The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (31 page)

Archmage Maran
stared long and hard at Aran, and then finally nodded. At last he
was beginning to gain a tenuous understanding of the strange and
inexplicable Abilities that drove his young king.

Finally he
spoke, and his words were grave. “Long ago on Glaive there was a
school and a discipline of mages who followed the craft of war. We
know little about them save for the almost legendary exploits that
were written down in the great histories of Glaive. One ancient
parchment in our library relates how a typical Warriormage would
have weaponskill far beyond the most hardened veteran. They would
employ their Ability to become linked, at one with his or her
weapon. Working in tandem with each other, and using the linked
Metalmagecrafted swords, they became almost invincible,
invulnerable to the attacks from ordinary soldiers.”

His voice
dropped to a whisper, “We possess even more ancient parchments that
allude to the fact that the highest ranked Warriormages did not
even need physical weapons to do their killing. They could kill
with the glance of an eye, or even the mere whisper of a word or
thought.”

Maran paused,
as even the Archmage himself could not fully believe what he was
about to relate. “There is a fragment of a parchment in our
possession…over a thousand years old it is, that tells how
witnesses saw one Warriormage smite his enemy so soundly that the
man was cleft entirely in two. The man died of course, how could he
not, however when the Warriormage turned away the body was seen to
be whole and entirely unmarked. The wound had only been perceived
by the mind of the dead man, and those who witnessed the killing.
Despite the fact that there was not a mark on him, the man had
utterly believed he had been so struck and died because his belief
had been so strong.”

Aran’s body
quivered at the Archmage’s words. This he had not known!

Archmage Maran
gazed at his young kinsman, then at the stunned officers. “You
already know that there is one among you who bears the heavy
heritage of those mages. Indeed we know of no other in this time
that can be rightly named Warriormage. What moves or controls that
magepower we do not understand, nor may we ever, for the knowledge
of the proper use of it was lost centuries ago in the destruction
of Rapier. Only Arantur may in time partly understand how the
magepower can be turned to war.”

“Can you too
kill at a thought?” whispered Darven uncomfortably to Aran.

Aran could
only shake his head. He was more than troubled with what was being
said, yet somehow deep within him he knew that all of what the
Archmage said was true.

*

Two days
later, the combined cavalry of the Guard and the Legions were
riding fast on the north-west road from Leigh to put into effect
the first major confrontation of the war. About them the land was
burnt brown from the recent heavy frosts, and the days were hard
and cold, with the ever-present westerly keeping the sky clear and
the temperatures down. There was little talk as they rode. The
massed contingent kept to their Legion-drilled formations, and the
only noise heard was the almost unearthly deep thundering
ground-sound of five thousand horses passing across the countryside
in a league-eating, slow canter.

Alissa rode at
Aran’s side, a lean figure almost lost in the heavy winter gear she
wore. Directly behind them rode Darven with the great Andurian
banner streaming out by his shoulder. Behind the banner rode
Captain Taran and the Guard. After the Guard and before the massed
ranks of the Legions, rode the small knot of mages who had come
from Andur’s Keep. The Archmage had assured Aran that there were
more mages expected to arrive from Glaive, however those late
arrivals were to travel slowly with the remainder of the Legion
infantry and the fyrd, who would only just now be leaving
Leigh.

The day before
they all had bid farewell to Kiaia. Earlier Aran had arranged for
her to stay with his foster parents to await the birth of her
child. The parting had been hard on them all, and Kiaia had held
and clung to Darven for long moments, until she finally heard
through her tears, his gentle assurance her that it would have to
take the combined armies of Thakur to stop him from returning to
her and the baby. Aran glanced back at his friend, and saw a new
hard and bitter determination on the Wolf Leader’s face. Aran’s
face tightened, and the slow anger moved deep within him. The
Thakur would pay dearly for daring to war against them. The war
council had determined that it would take the fast moving cavalry
three days to reach Mount Solstice, and then beyond it a half days
ride again to reach the agreed ambush point. To meet the deadline,
the cavalry took only short rest breaks, more for the horses
benefit than the riders, and they did not linger in the towns of
Haul and Haul West even though many of the Guard and Legions had
kin living there.

*

By
mid-afternoon of the fourth day they reached Eldenton, and found a
town already barricaded and battening down in preparation should
the war swing its way. As with the other towns they had passed
through, they replenished their supplies of perishable food and
watered the horses, then with only a brief word of support and
farewell to the town elders, struck out across the headwaters of
the Titan River to the trackless land to the south of Mt Solstice.
Their route through the most southerly extent of the plains took
them very close to the heavy dark borders of Nay Forest, and hidden
within its green-black depths, the small settlements of East Glade,
Glade and Elm.

“At least with
the frosts so heavy we will not be troubled by the snakes,” Aran
said as they were riding across the still summer-touched, knee-deep
waving grass of the southern plains. “Although it still doesn’t
look like the frosts have affected the plains here, I understand
that the snakes will be deep in their winter sleep.”

“I have heard
of the grey snakes,” replied Alissa as she tried to settle the
uncomfortable and unfamiliar weight of the mail hauberk across her
narrow shoulders. “I would not like to see any.”

Aran glanced
across at the slender woman riding at his side, “Does that armour
not fit well? You will need to have it adjusted if it’s
pinching.”

Alissa shook
her head, “No, it’s just it’s been many months since I’ve worn any
kind of armour.” She looked up and frowned, “I know you are just
being cautious ordering the cavalry to armour-up, but do you really
think the Thakur would have come this far East so soon?”

Aran shrugged,
“I hope not, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

He quickly
scanned the countryside through which they rode, his eyes taking in
the dark mass of the forest to the south, the heavily grassed
plains about him, and ahead the solitary peak that was Mount
Solstice. The Province of Andur, like Glaive Island had a volcanic
past, and the evidence for this was the rich red soil of the
farmland, and the many small peaks which were scattered about the
landscape like the husks of old dried-out boils on the skin of the
Goddess. These ancient volcanic cores were sparsely vegetated, and
their pale granite and basalt faces reared into the sky like
sentries against the encroaching vastness of the plains and
farmland. Although Mount Solitaire was just to the south-west of
Leigh, Aran when younger had never climbed it. He had taken one
look at the crumbling rock, and sparse low wind-sculpted trees and
vegetation upon it, and reckoned there and then that the views were
not worth the risk to life and limb. Although Sed had urged him to
climb it, he had decided that the views were just fine enough on
the ground, than several hundred yards up on the crumbling
mountain’s peak.

“At this pace
it will take another thirty-eight hours before we reach the agreed
ambush point,” said Darven suddenly spurring his horse forward to
join them. “The horses will be tiring soon and I know the men will
be looking forward to having a break. It’s already gone
early-afternoon and we have yet to have the mid-day meal.”

Aran eyed the
distant mountain, “I had hoped to reach Solstice by this evening,
but we can’t risk overextending the horses.”

He glanced
across to Darven, “When would you like us to stop?”

“Soon,” Darven
replied, “Preferably within the hour. We can make it a quick meal
stop, then push on until we lose the light altogether.”

Aran nodded
his eye still upon the distant peak, “Then we may as well stop now.
This spot is just as good as anything else around here.”

*

The next day
dawned clear and cold, a mirror of the day before. Quickly the camp
was roused, and even before the sun had lifted itself beyond the
horizon, the Guard and cavalry horses had been watered from their
sparse supply; soldiers had eaten their traditional warm grain
porridge, and the camp broken in preparation for an early
start.

Aran swung
himself confidently into Spirit’s saddle, his mail jingling about
him as he settled himself comfortably for the day’s ride ahead. It
had been many weeks now since he had started out from Leigh as an
inexperienced rider, however the many hours in the saddle since had
enhanced his horsemanship. Although he was not and perhaps never
would be as fine a rider as Darven, he had in the end become a
natural and competent horseman, and he looked good as he rode.

“What is our
target today lord?” asked Commander Terdec, riding up from the
Legions spread behind.

“Mount
Solstice,” Aran replied “For the Earthmages tell me there is a
natural spring and stream there, and we are low on water.” He
looked out towards the west, “We ought to reach it by mid-day. We
will rest there for the remainder of the day, then at dusk ride out
for the ambush point.”

Terdec glanced
at the sky, “My lord with the clear sky, and both moons up we
should have enough light to ride by.” He glanced at his king, “Do
you believe we will escape notice if we ride by night?”

Aran nodded,
“Although the plain is still heavily grassed, we are still throwing
up a great deal of dust. We will be more visible to the enemy once
we pass Solstice and swung around to the west. I hope to be
encamped, and the first of the diggings commenced come
daybreak.”

“Then we will
need to dig fast,” Alissa said overhearing. “I heard the
Weathermages talking this morning and they reckon there is snow on
the way…a lot of it. Besides it will be hard to dig very deep pits,
the weather has been cold and the ground is starting to
freeze.”

Aran glanced
at the plain, “It looks the same to me. However can you tell?”

Alissa
indicated the vast sea of grass, “You may not have noticed, but
it’s starting to grow brown and although it looks alive, a lot of
the stalks here are already dead. I’ve been watching carefully,
once a horse has pushed through the grass, it does not spring
back…it lies flat.”

“Will the
horses get enough feed?” Aran asked Darven, disturbed that perhaps
they had overlooked this new development in the planning
meetings.

“There will be
feed,” Darven replied. “It won’t be good quality feed, but remember
we will be supplementing them with grain once the water and supply
wagons start filtering through from the Central Andurian towns.
Once we reach the ambush point, we can hobble the horses and they
will hopefully find enough forage to sustain them.”

He looked out
towards the western Trident range, “It will be the Thakur who will
be finding that feed will be scarce. The further south and west you
go, the colder it will get. They will be very much relying on very
long supply lines, and will try to make their invasion swift and
decisive, in order to gain the more temperate climes, and good feed
of the river plains and coast.”

“Then this is
where we must hold them,” Aran stated.

Darven nodded,
“I doubt that they will swing to the north of Solstice in order to
reach the central towns. The feed will be scarce, and with every
day riding north they will be increasing their chances of running
into the plainsmen.”

He grinned,
“If their memories are long, then they will remember how many of
their number fell to the plainsmen during retaking of the province.
They will not want to tackle the plainspeople again if they do not
have to.”

“Will the
plainsmen be this far south?” Aran asked, hopeful that the horse
archers would be joining the campaign soon.

Darven nodded,
“They usually are during winter. Most of the small summer streams
on the plains will be drying up soon, and I know the plainsmen like
to winter their herds near the Titan River.”

“Then they
will be naturally blocking the northern route,” Terdec commented.
“We are still on the right route, that is unless we’ve been all
terribly wrong, and the Thakur plan to move south through Nafeking,
or decide to risk the perils of the forest.”

Aran frowned;
as yet again he felt that sense of nameless horror welling up from
the distant west. It had been weeks since he had been troubled by
that disturbing awareness, but since they had all been riding
steadily westwards, the ill-feeling was growing stronger each day.
Casting his awareness out he tried to define the unpleasant
feeling. Within moments he was aware of a malignant presence
brooding away to the west, a presence that could only be one
thing.

“They will not
go to the south-east,” Aran said quietly staring intently at the
still invisible Trident Range. “I don’t know how or why, but I can
feel them. There is a great presence moving to the south-west of
us.”

He flared his
nostrils and took a deep breath of the air, “Yes…they are
there…although still quite a way beyond us. However they are moving
swiftly in this direction.”