Read The Queen of Thieves: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three Online
Authors: Craig R. Saunders,Craig Saunders
'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.
*
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.
*
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.
'I
hope you know what you're doing, my love,' he said, for he already knew he was
lost in Selana.
'I
do. The girl stays. The babe is needed. He is the focus.'
'The
focus of what?'
'I
say too much.'
'You
still play, then?'
'No,
my love,' said Selana...'But it must be done and I am the one to do it. Men
play at war. Women learn to put away games long before. I do not play, Roskel.
I do not play.'
'We
cannot win.'
'Force
of arms alone?' The Queen shook her head. 'No. But with the spells we weave
already? Maybe... We have but one chances, and Rena and baby Tarn are it. Why
do you think I brought them all this way?'
Roskel,
clothed now, leaned over the Queen. She was still naked under the bedsheets...a
fact he was all too aware of.
He
kissed her, then turned away before he would not be able to leave her at all.
He
paused at the door.
'I
am afraid,' he admitted. 'I have lost so many men to this war already...and so
many friends...'
'Let
me take the burden. You are my love. My lord. See to the swords. I will see to
the rest. Though the end may be an unhappy one, we will prevail. Men
will
die. It is a war. But trust me, Roskel. Will you trust me?'
Roskel
turned and looked at his Queen as he stood at the open door.
'I
trust you with my life. But more. I trust you with my people's lives.'
It
was the right answer.
*
Roskel
stood alone atop the tallest tower in Naeth castle, looking out over his city. The
tower was old, but in perfect repair. He realised he knew next to nothing about
the castle. Never did he think of it as his castle, but it was his home. He had
never troubled himself to learn its history, nor the intricacies of its halls
and corridors and secret passageways. Remiss, perhaps, for a thief, but he was
a thief no longer, was he? He was a bureaucrat. A man who squandered his time
and his youth in meetings of the great and mighty.
He
longed for the rooftop chase, as he often did, but sighed. It was foolish to be
entertaining such thoughts, faced with the sight below.
All
around the tower were shimmering lights and shining steel.
The
Hierarchy.
The
city was encircled. Roskel could not believe the size of the force that had
been amassed on foreign shores. It dwarfed the entire might of Sturma. The
armies of the Hierarchy probably dwarfed Draymar, too. For miles outside the
city the enemy waited. Patient, perhaps, perhaps just mustering their forces,
making plans to take the jewel, the capital, of Sturma. If Naeth should fall
the rest of the country would soon follow, and the Sturmen would no longer be
free, but vassals of an enemy state.
And
Roskel did not think there was anything he could do to stop it.
Trust
in me,
said the Queen. And he did. But surely it was hopeless?
In
the distance, at the rear of the massed forces, he could just make out a vast
pavilion.
The
seat of the Hierophant.
The
leader of the Hierarchy, and the key to the whole mess, with no way of getting
to him.
The
enemy were truly before the gates, and Roskel was terrified, because all that
was left between them was steel and witches' magic against ten thousand
soldiers and a rain of fire.
The
fire would be coming soon. He had seen it once already. Then, his army had been
able to flee. This time, they could not.
Everything
on the power of witches. Everything on his Queen. Roskel never gambled - he
made sure the dice were loaded. This was truly gambling, a toss of the dice for
a kingdom - perhaps a world.
'Time
to roll,' he said.
*
Fire.
The
air was on fire above Naeth. It burned and rained down on the city. In the
outer districts, the poorer districts, the wooden building and wooden roofs
caught alight. Fire and smoke raced through the city until it was ablaze. The
sky was brightly lit above and below, but smoke and ash filled the air, too,
leaving a great trail of blackness across the vista.
The
flames of the Hierarchy had not the range to reach the castle. Untouched, Roskel
and Selana stood above it all in the old tower, looking down on the carnage.
How
many dead already? wondered Roskel. How many soldiers died in their armour
without even lifting a sword?
It
was a slaughter. Slaughter all over again. Roskel felt tears on his cheeks,
running tracks through the grime on his face - smoke and soot and ash floating
across the castle walls, even here, as high as they were atop the tower.
The
soldiers themselves ran through the city streets. This first foray was a
shambles - yet Selana assured him once again that it was a necessity.
To
Roskel it seemed like nothing more than senseless death, sending even one
soldier out into the inferno. Everything was in disarray.
Selana
took Roskel's arm. 'It is as it must be, Roskel. Outer Naeth cannot hold. It
never could. But it is not done yet, my love... This is woman's work, and it
will be done tonight. Trust in me.'
'But
so many dead...so many...' Roskel wiped his grimy face clear, smudging soot
into his bare cheeks. His moustache, usually blonde, was black with all the
detritus of the city that drifted on the wind - hard won houses, lovingly built
furniture, wares from the small shops that peppered the outer
districts...bodies. Soldiers, no doubt, their bodies roasting until their
ashes, too, blew in the wind.
'They
must think they have won,' said the Queen, softly.
'They
have!'
The
Queen took Roskel's hand and squeezed it tenderly.
'No.
Not yet. And nor will they will the king lives. Tonight, my love. Tonight we
fight.'
*