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

into the woods.
                ‘Sit,
boy. I have neglected the most important weapon of all.’
                ‘I’ve
trained against all weapons but the mace and the flail. What else is there?’
                ‘Your
mind, boy, your mind.’
                Tarn
was wise enough not to say anything. He had grown to trust Gard’s training
methods. He was now a fair swordsman, and proficient against many weapons. He
had mastered dagger work, and was a fair archer with a good eye and a steady arm.
But he lacked concentration. More bruises were due to his mind wandering than
bad weapon work.
                ‘Very
well. What do you suggest?’
                ‘A
trick to control your mind. Clear your mind of everything. Breathe as I have
told you, count your breaths. When you reach one hundred, picture a carmillion
blossom. Picture it opening, imagine the smell. Start now.’
                Tarn
cleared his mind, but found it wandering back to Rena. He counted, and lost
count many times. Gard waited patiently, eyes closed, his back against a tree.
Eventually, frustration mounting, Tarn said, ‘I can’t do it. I can’t even get
as far as the flower.’
                Gard
opened his eyes and smiled at the boy. ‘Give it time. Try again tonight, and
each night, until you can picture the flower, see it bloom, hear it bloom,
smell its scent. It will come. It will stave off rage, and keep you calm. It is
called meditation and with practise, you will be able to summon your flower
even in the heat of battle and the depths of pain. All distractions will fade.
You will be able to use what you learn to focus your mind on the present. Then,
and only then, will you be the master of your own mind. The mind loses more
battles than a weak sword arm.’
                Tarn
could see the sense in it. It was similar to what his father taught him, to help
steady his arm with the bow. He resolved to practise each night.
     
    *

 
    Chapter Twenty-Eight
     
    Tulathia
held Rena’s hand. Darkness came earlier and summer would soon pass.
                ‘Why
have you never asked me to tell your future before?’
                ‘I
never thought I needed to know, old mother,’ said Rena. ‘I have plans now,
though, and would see them to their fruition.’
                Tulathia
laughed. ‘Plans are all well and good, child, but the future I see can be
changed.’
                ‘What
do you see of love in my life?’
                ‘You
wish to know if you and the boy will marry?’
                ‘How
did you know?’ asked Rena, shocked.
                ‘It
is no secret, girl. Even Tarn must know how you feel about him now.’
                ‘Am
I so obvious?’
                ‘To
all but a badger.’
                Mia
hid her smile beneath her hand. She thought the boy a good match. In truth, she
knew her daughter could wed no other. Her love was far from subtle. Each week
they walked the woods together, or visited the village. They went together to
the fair, in spring, and summer, and autumn. When the snows of winter were at their
heaviest Tarn still managed to follow the trail to their hut in his cloak of
wolves’ fur, made from the hides of three wolves, taken from a pack that had
been killing Gard’s sheep. The boy and Gard tracked the pack through the woods
and Tarn killed two with a bow, Gard one with a knife.
                It
was a fine cloak.
                ‘Very
well, mother, Tulathia, have your fun, but let me know, will we wed? For such a
boon the price must surely be small?’
                ‘Small?
Maybe. Maybe. You ask the future, I will ask you for a favour.’
                ‘What
favour?’
                ‘Telling
first, Rena, favours later. You know that well