The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (36 page)

“Yet Archmage
Maran is his kinsman,” Drayden said abruptly, “Should blood not
show?”

Trevan shook
his head wearily, “I think that may be the very reason for the
rift. There is very little understanding between them. They are too
alike in character I think, for them to get on.”

Drayden
nodded, “Aye, our king has greater love and respect for his young
companions Darven, Bini and Alissa…”

“Alissa,” the
Healermage mused out loud, “She is the one good thing to come out
of this war. If it were not for the strength and love of that young
woman, I believe we would have an insane and uncontrollable king
and Warriormage on our hands—and you don’t need to tell me that
would be an intolerable situation.”

There was an
uneasy pause at that then Drayden finally spoke.

“So what do we
do now?”

Trevan
shrugged, “We watch, wait and hope that Glaive does not misstep
around Arantur again. We must all weigh our actions and words in
the King’s presence. He will not be quick to forgive or forget any
of our blunders.”

*

Aran meanwhile
was immersed in a heavy period of self-analysis. He spoke not, for
fear any words, hasty or otherwise would allow his slow burning
rage excuse enough to flare up again. Although he was comforted by
the presence of his three closest friends, he was immeasurably glad
that they had given him space and silence in which to come to terms
with what had happened. Despite the resounding victory and success
of the ambush, the day had come at too great a price for him. There
had been other losses from the army, it was only to be expected
given such a battle, but Aran felt the deaths of the Guardsmen most
keenly, and knew that some of these could at least have been
avoided if the Archmage had intervened.

‘Ah…Archmage,’
thought Aran, his eyes hardening at the memory, ‘You withheld your
hand and in doing so proved irrefutably where Glaive’s position
lies in all this. I see now that Glaive will follow its own path
and will assist, if the King’s course lies upon the same route as
Glaive. But woe betides the King, and the Province he commands, if
Glaive sees his path as separate.’ Aran frowned at that
realization, and stared ahead into the darkness. He had learned
much from this day, and would now be far warier of the mages and
treat their words like a double-edged sword. Only the few mages he
could utterly trust would be kept by his side.

But who could
he trust? Aran wondered sourly. Trevan of course, that went without
saying, but there were few others within their ranks with whom he
had felt any kind of affinity. Drayden too seemed honourable,
although he did not know the High Earthmage well. As of the others
he knew only Kaled, and he was just a novice, still studying at
Glaive and unlikely to be allowed to leave the college until he
gained his mantle.

Aran shook his
head bitterly unhappy in the knowledge that he had to still work
with the mages, frustrated that he had no choice in the matter.
Belatedly Aran remembered Master Cody’s words, ‘Lad the mages are
inscrutable and ought to be avoided, for they have their own plans
and needs which concern us not…’

Back then, the
young apprentice Arantur had not really understood his master’s
words and ignored them; but now, in the full power of kingship and
after today’s events, Aran readily appreciated the truth in what
Cody had said. Even then the general opinion of Leigh had been that
you interfere with a mage at your peril, and a sensible man would
turn and walk away if he saw a mage approaching.

It was far too
late to walk away now, Aran mused miserably. Already this kingship
and war was turning him into the sort of man he did not recognise
nor like. True, the Abilities had always been within him, but the
strain and responsibility of being a soldier king were bringing out
hidden, dormant aspects of his character that were better left
undisturbed, buried. Already he suspected that he was becoming very
like his ancestor, Warleader Andur; but surely even Andur did not
have the depths of power that Aran himself had displayed today.
Power very like those of the ancient Warriormages—dark power little
understood and uncontrollable.

Aran now fully
understood why the ancient Warriormages and Metalmages had set up
their own college at Rapier. The ideologies and disciplines were
very different, and there was no way that the mages at Rapier could
have happily co-existed with the ones at Glaive. The standard
magepowers at Glaive seem to be entirely based upon spell learning
and casting, quiet study, years of research and testing and
employing the senses to work in harmony within the natural laws.
The Warrior and Metalmage Abilities however, from Aran’s own
experience, seemed to be directly linked to the mind and emotions
of the mage himself. Raw passions, intuition, dark emotions, far
reaching senses and a knack for losing oneself in the metal or with
the weapon seem to be the keys to the manipulation of the
Abilities. Keys which Aran seemed to be rapidly gaining…

Aran shook his
head again. As quickly and as surely as he opened each door to the
Warriormage Ability, he was faced with the uncomfortable and
frightening realisation that he did not yet have the skills to shut
them. He was not even certain if they could ever again be
closed.

“No,” he
muttered under his breath, knowing that his earlier decision was
correct. As far as he was able he would not fight again, least not
until he gained the self-discipline required to leash the magepower
each time it flared. Uncomfortably Aran was beginning to suspect
that the rage was merely the physical manifestation of the
Warriormage Ability. If so the rage had to be controlled, had to be
channelled, perhaps transmuted into a thing that had borders,
boundaries—presence. The rage had to be like a fierce hunting dog,
leashed most times but able to be controlled when let out. With an
effort of strain that cast immediate lines upon his haggard face,
Aran tried to constrain the rage—his mind spun and his eyes grew
dark with effort. Finally, tiredly he allowed himself to relax
again. Despite all his determination there had been no success. The
rage refused to be controlled or contained. Aran frowned and sighed
heavily. Unconsciously his fingers worked tangles into the mare’s
long dark mane. This gaining of control would take days, perhaps
weeks, even years to master. In the meantime he hoped that nothing
would happen to set it off again…

*

It took the
column most of the night to wind their way back to the meeting
point at Mount Solstice. Their way lit by the ever burning lamps of
Glaive that had been hung from the saddles, the tired horses and
even more weary men stumbled through the snow and tussocky grass,
till at last dawn, and the distant watch fires of the main camp
showed that they were almost home. Despite the presence of the
Healermages, they had lost one legio on the ride back. The young
cavalryman had sustained terrible leg wounds and had lost much
blood during the battle. The Healermages had worked continuous
shifts about him to stem the bleeding and give him strength for the
journey ahead. However it seemed that he had lost too much blood,
and despite his youth, his life could not be sustained and he
slipped away into the final darkness sometime between the second
and third hour of the morning. When told, Aran frowned, and a heavy
weariness settled again over his face.

*

“The camp is
just ahead my lord Aran,” Darven said quietly, finally breaking the
terrible silence.

Aran nodded,
“As soon as we arrive everyone must sleep and rest. I would have no
more deaths today,” he replied curtly.

Darven swung
his horse back towards the main part of the column, “My lord, I
will let the leaders know.”

Alissa nudged
her black mare forward, “How do you fare, Aran?” she asked
quietly.

Aran turned
around and gave her a tired smile, “Weary Alissa, wearier than you
could ever imagine. I believe that if I put my head down I could
sleep for a year and still think that insufficient.”

Alissa nodded,
“Aye, war is not easy work and I even did not fight.” She paused,
as if to gather courage, “The anger…is it gone now?”

Aran turned
again towards her, and his eyes were bleak, “No, in fact I doubt if
it will ever go. However, for the moment it is contained and
quiet.” He stared at her face, seeing for the first time the
tiredness and pain etched into the fine lines there.

“I ask your
forgiveness Alissa,” Aran said simply. “I have been selfish, and
too caught in my own troubles to ask how you fared. Are you well my
love?”

Alissa nodded,
“It has been a long, hard day and night, and I only wish my small
Earthmage Ability was Healermage instead.”

She sighed
heavily, her face drawn with tiredness and grief. At last she spoke
again, “There were many deaths the Healermages could not prevent
Aran. The soldiers either lost too much blood, or spirit, or both,
and however hard the mages called to them and stemmed the internal
and external bleeding, the men just slipped away…as if the battle
for their lives was far harder than the battle against the
Thakur.”

“I know, after
what had happened I too did not want to come back,” Aran owned,
finally finding solace in this quiet conversation. “I had turned
into a ravening beast on the battlefield, and after it was all over
I felt sick to the core of my being. I believe that if I had the
strength or the courage, I would have fallen on my sword there and
then.”

Alissa said
nothing, what indeed could be said in the face of such an
admission?

“I turned
myself back,” Aran said finally into the silence. “Despite what I
had become I knew I had to go on. There were too many people
relying on me, my crown and my Abilities. Despite my complaining at
times Alissa, I really am a man who takes duty very seriously. I
have a duty of care to these people, and I really could not go into
the final darkness, besides…” and there was a hint of the old Aran
in his hesitant smile. “How could I take my life knowing that I was
leaving you behind? You who are my heart and strength Alissa, How
could I do such a thing to you?”

Alissa spurred
the black mare forward and reached out to take Aran’s cold
hand.

“Wherever,
whenever you need me,” she urged. “Call me. Let me know…I will be
your strength. Only promise me…” and her voice faded.

Aran looked up
to see tears brimming in her eyes, “Promise you what?”

“That you will
not think again about taking your life…” she turned away so Aran
could not see her tears. “That I could not bear…”

“Alissa, I was
full of fear, shame and horror at the things I did,” Aran explained
ruefully. “But I must live with that knowledge, and try not to let
my magepower rule me…else I am afraid I will be consumed,” he
finished wearily.

“You did
something to the Archmage,” Alissa said at last. “Not everyone
noticed, but I felt you use the magepower, and then I saw the fear
and the horror in his eyes. What did you do?”

Aran’s head
fell in shame, and for a moment he remembered that awful time.

“Tell me,” she
urged, “I need to know. You are the man with whom I have pledged
myself. If you cannot tell me, who can you tell?”

Aran looked up
and there was dark emptiness mirrored in his grey eyes.

“I showed him
his death…” he replied hollowly, finally. “Do not press me Alissa,
I will not speak of this again,” he said painfully.

Alissa nodded,
whilst implicitly understanding that she did not really want to
know the absolute truth to the demons which plagued him.

“Come,” she
said at last, and her voice was strained. “I can see the tents of
the camp ahead…let us put aside the horrors we have seen and tell
instead of the great victory we have had over the Thakur.”

Aran smiled
tiredly, “Let others tell of such deeds. I crave only my bed and
uninterrupted sleep…”

Alissa’s eyes
gentled, “You will have that soon, my lord. I will personally make
certain that no one disturbs you.”

Aran inclined
his head, “I would be grateful.”

And so they
rode into the waking camp.

*

Although the
main part of the army had only arrived at the meeting point the day
before, already all the spare tents had been erected, and the
picket lines prepared for the absent cavalry. With dawn breaking on
the horizon, the keen eyed watchmen had long since spotted the
large column of horsemen making their way wearily from the west,
and alerted the camp commanders to the news that the King, Guard,
and Legion cavalry were returning. Hurriedly grooms and cooks were
roused from their beds to start meals and prepare feeds for the
exhausted men and their mounts.

“How went the
day?”

Camp Commander
Druec was dressed only in a hurriedly thrown-on tunic, but his face
was grave when he saw the reduced number of the column and the
exhausted men and horses.

“Well enough,”
Aran replied shortly, even now unable to speak fully about the
previous day’s events.

“We won
Druec!”

Legion
Commander Terdec had ridden up from where he had been keeping
station with his men as soon as they had reached the camp.

“We lost
some,” he added, “That was only to be expected…but you should have
been there. The Thakur were fighting like men possessed.”

“As indeed
they were,” Darven interjected, spurring his tired grey forward.
“We are all weary unto death, and everyone here needs food and
sleep before we can relate tales from the front.”

Druec nodded
and his blue eyes flickered curiously across to Alissa.

“And how does
Lady Alissa fare?” he asked guardedly.

“Well enough,”
she answered abruptly, unconsciously echoing Aran’s reply. “As Wolf
Leader Darven said, food and sleep is of the highest priority. We
have fought all day and have ridden all night, and the men and
beasts are half-dead with exhaustion.”