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

was
thankful. It was the most enjoyable afternoon of Tarn’s short life. His heart
felt light for the first time. He didn’t worry about the future at all, just
enjoyed each moment with Rena. After her initial embarrassment she turned out
to be funny and warm, and perhaps even more mature than Tarn. She told him she
trained to be a witch like her mother, and could name every flower they
happened upon in the woods.
                Tarn
didn’t want the day to end, but eventually he knew he would have to walk Rena
back through the woods.
                The
walk took two hours, and by the time Tarn got there, his feet were aching. He
knew he had to get back soon, or he would be walking in the dark. He declined the
offer of a cup of spiced hot water, knowing Molly would have food and drink for
him when he got back.
                ‘Thank
you for walking me back,’ said Rena, at the door to her hut.
                ‘Thanks
for coming to see me. I’ll come to see you next.’
                Rena
nodded. As Tarn turned to go, she grabbed him with enthusiasm and kissed him on
the cheek.
                ‘Bye
then!’ she blurted and dashed through her door.
                Tarn
stood there for a moment, then walked off with a light step.
                He
got back in full dark. Molly and Gard didn’t say a thing, but just watched him
eating his evening meal with knowing smiles on their faces.
                Tarn
fell to sleep and it was the most peaceful night since his father’s death.
     
    *

 
    Chapter Fourteen
     
    Tulathia
was a more accomplished witch than Rena. But she was also older. She felt the
cold more keenly. She wore a thick woollen cloak, and carried a heavy pack on
her curved back. Necessity dictated that she walk. A proper witch never rode.
Beasts were not to be taken for granted.
                Winter
had been hard on Tulathia. She could make fire easily enough, but the wood she
used was damp or covered with snow. She could not burrow into the frozen earth
for the roots she needed for sustenance, and the tree bark she used to make
teas and stews with did not grow in the south of Sturma. Over the course of
three months she walked nearly the length of the country, camped for a whole
month with no way of making it through the massive drifts. She thought the
journey might have taken a few years off her life. Such journeys were for young
heroes, not old women with arthritic hips. She welcomed spring with a wisdom
born of age and the need for warmth.
                Tired
to her deepest bones, she reached the Wherry. The village was much like other
villages Tulathia stopped at on her way south. She asked for directions in the
village to the nearest witch’s home, and was directed with a small amount of
suspicion and a healthy amount of respect to Mia Terene’s hut, a mile north of
the village. The villagers knew better than to get involved in the dealings of
witches, and did not question her on why she wanted to go there. Even the
children knew a witch. She carried herself with a superior air, and though her
back was crooked, she still had the knack of looking down her nose at people.
                She
made the final mile after sunset, not wanting to make camp so close to her
final destination, and knocked on Mia’s door in the black of night.
                The
door to the hut fitted badly enough to let a draft through. Tulathia thought
she would have to do something about that. Her own hut was out in the woods –
no matter how much a witch’s people feared or respected her, it always made
sense to keep your distance. The mystery was part of a witch’s power. It would
not do for her people to know she relieved herself in the woods like everybody
else.
                The
door creaked as Mia opened it. Tulathia was impressed. Mia was a stunning
woman. Thick red hair with soft curls,