by Wacht, Peter
Sensing that its opponent was flagging, the dark creature attacked with an almost animal ferocity, forcing Kaylie back toward the broken door. Soon it was all that Kaylie could do to protect herself, as the dark creature’s hands had transformed into sharp claws that scraped time and again against her blade, the sound setting her teeth on edge.
“You have meddled where you shouldn’t, girl,” whispered the dark creature, its voice sibilant, reminding Kaylie of the sound a snake might make. “And your time has come. Once I take you, I will take the boy as …”
The dark creature never finished its comment, as the tip of a sharp blade, pulsing with white light, appeared in its chest. For a moment everything was still, the dark creature staring down at the hard, shining steel running through its body, the blade pulsing brighter and brighter as it appeared to pull the life from the dark creature before it finally slid off the blade and collapsed to the floor, the light in its eyes drifting away and a black ichor seeping from the wounds in its back and chest to stain the wooden floor.
Thomas stood there, still appearing a bit confused, but sword in hand, the sharp blade covered in a slick black blood. Kaylie’s intense attack had forced the dark creature to turn its attention away from him, giving him the time to fight and then finally break free from the Dark Magic that had been used against him. He knelt down, making sure that the dark creature was dead, then released his hold on the Talent and wiped the blade on the washcloth by his water basin.
“What was it?” asked Kaylie, finally noticing that Oso, Aric and the other Marchers stood in the doorway, drawn by the noises of the struggle. Swords and axes at the ready, they realized that they had arrived too late and that all the excitement had come to an end.
“I’ve never seen something like this before,” answered Thomas. “But Rynlin told me what he thought might apply after we left Eamhain Mhacha. I think it’s a Wraith, a dark creature that can change its shape and appearance into whatever it wants. It’s supposedly one of the Shadow Lord’s most effective assassins, not only because it can get close to its targets with impunity, but also because it has the capacity to immobilize them. I think that cloud of darkness that’s been tracking us emanated from this creature. It might explain why it was so hard to determine what it was.”
Kaylie stared nonplussed at the body, nodding her head.
“That makes sense,” said Kaylie. “That would explain what I saw, how it affected you. Why couldn’t I harm it?”
“You were using a steel blade,” answered Thomas. “You can’t get past a Wraith’s natural armor unless you use the Talent.”
“Which explains why your blade …”
“Yes,” said Thomas simply.
“Your grandmother showed me how to do that,” said Kaylie. “But I’d like to practice it a bit more, just in case.”
“We can, just as soon as we’re out of this city and aboard ship.”
“Good,” said Kaylie, sheathing her dagger and walking from the room. “Between now and then,” she called back over her shoulder, “try not to be caught by a pretty face.”
The Princess of Fal Carrach walked across the hall and into her room. Before she shut the door many of the Marchers nodded to her in respect, several catching the end of her duel against the lightning-fast Wraith, all smiling at her quip.
Oso looked down at the body on the floor, taking in the black hair and grey face, the forked tongue lolling to the side with its sharp teeth evident. Then he turned to his friend, somewhat worried.
“You found that attractive?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR
A Feeling
Rya stared absently into the small fire, her mind wandering as she watched the flames dance in front of her, sparking every time a gust of the cold northern wind blasted into the small clearing the Sylvan Warriors had occupied for the night. It had been a difficult day, but in the end, it had proven to be a good one. Their work had paid off, the results of which could be seen at the bottom of the gulley just a few hundred yards away. They had dragged the Ogren that they had not incinerated fully with the Talent to the lip of the small gorge, then pushed the bodies over, creating a pile of at least four score dark creatures. Rynlin had then set the pile alight and even now, several hours after the skirmish, it continued to burn, the glow of the flames, rising to the top of the crest, visible in the distance. They had selected that location for a reason, thankful that it was downwind so that they could avoid the terrible smell of burning flesh.
Rynlin sat next to her on one of the logs that they had pulled closer to the fire, poking at the flames with a stick, his mind clearly elsewhere. Maden Grenis and the twins, Aurelia and Elisia Valeran, sat across from them. Brinn Kavolin had eaten his fill from the stew they had made, then wandered off into the night to check their perimeter. They had little concern of dark creatures sneaking up on them, as all were skilled in the Talent, but the tall, thin Sylvan Warrior preferred to know the surrounding terrain like the back of his hand, and this was his opportunity to do so.
Normally, Rynlin and Maden Grenis never stopped talking, whether with or at one another. It was in their nature, they simply couldn’t help it, and the other Sylvan Warriors often enjoyed the give and take. But not tonight. Tonight a feeling had overcome them all. An inevitability of what was to come, leading to the quiet that had draped itself over the Sylvan Warriors like a funeral dirge.
Perhaps it was because Catal Huyuk had not yet come back from the Kenmare Mountains, mused Rya. Rynlin had asked that he return to his protectorate and keep an eye out for Thomas, expecting that his grandson would head in that direction in search of the Key. The hulking Sylvan Warrior who rarely spoke exuded a calm that they all missed in that moment, to say nothing of the terrifying effect that he had on dark creatures when he wielded his war axe with such great skill.
But she didn’t think that was really the reason for the quiet. Rya expected that they would be moving on in the morning, another Ogren war band probably already coming across the Northern Steppes and trying to sneak into the northern Highlands. Such was the reality of their existence at the moment. The friends and warriors gathered around the small fire knew that a critical time was approaching with the fates of all those living in the Kingdoms hanging in the balance. The Shadow Lord was testing them, and it was only a matter of time before he set his Dark Horde upon the Kingdoms once again. Time was running out and Thomas would soon play his role as set out in the prophecy. That’s likely what had captured their thoughts, just as it had hers, she surmised. Her mind was rarely far from musings about her grandson and the task that he had charged himself with completing.
Unexpectedly she jumped up from her seat and turned toward the northwest, her hand holding tightly to the amulet she wore around her neck. The sharp point of the unicorn’s horn dug into her skin, drawing several drops of blood. Rynlin had stood up with her, his hand reaching for the amulet that had gone ice cold against his chest.
“What’s the matter?” asked Maden Grenis, startled by the actions of his two friends. His worry only increased when they ignored him for several minutes, Rya and Rynlin still staring to the northwest as if in a trance, their bodies rigid. Elisia and Aurelia had risen from their seats as well, thinking first that danger approached, but then they realized the cause. The twins waited calmly as the minutes passed, which only served to irritate Maden. He wasn’t known for his patience, and clearly something was wrong. But he didn’t know what.
Finally, Rynlin and Rya released their grips on their amulets, both breathing a sigh of relief.
“He’s all right, Rynlin,” Rya whispered, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.
“He is,” confirmed Rynlin.
“What was it?” asked Maden, barely able to contain himself.
“Thomas,” replied Rynlin, who pulled his wife into his chest, Rya burrowing into her husband and closing her eyes in thanks that her grandson still survived. “We were thinking of him and our amulets went ice cold.”
“He was in danger,” Elisia and Aurelia both said in musical voices at exactly the same time so that it seemed that they had spoken with one voice.
“But he’s all right?” asked Maden just to confirm. He had known Thomas ever since the boy had come to live with Rynlin and Rya, and he had liked the quiet, focused child immediately. In fact, Maden had come to think of him as a nephew.
“Yes, he’s all right,” nodded Rynlin. “He was in danger. A darkness that I couldn’t identify had almost descended upon him. For a moment we feared that his spirit was taken. But the darkness is gone now. Our amulets are warm once again. He’s safe, for the time being.”
“The Shadow Lord?” asked the twins again.
“Or his servant,” answered Rynlin.
“He must be getting close,” offered Maden.
“I think he is,” said Rynlin. “Now that I can feel Thomas again, I can sense his urgency through the amulet.”
“If he gets the Key …,” started Maden.
“When he gets the Key,” corrected Rynlin, his eyes blazing with certainty, “we must be ready. When he gets the Key, the Sylvana must be prepared to ride to war.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE
Growing Closer
Thomas stood at the bow of the ship, watching as the sailors scampered up the masts, unfurling sails, tying off lines, and preparing to exit the harbor. His Marchers had all found berths in the stern, the captain offering his small cabin to Kaylie during the passage to Laurag. The massive merchant vessel, five masts in all, resembled a floating city, as it carried both cargo and passengers to its various ports of call. Card games already had broken out on the parts of the deck not used by the sailors, something his Marchers had quickly come to appreciate and enjoy since they had left Great Falls a few days before.
Initially Thomas thought that it would take a month or more to reach Laurag, after the Waverunner made a quick dash down the Crescent River from Great Falls to Faralan, taking on a few more slats and bins of cargo before leaving that same day and entering the Winter Sea. But Torlan, the amiable captain of the ship, explained differently. Normally, at this time of the year, yes, it would take five or six weeks, as the winds generally came from the west with unexpected gales and squalls running rampant through the Winter Sea. Thus, the decision by most experienced shipmasters to stay near the coast, settling for the slower, safer passage of following the shore, rather than risking what would be a more dangerous but potentially faster route in the open water. But not this time.
For the first time in centuries the Whorl, the massive whirlpool with a width of several leagues that drifted around the Winter Sea, and the primary cause for the unpredictable and dangerous currents and rogue waves common to this ocean, had shifted from its traditional location for this time of the year. Normally farther to the north, near the Charnel Mountains, it had strayed to the south earlier than expected, its southern edge curling dangerously just a few leagues from Faralan.
As the Waverunner broke from the port and quickly picked up speed, the sails on its five masts caught the wind, snapping into place as it sped out toward open water. Once the ship had settled into the waves, Torlan came to the bow, his sharp eye observing everything going on around him. He was just as quick to praise his crew for their good work as he was to spit out a blistering string of curses when a sailor failed to meet his expectations. The crew seemed to appreciate it, even when they felt the brunt of his wrath. There were no surprises with Torlan, so the crew knew where they stood with him. He was fair but strict, and most sailors believed that they couldn’t ask for more than that from a captain.
Thomas looked to the east, seeing with his sharp eyes the very edges of the Whorl. In that direction the sea spun in a frothy, clockwise direction that ignored the pull of the moon and the currents, sucking down to the bottom of the sea in a matter of minutes any ship unlucky enough to be caught within its currents.
“Aye, it has a mind of its own,” said Torlan, resting his muscled forearms on the railing as he looked out over the sea. “We’re lucky, young master. A few days more and we might not have made it out of Faralan.”
“Because of the Whorl?” asked Thomas.
“Aye. Right now we’re enjoying the benefits of that blasted blight of the Winter Sea. I can’t tell you how many ships have been lost because of it. But now it’s aiding us. The Whorl moves, yes, but it always spins in the same direction. The winds that are filling our sails right now,” gestured Torlan, pointing to the thick, white sailcloth that strained against the strong blast and had the huge ship cutting through the waves as if it were just a skiff, “are coming from the Whorl. If we had been just a day or two later coming out of the port, we might not have made it.”
“How so?”
“The Whorl tends to be to the far north this time of year, so why it has come down this close to the coast of Kenmare is a bit of a mystery.” Torlan glanced over his shoulder, shouting quickly to a sailor to tie off a line that had broken free from the forward mast, before turning back to Thomas. “But I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m just surprised that the Whorl is still moving toward the coast. It’s almost as if it’s going to settle right in front of Faralan, which means no shipping in any direction until it moves again. We never would have been able to make it to Laurag if the Whorl had gotten ahead of us. Its winds would have been too strong, and no one would have risked its currents. But now we should get to Laurag in half the time.”
Thomas nodded, his sharp eyes picking out the signs of life in the ocean. Off in the distance, he saw a pod of dolphins playing in the water, and every so often a flying fish leaping out from the water before diving gracefully back into the crest of a wave. He had been taught that the Whorl was a natural occurrence, that nothing controlled it. It moved as it wanted when it wanted, though it tended to follow a fairly regular pattern during the year, which allowed for fairly consistent commerce across the Winter Sea during certain seasons.
But could there be something more to it? Could it have moved early in the hopes of keeping him from going west? As Torlan had said, where it had placed itself now went against what they knew of the Whorl. Did the Shadow Lord have that much power over the happenings in this world?
Thomas pushed these depressing thoughts from his mind. Taking that path led only to fear and uncertainty. He could afford neither at the moment. He gazed back out over the waves. The pod of dolphins, off their port side, had disappeared. Then he realized why.
“Is it common for Great Sharks to be in this part of the Winter Sea this time of year?”
The huge fins of three sharks, fully eight to ten feet above the water, sliced through the waves. Thomas was familiar with the beasts, having grown up on the Isle of Mist. The massive sharks, fifty to sixty feet in length, were the apex predator of the ocean. Nothing could challenge them.
Thomas had gotten a close view of the monsters whenever he sailed his small skiff through a narrow canal from his home on the island to the Highlands. He always stayed in that shallow channel, which prevented the Great Sharks from attacking, knowing that if he strayed beyond the boundary to deeper water he would pay with his life. Great Sharks were known to track larger ships, and captains of smaller ships feared them. There were so many stories of Great Sharks attacking and destroying vessels that ship captains always kept a close eye. But Torlan didn’t appear worried because of the size of the Waverunner.
Torlan followed Thomas’ gaze, cursing under his breath. “Blasted monsters,” grumbled the ship captain. “No, those beasts rarely visit these frigid depths. They stay to the coastal waters off the Charnel Mountains. Why they came this far southwest, I can’t say.”
The captain watched the fins cutting through the waves a bit longer, noting with some disgust that despite his ship’s speed they followed the Waverunner easily. The size of his ship gave him comfort, but he was a cautious man by nature, and he liked to prepare for the worst.
“Tell me, young master. Those Marchers of yours. Good with their bow
s?”
Thomas smiled. “The best.”
“Would you mind if I made use of a few? Nothing strenuous, you see. Just a few always on the rails watching those damned creatures, ready to take action if need be.”
“I’ll see to it, captain.”
“My thanks, young sir. Nothing to fear, I’m sure, but better safe than sorry.” Torlan turned to go, wanting to check on the rest of his ship and crew. “Good afternoon, miss. I trust all is well?”
“Yes, Captain Torlan, thank you. And thank you for the use of your quarters.”
“No thanks necessary, miss. No thanks at all.”
Torlan walked off, releasing a constant string of praise or curses depending on the quality of work he saw as he went on his way. Kaylie stepped up and took his place, standing close to Thomas, her shoulder touching his. Thomas felt a warmth spread through him, though he tried to ignore it as it threatened to muddle his thoughts.
Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the companionable silence and proximity with Kaylie. But it lasted only so long. He could feel the Key, its pull stronger by the minute as the Waverunner skimmed through the waves to the west.
“I know that look,” said Kaylie, nudging him with her shoulder. “Do you know where it is exactly?”