The Lord of the Highlands (The Sylvan Chronicles Book 5)

by Peter Wacht

  Mention of his father sent a shiver down Thomas’ spine. His father had blamed Thomas for the death of his mother, Marya, and would have nothing to do with him as a baby or child. As a result, the job of raising him had fallen to his grandfather. After a while, when Thomas was old enough to realize what was going on, and Talyn could no longer fool him into thinking that his father was too busy protecting the northern border of the Highlands to spend time with him, Thomas no longer held any feeling for his father, allowing his resentment and bitterness to grow.

  In fact, when Talyn told him that Benlorin had been murdered right before he escaped from the Crag, Thomas had experienced absolutely nothing when told the news. Yet, now a feeling of sadness crept over him. Why? Thomas shook it off. He didn’t have time to waste dredging up memories and reopening old wounds.

  “But there was a grandson,” said Thomas.

  “Yes, there were stories of the boy surviving,” sighed Coban. “Although I didn’t spend much time with him, you remind me of him a bit. It’s strange, though. Even after all that time, rumors of the Lost Kestrel still circulate through the Highlands. The last time he was seen alive, he was about to enter the tunnels beneath the Crag, and that was almost ten years ago. If it was more than a myth then, I doubt it is anything but that now. Whoever murdered Talyn Kestrel — and I’m quite certain who was ultimately responsible — most likely hunted the boy down as well.”

  “I remember that night so well,” Coban continued. “Soon after we entered the Hall of the Highland Lord through Talyn’s study, the Ogren began pounding on the doors, their massive blows slowly cracking the oak beams. We fought like demons, but it wasn’t enough. Though we held the beasts for a time, we couldn’t stand against them forever. And through it all, Talyn Kestrel was at the front of our wedge.”

  Tears of pride appeared in Thomas’ eyes. He had never before learned what had happened during the rest of that terrible night.

  “With every swing of his sword a reiver or Ogren fell dead at his feet. And, truly, it looked like we might be able to hold against the onslaught.” Coban’s face darkened. “But then the warlocks appeared and we had no defense against their Dark Magic. A bolt of energy struck Talyn in the chest, killing him instantly.”

  Coban pounded his fists together angrily. “Worst of all, there was nothing we could do about it. Nothing!” Coban fell back in his chair in frustration.

  “We fought our way free and went in search of the boy, following his route beneath the Crag and then through the forests surrounding the monolith. The whole time we had to avoid reiver search parties, which gave us an added sense of urgency. With Talyn and Benlorin dead, we knew the grandson was our only hope. We tracked the boy all the way to a glade in the southeastern Highlands, but from there we found no sign of him. We searched for days, but nothing. It was the strangest thing. He couldn’t have just disappeared. There had to be some explanation, some tracks, but there was nothing. We had no choice but to assume the worst.”

  Thomas had never known that Marchers had come looking for him. What if Coban had found him instead of Rynlin and Rya? How would his world have been different? He forced those interesting but distracting questions from his mind. As before, he didn’t have time for such things.

  “It sounds like you did all that could be expected of you, Coban.”

  “I know, I know,” the Swordmaster said, sighing heavily. “Many a Highlander has said much the same. But you see, Thomas, that single event has brought us to where we are now. If the boy had lived, would our homeland be free now? Would we have suffered through all the indignities and pain? Killeran has served as Rodric’s regent in the Highlands for almost ten years. We might not recognize him as the regent, but the rulers of the other Kingdoms do.

  “At the next Council of the Kingdoms, the ten-year period ends, and then Rodric will be able to take the Highlands for his own and do what he wants with us. Fighting the reivers now is considered war. Once that ten-year period ends, and Rodric assumes control, it’s considered rebellion. And most of the rulers of the other Kingdoms have a dim view of rebellion. It makes them decidedly uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, there was a time when the High King was simply a figurehead, whose sole purpose was to maintain order at the Council,” continued Coban. “But Rodric has been trying to change that ever since he became the King of Armagh. I think he fancies himself as the second coming of Ollav Fola, the greatest High King ever to hold the title. Some rulers, like Gregory of Fal Carrach and Sarelle of Benewyn, are smart enough to see it. Others simply choose not to.

  “They’ll certainly get a rude awakening when Rodric turns his attention on them. The man’s as slippery as a snake and as devious as a fox, and he’ll do whatever’s necessary to achieve his goals. He’s not satisfied as the King of Armagh. He wants more. And if he truly wants to become the next Ollav Fola, taking control of the Highlands is certainly a good first step.”

  “Then perhaps it is time for the Highlands to take its rightful place among the Kingdoms,” said Thomas, sitting on the edge of his chair, his eyes burning a bright green. “What if I said that there was something we could do to stop Rodric? What if I said we could make the Highlands strong once more?”

  “I’d call you a fool and a dreamer,” snorted Coban, chuckling softly, his bushy white mustache revealing his teeth.

  Thomas’ intensity silenced Coban in a matter of seconds.

  “You’re serious?” Coban asked incredulously. “You’re really serious?”

  Thomas reached down to the floor, grabbing hold of his scabbard. He pulled the blade free, allowing the bright steel to capture what little light there was in the room. To Coban, it was as if the sun had burst through the clouds on a gray, murky day. Thomas held the blade in front of him so that the Swordmaster could get a better look.

  Coban examined it for a moment, the puzzlement clear on his face. It appeared much like any other blade. But then he noticed the markings where the blade met the hilt, and the meaning of the sword dawned on him. He never thought he would see this particular blade again.

  “The Lost Kestrel is not a myth,” said Thomas, trying to judge how Coban would react.

  The Swordmaster seemed to be a bit wild-eyed, and Thomas had no way of guessing what he would do when the truth of what he was about to say registered with the old Highlander.

  “In fact, he’s not even lost.”

  Coban recognized the blade. He had seen it hundreds of times at the hip or in the hands of his friend Talyn Kestrel. The last time he had laid eyes on it, Talyn had given it to his grandson, and Thomas had taken it into the tunnels as— Coban shot up from his chair, stumbling backward as one of the curved legs of the rocking chair caught his feet.

  “The Sword of the Highlands!” exclaimed Coban, his eyes glued to the steel. His eyes latched onto Thomas’ with a feverish intensity. “Are you—”

  He was having a hard time giving words to his thoughts with his mind in such a jumble.

  “Are you the one?”

  Coban failed to keep the growing excitement from his voice. After all these years, could it really be happening? Would he finally have a chance to atone for what had happened? Would his people finally have the hope they craved so desperately?

  “Are you truly the Lost Kestrel?”

  Thomas sat quietly for a moment, staring at Coban. This is it, he thought. His response now would forever change his life. Would he be able to maintain control of the events about to unfold? Or, as seemed to happen most of the time, would he simply be drawn along by the tide, performing those duties and obligations required of him, whether he wanted to or not? Thomas pushed those thoughts from his mind. He would control his life, not some prophecy. It was his choice now to return to the Highlands and assume the mantle once held by his grandfather.

  Thomas saw the hope rising within Coban and the fire in his eyes that had been missing for such a long time. He remembered the ghostly expressions of the Highlanders Killeran forced to work in the mines
. He had taken away their freedom, their reason for living. They had been no more than the walking dead, waiting for their turn to step across to the other side.

  As soon as Thomas and Oso had freed them from the cages and shown them that if they fought back against the reivers and the warlocks they could win, in seconds the light had returned to their eyes. Though weak, sick, and tired, they had struggled through an incredible ordeal to attain their freedom, in essence to regain their lives. If he could do that for all the Highlanders who had suffered during the past decade, then it would be his greatest and most important accomplishment.

  Thomas rose from his chair, sliding the Sword of the Highlands back into its scabbard. He then removed the leather guard on his right wrist, revealing the birthmark his grandfather had warned him to never show to anyone for fear it would lead to his death.

  Coban stared at the mark, the raptor’s claw. It was unmistakable and undeniable. His eyes bulged in recognition. It was almost too much for Coban to take, yet Thomas’ words drew him back, sending through his body a rush of adrenaline that made him feel twenty years younger.

  “I am Thomas Kestrel, son of Benlorin, grandson of Talyn. It is time for the Highlands to have a Lord once more.”

  Thomas’ words struck Coban like a physical blow, forcing him to drop back into his chair. Strangely, words he thought he would never remember returned to him, running through his mind of their own volition. They were uttered two decades before by Thomas’ mother, Marya, as she held Thomas soon after she gave birth to him, and right before she died: “You will give men hope, victory, if you remain true to yourself. You will be a man above all others.”

  Looking over at this young but determined Kestrel, Coban promised himself that he would from that moment forward devote himself to ensuring that her prophecy became a reality. For if it did, the Highlands would be free once more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Call

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” asked Oso, pacing in front of Coban’s cottage, his brow furrowed and hands clasped behind his back. “Thomas has been in there for more than an hour.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. Why don’t you sit down? You’re tiring me out.”

  Having just returned from her errand, Anara sat cross-legged in the grass to the side of the cottage and out of Oso’s way, calmly whittling away on a piece of wood. The pretty Highland girl had let her short auburn hair grow longer since escaping from the Black Hole, blossoming into ringlets that kept dropping down into her eyes.

  Oso now found her almost irresistible, but he still wasn’t ready to admit it. That was all right with Anara. She had a great deal of patience, and as time passed it simply allowed her more chances to close the jaws of her trap. Though that was a crude analogy, she knew, it was right on point.

  In fact, she was enjoying herself quite a bit. Oso kept glancing at her, wondering what the secret smile on her face meant. She could almost laugh out loud at his lack of understanding, but she knew that was to be expected of most men. By the time Oso realized what was going on, he’d have absolutely no opportunity or idea how to escape, and that suited her just fine.

  “But what could be taking them so long? You should have seen the look on Thomas’ face when he arrived. It was the same expression he wore when we burned down Killeran’s fort. There was a sharpness to his features, his eyes, that was scary.”

  Oso stopped his pacing for a moment right in front of the cottage door. He watched Anara as she worked the piece of wood slowly into the shape of a bear. He marveled at her skill. It was remarkable, really, what she could do with her hands. For her, a piece of wood was much like an artist’s canvas. She could create virtually anything. She was so much more skilled with her hands than he was.

  A spear or a sword in his hand felt like an extension of his arm, but for anything else that required dexterity, he was all thumbs. Oso was about to continue his pacing when much to his surprise the door of the cottage slammed open and Coban burst out, running straight into him and sending them both sprawling to the hard-packed dirt.

  “Blast it, Oso! What are you doing standing right there?” Coban regained his feet in a matter of seconds, while Oso remained on the ground trying to recapture the breath that Coban had knocked from his lungs. “No matter. There’s no time for that now. No time at all.”

  Coban grabbed Oso’s hands and pulled him back to his feet.

  “Aric!” he shouted, surveying the village. “Aric!”

  “What’s going on, Coban?” Oso asked in a forced whisper, now bent over and still searching for a deep breath. A concerned Anara was at his side now, her hand resting comfortably on his back.

  Several villagers gathered around Coban’s house in a loose semicircle, wondering the same thing as Oso. Not even news of an approaching raiding party got Coban so excited. In fact, no one could recall Coban ever being so excited. Finally, a tall Highlander with curly black hair arrived.

  “What’s the matter, Coban? Reivers?”

  “Get your bagpipes and go up to the knoll, Aric,” commanded Coban, taking on the voice of the Swordmaster, a voice that everyone in Raven’s Peak knew quite well. “I’m calling a council at the Pinnacle in three days’ time.”

  “A council, Coban?” asked Aric, somewhat surprised. “But we had one just a few months ago. Why—”

  “Do it, Aric!” commanded Coban. “Do it now!”

  Recognizing the grim look on Coban’s face, Aric set off at a run in search of his bagpipes.

  “Coban, what’s going on?” asked Oso, having regained his voice and breath. “I haven’t seen you this excited since we routed that band of reivers a few weeks ago.”

  The crowd around Coban’s cottage had grown larger with more than a hundred Highlanders waiting expectantly. They were all curious as to what was going on.

  Coban reached back, grabbing hold of Thomas’ right arm and pulling him out of the doorway, where he had waited in the shadows, not really comfortable with all the attention. He resigned himself to it, though. There was no going back now, and it was only going to get worse.

  “This is why I’m excited,” said Coban, looking at Thomas expectantly.

  Thomas saw the hope burning fiercely in Coban’s eyes and even more so the desire for freedom. This would be the first step on that path. Thomas silently hoped that he would be able to complete the journey.

  Stepping forward so all could see, Thomas pulled his sword from his scabbard and held it above his head, allowing the sun to shine brightly on the blade. Many of the Highlanders gazed at the sword with puzzled looks. Those expressions slowly changed as understanding began to dawn on them.

  Thomas drove the tip of the sword into the dirt, allowing it to stand up straight. They could see it now. It was unmistakable. The raptor’s claw etched into the steel. That could mean only one thing. The Sword of the Highlands. But what of the boy? Thomas then removed his wrist guard, allowing everyone to see the mark on his arm. The raptor’s claw again. The mark of the Kestrels. The mark of the Highland Lords.

  Like everyone else, understanding was slow to dawn on Oso. But as he saw the sword and the mark on Thomas’ forearm, everything seemed to come together. He had even given the sword back to Thomas while they escaped from the Black Hole, but he hadn’t looked at the blade closely then, as he was focused on other things. Oso had been too young to have ever seen the raptor’s claw before, but he remembered it vividly from his lessons.

  The story of the fall of the Crag came back to him in a rush. It was rumored a traitor had allowed the reivers and Ogren into the Crag, for that was truly the only way they could have destroyed that almost impregnable fortress. Talyn Kestrel had died during the battle, Benlorin Kestrel soon before that, but no one knew what happened to the grandson. To Thomas Kestrel!

  Now it was all truly coming together. Many believed the grandson had survived, leading to the legends that proliferated throughout the Highlands and had grown in their telling as ea
ch year passed. Oso had never given the rumors much thought, but the mark and the sword told him to believe, while his entire being begged him to believe.

  “The Lost Kestrel,” he whispered.

  Anara had grabbed his hand, and she now squeezed it hard as she too came to grips with a legend come to life.

  Thomas smiled. “I was lost, Oso. But no more. I am home.”

  In the distance, the sharp notes of the bagpipes began their lonely trail through the Highlands, echoing off the mountains and carrying for miles around. Soon other bagpipes would play, carrying the message even farther to every village in the Highlands, calling the village chieftains to the Pinnacle.

  For Coban and the others, the notes drifting on the air held even more importance as they continued to stare at the young man in front of them. For them it signaled a new time for the Highlands, one of rebirth.

  Thomas examined all the faces staring at him, studying their expressions. Many appeared to be awestruck, others skeptical, but all wanting to believe, all wanting the fear and despair that had become a common part of their existence to disappear, all wanting to replace it with hope – and freedom.

  Thomas understood that. But more important, he knew it was the beginning of a long journey. And the first step would be proving his worth. He was not the Lord of the Highlands yet. Not until he passed the Tests.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The First Step

  Kaylie stomped through one of the many gardens hidden throughout the Rock, kicking at the gravel path in frustration and sending the small stones into the flowerbeds. Learning how to fight with a sword was easy compared to this. She sat down heavily on a bench situated against the back wall of the garden, taking a moment to collect her thoughts.

  Why was this so difficult? She just couldn’t understand it. Thomas had shown her twice how to lose herself in nature, yet she couldn’t succeed without his assistance. A pang of guilt struck her, but she quickly pushed it from her mind – or at least tried to. Kael was right, of course. She had made a mistake, and no matter how horrible that mistake may have been, she needed to move on and live her life. Though actually doing so was much easier said than done.