The Lost Kestrel Found (The Sylvan Chronicles Book 6)

by Peter Wacht

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fearsome Allies

  The battered and scarred reivers, normally unafraid in battle, cringed as Lord Johin Killeran, his immaculate white cape draped across his back, tore into them for their ineptitude. The large tent that served as the Dunmoorian lord’s base of operations in the lower Highlands did not compare to his quarters in the fort that that blasted boy had burned to the ground. Able to salvage only a few singed carpets, a stool, and a cot, all the other trappings and comforts he deserved and had earned as the Regent of the Highlands had been destroyed when that boy led the Highlanders’ escape from the Black Hole. Almost a decade of carefully acquired possessions, almost all obtained as part of his efforts to enslave the Highlanders, gone in a matter of hours.

  That’s when it had all begun. When his future and fortune, once so promising, had taken a drastic turn for the worse. He should have killed the boy when he had the chance rather than force him into the mines as an example to the other Highlanders. For almost ten years he had enjoyed an iron grip on the lower Highlands, and now in just a few months he and his reivers hung on by a thread. The latest reports had soured his mood even more. In the last two weeks he had lost half a dozen raiding parties. Worst of all, the raiding parties he had sent out to find his missing reivers, the few that had returned, had found nothing. The missing reivers had simply disappeared. Now he didn’t know what to do, other than scream at the men serving him. He had lost control of the Highlands. He had lost more than a third of his reivers. He had no information about what was going on. And, most importantly, he had no good excuse he could offer to the High King or Dinnegan for his failure.

  Killeran prepared to launch into another tirade when a dark shadow glided through the open tent flap. Lord Chertney, dark hair and eyes giving him a menacing appearance, to say nothing of the hidden power that palpably lurked within him, cut off Killeran’s nasally whine before he could begin berating his men once again.

  “You may leave us,” rasped Chertney, motioning to the tent’s entrance with his hand.

  Killeran’s sergeants quickly made their escape. With the soldiers gone, Chertney turned his frightening gaze to Killeran.

  “The High King isn’t happy. You were supposed to have absolute control of the Highlands years ago. With the Council of the Kingdoms just a few months away, you had to demonstrate your ability to rule the Highlands in the High King’s name. Yet you have utterly failed to do so.”

  Chertney said the last with a sneer, obviously enjoying his rival’s lack of success.

  “And don’t forget our real master, Killeran,” continued Chertney. “He has plans for the Highlands as well. I would be more worried about him than the High King.”

  “Don’t you think I know that,” whined Killeran with repressed anger, his squeaky voice making his rage almost comical. He knew better than to reveal his temper to Chertney. Though Killeran hated Chertney for the power he possessed, the power that Killeran believed should be his, he needed to tread carefully because of that very same power. “But what am I to do? The Marchers have stirred once more. They’re destroying my raiding parties. I can’t catch them in a large enough group so that I can apply my superior numbers for greater impact. The Marchers have vacated the lower Highlands, turning them into an open killing ground for anyone who is not a Highlander. And now many of the reivers will look for any excuse not to enter the higher passes.”

  “Then allow me to offer one last bit of assistance,” said Chertney, a small smile pursing his lips. “But our master has informed me that you will receive no more aid after this. This is your last chance in the Highlands.”

  Chertney pulled back the tent flap.

  “I’ll leave a few friends here with you. Perhaps even you could figure out how to put them to good use?”

  Killeran stepped out of the tent, his large, aquiline nose leading the way. He ignored Chertney’s last dig. Several hundred Ogren stood before him, tightly controlled by a handful of Shades. Though the dark creatures terrified him, he knew well the value they brought to the battlefield, despite the fact that his men spent much of their time cowering in fear whenever required to fight alongside the beasts. Too often the dark creatures lost themselves in their battle lust, killing not only those opposed to them, but also those fighting with them. And then if hunger came upon them eating what they killed, whether friend or foe.

  “These should do nicely,” whispered Killeran, his eyes glittering with anticipation even as a shiver of fear ran through his body. “I’ve been hearing rumors of a new Highland Lord, but I’ve yet to see any evidence that this Lord actually exists. In my opinion, it is likely just the one the Highlanders call the Raptor. With these additional forces we should be able to eliminate the Raptor once and for all.”

  The Lord of Dunmoor strode off quickly, telling himself his speed came from his desire to find his sergeants so that he could once again gain control of the Highlands. He didn’t want to admit to himself that his fear of the dark creatures massed in front of him gave an added jolt to his step.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Next Step

  “What did you think?” asked Kaylie. She and Rya sat in the back of a small coach as they returned to the Rock. “I must say that was fun. The man is twice my age, yet I clearly made him uneasy.”

  They had planned on conducting an unorthodox visit with Dinnegan, one designed to keep him off balance. Their approach seemed to do just that, perhaps even pushing him close to the edge.

  Rya smiled, pleased with what had transpired. While Kaylie conducted the conversation, she had focused her full attention on the richest man in the Kingdoms, and she had learned a great deal.

  “You did well,” Rya replied. “He’s hiding something.”

  “I thought so as well. Do you think he’s behind the assassination plot?”

  “You tell me.”

  Kaylie sighed in frustration. She had known this woman for no more than a few days, yet it seemed that every moment with her contained some lesson.

  “Dinnegan has the motive and the means. He certainly has the ambition. Based on his behavior just now, the nervousness, the fear just beneath the surface, yes, I do believe he is orchestrating this. But how do we confirm our suspicions?”

  “Leave that to me,” replied Rya, smiling grimly.

  While in Dinnegan’s mansion, in addition to using her Talent to read the man, she had extended her senses to get a better feel for the palatial structure. For all its outward appearance, it seemed the standard home for a rich man. Ostentatious. Showy. Built to impress. But her deeper evaluation suggested something else. She had sensed a muted wrongness. A darkness that shouldn’t be there. And she meant to find out the cause.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Useful Legend

  “Tell me, Oso. What’s with all this talk about the Raptor? I have a sense you have a hand in it.”

  Thomas and Oso had walked away from the other Marchers onto a promontory that jutted out from a tall northern peak. A misstep would lead to a fall of almost a thousand feet. But the view made it worth the risk. To the west, at the very edge of the horizon, Thomas thought he could just make out the dark smudge of the Breaker, the barrier separating the Northern Steppes from the Clanwar Desert.

  Many of the Marchers had taken to Thomas’ nickname of the Raptor. Upon joining the Sylvana, Thomas had been charged with protecting the Highlands from dark creatures before he had become Lord of the Highlands. Much to his grandparents’ chagrin … well, as he thought about it, his exploits appeared to please his grandfather, Rynlin. Only his grandmother seemed bothered by the risks he took. Thomas had taken to the task with gusto. His grandparents had spent so many years trying to protect him on the Isle of Mist that when given this responsibility upon becoming a Sylvan Warrior, he relished the freedom it provided, as well as the opportunity to strike back at the creatures of the Shadow Lord. The dark creatures that had killed his other grandfather, Talyn Kestrel.

  Assuming the ch
arge with a vengeance, Thomas spent as much time in the Highlands as possible, eliminating Ogren, Fearhounds, Shades and other dark creatures whenever he came upon them. That’s how he had met Oso, helping to free him and a group of Highlanders from his village. Of course, in the end Johin Killeran, nominal regent of the Highlands as declared by High King Rodric Tessaril, had captured them during their attempted escape.

  Given the title of regent, Killeran was anything but, functioning as a sycophant seeking to claim the riches of the Highlands for himself and the High King. Finally escaping from Killeran after several months’ forced labor in the mines and destroying the reivers’ primary fort, known as the Black Hole, had cemented the legend of the Raptor among the Highlanders and created an unbreakable bond between Thomas and Oso.

  “Someone asked me about it,” the large Highlander explained with a shrug. “I said you were the Raptor and spoke of some of the things you’ve done. I was just telling the truth, not spreading any rumors.”

  Oso thought the moniker particularly apt. Thomas was applauded for his fighting skill, but even more so his prescience on the battlefield, knowing exactly when and where to attack with greatest effect, swooping down for the kill like a raptor, which played such an important role in the history and culture of the Highlands.

  “Look in the sky,” continued Oso, as he sat on a large rock at the edge of the promontory that gave him a tremendous view of the northern peaks of the Highlands. Wanting to use the few minutes of rest to his best advantage, he ran a grindstone across his blade slowly and with care.

  Three raptors circled lazily above them, the large predators twisting and turning at the whim of the mountain breezes. Every now and then one of the raptors swooped down as it would if it were seeking prey. But Oso suspected their actions were driven more by the desire to keep an eye on the Highland Lord.

  “When was the last time two or three raptors didn’t appear somewhere around you. It’s like they’re watching over you or waiting for something to happen. The Marchers see that. They know what the raptors represent. They know what you represent. You may not like being called the Raptor, but it’s important to them and to our people. It gives them strength. Courage. Belief. It’s what they need right now.”

  Words of wisdom from Oso. Thomas hadn’t expected that. And he couldn’t think of anything to say in response. Though the acclaim made him uncomfortable, Oso was right. Thinking about it for a moment, he began to realize the value of having such a reputation, much as his grandfather Rynlin made use of the myths he had so carefully constructed regarding the Isle of Mist.

  While growing up on the island just off the eastern coast of the Highlands, his grandparents had used the Talent to hide his presence there from the dark creatures hunting him. His grandparents also valued their privacy, so to keep unwanted visitors away, Rynlin had crafted stories of the ghosts and other terrifying beasts that haunted the isle, using his skill in the Talent to offer some depth to his concoctions anytime anyone was foolish enough to set foot on the island.

  Stories, real or perceived, could prove useful when told to the right people in the right way. So why not make use of it? Perhaps it was time for the Raptor to take flight.

  “You’re right, Oso,” said Thomas, nodding his agreement. “There is value to this legend. We can use this to our advantage.”

  “What do you have in mind, Thomas?”

  “Killeran’s Army of the Black Sword is already afraid to enter the higher passes. Their production from the mines has come to an end. They have no miners. Eventually they will have no choice but to come to us. We’ll intensify our attacks, and as the Marchers attack, they can spread the word. The Raptor hunts. The more fearful the reivers are when they finally attack us, the better our chances of success.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Frustrating Lesson

  Sweat dripped down Kaylie’s forehead, a weariness sinking deep within her bones. She felt much like she did when practicing the sword with Kael Bellilil, only exponentially more exhausted. She had learned quickly that the strength and energy required to do what she perceived to be the simplest of tasks with the Talent tired her quickly. Rya said that over time and as her skill improved, she would achieve a balance with the Talent. That she would be able to do more with the Talent at less cost to her body. But she hadn’t reached that point yet. For now, learning how to grasp the Talent remained a struggle, but one she was more than willing to pursue.

  “Again, girl. You can do this. You just need to concentrate.”

  Kaylie nodded, gritting her teeth. When Thomas had first shown her how to use the Talent, she had thought it a simple process. But with Rya’s instruction, she had learned very quickly that she had barely touched the surface of what it meant to make use of the natural magic of the world.

  Reaching out once more with her mind, Kaylie attempted to take hold of the Talent. The more often she reached for the Talent, the easier it became for her to sense, but that didn’t mean she could easily turn it to the task given her by the demanding woman who had quickly become an important part of her life. Lifting the chest at the front of her bed should have been a fairly simple task, but for whatever reason, though she could touch the Talent, whenever she attempted to apply it, the power of the natural world slipped through her fingers.

  She struggled for another few minutes, then screamed in frustration, her anger getting the better of her. It had been so easy before when Thomas had shown her how to search with the Talent. Why was it so difficult now?

  “Temper, girl!”

  The sharpness of Rya’s tone jarred her. As the Princess of Fal Carrach, she was not used to such boldness. Kaylie felt like Rya was treating her as if she were an impetuous child rather than the heir to a Kingdom.

  “You obviously can touch the Talent, but you’re losing your concentration when it comes to doing something with it. You must focus. You cannot let your mind wander.”

  “I know, I know,” Kaylie sighed miserably, a feeling of defeat winnowing its way within her. “I can feel it. All around me. The power feels so immense. But I don’t know how to take in what I need. It’s so vast, I just get lost in it.”

  Rya took a moment to consider what Kaylie had said. The girl worked hard, unwilling to give up. That was to her credit. Obviously she wanted to master this. So the fault wasn’t with her effort, but rather her approach. She needed to be more precise. She needed to learn a more delicate touch. Perhaps there was a way to deal with that problem more effectively.

  “It’s a struggle, I know,” agreed Rya. “A young man, a very difficult, stubborn young man, I used to train had much the same problem as you. I wasn’t sure how to help him. But he figured out a way to get past this difficulty.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He told me that when he reached for the Talent, he imagined a large door. If he wanted to actually make use of the Talent, in his mind he pretended to open the door, letting out just as much Talent as he needed to do whatever task I asked of him.”

  “And this worked?”

  “It did. He said the visual was a way to trick himself. Then, as time went on and he grew more experienced in the use of the Talent, he no longer required the imagery. He had grown comfortable in the use of the Talent. But it proved useful in the beginning.”

  Kaylie nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”

  Sweat dripping from her brow, Kaylie reached for the Talent once more. She smiled, sensing the tremendous amount of power flowing around her, simply waiting for her to take hold. Following Rya’s advice, she imagined a large door, placing the natural magic of the world behind it. Satisfied, she then slowly nudged the door open just a tiny bit, letting out a small stream of the Talent, enough, at least in her estimation, to do as Rya asked.

  She saw an immediate impact. The chest at the foot of her bed lifted a fingerbreadth from the ground, hovering there for a second before settling back down on the floor.

  Kaylie smiled, thrilled by her success after several previou
s hours of frustrating effort. She decided to open the door just a bit more, releasing more of the Talent. The chest rose quickly off the floor, faster than she expected, slamming into the ceiling and knocking off bits of plaster. Surprised by what she had accomplished, Kaylie lost her concentration, letting the chest drop toward the carpet.

  Before it could slam onto the floor, Rya caught it with the Talent, setting the large chest gently back down at the foot of Kaylie’s bed.

  Kaylie smiled widely, exceedingly pleased with herself. Rya’s stern expression wiped the pleasure from her face.

  “Well done, at least for part of the task.”

  Rya sighed inwardly. Her grandson had done much the same thing when she had first trained him in the Talent using a chest as her object of instruction. Yet credit should be given where credit was due.

  “Next time, complete the entire task before celebrating.”

  Kaylie nodded, chagrined. “So what’s next?”

  The girl’s eagerness pleased Rya, reminding her once again of her grandson. It was getting late and there was another task that Rya needed to attend to, but she decided to humor Kaylie’s request.

  “I understand you know how to use a blade.”

  Kaylie’s exhaustion began to melt away, her interest in the next lesson sparked. “Yes, I’ve been training with Fal Carrach’s Swordmaster.”