by Peter Wacht
He could have waited to find out if Malachias defeated the woman and turned the tide of the fight, but his well-tuned survival instinct told him something else. It was time to leave. He walked through the hidden door from which the black-clad men had first appeared, carrying several bundles of documents, not bothering to look back at his son.
Maddan stood there for a long moment, frozen, shocked by the sudden turn of events. All their plans had been moving forward as expected and were well on their way to completion, yet in a matter of minutes it had all fallen apart.
“Stop!” he shouted, a ripple of fear making his voice waver.
With his father’s disappearance into the tunnel and the guard gone, Kaylie had begun inching toward the open door that led to the front of the mansion.
“You’re coming with me.”
Maddan walked toward her, pulling the dagger at his belt. Kaylie scanned around her in desperation, seeking anything with which she could defend herself. Kael had trained her in the blade, but there was nothing within easy reach. And though she had begun to learn how to defend herself with only her hands, she doubted she had the ability or strength to take on the larger and slightly crazed Maddan.
With no other options coming to mind, Kaylie returned to her training with Rya. She immediately felt more confident. Despite the fast-approaching threat presented by Maddan, she took hold of the Talent in an instant. Unsure of what to do, as she had had limited instruction, she fell back to her most recent lesson, though refining it just a bit.
Much to her delight, it worked. A small chest that sat on Dinnegan’s desk began to hover a fingerbreadth above its surface. With a flick of her wrist the chest flew through the air toward Maddan’s head.
He almost saw it too late, but he ducked at the last second, uncertain of what had just happened. He didn’t have time to think on it.
Pleased with her first attempt and now confident in her newfound ability, Kaylie used the Talent to fling a crystal bowl through the air aimed at her attacker, followed by a pair of candlesticks and then several books from the stacks behind her.
Maddan defended himself as best as he could, the dagger useless in his hand. But it was the last object that rose from his father’s desk and shot toward his chest that was the final straw. Dropping to the ground, he scrambled on hands and knees to the hidden door, lunging through and slamming it shut behind him just as the letter opener dug into the wood, quivering from the force of the strike.
Kaylie smiled and took a deep breath, relieved.
“A new skill, Princess?”
Kael Bellilil stood in the doorway to the office, his sword, covered with streaks of blood, in hand. So focused on defending herself, she had not heard the Fal Carrachians break into the mansion.
“Yes.” She had no other reply, her pride obvious.
“Seems quite useful,” he said with a grin. “Now if you’re finished, it’s time to go.”
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Statement Made
The two Shades dispatched, Thomas sought to continue his advance toward Killeran, but a new opponent appeared before him.
“So you’re the boy causing all the trouble,” muttered a scarred reiver missing his right eye. “I’m going to end everything right now, as I should have long ago.”
Thomas remembered the reiver from ten years before as if it were yesterday. Oclan. The man had tracked him through the Highlands when he made his escape from the Crag at his grandfather’s behest. Thomas had survived the pursuit by hiding in the Southern River, breathing through a reed as he waited for the reivers to move on unaware of how close they had come to finding their quarry.
The reiver leapt toward Thomas, his war cry preceding him. Thomas stood there calmly. If the reiver thought that his demonstration would force Thomas into doing something foolish, he was mistaken. As the reiver slashed his blade toward Thomas’ neck, he ducked and rolled, shifting his grip on his sword and stabbing backward, his blade sliding into Oclan’s back, its point emerging from his chest. Red blood welled up on Oclan’s shirt, saturating his leather armor. Thomas stood there for a few seconds, not even turning back to the reiver, as the battle-scarred warrior slid off his blade and fell to a heap on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring up at the grey sky. Thomas took no satisfaction in his victory, knowing only that it was necessary.
Thomas jumped back into the battle, but much to his dismay, he saw Killeran riding hard to the east, Renn and Seneca unable to close a gap between their two war parties before Killeran slipped through protected by a handful of Ogren. Aggravated by his bad luck, Thomas turned his thoughts away from pursuit and retribution. Instead, he focused on the larger task at hand as his Marchers drove into the enemy host with a vengeance.
The Marchers continued to push, tightening the vise, forcing their enemies closer and closer to the precipice. His prize having escaped him, Thomas concentrated on the last Shade standing. Thomas suspected that this Shade differed from the others. Therefore, he approached the dark creature warily, oblivious to everything else around him. Not wanting to give Thomas the advantage of an attack, the Shade released a shard of darkness, followed by another, and then another.
Momentarily taken aback, never having come across a Shade with Dark Magic, Thomas used his Talent to call the wind, which became a swirling mass in front of him and deflected the deadly bolts, knowing that if the Dark Magic struck him it would destroy him in seconds. Tamping down his surprise, ready for anything now, Thomas continued his approach, walking slowly, gracefully, toward the Shade, blazing sword held at the ready, a look of grim determination on his face.
Thomas attacked first, his blade a whirl of steel, the Shade barely able to keep up with him. A small space had opened up around them, as the reivers, driven close to the edge of the precipice, began surrendering. The Marchers killed the remaining Ogren with no mercy, oftentimes just forcing them off the edge. Some of the reivers were caught up in it, shoved off as well, but that didn’t bother the Marchers in the least. These men had murdered and tortured their families and friends. A fall to their death was a better ending than many deserved.
Thomas reached the precipice, the Shade trying to gain room to maneuver by jumping up onto a sliver of stone that rose up above the ground and hung out over the thousand-foot drop. Thomas refused to allow the creature to disengage, following him out on the stone, his blade a steel blur as he continued to push the creature back toward the edge, much like a pirate forcing an unlucky captive to walk the plank.
The Shade had nowhere to go. Every time their blades met, sparks flew around them. Thomas began to break through the Shade’s defenses with regularity, slicing the creature in a dozen places, the strange black goo that was its blood leaking out and staining the stone upon which it stood. Desperate, the Shade tried one more time with its Dark Magic. In a flash of black light, a dark creature almost twice as tall as Thomas appeared in front of him on the stone. Thomas had never seen its like before.
Resembling a Nightstalker, but with no wings, the beast attacked Thomas with razor-sharp claws and a tail that resembled a whip as thick as a man’s forearm. The creature snapped its tail continually at Thomas, forcing him back across the stone. Several times Thomas brought his shining blade up just in time, deflecting the creature’s tail and taking a chunk of hardened flesh from it. But the wounds had no impact on the dark creature called by the Shade. Despite its exertions, the beast never seemed to tire or feel pain, fueled by a berserker rage. Each time its tail missed Thomas, the scorpion-like point at the end chipped into the stone, sending small rocks flying off into the abyss. Thomas concentrated on defending himself, staying out of reach of the tail and catching the creature’s claws on his glowing blade before they could cut through his defenses.
The duel fully consumed Thomas as he knew that this last fight must be won for the Highlanders to declare victory. The reivers having surrendered, all the other Ogren and Shades driven off the precipice, the Marchers stood there silently, watching, mesm
erized by the speed of the combat, barely able to track the lightning fast movement with their eyes. Losing patience and tired of the onslaught, Thomas drew on a hidden reserve of resolve.
As the creature’s tail came down, its claws coming forward, Thomas used the Talent to throw a bolt of light between them, momentarily blinding the beast and giving Thomas the second he needed. He brought his sword up in a blindingly fast stroke and sliced off the demon’s tail.
Then, calling on more of the Talent, he infused his glowing sword with even more of nature’s power, to the point where it burned so brightly the Marchers watching could see nothing but the dazzling light and no sign of the steel beneath it. The raging energy blinded the creature, and Thomas used its momentary hesitation to slide the infused steel through the demon’s attacks and into its heart. In an explosion of blackened ash, the demon disintegrated before his eyes, the strong wind whipping across the sliver of stone and scouring clean the corrupted cinders, which drifted down to the gorge below.
Sword still filled with the Talent and burning brightly, Thomas turned his merciless gaze, fiery green eyes glowing brightly, to the Shade. Thomas attacked with a controlled fury. He lost himself in the fighting. His body and mind were one with the blade, the steel simply an extension of his arm. He felt no emotion, only purpose. It was over in less than a minute. Unable to withstand Thomas’ assault, the glowing blade sliced cleanly through the Shade’s neck. The dark creature tottered on the edge of the stone for a moment before gravity pulled it down toward the river raging far below.
Thomas breathed deeply as he stood on the sliver of stone, somewhat elevated above his Marchers. He closed his eyes to center himself, then turned slowly, sword in his hand, the energy of the natural world still pulsing across the blade. Thomas surveyed the battlefield, the eyes of the men and women who believed in him, who had trusted him, turned toward him. Unexpectedly, he felt a pull much like he had when he became a member of the Sylvana, like a binding to the land, knowing that he truly was the Lord of the Highlands now, that the Highlands were his to rule and protect, that the Marchers were his to lead.
Lord of the Highlands and truly the defender of the Highlands as a Sylvan Warrior. He was of the Highlands and the Highlands were a part of him. He closed his eyes, taking in everything around him, just like a raptor flying across the land peering down at the valleys, the trees, the peaks, watching the fish swim in the rivers. He soared among the highest peaks, swooping over the cliffs, feeling the rush of the water in the streams, the breeze sweeping across the long grass. For a moment, this new awareness threatened to overwhelm him.
The screech of a massive raptor, circling above him, awakened him from his trance. The bird was defiant, proud. The raptor swooped down over Thomas then settled on the wall of Anselm, staring at Thomas with what he imagined to be pride. He had no doubt that he knew the raptor. It was the same one he had come across when he visited the Roost just a few short weeks ago.
Smiling broadly, he looked down once again, surveying his fighters, acknowledging their determination and pride, their tension finally released by having accomplished something that just months before they never thought possible. Thomas raised the pulsing Sword of the Highlands above his head. He glanced at the inscription running the length of the blade on both sides: “Strength and courage lead to freedom.”
Thomas had always thought those words applied to what he had to do. He didn’t realize until that very instant that the words applied to him as well. Thomas finally understood that those words, so long a part of his Kestrel family legacy, could also help relieve him of his own burdens, his own responsibilities.
“We are the Highlanders!” yelled Thomas, his voice carrying well beyond the small valley. “The Highlands are ours once more! The Highlands are free! We are free!”
A mighty cheer erupted from the Marchers, his Marchers. And then the chant began: “For the Highlands! For the Highlands! For the Highlands!”
The chant echoed off the surrounding peaks, traveling for leagues throughout the Highlands.
Then ever so subtly the chant changed: “For the Highland Lord! For the Highland Lord! For the Highland Lord!”
The Lost Kestrel had returned. And he had made the Highlands and the Marchers his own.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Worthy Pride
“Well done, girl.” Having confirmed much to her frustration that Malachias had escaped, Rya had walked to the front of the estate and embraced Kaylie in a warm hug. “I’m proud of you.”
Kaylie beamed with pleasure at the compliment. Kael stood protectively behind her as her father conversed with his soldiers and gave orders for a search of the estate. Gregory doubted he would catch Dinnegan and his son, but it was worth the attempt. If they failed to bring him and his son back, he promised himself that eventually he would catch up to Dinnegan. When he did the traitor would pay the ultimate penalty for his greed and treachery.
“Lady Keldragan, my thanks.” Finished issuing orders, Gregory joined them. Now that his daughter was safe, he could breathe easier.
“It was nothing, King Gregory. Besides, I have a special interest in this one.”
Gregory glanced at his daughter. She seemed to be trying to appear unobtrusive, which was an uncommon undertaking for Kaylie.
“Oh. How so?”
“She’s one of my better pupils.”
“Pupil?”
Gregory saw Kael grin, but that quickly disappeared when his daughter scowled at the Swordmaster.
“I’m sure your daughter will fill you in,” said Rya, her pride in the Princess of Fal Carrach still evident. “Kaylie, you will need to continue on your own for a time. I expect you to have mastered your lessons by the time I return.”
“But why?” asked Kaylie. “Where are you going?”
“I have things to do that simply can’t wait any longer. And my friends need to know about Malachias and what’s been occurring here in Fal Carrach.”
Kaylie was flustered for a moment. She actually found Rya’s prickly demeanor comforting. Rya was sharp with her words and demanding. But she had quickly grown on the young woman who had never had a strong female presence in her life.
“But does the threat …”
“Kaylie, remember what we have talked about. Remember what you have learned. There is much you can do. You need only think and apply yourself.”
She nodded, saddened to lose Rya if only for a time, but heartened by her words.
The petite woman stepped forward and gave Kaylie another hug. She then whispered into her ear, “You will know what to do when the time comes. Stay strong. Stay sharp.”
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Threat Eliminated
Captain Garlan knelt on the hard stone floor of the Rock’s great hall, his hands chained behind him.
“Enough, Garlan. Your lies will do you no good. You betrayed my daughter. Who aided you?”
Taken from his room during the night, Kael Bellilil and his men had been less than gentle, having little patience for traitors. At first Garlan offered one falsehood after another for his actions, yet none believable. Finally, after Kael and his men worked to convince him to tell the truth, the story started to come out. Garlan’s anger at never being considered for Swordmaster was well known within the Rock, but usually ignored by the Fal Carrachian soldiers stationed there, believing that based on his competence Garlan had already risen higher within the ranks than he deserved. Garlan had revealed much of his thinking beyond the Rock during his frequent visits to the harbor’s many taverns, so it didn’t take long for Dinnegan to identify him as a possible accomplice and then apply the screws needed to gain his willing engagement in the plot.
Kaylie stood beside her father, forcing herself to watch the interrogation, knowing it was important to do so. She had no doubt that Garlan had participated of his own free will and had not been compelled by Malachias. The large bag of gold found in his room, likely provided by Dinnegan, suggested his real motivation. Yet K
aylie knew the puzzle still missed a piece. Garlan was a conspirator, but he was not the assassin.
As she allowed her mind to wander and follow that loose thread, she sensed a disturbance above them. Without even thinking she took hold of the Talent. A crossbow bolt shot straight toward her father, and with a deft control she used the Talent to stop the steel shaft, holding the missile in midair, just feet from striking home.
Her father watched in amazement, completely taken aback. Before Kael could even pull his sword from his scabbard to defend his king with a flick of her wrist Kaylie sent the bolt back in the direction from which it had come.
A groan echoed through the chamber, followed by a clatter as a hooded man, dressed in black and grey to better hide in the shadows, fell from the rafters that crisscrossed the great hall.
For just a moment, silence reigned. That was quickly broken as Kael and the guards at the back of the hall drew their blades and approached the body, confirming that the curly-haired assassin was dead.
Kaylie did not experience any guilt at what she had just done. She had never killed a man before, so she did feel queasy, her stomach beginning to voice its displeasure at watching the assassin’s blood spread across the floor. But she felt pride and relief as well at having protected her father. She tried to avoid her father’s stare, but found the task impossible. When finally she turned, she saw a knowing expression on his face. She assumed that he understood now what type of instruction Rya had been talking about after the skirmish at Dinnegan’s estate.
“I guess I forgot to mention a few of the things that happened while you were away,” she said sheepishly.
“Yes, you did.”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE