The Call of the Sylvana (The Sylvan Chronicles Book 2)

by Peter Wacht

  He had marveled at their size and speed. Fearhound, in his opinion, was a misnomer. There was no mistaking their resemblance to normal hounds in terms of the shape of their bodies, but they were actually the size of small ponies, their top two canine teeth extending beyond their lower jaw. Thomas targeted the largest Fearhounds in the pack first. He did so again as the three beasts attacked.

  Two of the charging Fearhounds died before they reached the base of the hill. Thomas let the third get a little closer. He had done well so far, and he didn’t want to make a mistake. The snarl, the sharp teeth, the saliva dripping from the mouth of the enraged Fearhound heightened his anticipation, his adrenaline from the skirmish coursing though his veins.

  He focused solely on his target — the eye. Sighting carefully, he took a deep breath, then released the bowstring. The arrow flew true to its mark, taking the last Fearhound in the eye and knocking it back down the hill.

  The whole skirmish lasted no more than a minute or two. Yet, by the end of it, Thomas was sweating profusely. It was then that he realized exactly what he had accomplished. If Rya found out about what he had just done, she’d do much worse to him than the Fearhounds ever could. When his body started to shake he decided it was time to go. The farmer would have to clean up the mess himself.

  When had he stopped thinking? The better question was when had he completely lost his senses? Only a fool would stand calmly on a hill and shoot arrows at a pack of Fearhounds, so certain of his skill that he knew he could kill all nine. But he had done it, without even considering the Talent as a possible weapon. He hadn’t wanted to waste his strength.

  The shakes left him a few hours later, replaced by a feeling of satisfaction. Thomas had known since his time on the Stone that his true enemy was the Shadow Lord. Though he could not get at him directly, he could hurt him in other ways. Every one of the Shadow Lord’s creatures that Thomas destroyed was another prick in the skin of the Shadow Lord, and a miniscule weakening of his power. A more noble cause Thomas could not imagine.

  From that point forward, Thomas took every opportunity to cross into the Highlands. Yet, his desire to go there came only in part from the fact that the Highlands was his responsibility, as decreed by the Sylvana. Rather, he was still unsure of how to handle the burden placed on him by Talyn.

  This was his land, and his people, but what could one person do? What could he do? And would the Highlanders really want to see him?

  They had never really considered him one of their own, viewing him as an outsider and a freak, in some respects, because of his mother’s abilities. Because of his uncertainty, instead he tried to help his people when he could in his own way. Though his guilt remained, his constant forays across the channel lessened it somewhat.

  Thomas walked into the kitchen and greeted his grandparents, who sat at the table finishing their breakfasts. Rya’s eyebrows rose in a questioning glance upon seeing Thomas set his weapons and an extra quiver of arrows by the door, her face twisting with concern. Thomas ignored her and scooped out a helping of porridge, sprinkled some sugar on top, settled into a chair and dug in hungrily.

  Rya didn’t like her grandson’s more and more frequent excursions to the Highlands, but she couldn’t stop him. Though Thomas was a Sylvan Warrior, and the Highlands were his to protect, that didn’t stop her from worrying. Of course, Rynlin showed little concern for the actions of his grandson, which irritated her to no end. She felt like she had to do the worrying for the both of them.

  “So where are you off to this morning?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “To the Highlands.”

  “Of course, the Highlands. You certainly do have a good day for it.” No matter how hard she tried, small flecks of worry crept into her voice.

  “Have you heard of this Raptor?” asked Rynlin, jumping into the conversation. “This person, or creature perhaps, is developing quite a reputation.”

  Thomas almost leapt out of his seat upon hearing the name, but he controlled the reflex, just barely. Keeping his eyes averted, he focused on eating the rest of his porridge.

  “No, no I haven’t,” said Rya. Maybe her husband was worried after all.

  “Well, it’s supposedly a man or creature of some sort,” said Rynlin, leaning forward in his chair so that he was directly across from Thomas. Thomas tried to ignore Rynlin, but it was hard to do when his grandfather hovered over his breakfast. “The few people who live in the Burren and Oakwood Forest, as well as many Highlanders, have sworn they’ve seen it, whatever it may be. It’s even been seen near the Breaker. Anyway, almost every time Ogren or Shades or Fearhounds are sighted in the region, this Raptor shows up as well. People say this Raptor fought a Shade and tore it apart limb by limb.”

  Rynlin sat back in his chair, giving Thomas some room, but his eyes retained their questioning gaze. “Personally, I think it must be a man. You need hands if you’re going to use a bow, and that seems to be one of its preferred weapons. Are you sure you haven’t heard any of these stories, Thomas?”

  “A few perhaps,” he replied, scooping the last of the porridge into his mouth. He hoped that his expression was one of innocence. Unfortunately, he didn’t think he was fooling anyone.

  The slow speed of Rynlin’s investigation wore on Rya’s nerves, so she took over for her husband. “Rynlin, you always take so long to get to the point.” She turned her steely eyes on Thomas. “You’re getting quite a reputation, Thomas.”

  “Maybe,” he said noncommittally. At times he could be remarkably mature. At others, much to his grandmother’s annoyance, he could act like a child. “It really wasn’t something I was looking for. I’m just doing what I’m supposed to be doing as a member of the Sylvana.”

  “You are, Thomas,” said Rynlin. “But you don’t have to rid the Highlands of every single dark creature all by yourself.”

  “I assume you’re being careful?”

  “Rya, after everything you and Rynlin taught me, don’t you think I can take care of myself?”

  “We don’t doubt your skills, Thomas,” said Rynlin. “We just don’t want you to get overconfident.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  Swinging his legs out from underneath the table, Thomas slung his pack over his shoulder with his bow and extra quiver of arrows. After adjusting the sword at his hip, he made his way to the oven and grabbed a few cinnamon rolls cooling on the windowsill before heading for the door. On his way out, he gave his grandmother a kiss on the cheek. He had learned a long time before that killing someone with kindness, especially someone as irascible as his grandmother, was often the best course of action.

  “You’re insufferable,” she called after him as he walked out the door, laughing under her breath.

  “I know,” he replied as he closed the door behind him. The Highlands were beckoning.

  Rya sighed. “I worry about him.”

  “I know. But this is what he is now, for a while longer anyway. Besides, I think it helps him in a way.”

  “Putting himself in danger all the time?” Rynlin ignored his wife’s sarcastic tone. Sometimes she let her concern get the better of her, and it usually came out through her vitriolic tongue.

  “No,” replied Rynlin, refusing to be baited. He didn’t feel like arguing with his wife this morning. “What I mean is, if your family was murdered, or rather the one person you cared about most as a child, and you knew who was ultimately responsible, and you now had a way to get back at him, wouldn’t you take every opportunity to do so?”

  Rya thought about it for a moment, but Rynlin already knew her answer. “Yes, I guess I would.”

  Rynlin sat back in his chair, extending his legs underneath the table, a satisfied smile on his face.

  “But that’s not really what’s bothering me,” said Rya. Rynlin knew it immediately. It was going to be one of those mornings. Mornings he had come to dread over the years.

  “What are you worried about?”

  “When Thomas
is off the island, he can be found.” All of Rya’s fears were coming to the surface, and her voice grew louder as a result. “The Shadow Lord knows who he is now. We knew that as soon as he stood on the Stone. He could send a Nightstalker after him again. If he’s too far into the Highlands, we wouldn’t be able to help him in time.”

  “Well, that is a valid concern,” said Rynlin.

  “Thank you very much for agreeing.”

  Based on the sharpness of her tone, the vitriol was virtually spilling from her. Rynlin sighed. It was going to be a wonderful day. And the morning had gotten off to such an excellent start. He kept the sarcasm to himself, of course. No need to irritate his wife further. When he was younger he might have voiced his thought, but that would have only pushed Rya closer to the edge. He was thankful that he had gotten somewhat wiser with age.

  “Rya, I don’t think we have to worry about that, at least for the time being.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because all of the Shadow Lord’s previous attempts have failed, and Thomas is much stronger now. If a Nightstalker comes within a league of him, Thomas will know. And if that happens, I’d be more worried for the Nightstalker.” Rynlin’s attempt at humor only made Rya’s face turn sourer, so he continued. “Besides, if the Shadow Lord really wants to find him, whether or not Thomas is on the Isle of Mist won’t matter. There is no place Thomas can hide from him. All we can do is let him live his life and hope that he listened to some of what we tried to teach him.”

  Rya let out a long breath and relaxed into the back of her chair. “I know you’re right, Rynlin, but I still don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either,” said Rynlin. “Now why don’t you bring over a few of those cinnamon rolls. They smell delicious.”

  The look Rya gave him could have burned through steel. “If you want one, get it yourself. I might be your wife, but I’m not your servant.”

  Rynlin sighed inwardly. The conversation had been going so well. Rynlin decided that he was going to have to pay more attention to Rya’s moods today. Otherwise he was going to get himself into more trouble than usual, and that was quite a lot as it was.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Attacked

  Oso had lain in bed for most of the night, unable to sleep. He certainly should have. His body demanded it, but his mind won out. He had spent the past week clearing a small patch of burned-out forest to increase the size of the village’s fields for next spring’s planting.

  Now finished, he could take some time for himself — and go hunting. Unfortunately, the excitement of the day to come had worked against him during the night. As the hours slowly passed he had considered getting an early start just after midnight. Reason had won out, though, and he decided to leave at first light.

  Like most Highlanders, hunting was one of his passions. The challenge of the chase never failed to get his adrenaline flowing. Nevertheless, his desire to hunt was stronger than usual. Though he would never admit it to anyone other than himself, he really just wanted to escape the village for a time. Lately, people had been treating him differently, and it was making him extremely uncomfortable. He would much rather confront a charging boar than deal with the looks some of the village women directed toward him.

  Oso’s father died soon after the Crag fell, and his mother a few years after, a victim of the mines. Oso shifted on his bed — a few blocks of wood, a large board and an old straw mattress with more holes than cloth — and set his feet on the dirt floor of his hut. He ran his large hands through his long, blond hair in frustration. He had wanted to save his mother, but couldn’t. No one could have. Not with Killeran’s warlocks about.

  Even still, his failure haunted him almost every day. Though no one ever mentioned it, they all knew why he trained so hard during his weapons practice. Only one person could best him now in the circle — Alus — and that wouldn’t last for much longer. Thinking of what had happened to his family, even now, years past, still made his blood boil.

  Since then, the women of his village had looked after him. Oso politely turned down several offers to move into their homes. He didn’t want to burden anyone. Instead, he built his own, small hut at the very edge of the village. Of course, he was not above allowing the women to mend his shirts or make him a new pair of pants when needed. There were certain things he just didn’t have the skill or the patience for. Because of his circumstances, all the village women saw him as their own. Now, he sensed they saw him as something else. The change occurred when he reached his seventeenth summer just a month before.

  Now, the women always seemed to weigh him with their eyes, and several, the ones with daughters, had taken a particular interest in him. What made him even more uncomfortable, though, were the daughters. Oso was a shy boy, and the suggestive looks and teasing he received from the girls set his face on fire. Those who succeeded in making him blush laughed in delight. Even worse, his embarrassment only made them intensify their efforts. After what Sara had said the day before, his need to get away increased. Her daughter, Kera, really was quite beautiful, and Oso liked the way her black curls drifted over her eyes when she bent her head. But there was something in those eyes that worried him.

  “You’re a man now,” she had said. Oso remembered the words exactly, and they had played through his mind a dozen times during the night. “My Kera really is quite a catch, Kylin. Perhaps you’d like to join us for dinner on the morrow?”

  It was a seemingly innocuous conversation. Normally, it would not have bothered him. But she had called him Kylin! His given name. Hearing it set off a warning bell in his head. She had called him Kylin! Many Highland children grew up with nicknames. When the adults decided to use your proper name, it meant that you were ready to marry. For the last month he had laughed off the hints thrown his way, not taking them seriously. But now, what was he to do? If he wasn’t careful, within the week he could be betrothed. And the week after that married! He wasn’t ready for that.

  “Women,” he mumbled to himself in frustration.

  Oso rose to his feet, his head just inches from the ceiling. His broad shoulders and large frame filled the small hut completely. Running his hand over his jaw, he decided the few soft whiskers there could wait. If he left now, he could escape the village without anyone knowing. Then he wouldn’t open his door like he had a few days before in his underclothes to find Rea and her daughter there with a basket of bread and fruit. No, he certainly didn’t want to repeat that experience. Both Rea and Lisel had found the whole episode remarkably amusing, particularly when they discovered that his blushing affected more than just his face.

  After pulling a somewhat clean white shirt over his head, he tucked it into his green breeks. He then dug around in a small pile of dirty clothes to find the dark brown jacket he wanted. It had gotten cold fast this year. He guessed it would be a very short autumn. Slipping the jacket over his shoulders, he realized that some of the tiny rips across the back weren’t so tiny anymore. He’d need a new jacket soon. If only he knew how to sew! Then he could avoid any more potential embarrassments. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. Oso turned to his small table and threw a leftover crust of bread and some apples into his travel sack. Slinging his bow and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder, he grabbed his sword with his free hand.

  He opened the small door of his home quietly and was just as careful as he let it fall back in place as he stepped outside. There was no reason to wake everybody, now was there? The sun was rising in the east, setting the clouds on the horizon awash in red. Within the hour others in his village would stir. Oso spun around in surprise at the soft snap of a twig behind him. No one would be up and about this early. Why would someone—

  Reivers! Reivers in the village! Their familiar black leather armor was burned into his memory. Two had just walked right past his home, intent on the cottages in front of them. Many of his fellow Highlanders had laughed at his house when he had finished. His hut resembled a small, stunted tree rathe
r than a cottage and blended quite well with the forest. Now Oso thanked his lack of skill in carpentry for allowing the reivers to mistake it for a tree.

  Oso silently put down his travel sack and shrugged the bow and quiver from his shoulder. His sword was out of its sheath and in the back of one of the reivers before he had time to think. The sound of the reiver sliding off of Oso’s blade made the other reiver turn, but the raider was too slow. He was greeted by the slash of Oso’s sword across his throat. The man clutched at the blood pouring from his neck, falling to the ground with his life seeping into the soil. The entire struggle took only a few seconds. Exhilaration rushed through Oso. Finally he could get back at the men responsible for the deaths of his parents. All the hours and days and years of training were worth it, just for those two kills.

  Oso quickly came to his senses. He didn’t have time to exult in his success. The battle had not even begun. At least a hundred or more reivers moved toward the center of the village in a large inverted skirmish line, which meant there were probably warlocks at the far end. He didn’t have a moment to lose. He ran toward the village green shouting at the top of his lungs.

  “Reivers! Reivers in the village! Rise and fight!”

  He made it only a few feet before he met two more reivers, this time without the benefit of surprise. Oso skidded to a halt, barely avoiding an extended sword. He swung down with his own sword with all his strength, knocking the man’s blade from his hand. A quick kick to the black-clad soldier’s midsection sent him reeling to the ground with broken ribs.

  Oso turned his attention to the other reiver, who carried a two-headed axe. The soldier swung a vicious downstroke, which would have left Oso without his head if the blow connected. Ducking underneath the assault, Oso stabbed at the reiver’s gut, but his opponent recovered quickly and blocked the thrust. The man moved back a few steps to gain room to maneuver. Oso decided now was the time to even the odds. It was not something he relished doing, but was necessary.