The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (5 page)

“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.”

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 guess 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.