The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (3 page)

Aran walked
over and stood beside the mural of Andur, he looked up at the image
for a moment then turned and faced Alissa.

“Stand
straight. I want the sun to fall upon your face,” she
instructed.

Aran did as
she asked whilst nervously gnawing his lower lip as he waited for
her appraisal.

“Oh aye, you
are his very image,” Alissa replied after a long moment had passed,
“There is no doubt that you are of his blood. Even a child could
see the resemblance.”

Aran walked
back and stared with new eyes at the image of the man. Then his
eyes moved to the next image, a dark haired man with grey eyes that
seemed to be lost in dreams.

“High King
Maran,” Alissa said.

“Archmage
Maran,” Aran amended, “Andur’s son still walks this land.”

Alissa shot
him a look filled with amazement, “You joke! You would have me
believe that Archmage Maran is one and the same person as yon
ancient High King?”

Aran nodded,
“He has told me so and I see no reason for him to lie.”

Alissa’s jaw
dropped, “I always thought he was named for the memory of the King.
Why did he not claim the sword and kingship as his own?”

Aran stared at
the image of a much younger Maran.

“It would not
recognise him,” he explained. “After he abdicated in order to go to
Glaive, the sword would no longer recognise his right to wear the
crown. I guess that at the time it did not seem to be a problem. He
thought the Andurian line would always remain.”

Alissa also
stared at the image, “I can see a little of the Archmage in this
man. The eyes are grey like yours and Andur; and there is also
something in the face, a look they both share…but there is great
age separating the Archmage and his likeness.”

She turned
finally to Aran, “How could this wonder be achieved? Is Archmage
Maran immortal?”

Aran shrugged,
“I understand that the highest ranked mages can almost indefinitely
extend their lives. It is something to do with their uses of the
magepower.”

Alissa shook
her head in amazement, “I wonder why this isn’t public
knowledge?”

Aran stared at
the image of his ancestor and Andur’s son, “I don’t know. I told
you because I trust you…I think that Maran would not want any more
to know of it.”

Alissa nodded
reflectively, “Then he must have sound reasons for his silence. I
thank you for your trust, I will say nothing.”

Aran smiled,
“Good, now as to these others, I guess they are the other High
Kings and Queens of Andur?”

“Aye....Trenor, Alicia, Aurac, and Alexi who was the last crowned
king,” Alissa stated.

Aran stared at
the images. All were either blond or dark haired and every one of
them seemed to have the grey eyes that marked the descendants of
Andur.

“I am glad
that the throne room was locked,” Aran stated finally, “Else my
resemblance would have been noted and commented on weeks ago.”

“So you
believe now that you are of the Andurian line?” Alissa asked.

Aran stared at
the row of ancestral images on the wall. “How can I not!” he
exclaimed. “The moment I arrive here at the Keep I feel an
unexplainable connection with the place. Then I am recognised as a
Warriormage, the last of that breed in the province. I am told that
the Warriormage Ability runs in families, and Andur was a latent
Warriormage. Then I am told that I am of the Andurian lineage and
in proof of that fact the High King’s Sword recognises my blood,
ancestry and right as living first-born to sit upon that throne.
Finally I stand before the image of my exulted ancestor and it
seems I am the very image of him.”

Aran turned to
face Alissa, “Even though I am Arantur of Leigh…apprentice
blacksmith and lately recruited to the Guard. I realise also that I
must be Arantur, last of the Andurian line and heir apparent to the
Province of Andur. In the face of all this evidence I would be a
fool to believe otherwise.”

Alissa nodded
seemingly content, “You are no fool Aran.”

Aran stared at
her, “So how is it you are not surprised or overawed by this sudden
elevation of mine? I mean I am still reeling…this whole morning has
left me dazed.”

Alissa said
nothing, only gesturing that he should join her on the step. They
both sat down on the dais platform.

“Because you
are my friend,” she replied at last, “And I have always believed
you to be special. This is only proof to me of what I always
believed about you.”

“You thought I
was of Andur’s line?” Aran asked amazed, not quite
understanding.

Alissa smiled
and shook her head, “No…although from the very beginning you did
have an uncanny familiarity, a resemblance I could never quite put
my finger on.” She smiled, “You must remember that the Keep has
been my home all my life. I’ve been in and out of the throne room
dozens of times. As a child, Andur’s face was well known to me.
Then years later Sen went mad and the room was locked up. That is
why I did not immediately see the resemblance.”

“But you
believed me to be special.” Aran persisted, “In what way?”

Alissa
shrugged, “It’s hard to explain. Only that you seem to have a
charismatic presence about you…“

She frowned,
struggling to find the words, “As soon as you lifted that sword I
knew
you were to be the king. It was as certain and as clear
a fact as the sun in the sky.” She looked across at him and felt
again that distinct impression of strength and incorruptibility
that seemed to emanate from the young man by her side, “There is no
doubt of it Aran…you
are
Andur’s heir and our next ruling
King.”

“And one that
has to go to war,” Aran remembered bleakly.

He looked
across her, “Do you believe that there is no other course of
action. Why can’t we resolve this matter peacefully?”

She shook her
head sadly, “No, if what the Mages say is true—and why should they
lie, then we have no other course of action. We cannot be gentle
with the Thakur, remember who they descend from and the atrocities
they performed upon our people.”

“Aye, the
Serat,” Aran remembered, “We cannot allow the province to be
enslaved again. I guess we have no other choice, although I would
rather be remembered for being an honourable king, than one who
killed a woman.”

“A woman who
is no woman,” Alissa firmly reminded him, “One who is a Warleader
and who meddles with and corrupts her Goddess-given Ability.”

“Aye,” Aran
quietly agreed, “I must not lose sight of that. She would destroy
us before she is destroyed.” He stood up and eyed the left-hand
throne consideringly, “Then I am resolved upon this Alissa. The
Province needs a king and it seems certain that I am the only man
for the job.”

“So how will
you deal with the Thakur Warleader?” Alissa asked staring up at
him.

“She and her
armies are a threat to the peace of the province, we must go to
war!” Aran grated his resolve building. “Let us return to the great
hall. There is much work to be done.”

Aran strode
back down from the throne room, down the flight of stairs and into
the great hall. Alissa followed, close upon his heels. Those that
gathered at the high table stood at his entrance, chairs clattering
back in their haste to stand.

“Lords,” Aran
stated as soon as he was near enough to be heard properly, “I am
resolved upon our present course. Please outline to me what is to
be done next.”

Maran nodded,
his eyes showing surprise and quiet pleasure at Aran’s change of
heart.

“Prince
Arantur,” he said immediately, “We cannot yet rush off to the
border. We have an army to assemble and a king to crown. All of
these matters take time and luckily, for the moment we have a space
of two to three weeks to achieve this.”

Aran sat back
down in the chair he had vacated and indicated that the others
should sit as well.

“So what
happens next?” he asked, “Instruct me and I shall fulfil my
obligations.”

Maran and
Taran exchanged startled looks, and nodded to each other.

Captain Taran
stood, “Prince Arantur, by the end of this hour I shall send off
several mounted Guardsmen to all the major cities and towns of this
province alerting their Legion garrisons to prepare for
mobilisation, and to alert all to the news of the renewal of the
Andurian line. After the crowning we will rendezvous with the
southern Legions at Leigh.”

“How soon the
crowning, Captain Taran?” asked Aran.

“Not more than
a fortnight away, Prince Arantur” he replied. “It will take that
long for our messengers to get word to the southern cities and
return with any who are required.”

Aran sighed,
feeling more than a little relieved. He had felt certain they had
meant to crown him that very day.

“How will the
mages be alerted?” Aran asked.

Drayden stood,
“My Lord I will fly to Glaive to let them know. The High Circle was
already in expectation of this event. It will not take long for the
mages to sail to Haulgard Port where they too will rendezvous at
Leigh.”

Aran stared at
the High Earthmage, “What need have we of mages in the upcoming
battle?”

Drayden gazed
back his golden eyes unwavering, “Great need my Lord. Glaive is
already in accord that our aid is necessary in the fighting of this
war. You will soon see how the mages of Glaive can assist in the
defence of our land.”

Aran’s eyes
swung around to meet the grey ones of Maran. The Archmage nodded in
agreement.

Aran turned
back to Drayden, “Then I will give you leave to return to Glaive,
Mage Drayden.”

“Where do my
duties lie now, Archmage?” Aran asked finally of Maran when the
High Earthmage had left the room to prepare for his journey
south.

Maran stared
back at the young man, wondering what in Andur’s name Alissa had
said to effect this transformation.

“For a while
there will be little difference Prince Arantur,” he replied after a
moment or two. “You will be immediately reassigned quarters within
the royal rooms here in the central Keep. Also you will of course
continue training with the Guard until you feel that your skills
are equal to the task ahead.” He stared into Aran’s grey eyes which
were a mirror of his own, “I will personally instruct you in
harnessing your magepower; for I see that in weaponscraft you are
now advanced enough that you will benefit from my training.”

“What of
Trevan?” Aran asked, thinking of his absent tutor.

Maran stared
out at the hall, “Trevan will soon be arriving from the northern
villages and towns. His new duty will lie as personal Healermage to
the King—just as Drayden will take on new duties as personal
Earthmage and one from the ranks of the Weathermages selected as
your personal Weathermage. This was a custom that was practiced
during the times of the Archaic High Kings,” Maran explained. “It
was never thought to reinstate this practice during the Andurian
line—however since the unforeseen attack upon Alexi and his family
I believe that it would be of great benefit to have resident mages
at the Keep.”

“What of the
Council, Lords?” came a quiet voice and an elderly black robed
Councillor stood up.

“We have been
silent and acquiescent during all these proceedings,” the
Councillor stated, “What then is the future of the Council at
Haulgard?”

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. “