The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One by Craig Saunders Read Free Book Online

man’s hand.
                Tarn
smiled sadly at them both, and for the first time his eyes were moist. ‘I love
you both, for you are the kindest people I have met in my short years, but I
don’t think I will ever be safe. For some reason, the Thane of Naeth wants me
dead.’
     
    *

 
    Chapter Twelve
     
    The
Thane of Naeth paced the throne room in his stolen castle. His soldiers had
searched the Lare Woods, where the king died, and for a hundred miles in all
directions, even into the Spar, and relations with the Thane there were fragile
at best. Now the snow was too thick on the ground for horses.
                His
journey to the cathedral at Kus had proved to be a wasted trip. The crown would
not bear his head. The priests there insisted they could do nothing. It was
fey, ancient magic that kept him from proclaiming himself king. The crown would
only pass to him upon the death of the line of kings. Only then could there be
a new king.
                Furious
though he might be, he was not prone to fits of rage. His blood boiled with the
draught his advisor gave him, but that was the only fire he allowed himself.
                Instead,
he made plans. Perhaps the boy had gone further? He thought it unlikely. One so
young could not survive alone. He would put up a reward. The people would turn
on him. They would not tell from fear, but greed…the Thane knew greed to be a
tool he could use. It overruled fear. It had a power all its own.
                Come
the spring, when the snows cleared, he would send his men out with the decree.
The roads were all but impassable now. He had waited this long, he could wait a
while longer.
                Patience,
he counselled himself. He did not need Merelith for that.
     
    *

 
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    Tarn
passed his fourteenth birthday shovelling crusted snow from the first floor
entrance of the farm house. Spring was round the corner and the work around the
farm was all toward the coming rains and the birthing. New lambs would be born,
the fields would clear and the grass would once again become feed.
                Tarn
toiled and ate. A spurt of growth during the winter meant Molly had to make the
boy new leggings. They were loose things, made of spun wool.  Tarn hadn’t the
heart to ask for something new. They itched like crazy, but he thanked her and
wore them each day without complaint. He was not given to complaining. He had a
full belly and work to do. He was as content as he could be.
                He
thought of Rena often, and wondered how her winter had been. With the snow
clearing, he thought each day of making the trip out to Rena’s mother’s hut in
the woods. Soon, he would go and visit her, perhaps ask her to walk with him.
Gard gave him no time free though. Tarn did not mind. He was not a shirker.
                For
ten days no snow fell.
    With
spring came rain and the promise of new life. For Tarn, however, there were no
romantic notions. He was ankle deep in mud most of the time. One day the rain
stopped, and Carious and Dow shone between the clouds. Tarn and Gard stopped
work on the fence around their fields, and turned their faces to the sky.
                ‘Let’s
take a rest, Tarn. I think our first sight of the suns for three months
warrants a break.’
                Tarn,
soaked and sore of hand, agreed.
                ‘We’re
nearly there. We should be finished tomorrow.’
                'I
think you’re right, boy.’ Gard saw Tarn rubbing his hands. ‘Your hands have
grown calloused, eh?’
                ‘Yes,’
said Tarn. ‘I’m like an old carpenter.’
                ‘Worse
things to be.’
                ‘What,
like an old farmer?’
                ‘You
watch yourself, or you’ll never get the chance to be an old anything.’ Gard had
not thought to ask the boy what he