The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two

by Craig R. Saunders

  'I am the Lord Protector and first Steward of the Sturman nation!'

  The man just looked at him blankly, which was disheartening as Roskel had said his lines with a considered flourish.

  'And I’m the king. Get gone.'

  'I am the Lord Protector, damn it. Don’t you recognise me?'

  The man peered at him politely.

  'Begging yer pardon,' said the patrolman with mock sincerity. 'I thought you was just another bald beggar.'

  Roskel sighed. It was going much as he had expected. At least they hadn’t challenged the Drayman yet. He was hoping to avoid that, at least until he gained the command tent.

  'You have the right of it. I can see there’s no fooling you. I’m actually a deserter from the false king’s army, come to see Lords Wexel and Rohir.'

  'Oh, I see, a change of tune is it? Well, if you’re a deserter and have a message for the Stewards, I’ll see they get it. So you tell me, then you’ll be branded for a traitor and sent packing back to your foul lord’s army. How do you fancy that then, lad?'

  'Well, I’m not actually a deserter as such…I’m more of an assassin. I’m in the employ of the Thane of Carmille, come to report on my latest venture,' he ventured.

  'That’s fine then. I’ll just have to disarm you. Dangerous, are you?' he said, a grin on his face.

  'I see that won’t work either…'

  'I tell you what I see. A bloody joker wasting my time. Bugger off and be thankful I don’t cut your kneecaps off where you sit. Just because you can afford a horse don’t make you a lord, see?'

  'You’re a sharp man. Perhaps if I show you the real reason I’m here, you’ll escort me to see the lords.'

  'It better be good. My feet ache and I’m tired-- and in the morning I’ve got to go to war and a man my age just doesn’t need the excitement.'

  'Why captain, you don’t have nearly enough lines on your face for such cynicism.'

  'Stow it, my lord.'

  'Very well. I have a Drayman spy in my care that I have captured. He has important information that only the Stewards may hear.'

  He heard the Drayman gasp.

  'Trust me,' he whispered out the side of his mouth.

  'Show him.'

  Reluctantly, the Drayman pulled back his hood. The patrolmen’s swords scraped from their sheaths in an instant.

  'What trickery is this? You bring a Drayman here?' The captain spat on the ground and moved toward the Drayman.

  'He is totally under my control, but I would appreciate an escort.'

  'You’re a tricky one, of that alone I have no doubt. You’ll have your audience. Then I’ll have the pleasure of gutting myself a Drayman and a traitor both. Bring them!' he said.

  'At last you see the light!' said Roskel as they were roughly pulled from their horses and disarmed.

  'Be thankful I have my doubts, or I’d bash you for talking that way.'

  'Consider me chastised, my good man. Lead on.'

  The soldiers swiftly bound their arms and led them toward the command tent in the centre of the camp.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  He heard the guard whispering, then he heard Rohir shouting, 'Well bloody well bring him in then, you groat!'

  Roskel smiled and allowed the guards to drag him into the tent.

  Rohir beamed and laughed when he saw his friend, his head shiny with cooling sweat and his arms trussed behind him like a roast pig.

  'Cut him loose!'

  'And my companion, too,' said Roskel.

  'Are you sure?' said Wexel.

  'On my life,' said the thief.

  The guard was unsure, but a firm nod from Rohir made up his mind. He untied both their bonds.

  'Our weapons?'

  'Give them to him,' said Rohir. 'Just do it, man. Don’t you recognise your Lord Protector, you fool? Just because he’s lost his hair,' he shook his head. 'Bloody soldiers,' he said with a sigh.

  'My apologies, my Lord,' said the patrolman. 'We half thought you were dead, truth be told.'

  Roskel patted him on the shoulder.

  'Let’s say no more about it. For now, don’t let anyone know I’ve returned. I’d keep it a secret a while longer.'

  'Yes, Lord Protector.'

  'Good man. Keep up the good work. Send a runner and bring the Thanes here, to this tent.'

  'I will go myself.'

  Roskel nodded and turned away from the man. Then he crossed the room and hugged his two friends, their broad arms encircling him completely.

  'Gods, it is good to be back.'

  'In truth, we half thought you’d died, too. It’s only because of the lady that we’re here today and you’ve still got a position to return to.'

  Rohir looked questioningly at the Drayman.

  'It’s alright,' said Roskel. 'I trust him with my life. I owe him my life, in fact. This fierce man is a true friend. He knows everything.'

  'Well, then, it doesn’t sit right, but welcome, I suppose,' said Wexel.

  'Come, Wexel,' the thief laughed. 'You can be more gracious than that!'

  'Welcome, friend,' he managed. He took the Drayman’s hand and shook it. 'You have my thanks for returning our friend to us. Mostly whole,' he said, rubbing his hand over Roskel’s gleaming pate.

  Roskel pushed his hand away.

  'It’s a long story, and we’ve much to do. The false king will come in the morning, and we must be united before the night is through. Who comes to the banner of Naeth?'

  'The Thanes Carmille, Mardon and the Crest. The Southern Thanes march, but they are divided. They believe Wense is the rightful king, but they will not join the war. Redalane marches, but he will not arrive in time for the fighting, I think-- just in time to face the king, should he win. But if he wins, even Redalane would stand down for peace. We must defeat him in the morning, but we are outnumbered. It is a chance we do not take lightly. The lady bid us to come, although I feel she has some plan that does not necessarily see us victorious. I cannot help but feel we would have been able to withstand a siege within Naeth’s walls. This battle is too risky.'

  'You must trust her,' said Roskel. 'She has not seen us wrong so far. I believe she is a true ally, although her desires are unknown to me. I think she would aid us.'

  'She has ears in every city. She kept us informed of most of your travels. Apart from the winter months, when we heard nothing of you save that you still lived.'

  'She had her reasons, I think,' Roskel said to Wexel. 'Strange reasons, dangerous reasons, but she does what is best for Sturma, of that I have no doubt. If she said you must fight here, then you must. It cannot be avoided now, anyway.'

  'Then we fight.'

  'That we do, but not for nothing.'

  The tent flap pushed aside and the two thanes entered, bleary eyed from their beds. They blinked at him, trying to place his features. The Drayman was forgotten, standing against the side of the tent and keeping silent. He was as good at silence as he was at music. He had an affinity for sound and its absence both, it seemed.

  'I thought you dead!' said the Thane of Carmille. 'But it is good to see you whole!' He clasped hands with the thief.

  The Thane of Mardon was more reserved. 'Glad to have you back. What news?'

  'Here. I need a drink, but you all need to read these. Pass them around. It will suffice to prove the Thane of Kar’s death is justified and that he is a pretender, the crown does not belong to him. Read, while I get a drink for me and my companion.'

  The Thanes started, just noticing the Drayman. Both had seen Draymen before.

  'I know, I know. Trust me, he is an ally. And one of our best at that. Pay us no mind, just read.'

  The Thanes and the two stewards read the evidence of Wense’s plot to steal the crown and the throne of Sturma, and his manoeuvring of the Thane of Ulbridge and the other southern thanes while he wintered in Ulbridge, trying to break their support of the stewards and sow discontent. It was all written there, incontrovertible evidence in bold
ink.

  Eventually, a discussion began among the four men. Roskel let them talk it through for a time. They needed to get things straight in their own heads, but none of this was news to him or the Drayman.

  The sat cross legged on the floor of the tent, the rug underfoot lush and warm. Roskel’s head felt droopy but there would be time enough for sleep soon. He would make sure he got a few hours before dawn. Then he planned to spread the word that he had returned and would lead their forces when they tried to hold their side of the river. It would be a slaughter. The river would be hard to cross, but the Thane of Kar had numbers on his side.

  Roskel would become a symbol. He was no warrior, but he could be a presence. A commander should lead his forces, not sit lording over them from a distance. A commander should be prepared to take risks alongside his men. It would gain him respect, and they would fight all the harder.

  He didn’t expect he would actually have to do much fighting. He wasn’t a fool.

  'So, Roskel, how did you come by this information?'

  'I stole it,' said the thief.

  The Thanes’ mouths dropped open. They knew he had been a thief before, but they hadn’t expected him to be quiet so bold about it.

  Then the Thane of Carmille laughed and clapped his hands.

  'It is as I’ve always said, my lord. You certainly are a breath of fresh air.'

  Roskel smiled. 'So, do you think we can sway the southern thanes to our cause?'

  'With these letters, bearing Wense’s personal seal? Of course. But it is too late for that.'

  'Too late for them to march, but if we win we will need to show that we have not killed the rightful king. No, tomorrow, we fight with the men we have and make a stand here. There is a reason the lady sent us here, though I cannot imagine what it is.'

  'I hope she has not sent us to our deaths. We will be hard pressed to hold the river. The commander of the legion is a good man, and he has good plans, but it is a simple war on open land. There is not much place for cunning strategy, just bravery…perhaps foolery.'

  'Then trust his plans. I for one need to sleep. My eyes are drooping. Will someone get me a suit of armour for the morning? I plan to fight myself.'

  'Don’t be a fool, Roskel, you can’t fight!'

  'I can, and I will. Now, if you’ll all keep it down, I’m going to sleep.'

  With that Roskel laid his head on his arms and was snoring softly in moments.

  That left the four men staring at the Drayman, who stared back, unabashed.

  Eventually, Rohir broke the silence. 'Forgive us if we seem rude, friend. It is not every day we see a Drayman on our side. What is your story? How did you meet?'

  The Drayman shook his head sadly, opened his mouth and showed them the wound where his tongue used to be.

  It was a hell of a conversation stopper.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  The thief slept deeply. In his dreams he walked through a misty land, tendrils of fog caressing his bare arms. He wore a silver tabard over a sleeveless shirt. By his side was a curved sword, like the one the Drayman carried.

  He practised a few slashes with the sword. It was surprisingly light, and even in his weakened arms it felt swift and deadly.

  'It does not suit you,' said a voice from the mist.

  Roskel held the blade before him, more as a talisman than a weapon.

  'Who’s there?' he called out, suddenly dreading that the owner of the voice would step from the mist.

  But step from the mist he did; with a smile on his face and his arms held wide for his old friend.

  'But you should learn. It is an age for warriors, old friend, not lovers.'

  'Tarn!' cried the thief and dropped the sword. He ran through the mist and embraced his friend.

  'I’ve missed you. Everything has gone wrong since you died.'

  'Not everything,' said the dead king. He flipped the sword into the air and caught the hilt with his hand, then swept the sword in a flat arc.

  'It is a good blade. Only for one hand, but it rings true. It is an object of power. Here, take it. It is for you to use.'

  'But I don’t know how. I am weak.'

  'Then I will lend you my strength,' said Tarn with a smile. He passed the sword to Roskel.

  'Here, slash from the shoulder to the hip, like this…'

  And so he showed Roskel the Seven Forms. Each made sense to the thief. Sword play was easy, if you had the speed and the strength of arm. He wondered why he had never bothered to learn before.

  'It is good to see you, my old friend. I wish you were with us tomorrow.'

  'I will be with you. Trust me, as you always have. I know life has asked much of you. But you understand duty.'

  'I do. All too well,' said the thief sadly. 'How did you do it, Tarn? How did you stay true, even at the end?'

  'Truly? At the beginning, with anger. At the end, with love. Through it all, though, duty above all else. Sturma needs men who understand duty. You are such a man. You will serve in my place.'

  'I am not strong enough.'

  'Then you must become strong. Strength comes in many forms, my friend. You have a strong heart, and that may be enough.'

  'I hope so. But I am afraid.'

  'Fear not, for you are cherished by one you cherish in return. It will give you power. You will need it, for while I hate to ask more of you, I fear I must. Rythe is in great peril and Sturma must survive. You must win tomorrow, but there will be treachery. Now listen, and listen well.

  'The commander of the western legion has allied with the Thane of Kar and marches at your rear. You must defeat the false king before he arrives, or you will be crushed between the hammer and the anvil. Many men must die, but the only way to avert disaster is to charge first. You must take the battle to them.'

  'But it will be slaughter!'

  'No! Not if you do as I say. Now, this is what you must do…'

  The last king of Sturma spoke to Roskel and the thief listened well. His happiness at seeing his friend was tempered with sadness, too, for he knew it was just a dream.

  Tarn had passed through Madal’s Gate. He was a friend and always would be, but now he was a shade, too. Just a ghost from the past.

  But sometimes, he remembered, ghosts served the living. He remembered the town of Wraith’s Guard, and the spirits that had saved him there. Could he put his trust in a ghost?

  He listened, still. Spirit or not, what it said made sense. It might be the shade of Tarn, but it was still his friend. It was time to put his trust in his fate once more.

  'Now, run the forms again. And know them well when you awake.'

  Roskel took up the sword and ran through the forms…again…again…always pushing himself to run faster, slice, slash, thrust, parry, riposte…and again…

  The dream seemed to last forever. Sweat dripped from his naked brow. Surely you couldn’t sweat in a dream?

  He turned to ask his friend if this was just a dream, but he was alone in the mist.

  He had to find a way back. He turned, and walked back the way he came. He awoke before dawn, ready to do what he must.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  The three stewards were mounted and armoured. Roskel had found a chain tabard which he wore over a white shirt from his pack. It was somewhat fancy for a battle, but never having been in a real blood thumping fight out in the open he wanted to be well presented. It didn’t hurt to look one’s best.

  The enemy was arrayed across the river, a mass of soldiers stretching across the vista. Ordinarily, the view over the Frana was breathtakingly beautiful, but not today. The grass had already been muddied by boot and hoof. Smoke curled in the breeze, drifting up from braziers where fire archers would light their arrows.

  If there had been time to prepare, Roskel was sure he could have thought of many different strategies. But today was not a day for tricks. They needed to win this battle with courage and strength of arms. It was not about who was the
smartest, but about who wanted to win the most.

  The thief steeled himself. He held the Drayman’s sword in his fist. The Drayman was behind him, ready to ride at his back. He was glad the Drayman had agreed to join them. When he stepped out of the tent that morning, the Drayman had wordlessly handed him the curved blade, bowing as if to a noble, not a friend. Roskel had embraced him, and asked him once again to fight for a people who were his ancient enemies.

  Again, the Drayman had agreed. He was armed with a cutlass, slightly curved and made for a one-handed swordsman. He carried no shield.

  With the forces of Naeth, Carmille and Mardon at his back, the thief could have been forgiven for thinking his own army was a force to be reckoned with. But while it was five thousand strong, the enemy numbered half that again. And the traitor Brant marched from the north. Scouts had reported that he was now three hours away. He could reach the battle at a crucial point and turn the tide. The Steward’s armies would be slaughtered.

  'It is as you say, Lord Protector. He waits on us. He can afford to wait until Brant arrives.'

  'I believed it to be so, Rohir, but I needed to see it with my own eyes. It will be dangerous, but if we strike fast and hard we might win through.'

  'I prefer a sure thing,' said Wexel with a sigh. 'I miss the forest. At least if you took a beating you had somewhere to flee to.'

  'Then let’s make sure it does not come to that. These men fight for our banner.'

  'They are buoyed by news of your return, though. It has helped spirits.'

  'I told the fool not to tell anyone.'

  'It is good that he did. They have their symbol, Wense in his gaudy crown, and we have ours…you.'

  'What? I’m no symbol.'

  'To the men, you are. I don’t know how, but rumour has started that you and the Drayman have been in the south battling rogue giants and dragons.'

  Roskel laughed. 'It’s surprising how fast a tale or two can spread. Words can be more dangerous than I had thought.'

  'But in this case, it is a good thing. The men believe you are a hero. And with your shining head, you will stand out from the rest of the men. Your bald pate has become a crown of sorts. It glints in the sunlight.'