The Claiming of the Highlands

by Wacht, Peter

  “Are we done mooning, girl?” asked Rya sharply.

  Kaylie pulled back from the Crag, though not before she thought she saw Thomas peer up into the sky. She guessed that he had sensed someone observing, much as she did that night on the knoll. Thomas had mentioned that knowing the person might help them identify who was searching, but was there more to it than that? Did the closeness between the individuals have something to do with it? Those were questions for another day. Reluctantly, Kaylie turned to the southeast, quickly finding her way through the mountain peaks to the Sea of Mist and then following the coast down to Ballinasloe.

  Opening her eyes, Kaylie released the Talent. If she had thought she was tired after training with Kael, that was nothing compared to how she felt now. She was drenched in sweat and every muscle in her body trembled.

  “You did well,” said Rya. “Though you may have overdone it just a bit. How did you know to focus on something, or rather someone, you were familiar with to find the Crag?”

  “It just made sense,” replied Kaylie wearily, dropping into a chair before her legs gave out.

  Rya nodded, glad that the girl was thinking. “Now you know the trick. If you know someone or you’ve been somewhere, you can return to them or that place easily. It’s been ingrained in your memory, so you can find it again without any trouble. If you’ve never been somewhere, or don’t know the person, it’s harder. All you can do is move in the general direction of what you’re looking for and hope that you locate it.”

  “So if I wanted to return to the Crag …”

  “You should be able to get there without any difficulty.”

  “Good to know,” said Kaylie.

  Rya smiled at the girl, understanding the purpose of her question and approving of what she would likely do next. But there was still something else that Rya could teach Kaylie that might aid her in that task.

  “You look exhausted,” said Rya, walking toward the balcony. “Rest, eat, definitely bathe. I will return tomorrow at the same time for your next lesson.”

  Kaylie smiled broadly, happy that Rya would be back the next day, enjoying her company despite her often pointed comments.

  “What will we be working on tomorrow?”

  Rya didn’t bother to turn around, heading out into the fresh air of the late morning.

  “Tomorrow, girl, I will teach you how to shape change.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  New Strategy

  Thomas stood at the base of the battlements of the south wall of the Crag. He was dressed in breeches and boots, having discarded his shirt as the warm sun alleviated the chill of the day. A pickaxe in hand, he had spent the last several hours chipping away at one of the jagged holes the warlocks had blown into the wall that fated day a decade ago, which had allowed the Ogren and the reivers to take the Crag. Despite the cold temperature, the sun felt good beating down upon him. Teams of Highlanders worked all around the Crag, engaged in the same task of removing the rubble and rebuilding the Highland fortress.

  Some cleared the debris and carved at the holes in the walls so that the masons could fill the gaps more easily. Others reconstructed the towers and strengthened the walls of the Crag. Still others concentrated on the defenses that ran not only across the wall, but also extended to the land surrounding the Crag, while adding a few tricks and surprises to make the lives of any would-be attackers all the more difficult.

  Thomas had no doubt that those invaders would come. Rodric still desperately wanted the Highlands, thus the need to rebuild the Crag as quickly as possible. But Thomas wasn’t tied to the citadel. He understood its perceived importance and value as the capital of the Highlands and seat of the Highland Lord, but he didn’t believe a structure could represent the strength and resilience of his people. The Highlanders were linked to their land in a way that other Kingdoms couldn’t even begin to understand, and though the Crag proved useful at times, it was not essential to maintaining the strength of the Kingdom. It was, however, a target that could and likely would pull at the High King.

  The beauty of the Highland peaks hid a harshness and danger that had molded the Highlanders into the most fearsome warriors in all the Kingdoms. It was that connection to the Highlands that made them into what they had become, so the real tie wasn’t to one place in the Highlands, but rather to the Highlands in its entirety. Thomas recognized the need for the Crag, at least in the minds of some, but he viewed the strength of the Marchers as emanating from the entire Highlands, not just from a single manmade structure within his mountainous homeland.

  Thomas pondered that thought as well as a dark worry about what the next few months might hold for him and his people as he cut out pieces of jagged, loose stone. The Highlanders had regained control of their Kingdom at the expense of Rodric and his reivers, but Thomas was anxious about whether he and his Marchers could defend it against a stronger, concerted attack. He was certain that the High King and his army would do whatever was necessary to justify an invasion by Armagh and its allies. It was simply a matter of time. His biggest worry? The Marchers could not defeat the High King on their own. Though fearsome warriors, they were too few compared to the many soldiers Armagh could call upon. If it devolved into a battle of attrition, eventually the Armaghians would win no matter how well or how hard the Marchers fought.

  That also meant that those Kingdoms that might support the Highlands, besides Fal Carrach and Benewyn, as he had already received assurances from Gregory and Sarelle that they would stand with him, would not risk a confrontation with the High King unless Thomas could offer some proof of Rodric’s treachery. How to obtain that proof was the puzzle Thomas struggled with for most of the morning and into the early afternoon. As late afternoon approached, he stopped shaping the stone of the broken wall, setting the pickaxe onto the ground. Sweaty hair matted to his head, Thomas removed his heavy work gloves and turned his attention to the robed figures he had sensed making their way to the Crag. They had emerged finally from the forest surrounding the fortress following a path that led directly to where he was working, many of the Marchers stopping their own work to stare at the intimidating group as they passed.

  “You’re making good progress,” said a beautiful woman, petite, but with a fierce gaze. She walked up to Thomas and hugged him strongly, not put off by his dirty and sweaty appearance.

  “We’re doing what we can,” replied Thomas, enjoying his grandmother Rya’s embrace.

  “When do you expect to have this done?” asked Rynlin.

  His grandfather, tall and thin, looked down on Thomas with a gleam of pride in his eyes. His roguish smile gave him a dastardly appearance that he relished.

  “Hopefully within the month,” said Thomas, surveying the remainder of the group.

  Two Sylvan Warriors stood with his grandfather. The first, Tiro Lessaro, was short and portly, his frizzy gray hair standing up in all directions. He had taken Thomas through the challenges to become a Sylvan Warrior. The second, Maden Grenis, always had a half-smile on his face, as if everything he saw and came upon in the world in some way amused him.

  “That’s all well and good,” said Tiro, having no patience for family reunions and wanting to get down to business immediately. “But the fate of one Kingdom is of little consequence compared to the fate of all.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Thomas, his face hardening with anger. “The Highlands is my responsibility, whether Sylvan Warrior or Highland Lord, and I’ll do all I can to protect my people.”

  “Be that as it may,” countered Tiro, adopting the superior tone he was known for, and which rankled all who had to bear it, “you are the one. You know that don’t you? You are the one who will have to contest the Shadow Lord. You are the one who must fight him if he is to be defeated.”

  “I know,” answered Thomas simply.

  Thomas’ response with no visible emotion, with no sense of urgency, infuriated Tiro, his face turning a dark shade of purple.

  “You know? Then what are you
going to do about it? What plans do you have? Rebuilding this citadel won’t help very much, unless you plan on inviting the Shadow Lord and his Dark Horde to come here to fight.”

  “I am doing what I can,” said Thomas, Tiro having a hard time holding the young Sylvan Warrior’s intense gaze.

  “You are doing what you can,” repeated Tiro, his scorn almost tangible. “You are doing what you can! That isn’t good enough. You must do more!”

  Rynlin stepped forward, about to intercede for his grandson, but Rya lay a gentle hand on his arm, shaking her head to communicate that he shouldn’t involve himself. Maden simply watched the battle of wills with what appeared to be wry levity, although his intense eyes suggested otherwise.

  “Do you not understand what we’re talking about?” exclaimed Tiro, the little man working himself up into a lather. “Do you have any concept of what’s at stake? Nothing else compares to this threat. The outcome of this one event affects the lives of everyone and everything in the Kingdoms, not just the Highlands, and you’re doing what you can? You’re doing what you can?”

  “That’s enough, Tiro,” said Rynlin in a deadly calm voice, losing patience with the Sylvan Warrior’s tirade. But Tiro had reached such a point of apoplexy that he simply ignored Rynlin’s warning.

  “Holding back the Shadow Lord has been the task of the Sylvana for the last thousand years. And for the last thousand years, ever since the Great War, we’ve been waiting for the one who can challenge him. Now we finally have him, yet he’s doing what he can. You must do more!”

  Thomas stared at Tiro stonily, his anger escalating. He took advantage of the incensed Sylvan Warrior needing to take a breath before he could continue his diatribe.

  “I know who I am, and I know what I must do,” began Thomas quietly, his voice slowly rising, becoming stronger. “I am a member of the Sylvana, and I am Lord of the Highlands. I am supposed to fight the Shadow Lord. I am likely supposed to die at the hands of the Shadow Lord. I am very aware of those facts.”

  Thomas stepped forward so that he was no more than a hand away from Tiro, the stout Sylvan Warrior beginning to realize that he may have gone too far with his harangue.

  “I’ve had to escape the Shadow Lord’s assassins for the last ten years. So be it. I did not ask for any of this. All I ever wanted was a family, a mother and a father. It wasn’t meant to be, though I’m thankful for what my grandparents have given me.”

  There was a sadness now in Thomas’ voice, and tears in Rya’s eyes.

  “I did not ask for any of this, but I accept what must be done, and I will do the best that I can. As you can see, I have several responsibilities that I must juggle. Now, my responsibility is protecting my people so that they can protect themselves. I have not forgotten the Shadow Lord. I will never forget the Shadow Lord. He’s with me every waking moment, and often when I dream. I can feel him every second of the day. No matter what I do I cannot escape the Shadow Lord. I know what’s to come, and I know the anticipated result. I will do the best that I can. But I can do nothing about it this very minute.”

  Thomas swept his arm toward the Crag and its surroundings to take in the reconstruction of the Highland keep.

  “But I can do something about this. Do not doubt that I will be there when the time comes. Do not doubt that I will do what must be done to defend the Kingdoms, but I do not have to do it yet.” Thomas’ eyes blazed like green fire as he bit off the last few words.

  Rynlin stood there smiling, struggling to maintain his silence. He was very proud of how Thomas had responded to Tiro’s antagonism. He didn’t think he could have done better himself.

  Tiro stood there in stunned silence, never having expected such a retort from a barely risen Sylvan Warrior, Lord of the Highlands or not. Before he could attempt another verbal onslaught, Maden spoke up.

  “That brings us to the more important question,” said the tall Sylvan Warrior with a sardonic grin. “We are preparing for what we expect to be another attack from the Shadow Lord. Can we hold him this time as we’ve done in the past?”

  Tiro immediately piped up. “We always have, and we will once …”

  “In the past, yes, we have held,” interrupted Maden, his smile replaced by a frown, concern etched clearly in the lines of his weathered face. “But we are much fewer now with no guarantee that the Kingdoms are prepared for the coming invasion. By all indications, the Shadow Lord will have a tremendous host, larger than ever before. The war parties coming across the Northern Steppes testify to that.”

  “He wouldn’t send those bands of dark creatures as a test if he didn’t have plenty of Ogren and Shades in reserve,” stated Rynlin, concurring with Maden’s assessment.

  “Agreed.” Maden looked sharply at Tiro. “The information we’ve gotten from those Sylvan Warriors scouting the Charnel Mountains confirms it. The Shadow Lord is building his strength, and we might not be able to hold him at the Breaker.”

  The tall Sylvan Warrior fell silent, the others as well. They knew the truth of his words.

  “That’s why we need a different strategy,” Thomas said quietly.

  All eyes turned to Thomas in curiosity, except for Tiro.

  “You became Lord of the Highlands, boy, and that is a great feat, but don’t let it go to your head. We have been fighting the Shadow Lord a lot longer than you.”

  The stout Sylvan Warrior would have said more, but Rya interrupted him. “Let him speak, Tiro.”

  Maden and Rynlin nodded their heads in agreement, wanting to hear what the youngest Sylvan Warrior had to say. Tiro peered from one Sylvan Warrior to the next, then grumbled his acquiescence.

  “The Shadow Lord fears us,” said Thomas, beginning to walk slowly up and down in front of the hole in the Crag’s wall. Much like his grandfather, he always thought better while on the move. “One thousand years ago, when he last attacked, the Sylvana stopped him. Not the Kingdoms, but the Sylvana. If the Sylvana had not defeated him, his dark creatures would have broken through and who knows what would have happened. Why do you think he is trying to kill as many of us as he can before his Dark Horde marches?”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Tiro. He was about to say more but the unexpected glare Maden gave him forced him back to silence.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” said Thomas. “The Shadow Lord is sending out his dark creatures and assassins, attempting to eliminate as many Sylvan Warriors as possible before he attacks. Three Sylvana have been killed in the last year. As Maden noted, there aren’t as many of us left as there were the last time the Dark Horde descended from the Charnel Mountains. Why kill three of us and try to eliminate several others? Because he fears us. He remembers how we defeated him the last time he attacked, so he is trying to improve his chances for victory.”

  Thomas waited a moment to let what he had just said sink in. “Always in the past, the Shadow Lord has attacked. Always. And the Sylvana have defended the Kingdoms. In fact, we’re doing it now. Several Sylvan Warriors are helping my Marchers in the northern Highlands, seeking to prevent the encroachment of the Ogren raiding parties coming across the Northern Steppes. But this time we need a different strategy. This time we cannot afford to wait. This time we need to attack.”

  Tiro stared at Thomas in shock; Maden and Rya smiled, liking the suggestion. Rynlin, never having the capacity for patience, positively loved it. His bloodthirsty expression suggested that he was ready to head for Blackstone that very moment.

  “We have always waited to defend the Kingdoms. We do not have the numbers we used to, nor the support. I doubt many of the Western Kingdoms will send troops to fight at the Breaker. So we don’t have the luxury of relying on that stone barrier. No matter how strong it might be, we won’t have the fighters needed to hold it. We should attack and beat the Shadow Lord at his own game.”

  “What do you have in mind, Thomas?” Maden liked where Thomas was headed, always thinking to do the unexpected.

  “I can guarantee that the M
archers will be at the Breaker, as will the soldiers of Fal Carrach and Benewyn. I expect Kenmare will join us.”

  “The Desert Clans as well,” said Rynlin.

  “And the Desert Clans. They will be there to meet the Shadow Lord’s Dark Horde as they have in the past, but we won’t be. We will move north along the coast, avoid the Horde, and attack Blackstone once the Shadow Lord’s host has begun its march south across the Northern Steppes.”

  “Attack Blackstone!” sputtered Tiro. “No one has ever conquered Blackstone! It’s simply not possible. This is nothing but a hare-brained idea.”

  “The only reason Blackstone has never fallen is because it hasn’t been attacked since the Great War,” said Thomas in a quiet, compelling voice. “The Shadow Lord’s attention will be focused on the Breaker. He will be distracted, worried. Waiting to see when the Sylvana will get to the Breaker to help the Kingdoms. Instead, while the Kingdoms occupy his Dark Horde, we will appear on his doorstep and attack him directly. To be honest, Ogren, Shades, Fearhounds, all the other dark creatures are of little consequence. The only thing that matters is that we defeat the Shadow Lord, and that I get into Blackstone to fight him.”

  Thomas wasn’t quite sure how he or, in fact, the Sylvana could actually enter Blackstone, knowing that the Shadow Lord had surrounded that dead metropolis with an impenetrable Dark Magic that prevented all but his creatures and servants from crossing the boundary of what had become his city. But he decided not to focus on that small issue at the moment. He could work out that small part of the plan later.

  The Sylvan Warriors stared at him for a moment. Then Maden broke out into a huge smile.

  “Thomas, I like the way you think. I believe I can speak for everyone when I say that your plan just might work.”

  Rynlin looked at Thomas an instant longer with his piercing eyes, then said quietly, “You never mentioned how you were going to break into Blackstone and get past all of the Shadow Lord’s protective seals.”

  Thomas grinned at his grandfather. “I can’t figure everything out all at once. I was hoping that you might be able to help me with that.”