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

  Aran lowered the sword but did not sheathe it. Nodding to Darven and Alem, and the group of warriors behind him, he watched as the Guard drew aside to open a way for him and his company to pass through.

  Several steps brought him under the gatehouse and into the Keep. Silently the great doors swung shut, and the Guard formed into ranks behind the plainsmen. Aran turned and saluted the half dozen guardsmen left behind to watch over the security of the Keep during the ceremony.

  “Let’s go,” Aran murmured to Darven.

  The three men stepped out and into the Keep, the plainsmen and Guard a phalanx at their back.

  Swiftly they walked back through the deserted yards and to the stone steps of the internal Keep. Quickly they moved through the corridors and up the stone spiral stairs, until they finally reached the massive oak doors of the throne room. Captain Taran stepped forward and rapped smartly on the doors with the pommel of his sword. Silently they swung open to reveal the throne room filled to capacity with men and women dressed in their finest and most ceremonial tunics and gowns.

  Aran glanced up and saw first the throne chairs garbed in flowers and cleansed until they shone darkly in the midday sun. On either side of the dais stood the mages, all were clad in robes of Glaive grey with the coloured mantles of their Abilities draped about their necks. Behind the mages were gathered the Councillors of Haulgard in their uniform black gowns and caps. Standing close to the dais on one side of the mages was Cody, Trevan, Alissa, and the girl who was the Council’s choice for Queen.

  Aran smiled to himself—Alissa was dressed in a gown of the darkest blue velvet, a clear statement of intent to anyone who cared to interpret it, of her determination to win the role of Queen.

  Standing directly in front of the thrones was Archmage Maran and the Priestess Delana, the two representatives of the highest authority of the province, the Goddess herself.

  ‘I am here brother,’ whispered a gentle, warm voice at his ear. ‘I have been swimming with the whales for many weeks—they too move in the waters below this place in honour of our coronation. There is much power and many voices here but I can endure this to share your glory and give you strength.’

  Aran smiled in relief and whispered a silent thanks to the spirit of his sister Sarana.

  Looking up again he saw the Archmage nod to him, and indicate that he should now move to the dais.

  Aran turned and briefly smiled at Darven and the Guard and plainswarriors who waited behind him.

  “I must go on alone,” he said quietly.

  Darven nodded and saluted, falling back into the ranks of his fellow soldiers, “Good fortune to you, my lord Prince,” he said quietly.

  Aran turned and started the slow walk to the thrones, the King’s Sword flaring brighter with magepower as each step took him closer. All about him and front of him, the people and representatives of the great southern cities and towns drew aside, creating a clear passage. Moments later he reached the throne.

  “Kneel, Prince Arantur, last of the Andurian line,” spoke Archmage Maran.

  Aran sank down upon one knee. Staring ahead at the thrones, he felt his nasal helm being unfastened and removed by gentle hands, and the mail coif unlaced and pushed back off his head and the folds of mail arranged on the back of his neck. Swiftly his gauntlets, black cloak and arming cap were removed, and his blond plaited hair was exposed and straightened.

  “People of the Province of Andur,” Archmage Maran straightened, “We present to you your Prince and heir to this throne. Do you accept him?”

  “Aye,” they shouted their acceptance.

  “Is there any in this gathering who gainsays the right of this man to ascend the Andurian throne?” Maran asked.

  As one they stared at Aran kneeling before the thrones and their gaze was captured by the brilliantly flaring magepower of the High King’s Sword. There was utter silence for no one could dispute the reality and evidence displayed by the magewrought weapon and the face of Warleader Andur so clearly stamped on the features of his young descendant.

  “The Goddess herself has chosen this man, Arantur of Leigh to be your King,” Delana stated clearly. “Is there any here who rejects the choice of the Goddess?”

  Again there was absolute and utter silence from the entire gathering.

  “Then let him be crowned in the way of the Andurian line before him,” Delana replied after a significant pause. She turned and picked up a circlet of living oak leaves from where it sat on the seat of the left hand throne. Slowly she bent and placed the oak circlet on Aran’s blond head.

  “The oak is the symbol of the Andurian line,” she said clearly and firmly, her voice carrying to the furthest extent of the throne room. “Its roots encompass the earth of the province, its trunk and crown, are the strength and security under which the people of the province will flourish and grow.” She reached down and picked up a tiny flask which had been placed at the base of the throne. Gently she unstoppered it, and poured a small drop of a heavy almost syrupy goldenly red liquid onto the top of Aran’s head.

  “This is mixed sap from the heartwood of the oak and bloodwood. This sap anoints our King and marks him as a true servant of the Goddess.”

  The Priestess recorked the flask and moved away, and Maran stepped forward. In the Archmage’s hands was a circlet made of darkened silver wrought in the manner of oak leaves and embedded within the leaves were deep blue faceted sapphires.

  “Since the living oak leaves will one day pass and die, we then crown Arantur, last of the Andurian line with this eternal metal crown. This is to show that the Andurian line is eternal and will not fade with the seasons or die away.”

  Maran bent over and placed the second, larger and heavier circlet onto Aran’s head.

  “Stand now Arantur High King of the Province of Andur, and enthroned representative of the renewed Andurian line, and ascend your throne!” he exclaimed.

  Aran stood, and waited, whilst the great Andurian seal ring was placed upon his right index finger, and the heavy dark blue velvet cloak was placed about his shoulders and fastened. He felt the gentle clasp of Maran’s hand on his shoulder, and then with resolve building, he ascended the dais, and then turned and sat down on the left hand throne, the King’s throne.

  Maran and Delana moved to stand in front of the dais, and then turned and faced him. As one they went down upon their knee and bowed. This was evidently a signal to the rest of the gathering, for every last man and woman in the throne room knelt down and bowed before him.

  “Hail Riothamus!” the plainsmen were standing and shouting, “Hail High King!”

  Most of the people present did not know the meaning of the word, but the message was clear, and soon they were too standing and shouting, “Hail Riothamus, Hail High King Arantur!”

  Aran sat back in a daze and let it all wash over him. He was now the King. There was no more soul searching. No going back. He now had a duty of care to all the people here and elsewhere in the province. He let them shout until at last they fell silent. Finally he nodded to Maran to continue the ceremony.

  The Archmage stood and signalled to the mages. Immediately one of the Earthmages stepped from their ranks, and brought to Maran a deep-sided wooden bowl made of a dark-reddish timber. Maran walked to the dais and bowing, handed Aran the bowl. Then turning around he called out, “Please come forward all those who are representatives of their towns and cities.”

  A score of people moved out of the crowd and lined up single file in front of the throne.

  One by one each man or woman came up to where he sat, and bowed deeply to Aran, before pouring into the bowl from small containers they carried, soil from each area of the province. As soon as the soil was poured, Aran took their hands in his and with a smile or a few carefully chosen words of thanks, accepted their oath of fealty. The last two to come to the dais was Archmage Maran with soil from Glaive, and Captain Taran with soil from Andur’s Keep. Both portions of soil were poured into the now full bowl and Ara
n wordlessly accepted their oaths.

  The Archmage turned and walked down the two or three steps to the bottom of the dais, before addressing the gathering yet again.

  “High King Arantur will now blend the soils together. This is to signify that by his hand he will make the province one under his care and strength.”

  Aran took the bowl, and placed it in his lap. Using both hands, he carefully mixed the soil, making absolutely certain that none fell from the lip of the bowl. When he had finished he nodded to Maran that all was ready for the last part of the ceremony.

  Maran faced the gathering yet again, “Do we have a representative from the plainspeople with their gift of the tree.”

  There was a movement at the back of the throne room, and a single tattooed warrior walked up. His heavily muscled and tanned arms gently cradled a young oak sapling protectively swathed in folds of damp leather. The warrior, who Aran recognised as Bini Stardreamer, handed the Priestess the young tree, then walked up and knelt before Aran, his hand shading his eyes in the peculiar way of the plainsmen.

  “Lord Riothamus…the plainspeople have fulfilled this ancient rite. The Oak has been delivered to the high place,” he intoned.

  Aran smiled at the young warrior, “Go Bini, warrior of the Plainspeople. Your people have met their obligation to me.”

  The young plainswarrior stood and stepped back from the dais, then turned to rejoin the ranks of plainsmen at the back of the throne room.

  Maran nodded firstly to Aran, and then to the Priestess. At last he spoke, “The final part of the ceremony must now be completed. The Oak must be planted within the confines of the Keep. Please rise and follow down to the King’s Garden.”

  Aran stood and handed the bloodwood bowl to Archmage Maran. He walked down from the dais and waited until Maran and Delana drew in behind him, and then watched as the mages, the Councillors and those he marked as his friends and companions gathered in behind the Archmage and the Priestess. When all seemed ready, he nodded and led the crowd down the length of the throne room and out the door.

  It took quite a time for the throne room to empty fully, and even longer for the great throng of people to make their way down through the many corridors and stairs of the internal Keep to the yard below. Aran waited with the others at the entrance to the ancient and disused section of the Keep and with a word from Maran, walked to the courtyard indicated by the Archmage.

  Aran soon discovered that the King’s Garden was the largest courtyard of the four in the old section of the Keep. Backing onto the West Tower, Aran remembered that the courtyard had been overgrown and ruinous, but what he was now seeing had been completely transformed almost overnight into a flowering paradise.

  “Do you like it, my lord King?” Maran stepped forward, his faced wreathed in smiles.

  “Aye, indeed I do.” Aran was amazed at the flowering profusion of roses, bulbs and perennials. Even the sadly neglected trees and shrubs had been watered, pruned and were flowering masterpieces.

  “However did you do it?” he asked.

  Maran smiled gently, “My lord King, it is amazing the transformation one small courtyard garden can take when it is lovingly tended by six Earthmages.”

  “In one day!” Aran was staggered.

  “They worked throughout the night and morning,” the Archmage explained. “Are you pleased by their efforts, my King?”

  Aran could only nod.

  “Where is the Oak to go?” he asked finally.

  Maran indicated the centre of the garden. “There is a plot prepared for it. There are stepping stones to it so as not to damage the other plants.”

  Aran glanced at the wooden bowl Maran had been carrying, and the Oak sapling held by the Priestess Delana.

  “Can I have help in doing this…or do I have to do it myself,” he asked in some consternation.

  Maran smiled gently, “You may nominate someone to help you plant it my king,” he replied.

  Aran searched out Alissa’s face in the crowd of people and gestured for her to come over.

  “King Arantur?” she said bowing. “How may I serve you?”

  Aran smiled wryly, and taking the Oak from the Priestess, handed the sapling to Alissa. “Lady Alissa, I need assistance in planting this tree,” he asked.

  Alissa smiled at that for the words were so formal.

  “I know that you are the finest gardener in the Keep,” Aran added, “Will you help me?”

  Alissa gazed up at her king and murmured for his ears alone, “Of course, Aran.”

  Aran took the bowl of soil from Maran, and with Alissa and the Priestess, stepped carefully through the garden to the large central prepared plot.

  “Take off the living crown my lord,” said Delana, “Put it at the very bottom of the prepared hole.”

  Aran removed the green oak leaf circlet and bending down, carefully put it at the base of the hole.

  “Now the Oak must be removed from its protective cladding.”

  Alissa carefully unwrapped the leather from the fragile roots.

  Aran handed the bowl to the Priestess and taking the sapling from Alissa, bent down and placed the tree carefully in the hole, standing it in the middle of the oak circlet.

  Delana bent down also and handed Aran the earth filled bloodwood bowl. Carefully he took the bowl, and poured out the mixed soil around the base of the sapling to completely fill the hole. He took a moment to firm it into place, and then straightened. Aran then dusted off his hands and gave Alissa a relieved smile, the ceremony was almost complete. The Priestess walked back through the garden and took from one of the Earthmages a large heavy silver urn.

  “The Oak has been planted within the oak circlet and its roots are now receiving the nourishment from the mixed soils of the province,” she intoned. “It now remains only for the new King Arantur to give life to the tree, in the form of this water made sacred through many days of prayer and vigil to the Goddess.” The small Priestess lifted the urn and made her way slowly back through the garden to where Aran and Alissa waited amidst the flowers. “Take it lord King,” she said, “Gently pour the water on and around the Oak sapling.”

  Aran took the urn and bending, poured the sacred water onto the sapling and soil. He waited until the water was completely absorbed, then straightened again, and handed the urn back to the Priestess.

  Delana bowed and accepted it, “My lord King you may go now. I will wait and pray over the tree. For this is the time when the Goddess is given her due and it must be a silent, solitary time. I will also pray for the tree and its acceptance of the place and mixed soils. Relocation could imperil the Oak but do not worry, I will look after it as if it were a child of my body.”

  Aran nodded and indicated to Alissa that they should leave the Priestess to her meditations. Carefully they made their way back through the garden. Passing the last of the flowers and shrubs of the King’s Garden, Aran caught Alissa’s eye and they exchanged a wry smile. Finally Aran knew that he had made the first faltering steps upon his right and proper lifepath.

  *

  Chapter 3—The Andurian Council

  “Sire, the plainsmen are here to see you.”

  Aran looked up from the sheath of papers spread about him on the high table, to see several warriors of the plains enter the great hall. All were dressed ready for riding. They walked up and swiftly bowed, “Riothamus…our presence is no longer required here. We ride directly for the plains.”

  Aran nodded, “Have you heard any news from your SpiritDreamer?”

  Bini Stardreamer shook his head, “No lord Riothamus, there has been no sign, no word…” he looked up at his King. “We wish you well in your battles against the Thakur. I personally would not hesitate to ride at your side, but I must obey the laws of my people.”

  Aran smiled, “I understand, Bini. However join us as soon as you are able.”

  The warrior bowed with his hand shading his eyes, “Aye Riothamus. The chiefs will heed your call and when we are given
leave the plainspeople will ride to war.”

  “Then we look forward to your people joining ours,” Aran replied quietly.

  The plainsman looked up and his face crumpled into a smile, “Riothamus, may your horse never stumble, may the skies favour your journey, may the grass be forever bountiful under your feet.”

  Aran smiled too, his hand lifting in farewell, “Ride a safe road Bini, may Andur shield you from all harm.”

  He watched the warriors leave and when they were gone, turned to Darven and shook his head, “I only hope Maran is right when he says they will soon see the Raven’s flight. If it does not happen we will sorely feel their lack when it comes to a battle.”

  Wolf Leader Darven put down the piece of paper detailing the inventory of the Keep’s weapons and nodded. “Sire, we will be riding out soon. If they are to join us then they must meet up with us on the road.”

  Aran picked up another of the papers showing information about the Sentinal garrison then put it down distractedly, “They know our proposed route. How soon will it take them to ride back to their leaders?”

  Darven looked across at his young king and shrugged, “In truth Sire, I know not, a week, perhaps a fortnight at the latest. They will ride with all possible speed.”

  Aran stared at the far wall and gnawed his bottom lip, “I was advised that the SpiritDreamer camped with them here. Yet he never showed his face or came to see me. Are they always so secretive?”

  Darven shrugged again, “Sire, I understand the plainspeople have many spiritdreamers amongst their clans. Perhaps the one that came here was not the SpiritDreamer, but one who holds a lesser rank. One who has no business or allowance to fraternize with other people?”

  Aran nodded contemplatively, “That may explain it. I do like Bini Stardreamer. He of all the warriors I would be glad to see again.”

  The Wolf Leader grinned, “Aye Sire, you have made a friend there. I understand that a friendship formed with a warrior is one that is regarded as sacred. Bini will consider himself your friend for life.”