The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (15 page)

“I did Captain
Taran. Please take a seat, this will not take long I hope.”

Captain Taran
frowned in puzzlement, but said nothing.

Aran waited
until all were seated, then smiled genially at Alissa’s father.

“Captain
Taran. I wish to ask a great favour of you.”

The Captain of
the Guards shot to his feet, “Lord King…my life is yours! Ask and I
will obey.”

Aran laughed,
“Please man, sit down. This is not some onerous task I am to place
upon you.” Aran smiled again, “Captain Taran I am asking you
formally for the hand of your daughter Alissa in marriage.”

The Captain
sank back bonelessly into the chair, seemingly all breath punched
out of him.

“Alissa,” he
breathed, forgetting all formality.

“Aye, if it
pleases you?”

Suddenly the
Captain remembered to breathe again, “By Andur Sire! You want my
little girl?”

Aran nodded,
“Just so, do you have any objections?”

The Captain
shook his head and Aran visibly saw him take himself in hand, “My
lord I am overwhelmed. I knew that you two were good friends, but I
never suspected that a stronger attachment…” He looked across at
the Archmage and the Councillor, “There are no objections from
Glaive or the Council?” he asked wonderingly.

The two other
men shook their heads and the Archmage smiled, “For the past hour
we have all met in deep conference. At the end of much discussion
the Council voted in favour of Alissa. Likewise there are no
objections from Glaive…upon your consent the betrothal will take
place tomorrow night and the marriage will be for six months
time.”

Aran caught
Alissa’s sudden smile and he grinned back happily at her.

The Captain
was shaking his head in wonderment, then recollecting where he was
stood up and faced his king.

“Sire, I am
beyond words. You do my house great honour. I accept and give to
you my cherished daughter Alissa…there is not a finer woman in the
Province.” Aran stood and walked up to the shaken soldier.
Wordlessly they clasped hands to seal the agreement, for the moment
equals in happiness. Aran turned finally to Alissa and said gently,
“Alissa, daughter of Taran. Will you take me, Arantur of the house
of Andur, High King of the Province of Andur, to be my love, my
wife, my consort and Queen?”

Alissa bowed
deeply, “I accept your proposal Sire. I wish no other man to be my
mate and husband. There is no greater desire in my heart and
soul.”

Aran smiled
gently and returned to his chair, “then it is settled. We will all
meet back at the throne room this time tomorrow night to formalise
the betrothal.”

The Archmage
stood, “For a royal betrothal there must be many witnesses. I will
bring six mages and the priestess.”

Tuuvam stood
also, “I will bring six additional Councillors.”

Taran was
still shaking his head in amazement; suddenly he looked up “I will
ask the two company leaders to be my witnesses.”

Archmage Maran
turned to Alissa and Aran, “What about you two? You will both need
a witness or witnesses.”

Alissa’s mouth
quirked, “I shall ask Kiaia for she is like a sister to me.”

Aran laughed
happily, “Of course I will ask Cody and Trevan…”

Maran nodded
to Aran and Alissa, “You will each need to have someone represent
you to vouch for your worth and sincerity.”

Alissa turned
to her father and Aran saw her whisper, “Will you father?”

The Captain
smiled deeply and nodded.

Maran’s gaze
rested on the young king, “Who will be your mentor Arantur?”

Aran sighed,
there were so many he felt should have that honour but at the last
he knew that he could choose only one man.

“Master Cody,”
he stated finally. “He is greatly responsible for my character and
attitudes. It has been his skillful forging and shaping that has
produced the King you now see before you.”

“I agree,” the
Archmage replied, “He would have been my first choice as well.” He
gazed at Aran and saw the young man stifle a yawn, “It grows late
my liege…” he added.

Aran nodded
tiredly, totally failing to stifle yet another jaw breaking yawn,
“I believe we are finished here now?” he asked.

Maran inclined
his head.

Drawing a
weary hand through his hair, Aran pushed himself to his feet and
placed his chair back in its customary position near the fire. The
others rose to their feet too and with bows and smiles, exited the
room leaving Alissa alone with Aran.

“So it is
done,” she said at last, “Was it difficult?”

He smiled
tiredly, “It went better than I thought it would. The majority of
the Councillors were reasonable about the whole thing.” Aran
contemplated the fire, “Perhaps I have wronged them all this time.
They were surprisingly gracious and noble in their defeat.”

Alissa’s
eyebrow quirked upwards, “You obviously caught them on one of their
better days. I understand there have been some fiercesome rows in
the past between themselves and father.” She laughed gently,
“Captain Taran is as stubborn as they come but to them Aran, he
must seem as soft as buttermilk compared to you.”

Aran frowned,
“I am considered hard? I have always thought of myself as a mild
man.”

Alissa walked
around and gently pushing Aran back down on the seat, and
skillfully began to knead the knotted muscles in his neck and
shoulders.

“Hard, no…”
she replied, “Implacable, yes, and fierce with it too. All I know
go in awe of you.”

Aran turned
his face pressing his cheek into her hand. “Do you too go in awe of
me?” he asked gently.

Alissa smiled,
“No…you are my friend. Besides I love you too much for that,” she
added.

Aran looked up
and met her steady green eyes, “So Alissa, soon to be wife and
Queen, have you any regrets?”

Aran saw her
eyes go distant, then she looked down and smiled at him, “No, but
it will take a bit of getting used to. You see I’ve never been a
wife or Queen before.”

“Believe me
Alissa, being king takes a lot of getting used to,” he
chuckled.

Then he stood
and gently took her into his arms, pressing his lips chastely upon
her brow, “Then I will embrace you this once then you must go.
Although we are now blessed by the Council, mages and most
importantly your father, we are however still not properly
betrothed.”

Alissa nodded
and gently pulled away, “Until we are betrothed we are strictly
bound by the customs of propriety.

She walked to
the door and turned and grinned mischievously, “There will be much
talk in the Keep tomorrow, my King. It is a great shame that we are
bound by these stuffy old conventions. I would like nothing better
than to add to the stories that will be circulating.”

Aran laughed
at that and grinning, watched as she left the room with a
flirtatious wriggle of her hips.

*

Up to his arms
in dust and cobwebs, Aran had shed his kingly trappings and was
helping Darven sort the weapons in the armoury. Already there was
an impressive stack of swords, maces and spears off to one side.
After they were finished here the weapons would be carefully packed
on one of the four carts that had been removed from the storage
building.

Darven looked
up from his labour and grinned through the swirling dust, “In
Andur’s name, these swords have not seen light of day since the
Serat war.”

Aran looked at
the one he was holding and nodded, “They are in remarkably good
condition for their age. Whoever packed them long ago knew how to
store steel…there seems to be almost no rust or corrosion on the
blade.”

“Aye,” Darven
passed Aran yet another sword, “The Keep may be near the salt winds
of the sea, but here in the armoury the air is dry and cool and the
weapons store well.”

Aran walked
over and placed the two swords on top of the pile.

“These two
make it thirty-seven…how many more do you have to sort?”

Darven looked
at several other chests which he still had to open, “Oh, twice that
number again I’m sure… I’m certain that we will be here for at
least another hour or two.”

Aran grinned
and wiped his face, leaving a dust streak down his cheek, “Fine by
me. If I go upstairs I am certain to be roped into more meetings.”
He smiled grimly, “We are but a day away from leaving, and still
the Council and mages want to talk about government matters.”

Darven looked
up and grinned at his sovereign, “You are the King, Aran. You can’t
hide down here forever.”

Aran bent down
and picked up another sword to inspect, “Who says I’m hiding. I’m
only helping you out with the preparations for war.” Aran glanced
across at his friend and saw a broad smile on the Wolf Leader’s
face, “Maran knows where I am. If he wants me then he can get
someone to fetch me.”

Darven took an
ancient key and opened yet another chest. As the lid swung open he
was momentarily enveloped in a cloud of dust. Coughing, he moved
away to let the dust settle. “So how go the preparations for
tonight?” he asked.

Aran turned
from the pile of swords, “Well…I have spoken with all
concerned.”

Darven
snickered, “What I would have given to see Captain Taran’s face
when you told him you were going to marry his daughter and make her
queen.”

Aran grinned
in recollection, “He was surprised. I still find it amazing that he
never guessed of our affection for each other. I hope that when I
am a father I shall not be so blind to my children’s emotions.”

Darven nodded,
and then abruptly he turned away as redness suddenly and
inexplicably suffused his normally serene face. Looking across,
Aran frowned as he saw his friend’s out-of-character
discomfiture.

“What ails you
Darven?” Aran asked, concerned. “Are you ill?”

Darven pulled
a face, “No…not ill. I just have some news I really ought to tell
you, but…”

Aran looked
across at the Wolf Leader, “What?”

Gnawing a lip
Darven owned up, “Kiaia’s with child.”

Aran stared at
his friend in amazement, “Already? Is she certain you are the
father?”

He nodded,
“She swears that I am the first man she’s laid with since last
spring.”

Aran tried to
mentally count back the days and weeks, “It seems so soon. However
can she tell?”

Darven
shrugged, “Women know these things, besides one of the Healermages
has examined her. She is certainly with child.”

Aran walked
over and gave Darven a congratulatory slap on the shoulder, “Then I
am happy for you Darven. You are to be a father.” Aran stared in
puzzlement at his friend, “Whatever’s the matter? You should be
ecstatic.”

Darven turned
away and bent to lift out several swords still swathed in their
protective oiled wrappings. He straightened, “I know. I am, but I’m
worried.”

“What
about?”

Putting the
sword down and dusting off his hands, Darven looked across at his
king and friend, “That I shall most likely be away fighting when
she gives birth. That I might well be killed and she will have to
raise a child alone, without the security of the title of wife
behind her.”

Aran shook his
head. “Then marry her. We leave end of week, which still gives you
a day to arrange it.”

“I guess.”

“Then why
still the long face?”

Darven lifted
out some more swords, “Law states that there must be a wait of at
least a month between betrothal and the wedding…”

Aran nodded,
“I know, I must wait six months…”

“But we are
not yet betrothed.”

Aran gazed at
his friend in disbelief, “You aren’t betrothed yet?”

Darven mutely
shook his head.

Aran grinned
suddenly and happily, “Get betrothed tonight, with us! We will make
it a joint celebration.”

Darven looked
up, hope brightening his eyes, “You do not mind?”

“Of course
not,” Aran laughed, “Besides the law states that if a betrothed
woman’s husband suddenly dies, any children of the union are
formally recognised as if they came from a marriage bed. Don’t
worry Darven, your son or daughter will not be illegitimate.”

The Wolf
Leader smiled hesitantly, “Then if I return safely from the wars, I
will marry Kiaia the very next day.”

Aran frowned
with a sobering thought, “Damn, I was counting on having Kiaia
along to manage the horses. If she is with child she won’t be able
journey with us.”

Darven shook
his head, “Don’t worry, she has arranged for others to do that
work, besides she says she will ride with us until we reach
Eldenton. Then she will settle there to await the birth of the
child...”

Suddenly both
men looked up at a sudden disturbance at the door of the armoury.
Archmage Maran stood there, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

“My Lord
King?” he called, peering into the darkness.

“Aye Archmage,
I am here,” Aran answered, putting down the sword he had been
inspecting.

“Sire,” the
Archmage walked over, “We have finally received word from the
southern towns.”

Aran looked up
inquiringly.

A broad smile
transformed Maran’s aged face, “They state that their garrisons are
at full strength and readiness, and…” he gazed at Aran’s dust
marked features, “By now they will already be on the march. My
lord, we can leave as soon as we are able. The Province is now
ready to go to war.”

“What of our
preparedness, Archmage? How soon may we ride?” Aran asked walking
up.

Another figure
materialised beside Maran. Captain Taran had been close on the
heels of the Archmage since hearing the news.

“Sire,” he
interrupted bowing, “I have spoken to all concerned. We are almost
at readiness. Once final packing is complete we can be set to ride
as early as dawn tomorrow.”