The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Page 8

  Cody nodded in agreement.

  Archmage Maran put a hand on Aran’s shoulder, “There are many more here who would speak with you Arantur. Will you receive them here, or shall I ask them to see you later in the great hall?”

  Aran gazed about, and for the first time noticed a great crowd surrounded him, all who were staring curiously at him.

  Aran nodded, “I will meet them now. I do not wish to seem aloof or unapproachable.”

  Maran smiled, “Very well.”

  *

  Later in the great hall, Aran was sitting around the high table with Darven, the Archmage and Captain Taran.

  “What are the arrangements for tomorrow?” Aran asked, once he was brought up to date on the details of the ongoing mobilisation of the southern Legions.

  Maran leant back in his seat and cleared his throat, “The crowning will happen at midday. Everyone will gather in the throne room whilst you wait outside the Keep with the plainsmen, Darven and your bondsman. The Keep will be initially closed to you, but the Guard will ceremoniously draw aside when you show them the proof of your ancestry by holding aloft the King’s Sword.”

  Aran stared curiously at Maran, “Is this traditional, the waiting outside.”

  The Archmage nodded, “Aye…since the making of the King’s Sword. The purpose of this part of the ceremony is to demonstrate that only a true heir of the Andurian line has the right to enter the Keep, and be crowned.” Maran fell silent for a moment, obviously remembering his own coronation. “After you are granted access to the Keep, Darven, your bondsman and the plainsmen will fall in behind you along with those of the Guard that are not actually on duty at the gatehouse. You will then lead them to the internal Keep and upstairs to the throne room. When you reach the throne room the doors will be opened to you and you will walk up alone to the throne chairs.”

  Aran nodded, committing it to memory, “Then what?”

  “There will be some symbolic words and actions by myself and Delana the priestess then you will be crowned.” Maran said.

  “Then I am King?”

  The Archmage nodded, “After that you will sit down on the left hand throne…it will be the one draped in the dark blue king’s mantle. All the delegates will come up to you individually and offer you their fealty, and they will additionally present to you a clod of earth from each city. This is to represent your authority over the province. All the clods of earth will be placed into a special dish made from the bloodwood tree. You will ceremoniously mix all the earth together to represent all parts of the province being as one. After that, you will lead everyone from the throne room down to one of the courtyards of the old section of the Keep. Into a specially prepared plot the earth from the bowl will be placed, and with it will be planted an oak sapling which I understand has been brought to you by the latest delegation of plainsmen. This is to represent the renewed Andurian line growing again in Andur’s Keep, and sustained by the province. The young tree will be sprinkled with water made sacred by the Priestess. It is also her job to ensure the care and maintenance of the young tree.”

  Aran nodded again, “All this is traditional?” he asked.

  Maran smiled and inclined his head, “It has been many generations since an oak grew in the king’s garden. The last one was ritually felled when the Andurian line was assassinated. Its wood provided the pyre for the bodies of King Alexi and his family.”

  Aran got up and paced the floor of the great hall, “How can you be sure that the same fate won’t fall upon my family? I am sure there must be Thakurian spies at work in the province. It is certain that they must be already riding back to their borders with news of the renewed Andurian line,” he added.

  Maran nodded, “That is highly likely. They would be remiss if they haven’t established an espionage network.”

  Captain Taran grated, “There is no way that a Thakur assassin will reach you my lord. To do so they would have to fight their way through the entire ranks of the Guard.”

  “Then they will have to reckon with the mages,” added Maran with a frown. “What happened to King Alexi and his family was an aberration. Our defences will never be so lax again.”

  Aran turned away, “Be certain of it…the province cannot afford to again lose the Andurian line. Especially now with the Thakur threatening our borders.”

  Walking over to the windows of the great hall Aran eyed the darkening sky, “It’s getting late and I am holding you all from your dinner,” he said.

  Darven stood, “It is the night before your coronation my lord. Would you like me to wait up with you?”

  Aran shook his head, “No,” he smiled at his friend, “But thank you…it will be a busy day tomorrow and I will not be long for bed.”

  Maran joined Aran by the windows, “If the rest of you would like to leave…I have some last minute instructions for Arantur.”

  Darven and Captain Taran nodded and the Archmage silently watched them leave the room.

  Aran turned to the old man, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  Maran shook his head, “No, however I’ve had word from Healermage Anesta that Alissa is a maiden, so the mages are fully supportive of her as your choice for Queen.”

  Aran nodded and stared out of the window, “Good, so when do I take on the Council?”

  Maran turned and his eyes roved across the ancient wall hangings, “As soon as you are King. Although I warn you that it will be a messy fight, they seem hell-bent on their own choice.”

  “Can I take them on before I ride to war?” Aran asked.

  Maran nodded, “I would advise so, especially since there is a minimum six month engagement before you two can wed.”

  Aran turned in some surprise, “Why so long?”

  Maran shrugged, “It’s always been that way, even before Andur.”

  Aran laughed and the worry lines smoothed away from his face, “Then my old friend I won’t be the one to upset centuries of tradition.” He grinned again “Is there anything else?”

  Maran nodded, “I’ve spoken to the horsetribes again. You saw that more of them have arrived?”

  “Aye,” Aran turned back to the Archmage, “Has there been any change?”

  “They received our delegation enroute from the Keep. The ones that arrived today came straight from the meeting.”

  “Good,” Aran smiled wryly, “At least we know our group reached them. Have they received any new omens from their SpiritDreamer?”

  The Archmage shook his head, “However, there are almost a dozen now camped outside our walls. I have not ventured into their camp but I understand that a SpiritDreamer is in their midst.”

  Aran’s eyebrows shot up, “Really? You surprise me Maran, I wonder why he hasn’t come and made himself known to us…to you especially?”

  The Archmage shrugged expressively, “They are an odd people. Although they are strong in the magepower few mages come out of their number and the ones that have, have been almost exclusively Earthmages.” Maran added with a smile, “That might explain why Alissa has a latent Earthmage Ability.”

  Aran looked up in surprise from the wall hanging he was studying, “Why, in what way?”

  Maran stared at the young man, “I thought you would have guessed. Alissa’s mother was a plainswoman.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true,” Maran replied “It’s not general knowledge, but quite a few plainswomen find husbands outside their own people. Andur’s Keep is close enough to the plains for a woman from the tribes to feel happy about settling here.”

  “I had no idea.” Aran pursed his lips, “I wonder why Alissa never told me?”

  Maran shrugged, “The plainsmen are a rather strange lot. I assume she did not want you to think she had inherited any of their tendencies.”

  “She can be moody,” Aran mused thoughtfully. “However I rather like the quicksilver nature of her character. She keeps me on my toes.”

  “And I’ve seen clear evidence of the steel and strength in her
,” Maran added remembering back. “She will make you a fine Queen—that is if you can talk the Council around to your way of thinking.”

  “Aye,” Aran chewed his thumbnail reflectively. “I will be interested to see their reaction. I may be a quiet man however if I feel strongly about something I will go after it!” He looked up at the Archmage, “No group of self-important merchants and nobles will stop me.”

  Maran glanced at the evening sky, “I ought to get going. There are many more things to be organised before tomorrow’s dawn.”

  Aran inclined his head, “Until tomorrow Archmage Maran.”

  “Until tomorrow my lord Prince,” the Archmage replied bowing.

  *

  Despite the prospect of the morrow, Aran slept well, indeed sleeping in until almost mid-morning since his usual custom was to rise with the dawn. Lying in bed, he stretched and yawned. Waking fully, he roused himself and got up to see the prospect of the day. Unlatching the stained glass pane, he stared out at a brilliant blue sky with a cold westerly blowing in across the distant plains. Behind him, he heard a noise, and turned to see Alem come into the bed chamber with a bowl of lightly scented warm water.

  “I thought I heard you rouse my lord,” he said laying out the bowl and drying cloth on the wooden table, “You’ve a full day ahead of you so I thought it best to let you sleep in and get plenty of rest.”

  “Thanks Alem,” Aran replied, “I must have needed the extra sleep.”

  Quickly Aran washed and dressed in clean undergarments, and a plain, dark blue wool hosen and tunic that had been laid out for him.

  “I wear my armour today,” Aran informed his bondsman

  Alem nodded, “It has been already removed to the camp of the plainsmen. They have erected a tent in which you will armour-up.”

  “Good, how about breakfast? I’m starved.” Aran asked.

  Alem glanced at the door, “I sent Thaley to arrange some food for you…she shouldn’t be long.”

  There was a step at the door and Darven poked his head in, “Good you’re awake. Have you seen outside? It’s a beautiful day to crown a King!”

  Aran nodded, “How are the preparations going?”

  Darven came in and sat on the bed, “Well, the throne room is awash with colour. All the hangings and banners have been cleaned and rehung. Alissa has raided all the Keep gardens and there are flowers in every nook and cranny, so much so that the entire Keep smells like a flower garden. Archmage Maran and the Captain have been keeping everyone rushing around since sun-up getting everything organised.”

  The Wolf Leader grinned, “You are the only person in the Keep who has been allowed the luxury of a sleep-in.”

  There was another step at the door, “Breakfast,” a voice called out.

  Alem quickly went around the doorframe and came back with a large tray laden with food.

  Aran grinned at Darven, “Let’s share, the kitchen always give me too much to eat.”

  Darven nodded, “Aye…I’ve been going since before dawn and I haven’t broken my fast yet.”

  *

  Darven glanced at the sun outside, “Are you ready to go and get armoured up. It is almost an hour before midday.”

  Aran nodded, pulling on his boots and buckled the Kings sword about his waist, then finally throwing his heavy black wool cloak over his shoulders he glanced at Darven and nodded, “Let’s go.”

  Alem collected a few items from the bed-chamber, and then the three men quickly made their way down through the corridors and stairs of the internal Keep.

  Aran looked around for the Keep seemed deserted.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked.

  Darven laughed “In their quarters. Tradition states that all must remain there until it is time for everyone to gather in the throne room.”

  Aran shook his head in bewilderment, “Another custom?”

  The Wolf Leader smiled and nodded, “Aye, the heir must not be seen to be in the Keep until the time of crowning. Even the Guard will stay within barracks, and the ones that are on duty at the gatehouse will close or avert their eyes as we pass. So don’t try and acknowledge them, they will ignore your presence.”

  Aran grinned, “Thanks for telling me.”

  *

  It was uncanny walking through the silent Keep. Even the buzz of background noise, which was always evident during the daylight hours, had stilled. For once even the gulls had ceased their endless calling and fighting on the high cliffs of the Havart Plateau, and a heavy silence had fallen over everything and everyone. Quickly and quietly, the three walked past the silent soldiers at the gatehouse, each armoured guardsman seen to have eyes tightly closed.

  Outside the Keep, the wind blew cold and strong and the tents of the plainsmen quivered with each blast.

  “Autumn’s here…” Aran commented to the others.

  “Aye,” Darven agreed, “It’s going to mean a difficult campaign on the border. I predict that we’ll be doing a hell of a lot of heavy fighting in the snow.”

  Aran pulled his cloak closer about him, “Great…”

  *

  The three men at last reached the camp of the plainsmen and were greeted by several of the warriors who had come out of the nearest tents. Aran recognised Bini Stardreamer and his two companions amongst the others who had hurried up to the three men from the Keep.

  “Fine day lord,” Bini said cheerily.

  Aran stared in amazement at the plainsmen. They were dressed only in dyed and decorated leather trousers and boots. On their bare chests they wore no garments, but displayed on their bare skin were elaborate tattooed designs in shades of blue and black dye.

  “Aye plainsman,” Aran said eyeing off the peculiar garb of the warrior, “Shouldn’t you be dressed warmer. You’ll catch your death out here.”

  The warrior laughed merrily “We do not fear the cold, lord. This is our ceremonial dress.”

  Aran stared at the designs, “What do they mean Bini?”

  The golden-haired warrior glanced down at his own chest, “They are sacred symbols. Patterns passed down from our ancestors and each design is a little different. They are engraved upon our flesh during the passage to manhood, through long and personal initiation rites.”

  Aran grimaced as he stared at the tattoos, “It sounds painful.”

  The warrior’s head dipped marginally, “It can be,” he agreed wryly.

  Aran and his two companions were then shown into one of the larger conical leather tents. Most of the tents were too small to stand in, but the one allocated to Aran was tall and framed with bone, wood and sinew. Inside, and on the ground they saw a small fire banked in a hearth made of blackened stones. The thick leather of the tent effectively captured the warmth radiated by the coals keeping the inside of the tent warm and comfortable. Aran looked up and noticed two small holes that allowed the smoke to escape and the fresh air to gain entry. Looking around Aran noticed his armour lay ready on some horse and wolf pelts.

  “It’s getting close to midday,” he said, “I should get armoured.”

  Darven nodded, and he and Alem quickly and efficiently began to dress Aran in his chainmail and plate armour.

  “Will I wear the nasal helm?” Aran asked, as they slipped the chainmail coif over his head and secured it with the leather thongs across his exposed neck and chin.

  “Aye, the Archmage will remove it and the rest of your head armour prior to crowning,” Darven replied, “It is traditional that the heir comes to the crowning fully armed.”

  “It is not a simple thing this crowning,” Aran observed, “There seems to be much tradition and custom associated with it.”

  “Aye,” Darven agreed, “The Archmage must have done much research and reading to discover the proper ceremonies and traditions. It being so many generations since we last crowned a king.”

  Aran fell silent, it was clear that Darven did not know that Maran also shared the Andurian lineage and once was a crowned king.

  The tent flap moved
and Bini thrust his head in, “Hail Riothamus! The horns are blowing from the Keep.”

  Aran looked up, “Riothamus?”

  Darven made a final adjustment to the buckles of the helmet and straightened, “It’s the plainspeople’s word for high king.”

  “Clan Chief over all clan chiefs,” Bini added qualifying the explanation, whilst lifting the tent flap so Aran and the others could move outside the tent.

  Aran stepped out into the cold, windy day and heard clearly the horns blowing from Andur’s Keep.

  “That is our signal, lord,” Darven said, “They are ready for us.”

  Aran nodded and waited, whilst Alem quickly fastened the heavy wool cloak about his mailed shoulders.

  The dozen or so tattooed warriors of the horsetribes came up to Aran one by one. Each golden-haired warrior murmured “Hail Riothamus,” whilst bending his head, and hiding his eyes with his palm in some obscure genuflection. Aran waited until the last of the warriors had formed behind him, and then with a nod to Darven started the long walk back to the Keep.

  As they neared the stone walls, Aran could see the ranks of Guardsmen lined up, barring entry into the Keep. Captain Taran and Bear Leader Caldor stood at the very front of the heavily armed men, unsheathed swords in their hands.

  “Who comes seeking entrance to Seawatch Keep?” Taran shouted against the screaming gulls.

  Alem walked forward, “I Alem, Steward and Bondsman bring Arantur of Leigh, last of the Andurian line, lord and Prince of this Keep and heir to the Andurian throne.”

  “Who speaks for him?” Taran asked.

  Darven walked up to stand beside Alem, “I, Darven of Eastling…Wolf Leader of the Andurian Guard speaks for him.”

  “Can you Arantur of Leigh show us proof that you are of the Andurian line, that you should be given entrance to this seat of kings?”

  Aran walked up to stand between the two men. Slowly, and without fuss, he unsheathed the King’s Sword and held it up. In the midday sun, it flared suddenly with its own cold radiance.

  “We see proof,” Taran replied, eyeing the brightly blazing weapon. “Enter then Seawatch Keep and claim your inheritance Arantur of Leigh and last of the Andurian line.”