by Wacht, Peter
“Yes, but there was a third brother, you said. Wouldn’t he be next in line to the throne?”
“There was. He had watched the combat. Whether he was enamored of Mhacha or fearful, the histories don’t say. But what we do know is that in the end she married the youngest brother, allowing him to be High King in name, while she exercised the real power as queen from behind the throne. However, that youngest brother was a widower — I believe his name was Reynal – and had five sons from a previous marriage. Some say that Mhacha could harness the natural magic of the world, having the ability to ensorcel a man. Some say that’s what she did to Reynal. As his sons grew older, they saw what she was doing to their father. He was not the man he used to be, not the father that they knew, appearing to be just a vessel for the commands of his beautiful queen who remained strangely young.”
“What did they do?” asked Oso, enthralled by the story.
“They attempted to assassinate her, believing that despite her power, she could not do to all five what she had done to her father. But she was stronger than they imagined. Despite their best efforts the uprising failed. Mhacha captured the five brothers in a battle that raged for five days and five nights on the fields upon which Eamhain Mhacha now rises. Feeling some small pity toward her husband, and perhaps fearing that putting the five sons to death would break the spell that she had woven over Reynal, she decided to keep them alive. Using her brooch, she marked the ground to show where the walls of what was to become the capital of Armagh should be. And for the rest of their lives, the five brothers were forced to build the fortress that is now Eamhain Mhacha.”
“Did they not try to escape?” asked Oso.
Rynlin smiled at the brawny Highlander, clearly enjoying this opportunity to instruct once more.
“The stories say that it was never far from their minds. Yet they feared for their father’s life. Upon capturing them, Mhacha threatened them with his death if they did not do as she commanded, and they believed her. But they also knew that their father was an old man, and who knew how long he would continue to live.”
“And now we’ve reached the point of the tale,” said Thomas with a grin, knowing his grandfather’s ways.
“Correct,” said Rynlin, ignoring his grandson’s smug smile. “The five brothers continued to plot as they built the walls and then lay the foundation for the citadel of Eamhain Mhacha, wanting to be prepared for two eventualities. Either the opportunity to rescue their father or, sad as it may be, his eventual death. So it’s said that as they built, they also dug.”
“The caves,” offered Thomas.
“Yes, the caves,” said Rynlin. “Caves and tunnels that run through the foundations of Eamhain Mhacha. The five brothers never had the opportunity to employ the hidden passageways that they constructed beneath the fortress. When their father died, supposedly of natural causes because Mhacha did, in fact, love Reynal, she put the brothers to death, as she was finally strong enough to rule on her own. So even though the five brothers never achieved their goal, we will use their work to overthrow the High King.”
“Let us hope,” said Thomas, “that we succeed where they failed.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Oblivious
Upon crossing the Gullet without incident, and then cutting through northern Benewyn west into the Grasslands, Thomas and his raiders began to travel at night, seeking to avoid any seeking eyes. He or Rynlin regularly used the Talent to search around them and ensure that no hazards lurked. Satisfied that no danger threatened at least for now, and bored with the journey, Thomas decided to have a little fun at his friend’s expense as their Marchers led their horses through the long grass, using the bright moon, full in the night sky, as their guide to the Heartland Lake.
“You know she wants to marry you, right?”
“How can you know that?” demanded Oso. The large Highlander had been thinking of Anara, now charged with coordinating the Highlander defense against the Ogren and other dark creatures during Thomas’ absence. She had taken a liking to Oso after the destruction of the Black Hole and had made her intentions quite clear since then. On the one hand, Oso was pleased to be the object of Anara’s attentions and apparent affection; on the other hand, what that could lead to frightened him.
“How could you not?” replied Thomas, enjoying his friend’s discomfort. “Whenever you two are together, she’s no more than a step away. You do whatever she asks. It’s like she’s made a claim on you, as no other girl will look at you when she’s around.”
“Yes, but …”
“You know I’m right, Oso. She’s already made you her own. You just don’t know it. The smiles. The touches. The whispers.”
Oso was glad for the dark of night. It hid the flush of the heat rising on his face as he spluttered a response. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean …”
“You better be careful, Oso. Anara’s good with a blade, and she always seems to have a dagger at hand. I know she likes to whittle, but there might be more to it than that.”
Oso didn’t know what to say. Was Thomas right? Was Anara hoping and planning for a future together? And if she was, did that thought please him?
He thought he was saved from this uncomfortable conversation when Rynlin appeared next to them, moving Militus, his roan-colored unicorn, up the Marcher column so that he could join the conversation.
“Yes, that young lady certainly has her mind set on you, Oso,” interjected Rynlin. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about it. If she wants you, you’re hers. If she doesn’t want you, she’ll find someone else.”
“What does that mean?” asked Oso.
“It means that you should just accept it, and life will go easier on you.”
“Is that the approach you took with grandmother?” Thomas asked innocently.
Rynlin ignored his grandson’s jibe and immediately turned his attention to Thomas, giving Oso some time to recover from his discomfort.
“And you, Thomas. It seems that you’re in the same situation as Oso and are just as oblivious. But your situation is more time sensitive.”
“What do you mean?” asked Thomas, somewhat perplexed and decidedly uncomfortable that this conversation had now turned toward him.
“The Highland Lord must be married and quickly. The Highlands need an heir. That’s the only way to ensure your Kingdom’s long-term security.”
Rynlin’s devilish grin suggested that he very much enjoyed making his grandson nervous. Thomas couldn’t tell if his grandfather was serious or simply poking fun at him. He tried to sputter out several protests, but each caught in his throat.
Rynlin chuckled at his grandson’s unease. “Don’t worry, Thomas. At the moment I can’t think of a single person who might want to marry you.” Though his grin said otherwise.
Oso let out a deep laugh. “I can think of someone.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mongrels
Thomas and his Marchers were almost through the Grasslands, having just a few leagues to go until they reached the forests that blanketed the land closer to the Heartland Lake. They had made excellent time, avoiding Armagh’s Home Guard and any dark creatures sent to thwart them. Until now. The skin on Thomas’ neck prickled, which for him was a tell-tale sign. Evil approached, of that he was certain. Taking hold of the Talent, he extended his senses, quickly pinpointing the darkness that steadily advanced toward them from the east. He stopped Acero abruptly, Oso and Rynlin following suit with their mounts. Thomas looked at his grandfather, who soon felt it as well.
“Mongrels.” Rynlin spit out the name of the fast-approaching dark creatures. “This is not good terrain to defend against them. I’d prefer a hill or some obstacles at the least, not this flat expanse.”
Mongrels towered over Fearhounds, many reaching the size of draft horses, and were said to be even more aggressive, their size giving them few things to fear. Black or grey in coloring, their sharp, hardened claws could slice through rock. Their incisors, almost as long as a chi
ld’s forearm, could bite through a soldier’s steel breastplate with ease. Yet even with their size, they were fast and could outrun a horse.
“It’s a large pack,” said Thomas, as he tracked the dark creatures with the Talent. He turned Acero toward the men and women following them. “Marchers, Mongrels approach! Form a square two lines deep. Spears in front, bows behind.”
The Marchers immediately moved to obey Thomas’ command, assembling around Thomas, Rynlin and Oso in less than a minute. They didn’t have long to wait for the Shadow Lord’s beasts to make their appearance. The Marchers were lucky, in a sense. It was early morning, and the sun would be rising soon. As a result, the oppressive gloom of night had begun to lighten. So it allowed the Marchers to pick out the monstrous shadows that flowed through the tall grass toward them.
All the Marchers had battled dark creatures before, but not these beasts, which tended to prefer open spaces because of their size and rarely entered the Highlands. The Marchers quickly realized that these massive animals, streaking toward them at a terrifying pace, made taking down an Ogren seem a simple task. They knew how to defeat a dark creature of great size, but fighting one that moved faster than the eye could track was all the more daunting.
“Spears at the ready!” shouted Thomas.
He remained mounted in the middle of the square, his sword blazing with the Talent as the two dozen dark creatures approached. The first rank of Marchers lowered their spears, jamming the butts into the soft earth as a bulwark. The second rank of fighters pulled back on their bow strings, arrows nocked and ready to be launched.
“Spears, aim for the chest or the front legs!” yelled Rynlin. “Archers, it must be the eye! Work together. It will take more than one blow to take down these unnatural devils!”
Although frightened by what they faced, the Marchers’ allowed their training to take over. The men and women in the front ranks gripped their spears tightly as the Mongrels sped toward them. The first dark creatures to reach the Marchers, driven on by their slavish hunger, hurtled toward the spears in front of them with a wild abandon, seemingly unconcerned by the danger presented by the sharp steel. Many of the Marchers were shocked as they watched the first few Mongrels impale themselves on the spears, the tips sinking deeply into their chests. Even then the dark creatures fought to reach their quarry, digging their sharp claws into the turf for traction. To hold off the Mongrels that still struggled toward the Marchers despite being caught on the spears, their razor-sharp teeth, dripping a thick, stringy saliva, chomping closer and closer to unprotected hands, necks and heads, the second rank of Marchers stepped forward, shooting their arrows at point-blank range into the eyes of the Mongrels.
A few Marchers weren’t so lucky, missing their marks with their spears or slicing into the beasts’ haunches instead. Those failures incited a desperate melee as Marchers in the second rank shot the arrows they had on their strings and then dropped their bows, attacking with their swords in an attempt to push back the dark creatures before they could break through the Marchers’ defensive line.
For several minutes the fight teetered on the edge of a blade. Several Marchers died as they strove to plug the gaps that appeared when a Mongrel surged through the line. Though the Marchers’ swords were ineffectual, the steel blades simply bouncing off the Mongrels’ armored hides, the attacks did serve a purpose by distracting the dark creatures. Thomas and Rynlin used these opportunities created by these brave Marchers to full effect. Thomas, having infused his blade with the Talent, charged forward, his brightly glowing steel slicing deftly through the Mongrels’ toughened flesh and forcing the dark creatures back beyond the Marcher shield wall. Rynlin joined the fight as well, protecting his grandson’s back by using bolts of white energy to incinerate the Mongrels’ that threatened to get behind the Marchers. Acero and Militus assisted their riders by driving their spearlike horns into any Mongrel that escaped the attentions of the two Sylvan Warriors. Although the ferocious skirmish seemed to drag on for hours, it actually barely lasted a few minutes.
Just as quickly as the initial charge by the dark creatures started, it ended. A dozen Mongrels lay dead in the grass, a similar number of Marchers with them. The remaining Mongrels, less willing to sacrifice themselves on the Marcher spears, observed their prey from a safe distance, often trotting in slow circles around the square, searching for weaknesses in their quarry’s defense.
“Marchers, form square!” yelled Oso, who wiped black Mongrel blood from his blade on to the grass. Wanting a clear battlefield, the burned and hacked bodies of the Mongrels potentially impeding the Marchers’ during the next charge that he expected was soon to come, Oso issued his next instructions. “Marchers, wheel right one hundred paces.”
The best trained of all the fighters in the Kingdoms, the Marchers performed the maneuver perfectly, shifting their position while maintaining the integrity of their defensive line, so that the ground they now defended was clear of the remains of the first attack.
“Will they come again?” asked Thomas, watching the Mongrels feint toward his fighters, then draw back, continuing to hunt for a weakness and almost taunting the Marchers to break ranks and come at them. “They seem to be playing with us.”
“Aye, they will,” replied Rynlin. “They’re not ones to step away once a fight has started.”
Rynlin counted a dozen Mongrels left, but Thomas was right. The dark creatures were acting strangely, and that worried him. The beasts had tried their standard approach of taking their prey by surprise with little success and had now adopted a more cautious strategy. That didn’t fit with what he knew of these monsters. Mongrels tended to be overly aggressive and impatient with their attacks. Their circling rather than charging a second time suggested that this group could be just the vanguard of a larger pack.
“We can’t stay like this,” said Thomas, thinking much the same as his grandfather. “The forest is only a few leagues away, and that’s a place the Mongrels won’t want to go. It’s too constricting and it works to our advantage. They’re trying to keep us here for some reason.”
“Aye. That could mean either more Mongrels following or something worse on the way.”
“What could be worse than Mongrels?” asked Oso, not sure if he was more curious than afraid, which worried him.
“You don’t want to know, lad.”
“Then it’s time to change our strategy,” said Thomas. “Marchers, form wedge!”
Instantly his fighters obeyed, shifting the square into a battle wedge, spears forward and to all sides, archers staying to the middle. The Marcher wedge started at a walk, then the Highlanders urged their horses to a slightly faster gait as they advanced at a steady pace toward the forest that beckoned to them in the distance.
“Thomas, the Mongrels will figure this out.”
In fact, the Mongrels had already identified the weakness. The very point of the wedge. If the beasts attacked from both sides at once in heavy numbers, they could crush the point of the wedge and drive into the center of the Marcher formation, which would mean the end of the Marchers and easy pickings for the dark creatures.
“I know, Rynlin. That’s what I’m counting on. I want them to attack. Otherwise, they’ll harry us all the way to the woods, and by then we may be too weak to hold them off.”
“Then what are you suggesting we do, Thomas?” asked Oso, brandishing his sword as he scanned in all directions, tracking the Mongrels as they circled the wedge.
Just as Thomas expected, many of the Mongrels sprinted to get ahead of the wedge on both sides of the point. More important, the Mongrels that had trailed behind the wedge had now moved to the front, leaving the Marchers positioned at the back of the formation with no dark creatures to defend against.
“Oso, take the spears from the back of the wedge. Form them into two lines of cavalry. When I call spears to the front, get there as fast as you can. If you’re late, we die.”
Oso instantly set to his task, quickly understanding what
Thomas had in mind. He grinned in anticipation, always preferring an aggressive approach.
The Marcher wedge continued toward the west at a steady pace, the Marchers keeping their mounts at a fast walk, each step bringing them closer to the safety of the forest, the dark smudge of green now visible as tall trees that were spaced so closely together that the Mongrels would find their movements hindered if they followed their prey into the dense wood.
“Rynlin, would you care to join me?”
Thomas led Acero forward, his Marchers parting like water as he moved out in front of the wedge. Rynlin nudged Militus to his side, a scowl on his face.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Thomas?”
“I hope so, too.”
As the two unicorns advanced toward them, the Mongrels howled, bloodlust surging through the dark creatures. The beasts, which had moved to the front of the wedge, leapt forward, charging from both sides, seeking to take the two Sylvan Warriors and crush the point of the wedge at the same time.
Thomas waited to make his move until he judged that the Mongrels had gotten too close to change direction.
“Rynlin, take the right. I’ll take the left. Spears to the front!”
Oso had waited on edge for Thomas’ command, his fighters impatient to charge. Thomas and Rynlin galloped in their respective directions, their unicorns lowering their spear-like horns. The Marchers followed, surging toward the dark creatures from each side of the wedge, spears at the ready. The Mongrels stopped short, or tried to, surprised by the actions of their prey. The Mongrels didn’t realize the danger until it was too late. Oso and his Marchers, having split into two separate groups at Thomas’ call, slammed into the dark creatures’ flanks at exactly the same moment Thomas and Rynlin’s columns thundered into the dark creatures.
What for the Marchers had become a desperate moment quickly became a slaughter, as they ripped through the Mongrels, Thomas and Rynlin leading the way. Acero and Militus drove their spiraling horns into the chests of two of the massive beasts, killing them instantly, the Marchers following after trampling over them. In that single charge more than half of the remaining Mongrels perished, and then the Marchers who had remained with the wedge crashed into the remaining beasts. With clinical efficiency, the Marchers completed their gruesome work, spears disabling and arrows finishing. In less than a minute, it was over. The large Mongrel pack lay strewn about the long grass with no survivors.
