The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy (28 page)

“My
lords?”

The woman
nervously pulled open the door wider, and peered out apprehensively
at the two tall, cloaked and armed soldiers waiting outside.

“Mother?” Aran
said quietly, his voice pitched low so only she could hear. “It is
I, Arantur. May we come in?”

She gazed up
at the tall cloaked man and tried to make out features so darkly
hidden by the hood.

Aran
immediately saw his foster mother’s apprehension, and pushed back
the hood a little way so his face could be clearly seen by her. She
gazed up at the face of the tall soldier, and gained sudden
recognition. Immediately she saw a new maturity in her foster son’s
features, along with worry lines and a dark heaviness she had never
seen before on his face.

“Come in, come
in,” she urged, pulling him in with one small but strong arm. Aran
glanced about, and nodded for Darven to enter as well.

As soon as the
door was closed, she turned about and hugged him soundly. Aran
tightened his arms about her, and rested his chin upon the top of
her greying head. Finally she stepped back, and regarded her
returned son.

“We thought
you might call…Dram and I, but with you being the king now…” her
voice trailed off as she realised the import of what she had just
said. Eyes wide, her hand flew to her mouth, and she curtsied low,
her mind only just comprehending who stood before her now.

Aran smiling
shook his head and lifted her to her feet.

“None of that
mother, if I cannot be just Arantur with you here, where can I be
him?”

Suddenly there
was a voice, and a step from beyond, and Dram came walking through
from the small kitchen at the back.

Aran had
always known that both his foster parents were small people. Sed
took after them in that way, but after an absence of many months
his father seemed to have diminished even more. Perhaps it was
because he had been spending all his time with the Archmage and the
Guard. Alissa too was taller, but it seemed to Aran that his foster
family had shrunk much in comparison.

“Father,” Aran
said gravely, pushing back fully the hood of his cloak, “It is good
to see you.”

“Arantur?
Son?”

The plain
garbed man took stock of the two warriors towering before him, and
immediately went down on one knee and bent his grey head.

Not you too,
Aran thought in some exasperation whilst pulling the older man to
his feet. “Really father,” Aran said with a half-chuckle in his
voice, “Whilst I am in this house I am only your foster son who
caused you endless grief.”

Dram stood and
barked a short hard laugh, “Never you Arantur. Not my quiet
craftson. Sed on the other hand…” he frowned and did not
elaborate.

Aran grinned,
“I can guess…never out of the taverns, and a new girl each
week?”

Dram nodded
tiredly, “And more, perhaps you may have heard tell from
Craftsmaster Cody that Sed bears much enmity towards you, and what
you have become.”

Aran nodded
then looked deeper into the house, “Is he here?”

Dram shook his
head in weary resignation, “No he lives elsewhere now. As soon as
he heard the news he moved out, and is living with some of his wild
friends in cheap lodgings in the Narrows.” He frowned, “I don’t
know how he keeps himself but he visits us only rarely.”

Aran shook his
head at the news, “And without Sed to assist…how goes your
business?”

The frown came
again, “Poorly…without assistance I cannot meet the orders, and
have lost much trade. In Andur’s name I cannot afford to take
another lad on to replace Sed.”

Aran clasped
his foster father on the shoulder, “At least in that respect I can
help you.” He stared at the older honourable carter, “Would you
accept help from your foster son?”

Dram stared up
at the tall man who was now his king and nodded slowly, “Once, not
so long ago, I was full of pride and scornful of those who would
accept charity. Now with you where you are and Sed worse than
useless…yes, I would welcome help from my foster son.”

Aran smiled,
“I will talk with my officers. I have been of a mind to set you up
in a nicer, bigger house, and to arrange for a sum of money to be
given to you annually.” He smiled wryly, “I imagine the world would
cease to be if Dram the carter sat idle for just one day.”

The older man
smiled and laughed at that, “Aye lad, even if you gave me your
entire treasury, I still could not sit idly by.”

Aran nodded,
“I thought as much.”

Then he turned
his head and saw Darven waiting quietly in the shadows, “I forget
myself. The one who stands so quietly by is Darven of
Eastling…Leader of the Wolf Company of the Andurian Guard, a good
man, a fine soldier and the best friend any man or king may ask
for.”

Darven stepped
forward and quickly clasped the outstretched hand of Aran’s foster
father.

“I have heard
much about you sir,” he said.

The carter’s
small hand was grasped firmly, and Dram could only smile and nod in
pleased reply.

Elsa hurried
forward, “I’m certain that if I allowed it, you all would be still
standing here in the hall and talking till dusk. Come through all
of you and sit in the kitchen…I have hot cakes baking, and have
brewed more of that apple cider you are so fond of my son.”

Grinning to
Darven, Aran allowed himself to be firmly steered back into
pleasant memories of youth and home.

*

An hour or two
later, Aran pulled himself to his feet from the narrow bench seat,
and dusted the crumbs from his mail and tunic.

“As always
mother, you feed me too well…” he commented wryly. “I will be
requiring the armourers to add more rings to this mail hauberk if
stay any longer here.”

Dram stood
also, “From what you have been telling us Arantur, you have much
work and long journeying ahead of you. You will need good meals to
sustain you for the trials ahead my son.”

Aran nodded,
“Aye, and pleasant memories to keep me warm in the cold nights.” He
walked over to his foster mother and gave her a hard quick hug,
“You will promise to come to see us in Andur’s Keep once all this
is over?”

The small
woman nodded, “We regret now that we did not come for the
coronation, but all those soldiers…” she shook her head at how
fearful they had been.

“You must meet
Alissa soon,” Aran said firmly. “My time will not be my own after
this day, but if you are able, come to the camp. The Guard and
legio are courteous, and if you speak my name and tell them who you
are, they will take you directly to my tent.”

Dram nodded,
“I shall be very busy tomorrow with my orders, but we may be able
to spare an hour to come out.”

“Good! Now
about that annual sum,” Aran said as he threw on his cloak, “I will
speak to my officers about arranging to have a hundred gold marks
placed with the Leigh money house every mid-winter festival. You
will be able to access as much or as little of it as often as you
please during the year…” He pulled out his leather pouch from where
it hung from his belt. “In the meantime, here are twenty gold marks
to see you through until the first mid-winter payment, and also a
royal writ and seal entitling you to withdraw enough gold from the
Leigh money house to secure a bigger, warmer and better house.”

Dram could
only shake his head in amazement as her accepted the writ and gold
coins. Finally he looked up, tears brimming in his brown eyes,
“Thank you son, we will never know want again.”

Aran shrugged
and smiled, “I would assist Sed in the same way but it seems that
my foster brother has carved his own lifepath now.” He looked
across and caught Darven’s eye, “We must be going now, but…” and he
stared at his foster parents and gnawed his lower lip, “If Sed
changes for the better, then send me word at the Keep, and I will
do what I can to find him a position there, or send him an annual
sum, similar to your own. I care not to do it for him now for he
will only squander and drink it away, and I am not so foolish a man
to throw money away entirely.”

Dram laughed,
“No, Craftsmaster Cody has taught you well.”

Aran smiled
and nodded and walked with Darven out of the back kitchen to the
front door.

“Keep well my
son,” Elsa said hugging him again. “Your star has risen high and is
shining brightly…keep in mind that it does not set before its
time.”

Aran kissed
his foster mother lightly on her brow, “I will keep myself
safe.”

He laughed at
that, and looked across to Darven, “Besides you know that Darven is
my strength and shadow.”

“Then look out
for each other” Dram said roughly his eyes damp with emotion,
clasping first Aran then Darven by the shoulder. “I would not like
either of you to come to harm.”

*

“I was
mistaken, they are good people,” Darven said at last when they were
again mounted and riding away from Aran’s old home.

Aran glanced
across at the Wolf leader and smiled, “Yes, they have done much for
me. That is why I wanted to help them now. That money and the new
house will ease their old age.”

“Sounds like
Sed is completely out of control now,” Darven commented dryly.

Aran shook his
head, “Given time he may gain the sense and maturity of Dram, but
it looks now as though he has fallen in with bad company.” Aran
shook his head again, “In Andur’s name, I really don’t know what
drives Sed to do these things…he is his own worst enemy.”

“I guess it
shows a shallow and selfish character,” Darven said. “How old is
he?”

“Eighteen…I
know he is young, but he has been resentful of me from the very
beginning.”

Darven thought
for a long moment, “Although I don’t know him and have never met
him, I feel that he is perhaps doing all this to get attention from
others.”

Aran nodded,
“You are probably right there, anyway we have an engagement with
Wolf Company. Are you coming?”

Darven spurred
his horse into a trot, “Of course! Just tell me how to find my way
back through this rabbit warren of streets and I’ll beat you
there.”

*

Darven and
Aran found Wolf Company deep in their drinking session, and
surrounded by well-wishing townsfolk and militia. As soon as they
were spotted by the Guardsmen, they were immediately brought into
their midst and mugs of foaming ale placed in their hands.

“My lord, the
ale is fine and smooth and goes down a treat,” said Guard Urden who
looked as though many an ale had indeed gone his way.

“Mind you keep
to your feet Urden,” warned Darven half-jokingly. “If you pass out
on me, I’ll not be the one to try and put you on your horse for the
ride back to camp.”

Urden grinned
and his steady black eyes twinkled, “I know my limit Wolf
Leader…which can’t be said for some of these townsfolk. Already
some are under the table after only an hour or two of
drinking.”

“Never”

“No”

“Not on your
life”

“We’ll show
you Guards,” came the immediate chorus from the other drinkers.

Aran caught
Darven’s eye and grinned. Immediately they shrugged themselves out
of their cloaks, and sat back on the hard tavern bench seats to
better enjoy the company and pleasant atmosphere. Even though Aran
was half hidden by the Guard, his height and blond braids were
immediately recognised by a sharp eyed drinker. Instantly the
whisper flew around the tavern that the new king Arantur was
drinking with the Guard. Although Aran tried to ignore it, there
was some jostling at the back whilst townsfolk and visitors craned
their necks to see the new king and returned son of Leigh.

“Hi Aran…is
that you there?”

Aran looked up
at the mention of his name, and searched the many familiar and
unfamiliar faces for the one who had just spoken.

“Hey Aran…its
Tomas here,” came a voice from the back of the crowd.

Aran stood,
and scanned the many heads; finally he located the tousled yellow
head of his old friend Tomas, apprentice to Master Solur, and
fletcher of Leigh.

“Tomas!” Aran
called, “Come over and have a drink with us.”

The young man
did not wait to be asked twice, but immediately came over to the
armoured group.

Seeing Aran he
quickly bowed then looking across met Aran’s grey eyes with a grin,
“If I wasn’t seeing with my own eyes you dressed so with all these
fierce looking soldiers, I would never have believed the stories
that you are the king, Aran.”

“Just so I
am,” Aran said dryly. “How have you been keeping Tomas?”

The other
grinned, “Well enough, although perishing busy with the army
encamped nearby. This is the first moment all day I have been able
to get away from the making of arrows.”

“And Master
Solur?”

“Well too, and
much pleased by all this new trade you have brought to Leigh.”

Aran shook his
head, “We’ll only be here a day or two longer so tell him to take
full advantage of it now.”

“And then you
are off to war,” Tomas remarked with a disbelieving shake of his
head. “Who would believe that the Thakur would come against us so
openly? We were becoming almost used to the tales of their raids.”
He drained his mug of ale and placed it down on the table, “Odd to
think that the raids were hiding a darker and more terrible
purpose.”

“It will be a
hard campaign,” Aran replied then he stared at the young fletcher.
“Is Master Solur planning on travelling with the army, for we will
have need of many skilled fletchers to repair and replace our
arrows.”

Tomas shook
his head, “No, he says his bones grow too old for long marches, and
I am alas too new in my apprenticeship to be counted amongst the
ranks of the craftsmen.”

Aran grinned
at him, “You belittle your skill, Tomas. Although I have no skill
with the bow and arrow, I know your work to be as fine as Leigh’s
master Fletcher.”