The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Page 3

  Maran turned slowly round, and steadily met the eyes of the Councillor, “Do not be alarmed for the Council will remain. The King may have returned but he will not have time to attend to all the minor and routine duties of the province. The Council will continue to fulfill the role of government. The only change being is that they are now answerable to those that sit here enthroned at Andur’s Keep. All weighty and major decisions will be settled by the King. He is the final power in this land.”

  Aran stood up, and with a gesture indicated to the Archmage that he would settle this. “My Lord Councillors,” he stated, “Do not think that you have a king in name only. Be certain that the renewed Andurian line has power and will exercise it when the occasion demands. The Council will serve its role as Government however any major issues and decisions must come to me for final judgment.”

  The Councillors nodded happily. Obviously they had been worried about their positions and the future of the Council.

  Aran turned back to the Archmage, “Are we finished here? It is long past midday and I would like to get out of this armour and eat.”

  Maran nodded, “We will directly move your belongings to the royal rooms. Prince Arantur, your new rooms will be ready for you by evening.”

  Aran inclined his head, “Then finally I would ask one favour of you all here.”

  Maran turned back to the young man, “Of course my Prince….”

  Aran smiled, “I am not the king yet. Until the crown sits upon my unworthy head I would prefer to be just called Aran or Arantur. It will be soon enough that I will have to be addressed otherwise and ‘Prince’ sounds so strange to my ears.”

  Maran dipped his ancient head, “Very well, if you wish it so. Although you may not wish to hear the word ‘prince’, I must insist that you have some sort of title. This is only out of necessary respect for your lineage and rank.” The Archmage stared at the young heir, “Might I suggest the title ‘Lord’?”

  Aran smiled, “I accept that compromise.”

  “Good,” Maran stood up and indicated to the others that the conference was at an end. “Captain Taran, I would ask you now to send out those Guard messengers with all due speed to the southern cities. The rest of us need to now ready the throne room and royal rooms for the renewed lineage. Those not required for such a task may spread the word to the rest of the household here that we have again a royal heir.” He smiled suddenly, “That is if the Guards have not already beaten us to it. “

  *

  “Did you have any inkling of all this, my Lord?” Darven asked, as he helped Aran to remove his soon to be king’s heavy mail hauberk.

  “No,” Aran grunted as he leant over and let the mail fall from his shoulders into a noisy heap on the stone floor of the armoury. “It was only until the very last moment when Maran stood before me and offered me the kingship did it finally sink in that I was the heir.”

  Darven watched as Aran pulled off the gambeson and rearranged his family’s sword in the belt and scabbard at his hip, “You’d do well not to lose that my Lord,” he observed wryly, “It is your heritage after all.”

  Aran glanced down at the quiescent weapon at his side, “It’s not likely that anyone could steal it from me. You saw what happened to Sen…they’d burn as soon as they touched it.”

  “Aye, but it is potent proof of your ancestry. Keep a close eye on it my Lord. There is no other weapon like it.”

  Aran nodded, “As a Warriormage it is my true weapon. Such magecrafted blades were intended to be wielded by those mages. That is why the sword was given to Andur. He had the latent Warriormage Ability.”

  Darven bent over to unbuckle the armour plates from Aran’s lower legs, “I am no longer surprised by anything now my Lord,” he commented. “This week has certainly been a memorable one for us all.”

  Aran shook his head, “Darven, I’m going to have to insist that you drop the ‘my Lord’ rubbish. Honestly, I cringe every time I hear you say it…”

  Darven grinned “Is that a royal command?”

  Aran lightly thumped the other on the arm, “Yes! Please”

  “Then I shall obey,” Darven laughed.

  Aran straightened his clothes, “Will you ride with me this afternoon? I need to clear my head of all this…”

  Darven’s face fell, “I had arranged with Kiaia to ride with her.”

  Aran laughed and gently slapped his friend’s back, “Then go with her, I will ask Alissa, I am certain she will come.”

  Darven brightened, “Ask her, we will all ride together, besides the heir apparent should never ride unescorted. We have to keep you in good health and fine fettle for your crowning.”

  “Aye,” Aran agreed bleakly, looking around him at his ancestral home, “When I was younger I always wondered who my true parents were and the lineage of my family. Now I know and it is far beyond anything I had ever dreamed possible…” He laughed and shrugged, “I wonder what Master Cody would make of all this? He used to say that he would never trust a King…I wonder if he will take that back once he learns of my sudden elevation to that position. Sed too! My foster brother will never believe it possible. I guess the first thing he will do is beg money off me so he can further his time in the ale houses.”

  Darven looked up at that, “Master Cody sounds like a good and honourable man. It would be good for you to retain his friendship. As for your foster family…” Darven frowned and pursed his lips, “I would advise strongly that you give them enough money to provide for them, giving them comfort and ease for the rest of their days, then after that is done you must quickly disassociate yourself from them. They are not of the Andurian line. You may have a duty of care to them, but once that duty is complete, they must have no further relationship with you other than of subject and King. They cannot think that they have any kind of right of lineage to this throne.”

  Aran’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “Isn’t that being a little hard hearted Darven, besides they could never wield the sword.”

  Darven nodded and put away the last of the armour, “True but there must be a certain division between you and them. Look after them by all means, but make it very clear that they have no blood connection to the Andurian crown. To imply otherwise could throw the province into civil war.”

  Aran nodded in agreement, “That would be insufferable.”

  Darven stared narrowly at his friend, gauging how best to put into words what he was next going to say.

  “Aran?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I know that this is probably one more thing on top of a lot you have to worry about, but it is important, probably more important than everything else.”

  Aran stared at his friend in some concern, “What is it Darven? What in Andur’s name are you driving at?”

  Darven pulled a face, “Aran… you are the last of the Andurian line. You must give thought to choosing a queen soon and getting her with child to continue the lineage.”

  “What now?” Aran gasped, “I’m not even crowned yet.”

  Darven shrugged apologetically, “Sooner rather than later man. It’s not certain you will come back from this war alive.”

  Aran was astounded, “Who would have me? And if perchance I found one who would, then by that very act I must compel her to leave home and family—and bear me a child within months of our first meeting!”

  Darven shook his head in amazement, “And I thought I was blind with Kiaia.”

  The Wolf Leader smiled gently and put a friendly hand on Aran’s shoulder, “My Lord,” he said formally, “I would put forward the name of Alissa, daughter of Taran for your consideration as Queen.”

  “Alissa!” Aran was astounded, “She is the daughter of a soldier. Wouldn’t I be expected to select someone from the daughters of the Old Families of Haulgard? In the past all seem to have chosen consorts from Haulgard.”

  He shook his head unhappily, remembering their argument last night, and the previous intimacy that had been markedly absent from thei
r private conversation in the throne room. Aran doubtfully shook his head again, “I doubt she’ll want to marry me for she is forever chewing me out over one thing or another.”

  Darven grinned, “Have you asked her?”

  Aran was horrified, “No! Captain Taran would have my hide if I had any inclination towards his daughter.”

  Darven shook his head in weary amazement, “Aran sometimes you are so blind. Right now Captain Taran thinks the sun shines out of your eyes, in fact he would be eternally grateful if you married his daughter. Alissa is as strong as steel, she would make you a very good Queen. Whatever is the matter? I thought you loved her?”

  Aran sat down on the wooden chest and ran a confused hand through his hair, “I do…it’s just this morning she seemed so distant towards me. She dragged me all the way up to the throne room to show me my ancestors, and all she could talk about was my heritage and duty.” Aran’s mouth tightened “Yesterday we could hardly keep our hands off each other…but now…nothing.”

  “She’s probably just overawed at your sudden elevation,” Darven reassured, “It’s not every day your best friend is declared king.”

  Aran shook his head, “It’s not that. Alissa has taken the news better than I have.” He sighed and stared bleakly out into the armoury, “The closeness has gone Darven…she still professes friendship, but I believe now that there is nothing more.”

  Darven stared at the disconsolate figure of his friend. “I think you’re wrong,” he said at last, “And I’d still ask her. She is a forthright young woman. If she wants you she will tell you so. Although…”

  Aran stared blankly at this friend, “Although what?”

  The young Wolf Leader pulled a face, “Give her a little time but do not wait until you are crowned. She may lose her nerve once you become her king.”

  Aran stood up, “Then I will think on this; however I must speak to Archmage Maran about this matter. He may have some other candidate in mind for the position of Queen.”

  Darven stared at his friend in amazement, “You would let others choose your lifepartner?”

  Aran shook his head sadly, “Now that I am resolved upon this new kingship, I believe that few decisions will be mine. I suspect that the choice of Queen has already been determined. Alissa is a friend but she may not be mine to choose.”

  Darven nodded in agreement, “That may well be true. Glaive seems to have you in its pockets—although it would be in your best interest to mention Alissa’s name when you are talking with Archmage Maran about the choice of Queen.”

  Aran nodded, resolved, “Aye, I will do that. If you are correct and she still cares for me then there is no other woman I could choose.” He turned and grinned at Darven “Just as you could choose only Kiaia…”

  Darven grinned broadly, “Kiaia is a goddess Aran. There is no other woman for me. I thank Andur that I was not destined to be King, for I do so want her to be my mate.”

  “That fact is as certain as the sun rising tomorrow morning,” declared Aran. “You have for certain won her, when is to be the wedding?”

  Darven’s face flamed, “I visited her late last night and we talked long into the night.”

  Aran immediately grinned, “I suspect you did more than talk. Tell me truthfully.”

  The Wolf Leader smiled to hide his embarrassment, “Aye she is a demanding woman. In fact she would not let me be all night, in the end she did agree to wed me, but she took a lot of persuading.”

  Aran laughed heartily, “I am certain she enjoyed every moment of being persuaded.”

  *

  Their armour now stored away, the two men ambled from the central Keep out into the deserted training yard. Aran stood at the base of the Keep’s stairs and gazed about him with new and considering eyes.

  “Since this is now my ancestral home, I ought to get something done about the old section,” he mused aloud. “I am certain the Council cannot object to that, especially now that there is a renewed lineage at Andur’s Keep.”

  Darven stopped and looked back at Aran. “Wait until after the war,” he advised, “However it would be wise to check your defenses here at the Keep. The walls seem stout and strong, but if war comes again to the province the Keep may be one of our last defenses.”

  Aran stared at the huge curtain walls, “Aye, I had not thought of that, the Keep always seems to me so invulnerable and impenetrable. I will ask the mages to look into it. I am certain that an Earthmage would be able to determine if there are any faults or weaknesses in the walls.”

  Darven continued walking, “Come Aran,” he called, “I smell fresh bread baking, and I have not eaten since sunup.”

  As they neared the kitchens they began to run into more and more of the Guard and castle household. Each man or woman they encountered did a swift double-take, and sketched a startled bow and a quick, ‘My lord,’ before rushing off again.

  “Your fame precedes you Aran,” Darven commented dryly.

  Aran groaned, “I’m barely an hour or two into kingship, and I’m already getting heartily sick of it. I’m not looking forward to hearing it from everyone else.”

  Darven laughed, “I suppose it can be unnerving. Mind you most of these people have only heard about kings from the old stories. They really don’t know how to act around you.”

  “I wish they’d act normally,” Aran growled irritated “I’m still Arantur of Leigh, despite what Maran has said.”

  Darven shook his head, “No, I disagree. As soon as you took up that sword you ceased to be Arantur of Leigh. Now you have become Arantur, last of the Andurian line, and heir to the throne, and I am afraid everyone knows that now. Unfortunately, as much as we would wish otherwise, life is a series of steps ever moving us forward. We may yearn for the past, to childhood or a simpler life, but we can never go backwards. Life doesn’t work that way.”

  Aran nodded sadly at that, “I’m beginning to realise the truth of that. Ever since Mage Trevan walked into my life I have been constantly moving forward into deeper and more disturbing experiences. I’ve hardly had a time for rest and reconciliation. I don’t mind moving forward Darven, but I wish it all hadn’t moved so fast.”

  “Then you must learn from it Aran,” he replied, walking over the threshold into the kitchens, “Ah. They are serving lamb soup…come let’s eat.”

  *

  Aran, Darven, Alissa and Kiaia rode in silence through the gatehouse, and out into the high windswept pastures of the plateau. The two women were riding ahead and Darven and Aran rode a few yards behind, alert to any danger, hidden or apparent. As they drew out of sight of the Keep, the two men spurred their horses to catch up with the women, and with a clatter of steel shod hooves on the rock and gravel of the path they quickly joined them. Darven rode up to Kiaia, and leaning over whispered something to her. She nodded and the two of them spurred their horses to draw a little away ahead. Aran drew his dun mare alongside Alissa’s black coated mount and they rode in silence for a few minutes.

  “What are you thinking about?” Aran asked after the silence had grown too long for his comfort.

  Alissa looked up in some surprise, “What?”

  “You seem deep in thought,” Aran explained, “I was just wondering what it was you were thinking about.”

  Alissa smiled distantly, “I was thinking about Darven and Kiaia and how well they are suited to each other,” she replied gazing ahead to the other couple riding close beside each other.

  “Oh aye…” Aran replied, “Darven has found his heart’s desire. I think that Kiaia is also well pleased with her choice.”

  Alissa nodded, “She is a happy woman for there are many who are not so fortunate in their luck.”

  Aran thought back to his earlier conversation with Darven and nodded silently.

  “You will be crowned in a fortnight,” Alissa stated after another lengthy pause.

  Aran pulled a face, “I know…and I cannot forget it. Wherever I go now people are forever bowing and scraping and mumbli
ng ‘My lord’. Unfortunately it will get ten times worse when I am king,” he added.

  “You will be on campaign then,” she said. “There will be less formality on the field.”

  “True,” he replied, agreeing.

  Aran stared hard at his riding companion, “Something’s irritating you…” he said at last, “I’ve never known you to be so quiet.”

  Alissa stopped her mare and stared ahead, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  Aran was aghast, “Whatever’s the matter now, Alissa? Of all people you can tell me!”

  Alissa stared into the bright afternoon sunlight, “Aran, you of all people I cannot tell.”

  Aran shook his head in confusion, “I don’t understand, Alissa, things seem so different between us today. Have I done something wrong? I know I was angry with you last night and I apologise deeply for any hurt…”

  “It’s not that.”

  Aran stared in bewilderment at his friend, “Please tell me. I’m to be king, perhaps I can do something.”

  Alissa turned her head to regard him with despair naked in her eyes, “It’s just that I want to come with you to the wars and I know you will refuse me this.”

  Aran was amazed, “Are you crazy woman! A battlefield is no place for…”

  “See I told you so…” she interrupted, her voice bleak.

  Aran drew his hand distractedly through his braided hair, “But why?”

  Alissa nudged her horse into a slow walk, “I don’t know, however I feel deeply that my place is there.” She stared at him, “I feel it within my power.”

  Aran sighed he knew all too well that the magepower afforded no argument, but to ride to war. He shook his head at that thought.

  “You aren't even a Guard,” he replied. “You would be killed in the first battle.”

  Alissa’s chin went up at that, “I’ve trained with the Guard all my life. You’ve not seen me fight, but I am equal to the best in their ranks.”

  Aran remembered Sentinal and the expert way she handled the weapons at the swordsmith, “Aye you may well be so,” he admitted ruefully, “But your father will have words to say. He will never agree.”