The High King: Book Two of the 'Riothamus' trilogy by Rosemary Fryth Page A

grinned,
“Thanks for telling me.”
    *
    It was uncanny
walking through the silent Keep. Even the buzz of background noise,
which was always evident during the daylight hours, had stilled.
For once even the gulls had ceased their endless calling and
fighting on the high cliffs of the Havart Plateau, and a heavy
silence had fallen over everything and everyone. Quickly and
quietly, the three walked past the silent soldiers at the
gatehouse, each armoured guardsman seen to have eyes tightly
closed.
    Outside the
Keep, the wind blew cold and strong and the tents of the plainsmen
quivered with each blast.
    “Autumn’s
here…” Aran commented to the others.
    “Aye,” Darven
agreed, “It’s going to mean a difficult campaign on the border. I
predict that we’ll be doing a hell of a lot of heavy fighting in
the snow.”
    Aran pulled
his cloak closer about him, “Great…”
    *
    The three men
at last reached the camp of the plainsmen and were greeted by
several of the warriors who had come out of the nearest tents. Aran
recognised Bini Stardreamer and his two companions amongst the
others who had hurried up to the three men from the Keep.
    “Fine day
lord,” Bini said cheerily.
    Aran stared in
amazement at the plainsmen. They were dressed only in dyed and
decorated leather trousers and boots. On their bare chests they
wore no garments, but displayed on their bare skin were elaborate
tattooed designs in shades of blue and black dye.
    “Aye
plainsman,” Aran said eyeing off the peculiar garb of the warrior,
“Shouldn’t you be dressed warmer. You’ll catch your death out
here.”
    The warrior
laughed merrily “We do not fear the cold, lord. This is our
ceremonial dress.”
    Aran stared at
the designs, “What do they mean Bini?”
    The
golden-haired warrior glanced down at his own chest, “They are
sacred symbols. Patterns passed down from our ancestors and each
design is a little different. They are engraved upon our flesh
during the passage to manhood, through long and personal initiation
rites.”
    Aran grimaced
as he stared at the tattoos, “It sounds painful.”
    The warrior’s
head dipped marginally, “It can be,” he agreed wryly.
    Aran and his
two companions were then shown into one of the larger conical
leather tents. Most of the tents were too small to stand in, but
the one allocated to Aran was tall and framed with bone, wood and
sinew. Inside, and on the ground they saw a small fire banked in a
hearth made of blackened stones. The thick leather of the tent
effectively captured the warmth radiated by the coals keeping the
inside of the tent warm and comfortable. Aran looked up and noticed
two small holes that allowed the smoke to escape and the fresh air
to gain entry. Looking around Aran noticed his armour lay ready on
some horse and wolf pelts.
    “It’s getting
close to midday,” he said, “I should get armoured.”
    Darven nodded,
and he and Alem quickly and efficiently began to dress Aran in his
chainmail and plate armour.
    “Will I wear
the nasal helm?” Aran asked, as they slipped the chainmail coif
over his head and secured it with the leather thongs across his
exposed neck and chin.
    “Aye, the
Archmage will remove it and the rest of your head armour prior to
crowning,” Darven replied, “It is traditional that the heir comes
to the crowning fully armed.”
    “It is not a
simple thing this crowning,” Aran observed, “There seems to be much
tradition and custom associated with it.”
    “Aye,” Darven
agreed, “The Archmage must have done much research and reading to
discover the proper ceremonies and traditions. It being so many
generations since we last crowned a king.”
    Aran fell
silent, it was clear that Darven did not know that Maran also
shared the Andurian lineage and once was a crowned king.
    The tent flap
moved and Bini thrust his head in, “Hail Riothamus! The horns are
blowing from the Keep.”
    Aran looked
up, “Riothamus?”
    Darven made a
final adjustment to the