by Peter Wacht
Knowing that Renn, Seneca and Nestor would move quickly to obey, Thomas gestured for Coban and Oso to come with him. Together they pushed forward through the light snow over the last mile, stopping on a rise that offered an overlook on the walled village of Anselm. They stayed within the tree line, hidden in the early morning shadows, not wanting any errant eyes to notice them by chance.
Closing his eyes and concentrating, Thomas used the Talent to confirm his suspicions. The forest was clear of dark creatures and reivers, all of them with Killeran’s raiding party. The scouts that he had expected would be there to protect Killeran’s flanks were nowhere to be seen. Thinking perhaps that his dark creatures would deter any other Marchers from engaging, Killeran clearly wasn’t worried about anything but taking the Highland village.
Set against the backdrop of a tall cliff that formed the edge of a towering Highland peak that rose into the clouds, to the west of Anselm the cliff dropped off to a precipice that ran along that side of the clearing. That precipice fell at least one thousand feet to a fast-moving river. A twenty-foot high wall made from stout timber with iron-bound gates surrounded the village. A good defense, but not one that would last long against dark creatures and warlocks.
Killeran had arrayed his forces in the large clearing in front of the village, his reivers to the fore, the warlocks behind them. He’d split his Ogren and Shades, putting them on the flanks, but behind the reivers. Apparently, the Dunmoorian Lord had decided to keep them from the initial assault.
Thomas, Coban and Oso remained hidden among the trees as they watched Killeran order the reivers forward. The Marchers thought the reivers obeyed reluctantly, probably wondering why the Ogren weren’t made to serve as arrow fodder rather than them. The Highlanders manning the wall easily defended against the reivers’ first attack. But clearly this initial assault was only a probe, an attempt to find any weaknesses in the village’s defenses. Even the defenders knew that if Killeran’s full force attacked, they wouldn’t be able to hold them back for long.
Taking it all in, Thomas developed his battle plan quickly, knowing that every second counted. As soon as Killeran breached the wall, the fight would end. He’d flood the village with his warlocks, eliminating resistance, and then no one would escape because the Ogren and Shades would block their way, leaving the reivers to enslave those Highlanders able to work in the mines. For the too young or too old, the too sick or too weak, a worse fate waited at the hands of the dark creatures.
“Oso, bring your men up from the south. You’re our left flank, and I want you on the very edge of the precipice. We’re going to push in from the east, towards you, so you must hold that flank. You don’t need to attack, but you must hold. If you break, we fail.”
“Of course, Thomas. But there’s a problem.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Coban.
“Anara came with us,” said Oso, gesturing back a few hundred feet. The Marchers had taken a few minutes to rest and prepare for battle almost a mile from the village. But not Anara.
Leaning calmly against a tree, as if the all-night run through the Highlands had been no more than a short walk, stood a pretty, confident woman, short auburn hair highlighting her pixie-like face. She scraped a whetstone across her dagger, sharpening the long steel, though looking upon the blade Thomas judged that she did so more out of habit rather than need. She had followed Thomas, Coban and Oso, though not intruding on their strategy session. Thomas guessed at the cause but left it unsaid.
“So what if Anara came?” asked Thomas.
“It’s just that …” Oso tried to explain, but words failed him.
“Here we go,” interrupted Coban, quickly understanding why the large Marcher was tongue-tied.
“Spit it out, Oso,” demanded Thomas. “Time is wasting.”
“Anara shouldn’t be here,” was all Oso could say, his face flushing red.
“Why not? She’s a Marcher. She’s a trained fighter. In fact, she’s almost as good with a blade as you are.”
“Yes, but …” Oso tried to continue his protest, but it only came out in a weak sputter.
“The boy fears for her,” sighed Coban. “He’s in love with her but can’t say it. He doesn’t want her to get hurt.”
“I’m not …”
“Save it, boy,” said Coban, not unkindly. “It’s written all over your face. Whether you love her or not isn’t relevant right now. That young lady is one of our best fighters. And she’s tougher than anyone I know. Remember, she survived the Black Hole for almost six months. You can’t keep her out of this. If you tried, she’d probably just stick you with that dagger of hers.”
Oso looked back over his shoulder once more, Anara’s strong gaze bearing down on him, challenging him, as if she knew what he had been talking about.
“You’re right, Coban.” Oso nodded reluctantly. “We’ll hold. Don’t worry for that. But I want Anara with me.”
“I doubt you could get rid of her if you tried,” chuckled Thomas. “Coban, you’re with me in the center. We’ll give Killeran and his forces something to focus on. We’ll try to pin them in place.”
“So that Renn, Seneca and Nestor can sweep through their left flank and push toward Oso and the precipice,” said Coban, quickly putting together Thomas’ strategy on his own. “A good plan. Let’s get to it.”
Thomas closed his eyes once again, concentrating, then relaying his instructions to Renn, Seneca and Nestor. The Marchers immediately began to move forward to their positions, making sure they stayed within the tree line to mask their arrival.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Chance Meeting
The sun had just broken over the eastern horizon, the giant eagle continuing to fly along the main road leading to Tinnakilly. The massive bird’s sharp eyes scanned its surroundings dutifully, searching for something very specific, but with no luck for the past several hours. It had seen some early travelers on the road, but no one that captured its interest. So it carried on, tirelessly flying above the long-used road as it snaked its way through the Fal Carrachian countryside. The eagle didn’t find what it was searching for until mid-morning.
Finally locating its quarry, the giant eagle landed in the road just ahead of a small party of soldiers riding toward Fal Carrach’s capital. There was an instant of confusion, as the lead riders stared dumbstruck at the imposing bird that blocked their way. The lead horse having stopped no more than ten feet in front of the large eagle, silence enveloped the stand-off, the soldiers unsure of what to do, the eagle boldly staring back.
A broadly built man, his dark hair and beard sprinkled with grey, dismounted, giving the reins to the man next to him. Having never seen the like, he stepped forward gingerly, not wanting to spook the bird. The large predator examined him with piercing eyes. The man initially thought the creature might be a kestrel, one of the huge raptors of the Highlands. But though this eagle clearly dwarfed its smaller brethren, it did not match the size of the kestrels of old.
A flash of bright, white light forced the man to close his eyes as he spun away reflexively. When he turned back, a petite woman wearing a dark blue cloak stood before him. She had a presence about her that he had seen in very few people during his lifetime, her gaze strong and focused. As recognition dawned, this woman led him to think back to a time when things were different. To a time when his best friend had lived. To a time before a cloud had settled over the Kingdoms.
“My Lady Keldragan?”
The woman inclined her head in acknowledgement. “It has been a long time, King Gregory. Well met.”
The identity of the woman before him confirmed, Gregory’s thoughts drifted back to when he had met this petite but imposing woman for the first time. He had visited the Crag, spending time with his friend and fellow ruler, Talyn Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands. Talyn’s son, Benlorin, had just married a mysterious girl who had lived somewhere in the deep Highlands. She was said to have the ability to do wondrous and, to many people, disturb
ing things. To do things that required a unique ability that most had thought had disappeared from the Kingdoms long before. A skill that Marya’s mother had just demonstrated.
“I must say I’m surprised to meet you here,” said Gregory, trying to keep his unsettled nerves under control. At least he was doing a better job of it than his men, many of whom still struggled to control their mounts, the quick flash of light having frightened them. “It’s been what? A decade or more?”
“Close to it,” confirmed Rya. “But I’m not here to exchange pleasantries.”
Gregory smiled. Yes, indeed, this was the woman he remembered. Straight to the point and blunt, and not one to waste time or mince words.
“Then may I ask your purpose for being here this morning? My men and I are just completing a circuit of Fal Carrach, and we’d like to get back to Ballinasloe by evening if possible.”
“You will need to ride faster than that, Gregory.”
Rya stepped forward, not one for ceremony and now no more than a few feet between them. Her sharp glance captured his own.
“Your daughter is in danger, and she needs your help.”
“What! How do you know?”
Before the King of Fal Carrach could ask any more questions, Rya quickly explained all that had happened over the last few days as well as what she suspected, starting with Kaylie learning of the assassination attempt and ending with what she had discovered at Dinnegan’s mansion. The more Gregory heard, the redder his face became, his anger boiling into a white hot rage.
“Dinnegan? That snake! I’ll cut his head from his shoulders and …”
“King Gregory, that is certainly the goal, but we don’t have time for anger now. If what the lady says is true, we must focus on the danger to your daughter.”
Kael Bellilil, a grey haired Highlander who served as Swordmaster of Fal Carrach, stood next to Gregory, having dropped down from his horse to hear what the woman who had appeared so unexpectedly before them had to say.
“You’re correct, Kael. I shouldn’t have allowed my anger to get the best of me.” Gregory took several deep breaths, trying to regain some semblance of calm. Passion had no place in the moment. Only good, clear, rational reasoning.
“We are all angry, my lord.”
Kael gestured back to the soldiers, all having finally regained control of their horses. They had heard everything as well. Their expressions stony, postures reflecting a cold, hard purpose, the men gripped their reins anxiously. They waited impatiently for the command to gallop to the city and eliminate the threat.
“I do not know the lady before us, King Gregory. So I simply ask you, do you trust what she has said?”
Gregory studied the diminutive woman before him, remembering how Talyn had grown to like her, to trust her. If his friend could do that, so could he.
“I do.”
Kael nodded. “Then we must move quickly. If Dinnegan does have Kaylie hidden away on his estate, I doubt she will remain there for long. He will want her moved as quickly as possible to remove any suspicion.”
“By this evening,” said Gregory.
“Agreed. And if what the Lady Keldragan says is true, we will need more soldiers to rescue her. I have no doubt the men behind you will do all they can, but against a larger force, the odds, even for them, would be poor. We must be certain of success. Your daughter’s life likely depends on it.”
“What do you suggest, Kael?”
“We’re less than a day from Ballinasloe. We have several outposts to the east and west of here. Send riders to gather those men and we meet on the road an hour south of Dinnegan’s estate by late afternoon. We go forward from there. That way if, as Lady Keldragan suggests, we have a traitor in Ballinasloe, we can lessen the chance that Dinnegan hears of our approach.”
Gregory nodded. “A good plan.” He turned back to Rya. “And this Malachias? Can you manage him? If what you say about his abilities is true, we have no way to fight him.”
Rya smiled, her gaze predatory. “Tell me, Gregory. After what you’ve seen this morning, do you still believe in the Sylvana?”
Gregory leaned back in surprise. First a meeting with someone he had not seen in years, and now reference to the legendary forest warriors charged with holding back the power and terror of the Shadow Lord. Remembering Rya’s appearance before them just a short time ago, he couldn’t deny his belief remained. In fact, her display had only served to strengthen it.
“I do, my lady.”
“Then you can leave Malachias to me. You save your daughter, and I will take care of that dark-souled creature.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Confident Start
“Oclan, keep those men in line!” screamed Killeran. “I don’t care if the Ogren make them nervous. They need to be ready.”
“Yes, Lord Killeran,” replied Oclan, the one-eyed reiver trotting off to do his best to keep his men calm and focused, or at least less anxious and agitated.
He could understand their hesitation, what with them being forced to stand so close to Ogren and Shades. The dark creatures made him nervous as well, the massive beasts towering over his reivers. Too often in the past these unwanted allies had made the mistake of attacking his men rather than the Highlanders. Yet that wasn’t the worst of it. Every so often a Shade felt the need to feed, selecting the closest target. Several unfortunate reivers had met an untimely end in such a way, sucked dry by a Shade in search of sustenance. In the eyes of the dark creatures, Oclan assumed that he and his men appeared to be no more than an easy meal, a thought that kept the reiver captain continually on edge.
Killeran ignored the uneasiness in his ranks, sitting atop his horse, watching the warlocks continue their assault on the gates. The flames licked at the wood, catching along the edges, despite the Highlanders’ frantic attempts to douse the fire with water. Perhaps their efforts would be rewarded if they struggled against natural fire. But not with the flames created by Dark Magic, which burned so long as the warlock maintained control of the corrupted energy. It was only a matter of time before his reivers would have an open path into the village.
But how long would it take? He shook his head in exasperation. He only had a handful of warlocks remaining with him now, compared to his attack on the Crag. Then, he had had several hundred warlocks, and working together they had blown huge holes through the stone walls of the fortress. But now, these dark creatures couldn’t bring such power to bear. Thus, the much slower approach they took in order to break through the village’s primary defense. Even combining their strength, these servants of the Shadow Lord didn’t have the power to blow apart the village’s gates as he had demanded when they had arrived on the plateau.
He struggled to control his irritation. Soon the gates would become a burning husk and he could implement the next part in his strategy.
Killeran smiled at the thought, his rat-like face twisted in glee. The first step in his plan to retake the Highlands was progressing exactly as he’d expected. Even though he had lost a large number of his warlocks during the destruction of his Highland fort, infamously named the Black Hole, and many of the remaining warlocks to the Marchers’ ambushes, he no longer worried that this handful now working before him were all that he had left. The Ogren and Shades Lord Chertney had given him more than made up for his loss of those foolish souls skilled in the application of Dark Magic.
Yes, soon the Highlands would be his once more. They had to be. Otherwise, he’d have to pay the price his benefactor had set for him. And that was a price he could not afford. A price that terrified him.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Arrogance of Power
Maddan Dinnegan sat in a centuries-old chair facing the bed. Handsome, confident, and born into a world of privilege and power, being the son of the richest man in the Kingdoms only added to the arrogance and conceit that seemed to seep from his pores. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted, to whom we wanted, usually with few, if any, consequences. And right now he wa
nted the young lady sleeping on the bed before him. He had wanted her for years. Desperately.
In his mind, Kaylie Carlomin, daughter of the King of Fal Carrach, belonged to him. The same age, he had met her when he went to the Rock for his education and training in weapons and the martial arts. Yes, she was beautiful, her long, black hair setting off her eyes. And her smile could break the coldest heart.
But it wasn’t just her beauty that attracted him. No, he found her so intoxicating for a different reason altogether. She represented power. Real power. A power that only a few in all the Kingdoms could ever obtain. And as the son of the richest man in all the Kingdoms, he understood and appreciated power, believing it should belong solely to him. Therefore, the girl sleeping in front of him should belong to him as well. A tool. A trinket. Something to be used, however he so desired.
In fact, she would have been his by now if not for that incident in the Burren. He had schemed for weeks to convince her and their friends to picnic in Oakwood Forest. Once on their way it had been a simple matter to persuade them to risk the supposed danger of the Burren, a darker part of that forest with so many stories and legends swirling around it that most people kept well away from its borders. But he wanted to show her his courage, believing that such a display would win her heart, and with her heart everything else, including the power he so craved and deserved.
But the excursion had not gone as planned. The stories about the Burren unexpectedly had proven true, as two Ogren had attacked the group while they whiled away the afternoon at a small waterfall. Terrified, his first thought had been escape. His escape. The others in his group could fend for themselves.
His thoughts of Kaylie and proving his bravery had disappeared at the first roar of those terrifying beasts as they emerged from between the trees and charged forward. He never doubted that once he had gotten past that initial wave of fear, he would have acquitted himself well against the creatures that towered over him, their curled tusks dripping with strings of saliva, their roars setting his teeth chattering.