by Peter Wacht
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 already, 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.
"You have done well, boy. But your luck is about to run out."
The man looked familiar to Thomas. How could that be? Thomas had little time to ponder it. The man lunged forward, trying to skewer Thomas with his blade. He easily avoided the thrust, dancing to the side. Thomas glanced behind him and saw that his friend was still surrounded by reivers, who made no move toward him yet. The boy was tiring, that much was obvious. If Thomas wanted to escape he'd have to do it soon, otherwise they'd never have another opportunity. The initial confusion that worked to their advantage in the beginning would not last for much longer. The man lunged forward again with his blade and Thomas stepped out of the way.
This man with the large nose was beginning to irritate him. He lunged again with his sword, aiming for Thomas' gut. Thomas dodged to the side, but this time returned with a thrust of his own, catching the man by surprise. Off balance, the ratlike man barely avoided the blade. He couldn't stop his forward motion, though, and fell to the ground heavily for the second time in an hour. He tried to rise but stopped, cold steel pressed against his throat.
Looking up, he saw the boy staring down at him. His eyes were hard, harder than they should be for a boy. A bolt of fear settled in the bottom of Killeran's stomach. He came to the horrible realization that he had misjudged this boy, thinking that his youth would limit his skill with a blade. The boy's green eyes flashed in anger and Killeran felt the steel pressed harder against his throat. A warm trickle ran down his neck. Those cold green eyes held no mercy, only death.
"Drop your blade, boy, or your friend dies."
Thomas looked over his shoulder, his sword pressed tightly against the man's throat. The Highland boy had put up a good fight, but his exhaustion had done him in. Four reivers lay dead at his feet. But two now held him by the arms, while the third, a grizzled veteran, held a dagger to his throat.
"I said drop the sword, boy." To better make his point Kursool pushed the dagger against the boy's throat. A few drops of dark red blood welled up and dripped slowly down the boy's neck, staining his already ragged shirt.
Thomas looked down at his prisoner. The man hadn't said a word, but his fear was plain. The eyes always told all. They were filled with stark terror, and Thomas noticed that the man's body was shaking slightly. He knew that killing this man would be a good thing. He was obviously the leader of this band of reivers. His gleaming silver breastplate, now dented in several places, and his once swan white cloak, now muddied and torn, testified to that.
He turned his gaze to the boy, who stood there still as a rock, held by two reivers and the blade against his neck. There was no fear there. Only duty. The boy could have escaped with the others, and in fact should have. But he had stayed behind and tried to help Thomas prevent the reivers from following. Thomas locked eyes with the boy. There was courage there, and loyalty. His eyes said that Thomas was free to kill this man — should kill the man — and the boy wouldn't blame him for his own death. An almost imperceptible whimper issued from the man beneath his blade. He could not sacrifice a man of courage for a coward.
Thomas removed his blade from the man's neck and let his sword drop to the ground. The man he had held hostage let out a sigh of relief, then quickly regained his composure. Three reivers rushed forward, knocking Thomas to the ground and holding him there. Thomas didn't resist. The boy still had a knife pressed against his throat. Thomas hoped his sacrifice was worth it.
"Thank you, Kursool," said Killeran, as he bent over and reclaimed his sword, slipping it back into his scabbard. He tried to recapture a measure of his dignity, but failed miserably. His body still shook slightly from fear. The man turned toward Thomas. "As I said, boy, your luck has run out." The man motioned to one of the soldiers holding him down, who then rapped Thomas on the side of the head with the hilt of his dagger. Darkness quickly consumed him.
Killeran examined the now unconscious whelp. "Chain these two and double the guard."
The sergeant who had recaptured the large boy stepped forward. "Should we pursue the Highlanders, my lord?"
Killeran glared at him. "No, they're not worth the effort. Besides, if there are more of them out there like this one," motioning to Thomas’ limp form, "we'd only be asking for more trouble. No, I think it's time we return to the fort."
The sergeant nodded, then went off yelling for more chains and shackles.
Killeran felt the need to be behind solid walls, surrounded by his men. Death had brushed just a little too close for his taste this time. He stood there for a moment, watching his men fasten a steel collar around the boy's throat, then run a length of chain through the ring. At least he'd have some entertainment over the next few days. This boy with the green eyes intrigued him. He'd have to learn more about this one before he killed him.
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The Raptor of the Highlands
By Peter Wacht
Book 3 of The Sylvan Chronicles
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2019 © by Peter Wacht
Cover design by Ebooklaunch.com
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of th
e author’s intellectual property.
Published in the United States by Kestrel Media Group LLC.
ISBN: 978-1-950236-04-6
eBook ISBN: 978-1-950236-05-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019905673
For my parents.
Thank you for me teaching me
that persistence and hard work,
and some stubbornness,
pay off.
CHAPTER ONE
A Friend
The dreams swept through his mind like a tidal wave. In the first, he stood on a huge promontory looking out over a drop of a thousand feet. The wind tugged at him, wanting to pull him to his death, but he resisted. Power coursed within him. He held the Sword of the Highlands above his head in triumph, and for the first time he felt free — and in control of his own destiny.
That dream disintegrated, replaced by another. He stood in the middle of a pit with soft, white sand beneath his feet. The walls of the pit, twenty feet high and made of a glassy stone, appeared impossible to climb. He gripped a spear in his hand, but it was like none he had ever seen before. It resembled a quarterstaff, but even that term wasn’t quite right because of the long, sharp blades affixed to its ends. Blood covered his body; some of it his own, most of it not.
He couldn't remember what had happened, but again he experienced a momentary thrill of exultation. He had won. He had survived! This time, though, that feeling disappeared when his gaze traveled out of the pit to the stands situated around it, where lords and ladies watched him, looks of surprise and wonder on their faces. His eyes went from one arrogant or fearful expression to the next, until he stopped at one. The girl. The girl from the Burren. Kaylie. Instead of feeling happy at seeing her beautiful, blue eyes, though, he felt betrayed. Betrayed by her.