The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One

by Craig Saunders

  ‘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.

  *

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  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.

  *

  Chapter Forty

  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.

  *

  Chapter Forty-One

  Tarn coughed and sputtered. Rena held his head gently and forced some more of the mixture down his throat.

  Tulathia watched the colour return to Tarn’s cheeks, but her relief died as she saw his eyes and the memories drifting below the surface.

  ‘How did I get here?’

  ‘I imagined you walked, Tarn. Now, tell me what happened.’

  Tarn closed his eyes and rubbed a hand through his beard. ‘I don’t know why I came here. I meant to leave. Gard and Molly have been murdered. This must be a dream.’

  When nothing more seemed forthcoming, Mia said, ‘By the Thane’s men?’

  ‘No. Something…other. I spoke to Gard before he died. He said it was a demon. I have no reason to doubt him. If it had been a man, Gard would not have suffered without a fight. The thing …mutilated him.’

  Rena stroked his hair, and he lay resting upon her, face turned to Tulathia and Mia.

  ‘Old mother, is this what you meant for me? To have demons hunting me?’

  ‘Search your heart, Tarn. Do you believe that?’

  Tarn sighed. ‘No, I don’t think that. I’m just tired and torn. I’ve lost my parents for a second time, and I cannot bear the pain.’

  ‘The cloak that protected you once is gone, but for someone…something to find you on the same day? That takes power. And yet there is no magic but that of witches. There are no wizards in Sturma, of that I am sure. Someone has power, the likes of which we have not seen for a millennium.’

  ‘What could it have been?’

  ‘Did Gard have a chance to describe the beast to you?’

  Tarn told Tulathia what Gard said, almost word for word. She frowned, and Tarn did not take it as a good sign.

  ‘What is it old mother? What have you unleashed?’

  ‘I have unleashed nothing, boy. The creature must have been hunting you, but it could not see your line. My spell perhaps held it for a moment, long enough to throw it from your scent, but not for much longer. No, I fear the beast hunts those whom you hold love for. We are all in danger, but there is a reason it did not come here. It does not know we are here.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have heard tales, tales to frighten young witches, of the power of wizards, and demons that can be summoned to kill a man from afar. But that would mean the Thane of Naeth has a wizard working for him, and that you are far from safe.’

  ‘I already knew that, old mother,’ he said angrily.

  ‘You must understand, Tarn, that this is nothing like a tracker on your trail, or soldiers in your wake. This is a demon, and this cannot be shaken off or confused, except by magic, and I have none left to give.’

  ‘Then I am doomed before I start. If Gard could not fight the beast, then I cannot.’

  Tulathia nodded sadly. ‘I fear there is nothing I can do for you, but pray to my god.’

  ‘It has been my experience that gods rarely listen to prayers.’

  ‘But my god does.’

  ‘And what god is this?’

  ‘His name is Caeus.’

  Tarn looked at the woman before him, watching for signs of seriousness. He did not believe in the gods of man, as his father prayed all his life, and not one of his prayers was ever answered.

  ‘He is no god I have ever heard of.’

  ‘He is a god for witches. We pray to beings of power. The spells you will need to survive are beyond my power, but perhaps he is listening.’

  ‘And when will you know if it has worked?’

  ‘If you still live.’

  ‘Then I have no choice but to run,’ he said, his mouth set in a grim line. In his heart, had he known it would always come down to this?

  ‘Then I am coming with you, Tarn,’ said Rena, with fear in her voice.

  Tarn said nothing, but looked at her with sadness in his eyes. ‘You know I cannot take you with me. It will be no life for you. I must leave, and you must live.’

  Tears welled in Rena’s eyes. ‘But what life will I have without you?’

  ‘A life. That is all I can give you,’ said Tarn, more harshly than he intended. ‘I am sorry Rena, but you must understand. I could not keep Gard and Molly alive. I could not protect you. I don’t know if I can even protect myself.’

  ‘But we were to be married. I wanted to bear you sons.’

  ‘Perhaps it is best if my line ends.’

  ‘No!’ said Tulathia. ‘You must live! The Thane of Naeth must pay for the suffering he has caused. This land needs a king to survive.’

  ‘If I survive, old mother. Make your prayers. I leave in the morning.’

  ‘No! I will not let you go!’ cried Rena, holding Tarn to her breast.

  Mia rose and took hold of her daughter’s hands, pulling her free. ‘Leave them, daughter. Tulathia needs Tarn for the prayer. Come, in the other room, with me. You can say your farewells in the morning.’

  Mia led Rena away, and Tarn watched her go. He knew she would not sleep tonight, and neither would he. Would that he were wed to her, for he would lay with her tonight, and perhaps that would make the parting easier. But there would be no wife for him. He would always be on the run. Unless, he thought, unless I can kill the Thane.

  But how? He was just a farmer. How could he storm a castle and kill a Thane? A man with an army behind him, a wizard at his beck and call…and me, thought Tarn, with no power but that in my veins? />
  Mia pulled the door to the bedroom closed, and Rena looked over her shoulder once at the man she knew she loved. He granted her a small smile then turned his attention to the matter at hand. Living.

  ‘Cast your spell, old mother. Make your prayers. I am ready.’

  ‘Then we begin, my king.’

  And throughout the long, fog filled night, Tulathia pleaded, and sent her prayer, along with the blood of the king. Tarn held his wound closed and watched his blood, dark in the firelight, trickle to a stop. The spell was dark, and for once, knowledge that flitted out of grasp these long years was finally his. Tulathia was more terrible, more powerful, than he ever imagined. Not evil, for he could sense evil in a man or woman, but with such strength and such lore in her mind she could be a force for destruction or salvation.

  He also understood, as she chanted and hummed and made other sounds that were unlike speech but somehow like the memory of language, that she would use him to her end if she thought it meet.

  But what choice did he have, but to offer his blood to this witch’s deity? How terrible could such a being be, one that demanded blood and anguish?

  Distant sounds of sobbing came from the bedroom for many hours, until they faded like the fire in the hearth. Eventually, the only sounds remaining were Tulathia’s chanting and the crackle of the cooling hearth. Tarn’s eyes remained on the old witch, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

  Tulathia prayed, and cast spells to send her prayers into the beyond, to wherever her god lived, or, perhaps, merely existed.

  She could only hope that Caeus listened, for if the king were to die, all would be lost, and her plans would be for naught.

  *

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Caeus saw the sword in Kilarion’s beastly hands as they drew back. And, in that final moment before the sword plunged home, he heard the plea seeking him through the stars, and worlds, and even here, in a castle made of dreams between the planes.