The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy

by Rosemary Fryth

  He looked out and his grey eyes grew bleak, “In all honesty, I do not like what I am becoming.”

  “I will love you whatever you are,” Alissa said simply, then she stared hard at her betrothed. “However if you do not like what you are becoming, then you will have to fight it…there is free choice in all this.”

  “Aye, free choice,” Aran’s laugh was self-deprecating. “It seems to me that I have been given precious little free choice since meeting the mages of Glaive.”

  “And yet it brought us together,” Alissa immediately reminded him with a laugh. “The Goddess only knows what my life would have been if I had not met you. Most likely have mouldered away as my father’s keep-daughter, or married to someone I did not love…”

  Aran chuckled at that and suddenly he felt his mood lifting, “As always Alissa you make me see the good in things.” He turned his head and met her green eyes with the beginnings of a smile, “You know that you will always be my strength and certainty. However far it seems I fall, you are always there to pull me back up again. I really do not know what I would do without you.”

  Alissa smiled and sidled the black mare over to Aran’s mount, “Oh, you can be certain that I will keep you in line. You may be a king, Arantur of Leigh, but you are my friend and love too, and I have never been known to fail my friends.”

  Aran quickly grasped her hand, and at that brief contact the last of his black mood entirely fell away.

  *

  By late afternoon Aran was starting to recognise the landscape through which they were riding as being the fields and hills nearing Leigh. Although still cloaked in the murky darkness of the slowly breaking snow clouds, there was still enough light in the sky for him to easily pick out familiar landmarks from previous hunting expeditions with Sed.

  “Where are the Legions encamped?” Aran called back to Captain Taran.

  The Captain of the Guard spurred his weary mount to the front of the column. “Just to the west of Leigh my lord,” he replied easily, “I understand that there is some open land there that is not farmed. I’m not certain how many of the garrisons and Legions will have arrived, but I believe we won’t be the first there.”

  Aran nodded as he remembered the open land mentioned.

  “Then we shall be sighting it soon,” he replied. “We’re not far from Leigh now, and I expect that once we pass by this hill we will see their tents and the town itself.”

  “Good,” Captain Taran breathed, “We have been setting a cracking pace today my lord, and it’s high time we rested the horses.”

  “How far behind us would be the Haulgard Legion and our wagons?” Aran asked.

  The Captain shrugged, “If they made good time, then the Legion ought to be marching in tomorrow sometime my lord, although the weather may have slowed them. As to the wagons I rather expect we’ll be seeing them tomorrow night.”

  Aran nodded again then stared across at his commander.

  “I’ve been thinking that I really ought to encamp with the army. Leigh may expect me to stay within its walls but I should stay with my men.”

  Captain Taran smiled broadly, “I fully expected you would lord. There should be already erected a heated and floored pavilion for your comfort and use. The Legions were informed that this would be a winter campaign and have been instructed to bring with them all their spare tents and pavilions. I have made absolutely certain that every one of the province’s soldiers will sleep under canvas for the duration of the war.”

  Then Darven came trotting back towards the column from one of his frequent forays forward of their march.

  “Look ahead my lords!” he called out enthusiastically, “Leigh is sighted and the mustering point is only a league or two away.”

  At his words the column quickened its pace, and hastened towards the now visible array of distant tents.

  *

  The cheering had begun as soon as the great blue banner of the Andurian kings had been sighted on the road. Very soon the encampment was alive with soldiers hurrying from tents and fires, running quickly towards the road in order to see their new king. Word of the king’s arrival was quickly relayed to Leigh, where soon the great bells of the town began to peal, and the town itself began to disgorge dozens of citizens eager to see the king, and welcome its returning son home.

  Still a league away, the column was oblivious to this frantic activity, and did not hear the bells for the sound was entirely carried away from them by the gusting westerly wind. Aran was beginning to experience pangs of homesickness, mixed with an underlying nervousness about dealing with the tough-as-nails Legion commanders. Glancing towards the still distant town, Aran’s stomach twisted a little more when he thought about his return to Leigh and his changed fortunes, and how his old friends and townsfolk were going to react to him being the king.

  “Glad to be home?” Darven asked Aran, as he pulled his horse around and reclaimed the Andurian banner from the Guardsman who had been holding it whilst he scouted ahead.

  “This is not home,” Aran replied immediately. “Once it was, it’s strange but once, not too long ago I was breaking my neck to get back here, but now it’s just another town. It’s not home anymore.”

  “I am sorry,” Darven said simply, understanding. “It’s hard breaking old roots and associations. I mean I haven’t seen Eastling in almost three years now. I don’t know even if I’ll return there, so long I have been away.”

  He glanced across at his friend, “So where is home now, the Keep?”

  Aran nodded, “I feel I have a kinship with Andur’s Keep. Even from the first day I arrived I felt a strong sense of belonging there.”

  Darven grinned “That’s not too hard to understand. I mean most of your ancestors were ruling kings and queens there. It would be less understandable if you felt no sort of connection with the place.”

  “I guess so,” Aran replied, and then he looked up as he finally heard the distant shouts and pealing of bells. “It sounds as if they have spotted us, Darven.”

  Darven laughed, “They have at that. I predict there will be little sleep for us tonight my lord.”

  *

  To the waiting and cheering soldiers and townsfolk, the king and his Guard seemed to ride in with the setting sun. Despite the heavy overcast, the sun managed to briefly break free of the clouds long enough to cast a red-golden hue about the gathering dusk, dispelling for a short time at least the creeping cold of the day. The road near the mustering point was lined three deep in places, with both soldiers and citizenry alike. All were craning necks, and shading their eyes against the long crimson rays of the setting sun to pick out their king from the mass of mounted men about him. Soon one sharp-eyed townsman had spotted Aran in the small group at the head of the column, and had clearly announced that fact to those who stood about him. Almost immediately, heads swung in Aran’s direction, and a ragged cheer went up. Aran threw back his hooded cloak and held up a hand in greeting, his eyes quickly picking out remembered faces from the months before. The cheering from the soldiers and townspeople followed them as they rode in. One or two children ran out from the crowd, and touched his horse or leg—perhaps for luck or for a dare. Immediately those youngsters were reclaimed by frowning parents, and hauled unceremoniously back behind the lines of people. Aran smiled to himself, had he been younger and also watching a king ride by, he too would have felt the same way. No kings had been crowned in Andur for many generations—he could easily forgive the excitement of youth.

  Seeing the cheering, waving crowd Aran thought back to Haulgard and shook his head at the difference of welcome. The people of Haulgard had been quiet and reserved, not forthcoming with their good opinion. Leigh on the other hand was welcoming and exuberant, inordinately proud and happy that a son of the town had come to such high fortune.

  “My lord king…”

  Aran looked up from his musings to see a mounted and armoured man ahead of him on the road.

  The man swiftly saluted, “My Lord Ki
ng, I am Captain Commander Sennar of the First Helmsgard Legion. The camp is in readiness and food and quarters await both you and your troops.”

  Aran smiled and nodded, “We will certainly all welcome rest and a meal, Captain Commander Sennar. Perhaps you might ride with us and show us where we are to be encamped.”

  The older man smiled and turned his horse about to ride at Aran’s left shoulder, “Of course my lord. It is not far…just up the road and to the right. You can already see the tents….”

  *

  The Andur’s Keep column rode into the camp amidst a tumultuous welcome from the gathered soldiers of the garrisons and Legions. Youngsters and aged veterans alike clustered around the saddle-weary men, courteously helping the tired riders dismount, and remove gear from their horses. Immediately Aran and his friends had been welcomed by the highest ranked officers, helped dismount and their horses led away for feed, rub-downs and picketing by the Legion grooms. Glad to be finally out of the saddle, Aran had been immediately shown to a large circular pavilion which boasted a raised wooden platform floor and a central brazier which was emitting gentle warmth into the confines of the heavy canvas walls. A richly carved, yet demountable wooden bed had been constructed, and upon it was heaped a mound of thick wool blankets and soft-cured animal furs. A large wooden bathtub sat on one side of the tent, and on the other was placed a wooden table on which had been placed a pewter goblet, water jug, and a pottery hand basin. Around the wooden table was a scattering of wood and leather collapsible stools which comprised the remainder of the pavilion furniture. Smiling and shaking his head at such royal magnificence in an army camp, Aran could only congratulate the Legion commanders.

  “This is very comfortable…in fact it’s almost as fine as the royal rooms at the Keep,” he added. “You have done well.”

  The soldiers smiled and nodded at each other, approving this young courteous king, and pleased that their efforts had not gone to waste.

  “There’s not been a campaign since High King Andur’s time, my lord,” one commander explained. “Most of the gear you see here and the tents we are using come from that time. Of course we have had to replace the canvas since most of it had rotted away, but you may still see some of the earlier goat skin tents from that period.”

  Aran glanced outside where night had fully descended, “Will you be able to get the entire army under canvas?”

  The same commander nodded, “Aye lord, although we did have to commission the canvas and tent makers of our respective towns and cities to provide us with more. We knew the approximate numbers that were coming from Andur’s Keep, and the walled cities, but we were unsure how many the fyrd was going to gather, so we brought extra just in case.”

  “There are still troops and fyrd due to arrive from the more remote southern towns, lord king,” one young Commander said bowing. “We calculate that in two days the last of the army will have gathered, and we should be ready to ride by the morning of the third.”

  “I had expected such a wait,” Aran agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his boots. “Please gentlemen make yourselves comfortable here. I know that Captain Taran and Leaders Darven and Caldor will shortly join us, just as soon they have changed and disposed of their gear at their own quarters.”

  There was a smattering of nods, and “Thank-you lord,” and they were soon seated on the wood and leather stools.

  Barely had Aran thrown off his cloak onto the bed, when there was a movement at the door of the tent, and several young soldiers appeared with trays of soup, roasted turkey with seasonal vegetables, and fresh baked bread from the town.

  “Ah, dinner,” breathed one Commander, getting hurriedly to his feet. “Are you hungry my lord king?” he asked turning toward Aran.

  Aran nodded, “Hungry enough to eat a horse, Commander.” He stared at the platters of food in some amazement, “Although I hope that this is for all of us? I may be hungry but I doubt that I could eat all that.”

  The Commander grinned, “We have already supped lord. This is for you, and the other leaders of the Andur’s Keep contingent.”

  Aran stared amazed at the platters of steaming food, “Then have someone fetch Captain Taran, Leaders Darven and Caldor, Archmage Maran and Lady Alissa, and make certain they join us here.”

  *

  Once the others had arrived, there hadn’t been enough seats for everyone, so one of the legio assigned to Aran’s tent had been sent off to gather some more from the camp.

  After dinner, and talking quietly with his friends and the legion commanders, Aran found himself sitting on the bed beside Alissa. Seeing how the others were intent upon discussing the war, Aran took this brief opportunity to see how Alissa had fared.

  “So where are you staying Alissa?” he asked. “Are you with Kiaia, or your father?”

  The young golden-haired woman smiled a secret smile. “I’d much rather be staying here with you,” she confided in a low voice, “But in truth I share my father’s tent. Besides Darven and Kiaia are sharing each other’s blankets, they would not like a third in their tent.”

  Aran gazed about him, “As you can see I have a spacious and comfortable pavilion. Shall I arrange to have your bed and gear moved here? We have a two or three day delay at Leigh, and I’d rather you were comfortable and out of the damp.”

  “The soldiers will talk,” she pointed out a little unnecessarily. “It will be all over the camp that King Arantur is sharing his tent with the Lady Alissa…”

  “Who is his betrothed and Queen-to-be,” Aran interrupted. “If Darven and Kiaia can share blankets, then surely there can be no fault in us sharing a tent.” He stared at her hesitant face, “If you agree to it then I will have a word with Captain Taran. Surely he will understand that I would like to spend time together with my future queen and betrothed.”

  Alissa smiled a little uncertainly, “My father is a normal red-blooded man, he will understand,” her voice faded off. “Although as a father he may have some objections. He has been careful of my honour in the past, and although under our laws there is no sin or error in a betrothed man and woman sharing a tent, father may have his own reasons to gainsay this request.”

  Aran frowned at the grey haired Captain of the Guard, talking so animatedly to the other Legion Commanders.

  “I am the king,” Aran said in a low voice, “Surely I could order him to accede to my request.”

  Alissa gently touched his hand, his skin tanned and roughened by days out in the elements. “Would you exercise your authority that far Aran?”

  Aran shrugged and whispered back, “Probably not. I don’t want to be seen as overbearing…” He looked across at her sun browned face, “But I will speak with him, and try to impress upon him that if you are old and mature enough to be queen, then you are old and mature enough to be a woman in all other ways. He must learn to let you go Alissa. I may be a patient man but by Andur I’ll be damned if I have to wait until our marriage day before I can know you fully.”

  “Shhh,” Alissa cautioned, “We are not alone here, and these are private matters of which you speak.” She smiled to gentle her quick words, “I love you Aran, but I’d rather our most private desires were not discussed before all the Legion Commanders at a war council.”

  Aran laughed at that, and then his face grew serious. “Then go now my love, and get some rest. We will be here awhile discussing the plans for the campaign, and when we are finished I will speak to your father about this new arrangement. I dare say that you will certainly know the outcome by morning.”

  She nodded and got up from the bed. When they noticed her leaving as one the soldiers got to their feet and bowed their heads.

  “Sleep well Lady Alissa,” a young Legion Commander called out with a smile in his voice. “Rest easy, for although this may be a camp of soldiers, I trust every man here to respect the women who travel with us.”

  Alissa turned and smiled guardedly at that, “Do not be concerned Commander Druec. You know tha
t I can defend myself from any over lusty man. You know too that I am considered the equal to any Guardsman in weaponskill, besides I am certain the soldiers realise that it would be more than their life is worth to bother the woman who will be their future queen.”

  *

  “So where were we?” Aran got up from the bed and pulled a stool over to join the other men at the table.

  “Discussing the details of the campaign lord,” Darven replied clearly, standing and moving his stool over next to Aran. “You are a Warriormage; perhaps you may have some ideas about how we should proceed.”

  Darven sat down next to him and his voice fell low, “I am very glad indeed that you and Alissa are betrothed.”

  Aran looked across at his friend, “Why?”

  Darven’s eyes flickered across to the young Legion Commander.

  “It’s Druec there. Last time Captain Taran and Alissa visited Sentinal they spent some days with Drucec’s Legion—you know he is the Captain Commander of the Third Sentinal. Well I have been talking with some of his men, and I got the impression that a while back he was keen to make some formal arrangement with Captain Taran about Alissa. In fact I believe at one stage he wanted to marry her.” Darven’s voice fell into a low whisper, “I’m not certain, but I’ve also heard a rumor that on the last trip south he made an unwelcome advance, and as a result Alissa thumped him so hard that Druec almost went over backwards.”

  Aran’s fists balled as his temper suddenly flared, “I’ll kill him!” he whispered furiously.

  Darven put a restraining hand on his friend’s arm. “No, don’t!” he hissed. “It’s rumour only and besides Alissa has already seen him off.” Darven suddenly grinned, “If it is true then Druec would be insane to approach her again, especially now given her changed circumstances.”