by Wacht, Peter
The Marchers picked up on their leader’s concerns, becoming more wary. She had the third watch again, this time with three other Marchers. When she rolled from her blanket to take her post, she saw that Thomas still sat against the tree, apparently asleep, but she doubted it. She shivered, but not because of the early morning cold. She could feel it now as well. An approaching darkness, almost an innate feeling of terror. Something evil stalked them. The feeling flitted about at the very edge of her consciousness. What it was and where it could be, she didn’t know. But it was close.
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
Paying the Price
Gregory paced the throne room of Eamhain Mhacha, unable and unwilling to sit in the same chair once occupied by Rodric Tessaril. Named High King, but only temporarily he liked to keep telling himself, he had taken on two important tasks. First, rooting out any Armaghians who remained allied or sympathetic to Rodric, and second, getting the city to function once more as a center of commerce. Both tasks hadn’t proven difficult.
Toreal, chamberlain of Eamhain Mhacha, now freed from Rodric’s decrees and tantrums, knew exactly who continued to harbor a loyalty to the former High King. Once identified, Brennios sent his Home Guard soldiers to explain the change in leadership in the Kingdom and to suggest that if they could not adapt peacefully, they should leave. They had one day to decide. So far, the approach had worked in part because there were so few who saw the value of staying aboard a sinking ship.
The second task had proven even easier, as the merchants and farmers flocked back to the capital the day following news that Rodric had been deposed. The economic revival, which had begun slowly, quickly gained steam, the harbor now overflowing with river barges and larger ships, some waiting in the Heartland Lake for a berth to become available so that they could unload or acquire their cargo.
So Gregory’s worry had nothing to do with the tasks to be completed. Nor did it come from his knowing that Thomas had gone after the Key. He understood the importance of that mission and fully supported it. No, his worry, not surprisingly, was for his headstrong daughter, who had once again taken matters into her own hands without consulting him.
Sarelle watched Gregory with some amusement, though she did understand his concern. As Queen of Benewyn, after assuming the throne upon the death of her sister from a wasting disease, she had never married nor had children. She found that being an eligible queen had proven quite useful in her negotiations with other Kingdoms. Benewyn had never had a large military, barely having an army and navy large enough to defend their borders and protect their commercial fleet, which was the Kingdom’s lifeblood.
“I understand your worry, Gregory. Truly I do. But you have other matters to attend to.”
“She’s my only child, Sarelle. Obstinate, pugnacious, pig-headed, yes, but still my only child.”
“Those qualities have proved useful and will continue to serve her well. I have no doubt that she will do Fal Carrach proud as a leader.”
“Agreed, but running off in the dark of night following after Thomas? That is not acceptable. I’ll send Kael after her. He’ll bring her back.”
“You can’t send Kael after her.” Her tone was one of resignation, that she had to explain something to him that he should understand already.
Gregory stopped right in front of Sarelle, his simmering anger and worry threatening to ignite. “Why not?”
Sarelle assumed the posture and tone that she had used so often when sitting the throne in Benewyn and jousting with ambassadors and merchants. “Two reasons, High King. First, you’ll never catch them. Not with Thomas leading them. He won’t be found unless he wants to be. Second, she needs to do this for herself.”
Sarelle’s use of his new honorific irritated Gregory, who was still not comfortable with the title or the responsibility. But the wisdom of her words broke through his emotions.
“Your daughter is headstrong and everything else you said. And she’s more like you than you probably care to admit, as you’re just as stubborn and difficult to deal with at times.”
“I don’t think that …”
Sarelle carried on over his protest. “She’s also intelligent, brave, clever, and she knows what’s coming her way as your daughter, the responsibilities she’ll need to assume. You need to give her the space to make her own mistakes. More important, you need to give her the space to learn and succeed on her own.”
Gregory sagged in defeat, then chuckled softly. “You have quite the way with words, Sarelle. You’re right, of course. I just hate not being able to protect her.”
Sarelle stepped forward, taking Gregory’s hands in her own. He felt a warmth wash over him at her touch, quite pleasant in fact, and also a bit disturbing.
“Believe it or not, that young lady can protect herself. I’ve seen what she can do with a blade, as well as the Talent. Besides, she’s with Thomas. He’s probably the only person in all the Kingdoms more protective of her than you. And you know how he tends to respond to threats.”
“Indeed I do,” said Gregory with a laugh.
Sarelle’s hands began to stroke his softly, and she gently pulled him closer. Her eyes sparkled with purpose.
“Then perhaps we could discuss a few things while we have the time, things of a more personal nature?”
Gregory flushed, realizing her intent. He wasn’t sure how to extricate himself, or indeed if he wanted to escape. Much to his relief — or was it displeasure? — Brennios entered the throne room and saved him, coughing to catch their attention. Sarelle blushed, stepping back from Gregory, but still holding on to one of his hands. Apparently she wanted to make a point to the Armaghian general and to Gregory himself. Brennios didn’t miss it, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
“High King Gregory, I can report that Armagh is now secure. I have stationed several regiments of the Home Guard throughout the city and the fortress. The number is more than sufficient to protect Eamhain Mhacha and ensure that Toreal can continue to manage the city effectively. Truth be told, they have little to do. Those few who profited during Rodric’s rule have wisely chosen to leave the capital, the residents having taken it upon themselves to cleanse their city of those still desiring the ways of the former ruler.”
“That’s good to hear, General. Thank you for your efforts with this task. And as I’ve said before, you do not need to call me High King.”
“I know, High King Gregory,” replied Brennios, amusement touching his eyes. “But after our previous leader, I enjoy applying the honorific to a more worthy individual. I hope you don’t mind, High King Gregory.”
Gregory nodded his thanks for the compliment. “I don’t mind. Other news regarding the Home Guard?”
“Yes, my lord. I have stationed the remainder of the Home Guard to the east of the city. And Toreal has been busy. He has almost completed making arrangements for river barges and supplies, enough in number not only for the Home Guard but also for your soldiers.”
“Good. How long until we’re ready to go?”
“Toreal says five days, but knowing him it will likely be no more than three. He’s taken to the task with a vengeance.”
“Even better. Please make sure that the men are ready to leave at dawn on the fourth day.”
“Do we go where I expect, High King Gregory?”
“We do, General. We make for the Breaker.”
“Excellent,” replied Brennios. “Finally something worth fighting for. Also, one other matter, High King Gregory. As part of our sweep of the surrounding countryside and towns, we made an interesting discovery in Mooralyn.”
In response to a nod from the Armaghian general, two soldiers marched into the throne room dragging a struggling figure between them.
“You cannot do this! You cannot! I am a guest of the High King. I demand an audience with the High King!”
“That you have,” replied Brennios. “I present you to High King Gregory Carlomin, ruler of Fal Carrach and voice of all the Kingdoms.” The general said the
last as if he meant it as a gift.
The man’s struggles stopped the instant he heard the name of the King of Fal Carrach, his face turning white as he looked up in shock at the man who stood before him.
“Norin Dinnegan,” said Gregory in a whisper, surprised to have such luck. The former lord of Fal Carrach, now a declared criminal, had had the audacity to arrange an assassination plot that, if successful, would have given his son, Maden, the throne of Fal Carrach after he forced Kaylie to marry him. A plot that his daughter and Rya Keldragan had sniffed out and quashed.
“You!” hissed Dinnegan, spitting out the words as his face turned red with anger. “You cannot be the High King. Where is Rodric?”
Brennios ignored the theatrics of the man before him, instead pulling out a sheet of paper from his coat pocket.
“Toreal was kind enough to prepare a list of the charges against Norin Dinnegan, former merchant and lord from Fal Carrach and deemed a traitor to the Kingdom, based on his discussions with your Swordmaster.”
“Toreal is quite industrious,” interrupted Gregory, his hard eyes never leaving Dinnegan, who sought but could not avoid the gaze of the man he had tried to assassinate.
“Indeed he is,” agreed Brennios. The general pulled spectacles from a hidden pocket and made a show of scanning the document. “Fraud. Torture. Attempted murder. Murder. Slavery. Much of this occurred in the Highlands, so we could hand him over to the Highland Lord when he returns. The Marchers have a saying that I quite enjoy, something about paying one’s debts. I have no doubt as to how events would play out with Dinnegan in the Highland Lord’s hands.”
“Indeed,” agreed Gregory. “The Highland Lord would take great pleasure in repaying the debt that he owes to this scoundrel. The Highland Lord may be young, but he is a hard man already.”
“Yes, but who knows when Lord Thomas will return,” said Brennios, once again scanning through the document. “I could go on for several more minutes it seems, but the last item on the list certainly stands out. Attempted assassination of the King of Fal Carrach and kidnapping his daughter, the Princess Kaylie Carlomin.”
“Those are lies! All lies! It was not my doing. It was all Malachias. I had no choice. Gregory …”
The soldier standing behind Dinnegan knocked him in the back with his halberd, forcing him to his knees in response to the undeserved familiarity.
“My apologies,” hissed Dinnegan through clenched teeth. “I was not aware of the change in leadership. High King Gregory, please understand, these are all lies. There is no truth to any of those charges. I was forced to do as I did. I’m sure that we could reach some accommodation. There is no reason for you to …”
“Enough, Dinnegan.” Gregory stared down at the man with nothing but contempt. “Your begging and lies will get you nowhere. You will pay the price for your treachery and betrayal.” The High King’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.
General Brennios stepped forward. “High King Gregory, if I may. There is much you still need to do. In fact, I believe Queen Sarelle would like to continue the conversation I so rudely interrupted. But I digress. Going back to the matter at hand, I would argue that this man before us has done as much to harm my Kingdom, financing Rodric’s disastrous schemes, as he’s done to yours and to the Highlands. Perhaps I could ease your burden and take care of this matter to the letter of the law.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Dinnegan. “There has been no trial. I demand …”
“You demand nothing,” interrupted Brennios, having lost patience with the man who once claimed to be the richest in all the Kingdoms. “You have been condemned by the High King. His word is the law.”
“But that can’t be possible. It can’t. I deserve so much more than this. I have been promised so much more than this. It’s owed to me. I …”
“High King Gregory, with your permission may I carry out the sentence?”
Gregory looked at Dinnegan a final time, seeing how a man once defined by his wealth and craving for power, both earned at the expense of others, had fallen so quickly and so far when his hidden schemes came to light.
“Thank you, Brennios. With all speed, please.”
“As you command, High King Gregory.”
With another nod the soldiers grabbed Dinnegan by his arms and dragged him from the throne room, ignoring his screams and threats as they quickly turned into sobs of terror.
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
Lesson
“Are you still worried?” asked Kaylie. “You’ve been much quieter than usual.”
The Marchers had settled in for the evening, the mountains to the north, signifying the border between Kenmare and the Clanwar Desert, visible in the distance as the last rays of the sun touched the sky.
Thomas sat down next to the Princess of Fal Carrach, watching Oso put the finishing touches on that night’s stew. He felt some trepidation as he glanced at the bubbling pot. Oso tended to experiment when it was his turn to cook, and not always with the best results. Many of the Marchers watched as well, their concern plain, but none offered to help knowing that doing so would only irritate the large Highlander and thus seemed willing to take the risk.
“Worried about what?” His innocent expression made her smile at first.
Kaylie then sighed in exasperation. “Come on, Thomas. Doubling the guard at night. Your sitting against a tree or rock and then going into your trance, looking for who knows what. Your riding off on your own for hours on end, or your sending Oso or some other Marcher on some task that takes the better part of a day. I’d be a fool not to notice.”
Thomas smiled. Kaylie definitely was not a fool. “I don’t really know what’s bothering me,” he sighed. “It’s a feeling at the very edge of my awareness. A darkness that comes and goes, but quite distinct from what I feel when I locate Ogren, Shades or other dark creatures. Sometimes whatever it is gets quite close to us. Other times it tracks us from afar. It’s like an annoying itch between your shoulder blades that you can never scratch.”
“Do you have any idea what it might be?” asked Kaylie with some concern.
“I don’t know, and that’s what bothers me. It’s a blackness, a void that seems to have no shape or substance, an evil that I can’t identify. This is something altogether different from anything that I’ve experienced before. It’s like a fog, and every time I reach out and try to identify it, the mist slips through my fingers.”
“How close is it now?”
“I can’t sense it right now. It’s moved off.” Thomas lay his head back against the tree, shaking his head in frustration. “But I’ll know when it’s back. Can you sense it?”
Kaylie shook her head. “Your grandmother has taught me many things, but our lessons were interrupted. She never really showed me how to identify Dark Magic or dark creatures from afar, though I can sense them when they’re fairly close.”
Thomas jumped up from where he sat. Smiling, he offered Kaylie his hand to help her to her feet. “Then I’ll show you.”
Surprised by Thomas’ interest, she gladly walked after him as they went deeper into the woods. Much to her delight, he held her hand a bit longer than necessary. They greeted Aric who was set out as a picket before they found a small clearing just a hundred yards away from the campsite. Thomas would have been more than happy to teach Kaylie by the cooking fire, but he worried that making use of the Talent there would prove a distraction to his Marchers. They were used to what he could do, but if anything he and Kaylie tried didn’t work as expected, it might set their nerves on edge and perhaps keep them from maintaining the security of their perimeter.
Satisfied that they enjoyed some privacy, Thomas began the lesson. “Do you remember when I showed you how to extend your senses when we were in Tinnakilly?”
“Yes.” Though Kaylie would have preferred to forget much of what had happened after that. “I’ve worked on this quite a bit with Rya.”
“Good. Show me now.”
Taking
hold of the Talent, Kaylie harnessed the natural magic that flowed all around her. She felt as if she had exited her body and now looked down into the clearing where she and Thomas stood.
“Excellent,” said Thomas. His voice startled Kaylie, as she heard him speak right next to her consciousness, floating above the glade. “We’re going to do this the way my grandfather taught me the first time I extended my senses.”
“Okay,” agreed Kaylie, realizing that they were now communicating in one another’s minds, much as they did when she relayed Thomas’ instructions to his chiefs when they fought the Armaghian army in the Highlands.
“Gradually begin taking in more of the Talent. As you do, push your senses out, but in a controlled way, not too fast.”
“I already know how to do that, Thomas,” Kaylie said with some exasperation. “Your grandmother was quite thorough with her instruction.”
“Right, sorry. That she is. Take us to the northeast to the very fringe of the Charnel Mountains.”
Focusing on her assignment, she felt herself moving, Thomas riding along with her consciousness, as she pushed her senses out in the direction Thomas had suggested. She picked up more speed, moving across the top of the forest, identifying a few farmsteads, before the vegetation grew sparser. Finally, she reached the lower sands of the Clanwar Desert, massive sand dunes, some rising hundreds of feet into the air, dotting the horizon.
“Excellent,” said Thomas. “Do you think you can go farther?”
“Of course,” she replied. “I just wanted to take a look.”
Kaylie sped forward, flying across the Clanwar Desert until she reached the forbidding presence of the Breaker. She marveled at the awe-inspiring wall, which rose three hundred feet into the air and stretched from the northwest Highlands to the coast and the Winter Sea. Taking just a few seconds to examine the manmade barrier, she continued on, swiftly crossing the Northern Steppes until the Charnel Mountains, their sooty, blackened tops rising into the sky, appeared just a few leagues distant.