Read Online The Thief King: The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two by Craig R. Saunders, Craig Saunders - Free Book Online Page A

Then Tarn had saved him, taught him how to fend for himself in
the woods. It had been a hard time, but some of it had been good. If his old
friend had been with him now he had no doubt he would have made them a
serviceable shelter in no time.
                He
would have to wait to see if the rain was a long-term fixture or if it would
pass. He was loath to make a more permanent shelter if he was to move on in a
few hours.
                As
it was he sat under his makeshift cover and watched the rain pour down the
edges of his skins, and then drip over the edges onto his head. He shivered and
pulled his hood up. At least his cloak was made for the wet.
                He
glanced over at Minstrel. Even the horse looked moody and sullen in this
weather.
                Rising
from his huddle, the thief scanned the horizon. The sky was black as far as the
eye could see.
                He
set about making himself a decent shelter. He would be going no further this
day.
     
    *
     

 
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    The
rain persisted all that day and all night. The thief used his sword to cut
branches, diagonally, as his old friend had shown him. The lessons learned seem
so old. He had already forgotten much. He intertwined what branches he could, making
a solid lattice, with the leaves left on. This he propped between the twin
boles of a great split tree, creating a makeshift roof. He placed the skins
over the top of his shelter. It kept some rain out, but it still leaked and the
rain dripped onto his hood.
                His
sweat cooled and he shivered in the sudden cold. True autumn had begun. The
trees at first had given a measure of shelter, but now the wind was picking up
and the red-gold leaves were being blown from the trees. The wind whipped
through the copse of trees and chilled him to the bone. His hands were numb,
and he couldn’t even build a fire. There was no dry wood. Had he known he was
going to be forced to camp in this autumn storm he would have thought to bring
some dry wood into the camp, but it was too late for that now.
                So
he kept his arms wrapped tightly around his chest and tried to conserve his
warmth. The day passed miserably. The night was even worse. He couldn’t sleep,
for the rain poured around his seat and made the ground too wet to lay on.
Everywhere he looked was mud, and still the rain did not abate. When night came,
the wind howled, testing his woodcraft to the limit. The cloud cover was too
heavy for even the slightest hint of a moon to peek through. It was almost
pitch darkness, but as he became accustomed to it he realised that there was a
slight light, just enough to see a foot or so in front of him.
                The
woods at night were a different world to that which he had been born. The last
time he had been forced to camp outdoors he’d had company. Alone, the sounds of
the night took on new meaning. Even over the heavy downpour he could hear
snuffling creatures, their vision vastly better than his, coming around to see
who this human interloper was. And perhaps to take the measure of him. Should
he be found wanting, would they test him?
                Rustling
undergrowth…a boar? A badger? Or just a land mir, rooting around for a more
comfortable seat in the wet?
                He
tried to turn his imagination to lighter thoughts. He tried to remember the
last time he had spent the night with a woman, then became depressed because it
had been so long ago.
                He
wondered how long he would be stuck out in the woods, driven to find shelter in
a woodland where there were no handy caves and it was impossible to get in the
lee of the wind. The wind out here seemed to come from all directions, and be
as bold as youngsters playing peek-a-drawers with the baker’s daughter.
                The
thunder had quit before dusk, but in the darkest hour of the night, just