The Sylvan Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by Peter Wacht

"More than ready."

  "Good," said Thomas. "Let's get going. We'll give the reivers a chance to feel safe again before we dissuade them of that notion."

  After retrieving their arrows, Thomas loped off into the forest, moving away from the path. To Oso, he looked more like an animal than a man with his graceful and strong movements. A very dangerous animal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  A Brief Respite

  The ambush earned the Highlanders several hours’ respite, but that still wasn't enough time. The same short sergeant with whom Thomas and Oso were so familiar led the reivers now. Kursool had become the living embodiment of Thomas' hate, since he was the one responsible for carrying out Killeran's orders. In Thomas' opinion, Kursool enjoyed carrying out those orders far too much, particularly with respect to the Block. Yet it was probably his zealousness that won him a place at Killeran's side. The lines of age and scars of battles past fit perfectly with the short but broad-shouldered man's personality — sharp and abrasive.

  Kursool was perpetually angry, and he found his happiness by taking that anger out on others. For the past few weeks, Thomas and Oso had been his targets. At the moment, though, Thomas thought the sergeant’s primary motivation might not be anger so much as fear. Kursool had been in charge of the fort when the Highlanders escaped. As a result, he would be the first one to taste Killeran's wrath.

  Thomas knew that though the first ambush was a success, much of the day still remained. The sun, which offered little warmth on this cold morning, had not yet reached its midpoint. There was little he and Oso could do against such a large body of men. Kursool had almost two hundred reivers at his disposal.

  However, despite the overwhelming odds, because of the first ambush Kursool played right into their hands. Not knowing how many Highlanders were responsible for the attack, he had decided on a cautious strategy. He sent out overlapping five-man squads to scout a quarter to a half mile in front and behind his main force of reivers. By doing so, he hoped to deter more ambushes, and perhaps even flush out the attackers.

  Yet, there was one problem. That strategy, though militarily sound, was of little use under the current circumstances. Though the main force had better protection, it left each five-man squad more vulnerable to attack, allowing Thomas and Oso to continue their ambushes and not only buy time for the Highlanders' escape, but also diminish Kursool's remaining forces. Oso had said that some of the larger villages deep within the Highlands were home to several hundred Marchers. He hoped Raven’s Peak was one of them.

  "There is a group of five coming from the east," said Thomas, materializing out of the forest right in front of Oso. They had picked a spot along the trail where the forest grew thick on both sides. Getting through it required the use of a sharp axe, so they assumed the reivers would stay to the trail. Two hours had passed since the first ambush. With any luck, the reivers had grown lazy since then.

  "Would you please stop doing that," grumbled Oso.

  He had almost jumped out of his skin when Thomas appeared. One moment he's standing next to a tree, watching for any movement in front of him, the next Thomas is speaking to him from only a few feet away without having made a sound during his approach. It just wasn't natural for someone to move so quietly in the forest.

  "Sorry," said Thomas, who found a spot a few trees over where he would have a clear line of sight to the road. "I'll shoot from left to right."

  "Sounds good," said Oso.

  They soon heard the crunching of boots along the trail. Five black-clad soldiers walked into view across the rocky ground, crossbows held at the ready. In the first ambush, the reivers held only swords and daggers. Thomas and Oso would have to be more careful now. If they missed, these reivers would shoot back.

  Thomas waited until all five were in plain sight before firing, Oso having released just before he did. His first arrow took the last reiver in the chest. The man just in front of him heard the loud thunk of the bolt striking home, but before he could turn around and discover what happened, Thomas' second arrow pierced his heart. Both died before their bodies hit the ground.

  Leaving the first two to Oso, Thomas pulled a third arrow from the ground, nocked it and aimed for the reiver walking in the middle of the column. The man had seen his two companions in front of him crumple to the ground and was about to flee when Thomas' arrow plunged deep within his chest. In a futile effort, the reiver pressed the trigger of his crossbow, but the bolt flew harmlessly up into the sky as the man collapsed.

  "Good shooting, Oso," said Thomas.

  "Thanks."

  Thomas trotted through the woods and out onto the trail. Dagger drawn, he checked to make sure each reiver was dead before pulling the arrows free. Four came out clean, but the fifth was wedged tight beneath one of the reiver's ribs. During his struggle to remove it, the steel tip broke off. Thomas threw the useless shaft into the forest before rejoining Oso. They had only so many arrows to use and their supplies were dwindling quickly.

  "Let's move a little farther down the trail, but not too far. I doubt Kursool will expect another attack so soon after this one."

  "A good plan," agreed Oso, taking the two arrows Thomas handed to him and wiping the tips clean on the grass before putting them back in the quiver on his hip.

  Oso made the calculations in his mind. Another few hours won, but still a half day or more left. Their work was far from over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Fear and Worry

  "Clean through the heart, sergeant," said the reiver as he turned the body over. He looked at the five dead reivers with distaste. He was a veteran of many battles, but he didn't like being around dead men anymore than the next person. "All of them. Clean through the heart."

  Kursool studied the five bodies one more time. All dead. All from an arrow straight through the heart. Just like the other five. And the other five. And the seven before that. He had never seen such efficient ambushes before. For the first time in many years he was afraid. He had known those two boys were trouble the minute he had seen them, but rather than killing them right away like he had suggested, Killeran had decided to play with them first.

  Well, now the boys were having their fun, along with however many Highlanders were fit enough to join in. Judging by these two attacks, they probably had a dozen or so men with them. It was the only way to explain the ease with which they had eliminated so many of his men.

  Unfortunately, a part of his mind — the part he listened to during a battle, the part that had saved his life more times than he could count — told him that he was wrong. A dozen Marchers weren’t ambushing his men. It was two, and boys at that. He could see that some of his men already had come to the same conclusion. He could also read from their expressions that they were wondering something else.

  In the last hour the reivers had entered territory regularly patrolled by bands of Marchers. If only two boys could do this, what would happen if they came across a squad of Marchers? None of his men had ever seen what those Highland bastards could do when the warlocks weren’t around to interfere. Ordering Marchers around while they were in chains was one thing. Matching steel with an angry Highlander was something else entirely. The thought of walking into a group of Marchers terrified him. But what could he do?

  He was probably already a dead man for letting Killeran's fort burn to the ground, and the only chance he had for staying alive was bringing the Highlanders back, along with those two boys. If they didn't catch the escaped Highlanders before the day was out, they probably wouldn’t catch them at all. Then he and his men would be the hunted, rather than the other way around.

  "What should we do, sergeant?" asked another reiver.

  Kursool looked at the man with steely eyes. Resin. He had discovered the men murdered in the barracks. Kursool had not bothered to ask him why he had left his post. Time for that later.

  "We keep going, Resin."

  "But sergeant—"

  The man's words caught in his throat as Kurso
ol fixed him with a murderous glare.

  "Resin, are you challenging my authority?"

  Resin gulped at the implication, his face turning white. The only way to move up within the reivers' ranks was through a duel. Obviously Kursool was one of the best fighters among all the reivers, otherwise he never would have achieved his current standing. Resin was there to make money, and both he and Kursool knew it.

  "No, sergeant. Forget I said anything."

  Kursool stared at the man a few moments longer. His right hand twitched, hovering over the hilt of his sword. It was too bad Resin had backed down. Killing him in a duel would make leading his men much easier.

  "Vanin," he called out.

  A tall reiver approached. His long, curly red hair formed a ring around his head that stuck out from underneath his helmet. His overall appearance was humorous, but no one dared to laugh. Next to Kursool, Vanin was the most dangerous man with a blade in the Black Hole, or rather what had once been the Black Hole.

  "Yes, sergeant?"

  "Take fifty men and increase the size of the scouting parties. I don't want any more surprises."

  "Yes, sergeant."

  "What was the last report regarding the Highlanders?"

  "One of the scouts guessed that they were only a few hours ahead of us," replied Vanin, shuffling his feet uneasily. Vanin was a man of few words and didn’t like to talk.

  "Good," said Kursool. "Then we can still catch them before the sun sets. Get going, Vanin. We don't have time to waste."

  "Yes, sergeant."

  Vanin immediately called for the first fifty men in the long column to follow him farther down the trail.

  "Let's move out," yelled Kursool as he trotted up the rocky slope.

  Kursool's men followed after him, swords drawn and crossbows at the ready. As each man walked past the five dead reivers, their eyes immediately went to the trees around them, scanning the foliage for any sign of movement. They were supposed to be the hunters, they kept telling themselves, not the hunted.

  They had gone no more than a mile before the next attack. Kursool was caught completely off guard, not expecting such a bold move from the Highlanders. Somehow the Marchers had slipped behind his scouts. As the first few arrows sped through the air, the reivers stood on the trail too shocked by their attackers' audacity to do anything. Who would risk assaulting such a large group of soldiers?

  A larger group of soldiers, most likely. Their shock quickly changed to fear that a Marcher war party surrounded them. The reivers bolted for the trees along the trail, trying to hide behind the thick trunks before they joined their friends lying dead on the rocky path. The once organized column of soldiers deteriorated into a mass of terrified men, knocking one another out of the way as they gave into man's strongest instinct — survival.

  Though the attack seemed to last forever, it was over in less than a minute. Kursool peeked out from behind the tree he used for cover. The sight horrified him. More than a score of his men lay dead or wounded on the path, the shafts of long Highland arrows sticking up from their chests.

  They had to be facing at least a dozen men. They had to! Two boys could not do so much damage. Two boys could not be so deadly! Kursool tried to convince himself of that fact, but the voice in his head kept telling him that he was wrong. He and his men were up against two boys, and the boys were winning. Shaking off his growing fear, Kursool walked out from behind the tree.

  "Back on the trail!" he screamed, hoping that his men didn’t smell the fear growing within him. This was supposed to be a simple task because of the Highlanders’ weakened condition. He certainly had not counted on this. "Islan! Rumal! Allers!" Three reivers ran forward. "Take ten men each and comb the woods around us. Find the Highlanders who just attacked us, and if you can't find them, find out which way they went."

  "Yes, sergeant," they replied in unison, then ran off to gather their men.

  Kursool walked over to the men lying in the middle of the path. Two of the reivers had gotten there before him, and both shook their heads with regret. Twenty more men dead or soon to be. Blast!

  A shout rang out, and Kursool dived to the ground, as did the bulk of his men. Looking up, he saw Resin standing off to the side with his crossbow. The bolt was missing from his weapon, and a large squirrel sitting on a tree branch chattered down at him furiously.

  Kursool pulled himself off the ground. "What are you doing, Resin?"

  "I thought I saw something move, sergeant, so I—"

  "So you shot at a squirrel," finished Kursool, the contempt in his voice obvious.

  "Well, I didn't know it was a squirrel until after I shot at it."

  Several of the men around Resin chuckled softly. Kursool turned away from Resin, cursing loudly.

  "Leave them where they are," he called to his men. "We keep moving."

  He began the long climb up the rocky slope, this time with his sword in hand and his eyes combing the forest around him. His men followed suit. His soldiers were shooting at shadows now. Wonderful. He'd lost more than three dozen men in only a few hours, and he hadn't even seen his enemy. He wanted to turn around and leave this place. Leave the Highlands all together. But he couldn't. He had to keep going. If he didn't find the Highlanders and those two boys, he would never escape the Highlands. Killeran would see to that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A Brilliant Idea

  "It's not working as we'd hoped," said Oso between breaths. He and Thomas ran through the forest, having just met one of Kursool's newly strengthened scouting parties. They had come out of it unscathed, and eliminated another half dozen reivers, but they were running dangerously low on arrows. "Kursool is pushing his men hard."

  "He doesn't have a choice," replied Thomas. "If he doesn't catch us, he's as good as dead."

  "A good reason to keep after us, then," agreed Oso. They had put several miles between themselves and the scouting party, and Oso doubted the reivers they had just attacked would dare to come after them without further assistance. Yet Thomas kept running, and at a very fast pace. If he didn't stop soon, Oso would drop from exhaustion. "Thomas, can we rest for a minute?"

  "What? Oh, yes. Sorry about that, Oso."

  Thomas stopped and walked over to a fallen tree, using the trunk as a seat. Oso joined him, huffing and puffing as he tried to regain his breath. They sat there in silence for several minutes. Thomas was deep in thought and Oso was too tired to speak anyway. Finally, after the searing pain in his side became a dull ache, Oso turned toward his friend, who had a faraway look on his face.

  "Thomas?"

  Thomas gave a start, and the misty look in his eyes disappeared. "Sorry about that, Oso. I was just looking around."

  "What did you see?"

  Oso had quickly grown accustomed to Thomas’ abilities, finding his skill at surveying the surrounding forest particularly useful.

  "That scouting party we ran into hightailed it back to Kursool. He's still coming after us, but he's going at a slower pace. Unfortunately, Anara isn't moving as fast as I had hoped. She's no more than two hours in front of us, and we've still got most of the afternoon left. We've got to give them more time, but we're almost out of arrows."

  "Can you do what you did back at the fort?"

  The sight of the fireball leaping from Thomas' hand and blowing a huge hole in the wall of the stockade was seared into his memory. It was one of the most frightening things he had ever seen, but also one of the most pleasurable.

  "I probably could," replied Thomas, mulling the idea over in his mind. "But then I'd be useless, no strength left, and we'd still be too far from the safety of that village.”

  Oso sighed in disappointment. He had forgotten what Thomas had explained to him earlier about the Talent. It was the simplest solution to their problem, but rarely did such things work out as you hoped.

  "What about your friends?"

  "The Sylvan Warriors?" asked Thomas.

  Oso nodded.

  "I have no doubt that at
least two are on the way. The others—" Thomas let his voice trail off. "The others are so widely dispersed, I doubt any who decided to come to our aid would get to us in time."

  Events were going from bad to worse. They had inflicted a huge number of casualties on their enemy, yet Kursool still followed seemingly undeterred by his losses, and now neither he nor Thomas had more than a handful of arrows remaining. Worst of all, Anara required more time than they had been able to provide in order to reach a safe haven. That stuck in his craw more than anything else. He didn't want to let her down. Was Thomas right? Did he like that strong-willed, somewhat possessive redhead? He didn't even want to think about it.

  "Oso, I think I've got an idea."

  "What?"

  "We'll let gravity do the job for us."

  "What do you mean by that?" asked Oso, not understanding where Thomas was leading. How could gravity help them?

  "Yes, gravity. Come on. I found what we’ll need when I was looking around."

  Thomas jumped off the tree trunk and trotted into the woods on a course that would take them back to the trail. Reluctantly, Oso followed after him. A few minutes later they reached a point where the trail sloped upwards at a steep angle for almost a quarter mile before settling back down to a relatively easy ascent. Thomas stopped at the base of the steep incline and smiled.

  "Yes, this will do nicely."

  "What will do nicely?" asked Oso, breathing heavily once again. He was exhausted. Completely and utterly exhausted.

  "I should have explained sooner. Actually, I should have thought of it sooner."

  "Thomas, slow down for a second, all right. You're talking so fast I can't keep up with you. Now, just exactly what are you talking about?"

  "Follow me and I'll show you."

  He trotted up the hill, the steep angle failing to slow him down.

  Letting out a curse, Oso started after his friend. Every step sent a sharp arrow of pain into his legs. His muscles were ready to give out on him, but he pushed himself forward. Thomas had to be bothered by the exertion of the previous day, particularly after what he had done with the Talent. He was human, after all. But if his friend could keep going despite all that, so could he. Ignoring the aches and pains in his legs, and the cramp that returned to his right side, Oso ran up the last few feet of the slope.