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

by Peter Wacht

  Jumping back a few steps, Oso stabbed backwards with his sword, keeping his eyes on the reiver in front of him. The man with the broken ribs had been trying to get up, and Oso couldn’t take a chance on an attack from behind. His broken ribs were now the least of the dying man’s concerns.

  The ruthlessness of Oso’s action registered in the other reiver’s eyes. As the raider nervously shifted his grip on the axe, Oso charged forward, taking advantage of the man’s indecision. Caught by surprise, the reiver blocked the sword stroke Oso aimed toward his head with the hilt of his axe, but was too slow when Oso swung back across his body, slicing open the man’s stomach. The soldier fell to his knees, screaming in pain as his guts poured out on the soft earth.

  Turning his attention back to the village, Oso breathed a sigh of relief. His warning had not gone unheeded. The Highlanders had burst from their cottages with a vengeance, swords and spears at the ready, and formed a circle of steel around a few central cottages. Expecting an easy victory, the reivers nearly broke against the ferocity of the Highlanders’ defense, but their numbers bolstered them and their line held.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Escape

  Killeran had walked halfway down the ridge when he heard the warning shout from just outside the village. He stopped abruptly, a look of disgust on his face. Someone had made a mistake, and when he found out who, he’d make sure the bastard never made another mistake ever again. He should have known. This small raid was already more trouble than it was worth.

  He wiped his nose on his damp sleeve yet again. This blasted cold! If he wasn’t in these cursed mountains, he wouldn’t have to blow his nose every other minute. The Highlanders had rushed from their homes like caged mountain lions newly freed. His reivers stood little chance against them. Now his only hope for success lay with his warlocks, who marched along behind him. The thought made him shiver. He liked to know exactly where his warlocks were every second, but he preferred to have them as far from himself as possible. Nevertheless, they would be the key to his victory today.

  The Highlanders had driven his men back and formed a defensive ring around three houses in the center of the village. Why would they do that? He had expected them to try to fight their way free. If they broke through his reivers, they would be almost impossible to catch in the forest.

  Wait! The women and children! None had emerged from the huts. That must be why! If they were still in those cottages, his plan might still work. Highlanders would rather die in battle than surrender to the mines, and they would never abandon their women and children. He just needed to get his warlocks closer. Killeran ran down the steep slope, desperate to salvage something from this ill-starred raid.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Taking Charge

  The reivers had formed their own, larger ring around that of the Highlanders. Not expecting an attack from behind, Oso took full advantage of that fact, stabbing two in the lower back before leaping across the space between the two steel rings to stand with his people. The histories said not fighting someone face to face, as a man should, was the mark of a coward. Oso had learned quickly that real life differed greatly from what was written in a book. In a battle you fought to survive. However you accomplished your task didn’t really matter, as long as you were still standing when the sun set.

  His sword covered in red, Oso was thankful that the spots of blood on his shirt were not his own. This certainly wasn’t the way he had hoped his day would begin.

  “What happened to the guards?” he asked a tall Highlander, long blond hair matted to his face by a mixture of sweat and blood. One of the reiver’s had gotten lucky and opened a small gash across the Highlander’s forehead.

  “Taken by the warlocks probably,” grunted Alus, as he ran through a reiver who got too close to his long reach. Alus then caught on his sword the blade of another reiver who tried to take him unawares. With lightning speed Alus reversed his movement, bringing his gleaming blade up in a wide arc. The steel caught the reiver on the side of the head, slicing it open.

  On an order by one of the sergeants, the reivers disengaged. They had lost a dozen men, with several more seriously wounded, trying to break through the Highlanders’ defensive shell. The sergeant decided that was enough for now.

  “You did well, Oso,” said Alus, stepping back from the fray for a moment. The Highlanders alongside him quickly shifted the ring to compensate for the missing blade in their moving wall of steel. “If you hadn’t warned us, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. We would have caught us in our beds.”

  “Luck, I guess,” said Oso, looking to the ground and shrugging his broad shoulders. Oso felt incredibly uncomfortable when under the gaze of a beautiful girl. He felt only slightly less so when praised for his efforts.

  “Luck or no, you acted rightly.” Alus clapped him on the back with pride. “You know what to do?” The Highlanders remained in their defensive circle, their eyes watching the enemy around them with wary eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Alus scanned the reivers around them, then the forest just beyond. He was looking for something specific, but he hadn’t found it yet. “Then be about it. We can stand against the reivers. Once the warlocks attack we won’t last very long. Can you make it in thirty minutes?”

  Oso nodded reluctantly. He wanted to stand and fight, his blood rushing through his veins, his senses heightened. He felt more alive than he ever had before. No one in the village could best him except for Alus, and he had proven the truth of that just now, having already eliminated four reivers. He was a Highlander, and would have been a Marcher if the Highland Lord had not been murdered those many years before. Oso kept his thoughts to himself, though. He knew what he had to do. Alus had given him this task as a sign of respect for his maturity. Though he had been a boy then, and was now a man, the task remained his to accomplish. He would do what was needed.

  “Then you have thirty minutes.”

  Oso didn’t bother to acknowledge Alus. He had a job to do, and there was no time to waste. Running into the nearest cottage, he pulled the door closed behind him, then locked it. A large table with two benches running alongside it stood by the fireplace. Thankfully, nothing sat on its top.

  Careful not to disturb the benches, Oso went to the corner of the table facing north, then pressed with his foot on the wood floor board running perpendicular to the table leg. The table silently rose upwards, its legs still attached to the floor that came up with it. A pitch-black hole greeted him when he knelt down to look beneath the floor. So far so good. He resheathed his sword. He’d have to wipe the steel clean later.

  Though he couldn’t see a ladder, he knew one was there. If anyone but a Highlander discovered the opening, they would be hard-pressed to find a way down without a length of rope. The Highlanders had built the ladder into the side of the tunnel. Because of that, you had to know the position of the rungs. Otherwise, you’d drop forty feet before landing on the stone floor. Swinging his legs into the darkness, he felt for the first ladder rung with his foot. Catching it with his toes, he started down.

  He had never remembered the escape tunnel being so cramped before, his shoulders scraping against the sides. He didn’t have time to be careful, though. Alus had given him thirty minutes, and that’s all he’d get. Halfway down the hole, Oso pushed in a knob he found with his hand next to the ladder rung. The hatch, table and all, closed, shutting him in complete darkness. He’d have to move by memory now. A few seconds later his feet touched the ground. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before continuing.

  As he walked through the tunnel, he hunched over slightly to avoid the low ceiling. He saw the basic outline of the roughly cut rock walls, but little else, which forced him to go slower than he wanted. He traveled through the tunnel a few minutes longer, trailing his hand along the wall, when the glimmer of a torch appeared before him in the distance.

  “Hold,” whispered a harsh voice. Oso felt the steel pressed against his stomach. One jab and
he’d have the luxury of a slow and painful death.

  “After spending so much time baking bread and treats for me, Lara, do you want to ruin it all by gutting me like a fish?”

  “No, Oso,” her sigh of relief audible. “Can’t afford to take any chances, though.”

  Lara resheathed the dagger and led him down the tunnel toward the light.

  “Are the men holding?” she asked anxiously.

  “For now,” replied Oso. “We only have twenty minutes. Warlocks.”

  Lara grunted her understanding. “Then let’s be about it.”

  When they reached the end of the tunnel, Lara pulled the torch from the sconce in the stone and pushed in on an irregularly shaped stone. The wall in front of her slid quietly to the side. Stepping out into a small ravine a half-mile from the village, Oso shielded his eyes for a moment from the bright sun.

  He was glad to see that all of the women and children had made it out of the village. The younger children, many only a few years old, clung in fear to their mothers’ skirts. They didn’t know what was going on. That was for the best, probably. The older children knew exactly what had happened, and though they were afraid, they retained their composure. Nonetheless, they remained close to their mothers. The women were afraid too, but that was barely noticeable through their looks of determination. If not for the children, the women would have joined the men. Most of the stories spoke about the skill of the Marchers, yet the Highland women received the same training as the men. Gender meant little to the Highlanders. Only a person’s abilities mattered.

  As Oso gazed at the women and children, he realized that their eyes had turned to him. He was the leader now.

  “Is everyone accounted for?”

  “Yes, Oso,” answered Rea, her daughter Lisel standing next to her. He was supposed to have dinner with them later in the week. When Lisel had asked, he didn’t know how to say no, but the thought of being stuck between the two as they teased him mercilessly about settling down and finding a wife had set his stomach on edge. Now, the thought of dinner with the two sounded quite appealing.

  “All right, then.” Oso filled his voice with a sternness that sounded foreign to his ears, yet he hoped it gave his charges a feeling of confidence. “Let’s not allow the efforts of Alus and the others go to waste. We have twenty minutes. Everyone knows what to do. Lara, please shut the tunnel door.”

  Wordlessly Lara walked back to the opening in the ravine wall. She pressed in on a portion of the stone that looked no different than any other and the door swung shut soundlessly.

  “Thank you. Lara, you stay in the rear. If you see any sign of pursuit, give a yell. Now remember, if we are attacked, scatter. Go to ground then head for the higher passes. Is that understood?”

  He waited until everyone nodded. The fear that battled with determination in the eyes of many of the women, even some of the older children, disappeared. Oso had given them a task, a purpose, and they would focus on that. They would forget their fears and their worries — for now.

  “Good. Single file, mothers carrying small children. Let’s go.”

  Oso moved to the front and the Highlanders hastened to obey his commands, the women picking up any small children who could not keep up, the older children forming a line. As he led the motley band out through the ravine and into the forest, he wondered if they would make it. They had a long way to go until they reached the safety of the higher passes. He hoped Alus bought them enough time to escape. They would need every second of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Plan Gone Awry

  Those fools! He had given specific orders, but they had failed to follow them. Those stupid fools! He had told them not to engage the Highlanders, just keep them in the same place long enough for the warlocks to arrive. The warlocks needed room to work their Dark Magic. If the reivers were too close, then they would be affected by it as well. But no, as soon as the shout of warning had been given, the sergeants had ordered their men to attack. And now, when the sergeants finally gave the order to disengage and form a circle around the Highlanders, they hadn’t moved back far enough. The fools!

  Killeran finally reached the bottom of the crest and entered the trees leading to the village. He motioned with his hand, and one of the warlocks stepped forward. He found the warlock’s gaze unnerving. Most people betrayed some emotion with their eyes, whether fear or pain or hate. The eyes of a warlock betrayed nothing. They were empty, devoid of emotion, which made them all the more unpredictable. Killeran equated that unpredictability with danger.

  “Yes, milord?”

  The grating voice set Killeran’s teeth on edge. It sounded metallic rather than human. “Take your men around to the east, over there, by that gap in the trees. You can approach from that direction.”

  “Yes, milord.” The warlock stepped back and motioned for his companions to follow. At least Killeran didn’t have to worry about the warlocks obeying his commands.

  As Killeran broke through the trees, he saw that his sergeants had finally realized their mistake and were pulling their men farther back in anticipation of the warlocks’ arrival. Seeing him approach, the three sergeants ran over to report. He didn’t pay any attention, though, as they babbled on like children. He had seen everything that had happened with his own eyes. A quick slash of his hand through the air shut them up. Many generals said that you needed the respect of your men to lead them effectively. Killeran disagreed. In his opinion, you needed their fear, and he had captured that long before.

  As he studied the situation, something nagged at him. A boy had run into one of the houses just a few minutes before. Killeran had assumed that he had gone looking for a bow, but the boy had not yet emerged from the dwelling. That was odd. The Highlanders seemed quite content to wait there, in their loose circle around the three houses, for him to make the next move. They could obviously see the warlocks moving around them now, but they didn’t seem to care. The boy. What could the boy be up—

  Tunnels! That had to be it. The Highlanders hadn’t remained to protect the women and children. Instead, they wanted to buy time for their escape.

  “Kursool, move the men forward from the west. Push the Highlanders toward that gap in the trees. Now!”

  Kursool jumped into motion, startled by Killeran’s sharp command. He quickly obeyed, yelling orders to the reivers.

  Grabbing another sergeant by the arm, Killeran yelled shrilly into his face. “Help him! Get those men moving now!”

  As the second sergeant ran after the first, Killeran turned his attention back to the Highlanders. A tall Highlander was giving orders now, making sure that all of his men heard his words. What was he telling them?

  Before the sergeants could get their men moving, the Highlanders charged forward, their bloodcurdling yells echoing through the trees. The large Highlander had picked his spot carefully, looking for a weakness in the circle of reivers. It hadn’t taken him long to find it. And just in time, too. The warlocks were almost in position.

  The Highlanders ran forward, swinging their weapons above their heads, yelling at the top of their lungs. However, right before they charged into the northern side of reivers, the Highlanders reversed direction, running full speed to the south and catching the reivers behind them completely by surprise. Not expecting the attack, the reivers on that side barely had time to raise their weapons before the Highlanders struck.

  At the same time, the reivers to the north stood there dumbstruck by the tactic, and many just a little thankful. None had any true desire to come face to face with a Highlander. In a matter of seconds, the Highlanders had broken through the reivers to the south, leaving a trail of dead black-clad raiders behind them. As they got deeper into the trees, the Highlanders scattered to further confuse the reivers, as well as draw them away from the women and children, now hopefully on their way into the higher passes.

  The Highlanders’ tactic surprised Killeran just as much as it did his men. He quickly recovered, however, cursing hi
s men and doing his best to get them to regroup, but to no avail. The Highlanders had won their freedom, at least for a time. Killeran had planned everything so perfectly, and now it was a disaster.

  “So much for those other villages,” he muttered under his breath.

  He’d be lucky to come away with a handful of new workers now, and he was already counting the three sentries he had captured with the warlocks’ aid before the raid even began. He would have preferred to capture the Marchers since they lasted longer in the mines, but pursuing them would be a waste of time. No, maybe he could salvage something from this mess after all. Women and children never lived as long as the men in the mines, but they could still work there, for a time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A New Path

  Every time Thomas entered the Highlands, a surge of adrenaline rushed through his body. This time he started in the southeast and traveled along the Fal Carrachian border for several days. Lately, each of his visits to the Highlands brought him in contact with Ogren or Shades, and even a few Fearhounds. The Shadow Lord’s minions preferred roaming the northern border because of its proximity to the Northern Steppes. During the last few months, though, the Shadow Lord’s spawn had hunted farther and farther south. Thomas found that particularly odd, but had no answer for it. Neither did Rynlin, who normally had an answer for everything. Hence his decision to search in the south first.

  As he wandered through the lush forest, gazed at breathtaking peaks and passed hidden mountain lakes, a sense of anticipation filled him. Fighting the creatures of the Shadow Lord gave him a particular pleasure, or rather a feeling of completeness, as if he was doing what he was meant to do. The last time he came this far south he ran across a squad of Ogren. Beluil accompanied him then and they spent the better part of the day stalking the beasts. When evening approached, the five Ogren settled in for the night in a small gully.