The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One

by Craig Saunders

  When he awoke he would be sore as though from just such a ride.

  *

  V.

  The Queen and the Crown

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  The band of twenty sped north with haste, horses hooves pounding the dirt, Roskel driving the wagon with growing expertise, although he had no prior experience.

  They passed the outskirts of many towns, and at a few, Parhett and Juxerton, they were forced to travel through. But time grew short. They did not stop, apart from when the horses needed watering, or when they needed to make camp. No one looked at them suspiciously, and where guards questioned their purpose, they merely told them what they told anyone else who asked – they were bound for Naeth, with a consignment of fine cloth and spices. They passed unhindered over the river Frana, and into the region of Naeth.

  The entire journey took a little over two weeks.

  They travelled harder, then, the end of their long journey in sight, across the fens and waterways of Naeth, crisscrossing the land, searching out the shortest route between the sporadic bridges, they slowed to a trot. It was like a deep sigh the land took before the autumn torrents, waiting for the end, the raging skies looming large over the grass and trees…Tarn wasn’t given to introspection, but he recognised the men needed that pause, that breath, before they faced the end of the road.

  He drove them no harder, content to fall into their easy pace. It was not hard to do. He, too, was apprehensive. He might well die, and he found that he wanted to live, with a passion, to hold Rena in his arms, to father children, leave a mark on the world, even should nobody know his name in the years when his carcass was well in the ground.

  But what did it matter? His path was set. He would ride through Madal's gates and beyond to see his wife again. If that was what it took, then that was what he would do.

  Hopefully, he thought, it would not come to that.

  So they slowed, watching the land as they passed.

  The land in the north was fertile and well farmed, but roads were not plentiful. It was, after all, the plains leading to the capital. Had they headed west toward the Culthorn mountains and then north-east, their passage would have been quicker, across the plains. Instead, they came from the south, and had to make do with the roads that were available.

  But the men were used to all imaginable hardships. They were used to sleeping where and when they could, and finding their way through the mazes of the Fresh Woods. No one knew how long remained before the Council of the Ten, but there was scant summer left. Autumn had a hint of chill blown on the wind. Tarn knew time was short.

  But calm was essential, too. As the miles wore on, they became serene, like monks before entombment. Each man found his own peace.

  Finally, the greatest city of Sturma came into sight. It loomed large, sprawled across the landscape, the sea unseen but still hinting its presence in the salty air, the sky in the distance aglow with its reflected evening’s light. The river that ran through the city lent a shimmering light to the dark blot, outlining it in glory. Behind, many miles to the north, the almost mythical might of Thaxamalan’s Saw slumbered, the endless length of snow-covered mountains that hid the ice bound wastes, a forgotten land. None could pass the menacing teeth, and those that were foolhardy enough to try were torn to shreds by the Saw’s great teeth, or frozen to death by Thaxamalan’s frigid breath.

  Naeth was the last bastion of civilisation before the wasteland. Sturma continued for some miles more, maybe fifty, before the mighty mountains, but only the insane lived there, and only the stupid ventured further.

  At the height of Naeth’s influence, small townships had sprung up around the base of its thick walls, the threat from the neighbouring Draymar all but forgotten. Now these small villages were full of crumbling tenements, testimony of the Thane of Naeth’s brutal and uncaring rule. Perhaps people could no longer bear the stench of corruption, and fled that miasma for the pure air of the countryside. Those within the walls could not escape, though. They would be suffering, like the rest of Sturma, under an uncaring Thane’s cold rule.

  As they pulled to a halt before the great walls of the capital city, summer’s glory was passing, and the leaves beginning to turn. They had only a season to put their plans into place. They might find many allies, but equally they must be cautious, for as many friends as there undoubtedly were within the forbidding walls, there were surely spies of the Thane, and enemies with an eye to their own profit, rather than that of the people.

  Tarn sneezed as he approached. He was unaccustomed to cities, and unprepared for Naeth’s pungency. It was an assault on his nostrils, and he found the smell offensive. The hint of the sea on the air was pleasant, but the rank nature of such a large city smothered its salty sweetness, so that it floated away on the gentle breeze, forever darting before Tarn’s senses. He tried to look as though it didn’t bother him, for they were drawing close to the gate, and he did not wish to seem like a bumpkin.

  ‘Follow my lead,’ said Roskel to the men as they drew rein before the gate, and the guards there. The four soldiers looked well fed, and their equipment gleamed from good maintenance.

  ‘Roskel of Ulbridge, with a consignment of fine cloth and spices for trade within your good city,’ said Roskel, his voice lavish with the tones of good breeding. He had donned a clean shirt, and hoped the guards would take no note of his tattered trousers.

  But they did.

  ‘Times must be hard, merchant, for it seems you have not washed your breeches this past season.’

  ‘It is the needs of the season that have brought me to this lowly station, I am afraid. We have been sorely pressed by bandits and have ridden with all haste many hundreds of miles north. My guard has suffered many indignities to get me here, and I fear we have yet to make the return journey, hopefully before the winter reaches the south. It will no doubt chase us all the way.’

  The guard seemed swayed by Roskel’s manner, while more than a little dubious about the appearance of his caravan guards, bristling with weapons and stinking of the road. But Tarn knew from experience that caravan guards were often rough and ready types, harsh men for a harsh job. He did not think they stood out too sorely for men of their assumed profession.

  ‘Your guard will have to wait outside the walls.’

  ‘I am afraid that would put me in a bind, as after we reach our destination, we intend to sell the horse and take a boat back as far south as Wanes Port. I will need my guard with me. They make negotiations somewhat smoother, and when we reach shore again I will need them for the goods I take south.’

  The first guard that had spoken seemed unsure, and Roskel was quick with his words, like a foot in a door.

  ‘I will, of course, be more than prepared to recompense you for your trouble.’

  The guard brightened at this. Sensing the chance had come, Roskel spoke to Tarn for the first time.

  ‘Give the guard the purse, driver,’ the thief said. He had already prepared a purse with a modicum of gold within for just such an occasion.

  Tarn tossed it to the guard.

  ‘For you and your men, Captain.’

  The guard was obviously not a captain, but he did not correct Roskel, merely preened and counted the money into his palm.

  Roskel knew he expected the worst of people, but he would have been very surprised if the gold ever made it beyond the guards at the gate.

  ‘On your way, then,’ he said, satisfied. The other guards stood back, and slowly, like a ragamuffin’s procession, the bandits entered through the main gates.

  *

  Chapter One Hundred

  The band were firmly ensconced in an inn after the first night, and stayed there for three nights, having enough gold for quarters for all the men. They were, by all measures, wealthy men. They had additional gold than that gifted by the Thane of Spar from the sale of their goods, for which Roskel got them a good price. He claimed he had a trader’s blood somewhere in him. Tarn and a few of the other men accompa
nied him, weapons clearly on display under their cloaks, Kurin scowling like a murderer with a thorn in his thumb. Tarn thought that might have had something to do with the price.

  The Inn was in the merchants’ quarter. Tarn and the other men roamed the city as much as possible, as they would need to know all its bolt holes and alleyways if they were to function within the city walls. In order to understand the city it was necessary to walk the cobbled streets.

  Within the city there were seven well-defined areas, each easily recognisable by the type of person therein. For some reason each of the seven areas was called a quarter. They were the merchants, the artisans, the docks, the nobles, the slums, the markets and the gates. Only the nobles’ quarter was inaccessible, the wealthier denizens of the city employing their own guard, which patrolled the street or stood like sentinels outside manor doors. There were gates to the quarter, and even gold would not sway the guard into letting them in.

  Pickpockets and thugs abounded in the slums, though they were scum and would not be part of a thieves' guild, or if they were, they would be so far down the ladder that they were not worth the effort to tail. Tarn's men all wore non-descript clothing, so that they did not stand out as visitors to the great city, making them easy marks. Each man wore his purse inside his trousers regardless of the district. As careful as they were, especially after dark, two thugs attempted to part Erin from his coin on the second night. They had not fared well, and Erin confessed he didn’t know if they lived, for the wounds he inflicted on the unfortunate robbers had been grave.

  Tarn wandered the slums with Roskel for two days, and only spent an afternoon in the artisans’ quarters. If he was to meet thieves, craftsmen seemed like the least likely suspects. They were too wrapped up in their art, or craft, to notice much of the world around them. He wrote it off as a possible avenue of enquiry.

  On the third day he roamed the market, but he had not yet had a chance to visit the docks, another location likely to be a warren for the underclasses, and had only seen the gates in passing.

  The other men spent days roaming the docks, and had been propositioned by the ladies that plied their wares among the dockers and sailors, offered work as stevedores, or ship hands, but not met a thief, even one selling wares or picking a pocket. It was as though there were no thieves, but Tarn thought that unlikely.

  Guards were prevalent, in all quarters. The chances were that the thieves had merely made their peace with such an overbearing ruler, and gone to ground, or picked their marks more carefully. Tarn was concerned that his appearance would set him apart, but there was no sign of his face on the wanted posters that dotted the city, nor a description of him. The Thane obviously thought it impossible that Tarn would come to his own door, and assumed he would hide like a mouse in the south.

  Tarn let himself relax, and spent his days scouting the streets. But it was at night that rogues were most at home, in sewers, and alleys, and on this, the third night of their stay in the city, Tarn was willing and ready to take the greatest risk. His men would go out in the night, and make themselves easy targets. They would ask dangerous questions in taverns, walk the streets with cloaks to cover their weapons, and frequent areas where the guard was sparse.

  Tarn consciously avoided thinking about the city’s most overwhelming feature, which was the great castle which all districts abutted. The gargantuan granite monstrosity lorded over the whole city, lending it an air of oppression that covered even the reek of the sewer drains and the seeping, festering canals that intersected the city.

  He would get to the castle in time. Soon, he would examine it, prod its facets and study the walls, the killing slots, the towers and the gates. Were he an invading general, he might have despaired. To breach the outer walls, to fight his way through the warren streets, and storm the castle itself, would be a feat impossible for all but the greatest of armies. Perhaps if the nations of the Draymar were to unite, they might field a force capable of threatening the greatest city of Sturma, but even that, unlikely as it was, would be no forgone conclusion. With a standing army of more than ten thousand men, the Thane of Naeth was all but untouchable.

  But where men built solid walls, where they fortified themselves and barred the windows against intrusion and invasion, there were rats, and beetles, and spiders. There was always a way in, for the sly invader, so long as he was small enough to pass unnoticed. Tarn would not be storming the walls. He would creep, on tiptoe if he had to, naked and greased to pass between bars, if it came to that.

  He just needed to find someone who knew where the entrance was. It was a simple plan. He liked it, even if Roskel called it folly. Sometimes one just had to have faith.

  Tarn sighed and took a sip from his mug. Tonight his men would risk their lives for a dream. Perhaps some part of them knew the import of the evening’s work. The bar was quiet on their third night in the city, and the men were subdued, but, Tarn thought, expectant. There was a gleam to their eyes, a tenseness in their manner. They were preparing as though for a raid, or a hunt. Even in the city, his men were all hunters.

  The men sat around, lounging, giving the impression of ease, sitting on benches and on tables, all drinking in moderation. It would not pay to get sloppy.

  Tarn was unconcerned. His men were all disciplined. They knew the price of loose tongues was failure, and failure invited only death.

  Brendall sat moodily at the Wayward Inn, uncomfortable in the city and wishing himself back in the woods. He was a large man, and as a consequence, other drinkers in the Inn’s first floor bar found something else of interest to look at, rather than risk his glare.

  The others of the band were finding the transition from woodland living to city life easier. Erin, perhaps, more than most. He sported a new hair cut, short above the ears, and found comfort in the arms of the barmaid, who came to his room after dark those first few nights.

  Tarn and Roskel conversed in low voices. Even here, they were not sure if the other patrons were allied to themselves, or if the Thane had spies among their number.

  ‘We head out tonight. I will ask discreetly if there is a Thieves’ Covenant within the city, making it as obvious as possible. I am sure there is.’

  ‘Be careful, my friend,’ said Tarn.

  ‘I always am. The men know what to do. They will be obvious, so as to seem bumbling, even. I am sure we will attract the right kind of attention soon enough.’

  ‘I don’t know. Somehow the thieves in this city seem wilier than most. What of the cities you have known?’

  ‘I was never one for teamwork. I kept myself out of their gaze, and never signed the covenant. Had I been caught by them, the punishment would have been harsh indeed. But I work alone,’ said Roskel. ‘Well, until now,’ he added.

  ‘I am sure the men know what they are doing, but the risk is so great. I worry.’

  ‘That is your downfall,’ Roskel told him. ‘You take on too much.’

  Roskel would have added ‘even for a king’, but here, in a public place, he would not utter such words.

  ‘Then tonight, you roam. I will wait, guarding our treasure, until your return.’

  ‘Until then, my friend.’

  And one by one, the men left discreetly, until only a few travelling merchants sat in the bar, and Tarn and Kurin. The huntsman refused to leave Tarn this night. The risk was too great, he claimed.

  But he came and sat next to Tarn on his bench, bringing his jug with him.

  ‘Why will you not join the hunt tonight, huntsman?’ Tarn asked him.

  Kurin’s face betrayed his feelings. Usually serene, he seemed in turmoil. He had been this way ever since Tarn had obtained the crown. Once he had seen how only Tarn could hold it – whenever another of Tarn’s men tried to hold the crown, it floated just outside their grasp, and they were unable to take it in their hands. It was as though it were encased in pure ice, invisible to the naked eye, impossible to grip.

  Kurin obviously had something on his mind.

  �
��I am committed to another cause. Tonight we juggle fire. I would not have you burned.’

  ‘Are you so concerned for my safety?’

  ‘If the thieves take it into their heads to follow the men back here, you will be in danger. I cannot let any harm befall you.’

  ‘So you are to be my bodyguard in truth?’ Tarn knew his tone mocking, but he could not help himself.

  ‘I can see no other way. I have misjudged you greatly. I am your servant, as is every man under your command. It can be no other way.’

  Tarn took a sip of his ale, putting the jug down carefully before replying.

  ‘I demand no obedience from my men. I demand nothing of you. You are Redalane’s man,’ he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he voiced his last words.

  ‘But my station has changed. I was once your guard, now my life is sworn to you, even above my Thane.’

  Tarn laughed, drawing the attention of a couple of quiet drinkers. He tipped his imaginary hat at them, and they looked away.

  ‘That is what ails you then? That I am who I say I am, and you find it distasteful that a mere bandit should be your king?’

  Kurin looked carefully at the bar. No one was close enough to overhear them.

  ‘It is not distaste, sire, but regret. I have been a fool. Now I owe you my allegiance.’

  ‘No, Kurin. You owe me nothing. My men follow me willingly. I would not have your obedience.’

  ‘But it is yours by right.’

  Tarn looked at the man kindly. He was, Tarn realised, not a bad man. If anything, he was showing his true colours this night, and they were bright and good. ‘If all rulers talk of rights, and might, then I am no ruler. I would have your regard, nothing more. If you chose to return now, I would think no less of you.’

  ‘I cannot. This land is yours, and I am committed to protecting your life, even should it cost me mine.’