The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One (33 page)
Read The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One Online
Authors: Craig Saunders
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.
*
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 accompanied 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.’
‘Then
it is I who am grateful. My burden is as great as yours, for we are both
responsible for each other's lives.’
Kurin
sat back, concern weighing heavily on his harsh features.
‘I
do hope it does not come to that.’
‘So
do I, Kurin. So do I,’ said Tarn kindly. It weighed heavily on his mind, too,
to be responsible for another man’s life, but this was the lot of a king, was
it not? To be responsible for the lives of all of those he led.
*
