The Claiming of the Highlands

by Wacht, Peter

  “As you wish.” His sneer twisting into an exultant grin, Rodric gave what he thought would be his final order before victory was his. “To the commanders, Killeran, now. Release the reserve. Push through the center and break the Marcher line.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE

  Turning Tide

  “Rodric’s committed everything he has. They’re pushing to fracture the center.”

  Kael had been the first to see the change in Armaghian tactics, as he had followed Kaylie closer to the center of the battle. No matter how many times he warned his charge, she drifted inevitably toward Thomas and the thick of the fighting. He admired her courage, but it created a level of risk that he preferred to avoid.

  “So they have, Kael. What say you? Shall we send forward our surprise?”

  “Most definitely, Lord Kestrel.” The excitement in Kael’s voice was a rare thing for the normally taciturn warrior.

  Using the Talent, Thomas reached out to his grandparents. They had stayed well back from the fighting, focused on another task. It’s time. Let’s give Rodric what he deserves.

  Rynlin smiled evilly as he and Rya released their hold on the Talent. As their grasp on the world’s natural magic loosened, the illusion that they had maintained since the Armaghians marched onto the battlefield dissipated. The two Sylvan Warriors had used the Talent to make the surrounding forest appear as it normally would, the tall trees standing a silent watch as the battle raged before them, and not revealing the mounted soldiers of Fal Carrach, Kenmare and Benewyn, along with the colorfully robed horsemen of the Desert Clans, hidden within the forest on both sides of the battlefield and waiting expectantly to play their part in the fight. Knowing Chertney’s weakened state, Rynlin and Rya had believed that their deception would go unnoticed, and they had been proven right.

  In an instant, what Rodric had perceived as a possible breakthrough had turned into a trap. The soldiers of Fal Carrach, Kenmare and Benewyn charged from the flanks, immediately compressing the Armaghian host as they sought to meet in the middle of the battlefield. The fighters of the Desert Clans, curved swords held ready to strike, swept in from behind, offering Rodric and his army no hope for escape.

  The tide turned in just minutes. The Armaghian army, surrounded and now facing an opponent comparable in size, fought hard, but the soldiers found themselves in an impossible situation. With the Armaghians pressured on the flanks and in their rear, the Marchers tired of their masquerade and began to press forward, tightening the noose and making an untenable situation unbearable.

  Pleased at the turn of events and confident in his success, Thomas followed resolutely after his Marchers. He knew the battle was won, but he was in search of the real prize. Thomas wanted to pay his debt to the High King.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX

  A Little Help

  The blood-red eyes stared impassively at the swirling black mist, which reflected a bird’s-eye view of the battle occurring in the Highlands. As each second passed, the Shadow Lord’s irritation increased. The Marchers and their allies squeezed the Armaghians, pushing in from all sides. It was only a matter of time until his greatest source of strength in the Kingdoms was eliminated.

  That arrogant fool! So sure of himself. So sure of his superior numbers. The boy had lulled him with his tactics, retreating, always retreating, teasing Rodric along, until finally he sprang his own surprise. And now the High King had run out of options and was on the brink of defeat. All because of his unimaginative stupidity!

  The Shadow Lord could not allow that to happen. The High King didn’t deserve his continued support. Another time he would have allowed events to play out as they should, giving Rodric the chance to meet the fate he so richly deserved. But too much was at stake. All his carefully laid plans hinged on this very moment. The Shadow Lord struggled to control his seething rage, which burned with an intensity that threatened to cloud his thinking. Slowly, ever so slowly, he clamped down on his ire, until finally his mind cleared. He considered once more what he saw unfolding before him. Perhaps, rather than defeat, this was an opportunity. The rulers of the eastern Kingdoms fought on the battlefield. If he acted now, he could push his plans forward even more quickly by eliminating many of his opponents in one fell swoop.

  Tapping into the Dark Magic that flowed within him, the Shadow Lord reached into the depths of the pits of Blackstone, unlocking a cell that had remained hidden away and forgotten for almost a thousand years.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN

  Swirling Black

  Thomas fought like a whirlwind, driving into the Armaghians with a wedge of Marchers, Oso leading on the left with Anara right beside him, Coban on the right. Kaylie followed a few steps behind, sword bloodied as she advanced through the enemy’s ranks, Kael always at her side, protecting her flanks and her back. The allied Kingdoms forced the Armaghians into a tighter and tighter circle, all avenues of escape blocked. Yet Thomas had eyes only for Rodric, who sat on his horse at the very center of his rapidly dwindling force, his expression of shock and disgust revealing that he was slowly beginning to understand the dire circumstances that he faced.

  Energized by his proximity to his objective, Thomas drove forward, forcing the Armaghian soldiers in front of him back. The Marchers filled the space behind him, cutting through Rodric’s troops with a vengeance. When Thomas was just a few yards away from his target, the High King finally saw him, his face turning white with fear. Chertney had drawn his sword, ready to face Thomas, while Killeran stayed behind them, likely remembering what had happened the last time he had faced the Highland Lord in combat.

  Finally, after all these years, Thomas would repay the High King for all the misery and death that he had wrought on his homeland. Finally he would meet the charge given to him by his grandfather Talyn just moments before his own death. Yet at that very moment when victory seemed certain, a portal of swirling shadow opened up right in front of the High King and began to expand until the dark mist had spread in a circle wider than a small hamlet. Terrified, the Armaghian soldiers forgot themselves, scurrying away from the portal and into the ranks of their opponents, who stood their ground, swords at the ready, ignoring the terrified Armaghians but unwilling to advance against the swirling tendrils of black mist. With the retreating soldiers blocking Thomas’ path, Rodric gave a quick wave of scorn, then gleefully urged his horse through the portal, followed by Chertney and Killeran.

  Thomas’ anger ignited into a burning rage, not understanding how the High King could escape his grasp so easily. The dolt had more lives than a cat. But Thomas realized quickly that he couldn’t dwell on the fact that once again he had lost out on taking his prey. Rather, he had to focus on the present danger.

  The portal wasn’t closing. Instead it grew larger, until it was big enough for several Ogren to walk through at one time. If only that were to be the case, Thomas thought, sensing the evil contained within the swirling darkness. An evil more powerful and ancient than he had ever confronted before. For a brief moment, he saw two pinpricks of red appear within the swirling gloom, then just as fast the eyes disappeared. The portal of darkness continued to expand, the thin tendrils of inky mist thickening as they churned faster and faster. As the blackness spread, the soldiers from all the Kingdoms continued to step back as the massive, twisting ball of black rose above them to blot out the sun, creating an unnatural twilight that covered the battlefield.

  The jet black tendrils whipped around faster than the eye could track, almost mesmerizing in their pattern. Then one strand shot out, then another, and another, the thick black strands wrapping themselves around an Armaghian soldier. In seconds, the threads of mist pulsed with a darkness blacker than night, consuming the energy and spirit of their victims much like a Shade, and leaving behind a dried, withered husk in their wake.

  Before the misty creature could strike again at the surrounding soldiers, Rynlin and Rya urged their unicorns forward, grabbing hold of the Talent and creating a dome of white, almost translucen
t energy that rose higher than the Breaker to contain the swirling mass. But before they could complete the task, Thomas stepped forward. Kaylie frantically tried to pull him back, but he placed himself beyond the boundary of white energy before she could grab his arm. As the barrier took shape and then solidified, Thomas stood alone in front of what resembled a jet-black hydra. More and more pitch-black tendrils formed. A dozen, and then a dozen more, lunged futilely, trying to break free from the barricade that quickly rose to contain it, but its strikes glanced off the barrier with no effect.

  Realizing what their grandson had done, Rynlin and Rya expanded their dome of energy, pushing the soldiers back slowly so that Thomas would have room to maneuver. They would save their anger at his foolish action for later, assuming he lived to receive their admonishment. For now, they could do nothing but try to protect the soldiers who stood defenseless against such a deadly, malevolent opponent.

  Time after time tendrils of black swung out and slammed against the dome containing it, seeking to escape, seeking the energy and spirit of the men and women surrounding it, but who were, for the moment, unreachable. Except for one.

  Thomas stood before the swirling mass of darkness, the Sword of the Highlands glowing a bright white in his hands after he infused it with the Talent. Staring into the inky blackness, two red eyes, glowing feverishly, hungering for his spirit, appeared once more in the center of the ephemeral mass. For a moment, the two adversaries simply stared at one another, the sounds beyond the dome muted, something that Thomas was thankful for. He knew the next few minutes could prove to be the deadliest challenge he had ever faced, and he could do without any distractions.

  A wisp of darkness instantly formed into a strand that tentatively approached, the swirling mass testing its opponent. Thomas easily dodged the strike, having seen the consequences of getting caught in the grasp of this dark evil. Another murky tentacle whipped out, faster this time. Thomas dodged again, then again, and once more.

  Picking himself up off the ground after rolling under the last attack, Thomas decided that he needed a different strategy. He could not evade forever, nor could he expect his grandparents to hold the dome in place for long. He could see through the faint glimmer of the energy surrounding him the strain on their faces as they struggled to maintain control of so much of the Talent at one time.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Thomas charged forward. Swinging his blazing blade with an almost unimaginable speed, he sliced through the multiplying threads of blackness that shot toward him. With each slash a shriek of anger and pain emanated from the creature before him. With every cut that sliced through a tendril of black, Thomas reduced the power of the dark creature. The duel continued for several minutes, Thomas slashing away. Yet he knew that even this strategy would prove ineffective as time passed, for with every tendril destroyed, another formed to take its place. It had become a combat of attrition that left him with no good options.

  But the decision on what to do next was taken from him. The creature shot more than a dozen tentacles of darkness toward Thomas at once, who frantically sought to defend against the onslaught, dodging, swinging his blade, then dodging some more with a speed that made him appear to be no more than a blur to those watching the fight from outside the dome. Then a dozen more. And a dozen more after that. Though Thomas was able to withstand or avoid many of the attacks, he could not stop them all.

  In seconds, as dozens of newly formed tentacles shot out, the swirling threads of darkness encircled him, forcing his sword against his chest. Unable to raise his blade and ward off the continuing attack, the tendrils of black mist compressed, tightening against him as if he were being crushed within the coils of a gigantic snake.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

  His Hands Alone

  Kaylie watched in horror, screaming at Thomas through the dome, but unable to break through the barrier. All she could see was the swirling mass of black, spinning faster and faster where Thomas had once stood. The Highland Lord had disappeared under a crush of inky night.

  Coban, Oso and several other Marchers futilely beat on the dome of energy, seeking to help him, and not realizing or not caring that the barrier served a larger purpose — preventing the creature from consuming every soldier on the battlefield.

  For Rynlin and Rya, the strain of their efforts was becoming apparent. They had pulled in so much of the Talent to contain the evil sent against them that they had reached beyond what they thought was the limit of their power. Even with the help of their unicorns, who shared their strength with them, they were dangerously close to the limits of their abilities. They desperately wanted to assist their grandson, sensing the danger, knowing what he faced and fearful that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself, but recognizing as well that releasing their control of the dome would mean death for all the soldiers surrounding the almost translucent dome of white energy.

  Hate it though they might, they knew that Thomas’ survival was in his hands alone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE

  Back From the Edge

  Immersed in the darkness, held so tightly that he couldn’t move a muscle, Thomas felt his strength ebbing away. The creature was draining his life force, slowly and relentlessly, and Thomas had no way to fight back. He felt as if he were drifting closer and closer to the edge, and once he fell over into the abyss the end would come.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. The thought drifted through his mind. He was tired now. So tired. More tired than he had ever been. He just needed to rest. To let go.

  You must do what you must do. This second thought crashed into the first, startling his senses. It was something his grandmother liked to say, a reminder of who he was and what was expected of him. And he certainly wasn’t expected to go quietly into the night.

  Struggling to find himself once more, to pull back from the abyss, to oppose the darkness that now rapidly emptied him of his spirit, he grabbed hold of the Talent. The evil that constricted him tightened even more, sensing what he was doing, fighting him, trying to drain the Talent he pulled from the world around him before he could put it to use, but Thomas fought back with a will.

  At first Thomas could only access a trickle of his power, and then just a tiny bit more. It was barely anything compared to the strength of the creature he fought, but it was enough for him to pull himself back from the edge he had almost fallen over. Finding his feet once again, he opened himself up even more to the power of nature, feeling the Talent flow back into him, slowly at first, and then faster and faster as it breathed new life into him, energized him, returning the strength the creature had stolen from him.

  As the Talent filled him to the point of bursting, a bright white light began to take shape around him, burning into the threads of darkness, destroying the black, misty tentacles that held him. Finally, free from their grasp, he took a few seconds to regain his focus, making sure that he had control of the tremendous amount of natural energy now flowing through him and encircling him in the midst of a pitch-black sea.

  Confident in his next step, he stood there calmly, eyes closed, his sword fallen to his feet, his hands open at his side. He pushed slowly but inexorably with the Talent, expanding the space around him, step by step, and with each touch of the bright, flaring light, a bit more of the darkness died.

  The dark creature now knew the problem it faced. This was a power it could not defend against, but it had nowhere to escape, as the dome continued to restrict its movement. Thomas took full advantage of that fact, pushing his power outward, seeking to destroy the wispy tendrils of black mist. And as he gained more traction on his enemy, he focused his attention on those glowing red eyes in the very center of the inky, swirling mass, releasing all the power that he could as he fought for his life.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  White Light

  Those on the outside of the dome continued to pound on it, seeking to help, yet feeling helpless as they realized that their efforts were fruitless. Tears rolled down
Kaylie’s cheeks as she watched in dread, the deadly blackness having covered everything inside of the dome and consumed Thomas. Several minutes passed, and all she could see was a darkness blacker than night.

  Then much to her surprise a flash of light caught her attention. A single white spark glowed deep within the murk. That spark flickered for several long seconds, fighting against the inky black mist, then slowly but steadily grew. As that spark swelled into a glowing globe of white light, the blackness retreated.

  The blazing white light continued to expand, and now she could see the dim shape of a man, barely able to make him out because of the brightness that almost blinded her and the others encircling the dome. The shape stood there calmly, hands at its side, as the globe of white light continued to swell, glowing brighter and brighter as it devoured more and more of the midnight black tendrils of darkness.

  Soon there was more white light than black in the dome, the brilliance so strong that she could no longer look at it. And then, in a final blinding flash that sounded like a thousand thunderclaps, the pitch-black mist dissolved.

  Kaylie blinked several times, clearing the spots from her eyes. The dome had disappeared as had the darkness. Thomas stood there as if nothing of importance had occurred, calmly placing his sword in the scabbard on his back.

  He had won. How he had done it she didn’t know, but he was alive. Kaylie’s tears of sadness turned into tears of joy as they streamed down her cheeks. Running forward, she hugged Thomas tightly to her. For someone who usually knew what to do, Thomas had no idea how to handle the unexpected emotion. So, he simply hugged her back.