by Peter Wacht
Rya sighed. "I worry about him."
"I know. But this is what he is now, for a while longer anyway. Besides, I think it helps him in a way."
"Putting himself in danger all the time?" Rynlin ignored his wife's sarcastic tone. Sometimes she let her concern get the better of her, and it usually came out through her vitriolic tongue.
"No," replied Rynlin, refusing to be baited. He didn't feel like arguing with his wife this morning. “What I mean is, if your family was murdered, or rather the one person you cared about most as a child, and you knew who was ultimately responsible, and you now had a way to get back at him, wouldn't you take every opportunity to do so?"
Rya thought about it for a moment, but Rynlin already knew her answer. "Yes, I guess I would."
Rynlin sat back in his chair, extending his legs underneath the table, a satisfied smile on his face.
"But that's not really what's bothering me," said Rya. Rynlin knew it immediately. It was going to be one of those mornings. Mornings he had come to dread over the years.
"What are you worried about?"
"When Thomas is off the island, he can be found." All of Rya's fears were coming to the surface, and her voice grew louder as a result. "The Shadow Lord knows who he is now. We knew that as soon as he stood on the Stone. He could send a Nightstalker after him again. If he's too far into the Highlands, we wouldn't be able to help him in time."
"Well, that is a valid concern," said Rynlin.
"Thank you very much for agreeing."
Based on the sharpness of her tone, the vitriol was virtually spilling from her. Rynlin sighed. It was going to be a wonderful day. And the morning had gotten off to such an excellent start. He kept the sarcasm to himself, of course. No need to irritate his wife further. When he was younger he might have voiced his thought, but that would have only pushed Rya closer to the edge. He was thankful that he had gotten somewhat wiser with age.
"Rya, I don't think we have to worry about that, at least for the time being."
"And why not?"
"Because all of the Shadow Lord's previous attempts have failed, and Thomas is much stronger now. If a Nightstalker comes within a league of him, Thomas will know. And if that happens, I'd be more worried for the Nightstalker." Rynlin's attempt at humor only made Rya's face turn sourer, so he continued. "Besides, if the Shadow Lord really wants to find him, whether or not Thomas is on the Isle of Mist won't matter. There is no place Thomas can hide from him. All we can do is let him live his life and hope that he listened to some of what we tried to teach him."
Rya let out a long breath and relaxed into the back of her chair. "I know you're right, Rynlin, but I still don't like it."
"I don't like it either," said Rynlin. "Now why don't you bring over a few of those cinnamon rolls. They smell delicious."
The look Rya gave him could have burned through steel. "If you want one, get it yourself. I might be your wife, but I'm not your servant."
Rynlin sighed inwardly. The conversation had been going so well. Rynlin decided that he was going to have to pay more attention to Rya's moods today. Otherwise he was going to get himself into more trouble than usual, and that was quite a lot as it was.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Attacked
Oso had lain in bed for most of the night, unable to sleep. He certainly should have. His body demanded it, but his mind won out. He had spent the past week clearing a small patch of burned-out forest to increase the size of the village's fields for next spring's planting.
Now finished, he could take some time for himself — and go hunting. Unfortunately, the excitement of the day to come had worked against him during the night. As the hours slowly passed he had considered getting an early start just after midnight. Reason had won out, though, and he decided to leave at first light.
Like most Highlanders, hunting was one of his passions. The challenge of the chase never failed to get his adrenaline flowing. Nevertheless, his desire to hunt was stronger than usual. Though he would never admit it to anyone other than himself, he really just wanted to escape the village for a time. Lately, people had been treating him differently, and it was making him extremely uncomfortable. He would much rather confront a charging boar than deal with the looks some of the village women directed toward him.
Oso’s father died soon after the Crag fell, and his mother a few years after, a victim of the mines. Oso shifted on his bed — a few blocks of wood, a large board and an old straw mattress with more holes than cloth — and set his feet on the dirt floor of his hut. He ran his large hands through his long, blond hair in frustration. He had wanted to save his mother, but couldn't. No one could have. Not with Killeran’s warlocks about.
Even still, his failure haunted him almost every day. Though no one ever mentioned it, they all knew why he trained so hard during his weapons practice. Only one person could best him now in the circle — Alus — and that wouldn't last for much longer. Thinking of what had happened to his family, even now, years past, still made his blood boil.
Since then, the women of his village had looked after him. Oso politely turned down several offers to move into their homes. He didn't want to burden anyone. Instead, he built his own, small hut at the very edge of the village. Of course, he was not above allowing the women to mend his shirts or make him a new pair of pants when needed. There were certain things he just didn't have the skill or the patience for. Because of his circumstances, all the village women saw him as their own. Now, he sensed they saw him as something else. The change occurred when he reached his seventeenth summer just a month before.
Now, the women always seemed to weigh him with their eyes, and several, the ones with daughters, had taken a particular interest in him. What made him even more uncomfortable, though, were the daughters. Oso was a shy boy, and the suggestive looks and teasing he received from the girls set his face on fire. Those who succeeded in making him blush laughed in delight. Even worse, his embarrassment only made them intensify their efforts. After what Sara had said the day before, his need to get away increased. Her daughter, Kera, really was quite beautiful, and Oso liked the way her black curls drifted over her eyes when she bent her head. But there was something in those eyes that worried him.
"You're a man now," she had said. Oso remembered the words exactly, and they had played through his mind a dozen times during the night. "My Kera really is quite a catch, Kylin. Perhaps you'd like to join us for dinner on the morrow?"
It was a seemingly innocuous conversation. Normally, it would not have bothered him. But she had called him Kylin! His given name. Hearing it set off a warning bell in his head. She had called him Kylin! Many Highland children grew up with nicknames. When the adults decided to use your proper name, it meant that you were ready to marry. For the last month he had laughed off the hints thrown his way, not taking them seriously. But now, what was he to do? If he wasn’t careful, within the week he could be betrothed. And the week after that married! He wasn't ready for that.
"Women," he mumbled to himself in frustration.
Oso rose to his feet, his head just inches from the ceiling. His broad shoulders and large frame filled the small hut completely. Running his hand over his jaw, he decided the few soft whiskers there could wait. If he left now, he could escape the village without anyone knowing. Then he wouldn't open his door like he had a few days before in his underclothes to find Rea and her daughter there with a basket of bread and fruit. No, he certainly didn't want to repeat that experience. Both Rea and Lisel had found the whole episode remarkably amusing, particularly when they discovered that his blushing affected more than just his face.
After pulling a somewhat clean white shirt over his head, he tucked it into his green breeks. He then dug around in a small pile of dirty clothes to find the dark brown jacket he wanted. It had gotten cold fast this year. He guessed it would be a very short autumn. Slipping the jacket over his shoulders, he realized that some of the tiny rips across the back weren't so tiny anymore. He'
d need a new jacket soon. If only he knew how to sew! Then he could avoid any more potential embarrassments. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. Oso turned to his small table and threw a leftover crust of bread and some apples into his travel sack. Slinging his bow and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder, he grabbed his sword with his free hand.
He opened the small door of his home quietly and was just as careful as he let it fall back in place as he stepped outside. There was no reason to wake everybody, now was there? The sun was rising in the east, setting the clouds on the horizon awash in red. Within the hour others in his village would stir. Oso spun around in surprise at the soft snap of a twig behind him. No one would be up and about this early. Why would someone—
Reivers! Reivers in the village! Their familiar black leather armor was burned into his memory. Two had just walked right past his home, intent on the cottages in front of them. Many of his fellow Highlanders had laughed at his house when he had finished. His hut resembled a small, stunted tree rather than a cottage and blended quite well with the forest. Now Oso thanked his lack of skill in carpentry for allowing the reivers to mistake it for a tree.
Oso silently put down his travel sack and shrugged the bow and quiver from his shoulder. His sword was out of its sheath and in the back of one of the reivers before he had time to think. The sound of the reiver sliding off of Oso's blade made the other reiver turn, but the raider was too slow. He was greeted by the slash of Oso's sword across his throat. The man clutched at the blood pouring from his neck, falling to the ground with his life seeping into the soil. The entire struggle took only a few seconds. Exhilaration rushed through Oso. Finally he could get back at the men responsible for the deaths of his parents. All the hours and days and years of training were worth it, just for those two kills.
Oso quickly came to his senses. He didn't have time to exult in his success. The battle had not even begun. At least a hundred or more reivers moved toward the center of the village in a large inverted skirmish line, which meant there were probably warlocks at the far end. He didn't have a moment to lose. He ran toward the village green shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Reivers! Reivers in the village! Rise and fight!"
He made it only a few feet before he met two more reivers, this time without the benefit of surprise. Oso skidded to a halt, barely avoiding an extended sword. He swung down with his own sword with all his strength, knocking the man's blade from his hand. A quick kick to the black-clad soldier's midsection sent him reeling to the ground with broken ribs.
Oso turned his attention to the other reiver, who carried a two-headed axe. The soldier swung a vicious downstroke, which would have left Oso without his head if the blow connected. Ducking underneath the assault, Oso stabbed at the reiver's gut, but his opponent recovered quickly and blocked the thrust. The man moved back a few steps to gain room to maneuver. Oso decided now was the time to even the odds. It was not something he relished doing, but was necessary.
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 beyo
nd. 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.