The Queen of Thieves: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three (14 page)

Chapter
Forty-Nine

The first hint of Carious in the
sky signalled that it was time for Asram and Rena to make  their rough camp,
and for Shawford Crale to leave them. It was always the way, or had been for
the two weeks they had travelled on together.

            Before the suns rose,
Crale would be gone. When the last sun, Dow, set, he would turn up. Never did
he give an explanation of where he had been. He never seemed to tire, though,
during the long winter nights, so he must have slept.

           
He must have
,
thought Rena, though she was not sure. Nothing about Crale was a sure thing.
She knew this from the warning of the lady. That said, he was always courteous.
Unerringly so. Unnaturally so, perhaps.

            'I bid you good day,'
said the man with a disarming grin, and turned and left the camp before the
suns could rise completely. Crale walked swiftly from the camp.

            'I wish I knew where
he went each day,' said Asram. He said so wistfully, and Rena knew that Asram
thought to follow Crale, and one day soon.

            She was not sure if
she would let him or not.

            Asram had been in
poor humour all night, and in the early morning light fared no better.

            'I'm not sure it
matters, Asram,' said Rena with a soft, sad smile.

            Asram could not help
but notice the sadness in her face. He thought she looked more and more tired
as they finally neared Naeth and respite from the road, if not freedom from
their travails. He heard the rumours of war in the taverns they risked, and
from rare fellows who braved the cold as they did.

            'Maybe,' he said.
'Maybe not.'

            He sat and took some
provisions from his pack. A few apples, a haunch of dry meat, some stale bread.
Poor fare, but the road was always hard. Asram wondered how hard it could be on
the babe, but Rena steadfastly refused to let him take a turn carrying the
child, though it was obvious to a man with Asram's remarkable eyes just how
much pain Rena was in at the end of each day.

            They ate their mean
meal in silence. Finally Rena yawned and stretched. Little Tarn, well wrapped,
was out of his sling and moving around. The child slept all night, and they
took turns watching the crawling baby during the day. Rena would sleep first.

            She yawned again just
as the first true rays of the sun Carious broke the horizon. It was a crisp,
clear day. Thankfully there would be no fresh snowfall to contend with that
night. Just icy hard old snow, breaking underfoot. But Asram thought that would
be easier on the poor girl.

            And she was just a
girl. No more than twenty years, for sure.

            She pulled her pack
over to lay her head down upon it.

            'I must sleep, Asram.
I'm sorry.'

            'Don't be, my Lady.
Me and Tarn will be just fine, won't we, Tarn?'

            The baby made a
satisfied noise as Asram fed the child small chunks of salted meat. Probably
not ideal fare for a babe, but the road was hard on all of them and they could
not coddle the child. He was a hearty boy - he would be fine.

            Rena nodded and
granted Asram a small, thoughtful smile.

            'What is it?' he
asked.

            'You're a good man,
Asram,' she said. She nodded before he could say anything in return, then
closed her eyes and dreamed.

*

Chapter Fifty

Mist flowed around Rena as she
walked. It was not cold, nor warm...it was just mist. There was no feeling in
the dream.

            The mist did not
enliven, but deadened. And at the thought of death, she realised she
could
feel. She could feel
him
. The only man she'd ever loved. The only man
she ever would.             She knew where she walked. She was sicker than she
thought, because this could only be the road to Madal's Gate.

            Yet he would not be
here. He would be beyond the gate, because he was dead. He had died before her
son was born. At the thought, she felt a sob build in her throat, but nothing
would come out. This place, it seemed, deadened emotion, too.

            But then,
something...sound? The sound of a breath being drawn...here in this dead land.
Startled, she jumped.

           
He's coming back
,
said a voice.

            She knew that voice
well.

            Tulathia. The most
powerful witch she'd ever known. And there she was, Tulathia, walking through
the mist, looking just like her old self. Her back was bent, her hands like
claws. The skin on her face held deep wrinkles with dirt so ingrained that no
amount of washing would ever remove the stains. Her wrinkles were like a map, each
one showing a road that she had travelled through her long life.

            And yet when she
smiled and those wrinkles around her eyes deepened, there was something
undeniably beautiful about the old witch.

            'Rena,' she said.
Simple greeting, like they'd only parted yesterday, or like they'd just awoken
and greeted each other over their morning brew.

            'Old mother,' said
Rena, and walked toward her dead friend with her arms held wide, wanting her
touch and her comfort. She hadn't realised how alone she felt since losing
Tulathia, Mia...Tarn. So much that had been solid in her life was now gone to
dust.

           
Damn
, she
thought...she was so
alone
...

            'Oh, he'll come
again,' said Tulathia, as though Rena had spoken aloud.

            'You can hear my
thoughts?'

            'Here? Maybe,' said
the old witch. 'This is a strange place. I've been waiting. I know not how
long. Sometimes it seems an eternity. Others, mere moments.'

            'What of Tarn? Has he
passed...has he passed Madal's Gates?'

            Tulathia's answer was
a sad smile and a small nod.

            Rena thought maybe
she would cry all over again, though she thought she'd left her tears behind,
and yet in this land of mist tears would not come. At best, she could only
think about shedding tears. It was like the mist held her down and stopped her
from floating off the path beneath her feet.

            'Am I dead?' she
asked.

            'Dying,' said
Tulathia, and she didn't sound sad, nor angry. It was just a statement of fact.

            'Then that is good,'
said Rena, 'Because I will see him beyond the gates.'

            'Not yet, you won't,
girl.'  Tulathia's words were like a slap, because they were delivered with a
sudden harshness that Rena remembered well from the years Tulathia had shared
Rena's childhood home. Together with her mother, Mia - three witches under one
roof.

            'Then I'm not dead?'

            'Pfft,' said
Tulathia. 'Child, dying, I said. Don't give up so easily. You'll see him again,
the right side of the Gates, if you fight. But you must fight.'

            'I'm tired, old
mother...'

            This time Rena did
jump, because Tulathia's old, crooked hand lashed out and slapped her across
the face. There was strength there in the spirit witch's hand, and despite the
strange mist Rena's face stung and she blinked back tears, real tears.

            She wiped her face on
her sleeve - somewhere deep down she noted that here, in this place of the
dead, her tears were no longer the red of blood.

            'You've a baby, girl.
You're a mother. You have no room for despair.'

            'It's hard,' said
Rena, and then clamped her jaw shut. She was aware she was whining, and didn't
want to feel Tulathia's ire again.

            'Life's hard,' said
Tulathia, but not unkindly. 'Death's hard, too. I'll tell you that. I met him,
here. Don't know how long ago. I met him before the Gates.'

            Rena didn't think
Tulathia was talking about Death himself. She spoke of Tarn, and Rena's heart
beat faster at the thought. Denied him so long...and now...so close she could
feel
him.

            'He did go through,
then?'

            'Aye, he did. But
you've got to call him back.'

            'What?'

            'Call him back, you
heard me. Sit, sit a while. I think we can sit, here.'

            And so they sat.

            Once, back in the
world, Tulathia would have uttered a curse, taking the cold floor with her old
bones. Apparently here she felt the cold, too, for she did curse. For Rena's
part, she felt just the hard path beneath her as she sat, and discovered, too,
that she was grateful for the seat.

            On the misty plains
of death, their breath swirled around them as they spoke on many things. They
talked long.

            Talked about Mia,
Rena's murdered mother. They talked about old times and new times and other
things.

            Tulathia spoke long
and hard with Rena about The Outlaw King, and Rena's undying love for him. The
conversation burned Rena's soul, because for so long she had held it inside.
Finally, unaware of how long they had spoken, Rena found that she could cry in
this place after all. It was not the mist that deadened her, but her own broken
heart.

            She sobbed and held
her old, old friend. She sobbed and her heart broke all over again, but this
time there was healing, too.

            Time passed. Perhaps
it was years, perhaps hours. Rena did not know, and Tulathia could not tell
her.

            She cried, and
Tulathia held her.

            'How do I get back?'
she said, after the tears were spent.

            Tulathia smiled her
ancient, gap-toothed smile. It was a great smile. Rena felt buoyed in its
power.

            'Got to be called
back,' said the old witch. 'It's not easy. You've got to want it, too. Do you
want it, girl?'

            Rena nodded without
hesitation.

            'I do, old mother. I
do.'

            'Good and good,' said
Tulathia. 'I know not if our time is short or long. We must talk more, before
you go. We must talk about the future.'

            'You know the
future?' asked Rena.

            'No, not precisely,
girl...and you know this, for we spoke on it once before, remember?'

            'I do,' said Rena
with a sad smile. 'You told me Tarn and I would be wed. And we were, no matter
what happened afterward.'

            'Then you know well
enough that even here, in this place of power, I cannot know everything. But I
know much. I know of the Hierophant and the Queen of Thieves. Of the Witches'
Covenant.

            'It is the Covenant
that will lead you back, but we need to talk on a more important matter,' said
Tulathia, and her expression this time was grim.

            'Rena...' the old
witch hesitated. It was not like her, and suddenly Rena feared what would come
next.

            'We need to talk of
the Lich King.'

            And Rena's heart
stuttered, because from Tulathia's expression, she knew exactly what the woman
meant, and for the first time in this place she felt cold...cold with dread.

*

Chapter
Fifty-One

Snow fell lightly around the
makeshift camp and Dow slid below the horizon. Rena slept all day, and Asram
had let her. He had not wished to wake her, because he could see just how tired
she was.

            Her eyes were
permanently bloodshot, and she knuckled her back, carrying the child all day,
never complaining. But sometimes, Asram knew, strong men didn't complain and
they were the ones that broke.

            There had to be some
release.

            But the end of their
journey was in sight now. A week, perhaps, on the road, and then respite. Tarn,
the babe, was becoming bored and tired and starting to complain in that way
that babes often had - a wordless kind of irritability.

            'You'll have your
mother soon,' said Asram to the babe, who was crawling around in the snow, in
his fur mittens and tiny coat.

            It was time to move
on.

            Shawford would return
soon, as he always did come nightfall. Then they would be moving on once again.
Asram did not like the man at all, but he could not decide why. Crale was
unerringly polite, to the point of being unctuous, perhaps, but there was no
reason for his animosity.

            Still, Crale was a
stout travelling companion. He could have broken camp, but not without Crale to
help shoulder the burdens of their packs. For such a slender man, Crale was
strong enough to carry his burden without complaint.

            Asram sighed. Crale
was a problem for another day, and if the Queen Selana had decreed him a worthy
travelling companion, then he could weather him.

            He stood over the other
woman who would have been Queen of Sturma, had things worked out differently
for her and Tarn. Just for a moment he stared at her, peaceful in sleep, and he
imagined the pain she must feel from her loses and her aches forgotten in
sleep.

            He sighed again, and
began breaking their rude camp for the night's travels.

            He let her sleep for
as long as he could, but then he needed to pack up her bedroll.             'Rena,'
said Asram, leaning over the sleeping woman. The babe began crying. It was time
for his feed - long overdue - but she had needed to sleep so badly. He knew the
signs of exhaustion better than most.

            Asram Fell had
learned much, too, about the different country that was a baby in the weeks
he'd spent on the journey north with Rena and baby Tarn, and lately Shawford
Crale.

            He had grown attached
to the child. He picked the child up before he could crawl into the remains of
the camp fire. Tarn smiled and burped at him as he put the child down again and
shook Rena gently to wake her.

            But she did not wake.
Her breathing did not change. The steady rhythm did not change at all. He shook
her and called her name again. Nothing. When he pulled her eyelids open, trying
to wake her like that, he jumped back in shock.

            Her eyes were like
pools of blood.

*