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

by Rosemary Fryth

  The Archmage looked up and met the frosty grey eyes of the young king. At that moment, he knew finally and inexplicably that the young and innocent youth he had known so briefly was forever gone. In his place now was a darker and harder man. In his place was a king full in his blood and glory, a king that would accept only utter and absolute truth and loyalty. Maran thought suddenly of his father, the uncompromising Warleader Andur, and sighing, composed himself to speak.

  “Glaive will aid the army,” he said simply, “Just as the ancient mages aided Warleader Andur in the Great Uprising, so shall we lend our powers to this new cause.” He looked up and surveyed the anxious faces about him, “However we at Glaive do not as a rule use our Goddess given mage Abilities to initiate war and destruction. The Earthpowers that shape our Abilities have certain rules which cannot be overcome or gainsaid. The Abilities of Earthmage, Weathermage and Healermage must always stay within the bounds of the natural laws…to do otherwise would bring a heavy reckoning from the Goddess.”

  Aran stared hard at Maran, “If Glaive has limitations Archmage, please tell us now.”

  Maran nodded absently to himself, “Even though I stress that the mages are bound within the natural laws, we still have some leeway granted to us. At Glaive, we teach that although we are bound to the natural laws, we sometimes do have the license to move beyond it…” he looked up, and to those listening, he sounded as if he was relating a well known lecture. “We teach that it is possible to take advantage of the imagination of the natural laws.”

  There was subdued comment from the gathered commanders at that.

  “Although this is neither the time, nor the forum to explain fully the first lessons of magecraft,” Maran continued after the low talk had died away. “You will each need to understand that the mages are limited by rules and laws, and though at times we can go beyond ‘into the imagination of the laws’, such spells and powers come at great cost to the mages casting them.”

  He paused, as if weighing his words.

  “Back in history the high spells were used frequently, and the mages who cast them were strengthened after each use. Instead of the power draining them, they were in fact refilled with magepower greater than what they had known before. This explains the great exploits of early Glaive. The proof of their labour is attested to by the very existence of Andur’s Keep, and Glaive College itself.”

  He glanced back at the other mages, as if seeking support. “Until recently such powers were inexplicable to the modern mages of Glaive. Until recently, there were unseen and unknown barriers preventing us from attempting to cast the high spells. Until recently Glaive could not have hoped to aid this army.”

  “And now?” Aran voiced the unspoken question of all present.

  “And now…” the Archmage echoed Aran’s words. “We are limited still, but we come closer to understanding how far indeed we can range within the imagination of the natural laws.”

  “The Earthmage transformations are proof of what can be achieved, whilst moving still within the imagination of the laws,” said Mage Drayden from the back of the group. “Only a few years ago such transformations would have been impossible, nay incredible, spoken of only as an exploit of the early days of Glaive.”

  Maran glanced back at the High Earthmage and nodded, “That is true.”

  “This I understand, my own Abilities as Warriormage and Metalmage both are proof of the rising magepower,” interrupted Aran impatient with the verbal dance. “But what tangible support can Glaive offer this army here and now.”

  Maran’s face tightened, “If I may continue, lord king?”

  Aran nodded, his own hard grey eyes a mirror of the Archmages’. Imperceptibly he felt Darven’s hand on his shoulder, calming him.

  The Archmage’s eyes flickered across the Guard and Legion Commanders.

  They too flinched visibly at his touch. Finally he spoke.

  “The truths we understand are these. The magepower is again rising, the old boundaries are being tested and pushed back, and finally we are at last beginning to understand, and explore the imagination of the natural laws.”

  He paused as if to garner emphasis for his words.

  “Unfortunately however, the reality is that no mage on Glaive has the strength yet to employ the ancient powerful spells. If one or even a group was to try, then their existence would be snuffed out as surely and as casually as we would extinguish the small light of a candle.”

  “So what can Glaive do for us, Lord Archmage?” asked Commander Senner nervously.

  Maran smiled grimly at the soldier, “Reconnaissance Commander, using the transformed Earthmages; field hospitals employing the Healermages; protective and perhaps hindering fogs initiated by the Weathermages, and perhaps other higher spells if the strength is there, and the natural laws are favourable to employ them.”

  “What higher spells, Archmage?” Aran asked his anger again leashed.

  Maran looked up, and met the eyes of his young king and descendant.

  “It is within our power to unleash earthquakes to tear the very ground from beneath the enemy’s feet. To gather storms about their heads with lightning bolts directed to burn them where they stand. Savage killing beasts from the deep forests stampeded into their ranks. Diseases and growths nurtured within their bodies so they die painful and agonising deaths on the field…”

  He looked up and the soldiers quailed at the bleakness plainly written in the Archmage’s eyes, “Do you wish to hear more High King Arantur?”

  Aran shook his head, shocked indeed that such horrors could be created within the imagination of the natural laws.

  “All this comes at a great price to the mages of Glaive,” Maran continued. “For most of the campaign we must rely on the natural strength and training of our soldiers. The mages of Glaive must only be used sparingly and at times which will cause the greatest hurt upon our enemy.” He glanced across at Aran, “To use them sooner, or for lesser purpose, will drain them entirely of the magepower and leave them useless for the great battles that follow, battles for which their Abilities and spells will have the most use.”

  “We will leave the mages to your direction, Archmage,” replied Captain Taran. “A good Commander knows the strengths of his men, and will not overuse them, or ask from them what they cannot give.”

  The other Legion Commanders nodded at that.

  Aran frowned, “Metalcrafters learn that iron, although inherently strong, is brittle and will eventually break. To strengthen iron we heat it, hammer it, and take it many times through the three ordeals of fire, hammer and water. This eventually transmutes it into steel. Perhaps to strengthen mages, a similar discipline ought to be followed. No soldier would willingly take an iron sword into battle it would be heavy and shatter upon impact. A steel sword is flexible and is a fine strong weapon.”

  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. “T
here 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.

  *

  Chapter 7—Warriormage

  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.”