The Queen of Thieves: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three (7 page)

Chapter Nineteen

The road through the Fresh Woods
was little more than a dirt track, though a cart or carriage could travel in
rough leisure along it, should it have reason to travel to the newest town in
Sturma. The people of Haven had cut back the trees and pulled roots. There was
enough traffic to keep the track clear of undergrowth, and now, in the heart of
winter, the snowfall held sludgy horse tracks and the impressions of booted
feet. Traders, hunters, woodsmen, no doubt. The Haveners had wood, meat,
furs...all manner of the forests bounty...to sell. People would travel for such
things.

            Once, Haven had been
a refuge for bandits fleeing from the old Thane of Naeth. Tarn saw an end to
the tyrant's rule, but the bandits had stayed. Their numbers had grown in the
years since Tarn and Roskel first came to visit, to learn, and to become bandits
themselves. In one attack on the camp many had died, but the population grew
once more, and Haven thrived. Roskel Farinder, too, had a soft spot for the
growing settlement. He made sure it was safe enough, and word soon got around
that the Haveners were sound traders, despite their somewhat seedy heritage.

            Rena and Asram
travelled quietly along the track, avoiding the worse of the mud and stepping
on the ruts where carts had passed and the ground had frozen afterward. Both
were wrapped in their own thoughts. The further Rena and Asram walked along the
track, the more silent the forest around them became. Birdsong stuttered and
ceased. Beasts in the undergrowth either side of the road stilled.

            Eventually, the only
sound was their footfalls upon the crusted snow and icy ground underfoot.

            'Something...' said
Rena. She did not know what was wrong...just...something. She felt the cold
more keenly, heard the sound of snowfall and the breeze in the trees...all
normal, but something was awry.

            'Aye, I feel it,
too,' said Asram, unslinging his bow from his back and removing the rain cover
from his quiver. The skies were sullen and steely, even now, close to midday,
and a steady snow fell on their heads and backs and thighs as they walked. It
was the kind of snow that had settled in for the day, and maybe the night, too.
The kind of snow that might be able to last a solid week with no hint of
sunshine to break the gloom. 

            'Remain watchful,
Lady...I do not like this...'

            'Should we turn
around?' she said, though she did not sound afraid, merely cautious.

            'We are to meet
allies at Haven.'

            But Rena did not
think they would meet allies. She did not have the gift of foretelling, but she
now knew what that little ticklish something was. It was weak, in the cold air,
but even just the hint of the thing she smelled was enough - she knew the smell
of charred flesh well.

            Asram smelled it in
the next second. His face became like stone.

            'Wait here...' he
said.

            'No,' she replied. Asram
sighed. He did not argue, but moved on. There was no point in arguing, and
whatever was amiss, leaving his charge behind was probably not wise.

            The smell drifted
toward them, stronger as they neared Haven. As they finally came within sight
of the village, Rena understood what was wrong, and her hand fled to her mouth.

            The village itself
was untouched. Each building, some ramshackle, some built with pride and skill,
remained.

            But the people did
not. There was a great pyre in the village green, high with the remains of what
could only be the villagers, smouldering still.

*

Chapter Twenty

'Gods,' said Asram, holding one
hand to his nose as they approached the pyre. The other hand remained firmly on
his bow. His gaze flicked to the left and right endlessly, scanning for
threats. Looking for anything out of place...yet time and again his eyes were
drawn to the site of the massacre.

            'Do you...sense
anything?' asked Asram, cautiously. It was the first time he had asked - or had
cause to ask - Rena for the use of her skills. He would never ask for a witch's
skills, but something was prickling his own senses...something he could not
quite put a finger on, a disturbance in the forest, maybe. Maybe it was just
the animals fleeing the wicked stench.

            But he thought not.

            'I do not know,' said
Rena. She too held her nose. Even the babe was restless, squalling from within
the snug folds of the sling under Rena's thick coat.

            'There is
something...something...like a tang on my tongue...a bitterness in the air...'
said Rena, finally.

            'Let's move closer.
Maybe we will see something that can explain this...slaughter.'

            The stench was
unbearable, but both agreed that they needed to witness the barbarity that had
befallen the village, if only to be able to tell the world of Haven's demise.

            Gingerly, they
approached the smoking pyre, stacked high with bodies. It seemed every man,
woman and child had been thrown in a heap to burn. Even through the haze of the
heat that rested in the charred bodies, Rena could see that wounds had been
inflicted on the bodies before they were killed.

            Weapons, too,
littered the snowy ground around the village. Haven had not given in without a
fight. There was no blood around in the snow, but the snow fell thick and fast
and it may have already been covered over. Whatever violence had preceded their
disposal on the pyre, it had not saved any from the final indignity of the
flame.

            'It looks as though
they did not, or could not, put up much of a fight...' said Rena, looking for
confirmation to Asram.

            Asram nodded, thinking
hard, scanning the treeline. He was loath to admit it, but this seemed to be
Rena's domain. Magic.

            What else could have
defeated an entire village? Most, too, were no strangers to violence.

            Rena echoed his
thoughts, speaking the word quietly, as though fearful of waking the dead.

            'Magic,' she said,
almost under her breath. Her babe hushed, too, for an instant, feeling his
mother's disquiet, perhaps.

            'We must go,' said
Asram, finally. He laid a hand on Rena's arm to lead her away. Rena let him.
She hardly noticed his hand resting on her arm.

            As she turned she saw
a movement in one of the houses.

            'Asram,' she said.
'Someone lives...'

            'Where?' he said. She
was thankful for his unquestioning belief. She did not think she could take an
argument. Her nerves were frayed. Her hair felt as though it stood on end. Some
echo of an unknown magic tainted the village, and the longer she spent under
its miasma, the worse she began to feel.

            It was a dark, foul
magic that hung over the village, and the feel was getting stronger.

            'In that house...I
saw...' But she didn't have time to finish the sentence, as at that moment the
authors of the horror in the village stepped forth from the borders of the
forest. They came forward, in no rush. There was no need to rush. Rena and
Asram were entirely surrounded.

            The babe screamed.
Rena tried to shush him, but little Tarn felt their fear. There was nowhere to
run. No fight to be had. Rena tried to count, but could not. It was not an
army, but there must have been a hundred...a hundred of those creatures like
those she now knew to be Hierarchs...

            And yet, these were
different. From their garb alone, Rena could see they were different. No
assassins, these creatures, but warriors. Soldiers. Invaders.

            And murderers, each
and every one of them.           

            She felt like
screaming herself. She had followed Asram unquestioningly, with her babe in her
arms, right to the heart of a trap.

*

Chapter
Twenty-One

'Asram,' said Rena. 'Lower your
bow. We cannot fight.'

            'I swore I would
protect you with my life,' said the huntsman. His teeth were gritted as he
spoke. Rena could hear the taut bow string, the shuffling of her own feet, the
snow beginning to fall...and through it all the babe screamed.

            She did not know why,
but in her terror it was as though she had finally come alive.

            Rena almost laughed,
so terrified was she, and yet at the same time feeling like she was awake to
the world in a way she never had been - not even in Tarn's arms.

            But she had no
mythical power. She had no magic. There was no magic, not for a witch such as
her.

            She was impotent, and
the soldiers were coming. Coming closer all the time. She could see their
features, now, alien, harsh...terrible. The net was closing. Not one of the
creatures called out. They did not need to. Their intent was clear. Asram, Rena
and her baby would all go on the pyre, and no one would ever know what happened
to them.

            Yet, she felt some
power making her heart sing, and tears rolled down her face. She did not know
why. There was no understanding it. She stared at her death and cried and
realised she was laughing, too.  

            She scanned the faces
of the approaching soldiers, looking for some hint of mercy and seeing none.
She threw out a prayer, in her head, to all the gods, to the one known as
Caeus...but nothing happened. There was no stroke of lightning, no ball of fire
or storm or earthquake. And still she laughed. Caeus was not coming.

            She thought perhaps
she had gone mad in the instant that the enemy came from the forest.

            Magic...this was how
the village was taken. She understood it now - the mages of the Hierarchy were
somehow messing with her mind, making it impossible for her to flee.

            She looked at Asram.
The magic was affecting him differently. His jaw was clenched tight, the
muscles bunched under his thick beard. He fought it, and she was suddenly in
awe of him, this man with no magic at all, fighting until the end.

            But there was no
hope, was there? They couldn't fight.

            She felt the snow
landing and melting on her face. She could feel its weight in her hair. She
could feel the knots in her hair.

            Acutely aware of
everything...helpless still.

            Asram's bow remained
taut - arrow nestled alongside his cheek, ignoring her plea. He swung the bow
this way and that, as though unsure where to aim. Though Rena knew the truth of
it - not even the man who had saved her single handed from the assassins that
had killed her mother could take on an army on his own.

            But she knew he
wanted to go down fighting. What for, though? What for? She, Tarn and Asram
were as good as dead.

           
That's the magic
talking
, said a voice she didn't recognise. A woman's voice. Power in every
word.

            'Lower your bow,'
Rena said again. Her voice sounded strange to her...confident. Commanding.

           
That's it, girl
child. Fight it. Fight the despair.

            The voice
sounded...close?

            But then, as suddenly
as her clarity had come, the feeling fled, along with any hope she might have
harboured, because she saw something new. From the rear of the ranks a Hierarch
pushed through his soldiers, and it became obvious that he was their leader. He
wore a simple robe of bright red cloth, and it seemed as though his eyes bled
fire.

            With a grin, the mage
- for Rena had no doubt that he was a mage - laughed.

            'All these years, and
the babe stumbles into my hands!'

            The mage was the
author of her despair. Far more dangerous, she knew without doubt, than the
hundred soldiers arrayed against them.

            He laughed again and
the fire in his eyes grew, like a torrent. There were no further words. The
unnatural, magical fire roared toward them like a rolling boulder, a great rock
made of fire, consuming everything in its path.

            Rena screamed. Asram
loosed his arrow at the mage, but it was burned to nothing as it passed through
the fire.

            Then, there was
nothing but peace.

            Rena opened her eyes,
expecting fire but instead seeing who must be the most beautiful woman in the
world standing before her.

            The woman spoke
again, in Rena's mind.

           
Good girl,
she
said, mind to mind.
You fought the despair. We'll make a witch of you yet,
maybe.

            The stunning woman gave
no indication that holding back the fire was any effort at all. She smiled at
Rena.

            'Tarn was a lucky
man,' said Selana, out loud this time. 'You are truly beautiful, child,' she
told Rena, as though she were just passing the time of day.

            They stood within a
calm circle, untouched by the fire that grew in the air around them.

            'What magic is this?'
said Asram, his face paler now faced with magic than it had been when faced
with an army.

            'A woman's magic,'
said the Queen of Thieves without rancour or passion. 'Learn it well, Rena,
girl who would be queen. Learn it well,' said Selana with a soft smile. She
ignored the fire all around them as though it were no more a hindrance to her
than a balmy summer's day.

            Selana, the Queen of
Thieves, slowly turned in a wide circle.

            She spoke no arcane
words, but where a moment before her face held a gentle smile for Rena and
Asram, now it was cold and harsh and more terrible than anything Rena had ever
seen.

            Selana turned, faster
and faster. The fire around their shell of peace became molten rain that burst
outward in a great flash, blinding Rena.

            Blinded though she
was, Rena had no trouble hearing the screams of the invaders. The fire burned
every soldier in sight, and the Hierarch mage. The screams were horrifying, but
tears no longer fell from Rena's eyes. She smiled herself, a little, and
worried now that she was truly mad...even if a little. She was happy, because
they were safe, and the enemy burned.

           
Burn, you
bastards,
she thought.

            Rena's sight returned,
slowly, as though she had just glanced at the suns.

            The Hierarch mage and
his soldiers twirled and rolled and tried to put out the flames that lit them.

            They could do
nothing, though. In mere minutes, everything living creature outside the shell
was charred black. There was nothing alive, just smoking corpses.

            'A woman's magic,'
said the Queen again, to Rena more than Asram. 'Can be a terrible thing.'

*