The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (17 page)

“Much power
and many ears?” Aran asked, “What do you mean by that?” But she had
gone again and all they heard was the wind’s low voice.

Alissa smiled
and Aran shrugged, “She comes occasionally, then leaves as
quickly…I cannot hold her.”

Alissa nodded,
“I know…my mother’s spirit used to come to me in just the same way
when I was a child.” She paused to wipe her eyes of the sudden
tears, “I have not heard her voice in over ten years!”

Aran hugged
her closer to him, “I am certain that she is well pleased with her
daughter.”

Alissa smiled,
“I will ask her to protect us.”

Aran nodded
and stared out at the restless sea forever beating against the
foundations of the plateau, “We will need all the help we can get.”
He sighed and reluctantly released his hold upon her, “I must go
now Alissa…we have an early start.”

Alissa nodded
and walked towards the stairs, “Until the morning my lord
Arantur.”

*

“My lord
King.”

Aran awoke
from a heavy sleep to see the shadowy figure of Alem hovering over
him, his form distinguishable only by the light of the flickering
lantern he held. Opening eyes glued shut with sleep, Aran glanced
towards the window.

“What time is
it?”

Alem placed
the lantern on the small table and adjusted the wick so it cast a
rosy light about him.

“It is an hour
before dawn, Sire. The Keep is astir and the Guard and mages are
readying themselves for the journey.”

Aran pulled
himself to a sitting position on the bed, and immediately felt the
cold air nip around his bare chest.

“It’s quite
cool,” he said, “If it’s this cold so early in the season it
doesn’t bear thinking about what the mountains are going to be like
come winter.”

His bondsman
held out a wool robe for Aran to slip on, “Aye liege, I predict
that it will be a long winter campaign.”

Aran looked up
at the other blond haired man, “Do you regret coming with us?”

Alem shrugged,
“I am your bondsman and personal servant…my position is with
you.”

“Aye, and
really I’d much rather stay right here,” Aran said wryly,
“Unfortunately if we do nothing the Thakur will still invade and I
can’t allow the province to be subjugated again!”

Alem nodded
and helped Aran dress in his travelling clothes.

There was a
quiet knock on the door and Alissa stuck her head in.

Aran looked up
and smiled, “Come in.”

Alissa, who
was burdened with a wooden tray, pushed open the door with her foot
and walked into the bed chamber. Aran eyed the hot flat cakes
spread liberally with butter, honey and jam and grinned in hungry
anticipation.

“Ready to
break your fast, Aran?” she asked, putting the tray down on top of
a nearby chest.

Aran nodded,
and adjusting the leather belt, quickly sheathed the King’s Sword
at his hip. As he munched the hot cakes, Aran eyed Alissa
appreciatively. Dressed in a heavy wool tunic and hosen, she wore
stout leather boots and a thick wool cloak lined in fox fur. Her
long golden hair had been combed and plaited back and she wore a
felted soft-grey wool cap on her head.

“You look set
for the journey,” Aran remarked.

Alissa picked
up yet another hot cake and smiled across at her betrothed, “Aye,
the gear is packed away and all there is to do now is to saddle the
horses and go.”

Aran,
finishing the meal, licked the honey from his fingers and dipped
his hands into the cold water of the washing bowl, “I am packed
too. All I need to do now is get my cloak and cap.” He looked about
him at the king’s chamber and sighed, “It seems such a pity. I was
just getting used to this place…”

“When we
return here we will be husband and wife, King and Queen,” Alissa
said quietly, gazing at the tapestries and hangings.

Aran nodded
and slung the heavy fur lined cloak about his shoulders and jammed
onto his head his old, familiar felted wool hat.

Alissa laughed
when she saw his hat, “Do you intend wearing that old thing?”

Aran picked up
his saddlebag and grinned, “My hat goes where I go!”

Walking over,
Alissa straightened Aran’s cloak about his shoulders, “Where you go
Aran, I go too.”

Aran took a
last look at the king’s chamber, and then decidedly turned his back
on it.

“We ought to
leave,” he said firmly, “I know that Captain Taran wants the Guard
in the saddle by dawn, and we should not keep them waiting.” He
took Alissa’s hand and squeezed it, “The sooner we are on our way,
my love, the sooner we shall be returning.”

*

Once
downstairs they saw that the main yard was filled with wagons and
horses being prepared for the long ride ahead. It was still very
dark outside, with the only light coming from one of the two moons
which cast a pale eerie ghostliness over the stones of the ancient
Keep. Torches had been positioned at the internal Keep’s stairs,
and at the entrance from the main yard to the Keep beyond. Aran saw
that his horse Spirit was already saddled and handed the groom his
saddlebags to be added to the horse’s equipment. Alissa had
disappeared off, doubtless to make ready her own mount, so Aran
walked over to where Maran and the other mages were gathered about
their horses.

“My lord,”
Maran greeted him, “Did you sleep well?”

Aran nodded,
and put a gentle hand on the bay mare which the Archmage preferred
to ride.

“Aye Maran,”
he replied, and then he glanced up at the hard autumn stars which
were still shining over the Keep, “It certainly is a cold start to
our campaign.”

Maran bent
over to adjust a slipping girth strap, and then straightened,
“Winter is not far off now. We will have a long, cold journey ahead
of us.”

Aran glanced
around at the milling crowd, “How soon do we ride?”

The Archmage
looked over the withers of the tall mare at his king, “Twenty
minutes…no more. Already Captain Taran is preparing the wax for
this document.” The Archmage picked up a parchment which had been
rolled and stored in a fold of the mage’s cloak. Aran looked down
and took the offered document. Quickly he scanned the contents, it
was the same script they had worked on yesterday—the order for the
mobilisation of the Provincial army.

Aran grimaced
and his face was bleak, “I guess there is no backing out of it
now.”

Maran looked
up at him, “Second thoughts, lord?”

Aran shrugged,
“I don’t know. I guess last minute jitters. It’s no light thing to
order a province to war; I suppose we have no other option?”

Maran shook
his head, “If you are to have any success against the Thakur
Warleader then her power base needs to be reduced. If we don’t
fight, you’ll lose and the province will be under subjugation yet
again. These are the descendants of the Serat,” he added
unnecessarily.

Aran smiled
hollowly, “Just keep reminding me of that Archmage.”

Captain Taran
appeared breathless at Aran’s shoulder, “My lord King, the wax is
prepared will you now add your great seal to the writ?”

Aran nodded
and took off his ring, watching as Maran spread the writ across the
saddle of his patient horse, and while the Captain carefully poured
the wax onto the parchment. Upturning his ring, Aran pressed the
oak tree seal firmly into the wax. Pulling the ring away, Aran saw
the clean, clear impression in the solidifying wax and slipped the
great seal back onto his finger.

Aran looked up
to meet Maran’s and the Captain’s eyes, “Then it is done! Let us be
off.”

Archmage Maran
nodded, and took the writ, carefully rolling it so as not to damage
the seal. Captain Taran turned and started bawling out orders to
the Guards who were quickly swinging into action.

Aran looked
about him. Alissa was already mounted on her black mare, Alem had
seated himself beside one of the cart drivers and Aran saw Darven
mounting his rangy grey gelding. A small knot of people were
gathered on the steps, for most of Aran’s household staff were
remaining at the Keep to ensure that life moved as usual despite
the King’s absence, and a few of the older, or less agile Guards
were staying to act as the standing garrison.

A groom
brought the dun mare Spirit to him, and quickly he swung himself
into the saddle, taking a moment to settle his cloak about him and
press his hat firmly upon his head. Captain Taran brought his
chestnut gelding over to where Aran was waiting.

“We will need
your order Sire,” he said.

“We are all
set?”

Taran nodded,
“Everything is packed and loaded and all should be now mounted,
Sire. Perhaps this is a good time to address everyone; otherwise we
will be soon all spread out along the road until we get to our
evening camp.”

Aran nodded
and swung his horse to the base of the Keep stairs. Standing in the
saddle, he unsheathed his sword and holding it aloft, let its cold
radiance bring everyone’s attention to where he was.

“King’s Guard
and people of Andur’s Keep we leave to ride to war,” Aran stated
loudly, his voice carrying clearly across the dark training yard.
“Despite the fact that this will be a long, hard and cold campaign,
I know that those who ride with me do so with courage and fire in
their hearts. Each one of you knows that we go to the defence of
our province, and we fight for our life and liberty.”

Aran waited
until the shouts and cheers died away then continued on.

“For those who
wait behind, whether here in Andur’s Keep, or in the great southern
cities, your time will be the hardest.” His gaze moved across the
members of the household remaining at the Keep, “It will be
difficult not knowing if your friends and loved ones will return or
even if the war will be won or not. I pray to the Goddess that we
will not fail, that we will prevail…but if we should lose out there
on those winter battlefields, you must then be our last defence.”
Aran lifted the sword higher, and the radiance of the blade
brightened with the movement, “I ask each one of you to take up
sword, or axe, or scythe and use your last dying breath on the
defence of our province.” He added, “In the past the land was under
the oppressor's yoke. We go to battle the rising tide of the Serat,
better death than oppression and enslavement.”

Aran last
words were almost entirely drowned out by the groundswell of
cheering that erupted from the darkened Keep and yard. He waved the
King’s Sword and it blazed out brightly in the predawn darkness,
immediately the Keep fell silent.

“Guards…follow
the orders of your Captain and Leaders.” Aran directed. “Mages fall
in behind the Archmage. Councillors make ready. Waggoners bring
your carts in at the rear of the column. In Andur’s name we
ride!”

Aran sheathed
his sword and sitting back in the saddle, wheeled Spirit around and
trotted her back through the milling crowd and out of the training
yard. Through the darkened keep they rode, and Aran halted the
column only at the main gate where he leant over to speak to the
two Guards on duty.

“King’s
Guard!” he called out in the predawn stillness.

“Aye,
Sire.”

The two Guards
snapped to attention under the direct grey gaze of their liege
lord.

Aran bent down
in the saddle “Keep my people and this Keep safe and well guarded.
You are the last line of defence here.”

Guard Morel,
who was acting Keep Captain whilst Taran was away, stepped forward
between the two armoured soldiers. “Rest easy my lord King. Andur’s
Keep will not fall whilst any Guard here remains alive.” Then he
looked up at the young man astride the sorrel, “Do what you must do
High King Arantur…” he said softly. “Then return to us safe and
with all possible speed.”

Aran nodded
and turning once in the saddle, cast a last, longing look over the
dark brooding walls of his ancestral home, then facing the open
road spurred his horse into a canter and led his people off to
war.

*

The Havart
Plateau had been well chosen as an excellent location for a
defensive keep. Unfortunately the very reasons that made it perfect
defensively, made the road to the southern cities winding, narrow
and difficult for an armoured column to keep together. The large
plateau comprised of undulating countryside, with rock outcrops
dotted amongst steep upland meadows and the bare, dark fields of
harvested grain. It took an hour or two for the various groups and
wagons to find a sensible and allotted position in the column,
eventually everyone was happy, and the group moved along at a
reasonable pace.

Aran, Captain
Taran and the Archmage led the column at a fast mounted walk, a
pace that the waggoners far behind would be able to match with
their heavy loads and teams of horses. Occasionally Darven,
accompanied by one of the Guard would ride forward of the main
group, scouting out the road ahead, and reporting on any blockages
or problems that might cause strife to the wagons later on.
Luckily, the previous summer had been fairly dry, and so wash-outs
across the road were not as many or as bad as Aran had feared. The
road that led to Haulgard Port was not a paved road, its surface
was either packed dirt or crumbly shale or gravel which made for
treacherous footing for the horses on the steeper inclines.

“It must have
taken them years to engineer this road,” commented Aran as his
horse stepped over a series of shallow, eroded channels. “I mean
its centuries old and the only damage I’ve seen so far is some
minor wash-outs from the last lot of heavy rains.”

Maran nodded,
“This part of the road is still structurally very sound. However in
some parts the road can be cut by flooding and in the past, entire
sections have been washed away entirely.” He stared at the road
wryly, “At this time of the year we shouldn’t have too many
problems. However when you return from the war one of the first
things that ought to be addressed is that this road be fully
repaired.”