The Claiming of the Highlands

by Wacht, Peter

  “It’s too late, Kael,” Gregory sighed in frustration. “There’s nothing we can do for him.”

  The Shade leapt gracefully from his horse to stand above the soldier, then leaned down as if to kiss him.

  Kaylie watched in horrid fascination. “What’s it doing?”

  “Feeding,” answered Kael, pounding his fists into the stone wall in frustration, his face red with rage.

  All the Fal Carrachians observed, their resentment at not being able to help their comrade palpable, their anger growing. In a matter of seconds, the unfortunate soldier resembled a withered, dried out husk, his life stolen from him.

  “What did it do?”

  “The Shade drank the man’s spirit,” replied Kael, resignation in his voice, admitting reluctantly that Gregory was right to keep him from his suicide mission but still feeling ashamed of having to leave the young soldier to his fate. “To Shades, our spirits are like food. It gives them sustenance.”

  Gregory turned toward his daughter, seeing the hard look on her face. He was glad that he would never have to fear for Kaylie’s backbone.

  “The sun’s almost down, my lord,” said Kael, changing the subject.

  Gregory looked up, watching the sun touch the western horizon and begin to sink beneath it.

  “That’s good. That should buy us some time. I doubt they’ll attack in the dark. That would give us an advantage.” Gregory turned toward the small camp his men had already started to construct. “Nevertheless, set a strong guard, Kael. Rotations every two hours. In the meantime, we’ll continue to strengthen the wall.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Change in Plan

  Thomas and his Marchers had made good time upon leaving Eamhain Mhacha. Worried by the threat of a possible attack, they stopped only a few hours every morning and evening. During the night they walked, not wanting to chance an injury to their horses and to give their steeds a chance to rest as well. Coban sent outriders to the four points of the compass to give them additional eyes, even though Thomas’ skill in the Talent was all that they really needed. But Thomas let it go, knowing that it made his Swordmaster feel better even if it really wasn’t necessary.

  They followed the northern shore of the Corazon River, the rising dunes of the Clanwar Desert visible just a few leagues away. Dusk was approaching, which meant it was almost time to call a halt for a few hours so that the men and horses could eat and rest before they continued through the night.

  As he had done at this time the last few evenings, Thomas grabbed hold of the Talent, filling himself with the natural power of the world. He extended his senses and began to circle for leagues around them to ensure no enemies lay in wait or approached. Everything was as it should be until he turned his search to the southeast and farther down the river. It felt wrong, as if the land itself was being corrupted. Having experienced this feeling many times before, he abruptly stopped his horse.

  “Thomas, what …” exclaimed Coban.

  “Patience,” said Oso, walking his horse next to them. “He’s found something, which can’t be good.”

  Thomas pushed his senses farther toward the southeast. In his mind it was like he was a kestrel soaring through the sky, and with his Talent he easily homed in on the cause of the disturbance. Fires dotted a small hillock, its summit protected by a chest-high ring wall.

  Black-clad men surrounded the base of the tor, sitting in the falling darkness, not bothering with fires, barely moving. It appeared strange to Thomas until he located the Shade, standing still as a statue, staring up at the top of the hillock, apparently waiting for the sun before launching his attack on the outnumbered defenders.

  Turning his attention to the summit, he saw the defenders warily staring out into the darkening gloom, expecting an attack, not certain they were safe until morning. He shifted his focus to one of the small fires. Kael walked toward the growing flames, Gregory and Kaylie waiting for him. He was shocked to see them there, remembering that Gregory had said that they would be traveling back to Fal Carrach by river barge. He processed the gravity of the situation immediately.

  “South of the river, about ten leagues down the shoreline, a little more than a mile from the bank,” said Thomas, returning to himself and startling Coban in the process, the Swordmaster cursing softly under his breath as a result. “A Shade and several hundred men.”

  “What are they doing out here?” asked Oso. A fair question, they all thought.

  “Hunting would be my guess,” said Thomas. “They’ve trapped Gregory of Fal Carrach and his party.”

  “He only brought fifty soldiers,” said Coban.

  “And his daughter is with him,” offered Oso, knowing where Thomas’ heart lay, even if his friend refused to admit it to himself.

  “Yes,” answered Thomas simply.

  “Gregory is a friend and ally,” said Coban, his voice steely. “Marchers always help their friends.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Thomas, his mind already focused on the task at hand. “Oso, tell the Marchers they have one hour to eat and sharpen their weapons. Then we ride.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Sleepless Night

  Gregory sat by the small fire, staring into the flames, his daughter next to him. His dark mood threatened to get the better of him. Kael had just left to check the defenses one more time. But Gregory wasn’t worried. The men knew what they were about and what they were up against. Those positioned at the ring wall would remain vigilant, those seeking to get some rest wouldn’t. He didn’t hear the expected sound of snoring coming from his soldiers at this late hour. Rather the scrapes of blades being sharpened, of steel being drawn against a whetstone, dominated.

  Kaylie had been quiet ever since the death of Linas, the Fal Carrachian soldier taken by the Shade. Yet his daughter didn’t seem to be afraid. Rather she appeared resolved. Committed to what they expected would occur on the morrow. To what would be required of her.

  “What are they, father?”

  “The Shade’s men?”

  “Yes. They felt wrong. As if they’re not all there. They don’t seem human.”

  “I don’t know that they are human anymore,” replied Gregory, stoking the fire with a stick and earning a brief flare from the flames. “I’d never come across them until we assaulted Dinnegan’s manor and now once more, but I’ve heard tell of men who have pledged themselves to the Shadow Lord, placing themselves in his service but not realizing the consequences of doing so.”

  At the mention of the Shadow Lord, a hope-stealing cold took up residence in Kaylie. She had read the histories and heard the stories but looking down from the hillock’s summit made it all a bit too real for her.

  “And when they do realize what they’ve done, the mistake they’ve made, it’s too late,” continued her father. “They’re not warlocks. They haven’t been given Dark Magic. They’re more like puppets, compelled to do as the Shadow Lord, or one of his minions, commands. They can’t fight the compulsion. If that Shade down there told them all to walk off a cliff, they’d do it without question whether they wanted to or not.”

  Kaylie mulled her father’s words, beginning to realize the enormity of the challenge before them. They had less than fifty soldiers. The Shade commanded several hundred. No matter how well the Fal Carrachians fought, the numbers would determine the result of the battle that was all but certain at sunrise. It was pure mathematics. And the numbers did not favor the Fal Carrachians.

  Gregory saw the look in her daughter’s eyes, the realization coming to her. He wished he could comfort her; tell her everything would be all right. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want to lie. Searching for even the smallest of positives, he knew that if they escaped this trap it was a lesson she would remember always.

  Kaylie turned her gaze back to the fire, brooding as the flames danced at the touch of the wind. There had to be something they could do. But what? Even with her learning the Talent, she knew that she couldn’t take on the Shade
and such a large force with any expectation of success. Startled, Kaylie looked over her shoulder, expecting to catch a glimpse of someone just beyond her peripheral vision. But no one was there. It had felt as if someone had been watching her from afar. Someone she knew, perhaps. For some reason her thoughts drifted to Thomas. Could it be?

  “The odds are slim, but we still have a chance,” said Gregory. “Perhaps Burnley will find aid in time.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Kaylie didn’t want to hear the answer, her fear beginning to take hold, though she kept it from showing, or at least she hoped that she did.

  “Then we fight until we can’t fight anymore,” her father said grimly as he stoked the fire with a stick, the disturbed flames capturing the anger and the beginnings of resignation in his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Quick Circuit

  The Marchers trotted their horses along the southern bank of the Corazon River. They had made good time during the night, thanks to Thomas finding a shallow ford to cross the river, which gave them a few additional hours to spare. It was still early morning, still dark. The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour or so. The Marchers could see the hillock just scarcely visible off in the distance, a few small fires still burning at its top, the light flickering inconsistently as a fog had formed during the night and drifted off the river to envelop the surrounding countryside in a white mist.

  Shades and Ogren had trespassed in the Highlands for centuries. Of all the Kingdoms, because of their homeland’s proximity to the Charnel Mountains, the Marchers had a long history of fighting the Shadow Lord’s monstrous servants. They took pride in their ability to do so, honing their strategy and tactics over the centuries so that they could neutralize the advantages the dark creatures so often exhibited.

  In fact, it was widely said that a Marcher would go well out of their way if there was an opportunity to kill a dark creature. They knew that the Shadow Lord could feel the death of each of his minions; some said it felt like a painful prick. Whether true or not, the Marchers didn’t care. They took particular satisfaction in making the Shadow Lord feel that pain by eliminating his creations whenever given the opportunity. Hard fighters from a hard land with an even harder duty.

  Thomas had believed that Shades generally did not have an ability in Dark Magic, but he had run across a few now that did, such as the one he had killed at Anselm. So he chose to release his hold on the Talent just in case, not wanting to make the Shade aware of his presence as he approached the hillock then hopped off his horse just a few miles away, handing the reins to Coban.

  “We have about an hour before the sun rises,” said Thomas. “I’m assuming the Shade will attack at dawn. So, I’m going to get a little closer and see what I can see.”

  Oso made to go with him, starting to slide down his saddle, but Thomas stopped him. He appreciated the assistance, but it wasn’t necessary.

  “Thank you, Oso. But I can go faster on my own.”

  Oso seemed a little put out by the statement, but the large Highlander couldn’t disagree with his friend and reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.

  “Coban, you know what to do. Assume the fight begins at dawn.”

  “We’ll be ready,” he replied. Coban turned his horse and Thomas’ away from the knoll, giving orders through hand signals and whispers as his Marchers set up a makeshift camp.

  As the Highlanders began to prepare for their attack, Thomas continued forward, jogging through the high grass toward the hillock. He slowed his pace as he drew closer, his sharp eyes constantly scanning for any danger. The light fog hid many of the features of the land. He understood now why the Shade had waited until morning to attack. The sides of the hill, though an easy slope to begin with, gradually became much steeper and were littered with rocks and other obstacles as they increased in height. Definitely not terrain to assault in the dark.

  Thomas made a quick circuit of the camp at the base of the hillock. The Shade acted the fool, not in the least worried that an assailant could come at it from behind. All the Shade’s attention, including that of its black-clad soldiers, remained concentrated on the hillock and their prey on the summit. Then again, why should the Shade even worry about an attack out here? Who in their right mind would willingly confront a Shade?

  As Thomas quickly worked his way back to his Marchers, he had the feeling that he was missing something. It didn’t feel right, as if the evil he felt from the Shade was stronger, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He would do what he could to prepare, but he locked the unsettling concern away in another part of his mind as he strode silently through the tall grass and shifted his focus to the surprise he had planned for when the sun began to rise.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Final Preparations

  Thomas trotted back into the Marcher camp. His fighters were checking their gear, their saddles, their horses’ hooves to make sure all was ready. He found Coban talking quietly with Oso and Aric.

  “Everything ready, Coban?” asked Thomas, sneaking up behind the Swordmaster out of the first flush of the morning.

  “Dammit, Thomas!” hissed Coban, having nearly jumped out of his skin. “You’re the Highland Lord, yet you still feel the need to act like a boy!”

  “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

  Both Oso and Aric chuckled, though softly. They didn’t want to risk Coban’s well-known wrath.

  “What did you find?” asked Oso.

  “One Shade and several hundred men likely pledged to the Shadow Lord. Kill the Shade and the men will be easy pickings. Until then, they’ll be an effective military force, fighting to the death.”

  “Any defenses?” asked Aric.

  “None. The Shade is focused on the hilltop. They have no sentries in place. Just a few groups on the perimeter to ensure that those on the hill remain there.”

  “Then let’s get a move on,” smiled Coban. “We can use this fog to our advantage. No one’s going to want to miss the fun.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Riders

  Gregory and Kaylie peered out over the ring wall, now chest height, the Fal Carrachian soldiers having scrambled to strengthen the barrier during the night. Still not high enough, thought Gregory. But it would have to do with time running short. Nevertheless, it would make the job of their attackers that much more difficult. He and his daughter looked down at the base of the hillock. They could only pick out indistinct shadows and movement. Dawn approached, and a misty fog wafted across the land from the river, hiding some aspects of their surroundings and revealing others as a result of a capricious wind.

  “We’re ready, my lord,” said Kael, striding up to the wall out of the murk. “Or rather as ready as we’re ever going to be.”

  They stood there in silence for several minutes, not moving, the soldiers guarding the barrier seemingly having turned to stone. The unnatural stillness of the morning had infected them. They were startled out of their false solitude when the Shade stepped out of the white mist at the bottom of the knoll, his rigidly moving men forming into several ranks behind him.

  Kaylie saw the grim expression on her father’s face, remembering their conversation from the night before. She knew that they didn’t stand a very good chance with the odds stacked against them because of the Shade’s overwhelming numbers. Even with their enemy attacking uphill, if what her father said was true these men, no matter the reality on the battlefield, would not stop until they achieved the goal set for them by the Shade, or death took them first.

  “Father, what’s that?”

  A slight ridge rose about a quarter mile beyond their attackers. Riders had appeared, though she couldn’t tell how many, their horses perhaps no more than specters as the fog drifted on the breeze. The white mist did an excellent job of concealing them. For a moment, they would be visible, the next hidden.

  “What?”

  “On the ridge to our front. I thought I saw riders.”

  “I don’t see anything,” sa
id Kael. “But you have the younger eyes, Princess.”

  “It’s this blasted fog,” grumbled Gregory.

  His attention remained fixed on the Shade below. He expected it to signal its men forward at any moment.

  “It could be their outriders,” said Kael, pointing to several points on the compass. “The Shade placed a few of his men to the west and north of his main host so that we couldn’t sneak down the hillock and try to attack them in the flanks.”

  Kaylie peered in those directions, identifying the two squads of five men each set exactly where Fal Carrach’s Swordmaster had said. These black-clad men, too, were focused on the hillock, intent on making sure that their prey didn’t break free.

  She leaned back from the ring wall, startled. She had been observing the small group of outriders to the west. She had counted five, but in this fog, she could have been mistaken. Now she could only make out three. She looked again. Now only two. A few more seconds passed, the mist trailing across the land, shapes becoming indistinct or disappearing entirely as the fog shifted, the wind playing havoc with her ability to identify anything in the swirling mist. Now none. It had to be the fog playing tricks with her eyes.

  Kaylie turned to the north, the enveloping silence that came with the fog eerie, almost ominous. She located the group of outriders placed there by the Shade, picking them out despite the shifting mist. Five all together. Then four. Three. Zero. They had disappeared, horses and all. One second they were there, the next they were gone. What was going on?