The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two (23 page)

Chapter Sixty-Three

Roskel’s
sword hand was tired and he felt foolish. Nothing jumped out at them. Even if
it did his sword would do little good. Once more, he would have to rely on a
man who could use a blade.

            He
scratched at an irritating itch down the front of his trousers. He had a
burning sensation, too. It was growing more annoying as time went on. A fine
pickle, he thought to himself. The first woman he had lain with for more than
half a year and she’d given him the pox. He resolved to have a good look at it
when they stopped again in the evening. He scratched himself and shifted around,
trying to find a comfortable position as he walked but he could not.

            The
trees crowded close to the edge of the lake. They headed around it, hoping to
reach Haven before midnight. There was a mist hanging over the lake. Roskel
hoped it would stay there, but whatever ruled the forest now was angry at the
intrusion. He was sure the mist would grow come the night, cutting them off
from the forest, leaving them in a dark patch ready for some beast to tear them
apart. His imagination was running away with him again, but this time he felt
his imagination was erring on the side of prudence. They needed to reach a
place of man. Haven was their only chance of making it through these woods with
their lives.

            Flies
buzzed his sweaty forehead as he trudged behind the Drayman. Sweat ran down his
neck and his arms and legs ached. He hated the forest more than he thought he
ever would. The air was chilly but it only served to make his sweaty shirt cold.
It gave no relief. Nothing was giving him relief on this journey. He forgot all
about his good fortune at losing his pursuers. Even that seemed like an
ill-omen.

            Cursed
forest. It was nothing like he remembered. It fought them every step of the
way, pushing them away from the lake, sometimes so that they lost sight of it.
It wanted them to stray to its heart. It wanted to devour them.

            He
was thoroughly miserable.

            He
was so lost in his thoughts that he only narrowly avoiding bumping into the
Drayman’s horse. He stood stock still, holding his hand for silence.

            Easy
for him, thought Roskel grumpily.

            Then
he heard it, too. A steady creaking through the trees, as if the trees
themselves were straining at the roots, preparing to tear themselves from the
ground and attack the two tired travellers. Roskel stared at the trees and held
his sword before him.

            Something
was wrong with a large oak, its trunk so wide that five men would not be able
to link arms around it.

            It
was creaking and groaning. A knot hole facing them was shifting, changing. He
wanted to run. This was foul magic indeed. But his legs were jelly. He did not
have the strength to run.

            He
stood shaking, watching in horror as the bole changed to a man’s face, a
distortion of the truth no doubt, but the face smiled terribly. Then it spoke
in a yawning, growling voice.

            'Turn
back, humans. It is your life to travel in my forest. Turn back and live.'

            The
Drayman hummed softly in response. Roskel was rooted to the spot like the trees
around him, surrounding him, pushing in…

            'Turn
back and live,' groaned the face.

            Roskel
felt true terror for the first time in his life. This was the forest speaking--
an ancient power beyond his understanding.

            But
then he heard the bladesinger’s song rising, and as he heard the tune, his
spirits lifted. The face in the tree roared in fury. The song was as majestic
as the voice of the forest was terrible.

            Roskel’s
fascination broke.

            'Run!'
he shouted, and pushed past the Drayman. They broke into a run, forced to lead
their horses, the tree screaming its rage behind them. The Drayman hummed all
the time, and Roskel took strength from it.        

            As
they finally ran out of earshot, they slowed. Roskel waited for the Drayman to
catch him up.

            'Was
that truly the forest?'

            The
Drayman shook his head and sang.

            Roskel
saw a vision of a man surrounded by animals, speaking to them, sending them
forth to do dark works and kill men. The trees and grasses around him
intertwined with his limbs, so that he seemed almost organic. With the song
came a sense of anger and wrongness.

            'It
is a man? Bonded with the forest?'

            The
Drayman nodded. His song rose, and Roskel sensed nature out of balance.

            'A
druid? But a mad one?' he guessed.

            The
Drayman shrugged expressively.

            Maybe.
Probably.

            Either
way, the man was dangerous. He had the power of the forest at his beck and
call, and they were in his lands.

            But
these lands were no man's. It was not right. It could not be allowed to
persist.

            There
was, however, little Roskel could do to fight such a man, with just the two of
them. He thought for a moment that he would return to Naeth and raise the
armies to march on the Fresh Woods and hunt the man down. But then he realised
he was falling into the same old trap. There was no one else, and he was here.
It was his responsibility, and no one else’s.

            He
imagined the people of Haven were in trouble, too. The innkeeper at Year’s End,
Sam Durnborn, had hinted at troubles in the north of the forest. Now Roskel
knew that the rumours were true. The forest had risen against man and all his
works.

            It
was an abomination. Nature did not think. Men thought, and one man had
perverted the forest to his own ends. He must be stopped.

            First,
thought Roskel, concern yourself with staying alive.

            There
was a crash from behind them. Some huge creature came toward them through the
woods.

            A
nightmare beast crashed through the brush and with a roar, lumbered toward
them. Roskel raised his sword. The Drayman stepped in front of him, his curved blade
held before his face.

            At
first glance it looked like a bear, but it was in terrible pain. Shoots had
grown through its flesh and thorns the size of a man’s thumb poked through its
matted fur. Its eyes were bleeding and it had the look of insanity about it.

            With
a cry of rage and pain it slashed at the Drayman with one massive paw. He dived
to his left, narrowly evading the blow. The bear’s claws tore through a small
tree and broke it in half.

            Roskel
flailed at it with his own short sword, scoring a glancing blow. Then he dodged
back as it swung a paw at him.

            While
it was distracted, the Drayman leapt forward and his sword danced. Blood and
some other fluid flew from the numerous cuts he inflicted, but the beast  did
not go down. As Roskel watched, the forest floor seemed to grow up and into the
beast. Where there had been blood there was now plant growth.

            It
was horrible, even more so for the obvious agony the unnatural melding caused
the beast. It could no more control its rage than they could halt it. It was
living off the forest, and the druid’s mad rage was driving it forward to
attack them.

            'Run!'
he shouted over the lumbering thing’s crashing and trees’ cracking.

            The
Drayman slashed one final time, blinding the creature in one eye, then ran to
his horse. Roskel followed his lead. Then they were rushing through the
grasping trees at dangerous speeds, not looking back; running from the fury of
the forest.

*

Chapter Sixty-Four

They
reached the edge of a clearing as twilight finally slid into night. They wasted
no time. Roskel and the Drayman leapt onto their horses’ backs in unison,
heeled their mounts and broke for Haven. The bear could not follow fast enough.
It reached the clearing and suddenly the plant growth that sustained it rotted
and fell back. The bear crashed to the ground and blood exploded from its many
wounds.

            Roskel
did not waste time looking at the creature’s death-throes. He pulled himself
tighter against Minstrel’s back and urged the horse to run faster, faster…

            He
could see Haven a mile away in the clearing. He hoped it was still a place of
safety, as it had been named. It did not look it anymore. Where once there had
been a hodgepodge of tents and campfires, a few wagons and horses roaming free,
there was now a barricaded settlement perhaps five hundred feet round. There
were crops and vegetables growing outside the palisade, but there were guards
set outside with the grazing livestock, some sheep and a few cows. The herders
looked up and the animals bolted as the two men fled toward the settlement.

            Roskel
saw a woman stand tall at the wall and draw back the string of her bow. He
ducked lower but held up his hands in a sign of peace, trying to steer the mare
with his knees alone, which was far from easy over the uneven ground.

            'Don’t
loose that arrow!' came a cry from the palisade walls. 'It’s Roskel Farinder!
Open the gates!'

            A
section of wall was pushed aside by three men, and Roskel and the Drayman rode
through the fortifications into a village at war.

            He
pulled up on the reins and Minstrel slid to a halt. All around him was sign of
conflict. Men with bandages, women cradling sick husbands. To one side of the
clearing were a few burial mounds. The forest was trying to kill the people of
Haven, too.

            The
woman with the bow leapt down from the wall and strode over to them. She eyed
them suspiciously, but a broad shouldered man laid a restraining hand on her
arm and she relaxed.

            'Easy,
Sisqale, this rogue here is a friend to our people. It is because of him that
we are a Freetown.'

            Roskel
smiled at the bandit…he corrected himself…freeman…and clasped his hand.

            'Mar,'
said Roskel, and grinned at his old companion.

            'I
hope you are a good shot, my lady. You have but one arrow left.'

            The
woman raised one eyebrow at him. Her eyes were a stunning blue, which reminded
him of the sea on a calm day.

            'And
when you have fired that arrow, your first and last, what will you do then?
Fight them off with a smile?' he said, but with a smile to show that he meant
no offence.

           
She turned and let loose the
arrow in one smooth movement.

            Roskel
watched it fly into the air. It disappeared into the gloom. He looked at her
and saw the arrow was once more in her quiver.

            'I
only need one,' she said with a proud smile. A bird fell from the sky. A small
boy ran to pick it up and shouted for his mother with pleasure. 'Mother,
mother! I have dinner!'

            The
woman laid the bow over her shoulder. As she walked away she said, 'What else
could it do? What else, but return to me?'

           
Roskel turned from the strange
woman and looked up into the sky. The moons were risen. Ghost clouds haunted
the silver sky. His work was not done yet. But at least he could fill his
belly. Always wise, for you never knew when you were due to pass Madal’s Gates,
and no man knew if there was food laid on for the spirits.

            'So,
Roskel,' said Mar. 'Pleasant journey?'

            They
both laughed. Even the Drayman smiled thinly. Then they went to discuss the
forest and the perils that waited without the wooden walls.

*

Chapter Sixty-Five

Roskel
sat before the fire, deep in thought. Mar watched him, a sad look on his face.
Bringing up all the old pain had hurt him deeply. He had lost a son in the
battle against the forest. It was a wound that he knew would never close.

            'So
it began when the new road went in?'

            'And
got worse since then. We’ve lost twenty-six men in the last six months. We’re
prisoners in Haven. It’s no longer a Freetown, but a jail. The skies are open
above, true, and it smells a sight sweeter than any jail I’ve ever slept in,
but it’s a prison nonetheless. We can’t get out to find help, and no one can
get in. The road out is a death trap. Creatures of nightmare come out in day
and night alike. We can do nothing to stop them. They lose power when they are
away from the forest, but as you know we are surrounded by the forest on all
sides. What was once home has turned against us.'

            Roskel
tapped his lip, deep in thought.

            He
sat that way for a long time. The Drayman sat deep in thought too. His mind whirled
with the possibilities. He was in the grip of doubt. What could he do? How
could he help them, and still have honour? He wrestled with his conscience and
his secret past. His shame was his alone. He could not share it with these
people. But they needed him. Once, he had been a force for righteousness. Now,
was he so ashamed of his own past that he could not help innocent people in
need?

            Had
he become a coward?

            No,
not a coward. He would fight and die for duty. His duty to Roskel. But these
people…did they not deserve help? Could he allow himself to be known by people
once again? Could he sing proud in public? Could he let them know his pain and
his shame?

            'I
see no way to defeat the forest, but there is a man at the heart of it. It is
not nature’s wrath you face, but a rogue druid. He is bonded with the forest
and draws his power from it. It is him we must defeat. But how, I cannot begin
to imagine.'

            'What
you say rings true…forests do not rise against man on their own. I have seen
human rage in the attacks. Animals do not have a mind to chase down a man and
kill him for no reason. Uris Anath ran away from a bear, natural in appearance,
but it chased him down and slew him, then walked back into the forest, almost
nonchalant. Sisqale shot it three times, but it walked like a man taking a
stroll. It knew it could not be killed. It had no fear of arrows or men. We
cannot beat all the beasts in the forest, we cannot escape this trap, and we
cannot find the author of our problem.'

            'Perhaps
we can lure him out?'

            'I
don’t see how. He sends the beasts to do his work. He will not come.'

            The
Drayman rose and took Roskel’s hand.

           
I
can draw him out. I can teach these people how to strip him of his power.
Perhaps we can even kill him.

           
'How, friend? Tell us how.'

            The
Drayman looked pained.

           
My
shame is at the heart of it. I have a tale to tell. You may hate me at the end
of it.

            'I
will listen. I will not judge. You have shown yourself a true friend.'

           
It
is a terrible shame.

           
'No worse than anything I have
done.'

            The
Drayman broke the touch and walked off, away from their fire.

            'What
was that all about?' asked Mar.

            'I
don’t suppose his secret matters now. He can talk if he wants to. He has a
power over music. He can create words from a tune.'

            Roskel
didn’t see any sense in letting the bandit leader know that the Skald was also
from across the mountains where the Draymar roamed. One secret a night was
enough by his reckoning.

            'Truly?
A remarkable talent.'

            'It
is. But he is reluctant to use it. I think he can help us. I hope he can help
us, for I am at a loss.'

            The
Drayman returned shortly and sat beside the thief. He took his hand in a
curiously familiar gesture, and began to hum.         

           
Once,
when I was a proud bladesinger, there was a drought. It is common across the
mountains. The land is not lush like Sturma. In many places there are vast arid
wastes, where rain does not fall for years at a time. Crops fail. Whole tribes
die.

            My
tribe was one such tribe from the wastes. I was discovered to be a bladesinger.
I gained my father's sword and left the land of my family to serve the cause of
justice.

            I
served without question for seven years. Then I heard that my family was
starving, that the rains did not come.

            I
travelled to my old home. I had the power to bring rain.

           
The Drayman wept.

           
I
sang and the rains came. I broke the balance. I did not serve justice, but my
own heart. I failed as a bladesinger.

            My
people should have died. A bladesinger found out and came to my village. He had
heard my song. He slew them all and I could not stop him. He served justice. He
served the balance.

            He
banished me. That is my shame.

           
'That you let them die?'

           
NO!

           
The words caused pain in his
head.

            More
softly, the Drayman spoke again.

           
No.
My shame is that I let them live. Because of me they died a dishonourable
death. I shamed myself and my people. So I will not sing the song again. I took
my tongue.

           
Roskel paled.

            'You
took out your own tongue.'

            The
Drayman nodded, his eyes challenging.

            'I
think you take duty too far, my friend. But I do not pretend to understand your
pain. Forgiveness is not mine to give, but you have saved my life and been a
stalwart ally. I believe in you. By your people, you may have done wrong. By
mine, the bladesinger who executed your people was wrong. His act was evil in
my eyes. Not yours. But yours are a different people.'

            Mar
watched the exchange with a serious expression. He could only hear half of the
conversation, but the man’s pain was evident for all with eyes to see.

            'Please
help us,' he pleaded. 'If you can. We are a good people, and we fight an
unnatural enemy. We need help.'

            The
Drayman stared at the ground.

            Roskel
laid his hand on his shoulder.

            'This
is your place now. These people need you. You would be serving the balance. I
believe that.'

            The
Drayman shook his head and walked away from the fire once more.

            Roskel
and Mar sat in silence, waiting for him to return. They could not sway him. He
had to make up his own mind.

            The
fire burned low. Roskel put more logs on. As they caught, the Drayman returned,
grim determination on his face.

           
I
will help.

            Roskel
nodded to Mar. 'At last, we have a chance.'

*