by Wacht, Peter
“Good evening, Princess.”
Thomas went back to his bowl, scraping the last of the stew into his mouth with his last crust of bread.
A bright flash of white light disturbed the dark of the night. Then the Princess of Fal Carrack stepped out from between the trees and settled herself next to Thomas on the large rock.
“Why should I even be surprised that you knew it was me?”
Thomas smiled, though it was difficult to see in the gloom. “I could sense you,” explained Thomas.
Kaylie assumed it was because of her use of the Talent, but Thomas wasn’t so sure. He thought that there might be more to it than that. As if a connection were forming between him and Kaylie. But he didn’t have the time, and reluctantly he admitted to himself the courage, to explore that theory just yet.
“So how is your training in the Talent going? Clearly you’ve mastered the ability to shape change.”
“As well as can be expected, I guess. When Rya isn’t available, I try to improve on all the lessons your grandmother has taught me. That’s actually why I came here. I was hoping to find Rya, but I can tell she’s gone.”
“Yes, she and some others left about an hour ago.” Thomas glanced over at Kaylie, noting how she looked off in the distance rather than at him. He suspected that searching for Rya wasn’t the primary reason she had chosen to visit with him.
“I could sense them while I flew here.” She had felt the Talent surging through them. Strong, everyone. Though none as strong as Thomas. “Who were they?”
“Sylvan Warriors.” Normally Thomas was quite reticent in revealing what he was feeling, preferring to keep it inside. But now, for some reason, he experienced an urge to share. “Tiro and Maden were here, along with my grandfather, Rynlin. Tiro felt the need to remind me of my greater responsibilities.”
“Greater responsibilities?”
“Yes, as a Sylvan Warrior I have some burdens that he believes should take precedence over my duties as Lord of the Highlands. We have yet to reach a meeting of the minds.” Thomas’ frustration was evident, his green eyes flashing brightly in the dark of the night.
Kaylie sat there for a time, thinking of what it must be like to have competing demands made of you. She had told herself that making use of the Talent to change her shape into that of a hawk and visit the Highlands was simply a part of her training. A small part of her unwillingly acknowledged it was a jealous reaction to Thomas speaking with her father in the Rock and not taking the time to visit with her.
Initially, she wanted to take Thomas to task for that oversight, but that desire had dissolved as quickly as it had sprung up. Childish, she knew, and not worthy of her. It seemed that Thomas was burdened continually with more and more to worry about, making the duties she faced as Princess of Fal Carrach pale in comparison.
“How do you balance it all?” she asked. “I have a hard enough time dealing with what my father gives me to do, then the training with Rya, Kael, and myriad other tasks that are required of the Princess of Fal Carrach.” She said the last with a trace of irritation.
Thomas smiled, looking into Kaylie’s eyes. He was caught for a moment, his mind wandering in a direction that he found quite pleasing before he brought himself back to the topic at hand.
“I guess it’s just a matter of perspective. I don’t worry about something until I have to. Works for me, but it irritates Tiro to no end.”
“Well, you can be quite aggravating, you know,” Kaylie said lightly, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
Thomas laughed, the tension he had felt building as he recalled his conversation with the Sylvan Warriors instead dissipating. “So I’ve been told. Many times.”
Kaylie laughed as well, then looked up at the stars. They remained on the large rock in companionable silence, content simply to spend time with one another. As she sat there, she realized that for the first time since the incident in Tinnakilly, she had connected with Thomas. The distrust or circumspection wasn’t there as it had been in the past, replaced by an openness that reminded her of when she had first met him. She smiled but didn’t allow herself to get too excited. She hoped that openness would continue.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Homeward Bound
The massive kestrel glided over the Inland Sea from west to east. Its sharp eyes picked out the camps along the western coast and the troop carriers, which resembled oversized barges, docked there, taking on supplies and men for the journey across the water. After several hours of flying, the endless blue finally gave way to towering peaks off in the distance. As it approached the mountains, the kestrel turned its attention to the northern shore, which butted up against the lower Highlands. The soldiers wearing the same colors as those on the other side of the Inland Sea had started building a handful of piers that jutted out from the shore to make it easier for the troop carriers to unload, while also cutting back the densely forested coast to create space for the soldiers’ camps.
It was exactly as Thomas had seen when he used the Talent, but he had wanted to view it with his own eyes, or rather through his own eyes having assumed the shape of a raptor. Thomas circled lazily above the slowly forming encampment a couple more times before turning to the east and winging his way among the Highland peaks.
He had been flying for most of the day, tracking the progress of Rodric’s Armaghian army as it prepared to invade the Highlands, yet the entire time he had never been alone. Kestrels, the symbol of the Highlands, tended to be solitary creatures. But as soon as Thomas had used the Talent to change his shape and taken to the skies five raptors had joined him. Four flew the points of the compass always keeping him in the center, the fifth never strayed far from his side. It felt like an honor guard, as if the large kestrels wanted to ensure his safety.
Whether his perception was real or not, he couldn’t say. He recognized the fifth raptor, having met this bird time and time again. He could tell by its eyes. There was a recognition there, as had been the case several times before. It gave him comfort, as if this kestrel knew him intimately and had been with him since the day he was born. Moreover, the kestrel filled him with a necessary confidence, for he and his Marchers were about to face the greatest challenge yet to his short rule.
With all that had been going on in the Highlands as the Marchers prepared for war, Thomas relished the opportunity to get away from the constant decisions, the always occurring negotiations, the inevitable crises that had to be addressed, if only for the better part of the day. He enjoyed soaring among the mountains of his homeland. He brightened even more as he and his escort flew past the final peaks in the east and out across the short channel to the Isle of Mist, his home for ten years before returning to his birthplace to claim his place as Highland Lord. He hadn’t returned to where his grandparents had raised him since becoming Lord of the Highlands, so he looked forward to the opportunity as he and his raptor guard descended in lazy circles into a clearing in the middle of the island.
“You could have told us you were coming,” said Rya, chestnut hair streaming down her back, her eyes sharp and intelligent.
Thomas used the Talent to take his human form, watching as several of the raptors settled into the trees around them, though two remained aloft, gliding through the sky on the strong air currents coming off the Sea of Mist.
“It seems you’ve picked up several protectors,” stated Rynlin, his features sharp, dark beard speckled with grey. Those who didn’t know him would describe his appearance as ominous or dangerous, which was exactly what he wanted.
“I’m sorry, grandmother. I didn’t know I had to ask before I could come home.”
“Don’t be smart, Thomas,” the beautiful woman chided. “We rarely get to see you with all that’s happening.”
Rya stepped forward and hugged her grandson to her tightly. It had been months since she and Rynlin had visited him at the Crag with Tiro and Maden, though she had been keeping track of his exploits.
Rynlin stepped forward and ga
ve his grandson an affectionate slap on the back.
“Come on. Let’s go to the house. We have a stew over the fire and I’m hungry.”
Rynlin led the way on the narrow trail, dodging the massive heart trees that rose around them. Very few heart trees remained in the Kingdoms, except for those that still clung to the remoter parts of the Highlands and the Isle of Mist. The trees grew several hundred feet into the air, the trunks often a hundred feet or more in width at the base, their roots gnarled and twisting across the forest floor and deep into the earth. With Rynlin’s height he had to pay particular attention to where he stepped, ducking beneath several roots that resembled wooden arches that spanned the trail they walked upon.
They were almost home when Thomas tripped, falling flat on his face. Most would have assumed that he had stumbled on a root, but Thomas knew better.
“Beluil, I haven’t seen you for months and that’s how you greet me, swiping one of your paws across my boot like when we were younger?”
Thomas pushed himself up and dusted himself off, addressing his comments to the large wolf that sat on his haunches in the middle of the trail, an innocent expression on his face. The beast’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Sitting still, in the growing darkness his black fur allowed him to fade into the night, only the patch of white fur across his eyes giving any hint of where Beluil was situated.
“How did Beluil get here?”
“Your grandfather brought him across in that skiff you used to sail as a boy. He wanted to see you. Apparently, he knew you were on the way. We didn’t see any harm in doing so. Your Marcher, Nestor, working with your grandfather and Beluil’s wolfpacks, has all but eliminated the Ogren raiding parties seeking to enter the Highlands from the north, at least for the time being. And it seems their success has given the Shadow Lord reason to pause. The Sylvan Warriors scouting in the Charnel Mountains report that much of the dark creature activity has died down for now.”
“Yes, they have been extremely effective,” agreed Thomas, turning toward Beluil. “I missed you as well.”
With that the deadly, pony-sized wolf launched himself in the air to land on Thomas’ chest, taking him down onto the trail again, slathering his face with licks.
“All right, all right,” said Thomas with a laugh, trying to keep the wolf slobber out of his eyes and mouth. He wrestled with Beluil in the dirt for a few minutes before giving his friend a hug across his neck. “Let’s go home. I’m famished.”
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Request for Help
They had settled in front of the fire before dinner, Beluil stretching out his full frame on the floor so that Thomas could run his fingers lazily through the wolf’s thick black fur. Being back in the home he had grown up in, the hollowed out trunk of a heart tree, it felt as if nothing had changed as he sat there contentedly. But he knew that was a false perception. Everything had changed.
Rynlin stood by the fire, adding carrots, onions, and some root vegetables to the stew he was preparing for that evening’s dinner. Thomas noticed that Rynlin was quieter than usual, either intent on his task or deep in thought, though he couldn’t determine which it might be.
“I understand that Kaylie visited you at the Crag,” began Rya, sitting on a stool in front of her grandson.
“Yes, she said that she was looking for you.”
“Did she?” replied Rya. “That’s interesting. I’d already visited with her earlier that morning.”
Thomas stared at his grandmother, eyes tight. She had done this to him when he was younger. She wanted something. Rather than ask her question directly, she liked to dance around the edges first and see what other tidbits of information she could peel away from him first.
“What are you suggesting?” he asked warily.
“Nothing, nothing at all. I just find it interesting that Kaylie decided to put all that effort into visiting you at the Crag. Perhaps there was more to her going to see you than she revealed.”
“Maybe she just wanted more practice in the Talent,” suggested Thomas, uneasy about the direction the conversation was taking.
“Maybe,” agreed Rya. “But perhaps there was more to it than that. Perhaps she just wanted to see you. I understand you made quite an impression in Eamhain Mhacha and then on the journey back to the east.”
“Where did you hear that?” asked Thomas, growing more and more uncomfortable.
Rya ignored Thomas’ question. “You know Kaylie is quite an impressive young lady. Smart. Talented. Beautiful. Don’t you agree, Rynlin?”
“You can leave me out of this,” grumbled Thomas’ grandfather as he sliced an onion and dropped the pieces into the pot.
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Thomas, the heat rising in his face.
“You know but you don’t want to admit it,” said Rya, her voice filled with a certainty that made Thomas fidget.
“Admit what?” demanded Thomas, his cheeks redder than a campfire. After all this time and everything he had been through, his grandmother could still make him feel uneasy with little effort.
“Your interest in Kaylie,” replied Rya. “It’s quite obvious.”
“Maybe to you,” said Thomas. “At the moment my focus is on other matters that are a bit more important than my interest in the Princess of Fal Carrach.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Rya, her eyes shining brightly. “So, you are interested.”
“That was a mistake, Thomas,” interjected Rynlin. “You fell right into your grandmother’s trap.”
“Could we move on to a more relevant topic?” pleaded Thomas. “I need your help.”
“For now,” said Rya, a wicked smile on her face. “But don’t think that this conversation is over.”
“We thought you might,” said Rynlin, who had taken out his pipe. Although he no longer smoked, holding it between his lips gave him some comfort.
“You’ve been tracking the dark creatures?”
“We have,” said Rya, her voice laced with worry. “They’re becoming more brazen. As we mentioned earlier, although the flow across the Northern Steppes has slowed for the moment, we expect the number of Ogren war parties slipping out of the Charnel Mountains to increase. We’ve seen signs of them massing closer to Blackstone before making their way to the flatlands.”
“It’s to be expected,” said Rynlin. “The time is coming. We just don’t know when exactly.”
Thomas nodded at Rynlin, acknowledging the truth of his words. The Shadow Lord was building his strength, biding his time in the Charnel Mountains, and seeking the right moment to return. He had last been defeated during the Great War, but he had not been destroyed. Then the Kingdoms were stronger and more united and the Sylvana were more powerful, if only because of their greater number those centuries past. What would happen this time if only a few Kingdoms and the remaining Sylvan Warriors answered the call to fight the Dark Horde at the Breaker? Could they prevent the Shadow Lord and his servants from flooding the Kingdoms? All important questions with no good answers.
Thomas’ grandparents thought that the Shadow Lord would reveal himself soon, tiring of the need for proxies such as Rodric and Killeran. The two Sylvan Warriors had seen the signs, and they were worried. Very worried. Circumstances had changed a great deal since the last time the Shadow Lord had sought the Kingdoms for his own during the Great War. The ranks of the Sylvan Warriors had dwindled since then, even more so in just the last few years thanks to the Shadow Lord’s assassins. The fact that the Kingdoms were weaker didn’t help. Several had turned inward, focused on internal challenges, such as the threat of rebellion, or, in the cases of a few, warring factions for the crown. Much of this unrest was driven by Rodric, who deftly used the instability to his advantage. Only the eastern Kingdoms could be counted on to stand at the Breaker when the time came. And when the Shadow Lord attacked, try as the eastern Kingdoms might, they would not be strong enough on their own to hold back the Shadow Lord and keep the Dark Horde from wreaking its havoc on the Kingd
oms. Something that had been touched upon just a few months before when Rynlin and Rya, along with Tiro and Maden, had visited Thomas at the Crag.
As a result, more and more of the Sylvan Warriors were placing their faith in Thomas, hoping that he could overcome the weaknesses that plagued them in their fight against the Shadow Lord. Tiro had said as much while berating Thomas. The prophecies had spoken of the Defender of the Light, arising at the Kingdoms’ time of greatest need to oppose the Lord of the Shadow. As if Rynlin could read this thoughts, Thomas’ grandfather began reciting what sounded like poetry, but offered an uncertain clue as to the future.
When a child of life and death
Stands on high
Drawn by faith
He shall hold the key to victory in his hand.
Swords of fire echo in the burned rock
Balancing the future on their blades.
Light dances with dark
Green fire burns in the night
Hopes and dreams follow the wind
To fall in black or white.
Thomas remembered vividly that he had been in this very room the first time that Rynlin had offered his argument as to why he believed Thomas was the Defender of the Light, the one fated to fight the Shadow Lord. His grandfather had begun with the first line: When a child of life and death. Rynlin had explained, “When you were born, you had green eyes, which throughout the Kingdoms is recognized as a symbol for life. And any birth obviously symbolizes life. On a sadder note, your mother, Marya, died during your birth.”
“That could apply to many people,” Thomas had remembered protesting.
“Yes, it could,” Rynlin had said. “But I don't think it does. Look at the next line: Stands on high. It's a very vague reference. However, it could be speaking about two critical parts of your life. When one becomes Lord of the Highlands, it has traditionally been known as standing on high. And, when you join the Sylvana, you will be standing on high as well. In fact, you will be standing on the tallest peak in all the Kingdoms. I think the double reference to the Highlands and the Sylvana serves as added confirmation.”