The Claiming of the Highlands

by Wacht, Peter

  Sarelle offered Thomas a dazzling smile, though her silence before responding dragged on for an unnaturally long period of time, as if she needed to figure out what to say. The prickle at the base of Thomas’ neck had begun to spread down his spine. The premonition of danger increased with each passing second, but the cause of his growing alarm continued to tease him.

  “Indeed, I was, Lord Kestrel.”

  Sarelle’s eyes bore into his, staring deeply, though the warmth that he had seen in them when he spoke with her earlier in the evening had disappeared. There was a hardness lurking there now, and a faint touch of black appeared to flicker in the very center of her pupils. Was it just a trick of the shadows and the few torches lighting the courtyard?

  “Are you all right, Queen Sarelle?” Thomas took a step back. His sense of unease was growing. Corelia had made him feel uncomfortable. But Sarelle sent a shiver through his body.

  “Quite fine, Lord Kestrel.” Sarelle stepped forward, closing the gap that Thomas had opened. “I simply wished to speak with you privately.”

  Thomas took another step back, and once more Sarelle followed. Thomas stepped back once again, trying to put some distance between them, but Sarelle matched his movement. It seemed as if they had started a strange dance.

  “About what, Queen Sarelle?” asked Thomas, his hand naturally drifting back to the hilt of his dagger. He had not known Sarelle very long, but this was not the behavior he had expected from her.

  Sarelle stopped her advance, the light leaving her green eyes for a moment, the pupils shifting fully to black, before returning to their original color.

  “About what? About what? About what?” Sarelle repeated Thomas’ words as if she didn’t understand their meaning. As she continued to follow him around the courtyard, her movements became jerky, almost like a puppet.

  “Are you all right, Queen Sarelle?” Thomas asked, not having any idea what was going on. The woman standing before him now clearly was not the same as the one who had spoken with him just a quarter hour before. “Do you need help with something? Perhaps a physick?”

  The Queen of Benewyn stood frozen in place for several long moments, seemingly in a daze. Thomas’ discomfort increased, his fingers itching to pull the dagger, his senses telling him that danger was close, but he couldn’t locate the source.

  In an instant, Sarelle came back to herself. “I do need your help, young Lord Kestrel.”

  “And what help do you need?” Thomas took another step back, Sarelle following once more, their strange dance beginning again.

  Sarelle grinned wickedly as she lunged blazingly fast toward Thomas, her left hand shooting forward. “I need you to die!”

  Thomas ducked and rolled away, the Queen of Benewyn’s fingers elongating into a claw that swiped the air where Thomas had been standing just an instant before. Rising to his feet, he leapt backward, Sarelle’s other hand now transformed into a razor-sharp claw, sweeping toward him from his other side. The Queen of Benewyn continued her advance, Thomas giving ground but having little space to maneuver, the courtyard limiting his options.

  Thomas raised his dagger and blocked one of Sarelle’s claws as it slashed toward him. As the steel of his dagger struck, it felt like he had dragged his blade across a rock. No wound appeared on Sarelle’s forearm. Thomas dodged backward quickly once more, avoiding Sarelle’s other claw as he struggled to control his shock. Sarelle maintained her relentless progress toward him, her green eyes now replaced by black orbs that reflected the light of the moon. He didn’t know what type of creature sought to kill him, but Thomas understood now that it wasn’t the Queen of Benewyn.

  “You have nowhere to run, boy,” screeched the woman who tracked him. “Nowhere to hide. My master wants you dead, and dead you will be.”

  The creature lunged forward faster than the eye could follow, slashing with her claws, Thomas barely escaping from her attack as he danced around the courtyard. She moved faster than a Shade, Thomas calling on all his training to defend himself. Each time his dagger deflected a claw, his arm stung as bolts of numbness shot through him.

  Cursing himself for a fool, Thomas realized that he had been cornered against the courtyard wall, his hand finding the rough surface of the stone. He looked desperately for a way to get by his attacker.

  “You can’t escape me, boy,” the woman cackled, claws moving sinuously between them. Poking. Prodding. Searching for a weakness. “There is no hope.”

  Thomas couldn’t contain his surprise as his attacker shifted in front of him, a black mist settling over the creature and then quickly dissipating to reveal Rendael, the King of Kenmare, in the place of Sarelle. Its transformation complete, the creature lunged forward again, its right claw slicing through Thomas’ shirt but missing the skin by a hairsbreadth. Instead, the hardened talon dug deeply into the stone wall, the old bricks crumbling from the thrust. Thomas spun away, finally gaining some room to move.

  The creature crowed in delight as it pulled its claw free. The old king slashed with lightning speed, its claws a blur as it sought an opening in Thomas’ defenses. As Thomas regained the center of the courtyard, sweat dripping into his eyes, the King of Kenmare stared at him with a hungry look in his black orbs.

  “No one can defeat me. Because no one knows how I will come for them.”

  Once again, a black mist swept over the King of Kenmare. This time when the mist evaporated, Thomas remained rooted in place by shock. His best friend, Oso, stood before him, an evil grin lighting up his face.

  “My master will be pleased,” the creature hissed. “He will reward me when I bring him your head.”

  The creature, now in the form of the bearlike Marcher, resumed its attack, faster and faster, its claws snatching at Thomas’ face, chest, neck, any piece of him that the creature could slice into in search of his blood. Thomas dodged desperately out of the way, seeking to avoid those razor-sharp claws that came at him faster than humanly possible. Realizing that his dagger would offer little defense, Thomas kicked out with his right leg, catching the creature in the chest and slamming it back against the courtyard wall where it slid to the ground, giving him just a few seconds to think.

  The creature still resembling Oso pushed himself up off the cobblestones unharmed. Screaming in fury, the shapeshifter launched itself through the air, claws outstretched. Having no other options, Thomas took hold of the Talent. Infusing his dagger with the natural energy of the world, the steel shined a bright white as Thomas gripped the tip of the blade and threw it at the dark creature. He dove out of the way just in time as the thing that had appeared to be Oso screamed in agony and crumpled to the cobblestones, the brightly glowing dagger sticking out from its chest.

  Thomas approached cautiously, the Talent at the ready just in case. Oso lay on the uneven stones unmoving, his black orbs staring up at the nighttime sky. The creature’s face flickered back and forth between that of Sarelle Makarin, Rendael of Kenmare, and Oso, faster and faster, until all that Thomas could see was an amorphous black mist.

  “You only delayed the inevitable,” a scratchy voice whispered to Thomas. “You can’t escape me, boy. I will be back. You can’t escape …”

  Thomas watched in horrified fascination as the creature’s body began to transform as well, shifting between the various bodies it had revealed until finally, with a barely audible gasp, his attacker dissolved into a black mist that merged with the shadows.

  Still wary, Thomas extended his Talent to well beyond the keep of Eamhain Mhacha. But he found no sign of any other dark creatures or any feeling that resembled the one attached to whatever he had just escaped. Then again, he had failed to identify this dark creature, so who knew what waited for him in the shadows. The next time he saw Rynlin or Rya he would have to ask them about whatever this thing had been, because he had never heard of a dark creature having the ability to shape change as this one had done. And he had absolutely no doubt that he would be facing this creature again. He may have survived this lates
t attempt on his life, but he knew that he had not killed whatever it was that had attacked him. He had simply won a temporary victory.

  Pushing his dark thoughts to the side, Thomas walked to the stables, exhausted. The Shadow Lord was getting agitated. Understandably Thomas had become more than just a nuisance. Shades attacking the night before, whatever this thing was trying to kill him this evening. All the better for him if he could take advantage of the Shadow Lord’s nervousness, assuming he lived long enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  At What Price?

  A gentle zephyr drifted through the open window of Corelia’s lush chambers. Discarding her extravagant gown, she stood in her shift, enjoying the cool caress of the breeze on her body as she gazed up at the stars. The events of the evening played through her mind once more. Thomas making good on his claim for the Highland throne had troubled her father greatly as it destroyed the High King’s decade-long plan for dominion in the Highlands. She felt little remorse or concern for her father. This new Lord of the Highlands could be of use to her, and that’s all that mattered.

  He intrigued her. She found the fire in his green eyes quite appealing. There was a spark, a fire, a purpose there that she believed matched her own. But how to make use of him? She was an excellent judge of character and an accomplished strategist, knowing when she should manipulate or cajole, praise or criticize, and often doing so with great success and much to the chagrin of many a lord and lady in the Kingdoms. Yet she sensed in Thomas a strength she had not encountered in any of the others she had tangled with. A strength that both attracted her and made her pause. There must be a way to win his favor. If she could, a whole new world of options would open up before her.

  “There is a way, Princess. A very simple way.”

  Corelia whipped around at the sound of the grating voice, eyeing a tall bald man, rail thin, wearing dirty grey robes. His gaze captured hers, invading her very core.

  “How did you get in here, Malachias?”

  Her initial reaction was to reach for a robe, feeling naked under this intruder’s piercing eyes, but deciding against it. Instead, she attempted to demonstrate her strength and stood in front of him with a feigned confidence. There was something about this man that terrified her. She required every ounce of her concentration and toughness to keep her body from trembling.

  “How I got in here isn’t important,” the man said. “That I am here is important.”

  He began to pace the room slowly, his steps gliding silently across the carpet. But he kept his distance, not wanting to make the Princess of Armagh skittish. He knew her curiosity and desire for the upper hand would work to his advantage if he managed the next few minutes deftly.

  “Why is that?”

  “I thought you should know about your brother.” Malachias stopped pacing, not offering any more in the way of detail. He wanted Corelia to ask for the information he could provide, as he knew she would.

  “What about my brother?”

  “He and I have reached an agreement of sorts. One that might give him an opportunity to regain the power he has lost since his terrible injury.”

  Corelia stared intently at Malachias, forcing herself to look into his eyes, but unable to maintain the contact for very long. The liquid pools of black beckoned, but in a way that horrified her. Her skeletal visitor knew her weaknesses. She and her brother had been competing ever since they were young children, understanding that their father eventually would pick a successor. They had fought to earn his favor, both doing so with regularity, and just as often falling out with their father and losing the ground they had gained at the other’s expense. As a result, a game had ensued between the two, but a game with telling implications. Malachias could give Ragin an advantage that she could not compete against.

  “Why are you here?”

  Corelia’s control wavered, her hands beginning to shake as her anxiety intensified. She had heard the stories that swirled around Malachias and who he truly served. And she understood the risks and rewards of aligning with him. So, she had to handle this conversation carefully, or it could prove fatal.

  “To help you, of course.”

  “Help me? Why? It seems that you’ve already taken up with my brother.”

  She didn’t need to ask about what help could be provided. Corelia sensed that Malachias knew exactly what she fancied, that if he really wanted to, he could discover all of her desires and secrets in an instant. She also knew that he would charge a steep price for any assistance he gave.

  “Because you have an interesting desire, Princess. But to achieve it you need a stronger ally.”

  “You?”

  “Me, yes,” he said in a whisper. His hypnotic eyes locked onto hers. “And the master I serve.”

  Corelia’s breath caught in her throat. She knew to whom he referred, but she feared to say the name openly.

  “What do I desire?”

  “It’s quite obvious, my dear. Power. Over everything and everyone. Even if you are to beat your brother to the Kingdom, Armagh will never satisfy you. You need more. So much more.”

  “You told me what I want, Malachias,” her interest in his words getting the better of her fears, her common sense. “You have yet to tell me why you want to help me obtain it.”

  “Clever girl.” Malachias chuckled softly, the sound resembling a saw scraping through wood. “Because what you want serves my purpose as well.”

  “And what purpose is that?”

  Corelia’s shaking increased. Giving in to her weakness, she leaned back against the windowsill to steady herself, crossing her arms across her chest in hopes of appearing calm though she felt anything but.

  “To place the new Lord of the Highlands under my thumb, of course.”

  “Why?”

  “So many questions, Princess. You don’t seem to understand that this isn’t a negotiation. And there are consequences regardless of whatever you decide.” Malachias’ gaze burned into her. “This new Lord of the Highlands, this boy, impedes my plans, yet he has a great deal of power that could prove useful to the task my master has set for me. Some would like him removed from the game. I, on the other hand, would like to play him, at least for a time.”

  Malachias took a step toward Corelia. She cringed, realizing she had nowhere to go. Seeing her reaction, the tall man stopped so close that his fetid breath burned Corelia’s nose and throat.

  “We view people in much the same way, Princess. As pieces to be played on a game board. Furthermore, in this game, we both have the same design. Rather than taking the Highland Lord off the board, as your father Rodric would prefer, we want to use him. And I have no doubt that he can be used, to great effect in fact. But enough questions, Princess. Do you want my assistance?”

  “I won’t dispute your assessment. But my participation depends on what you offer.”

  “Quite the negotiator,” chuckled Malachias. “And much shrewder than your brother. It’s really quite simple, Princess. I offer a way for you to gain the new Lord of the Highlands, or rather I should say a way to control him. Once you control him, we can do with him whatever we want. I have every expectation that he would fit into your plans quite nicely. Then you wouldn’t have to rely solely on the Dinnegans. With their recent fall from grace, who can measure the real value of such an alliance now?”

  Malachias leaned in closer to Corelia, his shadow falling over her. She cringed again involuntarily, hating her weakness. He extended his hand, and the glint of the light on the metal he held within his grasp captivated her.

  “I’m sure you can figure out some way to get close to him, Princess. When you do, simply put this around his neck.”

  He held in front of her a necklace made of a strange, black metal interspersed with onyx that shined like glass. A darkness emanated from the finely woven chain even with the bright light in the room eliminating any shadows.

  “Once he wears this, he is yours to command, Princess. No matter how much he might want to resist,
he won’t be able to. He will do whatever you desire. Moreover, once fixed in place, the chain can never be removed.”

  “And what do you want of me if I accept this gift?” Corelia asked.

  Malachias had mentioned consequences regardless of what decision she made. She remained wary and worried about the price she would have to pay, but her calculating gaze revealed her obvious interest, and her willingness to perhaps take a risk.

  “The price would be your failing to achieve your objective, Princess. Simple as that.”

  Malachias grinned at her. It may have been a trick of the light, but for just an instant his teeth appeared to be sharpened points.

  “As I said, Princess. It would serve my designs as well. It is your choice. Take my help or not.” He dropped the black necklace on a small table as he turned toward the door. “But you would be a fool not to accept my aid.”

  Corelia glanced at the necklace laying on the table, captivated by the dark gleam of the metal and onyx. When finally she broke her gaze away from the shining, black metal, she looked around the room in surprise. Malachias was gone, yet the door remained undisturbed. Her shivering intensified, attacking her entire body. She closed the shutters and threw on a robe, yet her eyes never left the black necklace.

  She licked her lips in anticipation. Should she accept this gift? What were the consequences that Malachias had not mentioned? Was it worth the risk to obtain all that she desired?

  As her mind struggled to find the dangers hidden from her, the dangers she knew that her frightening visitor had not revealed, Malachias’ words continued to play through her mind: You would be a fool not to.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Scrubbing Pots

  The dark gloom of the early morning still covered the land, yet the Marchers were already well on their way to breaking camp, not wanting to be anywhere near Eamhain Mhacha now that the Council of the Kingdoms, and its guaranteed peace, had come to an end. Almost all the horses were saddled, breakfast done, and the final tasks about to be accomplished so that they could return to the Highlands by the fastest, safest route, as all remembered the challenges faced just a few days before as they dodged Ogren raiding parties until they had no choice but to fight their way through the Armaghian countryside. The Marchers hoped to avoid a repeat of that experience on the way back to the Highlands so that they could focus their attention on matters closer to home. Besides not trusting the High King, they still needed to eliminate the small bands of reivers that remained in their homeland, or at least make the intruders see their error in crossing into the Highlands.