Free The Outlaw King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One by Craig Saunders Page A

the future, and something else; a strange sense of foreboding he could
not shake.
     
    *

 
    Chapter Eighteen
     
    That
night everyone in the village of Wherry but Gothar and Asthar slept. The boy
who bullied Rena and other children in the village had grown fat. His father,
the tanner, thought him a good boy. But Gothar could not be changed. There was
no reason for his manner with the other children, and even though he was polite
to adults, when he thought he could get away with it he would push other
children into the mud, or steal their food. If anyone fought back he was quick
with his fists, and always remembered those children that hit him.
                He
plotted long and hard on how to get back at the boy Tarn. A year of anger
boiling. On the rare occasions he saw the boy in the village it was all he
could do to hold his rage in check. He wanted true vengeance, and a punch in
the face would not be good enough. Even though he was a wicked boy, he would
never go against the will of the village and tell the soldiers where the boy
hid. He did not want him dead.
                Gothar,
fully dressed under his blankets, threw his covers back and snuck out of the
house. The floorboards creaked unmercifully, but his father did not stir. The
big lad, fat coddling his weighty bones, wasn’t worried about his mother
waking. She was five years in the mud.
                Gently
shutting the door behind him, Gothar ran to the edge of the woods, where his
friends were waiting. Asthar was there first.
                ‘I
thought you’d never come,’ said the youth, already showing signs of spots on
his face.
                ‘I
had to wait for father to start snoring, otherwise he’s a light sleeper,’
panted Gothar, a little out of breath.
                ‘The
moons are already high. We better not wait for Bateman, he’s not coming.’
                ‘Coward.
Very well then, let’s go.’
                The
two boys set off through the woods, dark among the trees, even though Hren, the
larger moon, sat above Gern.
                The
path was difficult in the dark. Gothar stumbled many times, and soon huffed
with the exertion. Asthar held back and waited for his big friend. Though he
thought this nighttime excursion a fool’s quest, he said nothing.
                They
spoke little on the way, and though Gothar would not admit it, the night’s
noises frightened him. He heard the cries of many creatures in the woods, and
he did not know what they were. It increased his fear.
                After
an hour of walking, Gothar wanted to go back. His fear and his weight were
making his legs tremble. Asthar saw his friend struggling, but carried on.
Gothar would be angry if he stopped and asked after him. The big lad would just
grumble and tell him to shut up. No, he could carry his own weight. After all,
this stupid trek was Gothar’s idea. Asthar thought it more sensible to just
fight the boy when next he came into the village. But no, Gothar had to have
his way. It was good being friends with the big lad, thought Asthar, but only
because it meant he wasn’t the one being picked on.
                Suddenly,
there came a great roar from the woods. It sounded like a boar, but no boar was
that loud. It sounded close, too.
                ‘What
was that?’ asked Gothar, fear shaking his voice.
                ‘I
think it’s a boar.’
                ‘Is
it coming here?’
                ‘I
doubt it,’ said Asthar. ‘Boars don’t hunt people.’
                ‘Good.
That’s good. Let’s carry on then.’
                ‘But
it’s not unheard of that a boar will protect its territory. And we carry no
arms,’ said Asthar, seeing his chance to end the enterprise.
                ‘Really?’
said Gothar, his voice shaking. He stopped and looked