by Wacht, Peter
Wanting to be away from these tall, frightening Highlanders as quickly as possible, Nolan stepped up to the porch that ran across the front of the tavern. Pushing gently on the handle of the broken door, Nolan wedged it aside and stepped into the darkness.
Oso and Kaylie glanced at one another, then Oso shrugged. Sword gripped tightly, he followed Nolan into the tavern. The large Highlander poked his head out of the pitch-black a moment later.
“It’s all right,” he said with a grin. “Aric, keep an eye out. We shouldn’t be long.”
Oso disappeared back into the tavern. With nothing else to do but follow, Kaylie sighed and stepped through the doorway, hand on her dagger just in case. A few steps in, she felt a cloth brush against her. Pushing it aside, she walked into a well-lit room. Though the outside of the crumbling tavern appeared dilapidated, the inside had been rebuilt. Several guards stood along the walls, eyeing the two visitors warily.
In the center of the room was a single table with three chairs. Standing to the side was a waif of a girl, beautiful, graceful, her auburn hair curling at her shoulders.
“Princess Carlomin, you have nothing to fear. Thomas, Oso and I are old friends.”
Surprised by the greeting, Kaylie stood there for a moment, shaking her head ever so slightly. Then she sheathed her dagger and grumbled a curse that only Oso could hear. How was it that Thomas seemed to know more lords and ladies in all the Kingdoms than she did?
13
Blade at Her Throat
Thomas fought to maintain his concentration as he danced around the small room that had become his prison cell. Sweat dripped down his body, hair plastered to his forehead, as he slashed and stabbed, lunged and cut, jumping, spinning, and ducking against a series of imaginary enemies, as he sought to keep his skills with a blade razor sharp. But it was a struggle, his mind wandering despite his best efforts to work through the various fighting forms the ghosts of the legendary warriors of the past had taught him. He had been at it for more than an hour, having waited impatiently through much of the morning for the fog to finally lift from his mind to the point where he could actually connect one thought to the next.
First, he had tried for the door, only to discover that he could get no closer than a few feet before the black collar around his neck froze him in place if he tried to advance another step. No matter how hard he pushed himself, he could go no further. His body refused to obey his mind’s commands. The same had occurred when he had attempted to walk out onto the balcony that provided a view of a finely mowed lawn, the jump down to the ground looking to be no more than ten or twelve feet. But no luck with that either. He could stand at the edge of the balcony, gaze out upon the dawning of what looked to be a cold, windy day, but that was as far as he could go. He couldn’t actually step out onto the balcony. Then he had tried to reach for the Talent, and then again, and again, and again, until it had become no more than an exercise in frustration, the ephemeral barrier in his mind that allowed him to sense the natural power of the world yet prevented him from seizing it remaining firmly in place no matter how he attempted to force his way through. As his failures mounted so did his exasperation. But he could think of nothing else to try, and rather than spend the morning cursing and allowing his anger to paralyze him, instead he had turned his attention to something that he could do, though even that was proving difficult at times as his building bitterness at his own foolishness for ignoring Kaylie’s warning played regularly through his thoughts, disrupting what little concentration he could achieve. When next he saw her -- if he saw her -- she had every right to take him to task.
Redoubling his efforts, Thomas increased the pace of his training, ranging about the small space as best as he could, his twin daggers a blur in his hands until he stopped suddenly, daggers still held tightly in his grasp, the sharp steel of both blades less than an inch from cutting through the shapely neck of the Princess of Armagh. Whether he had ceased his attack of his own volition, having sensed his warden entering the room, or because the magic of the collar required it, he wasn’t certain.
Corelia Tessaril stood just a few feet into the room, her eyes wide with shock as she examined the steel that threatened to slice into her flesh. Shifting her gaze away from the shining blades, a chill swept through her as she took in Thomas’ flinty gaze, his eyes hard, remorseless. Not able to bear the weight of her prisoner’s stare, she allowed her eyes to track down his naked, sweat-streaked chest, remembering the many scars that she had traced there with her fingers just the day before. A smile touched her lips. She sensed his struggle, the war occurring within the Highland Lord. The fact that she was the cause of his turmoil absolutely thrilled her.
“Would you have done it if the collar hadn’t prevented it?” mused Corelia, pleased with herself because her voice didn’t waver.
Thomas stepped back, knuckles white on the dagger hilts, before he eased the blades back into the sheaths that he had placed on a small table next to his bed. “We’ll never know.”
Corelia smirked. “You certainly keep things lively, Thomas. Perhaps that’s why I find you so intriguing. So intoxicating.”
Thomas ignored her comment, his hard look measuring her. “Is it worth it, Corelia? The risk that you’re taking?”
“It would be less risky if you thought more deeply about what we could achieve if we worked together willingly,” said Corelia, who stepped close to Thomas, her hand running lightly down his chest despite the rivulets of sweat. “I understand your anger at the collar. But even if it can’t be removed, if we were closer, if we were partners, there would be no need for it. It would have no meaning other than an affectation.”
“You think that I would willingly work with you after all this? After what your father did to my family? To my Kingdom?”
“Thomas, you’re making this all very personal,” protested Corelia. “This is simply business on the highest level. If we work together, we can both achieve what we want, for ourselves and for our Kingdoms. Isn’t that what you want?”
“There are other ways to protect my Kingdom, Corelia.” Thomas remained still, his eyes focused beyond the open balcony doors that allowed a chill breeze to swirl about the room.
“Perhaps,” said Corelia. “But you need to think more about yourself and what your future may or may not hold.” Corelia reached up with a hand, turning Thomas’ chin so that his eyes burned into hers. She ignored the glare, her eyes suggestive. “The path that I’m proposing could be fun for both of us and give you more than you could possibly imagine.”
Corelia hoped for something, anything to indicate that he might be thinking about all that she had offered, but Thomas remained silent, his expression unchanging. She sighed. “I know you’re taken with Kaylie Carlomin. I can understand why. I admit, she has spirit. But you must see, Thomas, that she can’t give you all that I can.”
Corelia leaned up, whispering into his ear, her lips touching his cheek. “If you choose the Princess of Fal Carrach, you will die. You cannot defeat the Shadow Lord. With me, you have a chance. What cause would the Shadow Lord have to kill you if you were allied to me? Think about what I can offer you. Power. Privilege. Respect.” Corelia’s lips trailed down to his neck, sending an uncomfortable shudder through Thomas’ body that she couldn’t help but notice. “Life. Maybe even love.”
“How long did it take you to decide to sell yourself to the Shadow Lord, Corelia?”
Corelia stepped back, her smile disintegrating. “Stubborn. So stubborn that you fail to recognize the forest from the trees.”
“And you think you can trust Malachias? Do you know who he really is?” This time Thomas stepped closer to Corelia, his intense eyes capturing her gaze. “He is the right hand of the Shadow Lord and has been so since before the Great War, exercising a dark power that only a few can imagine. He is not in the business of keeping his promises. The only promises he must keep are those that he makes to his master.”
“I know who he is,” objected Corelia, but T
homas ran right over her words.
“Malachias has but one goal. To remain the right hand of the Shadow Lord. Once he views you as a threat, he will kill you.”
“You didn’t think that had already crossed my mind?” asked Corelia, her voice growing more strident with every word spoken. “That’s why I have you, Thomas. With the collar, you will protect me. You will keep Malachias at bay and aid me as I rise. With you, I will become the right hand of the Lord of the Shadow and rule the Kingdoms in his stead.”
“Are you listening to yourself, Corelia?” asked Thomas quietly. “The Shadow Lord doesn’t share power.”
“No, but he gives power to those who deserve it, and he will give it to me.”
Corelia stepped forward, pulling Thomas’ lips to hers for a soft, brief kiss that Thomas did not return. She then turned slowly, swaying her hips provocatively as she exited the room. As Thomas watched her go, his grandmother’s favorite saying played through his mind: “You must do what you must do.” Thomas shook his head in irritation. With the collar affixed to his neck, what could he do?
14
Another Friend
Despite Kaylie’s initial misgivings, there was something about Lady Colasa that put her at ease. She knew Eshel by reputation as an older, vain man, full of bluster and with an eye that was easily turned by a beautiful woman. But she didn’t know Colasa. She had never even heard of her. She guessed that they were of a similar age. Colasa’s eyes glittered in the candlelight, which added an alluring beauty to her features. Kaylie initially thought that those eyes were full of mischief, and perhaps that was the case on occasion, but a relentlessness lay there as well, a determination that had obviously served her well in her struggle for the throne of Inishmore. She decided that Colasa could be a formidable opponent, not only because of what she discerned through her quick, though incomplete, study, but also because of the respect and deference shown to her by her guards, which appeared to result from more than just a sense of loyalty to her family.
“Might I ask how you know Thomas and Oso?”
Colasa turned her penetrating eyes toward Kaylie, having been engaged in a quick conversation with Oso to learn why they had come to Laurag. Through her spies she had discovered that Highlanders were in the city as soon as the first Marcher’s boots touched the dock. But she had not known that one of them was Thomas until now.
“My mother is a member of the Sylvana. She is responsible for the Distant Islands. My mother and I were at the Pinnacle when Thomas became a Sylvan Warrior. Although I have some small skill in the Talent, it does not compare to what others, such as you, can do with the natural magic of the world. As a result, I believe that I have been called to a different service.”
“You can sense the Talent even when it’s not in use?”
“Yes, but unfortunately that’s about the limit of my abilities. Thomas is the strongest that I have ever come across, but your ability in the Talent is quite impressive as well, Princess,” said Colasa. “Not many are stronger than you, though your strength is a bit untamed.”
“I haven’t had as much training as I would like.”
“That explains it. It’s a difficult skill to master, but well worth the effort, my mother likes to say. Have you been called to the Pinnacle yet?”
“Called?”
“Yes, called to become a Sylvan Warrior?”
“No, at least I don’t think so. I’m not really sure what you mean.” The thought that she could become a member of the Sylvana energized Kaylie, but it frightened her a bit as well. What would it require? She had never spoken to Rya or Thomas about it.
“Don’t worry, Princess. I have no doubt that you will be visiting the Pinnacle soon.”
“But how do you know? How will I know?”
“You will know, Princess. Have no fear.”
The increasing abstractness of their conversation began to irritate Kaylie, so she decided to shift back to a more important, timely topic.
“And you met Thomas and Oso because of the Talent?”
“Yes, Princess. As I said, my mother took me a few years ago to a gathering of the Sylvana at the Pinnacle. I met Thomas then, and we’ve visited the Highlands since, so I had the opportunity to meet Oso as well, though just briefly. I must say Thomas’ grandparents, Rynlin and Rya, left a lasting impression. Very warm once you get to know them, but also very intense.”
“That’s a good way to put it. Rya is actually teaching me how to use the Talent. I wish I could spend more time with her.” Kaylie chuckled, quickly shifting gears. “So if your mother is a member of the Sylvana, how is it that you’re opposing Eshel? I didn’t know the Sylvana involved themselves so deeply in the affairs of the Kingdoms.”
Colasa’s glittering eyes became even sharper. It reminded her of the predatory gaze of a kestrel. “My mother suggested it, actually. We come from a small Inishmorian House, but an ancient one with ties to many of the earlier monarchs before the time of troubles struck several centuries ago and the quest for the throne devolved into a free for all. That’s more than can be said for Eshel. He’s an upstart from a minor house, no more, but he is a deadly opponent. He prefers to negotiate through intimidation and the quick application of a knife’s edge. Eshel has been in league with Rodric for quite some time. That’s a dangerous alliance for Inishmore, even if our illustrious High King no longer holds his throne. My mother suspected where Rodric’s allegiances truly lay, and she assumed that if Eshel had aligned himself with Armagh, the Shadow Lord wanted to expand his influence in my homeland by having Eshel take the throne. When we saw the stronger houses begin to fall in line with Eshel, we decided to take action. Someone needed to oppose his rise.”
“So now it’s just you and Eshel,” confirmed Kaylie.
“Yes, but we are at a stalemate. Neither of us is strong enough to defeat the other openly, at least not yet.”
“Ladies, perhaps we could get to the business at hand,” interrupted Oso, his impatience growing. “Finding Thomas.”
“We were just getting to that, Oso,” replied Kaylie tartly. “Colasa and I needed to get to know one another a bit better before we took the next step.” Oso, big as he was, tried to sink into his chair at the reprimand.
“I will help you,” said Colasa. “I would do anything for Thomas. But I can’t do it blatantly. That could lead to an all-out civil war with Eshel, and I am not ready for that, nor is my Kingdom.”
“Not to worry,” said Kaylie. “We would never put your claim at risk. If you could tell us where Eshel has taken Thomas, assuming you have some idea, we can take care of this matter on our own. Quickly and decisively.”
15
False Bravery
Thomas growled in frustration, his temper threatening to get the better of him. He wanted to strike out at something, anything, but he couldn’t. He had tried once again to walk out onto the balcony to see if he might be able to jump to the ground and make his escape. But still he couldn’t step out onto the stone that was less than a foot away. No matter how much he commanded his body to take that last step, it wouldn’t. He could stand there and look out onto the terrace, enjoy the brisk touch of the wind, but go no further. He tried much the same with the door, testing to see how close he could get. He hoped that Corelia would think that a lock would be enough to keep him in his room, and that perhaps the power of the collar diminished if the distance between the one who wore the necklace and the one who controlled it grew greater. But as he strode toward the door, he had been forced to stop short, unable to walk the final step, not even able to extend his arm to reach for the knob. The collar Corelia had affixed around his neck had corralled him more effectively than the cage he had slept in while imprisoned in the Black Hole.
For the thousandth time in the last day, Thomas reached for the Talent. He wanted to howl in anger, but he refused to alert his captors to his distress. The Talent was there. He could feel it. But he could do nothing with it. Thomas closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, str
uggling to calm himself before finally regaining some semblance of control. He decided to try again. But rather than reaching for the Talent, instead he simply wanted to examine more closely the artifact that was preventing him from using the natural magic of the world. He could touch the thin chain of black, frosted onyx that shone like glass, feel the roughness of its texture, the impressions and imperfections marring each individual stone. But what could he do to try to destroy the barrier? There had to be something that might work.
His focus shifted when the door to his room opened unexpectedly. Thomas turned toward his visitors, taking in the wide bulk of Lord Eshel and the whip-thin Maddan, who kept his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he feared that Thomas could attack him despite the restrictions placed on him by the collar. Perhaps his concern was justified, mused Thomas. These two had visited him once before since he had arrived in this room, and Thomas had charged toward them. But to no avail. He had been forced to stop just feet away as he slid to the stone floor, the collar not allowing him to get any closer. A futile gesture, but certainly worth the effort. Both men had been completely unprepared for the rush, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Maddan had soiled himself. Norin Dinnegan’s son played well at the role of brave fighter, but Thomas could tell that there was no substance, no solidity, to his character.
As if to prove that conclusion, Maddan stayed behind Eshel, almost hiding behind the portly lord and clearly demonstrating his discomfort. The Lord of Inishmore ignored the boy who had accompanied him reluctantly and stared at Thomas with an appraising eye. Thomas glared back at him, his expression shorn of emotion.
“You’re not much to look at,” began Eshel, hooking his thumbs into the belt that was so essential to keeping his breeches up, his expansive gut stretching the cloth dangerously.