flared brightly, its glow fully engulfing the young couple. A moment later the brightness subsided and Aran and Alissa stood together unharmed.

  “Thus the King’s Sword has recognised and marked Alissa as my future Queen, consort and co-ruler,” Aran stated clearly. “Apart from the Archmage of Glaive and of course myself, she alone will be able to wield it without injury. However such a rising would only be permitted during a time of deepest distress to the province, when I am either dead or incapacitated through illness or injury. If I am to die prematurely in battle or through illness or injury, this woman is to be regarded as the heir apparent to the Andurian throne. Any children of our union will be of our blood and name, and ascend the throne at the Goddess’ time.”

  Looking to Alissa, he smiled at her and continued “Since you are not yet Queen you may not yet sit upon the right hand throne. Until that day however when your coronation and our marriage are one and the same, you may stand here on the dais at my side in recognition of your future status as Queen, consort and co-ruler.” Aran then led Alissa to the space between the two thrones, and gently kissed her on the brow and lips, then resumed his customary place on the left hand throne. He looked across to the Archmage who nodded and walked to the base of the dais.

  “All present, bear witness to these ceremonies, and spread the word to all you meet so as the entire province will know that our king is betrothed to Lady Alissa, regent of the Province of Andur.”

  Maran waited for the echo to fade then continued, “We will now complete this audience, and remind all that we ride for Haulgard, Helmsgard and Leigh at first light. Then after that onto war.” He gazed at Aran and Alissa on the dais, then out at the gathered crowd.

  “All present, look well upon your King and future Queen. It will be many months before they return to sit again on these ancient thrones and take up again their duties of reigning monarchs residing at Andur’s Keep. May the Goddess keep them safe and return them to this place safely and in good health.”

  The assembled crowd stood and cheered loudly, Aran turned and smiled reassuringly at Alissa whose composure was still reeling from touching the deadly King’s Sword only moments before.

  “After this will you meet me on the battlements my lady?” Aran asked in a low voice.

  Alissa turned startled green eyes to Aran and nodded.

  *

  “By Andur! Aran, you could have warned me!” Alissa was still shaking with reaction.

  The young King leaned over the stone battlements and embrasures and gazed out at his land now swathed in night’s embrace and sadly shook his head. “Only Maran and the Priestess knew of that part of the ceremony, and unfortunately I was under oath not to reveal it to you.” He went to her and hugged her stiff, unyielding body, “If I could have I would have done so my love, to spare you from that fright. But I was under oath; it seems that just as I had to first take the sword unprepared, you did too…I am sorry.” Alissa’s body slowly relaxed and she let out a deep sigh, “Any more odd ceremonies that I need to know about,” she asked with a hesitant return to her old humour and wit.

  Aran smiled and laughed, “Not that I am aware of, however I am certain that Maran and Delana may have further surprises in store so be vigilant my lady.”

  Alissa laughed gently, and hugged Aran in return, willing herself to forget that one frightening moment when she felt certain she was going to die, consumed by the power of that deadly sword.

  Aran turned her in his arms so they could both look out at the sleeping land around them. “All this is yours now Alissa,” he said at last. Aran felt her nod.

  “And the war that goes with it,” she replied, fingering the small silver ring upon her hand. “Do you think we will return alive?”

  Aran stared out at the darkness and tightened his hold upon his lady, “I hope so Alissa…we can only pray to the Goddess to bring us home safe again.”

  “Aye”

  ‘Sister?’

  There was a soft, murmuring whisper in the air, and Aran saw Alissa cock her head, like a hound scenting the wind.

  “Sarana?” Aran asked aloud.

  ‘Aye brother,’ the voice whispered, ‘I have come to see my new sister…did I not tell you that she would be yours.’

  Aran chuckled remembering the first day at the Keep, “Aye sister, I well remember.”

  Alissa turned her head, her eyes full of questions.

  Aran smiled gently at her and mouthed, “Sarana, the spirit of my dead sister.”

  Alissa nodded and spoke quietly, “Sarana, my name is Alissa. I am to be your brother’s wife and queen.”

  ‘I know you Alissa…and I am well glad we are to be sisters,’ Sarana replied and there was laughter evident in her words.

  “We ride to war sister,” Aran said, “Will you be travelling with us?”

  ‘For a time,’ she murmured, ‘I have taken my leave of the whales. I will travel with you
when I can. There will be much power and many ears about you so I cannot stay…but I will visit when I am able’.

  “Much power and many ears?” Aran asked, “What do you mean by that?” But she had gone again and all they heard was the wind’s low voice.

  Alissa smiled and Aran shrugged, “She comes occasionally, then leaves as quickly…I cannot hold her.”

  Alissa nodded, “I know…my mother’s spirit used to come to me in just the same way when I was a child.” She paused to wipe her eyes of the sudden tears, “I have not heard her voice in over ten years!”

  Aran hugged her closer to him, “I am certain that she is well pleased with her daughter.”

  Alissa smiled, “I will ask her to protect us.”

  Aran nodded and stared out at the restless sea forever beating against the foundations of the plateau, “We will need all the help we can get.” He sighed and reluctantly released his hold upon her, “I must go now Alissa…we have an early start.”

  Alissa nodded and walked towards the stairs, “Until the morning my lord Arantur.”

  *

  Chapter 4—Mobilisation

  “My lord King.”

  Aran awoke from a heavy sleep to see the shadowy figure of Alem hovering over him, his form distinguishable only by the light of the flickering lantern he held. Opening eyes glued shut with sleep, Aran glanced towards the window.

  “What time is it?”

  Alem placed the lantern on the small table and adjusted the wick so it cast a rosy light about him.

  “It is an hour before dawn, Sire. The Keep is astir and the Guard and mages are readying themselves for the journey.”

  Aran pulled himself to a sitting position on the bed, and immediately felt the cold air nip around his bare chest.

  “It’s quite cool,” he said, “If it’s this cold so early in the season it doesn’t bear thinking about what the mountains are going to be like come winter.”

  His bondsman held out a wool robe for Aran to slip on, “Aye liege, I predict that it will be a long winter campaign.”