The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One (7 page)
Read The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One Online
Authors: Craig Saunders
The
nine hundred and seventy-first year of Caeus’ imprisonment ended as every year
that came before.
In
a stone room,lit only by torches flickering in the walls, Caeus stood immobile.
A sword, thrust through his red robe, through his chest, out the back, held him
immobile. It was a soul sword, made of darkness and light, of the fabric that
held the universe together. It could not hold back love and hatred, but it
could hold the soul in stasis. It was the soul sword of Kilarian.
He
looked at Caeus with an expression on his alien features that bordered on
compassion.
To
free Caeus would mean the breaking of the sword, and Kilarian’s death, for he
was tied to the sword. Yet he wanted the creature before him to be free.
Kilarian knew Caeus should never have been held, but there were rules. The
universe held back the tide of chaos with rules. Life could only exist through
rules. To break those rules would mean the end of everything.
No
one, not even Caeus, could be freed without years of toil.
Kilarian
reached for the sword. The strange beast that knew no home but the planes
grasped his soul sword firmly and pulled it free. There was no blood, just a
mist that seeped from the blade of the sword into the wound, filling it and
leaving no mark.
The
Lu stood back and watched the light fill Caeus’ blood red eyes. He blinked and
smiled as recognition dawned. It took most captives some time to come around,
even the greatest of beasts, but consciousness in Caeus was near instantaneous.
‘Kilarian.
It is time again?’
Kilarian
nodded sadly. ‘It does my heart good to see the light of life in your eyes
again, Caeus. The time is now. Are you ready for the test?’
‘I
am ready, my friend. How many years has it been now?’
‘Nine
hundred and seventy-one.’
Caeus
smiled at his captor. ‘Are you ready to give up yet?’
Kilarian
laughed and shook his massive head. ‘Choose your weapon.’
‘I
will never best your sword. I will never best your magic. I must confess, I do
not know what else to try.’
‘I
cannot help you. It is your choice.’
The
red wizard smiled sadly at the Soul Sword, creature and weapon both as one. ‘Always
my choice. I do so tire of making choices. Life is too full of them.’
‘That
is the burden those with a soul must bear.’
‘And
for my soul I would bear it gladly. Will you not give it back?’
‘First
you must best me.’
‘Then
I choose that which brought me here. I choose love.’
‘You
cannot fight with love.’
‘Of
that I am aware. But I do not want to fight you. I want to best you, and I do
not believe, after all these years, that fighting is the way.’
‘Then
we will begin.’
Caeus
allowed himself to feel. Feelings for one of his race did not come naturally,
they were absorbed from others, but Caeus was different. He trained his soul
and his heart to feel. He was rather proud of the achievement.
He
poured out all the love he held inside, for Rythe, for the race of man, even
for the bastard children of the old ones, the Hierarchs.
He
saved the humans of Rythe through love, once, long ago, and it was that love
that had ultimately caged him. If only the Soul Sword could see his motives for
betraying his own kind, perhaps he would be free.
Caeus
concentrated his whole being on the feeling. It flowed from him like smoke into
the sword the giant Lu held double-handed before him. The sword glowed for a
moment, incandescent, with a blinding white light. Then, as it faded, Caeus
knew another year was lost.
Caeus
was not disappointed though. For while he played the unfathomable game with the
soul sword, his powers had been returning. Kilarian did not know this. It was a
secret Caeus held onto for the last fifty or so years, since he healed the hurt
he suffered in the battle against the old ones. He would hold onto it until he
was free.
Looking
at his captor’s eyes, Caeus knew that moment would come soon. Years meant
nothing to Caeus. He could wait.
In
truth, he was rather enjoying himself. Kilarian was good company, even if only
in short bursts.
‘Never
fear, Caeus, there is more time. There is always more time.’
‘For
you, perhaps, but not for Rythe,’ said Caeus.
The
creature nodded sadly. ‘But you are not ready to save her yet. Perhaps next
year your powers will be returned, and you will learn.’
‘There
will come a time, without me, that there will be nowhere for me to return to.’
‘I
cannot verify the truth behind your statement. I am only concerned with your
soul. Do not make this any harder on yourself. Worry over your own lessons,
Caeus. That is how you can save Rythe.’
‘You
know I will be free.’
Kilarian
did not reply, but raised the soul sword. ‘Are you ready?’
Caeus
sighed. ‘Ever a creature of duty.’
Kilarian
crinkled his eyes in what could have been compassion. Then he thrust the sword
into Caeus’ chest without further thought. He knew that the wizard spoke true,
yet he could not free him. He could not free him without the test first being
passed.
He
realised he felt sad.
Caeus
would feel nothing, not for another year. But while he was freed, however
briefly from the sword, he had been busy. He saw the king’s death, and his
son’s flight. He knew Tulathia and Rena for what they were. He knew the
Hierarchy would rise again.
But
there was still time.
Nothing
but time, outside the world, a thousand years of it. Time enough to heal. Time
enough to plan. Time enough for salvation?
Maybe
not for him, but maybe for Rythe.
*
Dow
shone through the slats across the window in Tarn’s room and the birdsong rose.
He stirred reluctantly and swung his legs from the pallet, yawning loudly. He
had no memory of bad dreams – he’d drunk a little too much Stum the night
before. A good night, he thought, groggily.
He
crossed the room on rubbery legs and splashed some water on his face from the
washbowl, puffing out air from his cheeks as the cool water finally woke him
up. The birdsong that accompanied Dow’s rising quieted just as Tarn pulled his
legging and his tunic on; which were getting shorter by the day-- his wrists
and ankles hanging out.He opened the door into the kitchen. Gard and Molly were
already up, talking quietly.
‘Morning,
Tarn. Little too much to drink last night? Carious has been in the sky for the
last hour.’
‘Morning.’
‘We’ve
been talking. Have a sit down and we’ll tell you about it,’ said Molly with a
smile. She got up and went to the stove, where porridge gently bubbled. She put
two ladlefuls in a thick wooden bowl and stirred in some honey.
‘Here,
get some food in you. I’ll make a brew.’
Tarn
sat at the kitchen table, made from a cross section of a massive oak felled to
build the farmhouse. The cross beams in the house were all made from oak, the
panelling made from ash, the flooring made from lud. The best woods were used
throughout the house and it would stand for many years to come. Even the roof
tiles were wood.
‘What
have you been talking about then?’
‘You’ve
never asked, but we thought you could do with a day free each week.’
‘Really?’
said Tarn.
‘Don’t
you want a day off? We thought you could go and spend some time with that nice
girl, what’s her name?’
‘Rena.’
Tarn smiled. ‘I’d love a day off. Will you manage without me, big man?’
‘I
managed just fine before, little man,’ barked Gard, with a laugh. ‘You go off
with your girl.’
Tarn
let that one slide. If they wanted to think they were holding hands and
kissing, fine with him.
‘How’s
today sound?’ said Molly.
‘That
would be wonderful!’ Tarn thought for a moment. ‘But I don’t know if she’s in.’
‘Well,
you won’t know unless you get over there and find out.’
‘True,’
said Tarn sheepishly. ‘Well...I’ll be going then...’
‘Not
before you’ve finished your porridge, you’re not!’
Tarn
wolfed down the rest of his porridge with his surrogate parents watching over
him, then, with a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek for Molly, he dashed
out the door and ran into the woods.
*
Smoke
drifted from the hole in the sod roof of Rena’s hut as Tarn approached. Moss
surrounded the makeshift building instead of grass, and it felt good underfoot.
Tarn only wore boots in the winter, as did most people outside of towns and
cities. A good pair of boots wasn’t to be wasted when not needed.
Feeling
a little apprehensive, he knocked. Normally, Tarn felt stupid being clean. He
didn’t like the feel of his skin when he’d had a bath. It was unnatural. Now he
was conscious of his smell like he’d never been before.
He
could hear voices inside, but nobody came to the door. He knocked again and
someone – Mia, he thought – called out.
‘Come
in, Tarn!’
The
door creaked as he pushed it, and poked his head through the opening without
stepping inside. Inside was smoky and dingy, the light of the fire in the
centre of the hut caught by the smoke and thrown around. He could barely make
out three shapes in the middle of the round room.
‘Rena?’
‘Tarn,’
called Rena, leaping to her feet. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said, coming to the
door and taking Tarn’s hand. She led him into the centre of the room, and bade
him sit down. He coughed from the smoke. It wasn’t wood smoke, he knew. They
were seeking the future.
‘I’ve
been expecting you,’ said someone Tarn hadn’t seen before. Tarn knew Rena lived
with her mother, Mia, but he did not know the third figure. She put out a hand
through the fire and Tarn cried out, but the fire didn’t burn her. She touched
him and he saw that her hand was wrinkled and spotted. The touch lasted an
instant, but he felt something in that moment, almost like regret, or nostalgia
(although he didn’t know what nostalgia was. It was a word for old people in
taverns, not fourteen-year old boys). The feeling was uncomfortable and Tarn
pulled his hand back. The woman laughed and let him go, drawing her hand back
through the blue fire to her lap. She was hunched and wore a cloak, despite the
warmth inside the hut.
‘I’m
glad you came to me.’ Her voice cracked. She sounded ancient.
‘Tarn,
I want you to meet our visitor,’ said Rena. ‘This is Tulathia. She’s come to
live with us.’
‘Is
she your grandmother?’ enquired Tarn politely.
The
old woman laughed. ‘I’m nobody’s grandmother. You may call me Tulathia, or old
mother. As it suits you.’
Mia
smiled through the smoke at Tarn. She sat beside her daughter and Tulathia.
Three witches, thought Tarn. His father had told him all about witches and he
wasn’t afraid of them. They used the power of nature to help others. But three,
his father told him, couldn’t help but meddle in affairs too powerful for one
to contain. One was fine, two a rarity. Three, he knew, played with fate.
Suddenly,
he knew with whose fate they intended to play. He kept his thoughts to himself,
though.
‘It’s
nice to meet you, old mother. Mia, could I take Rena out for a walk?’
‘Not
yet, Tarn. Make yourself comfortable. Tulathia would have words with you. I
think you have much to talk about. You will be surprised.’
Tarn
nodded, reluctantly. This boded. Nothing that boded ever boded well.
Mia
put some moss on the fire and the smoke rose in swirls, making the hut even
more dim. He could see the faces of the three witches – Rena looking at him
with a smile that was distorted in the clouds of smoke to look like a leer.
The
old lady had only a few teeth and more wrinkles than Tarn had hair.
Mia
was beautiful, but in the murk of the hut she looked like he’d imagined Haritha
the Black would have looked like, a witch in a story his father told him. The
story of the dark witch who boiled babies for her medicine and once fooled a
king. It gave Tarn nightmares. He wondered what they could possibly want with
him. He just wanted to go for a walk.
He
swallowed and decided he should speak. They were all looking at him.
‘Lovely
day, isn’t it?’ His voice broke slightly.
Tulathia
cackled. ‘What are you afraid of? A boy such as you should have no fear of
three women.’
‘I’m
not afraid,’ said Tarn, his voice cracking again, marking him for a liar.
‘There’s
nothing to worry about, Tarn,’ said Mia kindly. At least her voice sounded
smooth, a voice to match her looks. ‘Tulathia would speak with you, nothing
more.’
‘What
would you ask, old mother?’ said Tarn, as politely as he could, willing his
voice not to tremble.
‘First,
Rena, would you gather me some cat’s foot, for tonight’s stew? I am old and
cannot do it myself.’
‘But
I want to walk with Tarn!’
‘There
will be time for that later. Now, girl, to your chores.’
Rena
huffed, but got up and left Tarn with Mia and Tulathia. Tarn even more
concerned now that he did not have Rena with him.
Tulathia
weighed the boy up, sensing how far she should go in this first meeting. She
watched him through the smoke as she spoke.
‘When
you were scarred so, what beast did you see?’
Tarn
tried to cover his shock. The old woman was a witch after all. They saw things
no ordinary woman could. ‘How do you know about that, old mother? Were you
there? Why didn’t you help me?’
‘Peace
boy, just answer my questions. I see much, but not everything. I cannot undo
the past.’
Tarn
weighed his options and breathed deeply, calming himself as his father taught
him to do when shooting in the woods. He imagined himself sighting a stag,
tracking its movement as it strode, majestic, through the trees. He did not
know if he could trust these witches, or what they had in mind, but he had a
feeling they already knew too much.
‘Before
I tell you more – you already know much about me – did you see my father die?’
‘Aye,
boy, I did. I heard his last words. They were for me and me alone, before you
ask. Now what beast did you see?’
There
was nothing for it. Gard and Molly wouldn’t understand, it was beyond their
imagining, but perhaps this old lady would know something that could shed light
on that last night with his father.
‘I
saw a boar.’
This
seemed to please the old woman. ‘It is as it should be. The boar is a wily
animal, fierce and proud. I thought as much, but I needed to hear it from your
lips. Do you know why the boar came to your aid?’
‘No,
I do not. Do you know?’
‘Aye,
I do.’
‘Then
why?’
‘That,
as so many other things, is part of your passage to manhood. Your father
understood. He would have seen the boar, too, but only as a child. For now the
boar is your protector. Do nothing to anger it, or it will leave you. When you
become a man, as your father taught you, you will need it no longer.’
Tarn
sat silently for a while. Mia watched him, and he looked away from her gaze. He
wanted his thoughts to be his own.
Three
witches, two he trusted, but thought, perhaps, that the old witch was too
powerful to trust. He could feel the power in the old woman, and it troubled
him. He closed his eyes as he spoke. He did not want her peering into his soul.
The old woman said nothing, nor moved. She just watched him.
‘Did
you know my father?’
‘Man
and boy, young Tarn. As I knew his father before him, and as I will know you.
You and I will be friends, Tarn, for I need you as much as you need me.’
‘How
could you need me?’
‘You
will be a powerful man, and one day you will understand. Know this, though.
There is much I cannot tell you, for you are not yet that man, and all children
must grow without knowing the future. If you knew your future, you would become
a pale man. You would not live and grow, you would merely follow one path, and
that path is fraught with danger for a soul. A soul must be given room to grow.
It must be given choices. That is your quest, none other. Grow and become a man
without my interference. But I can give you one gift now, and that is why I
brought you here. But first, ask your questions, and I will answer those which
will not harm you.’
‘You
knew my father’s father?’
‘I
did.’
‘Where
did they come from?’
‘They
came from Naeth, but you already knew that. Choose your questions more
carefully, boy. You are not stupid.’
Tarn
nodded. Taught to respect his elders, he took no offence when chided.
‘Why
was my father hunted? Was he a criminal?’ Tarn watched her, hoping to learn
what he could from her expression, if her answer should prove false.
Tulathia
smiled then, and when she smiled Tarn knew there was no evil in her. Finally,
he relaxed a little. He was still afraid, but now he was afraid of what she
might tell him, not of the woman before him. But he knew fear. It was
beguiling, sent by Madal to test the race of man. He would not be swayed by its
charms, ever.
Tulathia
countered with a question of her own.
‘Do
you think him a criminal?’
‘He
was a good father. I always thought he was hunted for a mistake. Perhaps he
killed someone by accident. A noble, maybe. It must have been somebody with
power, for father to run so long.’
‘You
should be at peace with your father’s memory. I would not have you doubt him.
He was a great man, like his father before him. There are many kinds of criminal,
depending on who makes the crime. Your father killed many men, but he was no
murderer. When you understand who you are, you will understand your father’s
crime. Then, perhaps, you will be a man. But I cannot make you a man. Only you
can do that.’
‘That
is no answer,’ said Tarn, with a hint of irritation.
‘No,
boy. But it is the only answer I have to give. Ask me again when you reach
manhood, if you feel the need by then.’
Tarn
thought it odd that the old lady would be around for years, not weeks. But he
did not ask her why. He thought she would not tell him, and he would have been
right.
‘Did
you know my mother?’
‘I
was there when she gave birth to you. She was a fine woman, and she loved you
and your father dearly. She was beyond my skills to save.
‘I
tire now. Ask one last question of me, and then I will ask something of you.’
‘Who
am I?’
Tulathia
laughed. ‘You are out of questions, boy, now, and to end with such a disappointing
one. Who you are is for you to find out. It is not an answer anyone else can
give you. Now it is my turn.’
Tarn
nodded. His head buzzed, alive with thoughts, and he tried to concentrate on
the old lady. Mia still watched him, but said nothing.
‘We
three have power together. We can do something I could not do for your father.
We can hide you. Would you be hidden, to grow into a man? We can give your soul
a chance.’
Tarn
knew the rules: always was there a price.
‘And
what is the price?’
Tulathia
smiled at him. ‘I see your father taught you the lore.’
‘That
he did.’
‘Then
the price. I would have you do something for all three of us. When you are
grown, I would have you kill a man. You will want to kill him. It is not an
evil act. But you must not be afraid. No matter the cost, the man must die. You
will know who, but you must tame your fear.’
‘I
am never afraid. But it is wrong to kill a man, unless he does you wrong.’
‘Then
the death I ask will be just, and will not stain your soul, but the price will
be high. I can give you a life now, but in return you must take one for me.
That is my price. But remember, I cannot know the future. I can only see the
past, and a small part of what is to come. What you make of it from here is up
to you. And perhaps, gods willing, the man will die and you will never have to
pay my price. That is all life is. An endless procession of chances. Will you
take this one?’
‘I
will,’ said Tarn, after a long time. ‘I will do as you bid.’
‘It
will be as you wish. I ask you to do no evil, for evil I am not. Give me a lock
of your hair, and return to your farm. Be at peace and know that all is well.
We will meet again.’
