by Peter Wacht
The soldiers walked into the clearing from all sides. Thomas spun around and almost lost his balance in the process. He struggled just to remain on his feet. He understood now what had happened to him, something he had been a fool not to consider. He glanced down at Kaylie, seeing the soldiers for the first time.
“I trusted you,” he whispered.
Kaylie saw the betrayal in his eyes, the pain. “But Thomas, I had nothing to do with this. I swear—”
“Drop your sword, Thomas. You can’t escape.”
Thomas recognized the voice. The figures circling the glade flitted around like shadows. The only thing he could see clearly was their drawn swords. Still, he would never forget that voice. Ragin Tessaril. He was a fool. His grandfather had always said to expect almost anything. Once again he had ignored common sense. A princess who actually wanted to see him again? Why would a princess be interested in him? He scoffed at the thought now. No, there was always some underlying agenda. He should have known. And this time he had figured it out too late.
“Drop your sword, Thomas!”
The voice came from his left this time. Thomas turned in that direction. The blackness in his mind threatened to overwhelm him. It took all of his strength to fight it off.
“I think not.”
“The High King is looking forward to meeting you, Thomas,” said Ragin, pulling his own sword from its scabbard. “He never said in what condition you were to be brought to him, though. Take him.”
Instead of waiting for the soldiers to come to him, Thomas stumbled forward, making for where he had heard the sound of steel escaping from its sheath. His action surprised the soldiers, but no one more so than Ragin. Unprepared to defend himself, Ragin jumped backwards and yanked a soldier in front of him. Thomas’ blade connected in the space between the man’s neck and breastplate, killing him instantly.
With Ragin out of reach, Thomas turned to meet the onrushing soldiers. He considered running into the forest, but was certain that in his current condition he wouldn’t make it very far. Normally he would be able to blend into the foliage, but the drug now in his system made his motions clumsy and clouded his mind. As a result, he could barely stand up. A strong breeze could knock him on his back and he’d be as defenseless as a turtle. He tried to concentrate, to take hold of the Talent, but it slipped through his fingers and out of his grasp. He swore in frustration. He couldn’t focus on anything but the blackness, which slowly consumed his consciousness.
Fighting more by instinct than sight, Thomas met the charge of two soldiers, catching both their blades on his own. He kicked out with one leg and almost lost his balance, but thankfully his foot connected with the soldier’s jaw. The man fell backward, allowing Thomas to focus on the other soldier. Pushing him back, Thomas lunged forward. The soldier dodged out of the way, but he did not expect the quick slash as Thomas stepped back that caught him in the neck. The man fell to the ground, his life bleeding out onto the thick grass of the clearing.
Thomas spun, bringing his blade around in a wide arc and catching the soldier charging behind him at the waist. The blade bit deeply, the man falling down in anguish as his innards spilled out of the gaping wound. Two more soldiers ran toward him. Unsure of their exact location, Thomas swung wildly with his blade. His luck held, as the blade met one soldier’s unprotected head. The other soldier, shocked by the quick death of his comrade, looked down at his friend in amazement. He never felt Thomas’ blade as it slipped through his stomach.
Stumbling forward, Thomas tried to defend himself. He couldn’t remember how many soldiers he had killed, or how many remained. The number of attackers finally caught up with him, though, as the drug in his system worked its way through his body. Swinging at another attacker, the motion put him off balance, and he fell to his knees. He never had the opportunity to get back up as three soldiers jumped on him, one knocking his sword from his hand while the other two pushed him down into the grass.
Several more soldiers piled on. When they realized their quarry was finally defeated, they kicked at him blindly with their steel-tipped boots, catching Thomas in the stomach, the back, his legs, his face. He grunted with each kick that connected, thankful that the drug dulled his senses and took the sting from the attack. The blackness eventually took him, Thomas drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
“Stop it!” yelled Kaylie, surging to her feet and running to the group of soldiers surrounding Thomas, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Stop it, damn you. Stop it!”
She tried pulling the soldiers away but they shrugged off her efforts, continuing to kick Thomas until Ragin intervened.
“Enough. My father wanted him alive.”
Ragin put his sword back in its scabbard and walked across the clearing. The soldiers stepped aside so he could take a closer look at their captive. Bruises and cuts covered Thomas’ face, and his stomach and back probably looked much the same. Still, it didn’t appear that his men had broken any bones. His father would be quite pleased.
“You didn’t mix enough willowbark with the wine, Lesti.”
“I did, my prince. Truly I did.” A soldier of average height stepped forward, still breathing heavily from doing his part to subdue Thomas. “It usually only takes a pinch, my prince. If I put in any more a normal man would have died. Willowbark is an excellent sleeping agent, but if too much is ingested it becomes a poison.”
Ragin grunted. Nothing ever seemed to be easy with this forest whelp.
Kaylie stared down at Thomas during Ragin’s examination, wiping the tears from her eyes. What had she done to him?
“The boy will hang, Kaylie,” said Ragin, sneering across Thomas’ still form. “He murdered five of my men.”
“He defended himself!” she screamed, finding it difficult to control her emotions. Her hand went to her dagger, and she considered pulling it free, but to what use? There were too many soldiers surrounding her.
“From what?” Ragin stood up.
“From your men, you bastard!”
Kaylie’s reserve was slowly breaking apart. Thomas had been attacked, but she suddenly realized that she was the only person there who would attest to that. Once they returned to Tinnakilly, Thomas was a dead man.
“Why would he try to escape?” asked Ragin in a soothing voice.
“Because he knew what would happen if he was taken!”
“You won’t understand, Kaylie. You never will.” Ragin shook his head, disappointment clear in his face. “Besides, it was because of you that he was captured. Why should you even bother to defend him now? The evidence is clear. And when he awakens he’ll certainly hate you more than he will me. And by the look in his eyes when he charged, he hates me quite a lot.”
Ragin walked toward his horse, which one of his soldiers had brought forward.
“Throw him onto the back of one of the horses, and don’t be too gentle about it.” Several men ran forward eager to obey. “Thank you, Kaylie. You have done us a great service.”
Kaylie ignored him, watching as the soldiers threw Thomas’ limp body onto a horse, tying his arms and legs to the saddle. Why did you do this? Why? She didn’t know how to reply. The questions finally stopped, only to be replaced by something worse. She could hear Thomas’ voice now, repeating the simple words over and over. Each time they cut into her just a little more until she felt raw on the inside. I trusted you. I trusted you. He had trusted her, and in return she had betrayed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Foreshadowing
As the soldiers threw Thomas onto the horse, a Raptor watched from above, slowly circling the clearing, its search for prey momentarily forgotten. The large predator sensed that something evil had occurred, shifting the balance nature shared with the shadow. A dark time was coming, spurred on by what had happened below. Still, it could only watch, and wait. One of its own had been taken. One that was meant to be free. One that was meant to stand tall against the onrushing darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Looking for Help
Beluil ran through the forest in the rapidly fading light. Night was almost upon the land, the sun fading. He was still musing about the grey and white she-wolf he had spent the last few days with. He wanted to tell Thomas about her. She really was quite attractive, at least to a wolf. Thomas would understand. He always did.
Beluil broke through the foliage and ran into the clearing that had served as their campsite for the last week. He expected to see Thomas here already, waiting impatiently, but the glade was empty. His friend’s pack remained hidden behind the tree and the grass showed no sign of footsteps.
Though the clearing looked as if no one had ever stopped there before, Beluil knew better. Thomas was very meticulous, taking the time to bring the grass back to life where they had slept on it the night before so if anyone happened by, nothing would appear out of place. Yet to him, on this cool evening, something about the clearing felt wrong. The wolf stood there for a moment, sniffing the wind. His yellow eyes glowed brightly in the dusk and were his only visible feature as his black fur blended into the deepening darkness. Thomas should have returned by now. Yet there was no sign of him.
Beluil ran in the direction Thomas had left that morning, picking up his scent almost immediately, though it was very faint. Too much time had passed since Thomas had last come this way. He would not have been able to follow it if he had not known it so well. The hours passed as Beluil steadily grew closer to Tinnakilly, finally entering a small clearing with a stream running through it.
Jumping over the flowing water, he stopped in the middle of the glade. A blanket lay in its center, one corner flapping in the wind. A basket full of food and a wine bottle held it down. As Beluil scanned the glade with his eyes, the signs of a struggle became apparent.
The scent of his friend was strong here, as well as the scents of many others. Dark scents. He quickly made a circuit of the camp, noting the blood staining the grass in a half-dozen places. A flash of steel caught his eye, hidden partly beneath the blanket. Thomas’ sword. Beluil growled in anger. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Beluil took a final look around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, then ran to the west at an easy pace through the woods and out onto the grassland. The scent was strong here, and the large wolf increased his pace. As he followed the trail, a misty rain began to fall, increasing in intensity as the minutes passed.
The wolf was soaked to the bone, but still he pressed on, knowing that time was of the essence. The rain was washing out the trail and he was losing the scent. Finally, as the steady rain became a downpour, the scent disappeared completely. Beluil had almost reached the river, and across its expanse he saw the faint lights of a city.
He howled in frustration, the cry of anguish drifting for miles across the open space. He could do nothing for his friend now, for his brother. But he would not fail him. Thomas was west of the river, that much he knew. He would return to the Isle of Mist and Rynlin and Rya would help him. But first he would retrieve Thomas’ sword. Trying to communicate with Thomas’ grandparents was difficult, as they did not have Thomas’ abilities. The sword would tell them what they needed to know.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Success
Kaylie’s trip back to Tinnakilly passed in a blur, every mile a waking nightmare. She rode behind the horse carrying Thomas, unable to take her eyes from him. All the while she could hear his voice in her head: I trusted you. I trusted you.
A driving rain began as they passed under the portcullis of the castle. She didn’t bother putting on the hooded cloak one of the soldiers passed to her. Though she was soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her head and her clothes drenched, she was numb to everything around her, even the cold rain.
As Ragin led his squadron of soldiers through the Palace gates, Kaylie thought only of the terrible mistake she had made. The world around her no longer mattered. She almost welcomed the hard rainfall, imagining the drops pelted the ground in anger at the capture of one of their own, the hard wind howling its displeasure, the thunder and lightning echoing their rage. Thomas should be free, but he wasn’t — because of her.
The courtyard of the keep was deserted because of the storm, except for one person who waited there, his grin matching that of his son’s. Rodric Tessaril clapped his hands in pleasure when he saw the bundle strapped to one of the horses. The four other riderless horses didn’t even register with him. His plan had succeeded. That was all that mattered. Ragin rode straight to his father, who grabbed the bridle as his son jumped into the mud.
“You’ve done well, Ragin. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you, father.”
Ragin’s normal boastfulness failed him at that moment, taken aback by his father’s compliment. His father normally offered screams of anger and shouts of rage, not kind words.
Rodric dropped the horse’s bridle in his son’s hand and walked over to the horse carrying Thomas. His grin grew bigger, displaying his rather unwieldy teeth. Taking hold of Thomas’ hair, he looked into the unconscious face of his nemesis. His master would be pleased, but first Rodric would have his fun. This whelp had been a thorn in his foot for much too long.
“Enjoy it while you can, boy. Your head won’t be attached to your shoulders much longer.” Rodric laughed softly as his pleasure momentarily defeated his normal recalcitrance. “Put him in the dungeon. I’ll be down to check on him later.”
Four soldiers jumped from their horses and began the process of unstrapping Thomas. After unceremoniously dumping him into the mud, they each picked up an arm or a leg and carried the unconscious boy into the Palace.
Kaylie remained on her horse, unable to fathom the true extent of what she had unwittingly done until Rodric’s words jolted her from her stupor. Rodric had used her. She could barely stand the thought that she was responsible for his capture. If she was responsible for his murder as well, she’d never be able to live with herself. Leaping down from her horse, she ran right up to Rodric.
“You’re a monster!” she shouted, not caring who heard. “He was defending himself. You have no right to do this to him. No right!”
She was so furious she could barely get the words out. Ragin had stepped behind his father, not wanting to get in the way of her tirade. Kaylie had found the target for her anger — for being used, for acting like a fool, for hurting someone who had just tried to be her friend — and she let it out full blast. Hurting someone who saw her as a person rather than a princess. Someone who didn’t deserve to die at the hands of such a loathsome creature. High King he might be in name, but he certainly didn’t deserve her respect.
“You’re nothing but a murderer!”
“Are you finished, girl,” interrupted Rodric, his face red with fury yet his voice soft and sibilant. He resembled a snake preparing to strike. Kaylie suddenly realized that she had stepped on very dangerous terrain. “You’ve done well, child. Better than I expected, in fact. Thank you for leading us to him.”
“Why, blast it? I want to know why!” Tears formed in her eyes, though Rodric couldn’t tell. The rain had increased in intensity, the heavy drops pounding into the muddy courtyard.
Rodric’s eyes narrowed and this time Kaylie stepped back a pace. She was alone in the courtyard with Rodric and his soldiers. Kaylie had unknowingly placed herself in a potentially deadly situation.
“You may be the princess of Fal Carrach, girl, but I’m the High King.” Rodric’s sharp whisper carried through the rain and howling wind, and for the first time that day Kaylie shivered. “Even your father cannot protect you from me. I suggest you quiet your voice and be satisfied that I don’t make an example of you here and now. You will learn that as you gain more power, you often have to use people to do what is necessary. Consider this your first, and only, lesson.”
Rodric then turned on his heel with Ragin, smug expression in place, in tow. The scene at an end, the soldiers led their horses to the stables. As the courtyard cleared Kaylie dropped to
the ground, not caring about the mud or pools of water. For the first time the full import of what she had done hit her. Unwittingly, she had sentenced a true friend to death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Smug Satisfaction
As the rain pelted the Palace, Chertney watched the argument in the courtyard with great interest from under a small portico that protected him from the elements, yet gave him a full view of the drama as it played out. The princess had spirit, but was clearly inexperienced. To challenge Rodric at such a time was an obvious mistake. She was lucky, princess or no, that she’d be able to walk away. Next time, well, Rodric was not one to allow a next time for such things.
When Ragin had laid out his plan the night before, Chertney had never expected it would actually work. Ragin lacked any real strategic ability. And having that pompous whelp lead the expedition was a second mistake, but then again, the only person who really could ensure the mission’s success was Kaylie, or to be even more accurate, himself.
If not for him and his use of Dark Magic to mask the attack, the boy would still be free, escaping before the soldiers arrived despite the drugged wine. He wallowed in his own vanity when the four soldiers carried their quarry past him on their way to the dungeon. Chertney was rudely knocked back to reality.
It couldn’t be! It just wasn’t possible! But it was! The resemblance was unmistakable. He had thought for years that talk of a green-eyed boy would simply result in the discovery of another — a boy similar to the one he had originally hunted so many years before in the Highlands. A boy he had thought long dead. But his master had been right. The boy had survived, and a dangerous man he had become.
For a brief moment Chertney wondered what had happened to the Nightstalker assigned to the boy, but then his question was answered for him. As the soldiers carried Thomas into the Palace, one of them tripped on a step, dropping the boy’s shoulder to the stone as a result. The jolt knocked something out from underneath his shirt. A necklace. A necklace that Chertney recognized. The boy had become even more dangerous than he had ever thought possible, more dangerous than even his master believed.