Read The Queen of Thieves: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three Online
Authors: Craig R. Saunders,Craig Saunders
The Queen of Thieves: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three (17 page)
'Walk on ahead a way, would you,
Asram?' said Rena. Her tone was light, but Asram felt it a request he needed to
follow. She was his lady, his charge. He did not like to leave her with Crale,
still. But Crale had proven true, had he not? He had thought he was saving Rena
from the old witch.
And now Rena's
request was couched in such tones that Asram knew it was not an order, but a
simple question posed to a friend. He felt the shift in their relationship. A
furthering of understanding between the two of them.
Perhaps he read too
much into her tone, but he did not mind. The fact that her words were
accompanied by that new, peaceful and serene, smile, made him soft.
From terrified, to
rage, to peace, in the space of one night. He was bone tired, but he nodded. If
Rena needed to talk to Crale, he would break their trail and be happy for the
exercise. He almost chuckled. Like he hadn't had enough exercise for one night.
Hells, for a week.
'As you wish, Rena,'
he said. He moved on ahead and broke the trail through the snow, lessened, but
still cold enough to freeze in his beard.
Rena watched his
broad back with her new, remarkable sight. Sight, like before, but the colours
were sharper, and now she could see auras...she thought maybe that she had been
made afresh.
The adjustment, from
waking from her dream, to saving Beatrain from her two protectors, to moving...it
had been almost instant. Like her old eyes had always been a hindrance, her
magic holding her back.
Now she had no magic
she was something else.
'Shawford,' she said,
trailing behind Asram. 'I met a woman on the other side. She told me what you
are. I should have known, but now I see your aura, too. You are nightwalker.'
Shawford nodded. Said
nothing.
'I want to thank you.
You could have killed me and my babe, but you stayed your hand.'
'What makes you think
that was by design?' said Shawford.
Rena smiled.
'I know your mistress,
now, Crale. I know the Queen, and she is a terrible mistress, is she not?'
'You fear her?' said
Crale.
'Of course,' said
Rena. 'I would be a fool not to. But she has long plans and some of them are
for me, some for you. All I ask is that you see this through until the end.'
'I'll think on it,'
said Crale.
'Then think fast,
because in a week's time I aim to be in Naeth. The end draws near, and I have
someone I wish to meet afresh.'
'You play the game of
Kings and Queens, Rena Lady,' he said.
'I know. But I see
far too, now,' she said and smiled.
She didn't care if
Shawford liked that smile or not, but she could see him frown well enough.
*
There was a sense of snapping in
the air. The Queen of Thieves stepped from the shadows in the old witch's hut. She
was not covered with cobwebs, though stepping from the corner of the room where
the light did not reach, she should have been.
Beatrain wished she
knew half the power that Selana had. Then, perhaps, her broken wrist and her
cracked back would not hurt her half so badly.
With one hand she
mixed a philter for her pain. She would bind her wrist afterward. If she dealt
with the pain first, she could deal with the splint later.
'Time to call them,'
Selana said without preamble, mindless of Beatrain's sudden jump, as though the
snap and the appearance of the greatest witch in Sturma was a surprise.
She had known
Beatrain long enough. Almost as long as she had known Tulathia, back when that
witch had been younger.
'It is time...' said
Selana again.
Beatrain, the most
powerful remaining
human
witch in Sturma, put her mixture down, and sighed.
She turned and faced the Queen. For an instant she wondered who was the most
beautiful of the two queens. But such matters were of little import.
The Queen of Thieves
was calling on the Covenant, and Beatrain had no choice but to listen.
'The Witches'
Covenant has not been invoked in a hundred years. Many do not even know the old
way,' said Beatrain, though she was just making small talk. She knew the way
this would go. She had seen as much with her gift of foresight, and even had
she not, there was no denying Selana.
'Those that do will
have to be enough,' said the Queen of Thieves...the Queen of Witches. 'It will
have to be enough, for we are the only hope for Sturma. For Sturma now, and for
Sturma in the future, too. I see long, Beatrain, and the fight ends not this
month...maybe not for a thousand years.'
'And I guess you will
be here to see it?'
'Why would I not be?'
'Immortality,' asked
the old witch...'do you never tire?'
'I never sleep. I
need the diversion.'
'The Steward?' said
Beatrain.
It was Selana's turn
to be surprised. Then she laughed. That a human could surprise her still, after
all her millennia on Rythe, all she had seen and done and learned, and yet
humans had infinite capacity to shock her and keep her life fresh. No wonder
she held such affection for the races of man.
'Yes, old mother. The
Steward...I am fascinated by him like no other. He is interesting...he is...'
'Handsome? Swayed by
mortal charms? I did not think it could happen.'
'But happen it has.
Enough,' said Selana. 'Call the Witches Covenant. Call the old ones, those who
know. Call them to oath. Our land is threatened. It is our land. Not theirs.'
'A woman's magic, eh,
Selana?' said Beatrain, who had known the immortal witch for many decades.
'Yes,
Beatrain. It is time for a woman's magic. And Gods help Sturma for what we are
about to unleash.'
'You
know Caeus will come again,' said Beatrain, carefully.
'I'll
deal with that when the time comes,' said Selana with a smile that on a less
beautiful face might have been sad.
'Caeus
is a problem for another time. Another people...'
She
nodded, though Beatrain had not spoken. Beatrain felt that some thought had
flitted through Selana's mind, and she would never be privy to it.
Caeus.
Caeus
would come again.
But
like Selana said, he was a problem for another time. For now, Beatrain had to
call on the Witches' Covenant.
So
thinking, Beatrain turned back to her mixture with a sigh and a nod for the
Queen. She knew that if she turned around again, the Queen would be gone. She
did not trouble herself to turn around, but turned over the problem of calling
the witch kin of Sturma to their duty to the land of Kings. To Sturma.
*
'I cannot ride,' said Crale,
quietly to Rena as Asram travelled once more to the Wild Man tavern in Hullford
to buy two stout horses for the remainder of the journey. The excitement of the
previous night had faded, but Rena was tired to the bone, still. Tarn was
restless in his sling. All four of them, it seemed, were ready for the end of
their journey.
'No horse will bear
me. They know me for what I am.'
'Then we part
company?' she said, turning her head toward Crale with unerring accuracy.
'For now, lady,' he
said. He paused for a moment. 'I thank you for your discretion.'
'Will we meet again?'
'I do not know,' said
Shawford truthfully. 'I think perhaps we might. You have my...promise...for
what the word of a blooddrinker is worth. I will see the Queen's will
through...I am...a thrall to her. I have no choice. I confess I considered
drinking your blood.'
Rena laughed, at the
candour and the slightly apologetic tone from a man who was a cold killer.
'Then we part,' she
said. 'I will not say I am sorry to see you go, but for my part you have my
amnesty, Shawford Crale. I know you carry a heavy burden,' she said, indicating
the ever present sack on Crale's shoulder.
Crale nodded. Rena
waited, for it seemed as though he had not yet finished speaking.
Eventually, he spoke
again, and Rena understood more about the creature that was Shawford Crale than
she had thought possible.
'You truly saw
Madal's Gates, Lady?' he said.
Rena nodded.
'They exist,
Shawford. They exist for all of us. Even for your kind. One day you may see
them,' she said, understanding coming to her easily with her new sight.
Crale nodded, once
again. 'Maybe. Maybe.' He shrugged, like it did not matter to him, but she saw
the shrug for the lie it was. 'Until Naeth, Lady. May your road be safe. I
think, with Asram Fell, it will be,' he said. He actually bowed. Then he was
gone and the sun rose, at last.
Strange creature,
thought Rena, as Crale left.
Crale was gone from
sight as Asram returned leading two horses. He handed the reins to Rena, and
was surprised afresh at how easily her hand found the rein despite the holes
where her eyes should be. Some people in town looked at her, but none spoke.
They sensed something
in her.
As did Asram.
'Where's Crale gone?'
asked Asram.
'He is not coming
with us for the rest of our road, Asram.'
'Oh,' said the man.
'Why do you think I
only sent you for two horses?' she asked.
She smiled at him,
and he was struck once again at her beauty, despite being maimed. Her
serenity...something she had not possessed before. It was as though her rage
had gone with her eyes.
She almost laughed at
the shock on his face.
'Yes, Asram. I know
things. Let's ride,' she said, and vaulted into the saddle with ease.
She set off at a
gallop, and Asram, not the greatest of riders, was forced to heel his horse
into a jarring run just to keep up.
*
All
across the land, the south to the north, the east to the west, the old witches,
those with the knowing of the Covenant, left their homes.
A
witch did not ride.
But
that did not mean they could not walk, nor did it mean that they could not
travel by
other
means.
Some,
the most powerful among them, had the talent of travelling, like Selana
herself. They headed for Naeth, answering the call of the one they knew as the
Queen of Thieves. Their dark God, Caeus, was silent, but wishes were not his to
grant, and no one prayed to him. Caeus' presence had not been felt since
Tulathia had called upon him in the time of the Outlaw King.
The
snow did not abate, but the witches of the Covenant were no mere hedge witches.
It did not matter whether they travelled upon foot, or in a wagon, or by sea,
or by thought and pure magic. Not one felt the cold. A true witch was not cold
unless she wanted to be, not wet, not swept by the harsh winter's winds.
While
the armies of south men under Redalane, Thane of Spar, marched steadily north
to battle, while the armies of the northern Thanes met the Protectorate on the
east coast, while the Bladesingers faced insurmountable odds in the far north
in the shadow of Thaxamalan's Saw, the witch kin answered the call of ages.
They
headed on, moving endlessly, tired or not, day and night. Ever toward Naeth,
and the end of an era...or the start of a new one.
*