The Queen of Thieves: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three (8 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Two

The rain of fire ended, the last
few flames still licking at the frozen trees and the blackened bodies of the
soldiers. The shield that had protected Rena and Asram fell away. Finally she
could hear again, though she had not realised that the sounds outside were
deadened before. She heard the snowfall sizzling, and the trees, charred and
crackling all around them. Every Hierarch surrounding them still burned with
that unnatural fire. Their immolated bodies poured with noxious smoke.

           
Gods,
thought
Rena, death
stank.

            As the enemy burned their
arms and legs gradually curled in, until they looked like babies in their
sleep. At this thought the babe Tarn gave a satisfied gurgle, where before he
had been crying.

            'Shh, Tarn, shh now,'
said Rena, and the babe returned her smile. In that moment she was utterly sure
that she was not going insane...her earlier mood had purely been an effect of
the Hierarch's dark magics. How could she be insane, to be filled with such
love with her child?

            'May I?' asked the
woman, the woman who had called down the fire and burned the creatures
surrounding Rena. The dreadful, stunning woman.

            Rena was by no means
an accomplished witch. Still a child, really, with her twentieth year still to
be lived. Yet she felt no malice or threat from the woman. And hadn't she saved
them?

            But that she could
switch in an instant from a cold killer of men to a cooing mother...that
troubled Rena. Did she trust her instincts enough to hand the only person she
loved to a cold hearted killer of men?

            She could, and she
did, because Tarn was reaching out for the woman, his fat fingers clutching at
the air. He
wante
d to go to her. Still in shock, almost in a daze, Rena
unslung the babe from her chest and passed him to the woman with a shy smile,
as though she were afraid the woman would see some fault in her. Why she should
care, she did not know. But she did understand that she never, ever wanted to
arouse this woman's ire.

            'So,' said the woman.
'This babe is what all the fuss is about?' She laughed, and it was a soft,
tinkling sound that in turn set Tarn to giggling. Tarn looked up at the woman
and smiled - beamed, if truth be told.

            The witch - if that's
what she was - kissed the babe on the cheek and handed him back.

            'Motherhood is denied
me, Rena child. Hold him dear. Trust me when I say I will do all in my power to
protect him.'

            'And power indeed,'
said Asram.

            The woman nodded.
'Rena, my name is Selana. These creatures...they are from beyond our shores.
They want the babe. Do you understand why?'

            Rena nodded. She was
mesmerised by Selana's beauty, and her allure. She had always thought that her
mother, Mia, was the most beautiful woman in the world, but Selana
was...stunning. Simply stunning.

            She stood in a
revealing dress in the middle of a scene of carnage, and snow had begun to fall
again, yet she gave no indication that the cold affected her at all. She
radiated power, more than even Tulathia, the oldest and wisest witch that Rena
had ever known.

            'I understand,' she
said, and understood something else, too. This witch was more than mortal. She
was something else, entirely beyond understanding. Remorse for killing those
creatures was no issue for one such as her. They were beneath her. Everything
was less than she was.

            And yet she held the
babe with such a tenderness that she could not be evil. She could not.

            'Then trust in me,
child,' said Selana.  'Asram,' she said, turning her attention to the huntsman,
who shifted his gaze, as though afraid to look upon Selana would burn him up. Maybe
it would.

            'My Lady?' he said.

            'You are to meet a
man on the road north, at a wayside tavern called the Pickled Hare. From there
on out you will travel only at night. He will protect you...but have a care,
Asram. He is an asset against...' she indicated the burning wizard among their
attackers, '...his kind.'

            'A dangerous man?'

            'The most,
perhaps...but an ally. I do not trust him, but you need him. Be watchful, aye?'

            'Aye, my Lady.'

            'Then I go,' she
said, and unbidden kissed both on the cheek. In a blink, she was gone. There
could be no doubt that she had been there a moment before, though. The carnage
remained as proof.

*

Chapter
Twenty-Three

'Who was that?' asked Rena,
staring in awe at the place where the woman had stood not a second before. 'Selana?
Is that supposed to mean something? You know her?'

            Asram shook his head.
'I know her. I didn't know she knew me - not by sight, but I'm not surprised.
People say she knows everything. I confess, I'm glad to have met her, even more
glad that I'm still alive.'

            'Why do you say
that?'

            'She is the Queen of
Thieves...rumour has it there is no more terrible a woman on the face of
Sturma.'

            It was Rena's turn to
shake her head. 'She has such power...yes...but she saved us...'

            'She did, but have no
doubt it is for her own ends,' said Asram.

            'I do not know,' said
Rena. She fell silent, mulling this over for a time, simply walking, as the
three of them headed alone the track, back the way they had come.

            They walked past the
bodies of the dead, leaving the scene of the slaughter behind. The villagers of
Haven, the Hierarch warriors and the mage, too. Neither one of them looked at
the bodies anymore as they passed. Rena concentrated on looking down, smiling
at her babe, as though he were a talisman to ward against the sight of the
dead. Maybe he was. He was a beautiful, bold boy. Too young to speak, but he
made himself known when he wanted to. It seemed now, since the Queen of Thieves
had held him, that he wanted to play.

            It suited Rena, as
while she played scoop with her baby, she put one foot in front of the other.
Nothing more.

            She was not a
stranger to power - she had known Tulathia, and she was a fledgling witch
herself - but the Queen of Thieves was something else. She was almost too large
a thing to think about.

            So she resolved to
put it from her mind.

            So Asram and Rena walked
for a long time, their journey feeling almost aimless as they left the track
for the outskirts of the forest. But Rena followed Asram's lead and never once
questioned that he knew where they were going.

            Eventually, she spoke
again. 'Asram?'

            'Rena?' he answered,
and she smiled, unbidden.

            'How do you know her?
Selana?'

            'It is a long
story...I owe the Thieves' Guild. I...owed a debt. In exchange for money she bid
me - through a man named Garenhill - to serve the Lord Protector.' Asram
shrugged. 'I could make the story sound more interesting, I think, though the
truth is I was a gambling man, and a drinking man, and a killer of men by
trade.'

            She thought on this a
while, walking slightly behind him, watching him scan the trees.

            'I think you're a
good man, Asram,' she said, finally.

            Asram laughed. 'I'm
not the best.'

            'Who is?' she said,
and he turned and grinned at her.

            She looked at his
strong back, his bow slung once again. He had long hair, curling at the nape of
his neck. He was filthy, too, and smelled bad...

            But then whatever he
was, why he was her protector, what made him willing to give his life for hers,
she did not know. And, she realised, she had never, until now, thought to ask.
She had just taken it as her right. Standing surrounded by men, creatures, who
wished to do her and her babe harm, she finally understood that this man's
protection was not her right.

            It was an honour.

            'Asram?'

            'My Lady?'

            'Rena, please,' she
said.

            'Rena, then.'

            'Thank you.'

            Asram stopped and
turned. He smiled, a big grin. He nodded, then turned and set forth at a steady
pace yet again.

            He was rough,
bearded, scarred...but it was a good smile.

            She followed Asram's
lead, and together they concentrated in putting miles between themselves and
the death they left behind. All the while, they headed closer to their goal.

*

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Two days later Asram knelt at the
edge of the Fresh Woods. A hard man, hiding in the long grass. It might have
been that another man was scared, but not Asram. His bow string was drawn tight
against his cheek. He took no chances. At the first sight of trouble he was
well prepared to loose the arrow unerringly at his mark.

            He looked out over
the road and the cleared ground surrounding The Pickled Hare tavern, and as his
eyes moved, so did the bow.

            He searched the land
for threats as the suns went down. Dow, the smaller of Rythe's two suns, had
long ago sunk below the horizon. A little light still remained from Carious,
the larger sun. Asram did not like to approach new ground in the dark. He did
not like the dark. His eyes were not as effective, and his eyes were a better
weapon than his bow. Seeing threats before they arose was half the battle that
was staying alive in his line of work.

            Rena knelt behind
him, quieting Tarn, who looked about ready to squall after a day in the sling
being jounced and jostled across the rough terrain in the freezing cold.

            But there were no threats.
Not this time.

            Asram slung his
curved bow upon his back, stored his arrow, and held out an arm to Rena, which
she took. Her protector pulled her up from the ground, where she knelt beside
him. Together they walked up the road in the last light of the day to the
tavern.

            Asram knew better
than to expect a warm welcome. He was aware of just how precious his travelling
companions were, and how much danger they were in. And now, bidden by the Queen
of Thieves herself, they were to meet a man who, by her own admission, was a
deadly ally - possibly deadly to their enemies, but also to them.

            'Come, Rena. Let's
meet this man.'

            The tavern itself was
a mean thing, ill-repaired and tumbledown from the outside. They did not expect
much as they pushed open the door to the Pickled Hare and entered into the
gloomy, firelit tavern.

            They were pleasantly
surprised, though, because the tavern was far more welcoming inside than out. The
fire in the hearth was stacked high with split logs, crackling and hazy with heat.
Two older men, no doubt from the nearby village, nodded before the fire, well
in their cups. There were a few other patrons, but not enough to give Asram and
Rena pause. People looked at them as they entered, then looked away,
disinterested.

            It was, by and large,
the same as taverns across the land of Sturma that Asram had frequented, but
for slight differences. In the countryside, being ignored was almost a warm
welcome.

            For a split second,
Asram contemplated slaking his thirst, but he knew if he began drinking he
wouldn't stop. If he drank, he'd drink it until it was all gone, or he could no
longer move a cup to his lips. He knew himself well enough. It was how he ended
up here, in a country tavern, with the would-be Queen and the last of the line
of kings in his care.

            Gods, how did he go
from a murdering drunken gambler to the sole hope of the nation?

            He could have laughed
at it, but he need his wits, not a drink. And he didn't do that anymore,
anyway. He had a purpose now.

            His sole purpose, his
only reason for being alive - protecting Rena and the child.

            He heard footfalls on
the stairs, and turned, hand resting easily on the hilt of his dagger. It could
have been a casual stance, in anyone else.

            Not on Asram.

*

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Shawford Crale pulled the door to
his cold room closed and wiped his lips, checking up and down the hallway.
There was no one in sight. The hallway was dim, the boards warped, but as he
made his way toward the commons along the hall and the stairs he made very
little sound, and what little sound he did make could not be heard over the
murmur of the tavern's patrons in the commons. The clink of metal mugs, the
crackle of the fire in the great hearth, the bubble of a slow stew in the pot
over the fire. Voices, the occasional laugh, shuffling feet...

            And as he reached the
last few steps, the voices died as the sound of the door opening and closing
drifted to Crale's preternatural ears.

            Three new heart
beats. One steady, slow. One ordinary, a smaller sound, and a slightly faster
beat - a woman. And one fast and tiny and hale. A baby.

            He smiled. It was time
to make some new acquaintances.

            He made an effort to
make more noise coming down the last of the stairs. He did not wish to arrive
unannounced. He pushed open a door made of old slats that kept the draft from
the cold rooms upstairs and the delicious warmth of the commons from mixing.
The door squeaked. He let it.

            With a smooth,
practiced walk that exuded both confidence and danger he crossed the room, but
there was a smile on his face.

            A woman stood in the
centre of the commons, looking at him. The fast beating heart, the flutter of
her pulse in the side of her quite beautiful neck. She was disarming. Beside
her, hand on the hilt of a dagger, was her...protector? Yes, that seemed right.
He of the cold steady beat. The woman had a babe in a sling about her chest,
and she held herself stiff, as though in a little pain. Crale could smell blood
on her, but it was dry. She had been wounded but was healing.

            And yes, there, that
most tantalising of beats, that of a hale and hearty child.

            But Crale was not a
slave to his hunger.

            Besides, he had just
slated his thirst on a maid in his rooms in a somewhat sordid encounter. He'd
been forced to drink directly from the filthy girl, and the foul taste of
unwashed poor people still clung to his lips.

            Still, he thought, a
meal on the hoof, so to speak. He mustn't grumble.

            He would be leaving
soon, long before the body was discovered.

            But to his charges.
His mind ticked as he approached, watching the sole threat, the man with the
cold steady heart and his hand on his dagger.

            Crale kept his voice
low as he approached.

            'Rena...and...babe...and
you must be the man Asram Fell. My name is Shawford Crale, and I think it is
time we were leaving...'

            'We've travelled a
long road, Crale,' said Asram gruffly. 'The babe and the lady need rest and
respite and a bite to eat. We can travel when we have eaten.'

            Shawford Crale shook
his head, smiling but his eyes watching the people assembled.

            'People will already
be talking. I took the liberty of ordering provisions. Let us not start out on
bad footing, Asram Fell. We can rest up a while on the road, but time grows
short...a mutual friend of ours assures me of that...'

            'The Lady?'

            'Careful, Rena...the
patrons are not deaf and her name is not to be spoken lightly, for waves can be
made easily in the backwaters like this. Words can travel fast on such waves.'

            'You speak pretty,'
said Asram, as though it was an insult. Crale did not take it as such.

            'Thank you.'

            Crale walked slowly
to the bar - he didn't do anything fast unless he had to - and spoke for a few
moments with a grizzled and bearded old barkeep...perhaps the proprietor of the
Pickled Hare. The old barkeep nodded and disappeared for a second. Crale did
not turn back to reassure or otherwise acknowledge Asram and Rena. They could
do little but wait.

            Shortly, the old man
returned with a sack. Crale laid what looked to be a gold piece upon the
counter.

            'Now, shall we?' he
said upon his return. Asram noted that the man had a second sack tied across
his back. He travelled light, it seemed.

            Crale opened the door
before them and headed out into the night.

            They had no choice
but to follow him. He waited for them, ever the gentleman, and with a smile
that Rena did not quite like, ushered them forward into the gloom.

            Pretty, thought Crale
of Rena, looking at her back in the fading light of the tavern as they left it
behind.

            A lot prettier than
the maid.

*