Aran’s mount tossed her head and skittered across the road in response to the tension she was feeling from her rider. Aran immediately put a gentle hand on Spirit’s neck to settle her down again. Within himself he battled to uncurl the tight ball of anger which was again beginning to rise. Finally, he regained enough control to relax tense shoulders and unclench tight, white hands on the reins.
Darven had noticed his friend’s inward battle, and approved the slow control Aran was gaining over this new anger of his. Feeling heartily glad that he had not been raised to such high office, he looked up and saw ahead the nearing rooftops and buildings of Leigh, and knew that once Aran was with his old friends and acquaintances, he would quickly forget the worries of the war and his troubles with Glaive.
*
Once in the town they quickly discovered that Leigh was unexpectedly filled with people. Most were townsfolk out in the streets excited by the nearness of the encamped army, and the return of the king. Some had come from the surrounding farms, and a few had even ridden in from Sentinal, lured by rumours and talk of war and a newly crowned king. Both the citizenry of the town, and the idly curious watched with interest as the Guardsmen of Wolf Company rode in. The two heavily cloaked officers at their head were remarked on for their tall war-like bearing, the glittering mail that peeped and shone from under their garments, and for the swords they wore openly at their hip. Aran had pulled the hood of his cloak well over his tell-tale blond braids. It was not so much to keep out the chilly wind, but to lessen the chances of recognition. He had people to visit in Leigh, and did not wish to be hindered by crowds or unnecessary ceremony. Ten or so minutes later Aran and Darven left the rest of Wolf Company dismounting outside one of Leigh’s better taverns with promises that they would return, and join them for a pint or two in honour of the approaching war. With just the two of them remaining, Aran led Darven through the narrow, twisting streets of Leigh to the small, narrow, unregarded house of his foster parents—Dram the carter, and his wife Elsa. Dismounting and tying their horses to nearby hitching rings, Aran went to the familiar weathered brown door, and knocked quietly upon it. Inside, he could hear the sound of feet walking slowly down the steep narrow stairs, and voices calling from within. He heard his foster mother’s voice say something indistinctly—perhaps a reply to a question he had not heard, then the door was slowly opened, and a small, lined face peered out.
“My lords?”
The woman nervously pulled open the door wider, and peered out apprehensively at the two tall, cloaked and armed soldiers waiting outside.
“Mother?” Aran said quietly, his voice pitched low so only she could hear. “It is I, Arantur. May we come in?”
She gazed up at the tall cloaked man and tried to make out features so darkly hidden by the hood.
Aran immediately saw his foster mother’s apprehension, and pushed back the hood a little way so his face could be clearly seen by her. She gazed up at the face of the tall soldier, and gained sudden recognition. Immediately she saw a new maturity in her foster son’s features, along with worry lines and a dark heaviness she had never seen before on his face.
“Come in, come in,” she urged, pulling him in with one small but strong arm. Aran glanced about, and nodded for Darven to enter as well.
As soon as the door was closed, she turned about and hugged him soundly. Aran tightened his arms about her, and rested his chin upon the top of her greying head. Finally she stepped back, and regarded her returned son.
“We thought you might call…Dram and I, but with you being the king now…” her voice trailed off as she realised the import of what she had just said. Eyes wide, her hand flew to her mouth, and she curtsied low, her mind only just comprehending who stood before her now.
Aran smiling shook his head and lifted her to her feet.
“None of that mother, if I cannot be just Arantur with you here, where can I be him?”
Suddenly there was a voice, and a step from beyond, and Dram came walking through from the small kitchen at the back.
Aran had always known that both his foster parents were small people. Sed took after them in that way, but after an absence of many months his father seemed to have diminished even more. Perhaps it was because he had been spending all his time with the Archmage and the Guard. Alissa too was taller, but it seemed to Aran that his foster family had shrunk much in comparison.
“Father,” Aran said gravely, pushing back fully the hood of his cloak, “It is good to see you.”
“Arantur? Son?”
The plain garbed man took stock of the two warriors towering before him, and immediately went down on one knee and bent his grey head.
Not you too, Aran thought in some exasperation whilst pulling the older man to his feet. “Really father,” Aran said with a half-chuckle in his voice, “Whilst I am in this house I am only your foster son who caused you endless grief.”
Dram stood and barked a short hard laugh, “Never you Arantur. Not my quiet craftson. Sed on the other hand…” he frowned and did not elaborate.
Aran grinned, “I can guess…never out of the taverns, and a new girl each week?”
Dram nodded tiredly, “And more, perhaps you may have heard tell from Craftsmaster Cody that Sed bears much enmity towards you, and what you have become.”
Aran nodded then looked deeper into the house, “Is he here?”
Dram shook his head in weary resignation, “No he lives elsewhere now. As soon as he heard the news he moved out, and is living with some of his wild friends in cheap lodgings in the Narrows.” He frowned, “I don’t know how he keeps himself but he visits us only rarely.”
Aran shook his head at the news, “And without Sed to assist…how goes your business?”
The frown came again, “Poorly…without assistance I cannot meet the orders, and have lost much trade. In Andur’s name I cannot afford to take another lad on to replace Sed.”
Aran clasped his foster father on the shoulder, “At least in that respect I can help you.” He stared at the older honourable carter, “Would you accept help from your foster son?”
Dram stared up at the tall man who was now his king and nodded slowly, “Once, not so long ago, I was full of pride and scornful of those who would accept charity. Now with you where you are and Sed worse than useless…yes, I would welcome help from my foster son.”
Aran smiled, “I will talk with my officers. I have been of a mind to set you up in a nicer, bigger house, and to arrange for a sum of money to be given to you annually.” He smiled wryly, “I imagine the world would cease to be if Dram the carter sat idle for just one day.”
The older man smiled and laughed at that, “Aye lad, even if you gave me your entire treasury, I still could not sit idly by.”
Aran nodded, “I thought as much.”
Then he turned his head and saw Darven waiting quietly in the shadows, “I forget myself. The one who stands so quietly by is Darven of Eastling…Leader of the Wolf Company of the Andurian Guard, a good man, a fine soldier and the best friend any man or king may ask for.”
Darven stepped forward and quickly clasped the outstretched hand of Aran’s foster father.
“I have heard much about you sir,” he said.
The carter’s small hand was grasped firmly, and Dram could only smile and nod in pleased reply.
Elsa hurried forward, “I’m certain that if I allowed it, you all would be still standing here in the hall and talking till dusk. Come through all of you and sit in the kitchen…I have hot cakes baking, and have brewed more of that apple cider you are so fond of my son.”
Grinning to Darven, Aran allowed himself to be firmly steered back into pleasant memories of youth and home.
*
An hour or two later, Aran pulled himself to his feet from the narrow bench seat, and dusted the crumbs from his mail and tunic.
“As always mother, you feed me too well…” he commented wryly. “I will be requiring the armourers to add more rings to this ma
il hauberk if stay any longer here.”
Dram stood also, “From what you have been telling us Arantur, you have much work and long journeying ahead of you. You will need good meals to sustain you for the trials ahead my son.”
Aran nodded, “Aye, and pleasant memories to keep me warm in the cold nights.” He walked over to his foster mother and gave her a hard quick hug, “You will promise to come to see us in Andur’s Keep once all this is over?”
The small woman nodded, “We regret now that we did not come for the coronation, but all those soldiers…” she shook her head at how fearful they had been.
“You must meet Alissa soon,” Aran said firmly. “My time will not be my own after this day, but if you are able, come to the camp. The Guard and legio are courteous, and if you speak my name and tell them who you are, they will take you directly to my tent.”
Dram nodded, “I shall be very busy tomorrow with my orders, but we may be able to spare an hour to come out.”
“Good! Now about that annual sum,” Aran said as he threw on his cloak, “I will speak to my officers about arranging to have a hundred gold marks placed with the Leigh money house every mid-winter festival. You will be able to access as much or as little of it as often as you please during the year…” He pulled out his leather pouch from where it hung from his belt. “In the meantime, here are twenty gold marks to see you through until the first mid-winter payment, and also a royal writ and seal entitling you to withdraw enough gold from the Leigh money house to secure a bigger, warmer and better house.”
Dram could only shake his head in amazement as her accepted the writ and gold coins. Finally he looked up, tears brimming in his brown eyes, “Thank you son, we will never know want again.”
Aran shrugged and smiled, “I would assist Sed in the same way but it seems that my foster brother has carved his own lifepath now.” He looked across and caught Darven’s eye, “We must be going now, but…” and he stared at his foster parents and gnawed his lower lip, “If Sed changes for the better, then send me word at the Keep, and I will do what I can to find him a position there, or send him an annual sum, similar to your own. I care not to do it for him now for he will only squander and drink it away, and I am not so foolish a man to throw money away entirely.”
Dram laughed, “No, Craftsmaster Cody has taught you well.”
Aran smiled and nodded and walked with Darven out of the back kitchen to the front door.
“Keep well my son,” Elsa said hugging him again. “Your star has risen high and is shining brightly…keep in mind that it does not set before its time.”
Aran kissed his foster mother lightly on her brow, “I will keep myself safe.”
He laughed at that, and looked across to Darven, “Besides you know that Darven is my strength and shadow.”
“Then look out for each other” Dram said roughly his eyes damp with emotion, clasping first Aran then Darven by the shoulder. “I would not like either of you to come to harm.”
*
“I was mistaken, they are good people,” Darven said at last when they were again mounted and riding away from Aran’s old home.
Aran glanced across at the Wolf leader and smiled, “Yes, they have done much for me. That is why I wanted to help them now. That money and the new house will ease their old age.”
“Sounds like Sed is completely out of control now,” Darven commented dryly.
Aran shook his head, “Given time he may gain the sense and maturity of Dram, but it looks now as though he has fallen in with bad company.” Aran shook his head again, “In Andur’s name, I really don’t know what drives Sed to do these things…he is his own worst enemy.”
“I guess it shows a shallow and selfish character,” Darven said. “How old is he?”
“Eighteen…I know he is young, but he has been resentful of me from the very beginning.”
Darven thought for a long moment, “Although I don’t know him and have never met him, I feel that he is perhaps doing all this to get attention from others.”
Aran nodded, “You are probably right there, anyway we have an engagement with Wolf Company. Are you coming?”
Darven spurred his horse into a trot, “Of course! Just tell me how to find my way back through this rabbit warren of streets and I’ll beat you there.”
*
Darven and Aran found Wolf Company deep in their drinking session, and surrounded by well-wishing townsfolk and militia. As soon as they were spotted by the Guardsmen, they were immediately brought into their midst and mugs of foaming ale placed in their hands.
“My lord, the ale is fine and smooth and goes down a treat,” said Guard Urden who looked as though many an ale had indeed gone his way.
“Mind you keep to your feet Urden,” warned Darven half-jokingly. “If you pass out on me, I’ll not be the one to try and put you on your horse for the ride back to camp.”
Urden grinned and his steady black eyes twinkled, “I know my limit Wolf Leader…which can’t be said for some of these townsfolk. Already some are under the table after only an hour or two of drinking.”
“Never”
“No”
“Not on your life”
“We’ll show you Guards,” came the immediate chorus from the other drinkers.
Aran caught Darven’s eye and grinned. Immediately they shrugged themselves out of their cloaks, and sat back on the hard tavern bench seats to better enjoy the company and pleasant atmosphere. Even though Aran was half hidden by the Guard, his height and blond braids were immediately recognised by a sharp eyed drinker. Instantly the whisper flew around the tavern that the new king Arantur was drinking with the Guard. Although Aran tried to ignore it, there was some jostling at the back whilst townsfolk and visitors craned their necks to see the new king and returned son of Leigh.
“Hi Aran…is that you there?”
Aran looked up at the mention of his name, and searched the many familiar and unfamiliar faces for the one who had just spoken.
“Hey Aran…its Tomas here,” came a voice from the back of the crowd.
Aran stood, and scanned the many heads; finally he located the tousled yellow head of his old friend Tomas, apprentice to Master Solur, and fletcher of Leigh.
“Tomas!” Aran called, “Come over and have a drink with us.”
The young man did not wait to be asked twice, but immediately came over to the armoured group.
Seeing Aran he quickly bowed then looking across met Aran’s grey eyes with a grin, “If I wasn’t seeing with my own eyes you dressed so with all these fierce looking soldiers, I would never have believed the stories that you are the king, Aran.”
“Just so I am,” Aran said dryly. “How have you been keeping Tomas?”
The other grinned, “Well enough, although perishing busy with the army encamped nearby. This is the first moment all day I have been able to get away from the making of arrows.”
“And Master Solur?”
“Well too, and much pleased by all this new trade you have brought to Leigh.”
Aran shook his head, “We’ll only be here a day or two longer so tell him to take full advantage of it now.”
“And then you are off to war,” Tomas remarked with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Who would believe that the Thakur would come against us so openly? We were becoming almost used to the tales of their raids.” He drained his mug of ale and placed it down on the table, “Odd to think that the raids were hiding a darker and more terrible purpose.”
“It will be a hard campaign,” Aran replied then he stared at the young fletcher. “Is Master Solur planning on travelling with the army, for we will have need of many skilled fletchers to repair and replace our arrows.”
Tomas shook his head, “No, he says his bones grow too old for long marches, and I am alas too new in my apprenticeship to be counted amongst the ranks of the craftsmen.”
Aran grinned at him, “You belittle your skill, Tomas. Although I have no skill with the bow and arrow
, I know your work to be as fine as Leigh’s master Fletcher.”
The young man smiled and inclined his head, “Lord you do me great honour with your words.” Then he laughed merrily “However I know your reputation as a bowman, Aran. It is good that you have ability with that great hulking sword at your side for the Thakur will have nothing to fear from your bow skills.”
“Be not so certain that his sword skill is so great, Tomas,” a loud and angry voice came from the back of the crowd. “As a bowman my brother could not even hit the side of a tavern wall. How certain is it that he can do better with that sword of his?”
Aran stiffened and sensing trouble, the Wolves immediately put down their mugs, and their hands went to their sword hilts.
“Oh that’s done it now,” remarked a disgusted voice in the sudden, uncomfortable silence. “Can’t you ever let it alone Sed?”
“Go home and sleep it off,” advised another annoyed voice. “We’ve heard enough of your drunken ravings. Lord Aran will be riding to war soon, can’t we just…”
“Lord Aran?” Sed’s voice came again, interrupting the speaker. “Huh?” he scoffed. “What sort of king is he that forgets his family and friends?”
Darven immediately stood, his gentle face stern, “The sort of king who just spent two hours with his foster parents, talking pleasantly with them, and ensuring that they would never want for anything in their old age.” There was immediate conversation in the tavern at that, but Sed would not be silenced.
“How can you prove that to me soldier? I know you not.”
Darven’s face darkened, “I swear by my oath as Leader of the Wolf Company of the Andurian Guard of Andur’s Keep.”
Aran put a firm hand on his friend’s arm, pulling him down, “Be easy Darven…I will speak to him. Whilst he is like this he will not listen to another.”
“Then watch yourself my lord,” Darven replied softly. “For I doubt he will even listen to you.”
Aran nodded and stood.
“If you want to have words with me Sed, then come over here. I hold no grudge towards you.”
The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Page 21