The Sylvan Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by Peter Wacht

  The Lost Kestrel, she murmured to herself. She imagined what he might look like — probably tall, with broad shoulders and a confident grin. A man to be reckoned with. A man of power, and perhaps a way to power. The idea of his possible existence intrigued her. Her father wanted the Highlands for the riches it contained. Perhaps she could gain those riches for herself. Men wanted power, but they also wanted something else. Something that only she could give them, if they were so fortunate.

  She had heard stories of the Lost Kestrel and his many exploits. Though she had enjoyed their telling, she had never put much faith in the stories. But if Lord Chertney was so concerned about a myth, perhaps it wasn't a myth after all. This Lost Kestrel sounded like a strong-willed man. She certainly would enjoy taming him.

  "Daydreaming, Corelia?"

  The question startled her, and she jumped back a step, almost hitting her head against the wall behind her. Anger filled her, and she was about to release a scathing reprimand on the person who had dared disturb her, until she saw who that person was.

  "What are you doing in the private residence, Lord Chertney?" she asked smoothly, hiding her shock at his presence. "I'm sure you're aware that my father does not allow anyone here without his express permission."

  Her voice was true royalty – one that was used to giving commands. Her indignation simply washed over Chertney, having little effect. His black eyes focused intently on the young woman in front of him. Corelia tried to maintain contact with those eyes, but found that she couldn't and lowered her gaze.

  Chertney smiled. A strong one, this girl, but still malleable. Strength was good when used properly. He could have tested her in other ways, but he didn't have the time. Yet, he still wanted to find out if his initial estimate of her was correct.

  "I have never met a spy as beautiful as you, Corelia. You have immeasurably enhanced a profession often looked upon with contempt by others."

  Corelia's face turned red in shame. She had been found out. But how could he have known? Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was just guessing. Besides, this was her palace. She became a picture of cool serenity and strength, refusing to show her fear.

  "I know nothing of what you say, Lord Chertney. As I said before, no one is allowed within these hallways without my father's express permission. I am quite certain, Lord Chertney, that you do not have that permission. I suggest you leave."

  The acid in this young vixen's words made Chertney grin even more, the smile giving his sallow, dark features a ghoulish cast. He was correct. This one could be of use. Not yet. No, definitely not yet. But soon.

  "As you wish, Corelia," answered Chertney smoothly, bowing at the waist and turning on his heel in one smooth motion. He was several steps away when he turned back around. "Remember one thing, though, Princess. Once you have turned down a certain road, often you cannot go back. I suggest you choose your path wisely."

  The tall, dark man strode down the hallway, his frame disappearing into the shadows created by the torches lining the walls. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  Corelia stood there for several minutes, trying to regain her composure. Chertney's words made her feel as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her, sending chills through her body. It was several minutes more before those chills finally disappeared.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  A Second Meeting

  Norin Dinnegan's head whipped around as the howl of a wolf ripped through the dark silence. On most nights such a sound would not have startled him. But this wasn't a normal night. The cold wind whipped across his face, forcing him to adjust his cloak for the hundredth time since he reached his latest place of commerce. He preferred standing by the warm fire of his private study and conducting his business the way he wanted. But his latest partner followed his own set of rules. Rules that Norin had no choice but to honor.

  He scanned the forest glade once again. His troop of hired soldiers remained at their posts, an impenetrable circle at the edge of the small clearing. Nothing moved but the wind. They had left his mansion an hour before midnight, making their way northwest until they reached the very edge of the Burren. It was a strange place for a meeting, as well as dangerous. Most people avoided the Burren during the day if possible; no one willingly entered it at night.

  Dinnegan guessed that it was several hours before dawn – he’d been waiting for more than an hour — though he couldn't tell for sure. Dark clouds hung in the sky, hiding the moon and stars. Even with the heavy wool cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, he shivered. However, he refused to admit to himself that the cause was anything but the cold. Besides the occasional wolf howl, silence reigned in the Burren. That's what made him and his men uncomfortable. Forests were active places at night, becoming quiet only when predators prowled. In any other forest, man was the primary hunter. But in the Burren, even if only on the edge, man often became the prey.

  Fear and anticipation mingled in his blood. He was the richest man in Fal Carrach, in fact in all the Kingdoms, yet his wealth no longer satisfied him. He wanted more. And as he had learned in his forty years of business, many times to achieve what you wanted you had to go outside the accepted channels of commerce.

  "Well met, Dinnegan." The raspy voice emanated from a shadow standing just a few feet in front of him.

  Dinnegan jumped back in fear. The voice drew the attention of his men, many of whom reached for their swords. He waved them off.

  “Who are you?” asked Dinnegan, trying and failing to keep a tremble of fear from his voice.

  The shadowy man had slipped past his guards with ease. Even now, when Dinnegan looked directly at the dark shape, he had difficulty picking it out from the blackness of his nighttime surroundings.

  "You may call me Malachias." The crackly voice set Dinnegan's teeth on edge. “My master says everything is ready. The task will be done.”

  The shadowy man stepped forward, the sinuous, graceful movement lost to the eye. Dinnegan desperately wanted to run, sensing the creature’s evil. Every part of his being told him to run, but he couldn't. Not if he wanted to complete this deal. "My master wishes to know what you will give him in return."

  Dinnegan licked his lips before replying, desperate for a swig of wine. His throat had suddenly gone dry. His response now would either make or break the deal. "Mountains of gold and other riches—"

  "My master has no need for such things," hissed Malachias contemptuously. "Gold and jewels mean nothing to him."

  "Then what?"

  Dinnegan had never before had such an offer refused. Greed was a natural part of man's character. He didn't know what more he could offer. Dinnegan suddenly realized to his terror that he had horribly miscalculated. This wasn’t just another business deal. His prospective partner demanded more.

  "He wants you, Dinnegan." The chilling words burrowed into Dinnegan's heart. The small voice inside his head again told him to run, to forget this arrangement and escape. Yet his overwhelming ambition locked his feet in place. "My master will do as you wish, and you will gain what you desire, but in return you will serve him — doing as my master commands, when he commands."

  Dinnegan stared at the dark shadow, for the first time in his life not knowing what to do. His fear, forgotten once the negotiations had begun, returned in full force. Could he make such an agreement, without knowing what the consequence might be? Was there any other way to gain what he wanted? Was there? If not, then was he willing to pay such a price? His greed and common sense battled within him. The fight lasted several minutes, but as it had so many times before, his avarice won out.

  "So be it."

  He tried to make his words ring strong, but to his ears they sounded hollow. For the first time in his life, he felt unsure of himself.

  "So be it," replied the shadowy man, satisfied. "In a short time you will have what you desire."

  With his task complete, Malachias disappeared into the night. Dinnegan spun around, looking for any sign of movement, but finding nothing. N
ot even in the thick dewy grass. Dinnegan's feet had flattened the long stalks all around him, but there was no sign of the messenger's passage. His soldiers weren't even aware that the meeting had ended.

  Dinnegan remained where he was for almost an hour, lost in thought. He had gotten into several business contracts in the past, and out of just as many with nary a scratch. The cold wind blew over him, and this time he welcomed it. Sweat had formed on his forehead. Hopefully, he could do the same with this one when the time came. However, the small voice that had previously warned him to run now told him it was too late. In his heart, he knew the voice spoke true.

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  A Welcome Task

  Thomas splashed into the water, trudging the last few feet to the shore and pulling the small sailboat up onto the beach. The calm of the early morning remained, the sun not yet touching the horizon. Soon, though, the animals and birds of the Highlands would awake, much to Thomas' delight.

  "Come on, you coward." Beluil sat majestically on his haunches in the prow of the small skiff, not yet ready to disembark. He grinned wickedly at Thomas, showing his sharp teeth. "Your majesty need no longer fear getting his paws wet."

  Thomas' sardonic tongue was lost on Beluil, as the large black wolf leapt onto the sand. He ran off to the edge of the tree line while Thomas dragged the boat farther up the beach, hiding it among the rocks and trees to prevent discovery. After wiping their tracks clean in the sand, he grabbed his pack and bow and followed his friend into the forest.

  It was good to be back. Rya had argued that it was too soon, that he had not fully recovered from his wounds, as it had only been six weeks since his escape from the reivers. For Thomas it was not soon enough. Though still sore in several places, only the scars remained of his time in the Black Hole. Now the only pain he felt came when he looked in the mirror as his chest and back displayed the artistry of a whip and a poker. Just looking at the crisscrossing marks made him grimace in distaste. He could only imagine what someone else might think.

  During the last few weeks he had argued repeatedly with his grandparents. Images of his people suffering in the mines never left him, nor did his feeling of helplessness. He had to do something, but each time he considered declaring himself the Highland Lord, Rynlin and Rya harshly called him a fool. In time he would return to take his grandfather’s place. He had to wait until then. If he went back before he was ready, however, they told him that he would fail, and with him would die the hopes of his people.

  At first, Thomas thought his grandparents were simply speaking out of fear, which was to be expected considering what he had just experienced. But he quickly discarded that notion. Rynlin and Rya weren’t trying to protect him as they had before. They had realized during his captivity that they could no longer treat him like a child. Instead they wanted to help him. So Thomas wisely heeded their warning.

  Of course, that didn't mean he had to stay within the confines of the Isle of Mist. No, he could still do something to help his people. So Thomas decided that he would continue to perform the duties required of a Sylvan Warrior, and perhaps add a task or two, such as preventing the reivers from putting any more of his people to work in the mines.

  With Beluil trotting along at his side, he and the large wolf dodged among the trees, heading in a southwesterly direction toward where the Burren met the Highlands. It was as good a place as any to start his search. Reaching out for the Talent, Thomas let the familiar feeling rush through his body, then focused his attention on the surrounding forest. The bustle of activity hidden beneath the veil of calm comforted Thomas. In his mind he watched the ants carrying bits of food back to their hole, the woodpeckers searching for bugs in the trees, and the otters swimming in the Southern River.

  They traveled in companionable silence for several hours, Beluil running off occasionally on a whim, but always returning to his friend's side. Thomas had relayed to the black wolf as much as he could about what had happened the last time he had ventured into the Highlands. Since then, Beluil had stayed close. So close in fact that the two had been virtually inseparable. They were almost to the edge of the Burren when Thomas stopped abruptly. Beluil watched his friend in anticipation, knowing what was to come.

  Thomas stood transfixed for several seconds, neither speaking nor blinking. A faraway look entered his eyes. Finally, he came out of the trance, his calm expression replaced by one of purpose. He relayed what he had sensed to Beluil. Evil. Wrongness. In the forest. Many evil. Quick death. Blood. Death. Fear. Scent of fear. Fearhounds. Fearhounds. Fearhounds!

  Beluil howled with fury. Wolves had no love for dark creatures, and the only thing they hated more than Ogren were Fearhounds. Thomas adjusted the pack on his shoulder, holding his sword in one hand and his bow in the other. He ran through the forest, easily sidestepping the trees that loomed up to block his way. Beluil followed closely at his heels. Their passage was barely noticeable, their quick movement seemingly no more than a slight breeze. The pack of Fearhounds was far to the north. He and Beluil would have to push hard, yet neither cared as they grinned in anticipation. The chase had begun.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Various Tacks

  Gregory had hoped for a nice quiet day with his daughter, free of the everyday demands made on him. Yet quiet days were few and far between, even when traveling along the edge of the Burren. The troop of twenty soldiers marching around them ensured that. As the King of Fal Carrach he could do almost anything he pleased, but taking a few days to be alone with his daughter was not one of them.

  Kael almost had a fit when Gregory told him he was only planning to take five soldiers with him. The Highlander finally relaxed when Gregory promised to take a full troop. Even then Kael was barely satisfied. He had mentioned the increasing number of reports coming back from the west and north about dark creatures roaming the border region. There was also more talk of this Raptor, who could be either friend or foe. Still, such rumors would not keep Gregory from his objective.

  Lately, he had been spending more and more time on the affairs of state, due mostly to that uppity, weak-willed power monger playing at High King. A day didn’t seem to go by without discovering some new scheme directed at Fal Carrach that was hatched jointly by Rodric and his sidekick, Loris of Dunmoor. And that wasn't the worst of it. At least that was something he could deal with competently.

  Women were an entirely different matter. Sarelle, Queen of Benewyn, had sent a formal correspondence — several in fact — asking Gregory to visit. Sarelle was a remarkably beautiful woman, her auburn hair blazing in the sunlight, her sharp, green eyes full of mischief. But that's what worried him. When Sarelle even glanced at him, his face became red and his palms sweaty. Though he was a king, he felt like a tongue-tied boy in her presence.

  He had thanked her for the invitation, but respectfully declined, noting several pressing matters that required his attention. Much to his surprise she wrote back saying that she understood. Instead she'd visit him! Now what was he supposed to do? He had pondered that question for most of the morning, until Kaylie started in on him once again.

  Ruling a kingdom was simple compared to raising a daughter too much like yourself. A daughter he had seen much too little of in recent weeks. Hence, his idea to patrol Oakwood Forest for a few days to be with her, and perhaps find a solution to his problem with Sarelle without embarrassing himself.

  "Really, father, I just don't understand why you're being so stubborn," declared Kaylie, striding along next to her father in a linen shirt and tight-fitting breeks, her always-present dagger at her belt.

  She had tried many different approaches in her argument with him so far today, from pleading to begging to demanding. Now she was trying to reason with him. As he looked down at his daughter, he saw her mother — long, raven black hair, deep blue eyes, a beautiful smile and the tenacity of a bulldog.

  "I may be the daughter of a king, but that should not keep me from learning how to fight with a sword. As a woman, you
never know when such knowledge might prove useful."

  Her tone sounded rational, but her eyes spoke of something else — irritation. Her father was probably the most obstinate man she knew. Nothing she had tried so far had worked. It just wasn't fair. So what if she was a woman. That should have no bearing on her learning how to fight with a blade.

  A woman. Gregory had to admit his daughter was right. She was no longer a girl. But it was so hard for him to think of her as anything else. He remembered when she used to come running into the throne room covered in dirt from playing in one of the gardens, ordering him to come with her at once so she could go for a pony ride. She had last done that years ago, but it seemed like only yesterday. Of all the traits she had to inherit from him, why did it have to be his obstinacy?

  "You're absolutely correct, Kaylie. I shouldn’t treat you like a child. You're a woman now and should be treated as such." She missed the sly smile that crept onto his face.

  "Thank you for coming to that realization, father."

  Maybe all her efforts were finally going to pay off. Even the strongest of men wore down after hours of constant wheedling.

  "In fact, it probably is time to start your training."

  "Oh, father, thank you so—"

  "I'll talk with Elissa as soon as we get back."

  Kaylie's smile became a look of confusion. Elissa? What did Elissa have to do with learning the sword?

  “Don’t you mean Kael, father?”

  "Kael? What does he have to do with this?" replied Gregory, doing his best to keep an even tone.

  "But Kael's the Swordmaster. Why would Elissa teach me how to use a sword?"

  "She wouldn't," answered Gregory, quickly scanning the forest around them and making sure his men were where they were supposed to be. The habits of a soldier died hard. "She'll be teaching you the six gifts of womanhood, passed down from the ancients: beauty, voice, sweet speech, needlework, wisdom and chastity. As a young woman, you need to know how to act properly, and Elissa is just the right person to teach you."