The Queen of Thieves: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three

by Craig R. Saunders

  'She thinks I'm dumb,' said Ellisindre, 'But I'm not.'

  'Not for a minute do I think such a thing, darling wife,' he said, skirting the issue of Selana thinking his beloved wife dumb...which was undoubtedly the truth as far as Selana went. 'Did you feed well?'

  'Yes. The man was a delight. Tasted a little of Stum, truth be told, but pickings were sparse by the canal this eve.'

  'Ellisindre, you could have most any man you want...' In truth, even had she not been stunningly beautiful, she could have made any man in the world dance to her tune with a glamour. The glamour that the vampires used was a mere trick, but in a land with little in the way of magic, it sufficed. A witch, maybe, could see through it. Certainly someone as accomplished as Selana could. But it sufficed.

  'I wanted something a little...dirty,' admitted Ellisindre.

  Crale nodded. His wife was ever a slave to her roots. She was stunning, but never was born to good breeding.

  Still, hadn't Crale himself plucked her from the streets? He certainly wasn't immune to the charms of the lower classes. Hells, he'd married a common harlot. Couldn't say he wasn't a fair man.

  'I have to go...' he said. He took her hand as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It was sticky with drying blood.

  'I heard.'

  'Will you give our dear daughter a kiss from me? I may be gone...a time.'

  'I don't trust her, Shawford.'

  'Neither do I, but she rules our kind and I learned many years ago never to go against her. Trust or no, I must do as she bids.'

  Ellisindre pouted - beautifully - but she did not complain further. She knew that a request...order...from the Queen could not be denied. They had no masters, no mistress, few peers, but the Queen was set above them all.

  'Then have a care, my love,' she said.

  'And you,' he said. They did not kiss. Crale shouldered his burden and closed the door behind him on their crumbling estate house.

  The Crown of Kings on his shoulder, he set out north, under the steady light of the moon, through the freezing cold of a winter's night, with nothing but his fine bloody shirt on his back.

  *

  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 h
is 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.'

  *

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The rain of fire ended, the last few flames still licking at the frozen trees and the blackened bodies of the soldiers. The shield that had protected Rena and Asram fell away. Finally she could hear again, though she had not realised that the sounds outside were deadened before. She heard the snowfall sizzling, and the trees, charre
d and crackling all around them. Every Hierarch surrounding them still burned with that unnatural fire. Their immolated bodies poured with noxious smoke.

  Gods, thought Rena, death stank.

  As the enemy burned their arms and legs gradually curled in, until they looked like babies in their sleep. At this thought the babe Tarn gave a satisfied gurgle, where before he had been crying.

  'Shh, Tarn, shh now,' said Rena, and the babe returned her smile. In that moment she was utterly sure that she was not going insane...her earlier mood had purely been an effect of the Hierarch's dark magics. How could she be insane, to be filled with such love with her child?

  'May I?' asked the woman, the woman who had called down the fire and burned the creatures surrounding Rena. The dreadful, stunning woman.

  Rena was by no means an accomplished witch. Still a child, really, with her twentieth year still to be lived. Yet she felt no malice or threat from the woman. And hadn't she saved them?

  But that she could switch in an instant from a cold killer of men to a cooing mother...that troubled Rena. Did she trust her instincts enough to hand the only person she loved to a cold hearted killer of men?

  She could, and she did, because Tarn was reaching out for the woman, his fat fingers clutching at the air. He wanted to go to her. Still in shock, almost in a daze, Rena unslung the babe from her chest and passed him to the woman with a shy smile, as though she were afraid the woman would see some fault in her. Why she should care, she did not know. But she did understand that she never, ever wanted to arouse this woman's ire.

  'So,' said the woman. 'This babe is what all the fuss is about?' She laughed, and it was a soft, tinkling sound that in turn set Tarn to giggling. Tarn looked up at the woman and smiled - beamed, if truth be told.