The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Page 13

  Aran looked up at the other blond haired man, “Do you regret coming with us?”

  Alem shrugged, “I am your bondsman and personal servant…my position is with you.”

  “Aye, and really I’d much rather stay right here,” Aran said wryly, “Unfortunately if we do nothing the Thakur will still invade and I can’t allow the province to be subjugated again!”

  Alem nodded and helped Aran dress in his travelling clothes.

  There was a quiet knock on the door and Alissa stuck her head in.

  Aran looked up and smiled, “Come in.”

  Alissa, who was burdened with a wooden tray, pushed open the door with her foot and walked into the bed chamber. Aran eyed the hot flat cakes spread liberally with butter, honey and jam and grinned in hungry anticipation.

  “Ready to break your fast, Aran?” she asked, putting the tray down on top of a nearby chest.

  Aran nodded, and adjusting the leather belt, quickly sheathed the King’s Sword at his hip. As he munched the hot cakes, Aran eyed Alissa appreciatively. Dressed in a heavy wool tunic and hosen, she wore stout leather boots and a thick wool cloak lined in fox fur. Her long golden hair had been combed and plaited back and she wore a felted soft-grey wool cap on her head.

  “You look set for the journey,” Aran remarked.

  Alissa picked up yet another hot cake and smiled across at her betrothed, “Aye, the gear is packed away and all there is to do now is to saddle the horses and go.”

  Aran, finishing the meal, licked the honey from his fingers and dipped his hands into the cold water of the washing bowl, “I am packed too. All I need to do now is get my cloak and cap.” He looked about him at the king’s chamber and sighed, “It seems such a pity. I was just getting used to this place…”

  “When we return here we will be husband and wife, King and Queen,” Alissa said quietly, gazing at the tapestries and hangings.

  Aran nodded and slung the heavy fur lined cloak about his shoulders and jammed onto his head his old, familiar felted wool hat.

  Alissa laughed when she saw his hat, “Do you intend wearing that old thing?”

  Aran picked up his saddlebag and grinned, “My hat goes where I go!”

  Walking over, Alissa straightened Aran’s cloak about his shoulders, “Where you go Aran, I go too.”

  Aran took a last look at the king’s chamber, and then decidedly turned his back on it.

  “We ought to leave,” he said firmly, “I know that Captain Taran wants the Guard in the saddle by dawn, and we should not keep them waiting.” He took Alissa’s hand and squeezed it, “The sooner we are on our way, my love, the sooner we shall be returning.”

  *

  Once downstairs they saw that the main yard was filled with wagons and horses being prepared for the long ride ahead. It was still very dark outside, with the only light coming from one of the two moons which cast a pale eerie ghostliness over the stones of the ancient Keep. Torches had been positioned at the internal Keep’s stairs, and at the entrance from the main yard to the Keep beyond. Aran saw that his horse Spirit was already saddled and handed the groom his saddlebags to be added to the horse’s equipment. Alissa had disappeared off, doubtless to make ready her own mount, so Aran walked over to where Maran and the other mages were gathered about their horses.

  “My lord,” Maran greeted him, “Did you sleep well?”

  Aran nodded, and put a gentle hand on the bay mare which the Archmage preferred to ride.

  “Aye Maran,” he replied, and then he glanced up at the hard autumn stars which were still shining over the Keep, “It certainly is a cold start to our campaign.”

  Maran bent over to adjust a slipping girth strap, and then straightened, “Winter is not far off now. We will have a long, cold journey ahead of us.”

  Aran glanced around at the milling crowd, “How soon do we ride?”

  The Archmage looked over the withers of the tall mare at his king, “Twenty minutes…no more. Already Captain Taran is preparing the wax for this document.” The Archmage picked up a parchment which had been rolled and stored in a fold of the mage’s cloak. Aran looked down and took the offered document. Quickly he scanned the contents, it was the same script they had worked on yesterday—the order for the mobilisation of the Provincial army.

  Aran grimaced and his face was bleak, “I guess there is no backing out of it now.”

  Maran looked up at him, “Second thoughts, lord?”

  Aran shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess last minute jitters. It’s no light thing to order a province to war; I suppose we have no other option?”

  Maran shook his head, “If you are to have any success against the Thakur Warleader then her power base needs to be reduced. If we don’t fight, you’ll lose and the province will be under subjugation yet again. These are the descendants of the Serat,” he added unnecessarily.

  Aran smiled hollowly, “Just keep reminding me of that Archmage.”

  Captain Taran appeared breathless at Aran’s shoulder, “My lord King, the wax is prepared will you now add your great seal to the writ?”

  Aran nodded and took off his ring, watching as Maran spread the writ across the saddle of his patient horse, and while the Captain carefully poured the wax onto the parchment. Upturning his ring, Aran pressed the oak tree seal firmly into the wax. Pulling the ring away, Aran saw the clean, clear impression in the solidifying wax and slipped the great seal back onto his finger.

  Aran looked up to meet Maran’s and the Captain’s eyes, “Then it is done! Let us be off.”

  Archmage Maran nodded, and took the writ, carefully rolling it so as not to damage the seal. Captain Taran turned and started bawling out orders to the Guards who were quickly swinging into action.

  Aran looked about him. Alissa was already mounted on her black mare, Alem had seated himself beside one of the cart drivers and Aran saw Darven mounting his rangy grey gelding. A small knot of people were gathered on the steps, for most of Aran’s household staff were remaining at the Keep to ensure that life moved as usual despite the King’s absence, and a few of the older, or less agile Guards were staying to act as the standing garrison.

  A groom brought the dun mare Spirit to him, and quickly he swung himself into the saddle, taking a moment to settle his cloak about him and press his hat firmly upon his head. Captain Taran brought his chestnut gelding over to where Aran was waiting.

  “We will need your order Sire,” he said.

  “We are all set?”

  Taran nodded, “Everything is packed and loaded and all should be now mounted, Sire. Perhaps this is a good time to address everyone; otherwise we will be soon all spread out along the road until we get to our evening camp.”

  Aran nodded and swung his horse to the base of the Keep stairs. Standing in the saddle, he unsheathed his sword and holding it aloft, let its cold radiance bring everyone’s attention to where he was.

  “King’s Guard and people of Andur’s Keep we leave to ride to war,” Aran stated loudly, his voice carrying clearly across the dark training yard. “Despite the fact that this will be a long, hard and cold campaign, I know that those who ride with me do so with courage and fire in their hearts. Each one of you knows that we go to the defence of our province, and we fight for our life and liberty.”

  Aran waited until the shouts and cheers died away then continued on.

  “For those who wait behind, whether here in Andur’s Keep, or in the great southern cities, your time will be the hardest.” His gaze moved across the members of the household remaining at the Keep, “It will be difficult not knowing if your friends and loved ones will return or even if the war will be won or not. I pray to the Goddess that we will not fail, that we will prevail…but if we should lose out there on those winter battlefields, you must then be our last defence.” Aran lifted the sword higher, and the radiance of the blade brightened with the movement, “I ask each one of you to take up sword, or axe, or scythe and use your last dying breath on the defence of our provi
nce.” He added, “In the past the land was under the oppressor's yoke. We go to battle the rising tide of the Serat, better death than oppression and enslavement.”

  Aran last words were almost entirely drowned out by the groundswell of cheering that erupted from the darkened Keep and yard. He waved the King’s Sword and it blazed out brightly in the predawn darkness, immediately the Keep fell silent.

  “Guards…follow the orders of your Captain and Leaders.” Aran directed. “Mages fall in behind the Archmage. Councillors make ready. Waggoners bring your carts in at the rear of the column. In Andur’s name we ride!”

  Aran sheathed his sword and sitting back in the saddle, wheeled Spirit around and trotted her back through the milling crowd and out of the training yard. Through the darkened keep they rode, and Aran halted the column only at the main gate where he leant over to speak to the two Guards on duty.

  “King’s Guard!” he called out in the predawn stillness.

  “Aye, Sire.”

  The two Guards snapped to attention under the direct grey gaze of their liege lord.

  Aran bent down in the saddle “Keep my people and this Keep safe and well guarded. You are the last line of defence here.”

  Guard Morel, who was acting Keep Captain whilst Taran was away, stepped forward between the two armoured soldiers. “Rest easy my lord King. Andur’s Keep will not fall whilst any Guard here remains alive.” Then he looked up at the young man astride the sorrel, “Do what you must do High King Arantur…” he said softly. “Then return to us safe and with all possible speed.”

  Aran nodded and turning once in the saddle, cast a last, longing look over the dark brooding walls of his ancestral home, then facing the open road spurred his horse into a canter and led his people off to war.

  *

  The Havart Plateau had been well chosen as an excellent location for a defensive keep. Unfortunately the very reasons that made it perfect defensively, made the road to the southern cities winding, narrow and difficult for an armoured column to keep together. The large plateau comprised of undulating countryside, with rock outcrops dotted amongst steep upland meadows and the bare, dark fields of harvested grain. It took an hour or two for the various groups and wagons to find a sensible and allotted position in the column, eventually everyone was happy, and the group moved along at a reasonable pace.

  Aran, Captain Taran and the Archmage led the column at a fast mounted walk, a pace that the waggoners far behind would be able to match with their heavy loads and teams of horses. Occasionally Darven, accompanied by one of the Guard would ride forward of the main group, scouting out the road ahead, and reporting on any blockages or problems that might cause strife to the wagons later on. Luckily, the previous summer had been fairly dry, and so wash-outs across the road were not as many or as bad as Aran had feared. The road that led to Haulgard Port was not a paved road, its surface was either packed dirt or crumbly shale or gravel which made for treacherous footing for the horses on the steeper inclines.

  “It must have taken them years to engineer this road,” commented Aran as his horse stepped over a series of shallow, eroded channels. “I mean its centuries old and the only damage I’ve seen so far is some minor wash-outs from the last lot of heavy rains.”

  Maran nodded, “This part of the road is still structurally very sound. However in some parts the road can be cut by flooding and in the past, entire sections have been washed away entirely.” He stared at the road wryly, “At this time of the year we shouldn’t have too many problems. However when you return from the war one of the first things that ought to be addressed is that this road be fully repaired.”

  It was some consolation, Aran thought wryly, that the Archmage believed that he would return alive from the war.

  “But weren’t repairs done?” Aran asked finally.

  Maran smiled, “Of course, the road was wholly repaired during Andur’s time, but until now it hadn’t been such an issue. Especially since the Council, who kept their hand on the province’s treasury, believed that there would never again be a resident king at the Keep. Now that the Andurian line is back at Andur’s Keep this road is going to see a lot more traffic.”

  “That’s if we win the war,” Aran added morosely.

  The Archmage stared quickly at his king and nodded in agreement. “If we lose then we won’t be here to worry about the roads…it will become someone else’s problem,” he replied dryly.

  “I’d rather it were ours,” Aran commented wryly.

  *

  The day wore on, and on the high escarpments of the plateau the wind blew very cold indeed. It was not until midday that it came warm enough for cloaks to be loosened, and slung behind saddles or onto the carts. Aran’s stomach was audibly growling when Darven slowly cantered back from one of his forward reconnaissances.

  “There’s a large flattish area with a stream half a league ahead my lord,” he said without preamble, “I’d recommend we stop there for a meal. We’ve been on the road since dawn, and the horses ought to be watered soon, and I know the men will want a meal break.”

  Aran nodded, “I was just wondering when we’d stop.” He looked across at his friend, “Half a league did you say? That will take another hour to reach…have you scouted out a place for camp yet?”

  Darven nodded, and settled his horse which was irritably kicking at the sand flies biting its belly. “There’s a reasonable camp a few hours ahead. If we don’t dawdle at this next stop, we ought to reach it by sundown. Tomorrow should see us start the descent down the plateau, and if all goes well we ought to be off the Havart Plateau by tomorrow evening,” he added.

  Aran looked ahead and along the road, “How soon to Haulgard?”

  Darven grinned and swung his horse around, “Two days once we are off the plateau. We should be able to maintain a quicker pace on the coast road.”

  “There will be a day lost in Haulgard lord,” Maran interjected. “You will be required to formally meet the rest of the Council and of course there will be a public ride through the city. Haulgard is the capital and the citizens, I am certain, will be very interested in seeing their new king.”

  Aran nodded deep in thought, “After Haulgard?”

  Maran kicked his horse into a faster walk, “A day to Helmsgard and a further day to Leigh.”

  Quickly counting the days Aran glanced up, “Seven days…we ought to be there by week’s end?”

  Maran looked over and smiled, “Right on time my lord. Barring accidents or breakdowns with the wagons we will be in Leigh in good time to rendezvous with the southern garrisons and Legions.”

  *

  The sun was low on the horizon when the column from Andur’s Keep reached the overnight camp. Aran swung off his horse and landed unsteadily on the short springy grass, his muscles immediately cramping from so many long hours in the saddle. Straightening, he gazed around. They had come to a small valley amongst the high upland meadows. Dense trees ringed the valley, providing an effective barrier against the ever present winds. At one end he noticed a small stream and pool and scattered about were enough level places for a tent or two to be raised, and enough hollows in the thick springy grass for tired soldiers to roll into their cloaks and blankets and sleep.

  “This is a good place,” Alissa had dismounted and walked from the centre of the column to join Aran where he was standing. “We camped here on our trip up from the south.”

  Aran looked around and smiled at Alissa’s windblown hair and rosy cheeks, “I’ve not seen you all day…where have you been riding?”

  Alissa glanced back to where the Councillors were tiredly dismounting.

  “With Terea, she’s not a good rider and I’d promised that I’d ride with her until we reach Haulgard.”

  Aran’s eyebrows lifted, “She bears you no ill favour then? I would have thought that Ordac’s ambitious plan of a royal marriage will have put her nose out of joint with you and me both.”

  Alissa took Aran’s arm and led him to a more pri
vate spot, “It seems that Terea is happier than she admits with the outcome.”

  Aran stared at the young woman opposite him, “How so? Did she not want the marriage after all?”

  Alissa smiled, and shook her head, “Don’t breathe a word of this to the Councillors, but it seems Terea has a fondness for someone back at Haulgard…a young man of quality and good family. However his rank is not noble and she never dared broach the subject with her father.” Alissa grimaced, “Ordac is an ambitious man, and he dreams of aligning his house with another powerful one from amongst the Old Families of Haulgard.”

  Aran shook his head in mute incomprehension, “I have never known so interfering a man. Does he always think of his own welfare over his daughter?”

  Alissa turned and began to unsaddle Spirit, “It seems so, however Terea doesn’t think she’ll have much chance with this young man of hers, which is if her father has any say in it.”

  Aran lifted off the saddle and wool saddle cloth and began to rub the dun mare down with a scrap of cloth. Alissa went to take the cloth from his with a murmured protest of, “You’re the king Aran…let others do this.”

  Aran shook his head and took the cloth back and bent to his task, “There is much for everyone to do Alissa. Allow me at least to tend to my own mount.”

  She nodded, and absentmindedly picked the brambles from Spirit’s tail, “So can anything be done for Terea?” she asked, “I mean you’re the King, you could order Ordac to let his daughter marry who she pleases.”

  Aran paused in his task and stared down the horse’s flank at Alissa, “And put him more off-side than ever. Be reasonable Alissa, I can’t interfere in a man’s ruling on his children.”

  Alissa shrugged eloquently, “Have it your way Aran, but I believe that Ordac now plans to marry Terea off to some old widowed Councillor back in Haulgard to get the alliance he so desires.”

  Aran’s eyes narrowed at that, and finally acceded to her, “I guess it is only reasonable that I look to her welfare, I mean I did turn her down in favour of you.”

  Alissa grinned wickedly at that and Aran went back to his self-imposed task.