The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two

by Craig R. Saunders

  Darwell put two mugs down in front of the men and kept the third for himself.

  'I don’t usually drink at dawn, but it’s a new day.'

  He raised his mug. 'To you both. It is good to see you.'

  Roskel grasped the mug in both hands and drank deeply. 'Gods, that is the best I’ve ever drunk.'

  'Food!' said the innkeeper, clapping his hands as if the idea had only just occurred to him.

  'Not just yet,' said the thief.

  A preordained knock came at the door.

  The men stared at each other. The Drayman drew his sword. Darwell cracked open the spy cover and peered out into the street.

  'Darwell, you old fool. You know I know the knock. Tell the thief the lady sent me.'

  'You!'

  'Just tell him, then let me in.'

  Roskel could only hear half the conversation. Darwell turned to him.

  'The woman outside is with the Thieves’ Covenant. She said the lady sent her.'

  'Let her in,' said Roskel.

  A woman came in bearing a large basket. Darwell bolted the front door after her.

  'I thought the lady had forgotten me. Is her favour so fickle?' said the thief.

  The woman laughed. 'The lady surprises me constantly. She said you’d say exactly that, as if I could ever doubt her. She also told me you’d be in need of some healing. So show me your wounds and I’ll see what I can do about it.'

  The woman was above middle years, and had a kind and good-looking face. She wore a red cloak and a knowing smirk.

  'It’s a bit delicate,' said Roskel, after taking her measure.

  'I’ve seen it all.' She said and crossed her arms, as if to say she could wait all day but he’d be the one paying for wasting her time.

  'Alright,' he said, and pushed himself off the bench gingerly. He dropped his trousers and showed her the weeping sores on his behind. Then he turned and showed her his wrists, where the shackles had rubbed the skin raw. 'It hurts something fierce,' he said. 'Also, if you can help me, I need to be able to ride in the morning.'

  'Tomorrow night, you’ll ride. By the lady’s orders. You have business in this town to finish first. You can pull your trousers up now,' she said, glancing down with a smile on her face.

  Roskel blushed and quickly pulled his trousers up.

  'What business?'

  'The Thane of Ulbridge has been careless. He kept all of the Thane of Kar’s correspondence, and that of other Thanes who have allied with him. It is the proof you need to rally the other Thanes to the Stewards’ cause. Without proof the country will descend into civil war, and the Thanes of the south will not be able to stand. Three Thanes waver. With proof, the Stewards can gain their support in the coming war. With luck, the lady says there is a way to end the war before it is begun. But she does not believe in taking unnecessary risks.'

  'Like leaving me in a dungeon for months?'

  'That, Lord Protector, was a risk she was willing to take. She said you would understand. She still favours you. It was your trial to undertake.'

  'Well, perhaps when I see her next she’ll give me a more sensible explanation for abandoning me in that dungeon for the last few months. It was hell.'

  'She said you’d say that too.'

  'I’m getting tired of this.'

  'No doubt,' said the woman with her unfailing smile. 'But she said to tell you she needed you to see the darkness to appreciate the light. She said she will make it up to you.'

  'It better be bloody good.'

  'Oh, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised, my Lord.'

  'What do you know?'

  'Quite a lot, my lord, but that’s not why I’m here. Darwell, draw a bath. Lord Protector, I think those clothes should be burned.'

  She took the lid from her basket and drew a wicked looking straight razor.

  'Easy, Drayman,' she said. 'I’m just going to give him a shave. He’s infested. We can’t very well have the Lord Protector giving the dignitaries of Sturma lice and fleas and the like, now can we?'

  The Drayman sheathed his sword and glared at the woman, but she seemed unperturbed. She just smiled at him sweetly.

  *

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Roskel sat in the third bath of the day. His head gleamed, as did the rest of his body. The woman had seen him like no one but his mother had, and he had been more embarrassed than he had been in his life. Now he stared down at his entirely hairless body and stroked his bald head. It seemed a bit drastic, but the woman had brooked no nonsense from him and his protestations had fallen on deaf ears.

  Darwell and the Drayman laughed heartily at him, coming in to peer at him being shaved, until he threw a bar of soap at them and some choice words.

  Now he rested in the bath full of some sickly smelling unction that the wise woman had poured in this time, now that he was clean. His aches were easing, and as he watched, the sores on his wrists began to close up.

  His behind was feeling much better. At first, sitting in the tub had been agony, the clean water driving needles into his weeping sores, but now they were numb and he felt some of the strength was returning to his limbs.

  So he had yet more to do, he thought as he put his head under the water, taking care not to swallow the water.

  He held his breath and for a moment revelled in the soft swishing of the water in the wooden bath tub. It was a comforting sound. So many of the sounds he had heard since gaining his fragile freedom were comforting.

  Even when his friends were laughing at him in his embarrassment, he had enjoyed the sound. It was a beautiful sound that he had forgotten. The wise woman’s knowing smile should have been irritating, but any smile was to be cherished.

  The feel of the warm water on his skin, the sensation of strength returning and his sores closing, becoming cleaner…she said he would be left with scars, but he was glad. Even if he could have, he would never want to forget the cruelty men could mete out. He would rule again, with Rohir and Wexel at his side, but he would never forget why he did so. He did not do it because it was Tarn’s wish. No longer. He would do it because he was the right man for the job. He recognised the pain the people went through, and the dangers a man like the Thane of Kar represented. It would be an awful world if such men and their allies took more power than they already had.

  There would be a reckoning, and if his journey was ever to end with a pure heart and a clean conscience at the end of it, he needed to end their power once and for all. He needed to destroy them, and the hierarchy both. They were an abomination, the enemy of the people.

  Sturma deserved justice. It could not get it for itself. But he had the chance to do right.

  He would do so, and be thankful for his position in the future, no longer moan about the inconvenience and discomfort. It was an honour to serve his people in the manner they deserved.

  Perhaps, he mused with a smile on his bare face, that was the lesson the lady wanted him to learn.

  Was it worth it?

  He wasn’t sure. He imagined when he saw her again he would take the chance to turn her over his knee.

  Then she would probably slit his throat, but just the look on her breathtakingly beautiful, heart-stopping, dangerous face would be worth it.

  *

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Darwell sat beside Roskel in the bath and they chatted like a couple of old women for hours that morning. The wise woman had told the thief to remain immersed in water until midday, then rub a salve over his sores and his wounds.

  The Drayman bustled about, getting things ready for the evening. Occasionally he came into the bathroom and refilled the tub with hot water. The water splashed over the side to drain in the tiled floor, down into the city sewers. Roskel imagined the pain and the humiliation of the last three months being washed away with each refilling of the bath. He felt his strength returning with each hour that passed in the tub, his muscles easing and his sores closing. The wise woman - witch, he supposed - told him he would be scarred
afterwards, but he wasn’t worried. His days of worrying about the smoothness of his behind had gone when he had become a man and realised women didn’t mind if it was a bit bobbly…so long as the most important part wasn’t wobbly.

  He giggled at the thought. Nice to remember what it was like to be childish. It had been too long since he had remembered a joke or anything at all to keep his spirits up.

  'What’s so funny?'

  'Nothing, Darwell. I’m just merry with life. I’m alive. Isn’t that funny enough?'

  'I suppose so. I have an apology to make, Roskel.'

  'Don’t mention it.'

  'I must!'

  'I know what you’re going to say. The same thing the Drayman will. You’re both sorry you didn’t get me out sooner. Well, I think my lady of the shadows, my greatest ally, is wiser than I give her credit for. I was meant to spend some time in prison. It has given me new perspective. You could not have broken me free until last night because it was not ordained. Sometimes I think I am a creature of fate, but I have a choice now. I have learned my lesson, and it is a valuable one. So no apologies. Just enjoy the sight of my bald head and laugh like you did before. We should be celebrating. There is nothing to be sorry for.'

  'Then another mug of ale?' said the innkeeper with a grateful smile.

  'No, I think not. I have a job to do tonight, and I cannot be in my cups. We will celebrate with ale when I return. For now, let us celebrate with just friendship and a nice hot bath.'

  The Drayman came in and indicated that it was time by holding out a towel for the thief.

  Roskel climbed out of the bath with a sigh and wrapped the towel around himself. He was wrinkled from his neck to his feet. He thought he looked like a shooner, a heavily skinned dog that was popular among the ladies of the north.

  He dried himself then with an apologetic look at the innkeeper he held up the pot of foul smelling paste.

  'Oh, no,' said the innkeeper with a shake of his head.

  'Well I can’t see to do it right myself.'

  'No, it wouldn’t be right. A thing like that can sully a friendship.'

  'I’m not asking you to do the front!'

  The Drayman took the pot with an expressive sigh. It spoke volumes. Even without the touch and the song, Roskel imagine what he was saying.

  Duty. Always a creature of duty. Will my trials ever be over?

  'You are a true friend, Drayman.' Roskel looked pointedly at Darwell, who just shrugged.

  The Drayman sighed and began to apply the salve.

  It burned like cinders on his bare skin, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain, hoping that come tomorrow he would be well enough to ride Minstrel and with any luck, beat Orvane Wense and the Thane of Ulbridge back to Naeth.

  *

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The day had been one of small pleasures, which Roskel held in his memory. It was one of the finest days of his life. A simple affirmation of freedom and friendship, things one could not put a value on and something that a thief or a man subject to the law should always remember.

  Now, dressed from head to foot in his own clothes at last, grey shirt, darker grey trousers and soft new boots, he crouched on the roof of the mansion he had only just escaped from. People milled about below, taking a breath of fresh air after dinner. No doubt his old conquest was holding a celebratory dinner now that her husband had left for the north, her own affirmation of freedom.

  He swung down into a top floor window and landed on quiet feet in a carpeted room fitted out for luxury.

  He would not have to search for long. He knew that the Thane kept an office on the top floor of his home. His Thieves' Covenant contact had told him so in the afternoon, a woman of stern beauty who came by Darwell’s tavern before opening time.

  He padded toward the door and cracked it open.

  He heard a young woman giggling and walking drunkenly down the corridor. He ducked back inside the room. The giggling girl came closer. He didn’t want to have to knock out an innocent girl, that wasn’t what he was about.

  He searched around the chamber, looking for somewhere to hide, but his only option was under the bed or in the closet.

  The chances were she would pass this room by, but he couldn’t rely on chance. It was fickle at best. He ducked into the closet and closed the door too, leaving it open a crack. He didn’t want to be in total darkness again. Perhaps one day, but not on this fine night.

  His luck did not hold. The girl opened the door and stumbled into the room. She fell in a heap onto the bed at the centre of the room.

  Just his luck.

  'Ooh, Lord Raynor, don’t play games. Come out!'

  She wore a mask. Some kind of fancy dress party, Roskel imagined. She was a fine looking woman. Young with a heaving bosom, her words breathless with drink and desire, perhaps.

  He waited for her to fall asleep or for her lover to arrive. He waited and waited, but she just sat on the bed and pouted.

  There was nothing for it. He couldn’t waste anymore time. He also couldn’t very well sneak out.

  He had a plan. He didn’t know if it was a good one or not, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice. He rustled around in the closet as quietly as he could.

  Finding what he was looking for, he stripped in the narrow confines of the closet and then pulled on the owner’s clothes.

  He wanted to check himself in the mirror, but there was no time. His ruse had to work.

  He stepped from the closet and the woman gasped, then she giggled once again.

  'Oh,' he said breathlessly. 'I was supposed to meet the duchess here. How embarrassing!'

  She laughed at him, and he looked on with a mock wounded look on his face.

  I don’t look dashing in a dress? I thought I could carry it off…you know, with the fancy dress party,' he said, taking a chance.

  'Oh, yes, you look dashing with your ladies dress and your bald head. The others will all be wanting to dress like you. Are you stood up, too? I was supposed to meet a man, but he hasn’t turned up.'

  He looked at her rising chest and the merry, drunken smile on her face.

  'No, in truth I am a thief, my beauty. I am here to steal your heart.'

  She giggled again. 'My, you are a charmer. I wish someone would. How brave of you to shave your head. You look very handsome,' she said, her words slurring slightly.

  'Well, my lady, I must dash,' he said regretfully. 'Though it is a shame to leave such a beautiful woman when her assignation has failed, but alas…'

  'Oh, don’t be too hasty,' she said, and raised her dress a fraction, showing her slippered feet.

  Roskel’s limbs were still weak, but the rest of him wasn’t immune to a lady’s charms. Perhaps his luck was turning for the better.

  'Well, I suppose I could stay to keep you company…' he said, with his most charming smile on his face.

  'I had hoped for more,' she said. Her expression was brazen, and Roskel forgot he was supposed to be doing something else. He did remember he was supposed to be living life to the full, though, and resolved to take every ounce of pleasure he could from every minute while he was able.

  After a time, two dresses fell to the floor.

  'My,' she said, admiring his extremely naked frame. 'How very…bold.'

  *

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Roskel tied up his grey trousers while the lady snored drunkenly on the bed. He pulled his boots up to his calves and stepped out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He had a spring in his step, which is not a good trait in a thief.

  He made it to the office without further incident.

  There was a lock on the door, but with a new pick he made short work of the door.

  He looked around the room for a moment, registering each feature. On the desk rested an ornate chest. It too had a lock. It was the most likely place, so he started there. He was rewarded with a click when his pick searched out the tumblers, then he was rifling through the
contents. There were letters from three Thanes, and many missives from Wense. He read these swiftly, the smiled in satisfaction and slid them inside his shirt.

  It was short work to climb back to the roof, then clamber down his waiting rope and cross to the wall. He beat the patrol over the top just as they rounded the corner, then he pulled on his cloak from where he had left it and walked nonchalantly back the way he had come, looking forward to a mug of ale and a night’s unbroken sleep in a comfortable bed.

  He rounded a corner and bumped straight into a guard.

  'Oi, watch where you’re going.'

  'Sorry,' said Roskel and turned to go on his way.

  The guard pursed his lips as the man went on his way. He pulled a scroll from his cloak and studied the picture for a moment.

  'Stop!' he cried out suddenly.

  Roskel thought that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. He had no intention of stopping. He ran as fast as he could.

  *

  Chapter Sixty

  Roskel slammed the door to The Blushing Drunk behind him. He was laughing and breathless, but there was a flush on his face. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  'What the hell is going on?'

  'I think the jig is up, as they say. There’s about a hundred guards scouring the city for me as we speak. We’ve got to go, Darwell. I’m sorry to leave so much like last time, but there is no time. Where’s the Drayman?'

  The Drayman entered the commons wearing his new cloak and carrying Roskel’s pack and saddlebags.

  'Thank you, friend. You don’t need to come with me.'

  He touched the thief and hummed.

  My duty is with you. You will need my talents yet.

  'I hope it is not so, but I won’t lie; I’ll be glad for the company.'

  He fished in his saddlebags and brought out a clinking bag of coins.

  'For your trouble,' he said, his breath calming but his body still shaking from the run. He pressed the bag into Darwell’s hands despite the fat innkeeper’s protestations.