Tahn Read online

  TAHN

  © 2005 by L. A. Kelly

  Published by Fleming H. Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kelly, L. A.

  Tahn : a novel / L. A. Kelly.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 0-8007-5999-0 (pbk.)

  1. Good and evil—Fiction. 2. Middle Ages—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3611.E44965T34 2005

  813'.6—dc22 2004018096

  Scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  With thanks to my literary agent, Alan Youngren, for believing in this story from the beginning; and to Emily and Jan and my pastors Terry and Debi Cain, for their continued support and valuable advice.

  Soli Deo gloria

  Contents

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  PART ONE: LIFE AND DEATH

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  PART TWO: ISSUES OF HEART

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  One morning I woke up and just knew what Tahn looked like. I hadn’t been thinking about this story previously. It was a whole new idea, and it presented itself to me in one big lump. I knew what the guy looked like. I knew what his life had been and how he felt about that. I knew the things he was going to have to do to survive and that he would be doing them not for himself but for a lady named Netta and a group of scared and dirty kids. It was huge. It consumed my thoughts. I grabbed paper and started trying to get down all the details that I could.

  I knew how the story would start, with Tahn climbing up a wall by night to steal the lady out of her room. I knew where he would take her and why he would leave her to go back for the kids. That day, I began the story. For weeks it nearly consumed me. I took paper everywhere, even to the grocery store or the playground with my kids, and I struggled to put on paper all the things that were flowing through my mind.

  I knew the story I was writing had a medieval sort of flavor to it, and yet it was unlike our real medieval history. I knew it might seem European, but it was taking place in no actual setting in Europe or anywhere else in our world. This was a story that was practically trying to write itself. And I was very aware that it claimed a place and time all its own and would defy every attempt to define it as truly “historical” fiction.

  The characters in Tahn are very real to me because of the intense level of writing energy I experienced during the summer in which I wrote the rough draft. My heart pounded in the midst of suspenseful scenes, and I could feel the intensity all the way to my toes. I cried several times, laughed once or twice. I must have seemed a little crazy to some family and friends, but I knew it was a gift. I knew it was a story that had to be told, whether or not it was ever published and regardless of what it might be called if it was.

  Tahn is special to me, though it is not my first book, because finally I accepted what I knew all along. I am a writer. And that is a calling I cannot deny. God has his purpose for me in it, even when I don’t know what that purpose is. Partly because of my experiences with Tahn, I had the confidence to finish other books I was working on, as well as more ideas that I had set aside for so long.

  I knew as I was writing Tahn that there was a message in it about the incredible mercy of our loving God, who reaches down to the lowest depths of humanity with his saving grace. But the story also speaks of the forgiveness necessary among men. Even when the peril of the story had lessened and the villains were no longer such a present and direct threat, I knew the story could not end until certain choices were made. Love or self-guarded preservation? Forgiveness or the bitter hate that hangs on so tightly and begs for justification?

  It is my hope that readers of this story will think about such choices in their own life. I hope they remember Tahn and see past the surface of the next ruffian they meet. I hope they see a potential hero in every lost and wayward child and pray accordingly. Then Tahn and I will have done our jobs.

  PART ONE

  LIFE

  AND

  DEATH

  1

  Tahn crept up the stone wall like a reptile silent after its prey. Almost he hoped that the young woman was not in the room above him, he so loathed what was to come. But he knew she was there. He had seen the flicker of her candle and enough silhouette in the window to know it was her.

  He stopped for a moment, almost three stories up, to take a breath and prepare his mind. Lady Netta would be terrified of a stranger taking her by force from her family home. And she would be even more terrified if she remembered the one time they had seen each other before this night.

  But what choice did he have? She would not leave willingly. Not with him. And Tahn knew that if he did not steal her away this night, someone else would. Someone who cared far less for her dignity or her life.

  He hoped she would not struggle too much, for the thought that he might hurt her pained his heart.

  Everything was quiet. The nobleman Trilett and his kinsmen were sleeping in their regal manor, the pride of Onath, most blessed of all the towns of Turis. Cool wind rustled in the trees beyond the wall and gate, defenses in which the Trilett family had long placed far too much confidence.

  Guards should have been posted, many of them and not at the gate alone, to protect the lady and those she loved. By morning this grand home would be a shell emptied of its glory. And there was nothing he could do but try to ensure that none of the Lady Netta’s blood would be shed there.

  Her window above him was dark as he pulled upward toward it. Even his boots on the weathered stone made no sound. The lattice shutters were not difficult to push aside, and he was up and over the sill quickly.

  He thought of another stone home in the Trilett hands, a different wall he had once climbed to a roof garden. Karll had been the young man’s name. He had screamed to his bride in warning and had fought so valiantly.

  Tahn shoved those thoughts from his mind. The Lady Netta. She lay on the bed here now, already sleeping. In an instant he was upon her. With one hand he squeezed both her wrists tight together. And with the other hand he pressed down firmly over her mouth. Even in the darkness, he could easily read the terror in her suddenly opened eyes.

  “Do not scream,” he ordered her. “Do not struggle, and I’ll not hurt you.”

  But she struggled. She squirmed beneath him like a wild thing, but he was too strong for her and too good at anticipating her efforts. “You must cooperate with me tonight, or you will die,” he warned. “Do you understand?”

  His hand still pressed against her mouth, pushing her into the bed. The sight of her trembling nod made his insides burn. She would never understand. Her fear would be joined by so much more hatred when she realized who it was that had come to apprehend her. But he could find no alternative. Her family wou
ld never have listened to him. No more than a peasant could believe that a fox among chickens would protect them from the approach of wolves. He would have to get her out and hope that at least some of the Triletts would try to follow.

  He rose from the darkness beneath the canopy of her bed, pulling her up with him. Clouds parted from the moon outside as the lady gained her footing in the middle of the room. He could not bear the look in her eyes. Did she know him already? Did she know that her black-garbed demon had returned?

  “I will tie you,” he told her quickly. “Because I cannot risk you escaping. But first I will let you gather warm clothing and whatever else you need. Without a sound. And very quickly, do you understand? If you wish to live, you must cooperate.”

  Slowly he released his hold on her. “Hurry,” he commanded. “Or you will leave with nothing.”

  Feeling numb, Netta forced herself to obey the frightening intruder. How could this be happening? What might he do?

  She pulled her warmest, bulkiest dress over her nightgown and laced on her shoes. Her comb, a sewing bag, and a few pages of handwritten script lay on the bedside table. She stuffed all of them into the pocket of her cloak and pulled it around her shoulders. Her mind was racing, hoping for a way of escape from this man. He’d surely kill her if she screamed or tried to run from the room. He’d already warned her of that.

  She had no way of knowing what his intentions were. How did he even expect to get out of here without rousing someone?

  She turned and stood as straight as she could, though her heart was pounding and the fear was like a sodden weight in her stomach. She would have to do what he said. He left her no choice.

  Without a word, he took hold of her wrists and tied them tightly. Then he pulled a scarf from his pocket and gagged her. He had a long length of rope at his waist, and he knotted it carefully at the windowsill. When he had secured it well, he gave the end a toss through the open window. Then he grabbed her bound arms and looped them over his head.

  “Don’t scream,” he told her. “Not till we get to the ground.”

  And they were suddenly out the window. Netta was dizzy with the terror of it. He scarcely held her at all. She simply dangled there on the neck of her kidnapper as he stole her away. Tears came unbidden and flowed in silent streams down her cheeks. When they were finally on the ground, he set her down in the dirt and picked up a stone. He looked up at the other windows of the great house. “Which is your father’s room?” he asked.

  She sat and stared at him. How could he expect her to answer that? She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t help this brazen villain. He might hurt her father. He might do anything.

  “Point, Lady!” he insisted.

  She shook her head boldly, defiantly, though inside her heart was quaking.

  He hurled the stone anyway, at the one window that held a soft glow of candlelight. His aim was true and strong, and the stone went crashing into the room of Netta’s Uncle Winn.

  She tried to scream, and to her surprise, he reached and pulled the gag away from her mouth. “Yes,” he told her. “Loud, now!” He grabbed her by the waist, threw her over his shoulder, and began to run. And she screamed, fearing for the reason he would let her. But maybe they would hear. Maybe they could do something before he got very far.

  He was going to the back wall, farthest from the guarded gate. And she soon saw that he had prepared it for their exit. A long plank leaned against it like a ramp, and he was up like a cat without even slowing down. At the top, he held her with one hand and used the other to pull the board up until it leaned down the other side. He took the slope at a run and then kicked the plank to the ground at the bottom. She screamed again, hoping the guard from the gate would come, or her strong cousins, and stop this man before he could disappear with her into the night. But why, why would he let her scream and take that chance? Why would he tell her to?

  He suddenly stopped and replaced her gag. She tried to fight him. She tried to struggle as he lifted her again. He was not a very big man, but there was little she could do in the strength of his grasp.

  When they reached the woods, a horse was waiting for them. “This is Smoke,” the kidnapper suddenly said. He lifted her to the horse’s back and jumped up behind her. “Try to be calm,” he told her. “I swear I will not hurt you.”

  But she did not believe him. It was like a horrible dream, to be planted in the saddle with the strange young man’s strong arms ensnaring her. His clothes, his long hair, and his eyes were all black beneath the moonlight. She shuddered to think of another black-garbed intruder, on the roof of the springhouse, his sword dripping with the blood of her husband. She’d loved Karll so and had known him in marriage for less than a week when the fiendish killer took him away.

  She glanced down at the kidnapper’s hands holding tight at the reins in front of her, and she began to tremble. He was so much like that killer. Small and fierce and quiet. It had been three years ago, but she had barely recovered. And now the horror was back again. She could not control the sobs that broke over her.

  “We will meet with company soon,” he told her steadily. “I am sorry for it, but I have no choice. I will be rid of him quickly. He is a rough man, but I will not let him harm you.”

  He sat in silence a while longer as they rode through the depth of shadowy woods. And then he seemed to sigh. “Your father’s home will be attacked this night, Lady,” he said. “That is why I let your screams call them from sleep, once we were outside where they could not stop us. If they are already alert to a trouble, they are not so likely to be slaughtered in their beds. May they be elsewhere, searching for you with their weapons in hand.”

  The trees gave way to meadow. Netta’s captor gave the horse a quick nudge, and the animal broke into a trot. When they slowed again for the return of dense black forest, he continued his talk. “The dark angels will burn your home. But Samis sent me to capture you separately, before the rest are assailed. He has plans of his own for you. The man we meet will have his orders where you are to be taken, but I have no intention of following them. I will hide you.”

  Netta listened with apprehension. Was it true, what he said? Her home attacked? She greatly hoped not. But he dared claim to be helping? By carrying her off like this?

  “I mean you no harm, Lady,” he went on. “You might think we should have stayed to fight for your family, but they would have had me away before the true enemy came. I know you cannot trust my word. And I alone would be too little help against the numbers tonight. I used the order to capture you as a chance to spare your life.”

  She sat silent in front of him. She feared there could be some truth to his words. She knew her father had an enemy in the Baron Trent, a rival for the throne left vacant for seven years as factions of their kingdom warred amongst themselves. The peaceful Trilett family were not crown-seekers, and certainly not mighty of arms, but they were highly favored of the common people, which was enough to incite the jealousy of greedier men.

  But though she knew those dangers, she could not possibly trust this man. He was so much like Karll’s murderer. Like the devil himself, who was also the father of lies.

  She wondered that he seemed to be taking no precautions to avoid leaving a trail. Even when they reached a stream, he followed alongside it a great ways instead of going in.

  “The cottage is just ahead,” he soon told her. “His name is Darin, and he’s an oaf. Try to do what he says, and it will be easier. I won’t leave you alone with him.” He turned the horse with a barely perceivable flick of his hand. “He will expect that I left your family sleeping. But if they are able to follow us here, I’ll not fight them. My object was to get you away from there.”

  Tahn didn’t speak again as they rode the rest of the way. It was just too hard, with this shaking young woman encircled in his arms. For a moment he almost wished he had sunk the dagger into his own flesh as he’d intended such a short time ago. But her life depended on him now. And the little ones depended on him to
o. Riding here from Samis’s Valhal, he’d decided he could not leave them to face the torment he’d known. He could not die until he had them all safely hidden. The lady and the street urchins. Together. It was the only way he knew. Perhaps they could help each other. Perhaps they could even come to care about each other.

  He thought of Lucas, bearing the master’s summons, who had stepped into his room barely in time to stop him from thrusting the cold dagger into his own heart. But it was the summons that did the stopping. Because the new orders were against the Triletts, and only this compulsion to spare the lady could have given him the will to live on. Still, he wished he could have brought Lucas with him, because he had cared, finding Tahn so close to suicide. But Lucas was a dark angel the same as he was. He would have his own orders to contend with tonight, much as he would hate them.

  A stab of pain bore through his heart with the memory of Lucas praying when they were little boys shut up in a dark room by night. Perhaps Netta Trilett was also praying right now. To the God of justice. And good.

  But he must stop this foolishness, letting his thoughts wander so freely. He must concentrate on the task ahead. He drove Smoke on through the woods, carefully considering Valhal, Samis’s stronghold, and how he could possibly breach it to bring the children outside. A miracle it would take, he knew that. And he could expect no favor from heaven.

  Soon Netta saw the dim glow of a window ahead. Her dark-clothed captor dismounted soundlessly and stroked his horse’s head for a moment as he looked at the cottage in front of them. He seemed to be whispering something to the animal he’d called Smoke. And then he pulled a long sword down from among the horse’s bags and strapped it to his side.

  Netta trembled. He was too familiar. Too like that killer from the springhouse roof.

  He looked up at her soundlessly, and she could not help but think of Karll’s brave struggle. Could this be the same man? Had he been the one to leave her lover bleeding to death in her helpless arms?