The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One (35 page)
Read The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One Online
Authors: Craig Saunders
It
seemed darker in the docks after sunset than in the rest of the city. There
were not as many residences in the quarter, and it was mainly warehouses and
flophouses for exhausted sailors and stevedores. No light shone from under
their doors, unless there was a rare night delivery, or a ship set to sail in
the early light of morning.
The
moons were hidden, too. A thin covering of high cloud drifted across the sky,
shimmering like silk. Stars peered through periodically, winking
conspiratorially at the bandits in the street. There was a chill in the breeze,
gentle that night but insistent enough to worm its way under the skin.
Each
and every one of Tarn’s men went armed. Should the guard catch them with
concealed weapons under their cloaks the weapons would have been confiscated,
and the men might have spent a spell under lock and key. But the docks were an
unfrequented area for most guards. In the docks, as the slums, it was each to
his own. Murders were commonplace, but the docks and the slums had their own
brand of justice. It was best not to ask questions, and keep your hand beside
your sword when walking in the darkness there.
There
were a few drunken sailors walking the streets, passing toward the trio. No one
else was on the street by the front entrance to the tavern. Tarn was not
concerned that he could not immediately see his men. He had told them to
conceal themselves wherever possible. He resisted the urge to look up at the
roof opposite the door, where Rean no doubt stood. He did not want to draw
attention to the archer, should anyone be watching him from the shadowy
streets.
Tarn
nodded to his companions, took a deep breath, and pushed the heavy door aside.
Light
blinded him for a moment. Blinking, he looked around warily before stepping
inside. He only had a moment to make his decision, before entering. To pause
too long at the threshold would invite attention.
He
assessed the situation. He saw Urng and Erin seated at a table far in the back
of the tavern. There were roughly thirty men – he did not see any women, but
then that was not unusual for a docker’s tavern. Most wore cloaks, but that was
not unusual either. Many of the men would have concealed daggers, or even
swords, under the cloth, but to be without a weapon in the darkness of the
dockside streets was to invite disaster.
It
was a wide open space, with two doors aside from the entrance where Tarn stood.
One, he presumed, would lead to the cellars, the other, to the upper levels. He
knew from his scouting earlier that the tavern boasted three floors, not the
usual two, and a capacious back room. He assumed he would eventually be led
there, and that was where the shadier deals of this district were arranged.
For
now, he saw nothing untoward or out of place. Everything was as he expected it.
At the bar, Wexel and Brendall studiously ignored them. The two men did not
look out of place. Just strangers in for a warming ale.
They
did not even look up from their mugs, two sots intent only on leaving their
mutual sorrows behind. Some of the other patrons looked up, but none were
overly curious.
The
moment passed, and Tarn stepped into the tavern, Roskel and Kurin following
behind.
Almost
hidden, a man with an improbably wide moustache and a bright red cloak sat
alone at a dark table, shrouded in darkness. The light from the fire did not
reach him, and there were no candles set in the walls in the corner where he
sat. Tarn indicated the man with a flick of his head, and he saw Kurin peel
himself away from them and turn to the table.
Kurin
sat by the man and introduced himself. Tarn ordered four mugs of ale from a
pale skinned barman. Sharing the load, he and Roskel followed Kurin to the
corner table. The man, Garenhill, Tarn presumed, sat with his back to the wall,
facing the clientele of the Dragon. Tarn would be forced to sit with his back
to the tavern, a situation he’d hoped to avoid. He preferred to face danger
head on, but sometimes it was unavoidable. He had turned his back on danger
more than once before. Now, as he sat, making sure his sword lay over the
bench, he felt that old familiar sensation of peril making the hairs on his
neck rise.
Kurin
sat next to the man. Now Tarn had to rely on Kurin to watch his back for him.
He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the thought, but je supposed it was time to
test his trust in the huntsman.
Giving
his safety over to his self appointed bodyguard, he made room on the bench for
Roskel, who sat next to the wall.
‘You
would be Garenhill?’
‘I
am. And who, may I ask, am I addressing?’ said the man, with a warm smile. Tarn
didn’t think for a minute he actually felt anything approaching warmth for
them, just as he was sure the man was as dangerous as any he had met in his
short life. As Tarn had men in the bar, this man surely had his guardians. Tarn
wanted to avoid a bloodbath, if he could.
Regardless
of his feelings, Tarn would be more than civil. He needed the man, and the
contacts he claimed.
‘I
am Tarn. I hope it will be a pleasure.’
‘Oh,
from what your men told me, I’m sure it will be.’ He clasped hands with Tarn
over the table, and Tarn noted his grip. Firm, but not showily so. Sometimes
men of a dubious nature made a point with their handshake, as they did with
their words. There was no competition there. A good sign, perhaps.
From
the size of the man’s shoulders, Tarn guessed he would be able to hold his own
in a brawl. Garenhill kept his left hand under the table while they shook. But
then, so did Tarn.
‘I
hope you are as well connected as you claim.’
‘I
make no false claims. So then, to business, is it?’
‘Why
not?’ said Tarn, with an apologetic smile, ‘It is already late, and our offer
only stands tonight. If you have to leave and make enquiries, I would leave you
time to do so.’
‘We’ll
see, shall we? I believe it is your turn to lay your cards on the table.’
‘Very
well,’ said Tarn, ready to take the risk. After all, the rewards were so great,
they would never gain them without large risks. ‘I have gold, and plenty of it,
for information. I seek a contract with the Thieves’ Covenant. I wish to
purchase a route into the castle. If you are the man to see, then we will do
business. If not, I will take my money somewhere else.’
‘Such
a contract would entail great risk for the provider, you must understand.’
‘The
greater risk would be mine. Can you be of assistance, or shall we leave and
take our chances elsewhere?’
The
man appeared to mull this over for a time.
‘I
would see your gold. You understand such a request comes with great cost.’
‘I
will deliver the gold to you when I have an entrance.’
‘I
must inform you of the cost. It would cost one thousand gold.’
Tarn
blanched. He had nowhere near so much gold as that. Keeping his face straight
and untroubled, he said, ‘I will pay one hundred, no more.’
‘Then
our business is concluded.’
Roskel
held his hand over Garenhill’s restraining him. ‘There would be greater gold to
be had at a later date. One hundred now, with an option for more later.’
‘Are
you thieves? You cannot operate in this city unless under the Thieves’
Covenant. Surely you are aware of this?’
‘We
are no thieves.’
‘Then
you are assassins, and there are plenty of those in the city. They have their
own rules, and you will not survive the city. Outsiders are not welcome among
their number.’
‘We
are no assassins.’
‘Then
you are the Thane’s men, and I was only speaking hypothetically,’ said
Garenhill with a dangerously light smile.
Tarn
laughed, ‘You could not be further from the truth.’
‘Then
we will see. I will take you to someone who can tell you what you wish to know.
Then we will we see the colour of your gold. If you follow me.’
Tarn
nodded, and stood at the same time as Garenhill. As he stood, Garenhill drew a
knife and placed it at Kurin’s throat, so swiftly that the man had no time to
respond. He could not throw himself backwards as he was up against the wall.
Tarn’s
own sword was at Garenhill’s throat in the next instant.
‘I
am afraid you will have to put your sword down. I cannot take you all, but my
men can.’ With a flick of his free hand, the remainder of the men in the bar
rose and in moments Wexel, Brendall, Erin and Urng were at sword point.
Tarn
realised, too late, that every man but his own was under the Thieves’ Covenant.
He had stepped into their midst, as foolishly as a badger into a trap. Within
seconds his security fled. The tide was turned against him, and he was
surrounded by potential enemies. He hoped none of his men would do anything
rash.
He
motioned for his men to give in. The outcome, should they decide to fight, was
not in contention. He was left no choice, but to give in and put his life in
the hands of the thieves. If they truly wished him harm, there was absolutely
nothing he could do about it.
‘We
will take your weapons, now,’ said Garenhill, politely, considering he still
had a dagger at Kurin’s throat. There was no anger there. He was totally
emotionless.
‘I
go nowhere unarmed.’
‘Then
take it on faith that you will not be harmed. If the lady believes your story,
you and your men will have your bargain. If not, none of you will ever see the
light of day again. Have faith in yourself. Now, if you would be so kind?’
Garenhill
sheathed his dagger, and with a sword point at his back, Tarn was relieved of
his weapons.
Under
duress, and now unarmed, Tarn was taken, along with Roskel and Kurin, to the
back door. He risked a glance at his men in the bar. He spared a thought for
his men outside…he hoped they had fared better. Should they come in and see the
situation, things could turn ugly in an instant. But there was nothing he could
do about it, and he didn’t want to let Garenhill know he had men outside if he
was not already aware of the fact.
‘Let’s
hope, for your sake, that you make it back this way again,’ said the man, and
without a further word led them into the darkness beyond the door.
*
Eventually,
the blackness gave way to a gloomy shade of grey, and Tarn made out stairs in
the distance, heading down.
Garenhill
accompanied them alone as they headed farther down. They had been thoroughly,
but not roughly searched. Tarn had kept his drawstring bag with him all the
time, claiming that this was his price. It was heavy enough to be gold, and
Tarn had shown only a portion of what was within. With the promise of more gold
flowing into the thieves’ pockets, he was not relieved of it. Tarn was
painfully aware that should he fail to convince the mysterious lady of his
heritage, and his intentions, he would not be able to fight his way out of this
den. He’d walked right into a trap. Now he relied on the honour of thieves for
his life. But then, hadn’t he always? Ever since he found Roskel in the woods,
his life had been ruled by thieves and bandits.
Garenhill
indicated that they should descend. Tarn went first. Garenhill brought up the
rear. He carried only his knife, and Tarn could have killed him easily, but why
would he? He would never make it out alive, his men’s lives would be forfeit,
and he would never meet the Lady. He found himself strangely curious, and for
no reason he could discern, hopeful.
The
steps went on forever. There were candles burning in sconces in the walls, wax
creating eerie faces as it dripped down the walls. The wax accumulated over
many years, it seemed, until it was as much a part of the walls as the plain
brick, or the mortar.
By
the candlelight, Tarn could just make out a door at the bottom of the stairs.
They had steadily headed lower for what seemed like hours, but in reality was
probably only minutes.
When
they reached the door, Garenhill said, ‘Go on, it is open.’
Tarn
pushed it gently, not wishing to rush through.
Inside
was a chamber with tunnels leading off in four directions. ‘Take the left,’
said Garenhill, his voice reverberant in the deep chamber.
They
walked for some time, turning left and right as Garenhill indicated, until Tarn
was perfectly lost. Wherever they were heading, he would never be able to find
his way again. There was no need to blindfold most visitors. There was always
the chance that someone could remember their way through the warren under
Naeth, but it was highly unlikely. Tarn had no idea that under the city there
was another city, perhaps just as vast, and only known about by a select few.
Roskel
and Kurin were silent, both content, it seemed, to follow Tarn’s lead. They
made no complaint. All the men were prepared for the worst, even Roskel. They
knew that ever since they arrived at Naeth they walked the precipice every day.
Garenhill
stopped them, and rapped upon a door concealed in the wall. Tarn had almost
walked by, lost in a dream of drips and cavernous echoes as he walked.
The
door opened without a creak. It looked as though it were made from stone and
they stepped inside warily.
Within
was a generous lady’s chamber. Soft drapes of fine cloth hung from the stone
walls. A bed dominated the rear of the room, partitioned from the front of the
room and veiled. A red and gold couch sat in the centre of the room, and there
were ornaments set all about on fine furniture, the craftsmanship of which Tarn
could only marvel at. Some pieces were built into the very walls of the
chamber. No expense had been spared in the room.
And
there, in front of them, stood the Lady. She could be no one else. She put the
room to shame.
Her
eyes alighted on Tarn first. He found himself instantly infatuated. She was
beautiful beyond compare. Even Rena was momentarily forgotten. Tarn only wished
to please the lady, as though a spell had been cast over him. He faintly heard
Roskel’s breath beside him, expelled as if his friend had taken a punch in the
stomach. She obviously had the same effect on every man in the room.
Her
hair was the colour of autumn oak, and her hips were full and inviting, swaying
lustily as she walked across the room toward them. Tarn gulped, and Roskel
found himself in the grip of the deepest lust he had ever known.
Tarn
could not tear his eyes away. Were she a spider – and Tarn had no doubt she was
as dangerous – she would have already ensnared her prey. Tarn was helpless, and
she wasn’t even armed.
Kurin
spoke, and for a second Tarn’s senses returned. He remembered Rena with shame.
He felt like he had committed some sin against her, even though it had only
been in thought.
‘Lady,
we are honoured. The Thane of Spar sends his regards, and would have you know
that he holds no ill will over the failure to regain his son.’
The
woman took her eyes from Tarn, and looked at Kurin.
‘Kind
words, huntsmaster. It is strange that he would send you here. Are you on
Redalane’s business?’
‘I
am, Lady Selana, in a fashion. I now, however, serve a greater master.’
So
the Lady knew of Kurin, and his former master? A strange turn of events, but
one Tarn could not put a finger on while his head was so befuddled.
The
ladShe regarded Kurin carefully. Roskel hadn’t even heard the exchange. He was
as bewitched as Tarn, a moment earlier.
Selana,
the Queen of Thieves, granted Roskel a lascivious grin. Roskel winked.
In
a second she was on him, her wicked nails gentle against his throat, but the
meaning clear enough. She was lightning fast; like a spider when it sprints
across its web. The warrens and her beauty were the Lady’s web, and they were
stuck fast.
‘I
can play rough, too, my pretty,’ said Roskel carefully.
The
queen gave him a nick on the throat. ‘A little something to remember me by,
wordsmith.’
‘And
I shall cherish it, among my other battle scars.’
‘One
so pretty as you surely has no battle scars,’ she said, stepping away.
‘None
where you can see.’
She
smiled, taking Tarn’s breath away, but not his senses this time. ‘I do not
believe I wish to know.’
‘You
break my heart, Lady.’
‘Keep
it up, and I’ll skewer it.’
Such
harsh words douse my passions, Roskel thought better of saying, and kept silent
instead, his silence perhaps precipitated by Tarn’s swift kick on his shin.
She
turned her attention to Tarn.
‘I
would teach you to be a man, young warrior,’ she said softly, revealing a
shoulder under her cloak with a careless gesture.
‘I
believe a man stands by his woman, and I am wed,’ said Tarn, and knew these
moments would seal his fate. She could kill them all in an instant, should she
wish. Their bodies would never again see the light of day, and she didn’t even
need her men to do it. As though granted a vision, Tarn saw her slicing their
unprotected throats one by one, which they bared for her willingly. He didn’t
know where the vision came from, but there was a clarity there he hadn’t
experienced since stepping into the chamber.
‘I
could make you stand by me,’ she said with a mischievous glint.
‘I’ve
no doubt you could, but beckon me to your bed and I would no longer be the man
you desire.’
Selana
pulled her cloak back, covering her freckled shoulder.
‘Wise,
as well as handsome. I will try to cover my disappointment.’ She turned her
back on him.
‘Speak
your piece, warrior,’ she said, without looking at him.
‘I
need to enter the castle on the night of the Council of the Ten. I intend to
kill the Thane of Naeth. You should also know…’
‘That
you are the king. I know.’
Another
moment of clarity hit Tarn. He realised she was a witch, but one of an entirely
different sort to Tulathia, Mia and even Rena. There was a darkness in her
which shrouded her intentions, but he saw her for what she was, just as she saw
him.
‘Then
I need no proof?’
‘You
carry the crown over your shoulder. I can sense its presence as I can tell you
when you are to die. It would be all too easy. But each man must find his own
fate, even the king.’
‘I
will pardon all those that help me,’ Tarn said.
Selana
laughed, her shoulders rippling under the cloak.
‘I
need no pardon, for I have committed no crime. Go with Garenhill. He will make
the arrangements. Gather your people to you, King. You only have two days to
make your preparations. I have already made mine, for I have known you would
come for some time. I have to confess I was curious to see if you were as
handsome in person as in my visions. I have to tell you, the scar makes you
alluring.’
Tarn
did not know what to say. He merely said, ‘Thank you, Lady.’ He straightened
his back, although he did not know why he felt the need to impress her. But she
was mesmerizing.
‘You
may go now. Go with my blessing. Tor will go with you tomorrow. He will see it
through to the end. Goodbye,’ she said, and with painful finality.
‘My
lady,’ said Tarn, and bowed even though Selana could not see him. He closed the
door softly behind him.
*