The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One (27 page)
Read The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One Online
Authors: Craig Saunders
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.
*
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.
*
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 would 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.
*
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.
*
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
the 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.
*
