Chapter 9—Plans and Preparations
Archmage Maran of Glaive had spent the better part of the day wrestling with his conscience about the events that had transpired during and after the ambush, and still had come to no firm conclusion as to whether he had acted improperly or not. Realising that he had to confront Arantur, he made his way out of the mage enclave, and walked up to where the king was standing near the fortifications.
“Do you not trust me, Arantur?” he stated quietly, his voice hesitant at the reception he might receive.
Aran spun around and his face darkened when he saw the Archmage.
“The battle gave me more insight into you, Glaive, and the other mages than anything I had seen to date,” Aran replied tightly, immediately. “I understand you very well Archmage.” He turned again and stared into the dark overcast, “However, I do not trust you, and I believe your aiding of the province against our enemies is only one of your motivations. You clearly have other plans as well. You spend too much time alone in your dusty halls with your old books. When others look at the sunset they see the beauty of the clouds, the mountains and the light. However, you see swirling patterns of power and structures of energy. How can you see as other men do?”
A gleam entered Maran’s eyes, “Need I remind you that they are powers that we both share and understand. Though our approaches to the magepower are different, we are both called mage, irrespective of the titling of our Abilities. Although we are part of this world, our magepowers take us apart from the rest…” He paused as if to gather strength, “But you wound me my lord. We could have stayed behind our crashing waves and swirling ocean mists of Glaive, but our kinship and stewardship of the province drove us to leave our fortress of power, in order to aid both you and the people.”
Aran stared out, what more could he say without giving offense. Finally he turned back to the Archmage and his words were cutting.
“Are you implying that it is Glaive alone, who has direct responsibility and power over the province and its people? I think not. Despite my youth I am still the king, and Glaive must understand that I am no puppet ruler dancing to Glaive’s ambitions and whims.” He stared at the old man, “I will take Glaive’s advice when it is fair and equitable, but neither you nor any man on that island is my master.” He turned away and so did not see the lines of anger appear in the Archmage’s face. Finally he spoke again, “I thought I made that abundantly clear to you after the battle.”
Maran struggled to contain his own anger, “You seem to forget that I too am of the Andurian line, and also ruled as an anointed King. I do not take kindly to being cuffed in rebuke by any man of any time…whether they are peasant, blacksmith, or king. In striking the Archmage, your actions alone would have had you pleading for your life in front of the High Circle of Glaive. Think on that, and consider yourself lucky that I withheld my hand…”
Then his voice gentled a little, “I understand the birth-pangs of your Ability, but I tell you this once only—despite your rank you are answerable to Glaive and the people of the province”
Sudden anger flared briefly in Aran’s eyes, “That may well be true mage,” he growled, “I am answerable to the people, but although you may see yourself as kingmaker, by blood I am the true born ruler. That was the title you held, but found too burdensome. You relinquished direct responsibility, and chose instead the comfort of your books. I now accept this burden and unlike you I shall not run from it.”
Aran allowed a wry humour to creep into his voice, “Now Archmage, Glaive’s sole stewardship of the realm of magepower is becoming somewhat questionable. You are not as knowledgeable as you think. The Goddess is forging a new balance of power and Glaive needs to discover its new place in the world.”
Maran stiffened, “What do you mean by those remarks?”
Aran smiled grimly, “I will not interfere in the running of Glaive if you do not interfere in my actions as a Warriormage. We may both be named mage, but there the similarity ends…”
“Do you work for the good of the province?” the Archmage asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Of course,” Aran replied evenly, “Perhaps more so than Glaive has ever done. Now…” and he took a deep breath. “Enough of this, we must come to some kind of resolution. You know where I stand, and I believe I know where Glaive’s position is in all this. For the most part our aims and desires are mutual. For the good of the province Glaive and the Crown must try to work harmoniously together. Do you agree, Maran.”
The Archmage nodded.
“Good!” Aran turned as if to go then paused.
“By the way Archmage, I know I originally agreed to your idea of establishing a small enclave of mages at the keep. However I have changed my mind. When I made that decision I was a child, now I am a man. After what has transpired recently there is no way that I could allow such an extension of Glaive’s power into the very heart of my fortress.” He stared heavily at the old mage, “Do I make myself clear?”
Maran nodded then looked across at his young kinsman, “Then we are friends?”
Aran paused, and nodded almost imperceptibly. “Despite everything that has been said, I am a reasonable man. If you can give me no reason to doubt you or Glaive’s motives in the future, then I cannot see why we cannot be friends…at least for the working day,” he added dryly. “It will remain to be seen what the future holds for us. You may be my kinsman Maran, but I’d rather choose my own friends.”
The interview over, Aran turned on his heel and walked off to oversee legio raising a defensive timber palisade.
For a moment the Archmage stared after the young king’s retreating back, then with a sigh and with his thoughts in turmoil, pulled his white robe closer about his shoulders and returned to the enclave.
*
Aran stood staring moodily at the teams of legio working with harness, pulley and rope to lift sections of the timber palisade into the completed ditch. Under the command of their officers, they laboured willingly in the slush and the mud to make this semi-permanent camp as defensible as possible.
“The work goes well my lord,” said one of the legio Captains, walking up to where Aran stood.
Aran nodded then asked, “How soon will the camp be fully ready?”
The officer stared about him at the already raised timber walls, “The day after tomorrow if the weather keeps clear.” He lifted his face to the sky, “These occasional snow flurries will not inconvenience us. I just hope that steady rain won’t set in.”
Aran shook his head, “Even though it is still autumn, it is becoming so cold that any rain will be turned to snow. Our only problem then will be making certain our defenses are not impaired by mounting drifts.”
“Aye my lord,” the Captain agreed. “We will be certainly sending out teams of diggers each day to clear any drifts from within the camp, and around the walls.”
Aran stared out towards the west. “I wonder if the Thakur will be prepared to fight in winter. They will be expecting to walk straight into Eldonton, which they believe their advance force would have captured. Coming upon this large fortified encampment will give them pause.”
“Will they swing to the north, lord?” asked the Captain, adjusting the belt securing his mail hauberk.
Aran shook his head, “I expect not, it would be a long march and at the end of it they would have to ford the Titan River—and I’ve never known the Titan to freeze over properly, not even in our hardest winter known.”
“They would be overextending their supply lines,” the officer stated. “No, you are right my lord, they are banking everything on a quick march into the already captured Eldenton.”
Aran smiled, “Once they see the remains of their advance force they will be going carefully, besides I will be sending small units of the cavalry to the north of us to dissuade them from attempting the northern route.”
“And the forest?” asked the officer, gazing to the south and west at the dark smudge that was the most northern extent
of the Nay Forest.
“They would be fools even to try,” interrupted Darven walking up. “It would be easy to lose an army within that trackless wilderness.”
Smiling at his friend, Aran asked, “How are you Wolf Leader?”
Darven inclined his head, “Well my lord…although might I have a word in private with you.”
Turning back to the legio Captain, Aran courteously bid him farewell and walked with Darven the short distance back to the king’s tent. As soon as they were out of earshot, Darven paused and put a hand on his friend’s arm.
“Aran…I need to talk to you.”
Aran gazed over to the tent, “It will be warmer in there.”
Darven shook his head, “Alissa is most certainly inside. I need to talk to you alone”
Aran shrugged, “Then let’s walk over to the horse pickets…there seems to be no one there, besides I ought to check that Spirit is being looked after.”
*
Aran stood up from where he had been inspecting his mount’s hooves and turned to Darven.
“Well?”
Darven was abstractedly stroking the dun mare’s neck.
“I need to know about this Warriormage Ability. How it will affect me,” he said at last.
Aran straightened and brushed the dirt from his hands, “How it will affect you Darven? I thought you would have had a fair idea about the Ability already. I mean you trained me and fought beside me during the ambush….”
“I saw a natural fighter,” Darven replied uneasily. “As to the other…the battle rage is not wholly restricted to Warriormages. I know of Guardsmen in the past that lost their reason during training, and had to be restrained. It’s not uncommon for a soldier to be so affected, I mean even the Legions have a name for it. They call it ‘bloodrage’…” He looked up at Aran and his face was grim, “Do you think I will be prone?”
Aran clasped his friend’s shoulder, “Darven…you are the most even tempered man I have ever known. I have not heard you raise your voice once, not even to a Guardsman who has stepped out of line.” He paused, and studied the other’s face, “Even during the battle you were a controlled soldier. Before this war, before I was made king, I had always thought myself a mild man, but compared to you I am emotionally volatile.” He looked down and his face tightened, “If you do get the rage…and I pray you don’t, I think that you will be able to control it better than I ever shall.”
Darven shook his head, “I have not been tested like you, Aran. I am a soldier only. You are the king and must deal with the vagaries of the Council and Glaive.” He smiled a tight smile, “Besides you did not hear me rail against the Archmage directly after the ambush. I know that I surprised both the Archmage and myself by my outburst of temper.”
“The Archmage and I have spoken,” Aran said softly. “There is a tenuous peace between us.”
Darven sighed in relief, “You have done well. It is not so good that all should see open animosity between the king and the Archmage. It does our cause ill when commanders are divided.”
Aran turned and leant on Spirit’s back, “I can tell you little else about the Ability” he said, changing the subject. “The rage you already know of, as well as the increased fighting skills.”
He glanced around at the Guardsman, “You have already discovered that you will have an increased awareness…especially of the enemy.” He stared tiredly out at the late afternoon light, “The other things of which the Archmage spoke, the killing at a thought, and the creating of the illusion of wounds and death, will no doubt come to you in time, as they unfortunately have come to me.”
“You can do that already?”
Aran nodded, “How do you think I was able to kill so many during the battle?” Then his voice grew harsh with remembered grief at his lost innocence. “In Andur’s name Darven, my mind was already slaying before my hand had even reached out to complete the blow…”
“How did the ancient Warriormages learn their trade?” Darven asked at length.
“Years of training,” Aran replied curtly. “Learning self-discipline and recognising their limits. Learning too when those limits ought not to be crossed, even though their Ability urges all before it.”
“So you will not fight again,” Darven said finally. “What will be your plans now?”
Aran stared into the west, “I have known all along that I must destroy this Thakurian Warleader,” he said. “Then at last there will be peace and we can go back to our interrupted lives.”
“You will not go alone.”
Aran shook his head, “The Archmage has promised me a small contingent of mages to accompany and protect me.”
“Mages,” Darven sniffed contemptuously. “How will they protect you? They have no more idea of fighting than does a small child.”
Aran looked around, “So who else should I take?”
Darven took the few steps to take him to Aran’s side, “You know Wolf Company will gladly go anywhere you ask them.”
“I cannot take over twenty soldiers into Thakur…we would attract every patrol in the west,” Aran stated cheerlessly.
“Then I will personally select the very best to go with you…” Darven said finally. “I will not hear talk of you going into the very heart of enemy territory with only a handful of bookish mages to protect you.”
“You know I can protect myself,” Aran said quietly, turning back to his horse.
Darven stared at his friend, “How can you my lord, when you yourself vowed never to fight again.”
“I will fight to protect my life, and those who are dear to me,” Aran replied distantly, his fingers again working tangles in Spirit’s mane. “Unlike you, soldiering is not my life. I must do this thing in Thakur because there is no other with the lineage or the right to wield the King’s Sword, but I would ask one favour of you Darven.”
The Wolf Leader knelt, “Ask, my king and lord. You know I would follow you unto death.”
Aran turned and smiled wryly, “That won’t be necessary. I ask you only to remain here with the army, and look after Alissa for me when I am gone.”
“That won’t be necessary, Aran.”
Aran immediately looked up at Alissa’s voice, and saw both her and Bini walk up.
“I came looking for you my love and finally find you here at the horse pickets.” She shook her head, “What are you two plotting in my absence.” She stood squarely in front of Aran and shook her finger in reproof, “You know you are not going anywhere without me.”
“Or me,” added Bini cheerfully.
Darven stood and shook his head, “I obey you in all things my king, but in this thing I too must disobey.” He grinned at Alissa and Bini, “If those two are determined upon going to Thakur with you, then I also must come—besides you would find it very difficult leaving me behind.”
Aran sighed, “You are all being very foolish. It may mean your deaths.”
Bini shrugged, Death comes eventually. I would rather seek it out and confront it, than have it come for me at night when I am old and alone in my tent.”
Darven nodded, agreeing.
“What about Kiaia and the babe?” Aran asked the Wolf Leader bluntly.
Darven’s face grew grim, “My heart is already broken with the grief of leaving her; but my lord, she is already well looked after and I could not live with myself if you failed to return, and I was left with the fear that it was because I was not there to look out for you.” He paused and his head lifted, “Besides I did promise your foster father that I’d not leave your side.”
Aran nodding at that, turned finally to Alissa. “My love if I fall, you alone in the province have the right to lift the King’s Sword and make it the Queen’s Sword instead. Please return to the Keep and stay safe.”
Alissa shook her head, “No Aran,” she said simply. “Where you are I am. There is no other place for me.”
Sighing, Aran eyed the west once more then turned back to his friends. “Although you are fools all, I a
m so very glad that you are coming along…I was dreading going knowing that I would be leaving you all behind and thinking that I might not see you again.”
Bini grinned wickedly, “Let all the hosts of Thakur stand in our way, we shall prevail if we are together.”
Aran turned to Darven, “Choose no more than half a dozen fit Guardsmen to accompany us. They must be volunteers and know where they are bound. I would have none along who are reluctant about joining such a venture.”
The Wolf Leader nodded and turned to go, then paused in mid-stride.
“Lord, when do you intend leaving?”
Aran glanced at the western horizon, “Soon,” he muttered. “Tomorrow if at all possible; or as soon as the party and gear are assembled.”
*
“He will need six mages,” Maran said to those gathered in the enclave that evening. “One mage from each discipline, with a back-up in case of burn-out or injury.” He stared about the assembled gathering, “Who is willing to go?”
“I shall my lord Archmage,” said Drayden immediately. “The king and I seem to get on, and he looks upon me as his representative to Glaive and the High Circle.”
“Good,” Maran said approving, “I had hoped you would go Drayden. Of all the High Mages you are the one who stands foremost at Glaive.”
“I will accompany him,” said a woman’s voice suddenly.
Drayden looked over his shoulder and met the blue eyes of Master Earthmage Theaua.
“It will be a hard trip,” Drayden said.
“That’s no excuse,” she said bluntly. “We Earthmages know little about Thakur and even less about this Ability the Thakurian Warleader possesses…so going into Thakur would be an excellent opportunity to remedy our lack of information.”
Trevan spoke, “Although I am neither a Master nor High Mage, I have known Arantur longest of any here and despite what has happened over the past few days I like the lad. Besides…” and he looked up to meet the Archmage’s eye, “No disrespect to my lord Archmage, Arantur needs mages he can trust and turn to.”
Maran nodded his face tight.
The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy Page 30