The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One

by Craig Saunders

  ‘I fear it is a great loss. We, too, miss her warmth, but callow as it sounds we also need her counsel in the days to come.’

  ‘Too true,’ agreed Tarn, taking a long pull of his chait like it was fine ale.

  Mia put the stew in the fire, and Rena sat contentedly beside Tarn, her delicate hand curled inside his, which was calloused and grimy and rough as bark. They all sat quietly while the stew cooked, lost in their own thoughts for a moment, honouring Tulathia’s spirit with thoughts and prayers.

  The stew started bubbling, and Mia withdrew it from the fire. After she ladled out the stew she passed it to Tarn, and watched him eat.

  Tarn, ravenous, devoured the first bowl in minutes. Mia served him again with, and Rena finally broke the comfortable silence.

  ‘My heart, I can wait no more. Tell me where you have been.’

  Tarn proceeded to tell them. He told them everything, of his flight, and meeting Roskel, and lately, his alliance, then leadership, with the bandit camp at Haven, to the attack and his return.

  ‘I fear I cannot stay forever. I must meet the bandits again, come spring. I only have a month, at most, before I must make my way to the meeting place.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry,’ said Rena with a smile. ‘You don’t have to run anymore. Tulathia told us before she passed that her god has cast a powerful spell, one that cannot be breached. You cannot be found by magical means any longer.’

  ‘But I will always be hunted.’

  ‘We can go away. No one will find us if we don’t want to be found.’ Rena voice was plaintive.

  ‘I fear it is not so simple, love. People will hunt me, and if we have children, they will be hunted too. Perhaps our line can outlive that of the Thane’s, perhaps not, but I have a chance to end it here.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I have allies now, men who will trust me. I will take the fight to the Thane, and kill him if I can.’

  ‘You will be killed yourself, you stubborn man!’ shouted Rena, thumping him on the arm.

  ‘Peace, daughter, let him speak,’ said Mia softly.

  ‘Let us just live together, and take what time we have. Forget revenge,’ pleaded Rena.

  ‘It is not revenge, Rena, but survival. But I promise you, I will think on it,’ said Tarn kindly to Rena. ‘But for now, we have time together. Let us cherish that.’

  ‘I think that is wise.’

  ‘Mia, forgive me, but I am tired. Perhaps I could sleep now?’

  ‘Of course. You can sleep in with Rena.’

  ‘I would love that. Rena, shall we?’ asked Tarn, taking her hand gently in his.

  Rena, somewhat mollified but by no means finished, rose with him and led him up the ladder to the loft. Tarn bade Mia goodnight.

  Once Tarn lay down, Rena snuggled tight against him.

  ‘I am glad you are back,’ she said.

  ‘And I am glad to be here. I have missed you.’

  ‘And I too. But I won’t give you up so easily. We will talk more on this tomorrow.’

  But Tarn had already fallen asleep.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  The Thane of Spar’s tracker, Kurin Marnon, peeled himself away from the hut, making sure no marks were left on the ground.

  Hunted by magic? There was no magic. Only him. What manner of fugitive worried about magic? Wizards were for children’s stories, and witches only cured ailments with noxious palliatives. There was no room for magic in the tracker’s life, just tried and tested methods, and years of experience.

  The man’s trail had been hard to follow, but the tracker had been following men, hunting outlaws, all his adult life, and as a child with his father before that. It had taken all his skills, and not a little luck. He lost the trail outside the village of Wherry, and the trail had been cold, but he had found the man. He had seen tell-tale brushing in a circle around the village, where the man searched for someone following him. But at that point Kurin had still been two miles distant. It was his care that let the man down.

  He thought he could have killed the man while he slept had he wanted to, but his orders were to take the man alive. He was not to approach him alone, for Kurin saw that the man was a blademaster when he watched the attack the bandit’s camp. But he would leave the man his last nights in the arms of his lover. The tracker was not without a soul. Then they would come back with more men, and take him into custody.

  The tracker did not know why the Thane wanted the man alive, but his fate was to follow orders as he followed men, without fail. Usually he would take them back for trial, but sometimes they were under sentence of death anyway, and the tracker would merely carry it out.

  But he would not murder this man. He would be given a trial, as was his right.

  Kurin Marnon left on silent feet, and headed into town to buy a horse. Speed was of the essence now, for he did not know how long the fugitive would stay. He would have left men watching him, but he always tracked alone.

  It was the same with all men. They were not as clever as they thought.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  The Thane of Spar brooded in his castle. There was little he could do against the Thane of Naeth, but take his medicine and pretend to be humble. It galled him, but he was a patient man. He knew his son still lived, and while he lived there was hope.

  A knock came at the door, and his secretary entered.

  ‘Kurin has returned, my lord. He has news. Should I show him in?’

  ‘Immediately, Durmont, bring him here.’

  ‘As you wish.’ The secretary left, and Redalane wondered what news his tracker could have. He knew from his other men that Kurin followed the scarred man’s trail, and that he liked to work alone. But he had not had word for over a month now. He had all but given up hope.

  A knock came again and the Thane called out, ‘Enter!’

  His tracker remained a mystery to him. As Kurin entered he bowed low, as was respectful. He had taken time to wash, but still wore his leather jerkin and soft doeskin boots, as if ready to head out at a moment’s notice. Usually, when not working, his head tracker would be wearing the clothes that suited a castle rather than the woods.

  His manner of dress boded well.

  ‘I take it you have news for me, Kurin?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I tracked the fugitive this last month, ever since the attack in the Fresh Woods. He travelled steadily south, until he rested at a hut near the village of Wherry. I have reason to believe he will be staying there for some time. I put myself in a position to overhear his conversation with the inhabitants of that residence, but we must move swiftly. With your permission, sire.’

  ‘I am pleased that we have found him. More rests on this than you could know. Take your men and bring him back, preferably unharmed. Take care, as you always do. He is a dangerous man, but not a savage. Use no more violence than is required.’

  ‘It will be as you say, sire. I will return successful.’

  ‘I am sure that you will, but avoid being overconfident. There is too much at stake for foolish mistakes.’

  ‘I am always prudent. With your leave.’

  ‘You have it,’ said Redalane.

  When the door closed, Redalane allowed himself a short sigh. Perhaps, with this man, who the Thane wanted so badly, he could trade for his son. As hopes went, he knew this one was vastly undernourished.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  The days passed like a dream, and finally the time came for Tarn to wed Rena.

  Mia gave her permission and now the young hunter, bandit and warrior waited by the meeting tree for his bride to be.

  Tarn felt fear greater than anything he had experienced before as he stood in a fine red jerkin, the traditional colour of the wedding garments, and waited for Rena. There were only a few people present, good friends of Mia, not the whole village. There was too much risk involved in that. Instead, it would be a small wedding, and Mia w
ould preside. It was passing strange for a witch to give away her own daughter, but she insisted. They had no time to send to the neighbouring village and ask for their witch to preside over the ceremony.

  Tarn wiped his sweating hands on his breeches. Mia looked at him kindly and granted him a smile.

  He managed to smile back. His knees felt weak.

  A flutist began a doleful tune, the March of the Parting Mists, as was the custom in the Spar. Tarn knew that other regions played other songs, but the tune was always slow and full of passion, whether played on the flute, or the harp, or the pipes. A ponderous tune, but it still set Tarn’s heart pounding, because he knew it meant Rena came up behind him. He willed himself to look round, imagining that even now some trick of fate would take this day from him.

  He turned, and there she was, like a mirage. She, too, dressed in light red, a dress that Mia made for her, loose and flowing like her hair. She wore no veil as they were betrothed, not marrying because she with child; but her face bare because there was no shame to be covered.

  She came alongside him and he felt light headed, almost giddy, with joy. He smiled at her and felt his scar stretch. He had grown so used to not smiling he had forgotten the sensation.

  The breeze ruffled Rena's flowing hair, blowing it away from her face, and the wind felt cool on his skin. He had shaved his beard for this day. He felt somewhat exposed, accustomed to hiding the better part of his scar behind his facial hair, but Rena said she wanted to see his face on their day, and he obliged.

  Mia stepped between them.

  ‘Willingly I give Rena to Tarn, in love for them both.’

  The six people present were silent.

  ‘Before me, and before the gods, do you vow to cherish each other until death?’

  ‘We do,’ said Rena and Tarn in unison.

  ‘Then let your hands be bound, on this day but on no other, for henceforth you will be husband and wife, and your bonds will be of the heart only.’

  Mia took a length of red dyed hemp and bound Tarn’s left wrist to Rena’s right.

  ‘With this bond, I declare you wed.’

  And with that, years of waiting were over. To his amazement, Tarn found he could finally breathe, until Rena leant close and kissed him softly on the lips.

  Under the stars that night Tarn marvelled at how sweet the experience of love had been. Rena slept with a small smile on her face. He could make that out under the light of the stars on this rarest of moonless nights. She had small dimples at the corners of her mouth. Her hair lay across her cheek, with soft curls blowing in the breeze.

  It was said on moonless nights that fated lovers could sneak past the gaze of the gods, and live forever. Tarn hoped that it was true.

  He lay back and stared up at the sky, counting the stars in the field of castles. He did not want to sleep, but to stay awake and savour this feeling forever. His belly still felt warm, and his loins tingled. It was unlike any pleasure he had ever known. He was glad now that he’d waited for Rena, and never accepted the advances of the women of Haven.

  The stars swam away from him, and he could not count. His father had told him that the field of castles was ever changing, constantly shifting as battles were fought in the night time skies, and alliances changed. Tarn wondered if now he and Rena had made love on a moonless night, if his life would be ever changing, or stay the same. If only he could stay with her.

  But he knew he must leave.

  Then he heard a wolf’s cry on the air, quite close. An owl hooted, as if challenging the larger predator. There would be no challenge there, though. The only meat they shared was rabbit.

  Something scuttled through the undergrowth. Tarn ignored it and lay still, to savour the feeling that coursed throughout his body. He would like to feel this again; this little heaven.

  A crack rent the air and Tarn turned to see an arrow in the ground beside him. He leapt up, naked, as a voice from nearby shouted, ‘Stay where you are boy, or the next one will be in you.’

  Rena lay beside him, and the man might be alone, although Tarn doubted it.

  In the instant that Rena came awake Tarn decided. There would be more than one man. If they wanted him dead they would have shot him already. There was nothing for it but to fight. He ran to the direction the voice came from.

  ‘I warned you, boy!’

  Another arrow landed by his feet, but Tarn ignored it. He leapt over a fallen log, only to meet another man in the undergrowth. The man attacked instantly. He was only armed with a cudgel, and Tarn knew he was right. They meant to capture him.

  He would not let them capture Rena though. He ducked under a blow aimed at his head and hammered a right cross into the man’s ribs. There was a satisfying crunch, then another man was upon him, swinging down at the top of his head. Tarn swayed to one side and kicked out behind him, knocking the man from his feet. A third man caught Tarn unaware with a sickening blow to his shoulder, making his arm numb. He swung a foot but the third man, not a big man by any means, was almost as quick as Tarn. Tarn caught the man’s cudgel with his good hand but aimed a kick. He was not swift enough. A blow caught him on the side of his head. As he passed into darkness he heard Rena screaming his name, but could do no more.

  *

  Chapter Eighty

  An ethereal glimmer surrounded Rena as she stood naked before her captors, like the haze around the moon. Kurin drank in the sight, then sighed, and said to his men, ‘We have what we came for. Leave her be.’

  The men lusted after her, but none were foolish enough to risk the Thane’s justice, were they to commit rape and be discovered for it. It was too high a risk.

  His men did not question Kurin. They were hard men, and cold, but they were not barbaric. They turned their backs on her.

  As they left she said, ‘Do not hurt him.’

  ‘It is out of my hand, girl. Put some clothes on and return to your home. You will not be harmed. I do not know what will become of him.’

  Kurin turned, and hefting Tarn’s unconscious form over his shoulder, left her staring at his back.

  When they left she ran all the way home.

  Mia was at the door waiting for her.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘They came here too and took his belongings.’

  Rena sobbed. ‘What will we do?’

  ‘What we always do when he is away. Pray that he will be safe.’

  Carious’ first light hit the sky, and another day dawned for the lovers apart. It was all Rena could do not to scream.

  *

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Tarn tested the shackles, straining with all his strength, but the iron links were tight. They were attached to a wooden bar, which stretched behind his neck and across his shoulders, forcing his head down.

  He had been bound for three days, drifting in and out of consciousness. He knew now that the men who took him were in the employ of the Thane of Spar, but he was confused. The Thane of Spar was never a cruel man, and he wasn’t the one who wanted Tarn dead. What was he doing here? He thought he could have figured it out if his head didn't hurt so much.

  Blood crusted his scalp, and throbbing accompanied the wound. Someone had cracked his skull well and thorough. Drifting for a moment, he remembered Gard punching him in the face, telling him that was pain.

  He had been wrong. This was pain. His whole body cried out from it.

  Dimly, he became aware that someone spoke.

  ‘You’ll forgive the harshness of your punishment. I’m afraid you are a dangerous man. I cannot allow you your freedom.’

  Tarn managed to form words through his parched throat. ‘What of my right to trial?’

  ‘In your case, you are a bandit, and worse, a bandit king, of sorts. It seems your station is somewhat lowered. Now you are merely a captive, and a valuable captive, at that.’

  With a great deal of effort, Tarn lifted his head to view the speaker. The man before him sat on a throne, with a fine red cloak, a small badge embroidered on th
e shoulder, a swan unfurling its wings. He wore a golden necklace, worth more than a small farm. His eyes were piercing, but not cruel. It only served to confuse Tarn even more.

  ‘I am no bandit leader.’

  ‘Oh, but you are. And what’s more, the Thane of Naeth wants your head. I intend to give you to him. You are but a pawn in a game greater than you can imagine, but I will lose little sleep over sacrificing you. You are vermin, a killer of men. In this case, there will be no trial.’

  Tarn thought fast. He was imprisoned now, but it was vastly preferable to being in the Thane of Naeth’s dungeons. He knew what Hurth was capable of.

  ‘I am more valuable than you realise, perhaps. Did you not wonder why the Thane of Naeth wants me so badly?’

  ‘I don’t believe it matters.’ To the two men standing quietly at Tarn’s sides, he said, ‘Take him to the dungeons. I will keep him at my pleasure.’

  ‘You’re making a huge mistake, my lord,’ said Tarn. ‘I am worth a king’s ransom.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so,’ said Redalane as they dragged Tarn away.

  *

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  His captors dumped Tarn unceremoniously in a dingy cell, more shadow than light although there was a small window high up in the wall. From the angle of the light streaming down, Tarn guessed it was midday.

  His captors removed his bindings before striding off, keys jangling against chainmail, which stretched to their knees. Both had been armed, and Tarn had been too weak to do anything about his momentary freedom. His muscles were stretched to breaking point as it was.

  His head still pounded.

  There was nothing to do. Experimentally, he tried to lift his arms above his head, but they were next to useless. He let his hands flop against his lap as he sat on a small wooden bench, the only furnishing in the cell.

  A phlegmy laugh came from a dark corner, and Tarn jumped.