by Peter Wacht
Pulling himself up onto one of the crenels, Thomas looked down at the pounding surf below. It was now or never. Turning back toward the High King, Thomas grabbed the hilt of his sword with two hands and brought it behind his head. With the last of his strength, he threw it toward the High King.
“Kill him!” shouted Rodric, his wits finally returning.
The High King no longer paid attention to Thomas, horror consuming him at his son’s fate. Chertney quickly stepped forward, using his Black Magic to divert the blade, which would have flown true otherwise. A pity really, thought Chertney. He probably should have let the boy’s blade strike home. Then one problem would have been eliminated. Ah, well. He would just have to wait a little longer.
The soldiers on the battlements were released from their stupor by Rodric’s shout, raising their crossbows and releasing their bolts in a single motion. Thomas caught the movement from the corner of his eye. Spinning around he took a deep breath and jumped off the battlements. The bolts passed through the air where he had been just a second before.
“Thomas!” Kaylie screamed, as he disappeared from view.
She threw herself into her father’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Her one true friend was dead, all because of her.
Gregory motioned to Kael, who immediately formed up his men. They were leaving. Right now. No one bothered to stop the grim-faced men as they made for the staircase leading down toward the stables.
The Armaghian soldiers ran toward the battlements and looked down at the water pounding against the rocks. “No one could have survived that,” said one. Several nodded in agreement. They didn’t notice that Chertney had joined them. When they did, they immediately backed away.
“Even so,” the dark shadow of a man said ominously, “find his body and bring it to me.”
The soldiers immediately ran off to obey, not wanting to spend any more time in his presence than necessary. Chertney examined the rocks below for some time. He was beginning to think he might have misjudged this boy. Chertney hoped, for his own sake, that was not the case. Otherwise, a very unpleasant task awaited him.
CHAPTER TEN
Freedom
Thomas opened himself to the Talent as soon as he jumped off the battlements, the familiar feeling giving him some comfort as he plummeted toward the rocks below. He needed to act quickly or all his efforts would be wasted.
He formed the image of the raptor in his mind and began the difficult process of guiding the power of nature into the form.
He wasn’t going to make it. He wasn’t strong enough to control the tremendous power needed to succeed.
The rocks came up too fast. Pushing thoughts of failure from his mind, Thomas searched within himself for some hidden reserve of energy. There had to be something left. There had to be!
As the rocks rose up to meet him, he felt the Talent finally take hold. Thomas squawked in victory as he transformed himself into the raptor, his wings catching the winds as he soared over the rocks with just a few feet to spare.
He flew to the east, hoping that his strength would last long enough for him to reach safety. Even now, as he allowed the breezes to push him across The Gullet, he felt the last of his energy slipping away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spared
The sun had not yet risen, but Chertney had already stood uncomfortably on a large rock below the walls of the Palace for several long hours. Around him soldiers ran around like worker ants, searching for Thomas’ body. They had been there since the evening before, working through the night with nothing to show for it. Still, Chertney had not called off the search, and until he did, the soldiers would continue to perform their duties.
As he waited impatiently for some word on the boy, his mind drifted back to the previous night. Chertney had spent much of it with Rodric after his son’s injuries were seen to. The slash across Ragin’s arm had been deep, cutting into the bone. He had been lucky, though. The physick did not have to amputate the limb.
Ragin wasn’t so lucky with his other wound, losing his right eye. Once the terrible wound healed, he would have to live with a large scar marring the right side of his face. A fate probably worse than death for someone like Ragin. Chertney could do nothing for the prince, as his talents did not lie in that direction. Nevertheless, no matter how many times he told Rodric that, the High King refused to believe him. And even if he could, he wouldn’t. He did not waste his skills on arrogant fools.
After listening to Rodric rant and rave about what had happened for several hours, the High King frothing at the mouth as he worked himself into a rage, Chertney decided to take his leave and focus on the search. It wasn’t going well, of course. As the hours passed, Chertney doubted they would find a body. A reasonable possibility was that the tide had pulled it out into The Gullet, but he doubted it.
Thomas had demonstrated a great deal of strength during the interrogation. Perhaps he had misjudged the boy even more than he originally believed. Perhaps the boy had the ability to mask his skill just as Chertney had. Chertney now had to admit to himself that the boy had hidden something from him. It was a possibility he didn’t like thinking about. His master did not tolerate failure, especially at a time when his plans were moving forward so rapidly.
For the first time in centuries, Chertney knew fear. What he was about to do frightened him to the very core of his being. Stepping off the rock, he trudged back up to the main gate, ignoring the salutes of the soldiers he passed. Chertney was a visitor here, yet even they knew where the real power resided. Rather than heading toward the suite of rooms he occupied, he made for the steps leading down into the now-deserted dungeon, taking them two at a time despite the pitch black that greeted his eyes. He didn’t need the light to see where he was going.
Chertney shut the door behind him as he entered the cell he had used to interrogate Thomas two nights before. He began immediately, not wanting to think about what he was about to do, and what the consequences of his actions might be. Otherwise, he might not have the courage to go through with it. Drawing on his Dark Magic, Chertney extended his power, searching for his true home, the home of his master. Searching for Shadow’s Reach.
The blackness of the room took on a life of its own. A circular portal appeared before him, blacker than the darkness of the cell. The portal spun slowly at first, then faster, and faster still. Suddenly, it stopped, and a deathlike chill entered the room. Chertney immediately dropped to his knees and laid his head on the stone floor in submission.
“You have failed me, Chertney.”
The voice was no more than a whisper, yet the chill of its tone sent a shiver of fear through Chertney. He felt an invisible, icy hand close around his heart. His breaths came in gasps.
“I tried, master. I truly did. But Rodric kept me from my task. Otherwise the boy would be dead.”
There was a long silence. Chertney remained where he was, not daring to raise his head. The hand of cold tightened around his heart, probing, searching, finding everything his master wanted to know. No one could hide something from the Shadow Lord. Chertney shivered even more, fearing he was about to die.
“Rodric has become more of a problem,” agreed the Shadow Lord. “I will have to do something about that.”
Chertney breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that death had been forestalled, for now.
“The boy is still alive. I would have known if he had died.” The Shadow Lord’s voice was as dry as the dust in a tomb. “I will have to remedy that. We will speak on this further, Chertney. Until then, be ready. I will have need of you soon.”
The darkness in the cell grew somewhat lighter as the spinning ball of black disintegrated. Chertney flopped down on the stone floor, savoring the natural cold that drifted into his body. He had been spared — for a time. He remained where he was for more than an hour, not wanting to go anywhere until the shivering he felt from the touch of the Shadow Lord had ended. He had been close to death before, but every time he spoke to his master, i
t was like he already had one foot in the grave.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Found
Thomas heard a faint rustling in the woods off to his left, but he was too weak to turn his head and see what caused it. He had barely made it to the edge of Oakwood Forest, not far from where he had last met Kaylie and been taken, when he had lost control of the Talent. He had drained his strength to the point where only death was the next option. He closed his eyes for a moment, the simple task of keeping them open becoming too much for him.
“Thomas.”
In an instant, Thomas opened his eyes. That voice—
“Thomas.”
With some effort, Thomas slowly turned his head to the right and opened his eyes. Shock flowed through him, disbelieving what he saw.
“Grandfather?”
Talyn Kestrel stood before him surrounded by a ghostly aura, appearing just as he had the day Thomas fled the Crag. His grandfather rubbed his short, grey beard as he did when he was thinking or talking of something serious, yet the youthful gleam always remained in his eyes, even now.
“I’m here, Thomas. I’m here.”
“But how? Am I dead?”
“No, Thomas,” laughed Talyn. “Not yet. And with some luck, not for some time to come.”
“Then why?”
Talyn stepped forward, kneeling by his grandson, his aura glowing brighter the closer he came.
“It is time, Thomas. It is time to stand on high.”
Thomas looked at his grandfather in surprise. “But why now? Why has it taken so long?” His mind was a jumble of questions and emotions — guilt, joy and fear all mixing together.
“You had to see your true enemy, Thomas, before you could return to the Highlands,” explained Talyn. “You know what you’re up against now. You have that knowledge. And, more importantly, you know yourself — your strengths and weaknesses. It is time.”
Talyn stood, looking down at Thomas with pride in his eyes.
“Use that knowledge. The Highlands are yours now. Take back what is yours. Free the Highlands and let loose the Marchers.”
“But—”
In the blink of an eye Talyn vanished. Thomas closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, Talyn would reappear. But as the seconds dragged into minutes, it became that much harder for him. He only wanted to sleep, and was about to drift off into the darkness when he felt a wet tongue on his face. When he opened his eyes again, Beluil grinned down at him.
“Hello, my friend,” he said weakly, unable to raise an arm to pat the large wolf on the shoulder.
“It’s about time,” an irritated voice said behind him. “Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?”
Thomas smiled. Rynlin came into view, kneeling beside him to check on his wounds. Next to him were Maden and Daran, and standing behind the two, Catal Huyuk. Beluil lay down next to Thomas. He had lost his friend once. He wasn’t going to let him out of his sight this time.
“Grandfather, I—”
“Not a word, Thomas. We’ll speak later. First drink this.”
Thomas tasted the bitterness of the liquid as it passed his lips, reminding him of one of the concoctions Rya gave him when he was sick. In just a few seconds his eyes closed again and he drifted off to a deep, dreamless sleep.
“The boy has been through a lot,” said Catal Huyuk.
“He has,” replied Rynlin, taking out a cloth and sprinkling water from his canteen on it before dabbing around the wound on Thomas’ side, and then his forehead, so he could see how badly Thomas was injured.
“I’m going to scout around. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Catal Huyuk disappeared among the trees. The large Sylvan Warrior felt the need to do something, and healing was not one of his specialties. His talents lay on the other side of the spectrum.
Maden helped Rynlin as they examined Thomas’ wounds. Rya was going to have an absolute fit when she saw what had happened to her grandson. He’d have to get him to her first, though. Thomas was close to death, so he’d have to move fast.
“Events are moving very quickly,” said Maden, as he sprinkled some herbs on the wound in Thomas’ side. The bitterroot and sweet tooth would help stop the bleeding.
“They are,” agreed Rynlin.
“Whoever did this to him probably knows about us.”
“True,” said Rynlin. “But there is nothing we can do about that now.”
Maden nodded. “Is he ready?”
Rynlin knew the Sylvan Warrior was not asking about Thomas’ condition to be moved. He stopped his ministering for a moment, looking Maden squarely in the eye.
“He is.” Rynlin’s pride was evident, and rightfully so, thought Maden.
Beluil growled just as Catal Huyuk burst through the trees, his sword covered in blood.
“Ogren,” he said simply. “We’ll have unwanted visitors soon.”
“Blast it,” cursed Rynlin, rising from his knees. “Let’s get going.”
Rynlin took hold of Thomas’ shoulders and Maden grabbed his ankles, then lifted him off the ground and carried him deeper into the forest. Beluil and Catal Huyuk followed, alert for any new danger. They had a long way to go, and had only just begun.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brightening Sky
The raptor circled the glade at the western edge of Oakwood Forest for some time, finally squawking in victory when the men appeared to help their injured comrade. The raptor sensed the spirit of the one below. He was more a part of nature than the world of man.
Satisfied that he would survive, the raptor wheeled to the northeast, its powerful wings pushing it through the air. As the hours passed and evening changed to night, so did the terrain. The forest gave way to the mountains of the Highlands.
The raptor twisted and turned around the majestic, snow-covered peaks, using the gusts of wind to propel itself through the thin mountain air. Eventually, as the sky began to glow a dark red, the raptor burst free of the mountains and flew across a lush, green valley, in the center of which rose an enormous monolith. Beating its wings furiously, the raptor climbed until finally it was level with the fast-approaching rock.
As the sun peeked above the eastern horizon, the raptor settled on the top of the monolith. An ancient fortress had once stood there, though now it was mostly reclaimed by the forest. However, part of one tower still stood, rising several hundred feet into the air. Perched on what had once been the Roost, the raptor turned its sharp eyes to the east, watching the rising sun brighten the Highland sky.
A cold wind blew across the plateau, and with it came a warning of impending darkness – and evil. Yet, the raptor knew that the light still burned brightly, and would burn even brighter, if the one chosen to wield it had the courage and strength to stand against the shadow.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Getaway
“They’re gaining on us,” said Catal Huyuk, even his strong voice coming with some effort.
He sat down heavily on a fallen tree. Ten-league walks didn’t faze him, but even he felt the fatigue that also attacked his companions.
For most of the morning, he, Daran, Maden and Rynlin had fought a running battle with a band of Ogren and Shades sent to finish off Thomas. The Sylvan Warriors had found Thomas with the help of Beluil, the large black wolf with the splash of white over his eyes. The wolf now hovered over Thomas as Maden continued his efforts to staunch the flow of blood from the boy’s many wounds.
Rynlin held one hand to his grandson’s head, using the Talent to lend his own strength to Thomas. That was one of the reasons they were having such a hard time of it. With Rynlin and Maden occupied with Thomas, only he and Daran Sharban, the redheaded Sylvan Warrior, could focus their complete attention on the pursuing Ogren — and you wanted to focus your complete attention on Ogren, otherwise you died quickly.
The massive beasts were virtually unstoppable, leading to their favored role as the foot soldiers of the Shadow Lord. Ogren were twice the size of a
man, their heavily muscled bodies covered by a thick, mangy fur. Because of their massive shoulders, some of the creatures walked hunched over, their backs unable to support the tremendous weight. The long, sharp tusks that protruded from their lower lips and curled in front of their cheeks made them appear even more menacing.
The beasts preferred to use huge axes, as swords and other weapons did not fit well in their hands. Some Ogren even wore armor, accumulating bits and pieces taken from their victims or from each other, though it truly wasn’t necessary. Striking the skin of an Ogren was much like striking a rock, though when striking a rock you might slice off a piece. That rarely happened with Ogren.
Yet, the Ogren were the least of their worries, for leading their pursuers were at least three Shades – Catal Huyuk couldn’t be sure how many there really were. He preferred calling them Shadowmen, or Snakemen, for that’s what he thought they most resembled – the sinuous, graceful, deadly movements of a snake.
Legend said that Shades had once been men, but upon giving their souls to the Shadow Lord, something had changed within them. They resembled normal men, but their skin held a ghoulish cast and their eyes were a milky white. Beneath their black clothing, their bodies were gaunt and skeletal.
Rumor had it that they drank the spirit of their victims for nourishment. Catal Huyuk knew it for the truth. That’s why he preferred fighting Ogren. At least with the large beasts you had a glimmer of a chance and could take advantage of their often awkward movements, while a single touch from the blade of a Shade meant instant death.
Catal Huyuk looked over to where Rynlin and Maden performed their ministrations. He was amazed that the boy even lived. Thomas’ body had been pushed to the very limits of endurance. The cut on his forehead was the least of his problems. The slash to his side had allowed a dangerous amount of blood to escape, while the raw wounds left on his back from the bite of a whip sapped his strength and will to live. If not for Maden’s medicinal skill and Rynlin’s strength in the Talent, the boy would have died minutes after they had found him, lying in the grass in a small clearing at the western edge of Oakwood Forest.