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

by Peter Wacht

  Thomas smiled as he studied the scene before him. Another mistake. Thomas decided once and for all that whoever led this band of reivers was indeed a fool. The Highlanders were on a hillock that rose in the very center of their camp. On the one hand, Thomas understood why this site was chosen as a makeshift prison. The Highlanders were visible at all times to anyone in the camp, almost completely eliminating the opportunity for escape. But the reiver in command hadn’t taken into account the possibility of help from the outside. A guard stood at each compass point, facing in toward the hillock. But, the guards couldn’t see above the hillock, and therefore could not see one another. Their isolation would work to his advantage.

  Thomas approached the first guard, whose back was turned. As he got closer, soft sounds of snoring drifted through the air. The reiver was using his spear to stay erect as he dozed. The man didn’t stand a chance as Thomas came up from behind. Thomas slipped his dagger between the links of black chain mail and into his back while his hand snaked around and closed over the man’s mouth to prevent a scream. With a final twist of the blade, the man crumpled to the ground. Thomas rifled through his uniform for the keys, but no luck.

  He stepped on silent feet around the hillock to the next guard. The thick grass hid Thomas’ approach, eliminating the sound of his footfalls as he hugged the earth. This reiver had not fallen asleep, but like his friend, stood facing the hillock. Thomas reached around the man in a smooth motion and sliced cleanly across his throat. He too fell to the ground, dead in seconds. This one also didn’t have the keys. Thomas cursed silently. If neither one of the remaining guards had the keys, he’d have to make an uninvited visit to the man in the tent, which would complicate things greatly.

  Thomas stepped around the base of the hillock and approached the third guard from behind, the thick grass again hiding his footsteps. Another quick sweep of his dagger across the man’s throat and Thomas’ task was almost complete. The keys were nowhere to be found, though. Thomas hoped that his luck wasn’t running out. He glanced around to make sure that the camp was still silent before trotting through the high grass and coming around to the final guard.

  Thomas began his approach from behind, moving slowly, silently, blending into his environment. He held his dagger loosely in his hand. After each kill he had wiped the blood onto the uniform of each guard. He didn’t want it to drip down the blade onto his hand. Fergus Steelheart had taught him that, explaining how a young soldier had fought like a hero against the Golden Blades, killing several and displaying a remarkable ability with his sword.

  Unfortunately for him, when he finally met Fergus in battle, he had not wiped his blade clean. The blood ran down the hilt and the sword slipped from his hand right when Fergus lunged forward with his own blade. Thomas certainly didn’t want to repeat that experience. He was no more than twenty feet away from his final target when the guard abruptly turned around. Bored with his assignment of staring up at a dark hill, he just couldn’t stand to look at it for a second longer.

  The shock in the man’s eyes at seeing Thomas standing there was mirrored in Thomas’ at seeing the man turn around. Before the reiver could shout a warning, Thomas adjusted the grip on his dagger, taking the point in his fingers. In one smooth motion he cocked his arm and released. The dagger took the last guard in the throat. The man feebly tried to remove it as his blood poured out onto the earth, but his fingers were already growing weak. The reiver slumped to the ground, the shock still in his eyes. A soft gurgle rose from his lips as his last breath left his body, lost in the soft brush of the wind across the grass.

  Thomas rushed forward and searched the man’s pockets. He smiled as his hand closed around a steel ring of keys. Perhaps his luck had not yet left him. Taking the keys, he looked around a final time. The camp remained quiet. If all continued to go well, the reivers would never know he had been there until he and the Highlanders were leagues away. Confident of his impending success, Thomas started up the hill as the moon moved lazily across the sky. A few more hours of darkness remained. By the time the sun rose, he’d have these people well on their way to the higher passes where the reivers dared not follow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Discovery

  Killeran tried to sleep in his bed for several hours, but with little success. Something bothered him, he just didn’t know what. Maybe it was the almost total failure of the morning raid. He needed more miners, desperately, and he could not afford many more mistakes. If he didn’t increase production Rodric would be the least of his concerns. Dinnegan had taken a personal interest in the success of their business venture, and the memories of their last meeting stayed with him. He hated the man, hated him with a passion, but he also envied him. Of course, at the moment, he was in no position to do anything about it.

  Killeran threw his covers to the ground and sat up on the bed, swinging his legs onto the rug that covered the grass of the glade. He hastily pulled on his boots and draped a cloak over his shoulders. As he headed for the tent flap, he strapped on his sword. There was little reason to lie here and do nothing. Over the years he had developed the habit of inspecting his men at odd hours. It helped to keep them on their toes. Besides, maybe his doing something would alleviate his worry.

  As he walked out into the early morning, he was greeted by a gust of cold wind that slipped underneath his open cloak and chilled his entire body. He pulled his cloak closer around himself, muttering and wiping his nose on his sleeve. This blasted, never-ending cold was making his life miserable. As he walked away from the tent, the day’s events played through his mind. He couldn’t believe how poorly his men had performed during the raid. He had set his trap perfectly, but it disintegrated in a matter of minutes. As a result, he had come away with two dozen women and children and one boy.

  He could certainly put them to work in the mines, but they wouldn’t last long and would produce very little in the way of gold or precious minerals. He needed the men. They lived longer in the severe conditions of the mines, if only because of their stubbornness. When he returned to his main camp he’d make an example of someone. He couldn’t afford their blunders anymore. Such a display always did wonders in terms of the effort put forth by his men.

  Killeran made his way into the forest, checking his outer ring of defenses first. He was pleased to see that his sentries were awake at their posts despite the hour. He had expected to find at least one sleeping soundly. A part of him was disappointed. He liked nothing more than putting someone in his place.

  Several of the men in this raiding party had served under him for many years. They knew his habits and remembered what he had done to the last man he found sleeping at his post. Stories like that traveled fast among his troops. Killeran believed that fear was all you needed to be a great general. He had proven that time and again. Fear. Respect did nothing for you. With fear, you could achieve anything. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps his men did, indeed, need another lesson. He smiled at the thought.

  He returned to the camp a half-hour later and walked toward the hillock, wanting to check the sentries stationed there before returning to his cot. Maybe he could get a few hours of sleep before morning after all. Then he could make an example of someone. It would serve two purposes really: improve the performance of his men and sufficiently cow his prisoners to take away any thought of escape during the long trek back to the fort. Killeran grinned wickedly. Besides, it would be fun.

  He was almost there when his foot caught on something and he fell flat on his face. Killeran landed heavily on the ground, unable to break his fall with his arms, which were trapped in the folds of his cloak.

  “What the bloody—” Killeran continued to mutter to himself as he slowly rose to his feet, rubbing the aching shoulder that had absorbed most of the impact from his fall. He had just found his latest example. When he located the man responsible for leaving his pack here, he’d make certain it never happened again.

  Wait. Killeran examined the bundle that he had
tripped over more closely. It was oddly shaped and didn’t resemble the standard packs his reivers carried. He knelt down to get a better look. Killeran jumped back a few paces, the bile rising in his throat. He had tripped over one of his men, dead from a knife to the heart. His sword was in his hand in an instant. Reivers were typically violent, and when arguments developed, they often ended in bloodshed. So finding a dead man in the morning wasn’t always a surprise, but the kills were never as clean as this.

  His feeling of foreboding returned. This could be nothing more than another argument between some of his men gone sour. Then again, maybe not. Killeran trotted toward the hillock, scanning the camp for any sign of movement as he did so. Reaching the base of the small hill, he only heard the swishing of the wind through the tall grass. He had left four men here. None were in sight. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Making a quick circuit around the hill, Killeran still couldn’t find his men. Clutching the hilt of his sword tightly in his hand, he started up the slope. It might be nothing at all. Instead of one lesson for tomorrow, there would be four. Then again, it could be something else entirely.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Bad Luck

  Thomas reached the top of the hill in only a few seconds, the small fire having almost burnt out. As a result, the women had gathered all the children together to keep them warm, lying in a tight circle. They had fallen asleep easily, the fear and exhaustion of the past day getting the better of them. The boy was off to the side, his face bruised and his lower lip cut. Thomas had expected worse. The reivers certainly weren’t known for being gentle, especially when you killed one of their friends.

  Thomas moved on silent feet to the sleeping form. When the boy breathed he wheezed through his nose. Probably broken. Thomas knelt down and covered the boy’s mouth with his hand.

  In an instant the boy came awake, struggling to get up. Thomas pressed him back down, keeping his hand over his mouth. The heavy chains on his ankles and wrists forced the boy to be still. He was more surprised than anything else, as Thomas didn’t resemble a reiver. The bastards had grown tired of beating on him as soon as dinner was ready, leaving him there to his misery.

  Oso took solace in the fact that half of his people had escaped to safety during the attack in the ravine. The fact that the other half was stuck there with him on this hill trying not to freeze to death ate at his insides. He blamed himself for that, though Lara and the other women in the group had told him that he shouldn’t, that he had done the best he could. That only made him feel worse. His best wasn’t good enough, which in his eyes made him a failure. This surprise visitor might give him a chance to make amends.

  Thomas dangled the keys before the large boy’s eyes, asking with his eyebrows if he understood what was about to happen. Oso nodded that he did. Thomas made quick work of the locks, helping the boy remove the chains from around his wrists and ankles. Oso gratefully rubbed some feeling back into his limbs.

  “Wake the others and keep them quiet. Once we’ve removed the locks, we’ll take them that way into the trees.”

  Oso nodded and crawled over to Lara, who lay with a small child against her. The child shivered in the cold. Oso squeezed his hands together in frustration. A child shouldn’t suffer like this. The stranger had pointed to the side of the camp farthest away from the warlocks with the fewest campfires, which meant fewer reivers to pass. Oso hoped desperately that their luck held.

  Thomas followed after the boy, who moved gingerly on limbs still getting used to the increased flow of blood. He unlocked the clasps around the Highlanders’ necks and wrists as quietly and as fast as he could after Oso had awakened them, motioning each time for the person to remain silent. The women were freed first and then gathered the children together, rubbing their own and the children’s wrists to get the blood flowing again.

  Thomas moved among them, seeing where the steel had cut into the skin of the Highlanders. As he freed each person, his anger grew. You didn’t treat children this way! You didn’t treat anyone this way! Thomas’ blood began to boil. He reached the last woman, who waited impatiently for him to release her. In a second, he was done. The Highlanders were free. Now all they had to do was make it into the forest. The boy had already gotten everyone together, each woman looking after a child.

  Thomas spun when he heard a foot crunch on the hardened earth of the hill. A man with a remarkably large nose appeared at the top of the hillock, his sword drawn.

  “Who are you?” the rat-faced man asked in shock.

  Thomas’ response surprised him even more. Thomas leaped to his feet and charged toward the man, catching him in the chest with his shoulder. The reiver flew back through air over the side of the hillock. Thomas didn’t bother to watch the soldier fall. Instead, he looked for the boy.

  “Down the other side. Now!”

  The boy started off immediately, scrabbling down the hillside, the women right on his heels. They were just as anxious to be away as he was. Thomas waited until the last Highlander had started down before going himself. He hoped whoever that was had broken his neck in the fall. It would make his task that much easier. When he reached the bottom of the hill, Thomas ran over to where one of the dead sentries lay. He reached down and pulled the reivers’ sword from his scabbard, then handed it to the boy. The boy nodded his gratitude.

  “Let’s get these people moving. We don’t have much time.” The boy didn’t bother to respond, instead leading the way through the still sleeping camp with his people following behind him. He, too, sensed the urgency of the situation.

  Killeran survived his fall with no more than a few bumps and bruises. After he hit the ground, he struggled with his cloak for several seconds, as the white cloth tangled his legs during the fall. Finally, he freed himself and ran over to where his sword had landed. That boy had the nerve to sneak into his camp and then attack him! A boy! Now he’d pay the price for his audacity.

  “Reivers awake! To me! Reivers to me!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Easy Decision

  Killeran’s shout blasted like a trumpet through the night, setting off an explosion of activity. Most of the reivers were still too dazed by sleep to realize what was going on. Nevertheless, they assumed that they were under attack, and since the most natural direction would be from the trees, they grabbed their weapons and rushed off to defend the perimeter.

  The confusion worked to Thomas’ advantage as he and Oso led the Highlanders through the camp. They quickly dispatched the few reivers still around the campfires, either too slow or not wanting to follow their comrades. Some of the Highland women relieved the dead men of their weapons. When the reivers tried to capture them again, they’d have a much harder time of it.

  Unfortunately, the confusion only lasted for a few minutes. Thomas and Oso had almost reached the trees when they ran into six reivers. The two threw themselves at the black-armored men with a vengeance, their anger driving their sword arms at blazing speeds. Though outnumbered, it didn’t matter. The skirmish didn’t last long, but the sounds of battle drew the attention of the other reivers, who quickly realized their mistake.

  “Into the woods,” Thomas yelled. “Run! Into the woods!”

  The Highlanders didn’t need to be told twice. The women dashed forward, the children in tow, disappearing among the trees. Several reivers tried to follow in pursuit, but Thomas and the large boy remained behind, blocking their path. They had succeeded, at least in part.

  “You, too,” said Thomas to the boy. “Into the woods.”

  “No. You risked your life for me. Now I can repay you.” Thomas glanced over at the tall boy, his face swollen, his wrists cut by the shackles. There was a fierce pride in his eyes, and a sense of duty. “Besides, it’s too late.”

  The boy was right. The reivers had surrounded them. The boy moved behind Thomas, watching his back for him. The reivers seemed reluctant to press forward. The handiwork of these two boys lay at their feet. They had killed a half dozen reivers a
lready, and those around them didn’t want to risk their lives as well. Better to wait for the warlocks.

  “What are you waiting for?” snarled Killeran as he finally located the source of all his trouble, following the clash of steel on steel. Half his men were still running around in circles, defending against an enemy that wasn’t there.

  “I want the big one alive,” he ordered. “The green-eyed boy is mine.”

  The reivers surged forward. One reiver immediately fell to the ground dead, Thomas’ sword finding his heart. Another fell an instant later, a victim of the large boy’s blade. The reivers became even more wary and reluctant, hesitating with their attacks despite Killeran’s presence. The fight continued for several minutes, Thomas and the boy back to back. Though they had known each other for only a few minutes, they sensed each other’s movements as they circled around, defending themselves and each other. It was as if they had known each other all their lives.

  Killeran waited impatiently, urging his men to attack all at once. Finally the strategy paid off. After a half-dozen more reivers appeared, the group charged forward, forcing Thomas and the boy to fight off as many as three blades at a time. The injuries of the previous day began to wear on the boy, and though he remained a deadly opponent, his movements slowed dramatically. A reiver finally got past his defenses, stabbing his blade into the boy’s sword arm.

  Thomas tried to help him, but was too busy fending off his own attackers. Suddenly, they were gone. The reivers that stood before him stepped back, instead forming a ring around the boy. Thomas was about to try forcing his way through, but instead he dove to the ground, barely avoiding the blade of the man he had knocked down the hill. He was on his feet again in an instant.