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

by Craig R. Saunders

  'My...Queen,' said Asram. There was a but in there somewhere, thought Rena. 'I would ask my reward now, if I may be so bold,' he said, though he didn't sound bold at all. Quite the opposite.

  'Interesting,' said Selana with a knowing grin. 'Speak on.'

  'If you and Lord Farinder would give me permission, I would guard Rena during the coming days.'

  Rena turned and stared at Asram. She hadn't thought for a minute that he would want to spend longer in her service. She had been little but a burden.

  'Asram...' she began, 'There is no need for you to guard me...I am safe here...'

  'You will be,' he replied. 'Because I will not leave your side.'

  He smiled at her, and the Queen of Thieves grinned. 'Done, Asram. Done. Now, before I change my mind, leave us. We have...girl talk...I should imagine.'

  Asram bowed low to his Queen, then the other.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  When Asram closed the door to Queen Selana's chambers the Queen turned the full force of her attention on Rena. Rena stood proudly before the woman. For some reason she did not want to disappoint the Queen of Thieves, the Queen of Witches. She felt little fear - a little was healthy, perhaps - but stood more in awe of the Queen. She could see the power radiating from Selana. With her new, remarkable sight, the Queen was even more radiant. A terrible mistress, no doubt, but with pure beauty without and within.

  'May I?' said the Queen.

  Rena smiled, because she could see the hunger in the Queen's eyes. She did not understand the woman...if she was even a woman as such...but she could see the love of a child in her eyes.

  Rena no longer found it remarkable that her sight remained, despite losing her eyes to Beatrain's magics.

  She did not tell anyone of the other things that she saw, too, though. The auras. And the Queen of Thieves aura was like nothing she had ever seen before. It was remarkable, a shifting, whirling vortex around the woman. The power...the power was...

  Rena had not the words to describe it, other than in parts glorious, in parts terrifying.

  But she was still a woman, and a woman who wanted to feel the child. Rena would not deny her that.

  Rena set the baby down upon the floor - luxuriantly carpeted in a ruby hue. Tarn, usually quiet and thoughtful, more prone to observation than crying or screaming, crawled toward the Queen.

  'You've been coddling him, girl. He should be walking by now.'

  'It's been a long walk...'

  'It has, hasn't it? And your new eyes? They suit you?'

  So the Queen did know. Well, thought Rena, if one Queen could be candid, then so could she.

  'My Lady...your aura...you are nothing like us, are you?'

  'Us?'

  'The race of men and women.'

  Selana laughed. 'I like you, girl. I like you. No, I am not like your kind. I am something older...far older than you can imagine.'

  'A different people?'

  Selana shook her head. 'Not different, girl. The first people. I am a remnant. A creature out of time. More, perhaps, like the Hierarchs than the humans. But that is talk for another day, perhaps. For now, the present.'

  'As you will, my Lady.'

  'I must tell you, Rena. The Throne is not yours to take. Nor is it for the babe. The babe has a role to play, though. He must call forth the power we need to destroy the threat to these shores, and that is his role. He will never be king, but in a thousand years time, his offspring will be lord of these lands again.'

  'How can a baby call forth such power?' asked Rena.

  'With great risk. I cannot lie to a mother about her child. The spell I need requires the child as the focus. Do you remember, Rena, the price the one called Tulathia bid you, once, long ago?'

  Rena did. To risk that which was most important to her.

  And she realised that she could not deny the price. Tulathia was in the mists before Madal's Gates, but she was not forgotten. The old witch had saved Rena life...but more...the witch price could never, ever be denied.

  She suddenly felt like crying, but she would not shame Tulathia's memory, nor would she blub like a child herself in front of the Queen.

  'I remember,' she admitted. 'I remember, and I will stand by the price.'

  But as she said this, she looked at her baby, now in the Queen's arms, and wondered just what she was agreeing to.

  'Know this, girl; even if we win here, the Hierarchy will come again and again. But win we must, and slumber we must make them. Until the time of the return. The time of Caeus.'

  'Caeus?' she said, but she knew she had heard the name before. She remembered Tulathia, years ago...speak of...a God?

  'A God,' she said.

  Selana smiled, a sad smile. 'No, child. Not a God. But close. No. He is my brother.'

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Surrounded by the trappings of war, Roskel, Redalane and Wexel sat at the head of the throne room. The remaining eight Thanes - no Thane had replaced Hurth, who died at the last king's hands, nor had the in-fighting in the Thanedom of Kar been resolved following Orvane Wense's execution at Roskel's hands - were arrayed before the three.

  Rohir was lost, but there was no time to mourn him. No body to bury, either.

  So many were lost. There would be time to honour them when the battle was done, and if they lost, then it would not matter at all. Perhaps the Gods would honour Sturma herself instead.

  And whatever the outcome of the battle, more would be lost yet, Roskel knew. Perhaps all of them. Everyone in the room understood the gravity of their situation. The Hierarchy were marching toward Naeth from the North and the East. They would surround the outlying city and the castle of Naeth and lay siege to it...there was no other way.

  They could abandon the city, travel south to the next largest redoubt in Sturma, Redalane's Castle of Light in the Spar, but Roskel feared it would only delay the inevitable. No, they had to make a stand here...

  But how?

  How could they fight firestorms with swords? How could they fight soldiers far beyond their skills with no magic to speak of?

  It was hopeless. Each man in the room realised this.

  Then, Rena stepped in, and everything became worse.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  It wasn't Rena's fault that the preparations for war faltered and that the men fell, for a moment, to stuttering. Largely, it was Selana that made the best entrance, thought Roskel, gulping. For she barely wore any clothes at all.

  Rena stood beside the Queen of Thieves, a beautiful woman in her own right.

  'My ladies,' said Roskel, trying to maintain his composure. 'Tarn never had the words to describe your beauty, Lady Rena. I see they would have been wasted, for they would have been a pale reflection of you. It is truly an honour.'

  Selana flushed, and Roskel wasn't sure if he was glad of it, or terrified. Maybe a little of both.

  Rena, for her part, maintained her composure perfectly.

  'Thank you, my Lord,' she said with a graceful bow.

  'Lord Farinder,' she continued, with a strong voice, aware that the Thanes knew well enough who she was, though she had never met any of them. 'I have not come for the throne. I have other business here. It is a woman's business. May we speak in private?'

  'The Thanes and the Lord Protectors need to hear...'

  'No,' said Selana in a tone that brooked no argument, regardless of the power of the men assembled in the room. And for their part, they knew they would concede without so much as a grumble, for to look upon the Queen was to experience more grace, more power, than they would ever know again. 'They do not need to hear this. Lords Redalane, Wexel, Farinder...we must have words.'

  Roskel did not waste time arguing, either. He, Redalane and Wexel rose without further question.

  'And Lord Farinder, you and I will be having words, too, I think,' she added.

  Roskel gulped again. Redalane grinned like only an old widower can, rememberi
ng the tone of voice very well, despite the years his wife had been gone.

  Selana turned on her heel and swayed out. Rena left, too.

  It was a long time before the remaining Thanes resumed their conversations.

  *

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  An old woman stood before the guard at the gate to the castle. Her name was Shana Lowboy, known in around about her home village as the widow Lowboy, or old mother, but never openly called a witch.

  Yet that was what she was, and an accomplished one, at that.

  'We're coming in, young man,' said the widow Lowboy.

  'I can't...you have to understand...I can't...it's not that I don't want to...'

  The young man was obviously flustered, faced with a sweet old lady with a soft, round face, like his grandmother. Ordinarily he wouldn't have even tried to stop her. Even though she was a witch. It was obvious enough what she was. She was powerful.

  Witching was frowned upon, maybe, but people knew enough of it to steer clear of a witch and not cross them.

  But this witch was in a whole different league, not because she herself was a witch...but because there were so damn many of them.

  Behind the one witch who was giving the young guard so much trouble, in such a nice way, were maybe another hundred. Many of them were old, very old, but not all. Some were as young as the guard himself, and he even counted a few children among their number. Women, all, witches, all.

  There was no mistaking a witch, whether you called her such or not.

  The old witch continued to smile and leaned in close to the guard, as though to whisper a secret in his ear. He leaned in, too.

  The widow Lowboy grabbed the young man between the legs in a vicious clenched fist. Pleasantly as she could, she said, 'A woman's magic, young man, is a terrible thing.'

  The young guard nodded to his laughing fellows.

  'Let them in,' he said, his voice straining.

  The old witch let him go and patted him on his mailed shoulder.

  'Good boy,' she said, and the Witches' Covenant entered Naeth. In one day, the city of Naeth contained more power than the whole of Sturma.

  Enough to thwart the Hierarchy?

  Not even Selana could know. Sometimes the future was set, sometimes it wavered, but where the Line of Kings and the return of the Sun Destroyers was concerned, the future wavered and swam before even the most talented seer's eyes.

  The future was not certain, but with the arrival of the witches and the child heir, they at last stood a chance...

  *

  Chapter Eighty

  Rena sat with her legs crossed demurely on the Queen of Thieves' bed, understanding full well that she had a role to play, and understanding, too, that the Queen of Thieves greatest trick was her glamour - she made people believe what she wanted.

  A trick Rena intended to learn, and fast. She released the shoulder strap from her dress and fluffed her hair as the Lord Protectors and the Thane of Spar entered the chamber, to be faced by two of the most beautiful women any of them had ever seen.

  Rena almost smiled, but kept her face stern. The men didn't stand a chance.

  'See to your defences, my Lord Redalane. Aid has arrived.'

  'Aid?'

  'My kind, Redalane, do not play dumb with me. You need magic to counter magic. The Witches' Covenant are here to provide that service.'

  'But witches?' said Wexel, carefully...very carefully.

  'Witches are what? Wexel, dear man,' said Selana with deceptive calm.

  'Witches...cure...ah...give birth...'

  'Perhaps you should shut up,' said Roskel to his friend, not unkindly.

  Wexel coughed and nodded. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Redalane and Roskel, for their part, had more experience dealing with witches. It could not be said that they took the meeting in their stride, but they did manage to stand still, at least.

  'Redalane, use your resources. Do not be proud. And do not think the Covenant weak. Many are more dangerous than a hundred men at arms. Remember this.'

  With a flick of her hand she dismissed Redalane like he was a nobody. He left without complaint, but with a shallow, though respectful, bow.

  'Wexel,' said Selana. 'I will need Asram and the Crown of Kings...I know Durmont has the crown now. Asram will be Rena's man. Oh, and Rena will not be taking the crown. You and Roskel will remain Lord Protectors. Though you will need a third. May I suggest Asram?'

  'It will be as you...suggest...' said Wexel.

  'Rena, dear child, Wexel, would you leave me with Lord Farinder a moment?'

  Rena felt for the man, she really did. Though she had only just met the man they called the Thief King, she wouldn't want to see any man in such a position with the Queen, for throughout the whole conversation...orders, if she was blunt, she had studied the Queen's aura...and it was a furious red.

  Roskel was a man in too deep, she thought to herself as she closed the thick door behind her and Wexel. She closed the door with a sigh, and let Wexel lead her away before the shouting could start.

  *

  Chapter Eighty-One

  'Come now, Lord Farinder. Why do you look so nervous?'

  'As usual, am I so transparent, my lady?' Roskel tried his hardest to maintain his composure, but between the Queen's sheer dress and her obvious ire, he was struggling to remain still.

  'My lady, is it?' said the Queen through tight teeth.

  'Always,' said Roskel. He decided to take the plunge. 'You're angry.'

  'I'm angry?'

  'Don't do that.'

  'Do what?'

  'Do that woman thing. You know what I mean.'

  'I'm not sure I do, Roskel...why don't you explain it?'

  Roskel knew he was in trouble. Deep trouble. More trouble, perhaps, than he had ever been in his whole life, and he had been in the Thane of Ulbridge's dungeon, and in the thrall of a vampire...

  But he ploughed on regardless.

  'You're angry because I remarked that Rena was beautiful?'

  'Am I?'

  Roskel growled and took a step forward. The Queen's eyes burned, just for a second, and Roskel remembered that she was not just a beauty beyond parallel, nor a Queen of cutthroats and brigands, nor just a witch...she was a mage...and something else.

  And yet he could not help but be drawn to her flame.

  'While we're at it,' he said, ignoring the danger as only a man before a do-or-die leap must, 'You sent those men to their deaths.'

  'Yes, Roskel. I did.'

  He was stunned at her honesty, but she did not seem callous. Her words were genuinely sad.

  'I did for one purpose...to stall the army so that the Witches' Covenant could be put in place. This war cannot be won by men at arms. Only one man can stop this war, and only my sisters can bring him forth.'

  'You played with those men's lives like pieces in a game?'

  'I did, and a game that must be won. Not just for Sturma, Roskel, my love, but for Rythe herself. You will understand. Trust me on this, if nothing else.'

  Roskel was so undone for a moment at the casual mention of love that he stuttered. The Queen grinned.

  Roskel sighed.

  'I hope we win this battle. I'm tired of losing. I've lost, haven't I?'

  'To me?'

  'You know I have. I only have eyes for you. Only you. Gods help me.'

  'Maybe I will,' she said. She pushed herself from the bed and crossed the room to Roskel.

  His mouth dried at the sight of her, walking toward him. She took his hand, and this time there was no denying her. His heart pounded at the sight of her, and then, later, her touch.

  *

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  While he lay awake with Selana, it was like a dream. Like being a thrall once again. But asleep, Roskel had a terrifying nightmare, of blood and fire, of the very suns themselves burned out and the world of Rythe drifting frozen as the suns wore down under the onslaught of terrible beings known only as the Sun Destroyers.
Even in his dreams, Roskel was able to wonder if it was his proximity to Selana that granted such dreams. The concerns that perhaps plagued her sleep, too...though when he stirred in the night she was still awake. He wondered, too, in that moment of drifting between dreams, whether his Queen ever slept.

  But dreams fade, and morning always comes. Always would. Of course the suns of Rythe would always rise. Of course they would.

  Roskel eventually woke to find a man with more impressive moustaches than his own leaning over him.

  'My Lord, my Lady,' said the man solicitously, as though completely unsurprised to find Roskel and Selana in bed together.

  'Garenhill?' said Roskel.

  'Lord Farinder...'

  Roskel looked across the bed, trying to remember for a second where he was. Then with a grin he remembered. Remembered very well. The dream that was Selana was solid, real, something he could touch and hold. His nightmares faded, and she became more real to him than he had ever dreamed a woman would. No nightmare, this beauty, but his salvation.

  His Queen was beside him, naked under the sheets. As was he. Garenhill was a rather unwelcome distraction.

  'Two messages this fine morning,' said the Queen's personal...servant? Confident? Roskel wasn't sure as to Garenhill's place in the Thieves' Covenant, but knew enough to understand that a man who could walk in unannounced on Selana was highly trusted indeed.

  'The Witches' Covenant are in the city. In their entirety. They are ready.'

  'And the other message?' asked Roskel while the Queen distracted him with a soft sigh on his neck.

  'The Hierarchy are at the walls, my lord.'

  The remaining ardour Roskel felt was suddenly dampened.

  *

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Roskel buckled himself away and strapped on his short sword. There was little about it that was business-like at all. The thing was little more than a bauble, won in a game of chance, and next to useless, but he needed to show willing.