by Wacht, Peter
“I should have figured as much,” said Rynlin with a resigned chuckle, though his mind already had turned toward this new challenge, several possible avenues for researching the problem coming to mind. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Thomas nodded his appreciation. “By the way, my thanks to you and the others for working with Nestor and Beluil and helping to protect the Highlands. Nestor says that you seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“What’s not to like about eliminating dark creatures,” said Rynlin with a wicked grin. “That big black beast of yours is a menace, Thomas. Almost as crafty as you, but much larger teeth.”
“Beluil has a mean streak,” admitted Thomas. “I’m glad he’s putting it to good use.”
Thomas patted his grandfather on his back, then hugged his grandmother. She held onto him longer than expected.
“Stay safe, Thomas,” she told him.
“As safe as can be,” he replied.
His response seemed to satisfy her, although he could tell that she was still worried, despite her best efforts to hide it.
“Kaylie wishes you well,” said Rya, before turning away. “She’s just as stubborn as you, by the way. With the Talent she’s never satisfied until she does as I’ve asked perfectly. And even then, she finds areas for improvement.”
“Sounds like a difficult pupil,” he said.
“Yes,” Rya replied, giving him a sly look over her shoulder. “But often that makes the experience all the more worthwhile. Reminds me of someone, in fact. Keep that in mind, Thomas.”
Thomas watched his grandfather, grandmother, and the two Sylvan Warriors walk down the path and disappear among the evergreens. He stood there for several minutes, his grandmother’s words playing through his mind. There was always a deeper meaning in what Rya had to say, sometimes you just had to dig for it. His mind fixed on the dark-haired girl who had entranced him when he had first seen her in the Burren, Thomas walked back through the hole in the Crag’s wall to check on the progress of the Highlanders repairing the outer curtain. The sun was beginning to set, and he wanted to make sure the transition to the night work parties went smoothly.
The Sylvan Warriors walked away from the Crag and threaded their way through the trees, heading for the glade at which they had first arrived after making use of their shapeshifting abilities with the Talent.
“The boy has fire in him,” said Tiro.
“And rock,” said Maden, who sang a short poem. “Beware the one made of fire and rock. Always standing, free and strong, ready to burn.”
“I would hate to fight against him,” continued Maden. “He would be a formidable opponent.”
“Yes, yes,” murmured Tiro.
Rynlin waited in silence, knowing that there was more to this conversation. It just hadn’t been revealed yet. They were almost to the glade when Maden got to the heart of the matter.
“Can he do it?”
They had reached the clearing, the small group stopping. The approaching evening wrapped the small dell in shadow. Tiro wore an anxious expression, almost fearful. Rynlin studied the mountain peaks that surrounded them for a time, forming his words, but it was Rya who stepped into the conversation.
“Yes, I think he can. Nothing is ever certain, but I have no doubt that he will fight the Shadow Lord to his last breath. That’s all we have a right to ask of him. It’s more than most anyone else would do.”
“You have raised him well,” said Maden.
“No,” responded Rynlin. “He has raised himself. Rya and I have only helped him out from time to time along the way.”
Maden laughed at that, but he understood what Rynlin was implying.
Before Rynlin shifted into his hawk form to wing his way back to the Isle of Mist with his wife, he pondered the dilemma that confounded him. The dilemma that this new, ambitious, and potentially suicidal plan hinged upon. How could he help Thomas survive the Shadow Lord’s Dark Magic and enter Blackstone when no one knew the location of the Key?
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Empty Promises
“Think of it, King Gregory. A free rein in the east and Loris of Dunmoor no longer a threat. It would give Fal Carrach a dominance on the eastern coast that no other Kingdom would dare to challenge.”
The quiet, hissing voice of Lord Chertney reminded Gregory of a snake. He sat composed on his throne, his daughter standing behind him, his soldiers ringing the chamber. Gregory kept a wary eye on Chertney, giving some credence to the rumors that this tall, shadowy, wraith-like figure had gained some unique powers through his subservience to the Shadow Lord. The King of Fal Carrach wanted to remind Chertney that he wasn’t like several of the other monarchs who had acquiesced to Rodric’s demands or offers — it often was hard to tell the difference between the two — either out of fear or greed.
Kaylie stood to the side, watching her father’s exchange with Rodric’s emissary. Neither had forgotten the role that Chertney likely had played in using Kaylie to capture Thomas Kestrel during the Eastern Festival. But they didn’t have proof, only a strong suspicion, so they weren’t in a position to take action, no matter how much they might desire to do so. As the conversation continued, her blood began to boil as her anger burned hotter within her. She had no doubt that Rodric had sent Chertney to Fal Carrach knowing it would reopen a still raw wound. She suspected that he thought that such an action served as a reminder of the power he exercised as King of Armagh and High King. Yet all it did was incense her. Chertney being sent to Fal Carrach as an envoy was a slap in the face.
“It would cost you very little, King Gregory,” continued Chertney in a sibilant rasp. “Simply a promise not to become involved if a conflict should erupt between Armagh and the Highlands.”
It was all coming to pass as Gregory had expected. Rodric had failed to take the Highlands after the new Highland Lord had sent his regent, Lord Killeran, packing. Nevertheless, Rodric still wanted the Highlands. Whether for himself or for his hidden master, he couldn’t say. Therefore, to create some perception of legitimacy, several Dunmoorian villages had been attacked, supposedly by the Marchers, thereby giving Rodric the poor excuse, but excuse nonetheless, that he needed to invade the Highlands.
Many of the Kingdoms didn’t care or didn’t want to get involved, recognizing the baselessness of the claims behind the ploy but still unwilling to stand against a vengeful High King and the Armaghian army, which dwarfed any other fighting force in the Kingdoms. Moreover, these other rulers realized that if Rodric remained focused on the Highlands, the High King couldn’t bother them at the same time. Gregory viewed such reasoning as short-sighted. Rodric wanted all the Kingdoms. Anyone who didn’t see that was blind or a fool. Allowing the High King to focus on one Kingdom at a time rather than dealing with organized resistance on the part of the other Kingdoms only simplified his task.
For Rodric the Highlands was only the beginning. Yes, the Marchers would cut at the edges of the Armaghian army, but in time the sheer size of that host would win out. And then Rodric would turn his attention to the next Kingdom that he wanted, his allies staying out of the way and allowing him to move forward as he wished. As time passed, he would become too strong to oppose. It wasn’t politics. It was simple strategy.
Once Rodric disposed of the Kingdoms opposing him, he would turn his attention to his allies. Gregory didn’t know if those supposed partner Kingdoms simply didn’t understand the expanse of Rodric’s greed or they chose to ignore it because that was the easiest thing to do at the moment. Perhaps they didn’t care, thinking that they could pick up any scraps Rodric left for them by riding on his coattails.
“Enough, Chertney.” Gregory rose from his throne and walked down the steps to stand in front of Rodric’s emissary, his eyes burning brightly with anger. “No more promises of riches or land or power. I refuse Rodric’s offer. Fal Carrach is an independent Kingdom and will remain so.”
“Is that a wise decision?” asked Chertney, a slight smile turning his thin lips. He ha
d not expected Gregory to accede to Rodric’s request. The King of Fal Carrach was too proud. Still, the offer needed to be made, if only so that he could move on to the next step in his mission, the part he had been looking forward to since arriving in Ballinasloe that morning. “Armagh has the largest army in all the Kingdoms. I would hate to think what could happen if that army turned its attention on you.”
“Armagh may have the largest army, but not the best army, Chertney. You may leave now. Go back to your master and tell him I’m not interested in his bargains.”
Chertney stared at Gregory for a long moment, thinking about which master to which Gregory referred. He realized that the fear he had expected and craved didn’t exist within the King of Fal Carrach, unlike some of the other monarchs he had visited at Rodric’s behest. As he had expected from the start, there was another way, an easier way, to achieve his goal. Taking hold of his Dark Magic, he focused his attention on the King of Fal Carrach, almost invisible wisps of black mist beginning to form around Gregory’s head.
Kaylie watched with satisfaction as her father rejected Rodric’s offer, her anger at Chertney threatening to explode. Proof or no, she felt the need to do something. To show Rodric’s emissary that she would never again be swayed in such a way. That she was not someone to be trifled with. But she knew that she couldn’t. She shouldn’t, no matter how much she might want to remind Chertney that accounts had not yet been settled between them.
A strange, unexpected touch on her senses brought Kaylie back to what was going on around her. Something was out of place in the throne room. It seemed like she could even smell the faint taint of corruption, similar to a compost pile slowly rotting. Thinking back to her lessons with Rya, it took her a few seconds to realize what it could be. Dark Magic! She noticed that Chertney stared intently at her father, whose normally sharp gaze was beginning to turn glassy, small, barely visible tendrils of black circling around her father’s head. Kaylie responded based entirely on instinct, grasping hold of the Talent and sending a spinning web of white light toward her father, the strands of white energy dropping down over the King of Fal Carrach and consuming the wispy threads of black. Satisfied that she had succeeded in stopping Chertney’s attempt at compulsion, she decided that she did, indeed, need to make a point. Kaylie fashioned a small ball of white energy, then threw it down at Chertney’s feet. The blast left a scorch mark on the stone right between her father and Chertney, the sound reverberating like thunder throughout the chamber.
As if struck a physical blow, Chertney staggered back in shock, losing control of his Dark Magic.
“You dare to try to compel me!” roared Gregory.
The soldiers lining the walls had drawn their swords, several holding their blades just inches from Chertney’s chest and back. Gregory struggled to control his temper. His first instinct was to allow his soldiers to use Chertney as a pincushion and be done with the bastard. But the easy way was not always the best way.
Nodding his thanks to his daughter, he approached Chertney, his balled fists reflecting his scarcely controlled rage. “You may leave now, Chertney. You have one day to cross the border. And know that from this day forward you are not welcome in Fal Carrach. The penalty for ignoring this sanction is death.”
Chertney glared at Gregory with palpable hatred, considering his limited options as the circle of steel grew tighter, then fixed his gaze on the Princess of Fal Carrach. He had never thought that the girl could exercise such power, and he had not expected such strength from someone so new to the Talent. He considered escalating the situation, employing his Dark Magic more directly, then glanced back to the dais. He could sense the power that the girl held within her grasp. She was a formidable opponent, and she clearly had the skill to shield her ability from those who might be able to sense it, so he assumed that she was receiving instruction in its use. Much to his chagrin, he realized that she could defend against anything he tried, at least for a time. At least long enough for one of the soldiers standing near him to drive a sword into his body, and his Dark Magic would not protect against a steel blade through his heart. Not wanting to take a dangerous risk, he gave Gregory a final malevolent sneer, then turned away and stalked from the room. Several soldiers followed after, intent on escorting Chertney from Ballinasloe.
“Very impressive, Kaylie,” said Gregory, staring down at the black mark that marred the floor. “If you hadn’t been here, who knows what would have happened.”
Kaylie smiled, pleased by her father’s praise. “Maybe we can get that mark out of the stone, father,” she suggested. “It certainly stands out.”
“No, we’ll leave it as is,” her father replied quickly. “People will ask questions. It will give me an opportunity to explain what happened. It will make them think twice about trying to get the better of Fal Carrach knowing that you’re here.”
Kaylie’s smile broadened, pleased by her father’s comment. “I’m glad he tried something,” she said, her blood still up. “He deserves more than I gave him, but at least it’s a start.”
“I have a feeling that he will receive his just desserts in time. As the Highlanders would say, I get the impression that there is a long list of people seeking to repay their debts to that dark-hearted scoundrel.”
“Father, why not declare your support for the Highlands? Why not support Thomas over the High King?” asked Kaylie, turning her mind to the problems of state.
“I am, Kaylie. Just not openly.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I declared for the Highlands, I would have to worry about not only Rodric’s army, but also Dunmoor’s. We could take on one army, but it would be a long, drawn-out affair, and there is no guarantee that the other Kingdoms would come to help. Other than Sarelle of Benewyn and Rendael of Kenmare, the other Kingdoms listen to Rodric either out of greed or fear.”
“What about the Highlanders?”
“The Highlanders would help us in an instant. But remember, they’re Rodric’s first target. Everyone knows Rodric’s claim that the Marchers are destroying villages in Dunmoor is a sham, but that doesn’t matter. Rodric just wants to create an excuse for his actions. Keep in mind as well that the Marchers don’t have a large army. They’ve never had a large army. They can’t afford to waste their fighters. Besides, if we declared against Rodric and were forced to engage either him or Loris, the Marchers couldn’t come to our aid. They’ll be too busy defending their homeland.”
“So you seek to delay and keep Rodric off balance. And by not getting directly drawn into the conflict, you can …”
“Aid the Highlands indirectly. Correct.”
“Then what are we doing for the Highlands?”
“I’ve closed the border between the Highlands and Fal Carrach, forcing Rodric to stage his men in Dunmoor and take them through to the west of the Burren. As a result, he can only bring his army across the Inland Sea, which requires ships, and that means the need for more resources and more money. It will slow him down and give Thomas more time to prepare.”
“It might also provide the Marchers with some tempting targets,” offered Kaylie.
“Very true. Having to land men and supplies on the northern shore of the Inland Sea makes them more vulnerable, particularly if I’m remembering accurately the poor quality and the narrowness of the trails in that part of the Highlands. From what I’ve heard, in just the last few days it’s been great sport for the Marchers. In addition, we’re keeping Loris busy on our border. We’ve turned the tables somewhat, sending our own raiding parties across the Gullet to create havoc at those sites where Loris is gathering his troops and Rodric has staged his army for the trip across the Inland Sea. Kael is leading those soldiers, and they’re focused on destroying supplies and barges, which should help. Thomas only has so many fighters, so by doing this, he can concentrate his Marchers in one part of the Highlands without having to worry too much about his flanks. Thomas had suggested the approach and I readily agreed.”
“Wai
t. What?” Kaylie asked in surprise. “You’ve talked with him?”
“Of course I have. We spoke just a few nights ago.”
“He was here!” she exclaimed incredulously.
“Yes, he snuck in somehow in the middle of the night. Scared me half to death when he appeared in my chambers. This is what we decided. I can’t declare for him openly, and he doesn’t want me to. Not yet anyway. He has some scheme in mind. My guess is that he wants to pull as much of the Armaghian army deeper into the Highlands before he strikes.”
“That’s a good plan,” she agreed, but her mind was already elsewhere. Perhaps it was time to continue her practice in the Talent.
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Quick Visit
Darkness had consumed the Crag, the stars shining brightly on a clear, cold night. After working to rebuild the citadel all day, Thomas finally had time to grab a bowl of dinner from the campfire and wander to the edge of the forest. He understood the importance of the Crag to his people, as it served as a powerful symbol for them and the Highlands. Moreover, the reconstruction effort was another way to energize the Highlanders, as it was a critical part of the larger struggle to restore their Kingdom and maintain their newly found freedom.
But Thomas could remain within its walls for only so long, finding the cut stone too constricting. The memories of what had occurred here too much. That’s why he took every opportunity to step away and into the trees surrounding the Crag, much as he did when he was a child. The quiet and solitude helped him gain some much-needed peace and time to think. Thomas had wandered over to one of his favorite places, a large rock at the very edge of the plateau on which the Crag rose. With the Crag at his back, it gave him an excellent view of half the valley and the mountains beyond. He dug hungrily into his stew, then stopped, catching movement in the sky above him. With the darkness, it could be a bat, but the shadow that had disturbed the falling night was much too large for that.