“People of Haulgard…we of Andur’s Keep desire entrance to this city.”
A group of armoured legio came out from the darkness of the gatehouse and saluted Darven.
“Who is it that demands entrance?” they replied formally.
Darven held aloft the streaming banner, “I am Darven, Wolf Leader of the Andurian Guard. We come here today requesting entrance, for we of the Guard bring to you your Liege Lord, High King Arantur of the Andurian line.”
The legios snapped to attention, saluting the cloaked and armoured figure who sat so silently behind Darven. Aran inclined his head, which was bare except for a plain silver circlet that Maran had pressed upon him earlier that morning.
“People of Haulgard,” Aran said clearly. “I am trueborn of the line of Warleader Andur. I come bearing the King’s Sword and wish entrance to this, the first and foremost of my cities.”
One of the legio stepped forward, his hand upon his breast in supplication.
“Lord King, we have heard of your coming and most fervently desire your presence here in our city. Will you and your company now enter for all are prepared and waiting for your presence.”
Aran urged the dun mare forward as the legios drew aside, creating a clear path for the company to pass. Pausing by the knot of legios at the gate, Aran bent down in the saddle to speak to the leader.
“You men, are you with one of the Haulgard Legions?”
A mail clad man in his fifties stepped forward and saluted smartly, “Aye lord king. However the bulk of the Legion has already left for the mustering at Leigh. We who remain are the standing garrison only.”
Aran nodded, “Do you know when the Legion left?’
“My lord, it was yesterday mid-morning. You will most likely catch them on the road as they will need to match their pace to the infantry and archers.”
Aran nodded again, then bent down again, “Then will you all promise to keep this city safe in case we fail to halt the enemy.”
The legio saluted, “Of course lord. They will only enter over our dead bodies, and we have readied the city in the event of siege.”
“Then look to your defenses,” Aran stated finally, “We hope to win, but you here are our last line against subjugation by the enemy. We must not let the province fall again into enemy hands.”
The legios who were gathered about their king straightened and their hands went to their sword hilts.
“We promise, lord,” one called out, “Else we will die in the attempt.”
Aran turned and with a gesture, led his company into Haulgard.
*
Riding at the head of the column, with Darven at his shoulder, and with Archmage Maran on his other flank helping to mark the way, Aran had leisure to inspect the greatest of the southern cities. In plan it was similar to Sentinal, however the houses were constructed of an older architectural style, and were exclusively made of the same stone as the walls and roads. The streets too seemed to be a little wider than Sentinal, which luckily afforded easy passage for the mounted column. All around him Aran could see masses of people—crowds gathered on the streets and in the doorways of homes, taverns and businesses. Looking up, Aran spotted more people leaning out from upstairs windows, and even standing on the eaves of the perilously slanted slate roofs. Against the tapestry of the distant bells and horns all were silent, but for a groundswell murmur which seemed to wash over the company like a distant breaking sea.
Aran looked over these his people and smiled grimly. Haulgard had come out en masse to see their king, but unlike the people of Andur’s Keep they had not yet taken him into their hearts.
“Give them time,” Maran said quietly at his left shoulder, “They have heard of you only from rumour or hearsay.
“They will accept me as I am,” Aran replied clearly. “I have a war to fight and a province to protect so I have little or no time to pander to their sensibilities.”
Maran drew back into his position in the column, a wry smile on his lips.
*
Before long they neared the centre of the city, reaching the great mass of ancient stone buildings which were the Council Halls and Residences of Haulgard Port. The Councillors immediately drew off to one side, dismounting and handing tired mounts to grooms and stable workers, who appeared almost out of thin air. With a clatter of steel shod hooves, Aran drew Spirit to a halt and swung out of the saddle, landing with a jingle of mail on the smooth-worn cobbles of the street. Immediately he was joined by the leaders of his company.
Darven, the great banner now hanging slackly from his gauntleted hands, was a silent shadow at his side.
“What now?” Aran asked of his leaders.
“There are rooms prepared for us in the Council residences, lord,” Maran answered. “We will rest there awhile then late this afternoon the Council will hold a special session at which you will be presented and speak about the coming war. Tonight there will be held a celebratory feast in the ancient Meeting Hall of Haulgard…all of the Old Families will be attending. It will be their only chance to speak with and meet their new king before we ride out for Leigh tomorrow morning.”
Aran shook his head over the number of official engagements, but with a sinking heart he knew that it was all part of being king.
“I hope they are not expecting a bard, Archmage,” he replied sourly. “I am a plain man and a soldier king, and my speech is honest and straight. As I said before, I am no poet and they will have to take me as I am. I really do not have the time or inclination to be lyrical. In all truth, I have heard little that is good about Haulgard, and I have no mind or temper to massage their egos.”
Maran pulled his king over to one side, “I agree with you my lord, however be that as it may they are still your people and we will need to have their support behind us when we ride against the Thakur. The last thing we need is rebellion at home when we are facing Thakurian swords in the west…”
Aran nodded his mouth tight, “Aye Maran, I understand the situation. I shall be diplomatic and try to speak lover’s words to flatter their ears and minds.”
Alissa overhearing, laughed at that, “Leave the lover’s words for me my lord. I will appreciate them much more than any overweight burgher of Haulgard. You name yourself a soldier king, so then speak to them in plain terms. They must take you as you are. They wished for a king, now they have one, and they will have to take him on his terms.”
*
Later, resting in his quarters, Aran lay back on the over-soft bed, and studied the ornate plaster work on the ceiling and tried, for the umpteenth time to compose a speech for the Council. Despite being high king, Aran knew that he had very little say about his involvement in these public engagements, and had to weather them as best as he could. He desperately missed the easy informality of the Keep, and looked forward to putting Haulgard behind him tomorrow morning when they rode out. However tomorrow was still over twelve hours away, and Aran had to face the more immediate problems of dealing with the hierarchy of Haulgard—a chore he would have happily passed onto any other but himself. Aran’s bloodline may have been of the ancient Andurian line of kings, but he himself had been raised by Central Andurian peasants, and so he knew little about the nobility and their world.
‘They will have to take me as I am,’ Aran grated under his breath. ‘I have no time for the false arrogance of nobility.’ Irritated, Aran jumped out of bed and began to pace the cold marble floor of his room. Barefoot and clad only in a plain dark blue wool tunic, Aran was so caught in his thoughts that he failed to hear the soft knock on the door. The knock was repeated again louder, however after no answer the handle was turned and the door swung hesitantly open.
“Aran?”
The young king swung around at his name, and his face relaxed when he saw Alissa.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“You seem preoccupied…is this a bad time?” Alissa made as if to go.
“No, don’t,” Aran ha
stened to the door and pulled her in. “I’m just overcome with worry about this speech I have to make this evening. I really have no idea what I should say. Maran says that I must be soft spoken and diplomatic, yet in all honesty I cannot soft-step around these insular people.”
“Just be yourself, Aran,” she advised smoothing out her warm grey gown. “Wear the sword…it is a great equaliser.”
Aran’s gaze flew to where the King’s Sword lay quiescent on the table.
“I don’t think they doubt my blood Alissa,” he said quietly, “It’s just that Haulgard seems to think only of its own welfare and nobility. They are an inward looking people and I really can’t stand snobbery of any kind, especially coming from jumped up merchants and businessmen.”
Alissa sighed and sat on the bed, “I am sure the words will come, my love. They always have before; you have a winning tongue when you set your mind to it.”
Aran sat beside Alissa on the bed and absently put an arm around her. Closing her eyes, Alissa leant into his warmth and strength.
“Do you ever regret our betrothal Alissa?” he asked quietly.
The young woman opened her eyes and turned to regard her love and king, “No, how could you say that? Do you?”
Aran shook his head, “Never my heart. Although I often wish that I was just an ordinary man so I could court you and love you properly. All these ceremonies and traditions just seem to get in the way.” He looked up and smiled sadly, “Even now I know I must be readying and preparing myself for tonight. Time which I would much rather be spending on other, more pleasurable activities.”
Alissa blushed at that and she smiled, “There is time enough my lord for both. Would you? I mean, do you…?”
Aran grinned for the first time since he had come to Haulgard, “Is there any law that says we can’t?”
Alissa shrugged and her robe slipped off one shoulder, “I don’t think so. We are betrothed Aran, it is a state almost as binding as marriage…”
Aran turned and placed his lips on her white skin, “Then what is holding us back?”
Alissa laughed merrily and pulled the robe down a little more, “Am I holding you back my lord king?”
He shook his head and his hand wandered up to cup one breast, “Are you certain. I mean I don’t want to break any obscure laws or customs…”
“Stuff the laws,” she replied, kissing him fiercely, hungrily.
“I agree…” Aran mumbled against her lips, “Some customs are just a pain in the …”
Then things got a little heated and complicated, and suddenly there was no time for words. No time except for heady emotions and the immediate moment…
*
“My lord king!”
The voice came again from behind the shut door, and Aran looked up dazedly from Alissa’s naked breasts.
“My lord, Captain Taran and Archmage Maran require your immediate presence”
“Hell!” Aran sat up, his hair and tunic dishevelled from Alissa’s hands. “Can’t a man have some peace round here?”
Alissa sat up and readjusted her robe.
“The price we pay,” she whispered enigmatically.
Aran got to his feet and called out, “I won’t be long, tell the others I will meet them in the hall.”
“Yes, lord king,” the voice replied.
Listening, Aran could hear the messenger walk away down the corridor. Aran turned to her with a long suffering sigh, “Perhaps the interruption was not a bad thing after all. I mean we didn’t…” he gave up in some confusion.
Alissa stared at her betrothed with new eyes, “Was this your first time with a woman?”
Aran quickly shook his head, “No, of course not, once a very long time ago I lay with one of the easy women of Leigh.” Aran coloured, “It was quick and fumbled, and I really didn’t understand much about what happened.” He turned to her, “You don’t seem too upset. Can we try again later? Tonight maybe after everyone has gone to bed.”
Alissa smiled at that, “I only wish, however I have been lodged with Terea and her father. If I skipped out tonight the word would be all over Haulgard by morning. No, we must be patient and wait my love.”
Aran nodded and going to his clothes pulled on his hosen and boots. Turning he saw Alissa lie back on the bed and stretch dreamily.
He shook his head at her indolence, “Alissa, if I was any other man, nobody, I repeat, nobody could take me from this room right now.”
The young woman looked up at her man, and her lips quirked, “I may be maiden still my love…but Kiaia and I have talked long of these things. I wait with eager anticipation for you.”
Aran laughed at that, and shook his head at her fancies, “You are a hot blooded woman Alissa, and I promise you that next time there will be no distractions.” So saying he pulled her to her feet, “But right now you must tidy yourself and return to your chambers. If anyone finds you in here the story will be all over the province and our reputation will be in ruins.”
*
Chapter 5—The Mustering
Before leaving Andur’s Keep, Aran had deliberately failed to pack any sort of tunic which may have been described as a state robe, so returning to his room he eyed with some misgiving the ornately embroidered one now laid out on the bed for him. Belatedly he remembered the silver circlet Maran had urged him to wear, the same circlet now lying unheeded on the table beside his carefully unpacked saddlebag. Aran guessed that this formal tunic had also come from the Archmage’s wagon, and he wondered, a little bitterly, what else the Archmage had neglected to tell him about.
Picking up and studying the dark blue tunic with the oak leaf pattern worked in gold thread at hem, cuff and neck, Aran realised that tonight he must been seen to be at his most kingly. Shaking his head, Aran was beginning to realise that the Council and Old Families of Haulgard were not yet ready to respond to royal command, however if he were to adopt the full panoply of kingship, then perhaps sheer awe alone might earn their respect and a grudging admiration.
*
“Are you dressed yet my lord Aran?”
Aran turned whilst making a last minute adjustment to his sword belt.
“Aye Darven, I am almost done.” He looked up from his task, “Have you seen Alem?” he asked, “He’s supposed to help me with this.”
Darven came into the room and eyed Arantur with a grin, “You look very beautiful my friend.”
Aran grimaced and straightened the circlet which had slipped from his carefully plaited hair, “Don’t you start Darven,” he replied. “I get the impression that this is how Maran believes I ought to appear before the nobility of Haulgard…blind them with my magnificence as it were.”
“Aye and it might just work,” Darven grinned and gave his friend a long considering look. “The total effect of kingly robe plus that ornate tunic and leggings and finally the circlet, this is the closest yet I’ve seen a Guardsman resemble a king.” he replied with a straight face.
Aran grinned at Darven’s joking manner, “That’s because I am one you idiot.”
Darven chuckled and turned towards the door, “Then are you finished here Aran?”
Aran nodded and made as if to go, then with a start remembered he had left the King’s Sword upon the table. Hastily he retrieved it and sheathed it in the sword belt.
“Better not forget that…” Darven added dryly.
*
After seemingly an endless walk through a veritable maze of halls, corridors and rooms, the Council Hall was eventually reached. Darven and Aran paused outside the great wooden doors, the age of which predated even Andur’s Keep. Waiting by the great bloodwood doors, the two men could hear the steady hum of conversation from within.
“Where are the others?” Aran asked.
“Coming,” the Wolf Leader replied. “We will lead them in. They won’t be long…” he looked up at the sound of footfalls. “Ah here they are now.”
Aran turned at his words to see a small group of men appear from an op
en doorway. Scanning heads he saw Archmage Maran, Captain Taran, Bear Leader Caldor and a representative from each of the mage disciplines. With a nod he acknowledged them and hastened to ask, “Where are Alissa and Alem?”
Captain Taran stepped forward, “Alissa will be joining us shortly, Sire…she was just finishing dressing when we left.”
“And Alem is sleeping lord,” one of the mages replied, “He was feeling unwell and went to see the Healermages. He had a severe reaction to some food or water he ate, so we Healed him and have sent him to bed with a herbal draft.”
Aran frowned at that, “Will he be well enough to travel on the morrow?”
The mage shrugged, “If he travels slowly and with the carts, then he should recover well, although I would not advise any swift travel on horseback.”
Aran nodded, “I will arrange that… What about Trevan and Master Cody?”
“Both resting lord,” Maran came forward to adjust the slipping circlet. “They are not needed for this Council meeting. We few shall be the representatives of the mages and Guard.”
Aran nodded and looked up to hear swift footsteps, almost immediately a blue gowned figure appeared around the corner to arrive breathless at their side.
“Am I late? I hope I have not kept you waiting long…”
“Come here Alissa,” Aran said holding out his hands.
Alissa smiled at her king and went to his side. Immediately his hands engulfed hers and a tide of emotion and pleasure suffused his body at that small contact.
The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Page 16