Dragontiarna Page 3

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  Chapter 2: The High King

  Once the dead men had been buried hastily and the column had gotten moving again, Dux Constantine and some of his knights left the road and headed north. Ridmark, Calliande, Gavin, Antenora, Niall, Ricatus, and Rhiain joined them. At Constantine’s invitation, Shalmathrak and Vhorshala and their rangers accepted some of the Dux’s remounts and accompanied them. Accolon had made the alliance with the Shaluuskan orcs, but Arandar was the High King. The sooner Arandar met with the Warlord, the less likely there would be any violence between the men of Andomhaim and the ghost orcs.

  The column of soldiers winding its way along the road to Rhudlan showed more vigilance now. Archers and spearmen flanked the horsemen, probing the grasses along the riverbank for kobolds. The dvargir might have been willing to throw away a few hundred kobold slaves to cause some chaos, but they would not be able to repeat that stratagem.

  No doubt they would think of a new one soon enough.

  Another three miles passed, and they approached a large party of horsemen. The knights and men-at-arms had good equipment – chain mail hauberks with steel pauldrons, greaves, and sabatons for the men-at-arms, and plate mail for the knights. The soldiers all wore the colors of the House of Pendragon, a red dragon upon a surcoat of blue. The High King’s red dragon banner flew from the lance of a knight, and Ridmark steered for it.

  Arandar Pendragon saw him first.

  The High King of Andomhaim looked so much like his son that it was almost uncanny. If Accolon wanted to know what he would look like in thirty years, he need only look at his father. Arandar had the same dark eyes, the same beak of a nose, the same hard face. The High King’s black hair had turned mostly gray, and there was a hint of weariness in his stance, an echo of the fatigue that had dogged his father Uthanaric in his final years. Yet Arandar had nothing of his father’s mercurial temper and mood swings, and for over a decade, he had ruled Andomhaim with a steady hand.

  Arandar smiled, and memories flashed through Ridmark’s mind. Suddenly he remembered their journey to Urd Morlemoch almost fifteen years ago, when Ridmark had been an exile from Andomhaim, Arandar had been a simple knight and Swordbearer, Gavin a brave young man with a sword, and Calliande hadn’t possessed her full powers nor any memory of who she really was.

  It was odd that Ridmark should think back almost fondly on that memory, given how many times they had nearly all been killed.

  “My lord King,” said Constantine, bowing from the saddle. Arandar gestured, and he and a few of his knights broke away from the column on the road and moved to join Constantine’s party. “May I present Ridmark Arban and Calliande Arban?” Ridmark and Calliande bowed from the saddle.

  “Aye, my friends, it’s good to see you again,” said Arandar. The High King wore a chain mail hauberk and a surcoat, the ancient sword Excalibur, once a relic of Old Earth and now reforged as a soulblade, in a scabbard at his side. Ridmark remembered wielding that sword as he fought Tarrabus Carhaine below the walls of Tarlion, the duel ending with Tarrabus’s defeat.

  Third had been with him. Ridmark wished she was here now.

  She had been with him when he had fought Tarrabus’s vengeful daughter.

  “And you, my lord King,” said Ridmark.

  “The High King always welcomes the counsel of the Keeper and the Shield Knight,” said Arandar. His eyes moved over the others, lingering on Shalmathrak and the ghost orcs. “I see we have guests as well.”

  “Yes,” said Ridmark. “This is Sir Niall, a knight in my service, and his aunt the Lady Rhiain.” Both Niall and Rhiain bowed deep from the saddle. Rhiain looked overawed and was having a hard time concealing it.

  “I’m told you saved my son’s life twice, Sir Niall,” said Arandar. “You have my gratitude, and my ear, should you ever need it.”

  Niall swallowed. “Thank you, lord King. But it doesn’t seem proper to…to ask for anything. I was just at the right place at the right time.”

  Arandar smiled. “It seems your nephew is refreshingly acquainted with modesty, Lady Rhiain.”

  “Thank you, your Majesty,” said Rhiain, all but vibrating with nervousness. “My husband and I, God rest his soul, raised him after his parents died. We tried to do right by him.”

  “Since my son is still with us, I would say that you succeeded,” said Arandar. Rhiain beamed at the compliment.

  “This is Sir Ricatus Eborium, a vassal knight of Prince Tywall Gwyrdragon,” said Ridmark.

  “Lord King,” said Ricatus with a proper bow.

  “Ebor is in the lands now held by Merovech, I believe,” said Arandar.

  “Your Majesty is correct,” said Ricatus.

  “If God favors us, perhaps we shall soon retake it,” said Arandar.

  “And this is Warlord Shalmathrak and the priestess Vhorshala of the Shaluuskan Forest,” said Ridmark. “They came with an offer of alliance, and they have fought at our side ever since. As you can imagine, the ghost orcs are superb scouts. Half of our victories against the Dragon Cult have come from their skillful spying upon the enemy.”

  “Welcome, Warlord,” said Arandar. “A year ago, I would have thought that a High King of Andomhaim and a Warlord of the Shaluuskan Forest would only ever meet on the opposite sides of a battlefield.”

  “Once I thought the same, High King,” said Shalmathrak. “The followers of Shalask prefer the company of their own kind and seek not to trouble the outside world. Yet the dark tide of the Warden shall drown all the world, and our ancient differences mean nothing before it.”

  “High King,” said Vhorshala. “You accompanied the Shield Knight to Urd Morlemoch?”

  “I did,” said Arandar. “I wasn’t the High King then.” His hand brushed Excalibur’s hilt, the gesture almost unconscious. “I wasn’t even the heir to the throne. Just a knight caught in an intrigue he did not fully understand.”

  “But you survived,” said Shalmathrak. “You stood before the Warden, and so you know the danger we face.”

  Arandar thought for a moment and then nodded. “You speak truly, Warlord. The Warden’s thought is deep, and cunning are his stratagems. By rights, we ought to have perished in Urd Morlemoch. The only reason we escaped was because Queen Mara was something new, a liberated urdhracos, something that the Warden did not understand.”

  “I understand the Traveler of Nightmane Forest likewise failed to understand her,” said Shalmathrak.

  “Though more drastically,” said Calliande.

  “Indeed,” said Arandar. “My son made an alliance with your people, Warlord, but I confirm it now. You are right that we must stand together against the Heralds of Ruin, or else they shall devour us separately. You are welcome to our camps.”

  “Thank you, High King,” said Shalmathrak. “Your hospitality is most gracious. Nevertheless, I think it best if the bulk of my rangers remain apart, and that I and a few others speak with you on their behalf. The enmity between our peoples is old, and not easily overcome in a few short months.”

  “Agreed. You know your own people best,” said Arandar. “When we gather at Rhudlan, I will speak to the Duxi and instruct them to accept your scouts. The ghost orc rangers give us a tremendous advantage against the Dragon Cult and its allies, and we dare not squander that.”

  “And the Dragon Cult has found new allies in the dvargir of House Tzanar,” said Constantine.

  Arandar frowned. “You are certain? There were kobold attacks up and down the line of march. Nothing serious – the raids were harassment, and the kobolds were slaughtered.”

  “The kobolds were branded with the glyph of Great House Tzanar,” said Calliande. “We’ve dealt with the dvargir of House Tzanar before. They helped Tarrabus at the siege of Tarlion, and Ridmark and I had problems with them in Owyllain.”

  “All the more reason to quickly crush the Dragon Cult, then,” said Arandar. “Keeper, Shield Knight. You have been firsthand witnesses of everything that has happened. I would hear the account from you
r own lips. Even for the High King, getting an accurate report of events is often difficult.”

  Ridmark told Arandar what had happened since their arrival in Cintarra – Cyprian and the Scepter Bank, the Great Eye, the Heptarchy attack, the siege of Rhudlan, the second battle before the Great Eye, and the fighting to hold Cintarra, Rhudlan, and Cynan’s Tower until the host of the realm arrived to take the battle to the enemy.

  “I am sorry to hear of Third and Selene,” said Arandar.

  Ridmark let out a long breath. “As was I. But if anyone can survive in the Frankish Empire, they can.”

  “Perhaps we’ll reach Castra Melidern just in time to see that Third and Selene have already slain the two Heralds for us,” said Calliande.

  Arandar let out a quiet laugh. “As unlikely as it sounds, such an outcome would not surprise me. They are formidable, and together they will be even more dangerous.”

  “Still, I wish they were here,” said Ridmark.

  “As do I,” said Arandar. “We could use their aid in the battles to come.” He looked at Shalmathrak. “Warlord Shalmathrak, once again you are welcome. When the army reaches the bank of the River Cintarra opposite Rhudlan, I intend to hold a council of war to plan our strategy against the Dragon Cult and the Heralds. You and your advisors are invited.”

  “We shall be there, High King,” said Shalmathrak. “Already my scouts screen your column and range along the western bank of the river. Should the enemy move, I will tell you at once.” He paused. “I would urge you to send messengers to inform your nobles of our presence as soon as possible. Your army is spread out over several miles of the countryside. Should the enemy strike, we would need to warn the nearest Dux or Comes of the attack. It would be best if the messenger were not slain before he could deliver his news.”

  “Truly,” said Arandar. He turned and shouted some commands. A pair of squires rode over, accompanied by a knight, and Arandar gave instructions. The squires and the knight bowed and rode off. “The messages are on their way.”

  “Thank you for your prudence, High King of Andomhaim,” said Shalmathrak.

  “As you said, the Dragon Cult and its master threaten us all,” said Arandar. “Shield Knight, Keeper. I would have words alone with you.”

  “Of course,” said Ridmark. He looked at Niall and Ricatus. “Go rejoin our men. The Keeper and I will return to you when we can. March until sundown, and then find a good place to camp. If Hhazakar picks a spot, don’t argue with him. He has a good eye for the terrain.”

  “Rhiain,” said Calliande. “Go with them. Make sure everyone gets fed at the end of the day.”

  “Of course, my lady,” said Rhiain.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Niall. Ricatus nodded, unwilling to show any disrespect before the High King of Andomhaim, and turned his horse. Niall, Ricatus, and Rhiain rode to the south. Ridmark hoped they avoided any quarreling in his absence. Still, Hhazakar was unwilling to tolerate any “human foolishness” as he saw it, and even Ricatus knew to keep a civil tongue in his head around the Anathgrimm.

  “Come,” said Arandar. “Let us ride and speak for a moment. Sir Gavin, Lady Antenora, please join us.” He smiled. “It will be like the old days when we all went to Urd Morlemoch.”

  “I was not with you for Urd Morlemoch, lord King,” said Antenora. “We did not meet until the Vale of Stone Death.”

  “We didn’t have any horses back then,” said Gavin. “We walked everywhere.”

  “And both the Mhorites and the Anathgrimm were trying to kill us,” said Calliande.

  Arandar snorted. “It says something of the burdens of kingship that I look back on those days fondly.”

  The High King urged his mount forward, and he headed a short distance from the road, Ridmark, Calliande, Antenora, and Gavin following. Ridmark remembered their journey to Urd Morlemoch and Khald Azalar years ago, their small group traveling through the dangers of the Wilderland and the Vale of Stone Death. Of course, things were different now. Mara was the Queen of the Anathgrimm, and Jager her Prince Consort. Kharlacht was a headman of Rhaluusk, and no doubt accompanied King Crowlacht’s army. Caius was the bishop of Khald Tormen and an advisor to his brother. Ridmark was married to Calliande and had three children with her. And Morigna had died and been reborn as the Guardian of humanity, and she had disappeared after the defeat of the Sovereign and the destruction of the Seven Swords.

  But she hadn’t entirely disappeared, had she?

  She had appeared to Ridmark in visions, warning him of the attack of the dragons and the coming of the Heralds of Ruin. Morigna had also warned Accolon of the coming of the Heptarchy. Ridmark wondered where she was and what she was doing.

  “Tell me,” said Arandar at last. “How fares my son?”

  Ridmark looked at Calliande.

  “Better,” said Calliande. “Substantially better. He no longer is frozen in his grief for Caitrin Rhosmor.”

  “The attack on Castarium shocked him out of his mourning,” said Ridmark, “and the dire situation in Cintarra gave him a problem to face.”

  “Yes, the land enclosures,” said Arandar. “Sir Ricatus Eborium was one of the nobles who enclosed his land for sheep?”

  “He was,” said Ridmark. “And Niall and Rhiain held one of the freeholds he enclosed.”

  “I thought there was some hostility between them,” said Arandar. He frowned. “Was Ricatus one of the Drakocenti cultists you mentioned, this offshoot of the Dragon Cult that followed Cyprian of the Scepter Bank?”

  “No,” said Calliande. “Ricatus had nothing but disdain for them. Sir Ricatus Eborium is simply a hard and grasping man who will seize as much land and wealth as he can before someone stronger reins him in.”

  “That sort of man is dangerous in peace but useful in war,” said Arandar. “I would urge you to watch yourself around him and to guard my son against him, but you have already done so.”

  “I should warn you,” said Ridmark, “that Accolon has grown rather grimmer since he became the Regent of Cintarra.”

  “That is not surprising,” said Arandar. “When I sit in council with all my grim old men, he will fit right in.” He sighed. “I ought to have found him a wife sooner. I have the good fortune to be happily married, something of a rarity among kings and high nobles. I would have the same for my son...but it is harder for a Crown Prince.” Arandar shook his head. “It would have been better for Accolon to have either or a wife or many mistresses. Then Caitrin’s murder would not have hit him so hard. But my children have already sacrificed much because I became the High King. I should have acted sooner, but I could not bring myself to do it.”

  “I understand,” said Calliande, voice quiet. “I would rather be with my sons and my daughter right now, rather than riding to war. But most of the men of the army who have children and wives would say the same.”

  “Aye,” said Gavin. “I am glad Philip and Carlon are safe in Tarlion, but I would rather be with them.”

  “I will have news to share with the council of war, but I thought I would tell you first,” said Arandar. “There are few enough I completely trust. We knew each other long before the throne was ever a possibility in my future.”

  “If we can help you, we will,” said Calliande. “God brought you to the throne of Andomhaim, which is your duty, and it is ours to help you govern well.”

  “I left Queen Cearowyn in Tarlion as regent until I return,” said Arandar.

  Ridmark frowned. “Not Lord Corbanic?” The Constable of Tarlion had been one of Arandar’s most loyal supporters, enforcing the High King’s will with sober efficiency.

  “No, I brought the Constable with me,” said Arandar. “I need him to help command the army. Cearowyn is remaining behind to govern the city in my absence, and to help plan my daughter’s wedding.”

  Ridmark blinked in surprise. “You found a husband for Princess Nyvane?” Like Accolon, Nyvane probably should have been married several years ago. Unlike Accolon, who had grown into a confident knight
and captain, Nyvane was gentle and shy. A father might want his daughter to marry a suitable man…but a merchant had to consider his family’s fortune, a lord had to consider his lands, and a High King knew that the wrong choice of husband for his daughter could trigger a civil war.

  Ridmark wondered how he would handle the matter when Rhoanna grew old enough to wed. Probably he would leave the decision in Calliande’s hands and agree with whatever she chose.

  “I did,” said Arandar. “Accolon hasn’t had any children yet. Caitrin was pregnant when she was murdered, so we know Accolon can sire children. But he hasn’t, and until he does, the succession to the realm is in doubt. So Nyvane has agreed to wed the new Dux of Caerdracon.”

  “Aridain Martel?” said Ridmark, surprised. Though as he thought about it, Dux Aridain would be a good choice. After the civil war against the Enlightened of Incariel, a substantial portion of Andomhaim’s nobility had been wiped out. Arandar had needed to bestow the lands and titles on new men. Most of the new-made nobles had been commoners or lesser knights who had distinguished themselves in the fighting. Aridain had started the war as a bookmaker’s apprentice in the town of Dun Calpurnia and had ended it as one of the household knights of the High King. Later he had been part of the royal force that had gone to the cataclysmic battle at Cathair Animus, where he had fought valiantly against the jastaani. After the defeat of the Sovereign, Arandar had decided that Aridain was trustworthy enough to hold Tarrabus Carhaine’s old lands, and so Sir Aridain had become Dux Aridain of Caerdracon.

  “Aye,” said Accolon. “He was often at court, and he and Nyvane got along. Nyvane knows she must wed and thinks Dux Aridain is a suitable choice. Aridain’s had a few bastards over the last ten years, and he’s looked after them, though I’ve warned the Dux that if he hurts Nyvane, he’ll regret it. But I know he will be able to father trueborn children, and so if Accolon,” Arandar took a deep breath, “is slain during the fighting, Nyvane’s sons will be legitimate heirs of the House of Pendragon.”