The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (21 page)

“You most of
all, my lord,” he commented, whilst helping to tighten the buckles
on Aran’s leg greaves. “As much as this may prove unnecessary, it
may just save your life. Besides it will impress the hell out the
citizenry of the city.”

“True,” Aran
agreed, then he mounted and the folds of his dark blue royal cloak
were arranged across Spirit’s flanks.

“This seems as
good a time as any,” Darven said riding up, resplendent in shining
mail. “The Guard have a gift for you my lord.”

Aran swung
around in the saddle, “A gift for me. Whatever do you mean?”

“Look behind
you lord…we had it made back at the Keep in the days before we rode
out. We hope you like it?”

Aran twisted
fully about in the saddle and saw three Guardsmen cantering up. The
middle horseman was holding aloft a tall thin wooden pole from
which flew a large, long banner.

“It is a copy
of High King Andur’s war banner,” Darven explained. “The original
is mostly fallen apart with age, but it was intact enough for us to
copy it exactly.”

Aran stared at
the silken banner streaming in the wind. Dark blue it was and the
Andurian Oak had been cleverly and carefully embroidered upon it in
gold and green silk and thread. Aran felt himself responding to the
banner in a deep and fundamental way. There was something about it
that made his heart leap with pride, and he stared at it with a
fierce and hungry joy the like of which he had never known
before.

“You have all
done well,” Aran finally said turning to Darven with shining eyes.
“This is a kingly gift indeed…I will not forget the Guard’s loyalty
and kindness to me.”

Darven
grinned, “A king should have a banner…this is yours, Aran.”

Aran turned
back to the road, “Then will you bear it for me Darven” he asked,
“And ride at my shoulder with it unfurled.”

The Wolf
Leader grinned, and took the banner from the Guardsman. Expertly he
maneuvered his horse around until it stood at Spirit’s flank.

“Are all in
position?” Aran asked of Captain Taran.

“Aye lord
king,” the Captain of the Guard replied.

Aran set heels
to the dun mare, “Then let us ride,” he replied, calling out.

*

They rode
swiftly and in silence, but upon the cobbled road their passage was
heard like the distant roar of thunder, of a storm approaching
quickly and with intent. Those who worked in the fields by the road
looked up at the noise, and noted their passing with surprise.
Those who knew of the king’s coming, immediately dropped tools and
cheered, whilst their neighbours stared with open peasant faces and
admired the bright pageantry passing by. Closer they came to the
high stone walls of Haulgard, until with a sound like muffled
thunder they cantered over the stout timbers of the bridge which
spanned the Titan River, and to the foot of the city itself. In the
very shadow of the walls they came to a shivering halt, and Darven,
still firmly holding the brightly waving banner, stepped his horse
forward to address the soldiers of the legions on duty at the
gate.

“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 hastened 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.