The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two (22 page)

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.

            'No,
take it. I owe you more than gold, but this is all I have. If you are ever in
Naeth, come and see me. I will reward you properly if I still have a head by
then.'

            'It
has been a pleasure, as always. It’s never dull when you’re around. Life gets
so boring without you to spice things up.'

            Darwell
nodded and turned to the Drayman. He took the Drayman’s hand. 'You too are
always welcome, my friend. It has been a pleasure and an education knowing
you.'

            The
Drayman smiled his thanks and bowed deeply.

           
Knowing
you has been an honour, too.

           
'Come on, enough slapping of
backs. Let’s get on the horse and get out of the city before they shut it
down.'

            With
a final glance and a hurried wave Roskel led the Drayman into the stable yard.
Minstrel was already saddled, but Roskel noticed she was fat. Nobody had
thought to exercise her. He wondered if she’d done anything but eat this last
few months. He hoped she could take their weight and still manage a run, for
surely they could not make it if they had to carry her.

            'I’ve
missed you,' said the thief, and stroked the stout horse’s nose. She snickered
in reply and nuzzled his hand.

            Leading
her out of the stables, he was surprised to see the Drayman emerge from another
stable leading a black mare by the reins as if he knew how to handle a horse
all of a sudden. Then he realised it was not a sudden thing. He’d probably been
riding in the hope that one day they would escape the city with breath still in
their lungs.

            'You
are full of surprises, Drayman. Come, let’s ride!'

            They
mounted and heeled their horses onward, toward the outskirts of the city.

            Roskel
did not hear the approaching guards over the clatter of Minstrel’s hooves. They
surprised him as he rounded a corner, but Minstrel’s flank caught the man’s
helmed head and bowled him over. He urged the fat mare faster, and soon they
were galloping through the city streets at breakneck speed. Cries and whistles
followed them, but they did not stop for anything.

            Three
guards ran out into the street, trying to frighten the horses with shouts and
waving their swords, but they ran over them. Roskel took a sword blow on his
leg but it was shallow. In return, the Drayman decapitated one of the men.

            They
reached the outskirts of the city and everything was a blur for a time. Roskel
looked behind and saw that a company of guards had finally got horses and were
pursuing. Their mounts were sleek and fine, whereas Minstrel was overweight and
struggling.

            The
Drayman saw that Minstrel was flagging and falling behind. He slowed and rode
alongside the mare for a moment, reaching across the gap and laying his hand on
the horse’s flank. A beautiful song arose and the horse gained speed, then
more, until she was flying across the grasslands. A farmer’s fence loomed in
front of them but before Roskel could rein his horse in she had leapt the fence
like she was twenty stones lighter. He could feel her powerful muscles bunching
beneath him, and her lather on her coat. But she no longer snorted like she was
out of breath.

            Soon
they had increased the distance between themselves and their pursuers.

            The
Great North Road was before them, easy riding for a while. But their pursuers
were not giving up.

            Roskel
was loath to take the horses into the woods, but he could see no other chance
to lose the guards.

            'To
the north, Drayman. Our only chance of losing them is in the Fresh Woods!'

            They
headed toward the distant trees, and the chance to hide. Roskel knew all the
trails from his time with the bandits of the Fresh Woods. He just hoped they
had been kept clear. It was their only chance.

            His
heart beating wildly and excitement flushing his face, they entered the Fresh
Woods at a gallop and ran in single file through the trees. The growth was not
too heavy and the going was easy. For a time.

            Then
branches that hung low began to whip their faces and the ground became uneven,
deadfall beneath the horse’s hooves deadly and lurking in the gloom.

            Still
Roskel was happier than he had been since he had become Lord Protector of the
country. He felt more alive than he had for at least two years. He was back in
familiar territory. It was their best chance at freedom, and a risk. But a
thief was never happier than when he was on a knife edge.

            Darkness
was fleeing before Carious’ first light on the plains, but under the cover of
the trees there was still a heavy gloom. The forest deepened, and they headed
on, into the dark heart of the Fresh Woods.

*

Chapter Sixty-One

Savan
Retrice returned from his conjuring. The soldier he sacrificed to perform his
sickening ritual would not be missed and the small risk had been necessary. But
he was deeply troubled. The thief had entered the Fresh Woods. It was a place
of powerful magic and he had not been able to scry his whereabouts. There was a
creature of dark rage within the woods. It was a dangerous place. There were
many pitfalls for the careless of foot, and the woods themselves were sentient.
There was a kind of low, angry intellect that he sensed, repulsing his vision
as it hovered over the forest, trying to find the thief.

            There
was little he could do. It was beyond his power to pierce the fog over the
forest.

            The
Thane did not need to know. Now he had the Thane in his pocket, and the fool
thinking he was king, he could tell the man anything he wanted and be believed.
His ally was suspicious of him, but what did that matter? Soon he would rule
this country in the name of the Hierarchy and destroy it utterly. It would
never again be a force to be reckoned with. It would be a dark age for the
Sturman nation, and he would preside over its fall.

            Savan
strolled back into camp shortly after Dow rose in the sky. He entered the
king’s camp without being challenged by the guards and sat back on a cushion on
the floor. The man was a pig, his breakfast crumbs littered his beard. Savan
suppressed the urge to gag.

            Time,
thought Savan, to let the cards fall where they might.

            'My
king, the thief is dead. He will trouble you no longer,' said the hierarch.

            The
man who would be king smiled at this news.

            'Congratulations,
Savan. You are indeed a man of unusual talents. You will be highly placed among
my advisors after the coronation.'

            'That
is all I ask, my king. Just a friendly ear.'

            'I
am well disposed toward you, my friend.'

            'I
try to prove my worth, my king,' said Savan, and permitted himself a rare
smile.

*

Part VI.

The Fresh Woods

Chapter Sixty-Two

The
air within the depths of the forest was stagnant and oppressive. Moments
earlier the Drayman had told Roskel that something was wrong…their pursuers no
longer followed, but they should.

            Roskel
had heard no sound behind him for some time, but he knew the Drayman’s ears
were near mythical in their power. If he could not hear them, then they were no
longer there.

            He
should have been pleased at the news. It was, instead, somewhat ominous. There
was no reason for them to give up, unless they had been made to. By what, he
did not like to guess, although his imagination conjured up creatures of
terrible countenance stalking them through the trees, their footfalls silent, their
teeth barred in rage and hunger.

            He
tried to rein in his thoughts, but the forest leant itself to dark fancies. It
felt different to the first time he had wintered within it. Then it had been a
source of life, game plentiful, berries and nuts and mushrooms for the taking.
He had seen no forage, and although winter was just ended, there should have
been early blooms and sickleberries. There was nothing. The forest had become a
barren place, but overgrown with inedible shrubs and bushes beneath the canopy
of the tree tops. The growth snatched at their legs and made the going slow.
Already they had been forced to dismount and lead the horses.

            Roskel
was hungry and tired, too. He considered stopping for a rest. He had not slept,
and his last meal had been the night before. His stomach was rumbling and he
felt his exhilaration fade in the face of the unending gloom of the forest.

            They
pressed on. The Drayman took the lead and hacked back the path where he could.
Hours passed and with it came midday. Still no sign of any sustenance to be
had, which was highly unusual in the forest. There was a loaf of bread and some
cheese which was all the Drayman had time to pack, but that would not last
long, and they had a long way to go until they reached Haven and a friendly
face.

            A
throaty growl came from somewhere deep in the undergrowth. It was jarring and
out of place, and the suddenness of it made Roskel jump.

            Something
was stalking them.

            The
Drayman indicated that he had heard it, and pointed to three places in the
undergrowth. His sword was already in his hand, and his shoulders became loose
and easy, readying himself to fight.

            With
a nod of his head the Drayman led them on.

            'The
lake should be a few hours more,' Roskel said in hushed tones.

            The
Drayman was silent.

            The
growl came from a different direction this time, up ahead. It was trying to
herd them. But the Drayman was not swayed. He pushed on through the
undergrowth, sticking to the trail, driving toward the lake and hopefully a
rest and a bite to eat.

            Roskel
drew his short sword with his free hand, but he wondered what good he could do.
The beast, or beasts, sounded large and fearsome, and he was a poor fighter at
the best of times, let alone after three months of incarceration, an empty
belly and a sleepless night.

            He
gripped the sword as hard as he could and prayed that whatever came was smaller
than it sounded.

            But
perhaps through luck, perhaps through the threat the Drayman presented, the
attack did not come that day.

            They
made it to the lake without further incident.

            The
water was frigid but Roskel washed his face.

            He
sighed and dunked his head in, the coolness pleasing and refreshing after their
long hike.

            Something
leapt from the lake a few feet from his head and startled, he scrambled away
from the shore, fumbling for his sword.

            'Did
you see that?' he sputtered, shaking water from his shining head.

            The
Drayman touched his arm and spoke.

           
We
must be doubly careful. The forest rises against us. I feel its wrongness.
There is nothing unnatural about this place. It rages against all humans. It
will kill us if it can. Stay close.

           
Roskel nodded and sat away from
the water’s edge, rustling around in his pack for his lunch. He tore off hunks
of bread and they ate in watchful silence.

            The
forest watched. The lake watched.

            Waited.

*