The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (8 page)

On his back
was a quiver bristling with arrows, and slung from his shoulders
was a short curved bow, made entirely of bone and sinew, by his
side hung a short, stabbing sword. The young warrior’s armour and
clothing had been liberally decorated with beads, plaited horsehair
and feathers in ornate curving and knotted patterns. Aran had never
seen anything quite like it, and he guessed that the designs were
meant to be spiritual symbols and marks of initiation. The man, who
Aran guessed to be in his early twenties, took off his helmet and
shook out a great mane of red-gold hair which had been intricately
plaited and limed into shape. “We come to this high place,” the
warrior said without preamble. “We look for the new king.”

Aran stepped
forward and held out his hand in greeting, “I am Arantur…Prince of
Andur’s Keep and last of the Andurian line.”

The warrior
stared at Aran then briefly inclined his head.

“We are
surprised that you came so quickly,” Aran added, “For it is barely
a week since we sent our delegation to find you.”

The warrior
frowned, “We received no delegation.”

Aran and
Darven exchanged startled glances.

“Then how did
you know to come?” Darven asked.

The other two
young warriors wandered over, both were dressed identically to the
first.

“Our
SpiritDreamer has seen an Oak sapling growing in the plains. This
meant that we must go to the high place,” another warrior stated,
“So we came to see if the omen spoke truth.”

Aran turned to
Darven, “Have you any idea what they are talking about?” he
murmured quietly.

Darven
whispered back, “They are highly superstitious. They read omens in
the fall of a leaf, the movement of water, and the flight of a
bird…this Oak sapling may be another of their omen carriers.”

“So you did
not meet our delegation?” Aran asked the first warrior again.

“No
delegation,” he replied abruptly.

Darven frowned
and pulled Aran aside.

“This is going
to make things difficult. I don’t believe these men are leaders.
They seem to have been sent here to investigate an omen.”

Aran studied
the three young men standing warily relaxed in the sun.

“This may yet
be to our benefit, Darven,” Aran said quietly, “If we can get these
warriors into our confidence they may prove to be excellent
intermediaries between their leaders and ourselves.

Darven nodded,
“They are obviously men who are trusted and held in high regard,
otherwise they would never have been sent here in the first place.
We will work with them, and their voices will provide added weight
to our own delegation when it is received by the Clan Chief.”

Aran nodded in
agreement and turned back to the three warriors.

“Greetings
plainsmen,” he said, “I am Arantur...Prince of Andur’s Keep and
last of the Andurian line and I welcome you to Andur’s Keep.”

The three
warriors stared at him, then as one inclined their heads.

“As we have
told you,” Aran continued, “We have recently sent a delegation to
your leaders. They are asking for your leader’s assistance in
helping us combat an enemy that threatens the peace and prosperity
of our province. We are asking that the plainsmen ride to war with
us.”

The young
warrior frowned, “We know nothing about a war.”

Darven stepped
forward, “Has your SpiritDreamer yet seen the flight of the
Raven?”

The first
warrior stared at Darven with great interest, “You know of our
omens.”

Darven nodded,
“I am from Eastling…I have heard many stories about the
plainsmen.”

“Ah Eastling,”
the warrior smiled, and seemed to relax. “I know a few of the men
of Eastling, yet I do not know you warrior.”

Darven held
out his hand in greeting, “It may be because I have lived so many
years at the Keep,” he explained. “I am known as Darven of
Eastling.”

The warrior
smiled a brilliant smile, and briefly clasped hands, “I have heard
of you Darven. Men of Eastling speak with pride of your life as a
warrior. You may know me as Guldar Swordbrother.” He gestured to
the two other men, “Ansura Windfollower and Bini Stardreamer stand
also here before you. We are the warriors who have been sent out to
discover the truth indicated by the omen.”

Darven
indicated Aran who was standing quietly listening.

“This is my
liege lord Arantur. He is a Warriormage, the last of the Andurian
line, and soon to be crowned King.”

The warriors
respectfully inclined their heads.

“Lord Arantur,
our SpiritDreamer found the Oak sapling growing in the grassy
expanse of the plains, and knew that a new King had come to the
high place,” Bini Stardreamer said quietly.

“There has not
been an oak found growing in the plains for many generations,”
Ansura added quietly, “However the Raven has not yet been seen, and
until his shadow touches our tents we do not ride to war.”

“Where is your
SpiritDreamer?” asked Maran, who had suddenly appeared, along with
Captain Taran.

The young
warrior Ansura stared heavily at the old, white cloaked man. “Who
is it that asks without courtesy or introduction?”

Darven stepped
forward, “Plainswarrior Ansura…this is our SpiritDreamer, Archmage
Maran from Glaive.”

The warrior
fell down upon the earth in supplication.

“Forgive me
great lord,” he muttered into the grass, “I did not know you.”

“Get up man,”
Maran growled. “I ask again, where is your SpiritDreamer?”

Bini
Stardreamer gazed at Maran with respectful eyes, “He is with the
Clan Chief at the Great Meeting Tent. Many days ride from
here.”

Maran frowned
and exchanged a telling look with Captain Taran.

“I have sent a
delegation to speak to your Clan Chief,” Aran said, “Will they be
received or turned away?”

Bini turned
back to Aran. “Lord, your delegation will most certainly be
received, but…”

“What?” Aran
grated.

The red-haired
warriors looked nervously about them, “Lord, as we said before, the
plainsmen will not ride to war unless the SpiritDreamer sees the
shadow of the Raven’s flight touch our tents. He saw the Oak
sapling growing in the plains and thus here we are. However to the
time we left, eight days ago…there was no indication that the Raven
flew.”

Aran sighed
and his shoulders slumped, “Then we can do no more here.” He turned
back to the warriors, “We offer you hospitality whilst you are
here. You are welcome to stay to witness my coronation at week’s
end.”

“That is our
object and plan Lord,” Bini assured him, “However we are only the
first of the plainspeople to come here,” he admitted. “For upon our
heels are many others, since the oak still needs to come to the
high place,” the plainsman added cryptically.

Aran frowned
at that last remark, then shrugging his shoulders he asked, “Will
you camp here or take advantage of the comforts of Andur’s
Keep.”

The warriors
stared uncomfortably at the high ramparts of the Keep and trembled
visibly. “No lord, we will camp here,” Bini replied, “We dislike
walls about us. We will venture within for your coronation…then we
will depart.”

Aran nodded
and turned to go, “Then if you will excuse me…I have duties back at
the Keep.”

The warriors
respectfully inclined their heads.

*

“I don’t know
if I like these people,” Aran commented later to Maran. “They are
too ruled by their superstitions and omens. Can we ride without
them?”

Maran frowned
and stared blindly at the empty fireplace in Aran’s private
hall.

“Aye, we
could…but without them the war would last longer and we would
almost certainly lose many more soldiers.” He glanced back at the
darkening face of Andur’s heir and shook his head. “We have not so
great an army that we can afford to lose the support of the
horsetribes. The main reason Andur won those last few battles of
the Great Uprising was that he had the horsetribes riding with him.
No, we cannot afford to lose their strength.”

Aran frowned,
“The Great Uprising? I have not heard that term before…”

Maran’s eyes
grew distant, “No, I expect you wouldn’t have. My father Andur
often referred to the war as the Great Uprising, although most of
the contemporary writers just call it the Serat war.”

Aran’s face
grew still, “I like the name. It rings true.”

Then Aran
rubbed his eyes wearily, and pulled his thoughts back the matter at
hand, “As to the plainsmen, we can only hope their SpiritDreamer
sees this Raven.”

“If the Thakur
and its Warleader are the threat we believe them to be, then
aye…the Raven will soon fly over the horsetribes and we will have
their aid,” Maran assured him.

Aran swallowed
the remainder of the mild cider that was in his goblet, and stared
out at the window.

“Maran, I am
greatly concerned about Trevan,” Aran stated abruptly. “He is over
two weeks late in returning. I feel as though I ought to send out
some of the Guard to find him,” he worried.

Maran shook
his head, “Do not fret Arantur, Trevan knows this part of the
province better than most. I would expect that he has been delayed
in the northern villages and towns.” He stared at the young man
opposite him, “You must remember that it has been many years since
a Glaive trained healer has been that far north. I expect that he
is only very busy attending to those who require his skills.”

Aran sighed
and put his goblet down on the table, “I guess so, although I do
worry about him.”

Maran stood
up, “I will speak to Earthmage Theaua…she will search for him.”

“There will be
another transformation?” Aran asked.

The Archmage
nodded, “Aye, Theaua is a Master Earthmage who is close to becoming
a High Earthmage. Her magepower is developed enough to transform
herself into the guise of a mountain panther. If he is near then
she will find him.”

Aran smiled
happily, “Good…I will rest easier knowing that he is safe here and
in good health.”

“What then are
your plans for the remainder of the day?” Maran asked.

Aran sat back
in his favourite chair and stretched out his long legs, “I don’t
know yet, do you want me to go over again the simple uses of power
you have been teaching me?”

Maran laughed
shortly, “No we have spent enough time today doing that. Perhaps
you might want to spend some time training with the Guard?”

Aran shook his
head abruptly, “To be brutally honest Maran, I’ve progressed so far
beyond what the Guards can teach me that it is really a waste of
time training with them. I’ve sparred endlessly with Taran and both
the company leaders and really there is no-one here who can match
me.”

Maran stared
narrowly at the young man, “The Guards are the best fighters in the
province. Are you absolutely certain you can go no further with
them?”

Aran
nodded.

Maran
scratched his head dubiously, “Have you yet found out how your
Ability can be linked with the weaponskill?”

Aran frowned,
“No, in that I keep running up against a wall. I can take my
Ability linked weaponskill to a certain point but beyond that there
is nothing more I can do. I think I need some fundamental knowledge
of how the ancient Warriormages harnessed and used their power in
conjunction with the magecrafted weapon to take me further.” Aran
sighed, “Either that, or opponents with greater skill levels that
will force me to break through this block, if it is a block…”

Maran sat back
down on the chair he had vacated, “We have determined that there is
no-one else in the province who can match you.”

“Aye,” Aran
sighed heavily, “And I regret every day the loss of the
Warriormages and their knowledge.”

The Archmage
shook his head, “I cannot even begin to comprehend the depths of
the despair those mages were feeling to destroy the knowledge so
completely.”

Aran’s gaze
moved from the fireplace to the elaborately woven and embroidered
hangings on the wall, “Well it is old regrets, old despair. I guess
we must make the best of what we know now and move on.”

Maran nodded,
“Your coronation is at week’s end. The first of the embassies from
the southern cities will be arriving in the next couple of days. Do
you feel able to receive them?”

Aran absently
chewed on his thumbnail, “This King business is new to me. I guess
they will just have to take me as I am. I’m not one for pomp and
ceremony.”

Aran gazed at
the young man and smiled, “No, of that you are not. The people will
be getting a very down-to-earth and sensible young king.” He smiled
again, “And that’s no bad thing.”

Aran stared at
the wall and wondered how he was going to frame his next
question.

“Maran”

“Aye”

“I have been
talking with Darven about the business of choosing a consort, a
Queen. I am not certain if I am allowed to make the decision in
this matter.”

Maran stared
at the young man in some surprise, “Have you someone in mind?”

Aran stared at
the wall, “I may have…”

Maran
chuckled, “If she is a maiden, and of a good family, then you would
hear no objections from me.”

Aran spun
around, “Honestly, I can choose?”

Maran shrugged
eloquently, “There is flexibility in this matter. Although I
believe the Councillors already have someone in mind.”

Aran sagged,
“I guessed as much, that girl who came with them.”

“Aye…Terea,
daughter of Councillor Ordac.” Maran grinned, “Ordac would be most
put out if his daughter was not selected. As soon as Glaive
informed the Council that there would be within the month a new
King at Andur’s Keep, they worked night and day to find a suitable
consort from within their ranks and lineage.”