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

  Alissa turned to Aran, “He would if the order came from his King.”

  Aran stared levelly at the young woman riding beside him, “Why do you think I would agree to have you come along? You may be my friend Alissa, but aside from the fact you have some skill with a sword, really a battlefield is no place for a young woman.”

  Hearing the finality of his words Alissa turned resentfully away, then suddenly she felt a wrench deep within and her gaze was dragged back to the man riding by her side. Aran glanced again at Alissa hoping that the anger and hurt had faded, but he was instead startled to see that her green eyes had suddenly and briefly flared with power. Seemingly a heartbeat later, he was enveloped by a wave of inexplicable heat that passed though his body. For a moment, a split second only, it seemed to Aran that he had briefly shared Alissa’s spirit, her essence, her magepower. Also in that moment he knew that he had no choice about the matter. Alissa had to ride to war.

  “You felt it?” Alissa was all eyes and nerves.

  Aran nodded, “What did you do?”

  Alissa shrugged nervously, “I honestly didn’t do anything. I felt a wrench then my magepower just suddenly flared up and…for a moment I was part of you.”

  “And I you,” Aran replied, gnawing his lower lip. “I don’t understand what happened or why you need to go with us, but you do have to go.” He urged Spirit into a faster walk, “Let’s catch up with the others and hurry them back to the Keep. I need to urgently talk to Captain Taran and the Archmage. I must somehow persuade them that it is imperative that you come along when we ride to war.”

  *

  “I cannot allow it!”

  Captain Taran was pacing backwards and forwards in the great hall whilst Archmage Maran and Aran looked on sympathetically.

  “I mean she’s liable to get herself killed on the first day.”

  Captain Taran stopped his pacing and spun around to face the other two men.

  “Can this be some kind of awful mistake?”

  The Archmage shook his head, “I don’t understand it either Captain, but there is no mistake. Alissa’s magepower is demanding her to come along. Obviously there are deeper issues here than just the welfare and comfort of your daughter.”

  “I’m not thinking about her comfort dammit,” he shouted, staring angrily at Alissa who was standing quietly by the narrow windows. “It’s her life I’m concerned about.”

  “Captain, she will not be fighting with the common soldiers,” Aran spoke at last. “She will ride with me. She will be under the best protection. I say this as a Warriormage and your future King.”

  Captain Taran spun around, “Lord Arantur, you do not need to put yourself out on this matter. If the girl has to come with us then she will ride with the Guard and…”

  “And the Guard will be expected to be at the vanguard of any attack,” the Archmage interrupted gently. “No, Aran is right in this matter. Alissa will ride by his side.”

  Aran shot Maran a grateful look, and knew that the discussion was ended. However much he hated the thought of taking Alissa into unnecessary danger, both he and the Archmage knew that there would be no argument afforded against the deliberations of magepower, and the workings of fate and lifepath.

  Taran sank into a chair in weary resignation, “Very well, although my heart tells me this is madness, my mind tells me a very different story.” He stared up at his only daughter who regarded her father with apprehensive eyes, “She will need to be kitted out… Alissa”

  “Yes father?” she replied quietly.

  “To the armoury, now!”

  Aran sighed as he watched father and daughter leave the great hall.

  “I wish Taran would let her alone,” he commented wryly to Maran. “Alissa is woman grown with a mind of her own. One day she will seek her own freedom without her father’s counsel or permission.”

  “And that day is not too far ahead,” glumly predicted the Archmage staring at the open door, “I would not like to be around Taran when it comes to pass.”

  Aran walked over to the narrow windows, and stared moodily out at the darkening Keep. It seemed a lifetime since that day had dawned, and now at last it was drawing to a close. Aran did not know how to be a king, but he was soon expected to be one and furthermore to lead an army to war.

  “Do you think we have a chance against them, Maran?” he asked finally, turning back to the Archmage who had moved to stand a few paces away from him.

  “Who, the Thakur?”

  “Aye…”

  Maran shrugged eloquently, “We have as good a chance as anyone in our position. I only hope that Drayden’s report is accurate. The last thing we want is to underestimate our enemy’s strength.”

  “How did Drayden find out about the Warleader?” he asked. “I mean he isn’t what you would call nondescript,” Aran added dryly.

  Maran barked a short sharp laugh, “He told me that he spent a great deal of his time perched near Thakur City, and also the remote fortress of Erie. Birds have uncanny hearing, and he heard snatches of what was discussed. He said that he did not hear the Warleader herself, but her invasion plans were openly discussed by others.”

  Aran shook his head, “He would have been terribly obvious as a sea eagle. I wonder someone didn’t take a potshot at him with a bow and arrow.”

  Maran laughed again, “I believe he took the shape of a small hawk, to be less obvious. However from what he told me he came very close to being nabbed by an over-enthusiastic Thakurian hunter.”

  Aran was quiet for a moment then met Maran’s eyes.

  “What was Andur really like? I mean I’ve seen the murals in the throne room, and Alissa tells me I am physically very like him. But is that as far as the similarity goes?”

  Maran studied the young man and smiled, “In some ways you are very like Andur. Not only physically, but as a person you are very similar to the Warleader. However, Andur was a lot more outspoken than you; his temper was like a summer storm, all noise and then sudden calm. People used to walk very quietly around him when his temper was up. Although his temper was a fault, I can honestly say he never held a grudge.”

  “I do have a temper,” Aran admitted quietly, “Although it takes a lot to really rile me.”

  Then he sighed, thinking back over past few months, “I must admit that my temper seems to be getting worse these days. Sometimes it just flares up for no apparent reason.”

  Maran stared hard at the young man opposite, “Is it a problem?”

  Aran shook his head, “No…I can keep it under control. I much prefer to avoid arguments if I can.”

  “A good practice to keep,” agreed Maran, “A king really ought not to pick too many fights; it tends to put people off-side.”

  “Talking about putting people off-side,” Aran remembered suddenly, “Darven reckons that I shouldn’t have anything more to do with my foster family. I know that they aren't the cleverest or most intelligent of people, but they have good hearts and deserve better,” Aran finished defensively.

  “I understand what Darven means,” Maran replied whilst staring narrowly at Aran. “From what Trevan has told me, your foster brother spends all his time chasing women and hanging around in taverns. Not the best sort of company or association for a young king only new to his throne.”

  “So what should I do?” Aran asked.

  Maran turned to stare out of the windows, “There is an old saying which tells us that you can’t pick your relatives. The thing is the only family that you’ve ever known are not blood relatives…” and smiling, “Your only living kin is a decrepit Archmage who should have embraced death hundreds of years ago.”

  Maran smiled sadly, “We are rendezvousing with the southern legions and the mages at Leigh. Whilst we are there, take the opportunity to visit your foster family. I am certain that as king you can afford to be generous to them. Then say your goodbyes, it is important that you must close that chapter of your life.”

  Aran nodded thoughtfully, “I g
uess so, but I will need to think on this. My foster parents were kind enough to accept me as a small child under their roof. The least I can do is to repay their kindness.”

  Maran clasped him warmly on the shoulder, “You will make the right decision Arantur. I have faith in your judgment. Now, how would you like to see your new quarters, they should be ready for you to move into.”

  Aran nodded, and followed the Archmage out of the great hall and up one of the spiral tower stairs to the next level of the internal Keep. Reaching the third level they walked past the now open doors of the throne room, and several paces further up the corridor was another set of twin oak doors on the other side of the Keep to the throne room.

  Pushing them open Maran stepped inside, Aran a shadow at his heels.

  The doors opened out into a small but comfortably furnished private hall. The windows had been unlatched to let in the salt tinged north-westerly wind, and the late afternoon sun shone down into the hall and onto the dark blue velvet of the padded window seats. The floor of the king’s hall was constructed from age darkened oak, with rich red, blue and green carpets and several animal pelts scattered along its expanse. Several ornately carved dark wooden chairs, stools and bench seats had been placed along the walls and alongside a large wooden table on which had been placed silver goblets, bowls and fat beeswax candles in bronze holders.

  In one corner of what would have been the outer wall of the Keep, was a large fireplace in which logs had been laid ready for the coming chill of the night. Aran looked upwards. Above the table was a large round wooden wheel candelabra that was studded with candles, and on all the walls were faded murals and fabric wall hangings.

  “This is very pleasant,” Aran said, approving, “I’m to live here?”

  Maran nodded, “Aye, the royal chambers are finer even than my rooms at Glaive, and they are considered magnificent.” The Archmage pointed to a door leading off the right hand wall of the hall, “That door goes into another hallway. Down that hallway are the children’s rooms,” he looked up at Aran and smiled, “There are four rooms and between the two sets of rooms there is a latrine.”

  Aran gazed at the closed door and ruefully wondered how soon he was expected to provide occupants for all those rooms.

  “The door in the left hand wall leads to your chamber and the solar,” stated Maran, heading for the door he had indicated. He turned and gestured to Aran “Come, I will show you those now.”

  Opening the door they stepped into a small dark corridor which would have been normally lit by several small lamps set in niches in the wall. Maran pushed open the first of the right hand doors.

  “This is the chamber of the king and queen of Andur.”

  Aran stepped inside and saw a large bedchamber constructed of the same dark oak timbers. Against the corner was a smaller version of the fireplace in the hall. Obviously, both fireplaces backed onto one another sharing the same flue and stack. There were also two narrow windows, with panes of stained glass which had been recently opened to admit the cool evening breezes. Richly coloured thick woven rugs were scattered on the floor, and the room was occupied by a large canopied bed. The bedding seemed to consist of linen sheets and pillowcases with a heavy dark blue velvet counterpane on top of fine woollen blankets of the same colour. The canopy of the bed was made of the same dark blue, almost black velvet with the oak tree symbol picked out in several places. The rest of the furniture of the room consisted of several wooden chests and trunks, a couple of heavily carved wooden chairs and stools, and a small table on which had been placed the entire contents of Aran’s saddlebags. In one corner of the room stood an upright wooden cross with Aran’s armour already placed upon it. The remainder of his armour seemed to have been stored in the small wooden chest at the foot of the cross. In the other corner stood a large ornately decorated brass and wooden bath, beside it was a small table with a silver jug and washing bowl. On the walls were more of the murals and hangings, and a smaller version of the wheel candelabra hung from the ceiling.

  Aran shook his head in wary amazement. The richness, and dark magnificence of the royal rooms seemed to bring home to him how very far he had risen in the world. In his wildest dreams he never thought that he would ever see such wonderful rooms, let alone live in them.

  “Next to this chamber is the latrine,” Maran blithely told him, “And the last chamber is the Solar.”

  “What’s a Solar?” asked Aran.

  Maran smiled, “It is a bright and sunny room where the Queen and her ladies like to sit to sew and gossip. That room was much favoured by my mother as I recall. It’s still to be dusted and cleaned, so we won’t inspect it until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I’m finding it hard to believe that I will live here…” Aran admitted quietly as he stared about him. He sank down on one of the carved stools and shook his head in bemusement, “I just can’t believe it.”

  Suddenly there was a low knock on the door to the royal rooms. At the sound Aran started up but Maran held out his hand, indicating that he would see who required entrance.

  For a moment Aran was left alone then the Archmage put his head around the corner and smiled at Aran.

  “Prince Arantur, meet your household staff.”

  Nervously he sidled into the hall, all the while wondering how he was going to deal with staff of his own. Maran indicated three men and two women dressed in sober blue tunics and gowns. As soon as they saw him they knelt, bowing their heads in supplication.

  “My Lord Prince Arantur,” said the Archmage formally, “May I present to you your household staff.”

  Brushing a hand nervously through his hair, Aran stepped forward and smiled guardedly at the five kneeling people.

  “Get up…” he said, his nervousness coming out as slight abruptness. “You are my freeborn staff—not servants or slaves.”

  He watched as they self-consciously stood.

  Aran turned to the Archmage and frowned, “Surely they have names. Can you introduce them to me?”

  Maran nodded and indicated the first man, a tall clean shaven man with long dark grey hair.

  “This is Master Sular—he is your Marshall. His duties are to organise any journeys, make certain the Keep is defensible and to coordinate any repair work or renovations. He also liaises with the Captain of the Andurian Guard about the castle’s defenses.”

  Sular bowed to Aran.

  Aran nodded then remembering his conversation with Darven quickly asked, “Sular, I would like you and Captain Taran to talk to the Earthmages to see about checking that the Keep’s defenses are able to withstand a protracted siege or battlement.” He saw the older man frown slightly and hastened to explain, “If the war comes this far east, then the Keep may end up being one of our last defenses. We need it strong!”

  Sular nodded whilst stepping away—his eyes already considering defenses and bricks and mortar.

  “The next member of your staff is Mistress Aliane, she is your Steward,” said Maran dryly. “Her job is to make certain the Keep is fully provisioned, and to organise the food and entertainment for feasts, and to make certain that the wells and latrines are kept clean and clear.” A stout, dark headed woman stepped up and bowed.

  Aran also smiled and nodded to her.

  Maran indicated a short fat man with head of red and grey curls.

  “This is Munroe; he is your Treasury Clerk. His job is to keep a close account of the royal treasury, collect moneys owing and pay staff wages.” Munroe stepped forward and bowed deeply.

  Aran nodded and smiled.

  “This is Mistress Thaley,” Maran said introducing a blond haired woman in her late thirties

  “Her job is to make certain meals are brought to the royal rooms, that all these chambers are kept clean and aired, and to provide, mend and clean the garments of the Andurian line.” Aran, who had no talent with needle and thread gave the woman a relieved smile and nodded.

  Maran indicated the final man, a blond haired and bearded man in his
early forties. “This is Alem, he is your Clerk. His duties are to provide you with books, to write any letters for you, and keep written accounts of all meetings and moots. Additionally he is your Bondsman. This entails helping you dress, arm, bathe and generally be your right-hand man.”

  Aran’s eyebrows lifted at the idea of needing help to dress or bathe, but recognising custom and tradition, said nothing except smile and nod at the other man. “Dinner will be brought up to you directly, my lord,” Thaley stated bowing, “If you will excuse me I will see about the arrangements.”

  Aran nodded, and then quickly asked, “Thaley, while you are doing that could you ask Alissa and Darven to join me here in the king’s hall after dinner.”

  She smiled gently, and hurried from the room.

  “We will leave you also my lord,” Alem stated. ”I will return at eight bells to prepare your wash water and bed.”

  Aran nodded his understanding and watched silently as they left and closed the door behind them. Aran turned and shook his head in astonishment, “This is going to take some getting used to!”

  Maran smiled, “It is a benefit of being King. However it is worth your while getting involved in the daily running of the Keep. My father Andur was always investigating every aspect of Keep life. It helps keep the staff on their toes and I think they will appreciate your interest in their work.”

  Aran grinned, “Especially the finances. I am not certain if I want just one man in charge of the monies. My sums may be atrocious but I have learnt enough from Master Cody to know how to manage a successful business.”

  Maran nodded in agreement, “I believe Master Cody’s lessons will come in handy for the new King of Andur.” He stared at the unlit fire, “Now whilst we have a few minutes alone I think we should resume your interrupted lessons involving the uses of the magepower. Lesson number one will be lighting an unlit fire using an application of magepower…”

  *

  “Do you understand me?”

  Aran nodded, and held out his hand to the logs in the fireplace. It all seemed so simple, just an extension of his will but this was the third time he had attempted to light the fire without success.