by Peter Wacht
"Since then, the Marchers have not ventured out of their mountainous home in their service to the Highland Lord, and with the building of the Breaker have become the first line of defense against the creatures of the Shadow Lord. Now, of course, I don't know where things stand. Since the fall of the Crag, it's been difficult to find out what's going on in the Highlands with Lord Killeran serving as regent. I'm sure none of it's to the good, which could explain why many of the Highlanders have moved to the higher peaks and passes. But they are still the best fighters in the Kingdoms, and I don't think anyone would dispute that fact."
"Are the stories true?" asked Thomas in a quiet voice.
"What stories?"
"Are the Highlanders working as slaves in the mines?"
For several months Thomas had pondered that question, as it gnawed at his soul. These were his people. Even if he was an outcast and thought to be dead, he still felt responsible for them. Yet, he wasn’t sure if he was ready, or even wanted, to assume that responsibility. As a result, he wrestled with his ever-present guilt from time to time, searching vainly for a hint as to what he should do.
"Where did you hear that?" asked Rynlin casually, though the intensity of his eyes belied his interest.
"From you, a few months ago, after you came back from one of your trips."
"Oh." Rynlin realized he would have to be more careful when he discussed things with Rya. Thomas' ears were just as good as his eyes. "From what I can tell—" Rynlin stopped for a moment. He wasn't sure how to answer, knowing Thomas' impatience could often get the better of him. Now was not the time for him to go running off on some quest of honor.
But he couldn't lie, not about this. Rynlin sighed, feeling the weight of his years. He'd just have to take his chances. "Yes. Killeran has enslaved some of the Highlanders in the mines. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done at the moment. Killeran has a large army under his control. The Marchers could probably defeat it, but they do not have any sorcerers to battle Killeran's warlocks. So it would be a lost cause to begin with.”
“What about the other Kingdoms? Why don’t they do something to help?”
“The other Kingdoms really don't care about the Highlands right now. They're more concerned with what’s happening in their own Kingdoms. They won’t turn their eyes toward Rodric until he forces his attention upon them."
"But don't they see that if Rodric expands his power—"
"—they in turn lose power. Yes, some do. They just don't know what to do about it. No single kingdom has the strength to take on Rodric directly. Your grandfather, perhaps, could have prevented it. He could have rallied the Kingdoms and stood up to Rodric. Now, there is no one who can do that. Gregory of Fal Carrach might be the logical choice, but he's got Loris of Dunmoor to worry about on his western flank. And with Loris allied to Rodric, Gregory is effectively tied down. No, there is no one who can, or would want to, help at this time."
They continued along in silence for a few minutes, but Rynlin knew what was coming next. He waited patiently.
"I'm supposed to be the Lord of the Highlands," began Thomas. "If the Marchers are the best warriors in all the Kingdoms, their leader should be the best of the Marchers."
"That would only be appropriate," said Rynlin, cringing inwardly at his own response. He didn’t want his grandson to run off on some fool’s errand.
"Then where do you think I would stand among them now? If I went to the Highlands right now."
It was a very important question, Rynlin knew. Probably more important than Thomas could imagine. Not just for him, but for the Highlands as well. Rynlin had arrived at the glade when Thomas leapt down from the tree and attacked the first Ogren. Initially, he had feared for his grandson’s safety, ready to step in at any moment. However, Rynlin soon realized he had nothing to worry about. Thomas had learned his lessons well. He wanted to tell Thomas that he already was one of the elite among the Marchers, because he knew in his heart that it was true. Yet, he didn't want him to become overconfident. There was much he would have to do in the future, and having confidence in yourself was certainly a part of it. Yet, having too much confidence could lead to the boy's failure, or worse — his death.
Rynlin looked down at the young man walking beside him, seeing once again the little boy who first appeared in the clearing six years before, carrying a sword that was much too big for him and a scrawny wolf pup. Now the young man had grown into the blade, and the pup was the largest wolf Rynlin had ever seen.
Thomas repeated the question. "If I went to the Highlands now, where would I stand among the Marchers?"
Rynlin searched desperately for any answer other than the one he knew he had to give. But he couldn't lie. Thomas would know. He decided that again the truth was best, and that he and Rya would have to trust in the way they had raised him.
"You would be one of the best," said Rynlin.
Thomas studied his grandfather for a moment, then nodded. He just needed to know, but he saw the trace of worry in Rynlin’s face.
"Don't worry, Rynlin. I'm not going anywhere. Not yet anyway."
"Good," said Rynlin, giving his grandson a wry smile, "because if you did, Rya would have me for breakfast, and then she'd come after you."
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Assassin
Thomas, Rynlin and Beluil finally reached the edge of the Burren, where they could stop worrying about the motley group that now rode through the darkening twilight toward Ballinasloe. They would probably get home in about an hour, no worse for wear except for a few nightmares. Getting back to the boat was another matter, since they had to return through the Burren, which was now covered by the darkness of full night thanks to the overhanging trees and dense brush. Rather than trying to reach the coast, Rynlin and Thomas decided to make camp for the night about halfway through the Burren.
They had been walking for several minutes with that intent in mind when Thomas grabbed Rynlin's arm. Beluil stopped as well, ears perked for the slightest sound, his hackles standing straight. Rynlin searched the wood for danger, but only could make out the rough shapes of the trees and rocks. Instead, he trusted in Thomas' vision. What Rynlin saw as a shadow was clear as day to his grandson.
"There's something wrong," whispered Thomas, scanning the trees around them. Rynlin shouldn't have been surprised. Thomas had greater skill in this area than he did. Opening himself to the Talent, Rynlin extended his senses.
"Yes, there is," he said. He could barely feel it, this sense of pure evil.
"It's close, Rynlin. Very close."
Beluil growled into the darkness, sensing the foulness, yet even he was unsure of its location. Thomas and Rynlin continued to examine the trees. The hair on the back of Thomas' neck stood on end. He hated not seeing what was stalking them. It made him uneasy, and he fought to control the fear rising within him. His hand went to his sword hilt, ready to draw the blade. Rynlin stood there calmly, waiting. He didn't seem to be affected by the tension, but it certainly was getting to Thomas.
He nudged Rynlin and pointed to what looked like a shadow attached to the trunk of a tree no more than ten feet in front of them. The shadow had moved, and it was coming toward them ever so slowly. Thomas' sense of evil grew stronger as the shadow glided closer. Yet, even with his sharp eyes, he could barely see what approached. Cold sweat trickled down Thomas’ back. He didn’t know what the shadow was, but it terrified him.
Rynlin drew on the Talent, shooting a bolt of pure white light shot from his palm, striking the shadow squarely. A horrible scream tore through the night, followed by a deathly silence. The smell of charred flesh drifted to their nostrils.
Rynlin drew on the Talent again, bringing forth a ball of light that illuminated the surrounding forest.
"A Nightstalker," said Rynlin with a grimace, pointing out the pitch-black body, the sightless red eyes and the claws shaped like scythes. The bolt of energy had torn a hole straight through the creature’s chest.
Beluil approached
the smoldering corpse, sniffing it to make sure it was truly dead. He returned to Thomas' side quickly, revolted by the smell and shaking his head to clear it from his sensitive nose.
"What is it, Rynlin?"
"A Nightstalker is the Shadow Lord's assassin," replied Rynlin. "You normally don't see it until you're about to die, and even then catching a glimpse would be unlikely. The Shadow Lord sends them out after certain prey, and they don't stop searching until they've succeeded." Rynlin's words chilled Thomas to his very core. The Shadow Lord's assassin. "Come on. Let's get some distance from this thing before we stop for the night. I want to make sure there isn't anything else in the Burren looking for us."
The Shadow Lord sends Nightstalkers out after certain prey, and they don't stop searching until they've succeeded.
"Thomas."
Rynlin's voice drew him back from his thoughts, none of them good. The dead creature transfixed him. "Yes."
"Remember that feeling you had. That will be the only warning you’ll get. With a Nightstalker, if you're not paying attention, you don’t stand a chance."
Thomas nodded and followed his grandfather to the east, Beluil bringing up the rear. Rynlin said that the Nightstalker hunted for specific prey. Who was the target of this particular creature? Goosebumps rose on his flesh as a chill swept through his body. He had the nasty suspicion that it was him.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
Memories
It was well after dark when Kaylie and her friends finally saw the lights of Ballinasloe in the distance. As soon as the sun had set, they had urged their horses to a gallop, the encroaching darkness playing off the fear that remained from their horrifying encounter in the Burren. Every shadow was an Ogren, every sound. The howl of the wind playing through the tree branches sent shudders of fear through them. Because of the fear they sensed in their riders, the horses didn't mind the extra effort, though they were lathered in sweat from the long gallop. They, too, wanted to get behind the walls of the Rock.
The group finally slowed when they entered the town, taking comfort from the lights and the people still about at the late hour. A troop of soldiers formed around them, escorting them to the Rock. News of their arrival preceded them. Kaylie's father had sent out patrols, they learned, and their families were worried.
As they made their way across the bridge and into the Rock's courtyard, soldiers took the bridles of their horses and helped the girls from their mounts. Gregory rushed out of the stronghold, dressed in full armor, sword swinging at his side. He had planned to lead the next patrol himself. The inaction of waiting worsened his temper. It was one of the few weaknesses he had as a general. Patience, or rather the lack of it. Now, after seeing his daughter safe and whole, all he felt was relief.
"Where in the blazes have you—" Gregory stopped himself. He saw their frightened faces, their exhaustion. Kaylie rushed to him and threw her arms around him, her hands clinging tightly to the cloth of his shirt that stuck out from his breastplate. He hugged her back, trying to keep the tears from his eyes.
"What happened?" he asked softly.
Kaylie clung to him for a few moments longer before pulling back and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. She was trying to regain her composure, the composure expected of a future queen. He wanted to keep hugging his little girl, to give her the protection he had provided since she was born, but was now no longer necessary. He corrected himself — not always necessary. He was pleased to see that Kaylie still needed him, no matter how much she protested to the contrary.
"Oh, father, it was the most incredible thing," began Kaylie. "We were in the Burren, when two Ogren appeared, and—"
They were in the Burren, not Oakwood Forest. So that was the lie. If only he could have figured it out beforehand. He tried to follow his daughter's story, but now all of them were babbling, telling their own versions of the adventure. Gregory held his hands up for silence, and eventually he got it, though Eric had to step on Rohn's foot to shut him up.
"You see, my lord," said Maddan, stepping in front of his friends and standing next to Kaylie. A little too close in Gregory’s opinion. His daughter moved farther to the side, trying to get away from him. Gregory decided that he would have to watch Maddan carefully. Considering who his father was, he could become a very dangerous opponent. He had no doubts regarding the man’s ambitions and to what lengths he would go to achieve them. "We ran into two Ogren when we stopped in the Burren. They were monstrous creatures, with huge maces." He tried to show how large the maces were by stretching out his hands. "They attacked and I kept them away from the girls for a time when suddenly this warrior, he must have been at least eight feet tall, jumped down from the trees—"
Kaylie's face grew darker and darker as she listened to Maddan's recounting of the afternoon's events. She was about to correct him, but she didn't have to.
"It's hard to fend off two Ogren when you're standing in the middle of a lake pissing in your pants from fear," said Rohn, giving his friend an angry scowl.
Maddan's face turned red with fury, and he took a step toward Rohn, but Kael stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
"Bragging, or lying, doesn't make you a warrior," said Kael, loud enough so everyone in the courtyard could hear. "Your actions do. You should spend more time improving your skills as a warrior, Maddan, because you don't have much of a future as a storyteller."
Maddan lowered his eyes. On the outside he appeared chagrined. On the inside he fumed. Two times today he had been humiliated. No more, he promised. Someday everyone in this courtyard would bow down to him. Some day—
"I will meet you at dawn in the circle," said Kael. "I think it's time to increase your training. Standing in a lake while facing two Ogren is not a strategy I would recommend."
Furious, Maddan gave a half-hearted bow before heading off to his quarters. His father was the richest man in all the kingdoms. Some day, Maddan would also be the most powerful. Then he'd be the one providing the lessons, and harsh ones they would be.
"Enough of this," said Gregory. "I want all of you to take hot baths and get some food. I'll find out what happened later."
Kaylie's friends bowed as Gregory led his daughter into the fortress. Once they were inside, she again began to explain what happened, but he shushed her, making her take a hot bath and eat a warm meal first. That done, she went to his quarters and took a chair in front of the fireplace by his desk. Gregory pulled a chair up and let the heat soak into his bones, waiting for his daughter to begin. She had been eager to explain before. Now she hesitated.
Kaylie looked into the fire, watching the flames dance across the logs. It was much like his eyes, she decided. The burning. The cold purpose with which he fought. She had never seen anything like it before.
"Kaylie?" her father asked expectantly, wanting to get to the bottom of this afternoon's events.
"I'm sorry for lying to you, father."
"We'll talk about that later." The finality of his words made her cringe. It was not the beginning she had hoped for.
Unable to delay any longer, she started with when they first left Ballinasloe. Kaylie talked of stopping by the lake and beginning to eat, and then having the Ogren suddenly appear. She told all this with calm detachment, as if she were only an observer, rather than a participant. When the large black wolf appeared in the story and the boy with green eyes, she grew more animated, using her hands and arms to better illustrate what happened. She even told him how scared she was, and that even though she had pulled her knife, she couldn't make her legs move for a time. When she finished, he just watched her, waiting for more. When she smiled, he realized she was done. It was almost too much to believe.
"So you're telling me that you were attacked by two Ogren, a huge black wolf appeared out of nowhere and came to your defense, buying enough time for its friend, a boy most likely no older than you, to leap down from the trees and in a matter of minutes kill both Ogren without getting injured."
"Yes."
&n
bsp; She wasn't lying. He would have known. But a boy, admittedly fighting with a wolf — and that was strange enough — but a boy killing two Ogren. A veteran soldier would have difficulty just staying alive against a single Ogren. The only way to fight Ogren without decimating your own soldiers was to swarm the beasts. But a boy! And he'd killed two! It was absolutely unbelievable. Yet it had happened.
"I'm sorry, father," said Kaylie, adopting her best little girl face. "I promise I won't lie to you again." Maybe if she apologized twice, his attitude would soften.
Gregory looked at his daughter's expression, and he knew it was an obvious attempt at manipulating him. He didn't care. He'd always forgive her, no matter what. He did think about giving her a lecture, but her frightened expression when she arrived at the Rock told him that what had happened to her was probably the best lesson she could receive. Still, he wasn’t about to let her off so easily.
"We'll talk about it more in the morning, Kaylie. It's getting late. Why don't you go off to bed?"
Kaylie smiled and rose from her chair, crossing the short distance to kiss her father on the cheek and then go to her room down the hallway.
After she had gone, Gregory sat in his chair for a long time, staring into the fire himself, playing her story over and over in his mind. He always came back to the green-eyed boy. It tugged at his memory for some reason. Then he had it. His body might be going because of age, but his mind wasn't. Talyn Kestrel's grandson had green eyes. That was the memory that was trying to break through. He had even seen the child once, before the attack on the Crag.