by Peter Wacht
His people. It was a strange concept to Thomas, one he had never really considered before. True, he was a Highlander, his lineage going back for centuries, to the very time when the Highlanders carved out their own Kingdom. But he had never felt as if he belonged, as if he truly were a Highlander.
As his worries slowly simmered into budding fears, a screech to his right broke Thomas’ train of thought. A female kestrel flew beside him. Thomas studied the beautiful bird for a moment. He had seen the kestrel before, remembering the sharp eyes, eyes that seemed to peer into the very depths of his being, examining his fears and his worries. For some strange reason he sensed the kestrel had been with him all his life, watching, waiting, knowing there would come a time when Thomas would finally understand who he was. Though the kestrel seemed to know, and had always known, Thomas still searched for that knowledge.
They flew in silence for a time, every one of Thomas’ glances meeting the steely eyed glare of the other kestrel, almost as if the large bird of prey escorted him to his destination – and so he didn’t turn around, succumbing to his fears. When the palisade surrounding the village finally came in sight, the other kestrel turned away, but not before it let out a screech that echoed off the surrounding mountainsides.
Since Thomas had assumed the form of the kestrel in order to make his traveling easier and faster, he had also assumed many of the instincts of the kestrel, which allowed him to read more into the kestrel’s cry than he would have normally. It was almost as if the female kestrel was letting go, allowing Thomas to fly on his own now. The kestrel’s message was quite simple: Be strong. Be true.
Those words echoed through his mind as he descended into the forest, bolstering his courage. He settled into a small clearing a half-mile from the village, then released his hold on the Talent. The shape of the kestrel fell away and his own figure returned.
Checking to make sure he had everything he needed, Thomas trotted through the forest. He had often wondered what happened to his clothes and weapons when he assumed the kestrel form. His grandparents, usually so ready and willing to give him advice and lectures, had offered little information, with Rya telling him in a slightly embarrassed tone that she didn’t know.
Thomas didn’t have to worry about Highland scouts this close to Raven’s Peak. He could sense the men Coban had sent out as sentries farther away, patrolling specific territories in overlapping circles, ensuring the people of the village would have ample warning if reivers approached. Leaving the forest for the trail a few hundred feet from his destination, he was almost to the gates when a familiar voice rang out.
“It certainly took you long enough to get here. I’ve been waiting for months.”
Momentarily worried that someone had discerned his true intentions, Thomas was immediately put at ease when he saw the large Highlander trotting toward him. Oso grabbed his smaller friend into a bear hug, sucking out Thomas’ breath. Oso was almost as tall as Rynlin, but Rynlin appeared small next to Oso because of the boy’s broad shoulders and large frame.
“You’ve got to be more careful, Oso,” said Thomas. “One of these days you’re going to crush someone.”
“Sorry,” his friend replied sheepishly.
Thomas laughed softly, unable to resist taking a small bite.
“What if it were Anara? Do you squeeze her that hard when you’re kissing her?”
Oso’s face turned flaming red, and he kicked at the dirt in consternation. “Thomas, please?”
Oso’s pained expression was that of a man caught in a trap, and not at all certain that he wanted to escape — and even if he could, how to do it.
“I’ve been waiting for months for you to return so we could hunt and I could get away from jokes like that.”
Now it was Thomas’ turn to apologize. “I’m sorry, Oso. I just couldn’t resist. Where is Anara anyway? I would have expected her to be attached to your side?”
Ever since the two had met in the Black Hole, Anara had woven her web around the large Highlander, and then, as time passed, slowly, ever so slowly, she had begun to tighten it. Oso had been completely and utterly trapped, not even realizing what she was doing to him.
Oso ignored the playful jibe as he led his friend through the gates and into Raven’s Peak.
“She said she had to take care of some business, and I really didn’t want to know what she meant.”
Thomas had a feeling he knew exactly what Anara had meant, but he decided that he had had enough fun at his friend’s expense, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
“But this is perfect timing on your part. With Anara occupied, just give me a few minutes. I’ll get my bow and we’ll be off. She won’t realize where I’ve gone for at least two or three days. Just enough time for us to enjoy some good hunting.”
Appealing as that sounded to Thomas, he reluctantly begged off.
“I’m sorry, Oso. Unfortunately, I’m here because I have some business that I need to attend to as well. Where’s Coban?”
Oso studied his friend for a moment, trying to figure out Thomas’ intentions. He couldn’t read Thomas’ calm and unfathomable expression. However, Thomas’ eyes burned brightly. If it was night, they would have glowed a dark green. Oso had seen that expression before and knew better than to ask any questions. Thomas would tell him when it was time. Pushing his own desires to the side, Oso began walking deeper into the village.
“Follow me, Thomas. I’ll take you to him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A Declaration
“I’m surprised to see you, Thomas. I thought Oso would have kidnapped you and taken you off on a hunting trip as soon as you set foot in the village.”
Coban sat back in his favorite rocking chair in front of a dark fireplace. Soon he would have to make use of it. The weather was getting colder. But that wasn’t what made the hair on the back of Coban’s neck prickle. He sensed something important was about to happen. What it could be, he didn’t know. Anticipation began to build within him for some unknown reason.
“He tried,” Thomas replied.
Thomas surveyed the small, comfortable cottage. Besides the larger room they now occupied, a darkened doorway led to a small bedroom. Everything in the cottage was neat and orderly, mimicking the man who lived there.
Thomas had spent barely any time with the Swordmaster before the fall of the Crag, as most Highland boys didn’t begin weapons training until their eleventh summer. However, Coban had never treated him like the others, whether out of respect for his grandfather or simply because he had a broader mind than most everyone else, Thomas never asked. He simply appreciated being treated like everyone else, rather than as an outcast.
Looking back now, the fact that he hadn’t spent much time with Coban was a good thing. After helping Oso and the others escape from the Black Hole, he had led them here, to Raven’s Peak. Thomas had worried that Coban would recognize him, and then Thomas would have no choice but to move forward on the path he was now on before he was ready.
Thankfully, Coban hadn’t made the connection, though at the time Thomas could see in Coban’s eyes that there was a flicker of recognition. Thomas counted on that flicker now to aid him on the quest he was about to embark on.
“What was it like before the murder of Talyn Kestrel, Coban? What was it like for the Highlanders?”
Coban looked at the serious young man seated before him for a moment, somewhat unprepared for the question as it opened a floodgate of locked away memories. He was about to ask why Thomas wanted to know, but chose not to. Oso had told Coban stories about Thomas’ eyes, about how they could burn with such an intensity it would mesmerize you or terrify you, depending on if you were friend or foe. Thomas’ sharp green eyes burned like that now.
“It was a time of glory,” he began, leaning back into his chair and staring up at the rafters supporting his roof. A small smile crept onto his face. He leaned forward suddenly, catching Thomas up in his tale from the start.
“Now, most
anyone could say that about a ruler now gone, and most do, I’ll grant you that. But I speak truly about this. Talyn had ruled for more than two decades, and during that time the Highlands had flourished. Though we were small in number, we were the best fighters in all the Kingdoms. And, most important, the other Kingdoms knew it, so they left us in peace.
“That hadn’t always been the case, as I’m sure you know. The Highlands holds a great many riches – gold, jewels, precious minerals – and many of the other rulers certainly envied our wealth, but they knew the price they would pay if they entered our lands uninvited.”
“Now you see, lad, before Talyn there wasn’t much order to the Highlands,” continued Coban. “As a result, some of the other Kingdoms would risk sending in a mining party for the opportunity at a quick fortune, but that ended when Talyn became Lord of the Highlands. In other Kingdoms, the tradition is that the ruler, monarch, whatever he or she is called, owns all the land, and the people of the Kingdom farm it, live on it, do whatever with it, at the ruler’s pleasure. It can be taken away from them at any time for any reason and they have no recourse.”
Thomas settled back into his rocking chair, allowing his mind to drift. He knew much of what Coban was explaining to him, but he had asked the question for two reasons. First, he needed some additional time to gather his thoughts and think of a way to broach the discussion’s true topic with Coban. Second, he wanted to make Coban feel comfortable. Judging by Coban’s animated gestures and his zest for the tale, it was working.
“Such is not the case in the Highlands. The people own the land; the Lord of the Highlands owns nothing except the lands surrounding the Crag. That was primarily done so the Lord would have some way to provide for the people residing in the Crag and his Marchers. But Talyn came up with an ingenious plan. In return for protection from the reivers and others seeking the wealth of the Highlands, those Highlanders who owned the mines gave to the Lord of the Highlands a percentage of what they mined. It was also an excellent way to keep my Marchers in good fighting form.
“Talyn then let it be known that anyone daring to enter the Highlands without permission would face the most severe consequence. After a few examples were made, the treasure hunters took it very seriously. We were the strongest of all the Kingdoms, lad, and everyone knew it. We were at peace, trade flourished, and our people didn’t have to worry about war or famine. Unfortunately, with Talyn’s murder, it all came to end.”
Coban sighed resignedly. “I’d give anything to go back to those days, lad. Anything.”
Thomas had finally decided on a way to bring up the main topic for discussion. He hoped he got the result he so desperately wanted.
“How was it that Talyn Kestrel came to be Lord of the Highlands?”
“Like it had happened for centuries before him,” replied Coban, leaning back in his chair once again.
He could feel the chill of the day now as the sun approached the western horizon. He should have started that fire.
“Normally the title fell from father to son, from one family to the next. If a Highland Lord died without an heir, it went to the family with the strongest claim. But, keep in mind that we Highlanders have always had the right to refuse a Lord if he seemed incompetent or lacking in the skills needed to lead. That’s why when the Highland Lord dies, and his son, if he has a son, or someone from a family with the next strongest claim, declares himself the Highland Lord, he must first pass the Three Tests – of skill, courage and knowledge.”
Thomas’ mind drifted back a few years to a time when he sat through much the same lesson. Rynlin and Rya had brought him to the Circle, knowing it was time for him to join the Sylvan Warriors. Of course, as was their wont, they had forgotten to mention that he would have to pass three challenges before he could assume his place among the Sylvana. Why did everything always involve threes?
“For the Test of Skill,” continued the gray-haired, craggy-faced warrior, “the candidate must fight the Marcher most skilled in the sword and the Marcher most skilled in the spear. He must defeat his opponents without killing them, but the champions must fight to kill.
“For the Test of Courage, the candidate must enter the Ravine, a slit between two of the largest mountains in the Highlands that hides unknown dangers. The candidate must retrieve from the Ravine the crown worn by the Highland Lord, a silver circlet that every Highland Lord has worn. Remarkably, when a Highland Lord dies, the crown disappears and returns to its place in the Ravine, awaiting the next Lord of the Highlands. I was there when it happened with Talyn, actually. As soon as he breathed his last in the Hall of the Highland Lord, the crown vanished.”
Coban broke himself out of his reverie, scratching at his bushy mustache.
“For the Test of Knowledge, the candidate must answer questions put to him by the eldest leader of the Highlands that confirm the candidate’s knowledge of the Highlands and its people. But, even if the claimant passes all the Tests, he still is not officially the Lord of the Highlands. No, we like to make things really difficult,” Coban laughed.
“Any Marcher can then challenge the claimant to mortal combat. Now, admittedly lad, a challenge is a rare thing, happening only a handful of times in the last thousand years. It’s always a possibility, but truly, if a claimant can pass the Tests, he has earned his place as the Highland Lord, and we recognize that. If a challenge is made, the claimant must defeat the challenger. If he does, he is proclaimed the Highland Lord. If, however, the challenger wins, that person gains the right to take the Three Tests. The process then begins all over again.”
Thomas listened carefully to Coban’s explanation of the steps to be followed, matching what the former Swordmaster said to his lessons with Rynlin on the Isle of Mist. He smiled at the complexity of it all, but he saw the structure in the process. There was a simplicity to it that seemed to go unnoticed.
The Highlanders wanted the best possible leader for their Kingdom. The Tests and other requirements ensured that’s what they got, and history had borne that out. Though many Kingdoms had suffered through inept, unqualified rulers because they had a higher regard for birth rather than merit, the Highlands had never faced such a problem. They couldn’t afford it, considering their small population and the greed of the other Kingdoms.
Thomas acknowledged what he must do. He could hear his grandfather in his head, repeating the words from the glade: “It is time, Thomas. It is time to stand on high.”
And he knew within his heart that the spirit of his grandfather spoke the truth. Thomas could feel it now. The fear and indecision had disappeared, replaced with a new purpose and confidence. He was meant to be the Highland Lord, to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. More important, he was meant to free his people and make the Highlands strong once more.
Coming to that conclusion seemed to lift a weight off his chest, freeing him from what he had seen as the burden of having to return to the Highlands. He had been wrong all along. Yes, what he must do in the Highlands was an additional responsibility, yet by accepting it, by broadening his perspective and seeing it not just as a duty, but as an opportunity, Thomas gained a new appreciation for his position in life.
“And if the candidate passes the Three Tests and survives a challenge, what happens next?”
“He becomes the Highland Lord,” replied Coban, looking at Thomas curiously.
“I’m sorry, Coban. That was a poor question. What I meant to ask was, do the people of the Highlands accept the candidate as their Lord?”
“That’s a strange question, Thomas.”
“Indeed it is, Coban. But you see my point, don’t you? As you said, if the person seeking the throne passes the Tests and any challenge, then by right he becomes the Highland Lord. But the power and strength of the Highland Lord comes not from some declaration like, ‘I’m now the Highland Lord, so you’ve got to do what I say.’”
Thomas laughed softly. “I’ve been away for quite some time, Coban, but I know that’s not how Highlanders loo
k at things. No, they treat people with respect when those people have earned their respect. A perfect example is the saying that you’ll never see a Marcher on bent knee unless he’s making a wedding pledge to his sweetheart.
“To succeed as the Highland Lord now, with all the challenges we face, the people of the Highlands must accept the Highland Lord not because of his passing some ritual or standard, but because they believe in him and what he can do for them. They must see hope and a future that replaces the shackles of slavery so many Highlanders have experienced during the past decade with the freedom we are so accustomed to. They must believe that through the Highland Lord they will be strong once more.”
Coban reminded himself to breathe, losing himself for a moment in Thomas’ words. Briefly, his mind jumped back to when Talyn Kestrel was still alive. Life had been like that back then, and it wasn’t so long ago, was it? Only ten years.
“If he has a legitimate claim, passes the Tests, and survives any challenge, they do.”
Coban leaned back in his chair, his eyes still filled with visions of the past.
“You know, Thomas, this is what we need. We need a new Highland Lord. It’s the only way we’ll survive. Then we could drive out the reivers and the warlocks and reclaim what was ours. Then we could go after the bastards who did this to us.”
Thomas smiled viciously at the thought of doing just that. Highlanders were known for many things – courage, strength, fortitude, and a long memory. No slight or crime ever went unpunished, no matter how long it took for retribution.
“But we don’t have anyone to lead us, certainly not anyone worthy of the title Lord of the Highlands. Now most of the chiefs are concerned primarily with protecting their villages and herds from the reivers and warlocks. And they’ve been doing that for so long that many have forgotten just how strong we used to be when all the villages gathered for war, when all the Marchers waited at the border for the latest invasion of some treasure-grubbing monarch. But that ended when Talyn Kestrel and his son, Benlorin, were murdered.”