by Peter Wacht
“This time he grew tired of the cestus, so he decided to use a poker from the fire instead.”
Oso winced at the thought, shuddering at the possibility of having to go through such a thing. He couldn’t understand how Thomas could speak as if it was nothing at all. Oso sighed with frustration.
“The Highlanders are talking about it, you know.”
“Talking about what?”
Thomas adjusted his back slightly, trying to position a burn that was close to his shoulder blade so it would touch the floor. It was wasted effort. His movement only irritated his injuries, the pinpricks erupting all over his angry red skin. He rolled over onto his stomach again.
“About what you did in the mines. All the Highlanders in the cages know about it.”
Oso looked at his friend with pride. He had already told some of the miners about how he and Thomas were captured, risking the lash. This latest effort by Thomas only increased their respect for the green-eyed boy.
“Is the man still alive?”
Thomas didn’t care about the gossip. He wanted to know if his actions mattered. His memories of the incident had returned to him quickly, as pain had a remarkable knack for clearing the mind.
“Yes, he lives,” said Oso with satisfaction. “A little bruised, perhaps, but all right. He’s back in one of the cages and some of the women are looking after him. His name is Aric, by the way. He says he’s your man for life now. Once again, a debt is owed. You gave him back his life, and it’s yours to command.”
“That’s very kind of him,” said Thomas, rolling onto his back again. The floor wasn’t helping him as much as it had in the beginning. “But he doesn’t have to do that. He needed help, so I helped him. I’m sure he or any of the others would have done the same.”
Oso laughed softly. “Well, you’ll have a very hard time convincing Aric of that.”
Trying to keep a Highlander from making good on a pledge was much like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands. Besides, everyone knew the mountain would be more reasonable than a Highlander.
They passed the next few minutes in silence. Thomas continued to search for a comfortable position, finally deciding that there wasn’t one. Instead, he found a place along the wall so he could talk face to face with Oso. His friend’s thoughtful expression told him that Oso was struggling with something. The large Highlander was not the type of person who hid his emotions well.
“What’s on your mind, Oso?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just curious about something, but I wasn’t sure if I should ask or not.”
“Go ahead,” said Thomas. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping very much tonight.”
Oso laughed softly, amazed at his friend’s ability to make a joke in his current condition.
“When you were in the tunnel, and the reivers were beating on Aric, you were free from the neck chain. You could have used it as a diversion and escaped.”
“Yes, I guess I could have,” said Thomas.
“Then why didn’t you?”
Oso thought it was the most logical thing in the world for Thomas to do.
“I don’t know,” said Thomas, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
He probably could have escaped then, if he really wanted to. The reivers were too busy with Aric to stop him, and once he was in the side tunnels, he could have easily disappeared until the reivers left. But he hadn’t. After spending almost two weeks in this hovel, he wanted to do nothing more than get out. Yet that thought had never crossed his mind when he saw what the reivers were doing to that lone Highlander. Escape had never been an option. His instincts had taken over. The Highlander needed assistance, and he was the only one who could provide it. So he did what he had to do. Rya would have been proud of him.
It really wasn’t a very difficult puzzle to solve. He was a member of the Sylvana, and though still rather new to it all, his responsibilities as a Sylvan Warrior had already become a part of who he was: to fight against the evil of the Shadow Lord, to protect the forest and its inhabitants, to help those in need. To not do anything would go against the very essence of his being. He had the added weight of also being a Highlander — the Highland Lord in hiding as Rynlin had joked a few times. These were his people, and whether they knew it or not, it didn’t change the duty he had to them
“I guess all I can say is that escaping then would have been wrong.”
“What do you mean wrong?” Oso failed to keep the shock from his voice.
“I mean, if I escaped then, without helping Aric, I could only look at myself as a coward. I could have helped, but I chose not to. Instead, I chose to run and possibly gain my freedom. If I had done that, I don’t think I could live with myself.”
“That’s a very harsh appraisal, Thomas. Most people probably would have tried to escape, and no one would have blamed them for doing so.”
“You may be right,” agreed Thomas, clenching his teeth briefly as the circles of fire dotting his skin flared up. “But if you hold yourself to the standards of most everyone else, you have little opportunity to improve as a person. My grandmother always says, ‘You must do what you must do.’ It took me a long time to figure out what she meant, and once I did I fought it for a while. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape it. You must do what you must do.”
Oso stared at Thomas, not sure what to make of his new friend. He spoke as if what he had done was the most natural thing in the world, yet it was anything but.
“You are a unique person, Thomas. I am honored to call you a friend.”
“And I you, Oso.” Thomas smiled at the compliment. “Besides, I’ve decided that I won’t be taking my leave of our kind and gracious host until everyone here can go with me.”
“You mean free everyone?”
“Yes, I do.”
Now Oso knew exactly what to make of his new friend — brave, and crazy.
“You don’t have to look at me that way, Oso. I haven’t lost my mind.”
“All right, then, I guess I’ll have to reserve judgment. How do you plan to do it?”
Thomas tried to settle himself more comfortably against the stone wall. It was hopeless. He’d simply have to deal with the pain.
“What keeps us here, Oso?”
Oso thought it was a fairly simple question, and answered immediately. “The reivers.”
“No, not the reivers, though they play a part. The reason we’re still here, the reason the Highlanders are still here, is the warlocks.”
Oso looked as if some hidden meaning had suddenly dawned on him. He was a fool for not seeing it before. It was the exact same reason the Highlanders could not defeat the reivers in battle. They didn’t have the weapons needed to fight the warlocks.
“So we need to eliminate the warlocks.” It was the most obvious solution, but Oso’s high spirits quickly deflated. It was also an impossible one.
“Yes, we do,” said Thomas with quiet confidence.
Oso almost laughed. His friend must have been hit on the head one too many times.
“It is rumored that to become a warlock there is a price the person must pay,” said Oso. “A terrible price. One that the person doesn’t realize until it is too late.” Talking about such things made him uncomfortable. He started pacing in front of the bars. He would like nothing more than to escape, but he didn’t see how it could be done. There were too many reivers and too many warlocks, and many of his people were too weak. What Thomas wanted to do was admirable, but also impractical.
“It is said that to become a warlock, you must sell your spirit to the Shadow Lord. Only then will that person be given the power he or she so desperately craves. The power to destroy nature.”
Thomas had heard much the same story from Rynlin and Rya. Though it had never been confirmed, he accepted it as the truth. The Shadow Lord never gave anything for free. To gain a part of his power, no matter how small, the cost would be high. The people who were willing to pay it never discovered jus
t how high until it was too late. That was their mistake. He had little sympathy for people so greedy for power that they would do anything to attain it.
“That may be the case,” said Thomas. “Nevertheless, we can still escape if we’re patient.”
“And just how do you propose to do that?” asked Oso skeptically.
Thomas had offered him one surprise after another since they had met a few weeks before. This time he glanced at his friend with worry. Had he been hit on the head one too many times? He was sitting there stoically, lying back against the stone wall. He could only imagine the amount of pain Thomas was in, yet his green eyes glowed with mischief, his smile one of confidence and assurance. It drew Oso in.
“Every three or four days a small group of reivers goes out in search of more workers. Correct?”
“Yes,” said Oso, waiting impatiently for Thomas’ plan to unfold.
“And they always take several warlocks with them. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Yet they have failed to bring back more workers.”
“True.”
“You said a few days ago that one of the Highlanders had told you that when we were captured, Killeran had led the raiding party himself because he was so desperate for more workers. The production from the mines had dropped by at least half, so he had taken all the warlocks with him except for a handful.”
“Yes, but so what?”
Oso was quickly losing confidence. Maybe Killeran had hit him on the head again, but this time a little too hard. That would certainly explain the huge grin on Thomas’ face.
“Well, Killeran wasn’t very successful on his last raid. He only bagged us. And with the failure of the smaller raiding parties, it stands to reason that he will have to take another large raiding party out soon because his need for workers has increased.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t. I’m just guessing.”
Thomas shifted his back against the stone wall, trying once more to find a more comfortable position. He finally gave up.
“Killeran may be the supposed Regent of the Highlands, but there’s someone behind him pulling the strings. It’s probably the High King, who wants the gold and silver from the mines for his own coffers. Then he can start acting like a real High King, rather than a showpiece. But you and I both know after working in the mines for the last few weeks that Killeran has not been very successful in achieving his goals, or rather the High King’s. I’m certain that Rodric, or whoever is behind Killeran, still needs what he can get from the mines, and he’s not getting it. So Killeran has to find more workers if he wants to remain regent.”
Thomas took a deep breath. His mind had been working at a furious pace, matched by his mouth, and he had forgotten to breathe. He looked over at Oso and saw the realization dawn within him. Oso was putting all the pieces together for himself now.
“So you see,” continued Thomas, “it’s just a matter of time before Killeran sends out another large raiding party. All we have to do is wait, and when the time comes, we escape and take everyone with us.”
“Well, what good is that?” asked Oso. He knew it for a fact now. Killeran had hit him on the head one too many times. Thomas had lost his grip on reality. “Even if he does take all the warlocks with him, we’ll still be stuck in these miserable cells.”
“Oso, show just a little patience, all right,” said Thomas in exasperation.
“That’s really an excellent plan, Thomas,” said Oso. “Truly, an excellent plan.” The sarcasm in his voice was quite obvious, along with his frustration. “But there is one problem with it. What about the warlocks? They have Dark Magic. We don’t. What do we do about that?” Oso was getting irritated.
“You’re right, we don’t have Dark Magic,” said Thomas, his face now serious, even grim. “We have something better.”
White light flashed in the darkness and a tiny ball of flame appeared just above Thomas’ palm, illuminating the cell. Thomas was using such a small amount of the Talent, he doubted the warlocks would detect it.
Oso danced back in surprise and fear. “You’re a war—”
“No, I’m not,” said Thomas sharply. “I’m not a warlock. I don’t use Dark Magic. I use a different power, one that comes from nature.”
Oso stared at his friend in consternation. This was just a little too much for him. Warlock or no, the ball of flame in Thomas’ hand scared him to the very depths of his being. For the first time, he was glad for the steel bars separating them, then realized they would do little against the power Thomas could summon. As the shock wore off, the practical side of his nature regained control of his psyche.
“But there is only one other group of people besides warlocks who can—” Oso looked at Thomas in sudden understanding.
Thomas nodded, knowing that his friend had figured it out for himself. “Yes, I am a Sylvan Warrior.”
“But the Sylvana are only a myth,” shouted Oso, who immediately lowered his voice. He was still rattled. “If not that, at least long dead.”
“I don’t think you should tell my grandfather that,” said Thomas, letting the small ball of flame wink out of existence. “He doesn’t like it when people tell him that.”
“Your grandfather? So the Sylvana are still—”
“Yes, we still exist. Maybe not in such great numbers as we used to, but we are certainly not a myth.”
“Then why haven’t you used your power against the warlocks?” Oso had started pacing again. “Why not just blow a way out of this cell for us.” He was angry now. If he had been languishing in this cell for weeks for nothing, he’d—
“Believe me, I thought about it. There are what, about a dozen warlocks in the fort?”
Oso nodded that he was correct.
“Well, I think I can take on the dozen, but that still leaves all the reivers.”
“Oh.” Oso’s anger dissipated. “But I thought Sylvan Warriors were all powerful.” He was trying to remember what he could of the legends he had heard, the legends that had now come to life.
“Far from it,” said Thomas. “We’re much too human, in fact. I can defeat the warlocks, but it would take a great deal of my strength, and just like fighting a lengthy battle with a sword, your body needs to rest. After fighting the warlocks, I would be completely useless. Then you’d have to take on the reivers by yourself. How does that sound to you?”
“Not very good at all,” said Oso with a smile, embarrassed by his earlier anger.
“But, if we wait until Killeran takes out his raiding party, and there are only a few warlocks left in the fort, our chances are much improved. I can eliminate them, and still have enough of my strength to give us a much better chance of fighting our way free of the Black Hole and taking everyone else with us.”
Oso smiled. He liked the way his friend thought. His initial shock at finding out that Thomas was a member of the Sylvana, a group of legendary warriors supposedly just a myth, was something that he normally would have simply laughed at. But he couldn’t. Not now. Though he had not known Thomas very long, their circumstances had allowed Oso to learn much about him very quickly. And that demonstration with the ball of fire was enough to convince him, even if it did make him uneasy. He certainly didn’t understand how Thomas did what he did, and he didn’t really care to. If Thomas could help him and his people escape from the Black Hole, he’d believe in anything.
“Then we wait,” said Oso.
“Yes, we wait,” said Thomas. “And we stay alive.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Freedom of a Sort
The next day in the mines resembled another session of torture in Killeran’s quarters for Thomas. The reivers escorted him and Oso to the mines separately, keeping them out of the chain gang. They were put to work at the very end of a vein, which was the most dangerous part of the tunnel. Their task was to extend the mine as far as they could, knowing that any misstroke on their part, or bad luck, could bring thousands of tons of rock
s crashing down on them.
Killeran even placed two guards at the other end of the vein. It was a ridiculous precaution on his part, since Thomas and Oso were still chained at the neck and legs, in addition to the shackles now attached to their wrists. Not being able to stretch their arms out wide made their task all the more difficult.
The sharp pinpricks of pain that kept Thomas up all night turned into a constant source of irritation and discomfort each time his grimy shirt ran across his upper body. All he could do was grit his teeth and bear it. Thomas stepped back from the stone wall in front of him, laying his pick against his thigh and wiping his tattered sleeve across his forehead.
He smiled despite his pain. Rya would have an absolute fit when she saw what had happened to his clothes. He wouldn’t hear the end of it for months. When he was growing up, she had mended the tears that inevitably occurred, always trying to get a few more months of wear out of a shirt or a pair of breeks. This time she’d have no choice but to throw the clothes away. The holes easily outnumbered the remaining bits of cloth.
Oso also lay his pickaxe against his thigh. He knew that Thomas was still tired and weak from yesterday’s encounter with Killeran, so he tried to do the work for both of them. The reivers had been waiting all day for an excuse to urge them to work harder, constantly walking down the tunnel, their curses preceding them and their whips cracking in the air to accentuate their words.
“Another fun day, huh?” asked Oso, grinning despite his weariness. His clothes weren’t much better than Thomas’.
“Quiet!” shouted one of the reivers.
The other one felt the need to contribute. “Another word from either of you and we’ll send you to the block.”
That particular reiver, a short man with a barrel chest and little hair atop his scalp, had been using that threat for most of the day. Yet, neither Thomas nor Oso knew exactly what he was talking about. They simply assumed that it was the headsman’s block.
Grumbling something incomprehensible under his breath, Oso retrieved his pickaxe and went back to work. Thomas did so as well, wiping his forehead one more time to keep the sweat from running into his eyes. They soon had a steady rhythm going: as one swung his pickaxe into the rock, the other was bringing his around for another strike.