Read The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One Online
Authors: Craig Saunders
Tulathia
rose and opened the windows, easing the murk within the hut not at all, as a
heavy fog rolled in. While Tarn was under the spell many hours had passed, and
the night was thick with magic and foreboding. It was rare for there to be a
fog in spring. Tulathia shivered as she looked out into the woods. She could
barely see the trees.
‘What
did you see, Tarn?’ Rena asked gently.
Tarn
drew his hands back and rubbed the tears from his eyes. He smoothed his matted
beard.
‘I
saw my father, and his father before him. I saw the man that killed them both.
He had on a hawk’s crest. After, his men wore the crest of the boar. The king’s
crest.’
Rena
looked startled. Mia and Tulathia merely listened.
‘The
man who killed the king wants me dead for who I am. The king’s son.’
‘More
than that, Tarn,’ said Tulathia. ‘You are the king.’
Tarn
nodded. ‘And for my blood, I must die. Why did you not warn me, Tulathia? I do
not wish for this burden.’
‘You
asked me, Tarn. Remember that.’
Mia
pressed the wooden cup into his hands.
‘The
Thane of Naeth. I know now, Tulathia. My enemy is great indeed. The whole of
the north will be looking for me. You were right. I am a fool for asking you to
show me. I would have been happier in ignorance.’
‘But
you are not ignorant, love,’ said Rena, holding his hand tightly. ‘And you
might say that now, but I know it was your wish. The knowledge will never sit
lightly with you, and you will not ignore it. But I will be with you, no matter
what.’
Tarn
granted Rena a small smile. In truth, he felt little like smiling. His head
spun like he was drunk, and he knew fear. Anger, too, bubbling underneath the
surface. Tarn did not care that he was the king, but the more he thought about
it, the angrier he became. He almost forgot his fear.
‘The
Thane of Naeth has killed my family. But what can I do?’
‘For
now? Nothing but live. You must thwart him. As long as you live he can never be
king, and Sturma is safe. The other Thanes will not suffer a Thane to rule
them.’
‘I
fear I am but a dead man walking. The Thane of Naeth is a powerful man. I
cannot hide from him forever, and as you said, your spell will no longer work,
Tulathia.’
‘Perhaps
he will not find you.’
‘While
he lives I cannot believe he will ever stop hunting,’ said Mia with sadness.
Without
the spell concealing him from all eyes, hunters and trackers might have some
degree of success. And the Thane would never rest while the line of kings
lived. The line of kings. The thought of it made Tarn sick to his stomach. Such
a destiny to be burdened with. No more could he be happy. The freedom he had
known for these carefree years would be his last. A life on the run, again.
He
looked at Rena, and there was a tear in her eye. Perhaps, thought Tarn, she
already understands.
‘I
will stay until they find me. But we must always be ready to run,’ he said.
‘Then
I will run with you.’
Tarn
brushed her hand, but was thinking otherwise. He could not subject Rena to such
a life. He loved her too much for that. But he wouldn’t say as much to her. He
would leave, alone, before placing her in danger.
‘I
saw you, old mother. You were there.’
‘I
eased your birth. Your mother was a fine woman, but age crept up on her. It was
not an easy passage for you. You almost died then, but I managed to keep you
alive.’
‘So
why did you not hide me then?’
‘I
could not. Your father would not let me. He wanted to raise you as his own.
When your mother died I offered to hide you again, but he would have no part of
my magic. Perhaps he made the wisest choice, I do not know.’
‘Perhaps
he was a fool.’
‘Do
not speak of your father so! He was a great man, and the king. His was a hard
life. Before the Thane murdered his father he lived in a castle, with servants
and fine wines. After, it was all he could do to stay alive. His life was far
from charmed.’
‘You
are right, Tulathia. I loved him. I spoke without thought. I am just afraid.’
Rena
shuffled across the floor to be next to him, and put her arm around him. Tarn
let her warmth ease his soul for a moment, before speaking again. He would have
to make the most of these moments with her, for now he knew it could not last.
His heart was heavy with pain, and his thoughts were clouded.
‘I
need to think. Rena, Mia, old mother, I will return to the farm. I will seek
your council again.’
‘Do
not do anything rash, Tarn. Take the time to think. You still have that luxury.’
‘I
will, old mother. I will think on this. I must decide what I will do, for as
you said, the farm life, it seems, will not be for me.’
Tarn
rose and bowed, an unusual gesture for him, and left the hut.
As
he strode to the trees, the fog deepening around him, the door crashed and Rena
raced to his side.
‘So
you would leave without a word?’
Tarn
sighed. ‘No, love. I would not. I simply must to think. I will do nothing
without you. I need to talk to Gard and Molly. I could do with a little of their
wisdom right now.’
‘I
will come with you, Tarn, if you go. Promise you will not leave without me.’
Instead
of useless promises, he merely said, ‘You will always be with me, Rena,
wherever I go.’
But
only in my heart, he did not add. He walked on into the fog without looking
back.
Rena
watched with a thick sadness she had never known. She would lose him, and they
would never marry. She knew it without him saying so. But she could no more
chain him to a life by the hearth than make him the son of a farmer.
*
Tarn
walked back through the woods with his head slumped between his shoulders.
Tears came unbidden.
The
fog was heavy, an unusual fog. It felt cold on the skin, and soaking him
through.
Finally,
his thoughts jumbled and snapping at him, he came to the farm. He looked up and
with sadness in his heart, knew that he must leave his home behind. Every
person should understand that love should be taken and cherished every day, he
thought, for no love lasts forever.
Walking
slowly, the form of the two-story farmhouse rose through the fog to greet him.
Home. It possessed an earthy beauty, its solidity softened by the fog, its
angles curved as the fog shifted and swirled about it. It would have been
Tarn’s one day. But he was not sad to leave a house of wood behind, just those
within it. Suddenly, he longed to hold Gard and Molly, to kiss their cheeks and
tell them how much he loved them. His heart ached from so much sadness that he
needed to feel that love.
Everything
he cherished was tumbling away from him. All for him, the king without a crown.
There were so many emotions and thoughts spinning in his head, there wasn’t
room for destiny.
Pushing
open the door, he called out, ‘Mother! Father! I am home.’
No
reply came, and Tarn thought it passing odd.
He
pushed his way into the kitchen, where Gard and Molly always sat, but there was
no sign of them. Frowning, he was about to check their bedroom, when he saw an
overturned chair.
The
plates were clean. No fire burned in the stove, and the water in the sink cold.
They had been gone for some time. What could make them dash off into a night
like this? Why had they not waited for Tarn to return? He was never late, even
though much of the night passed while Tarn’s soul travelled.
Perplexed,
forgetting his worries for the moment, Tarn searched the house. He found no
sign. He came back to the kitchen, and noticed something he missed before. A
foul smell pervaded the air, like flesh gone bad. He checked the larder, but
there was only a large ham in there and it was still fresh.
He
opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the rear garden of the house.
Walking carefully, as he could now no longer see his own feet in the fog, he
decided to tour around the outside of the house and see if he could find sign
of them. He walked slowly, from the back door into the garden that Molly tended
so lovingly. He barely walked a few yards before he kicked something and
stumbled to his knees.
There,
in an unnatural position on the ground, lay his father.
A
cry escaped Tarn’s lips and he reached out for the shape.
Oh,
gods, thought Tarn, what have they done to you? His first thought was that his
father had been killed. There was no blood, but Gard’s eyes and hands were
gone, and there was a black mark upon his chest, like a burning brand had been
pushed in there.
What
manner of man could torture him so?
He
looked around him but saw no sign of footprints. He listened carefully and
could not hear the discordant note of a breath held in the darkness.
They
came for him and murdered Gard. But where was Molly?
Such
a horrible death. Molly, he knew, must be somewhere else around the outside of
the house. He rose to his feet, about to make away from the body, when it
coughed.
He
fell to his knees again and laid his hand on Gard’s shoulder, so he would know
Tarn’s touch where he could not see.
‘Oh,
big man, who did this to you?’ said Tarn, his voice racked with grief and fury.
‘It
came for you, Tarn.’ Something rattled in Gard’s chest as he spoke. Blood, the
boy realised. ‘It was no man. Molly is dead. You must run.’
Tarn
drew the big man into an embrace, the old man’s head resting against his.
‘What
was it, father?’
‘A
beast of air and fire, a demon unlike any I have ever seen. You must run, son,
run far from here. You cannot fight it.’
Fear
gnawed at Tarn’s belly. What kind of creature could kill a sword master without
so much as a wound to itself?
‘I
am dying, boy. Under the floor boards, in the bedroom upstairs, there is
something I wish you to take from here. Take it, and never return. It will find
you here.’
‘No,
father, hold on!’ cried Tarn hugging the big man hard, unwilling to let go.
Blood came from the old man’s lips, the only blood on his abused body.
Gard
smiled though he must have been in terrible pain. ‘I love you like a son,
Tarn.’
‘And
I love you.’
‘No
more. Let me feel the touch of your hand on my face.’
Tarn
rested his hand on his father’s face. Gard coughed one last time, and his mouth
fell open. A gasp of air rose into the fog, and Tarn knew that this time the
big man was dead.
He
knelt that way for a long time, rocking gently, his hand resting on Gard’s
face. Eventually, all thought having fled, he rose and entered the house.
When
he had the package, he left the house behind and set off for Rena’s cottage.
*
Mia
opened the door. Seeing Tarn, hunched and drenched, she drew him inside. His
body did not resist, but from the expression on his face she knew something terrible
had happened.
‘Oh,
Tarn,’ Concern etched her voice. She turned his face toward the fire light, but
saw nothing in his eyes. He merely stared ahead, his mouth drawn tight.
‘Tulathia!
Rena! Come quickly!’
Rena
came in an instant, her hair flattened on one side by sleep. Tulathia took
longer to rise from her bedroom, and immediately came to Tarn’s side, where
Rena cradled the boy’s head against her chest.
‘I
do not know what is wrong with him. He won’t speak. I’m frightened.’
Tulathia,
a robe drawn about her, pushed Tarn’s head up roughly and peered into his eyes.
She saw nothing there, his pupils were mere pinpricks. He did not focus when
she clicked her arthritic fingers, nor flinch as she slapped him.
Rena
and Mia knew better than to question the harsh treatment, but waited silently,
watching the old woman work.
‘Put
him by the fire. Rena, build it up. Mia, when the fire is high make him a brew
with crushed tachat seeds and the whole leaves of ulium. He is in shock, and to
find out what happened we will need to bring him back around first. It may take
some time.’
Rena
sobbed and took Tarn’s arms. He followed like a child.
‘Leave
him by the fire, Rena, and do as I ask,’ she added, more gently this time.
The
girl nodded. She placed Tarn by the fire, where he sat without moving. She
removed his sword belt and took a long package from his unresisting hands. Then
she went outside.
‘What
do you think happened?’ asked Mia when her daughter left.
‘We
will find out soon enough, Mia. I fear the worst. It has already begun.’
Mia
did not ask the old crone what. She had a good idea already.
Rena
came back bearing wood, and stacked the fire high. Within moments the fire
took, flames licking at the dry logs. Mia hung a pot full of water and added
the seeds and leaves, leaving it to boil down. She also added a second pot,
unasked, and brewed some tea for the witches. She thought it would be a long
night.
*