The Sylvan Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by Peter Wacht

  "Make sure you're back before dark," he called after them, receiving a wave from his daughter in return as the small party made its way out onto the bridge. Regardless of what she was up to, she couldn't get into too much trouble. Not in Oakwood Forest, anyway. Maybe her friends could offer some protection if need be. Gregory chuckled at the idea. None of them showed the mettle Kaylie had. He hoped her friends’ attitudes didn’t rub off on her. A future queen couldn’t afford to have them.

  As he watched the small group make its way toward the mainland, Kael Bellilil joined him. A head taller than Gregory, he had the grizzled expression of a veteran soldier, and the scars to prove it. Completely bald, and with a scar running across one half of his neck, the joke in the castle was that to win a combat Kael simply had to look at his opponent. A sword wasn’t necessary with such a frightening countenance. No one would repeat such a joke to Kael, however. He was the best swordsman in Fal Carrach, which was why he was the Swordmaster. He had guarded Gregory's back for twenty years, and Gregory could not think of anyone else who could do a better job.

  "Rohn, Maddan and Eric are going to Oakwood Forest to practice their woodlore."

  "Are they now?" asked Kael in the lilting tone of a Highlander. His face crinkled in amusement, making him appear even more frightening. His father had been a Marcher; his mother a woman of Fal Carrach, who had returned to Ballinasloe when he was just a boy after his father was killed in the Northern Highlands fighting Ogren and Shades. Kael had never gone back to his birthplace, finding Fal Carrach more to his liking. "Eric, maybe. But the other two? I don't think so. They don’t understand that if you want to be a soldier, you have to work at it. They're spoiled brats and nothing more."

  "I agree, and that's what worries me." Kael knew Gregory was very protective of his daughter, probably more so than most since she was all he had. Kaylie's mother had died more than fifteen years before from a fever.

  "You needn't worry over her. She's got spirit." For Kael, that was one of the highest compliments he could give, and he didn't offer many. He was an excellent judge of character, and an even better Swordmaster. After ten years of training Fal Carrach's soldiers, there was no danger in worrying over their ability. Only the Marchers could surpass the soldiers he trained. "You know, she wants to learn weapons herself. She asked me to teach her how to use a sword."

  "And what did you say?" Gregory asked the question calmly, though his insides churned. First a horse and now weapons. How was he ever going to turn his daughter into a queen if she wanted to be a soldier?

  "That I was busy training soldiers. I didn't have the time. Then she said she wanted to train with the soldiers. She said that just because she was a girl didn’t mean she couldn’t do as well as they."

  "How did you handle that?" He envisioned exactly how she must have approached Kael — fists on hips, her face an angry red, standing right in front of him, a commanding tone. She just might make an excellent queen some day, if her friends didn't get in the way and she remembered what she learned.

  "I told her she'd have to talk to you."

  "Thanks for the warning. I'm sure it will be a fun conversation." Kaylie and her friends were barely visible now, so he turned toward the kitchen. Kael followed him.

  "She does have spirit," said Gregory. "I just hope that when it gets her into trouble, it gets her out of it as well."

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Awareness

  "Finally," said Thomas. "Finally I get out of here."

  He and Beluil walked quickly down the trail toward the western shore of the island. It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining down warmly on his shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time Rynlin and Rya had let him have some time to himself, with no lessons of any sort. And no chores. He hadn't bothered to ask why. Instead, he left the house as fast as possible, having filled a small bag with food and grabbed his sword, the bow he had made with Ari's help and a sheath of arrows. The bow was truly a massive thing, fully as long as he was tall. Yet, he could pull the string back easily. The weapons training had given him some additional muscle and improved agility. Though he still wasn't very tall, he no longer viewed that as a limitation.

  When he had told Beluil where they were going, he had gotten a sour look from his friend at first, which had turned almost immediately to one of eagerness. He knew the rule as well. Still, that wasn’t going to stop them. Thomas wasn't permitted off the island by himself. Rynlin had taken him across to the Highlands a few times in a small skiff, but only for a few hours. Today his grandparents had said he could do whatever he wanted. They liked Thomas to follow instructions to the letter, so he'd take that order literally. Besides, if he didn’t get off the island, just for a little while, he’d go crazy.

  Reaching the cove, Thomas pulled the small skiff down to the water, holding it steady so Beluil could jump in. He unraveled the sail and was about to push off when a voice behind him made him jump.

  "Good, I'm glad to see that you're ready to go across," said Rynlin, walking down the path to the small beach. "Rya wants me to find some herbs and roots for her that only grow at the edge of the Burren. I could use an extra pair of hands." Rynlin walked past Thomas and stepped into the boat, sitting right behind Beluil. The wolf tried to appear innocent, but failed miserably.

  Thomas couldn't believe it. His one chance for freedom, gone in the blink of an eye.

  "Are you going to stand there all day with that thick expression on your face, or are we going across to the Highlands?"

  His grandfather's words quickly set him in motion. It may not be the way he had planned, but at least he was getting off the island. In only a few moments they were gliding across the waves. He should have expected this. It had all been a little too easy. As they broke free of the cove into open water a gust of wind caught the sail. The small boat skimmed across the waves, pushed along by the strong current. Thomas sat back comfortably, barely having to move the rudder. Relishing the feel of the wind against his face, he watched the fins of the Great Sharks follow after the craft. Though the massive sharks could bite the skiff in half, he wasn't worried. In this part of the channel, the water was no more than three to five feet deep. If he ventured a hundred feet to either side, then he would have to worry.

  Rynlin also ignored the sharks, unconcerned. He settled back in the boat and soaked in the sun, oblivious to the waves lapping against the skiff. The sharks swam as close to the boat as possible, then turned away.

  Reaching the shore, Thomas turned south and followed the coast for an hour until Rynlin told him to beach the craft in a rocky cove where the Highlands met the Burren. After pulling the skiff far enough onto the beach so it wouldn't be caught by the tide, they hid it under some branches. Thomas decided that his escape had failed because his weapons had given him away. Next time, he'd be more careful. He'd leave his weapons outside the house and pick them up on his way.

  As they walked away from the beach, Thomas and Beluil followed Rynlin into the forest, as he led them on a game trail that offered a quicker passage through the dense brush. By midday they reached the edge of the Burren. Thomas pulled out his bag of food for a quick meal of dried meat and cheese and passed some around to Rynlin and Beluil, who just wanted the meat.

  "Now that we're here, it's time to start looking for those herbs that Rya wants," said Rynlin, rising from the rock that had served as his seat. He was dressed much like Thomas — green shirt, brown breeks and soft but thick leather boots, laced up to the knee. "It'll probably go faster if we split up, so why don't you and Beluil head in that direction, and I'll go in this one. We’ll meet back here in three hours." Thomas looked the way Rynlin pointed. That direction would take Thomas deeper into the Burren, which surprised him. Thomas smiled.

  "Thanks, Rynlin," said Thomas, as he and Beluil slipped between the trees.

  Rynlin just nodded as he watched his grandson disappear in the thick foliage, the sun barely making its way through the branches. Thomas would be right at home. When
his grandson had walked out the door with his weapons, Rynlin immediately knew where he was going. Rya wanted to stop him right there, but she held her temper after Rynlin promised that he would go with him.

  He agreed with Rya that it was safer for the boy on the island. Unfortunately, you couldn't keep him there forever. He had to see the rest of the world some time, even if only a small part of it. Besides, Thomas was no longer a boy, and in Rynlin’s opinion, never really was one. They'd have to begin treating him as a man at some point anyway. With Beluil around, Rynlin was certain Thomas wouldn't get into too much trouble.

  After Thomas and Beluil had wandered off, Rynlin moved over to an inviting looking tree, its roots curving along the ground in a manner reminiscent of a bed. Sitting back comfortably against the bark, Rynlin closed his eyes. Yes, three hours would be just long enough for him to take a nap. The herbs could wait. He had more important things to attend to.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Sense of Dark

  Thomas took several deep breaths as he journeyed into the Burren. He wasn't sure what he enjoyed most: the smell of new surroundings or the taste of freedom. After six years on the island, the urge to explore, to see something new, almost overwhelmed him.

  Picking up his pace, Thomas jogged beneath the trees sure-footedly, darting around the trunks and easily avoiding the roots and branches littering his path. One of his teachers, Fergus Steelheart —the captain of the Golden Blades, the legendary personal guard of Ollav Fola — was now instructing him in swordplay. The men who formed the Golden Blades were reportedly the best swordsmen in all the lands. When Fergus served as captain, he was considered the best of them all.

  He had explained to Thomas that most soldiers wore their swords at their hips, which seemed like a good idea if you were marching into battle. However, running through the woods with your sword in that position would slow you down, and possibly even trip you. So Thomas preferred to hold his weapons in his hands when wandering about as Fergus had shown him; sword in one hand, bow in the other, quiver of arrows across his back.

  Beluil loped along beside him, enjoying the game. Soon, both were running at full speed, racing to see who could best negotiate the obstacles of the forest. The excitement of the contest thrilled Thomas as he ducked under a low branch then leaped across a small stream. Sometimes he would lead, other times Beluil, yet neither gained more than a pace on the other. Though dead leaves and branches covered the floor of the forest, neither made a sound. The only evidence of their movement was the air they disturbed in their swift passage.

  Thomas had just dodged around a huge rock when he skidded to a halt. It took Beluil a few moments to realize that his friend was no longer with him. Trotting back the way he had come, the large, black wolf found Thomas standing as still as a statue, a faraway look on his face. Beluil formed a question in his mind. In an instant, Thomas' eyes opened.

  "Something doesn't feel right, Beluil," he said, breathing easily despite the exertion. "It's almost as if there is something in the Burren that doesn’t belong here."

  Again Beluil formed an image in his mind.

  "No, I don't think it's a Mongrel, or Fearhounds. I'm not sure what it is." Thomas focused on the source of his unease. He could feel nature all around him, and the Burren in particular. In his mind he pictured the dense forest as an area of green on a large map. The wrongness cut a deep red swath into the green, killing it, burning a hole into this well of life. He had had a similar feeling before, this sense of evil. The memory came back in a rush. He would never mistake that feeling again.

  Beluil looked at him expectantly. Thomas sent him an image of the wrongness — Ogren. Beluil howled with eagerness. It was time to hunt. Thomas recognized what Beluil intended, and it took only a moment for him to decide what to do. Rynlin was more than an hour behind him. By the time Thomas reached his grandfather, the feeling might disappear. And, even if the trail remained, Rynlin probably wouldn't let him pursue it. Beluil was right. He had wanted excitement, and now he had gotten it. It was time to hunt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Hunting Again

  The darkness in the cave was complete. Though the season had just turned to fall, the heat of the Clanwar Desert, only a mile or so away, could still become unbearable in the far western reaches of the Highlands, and its nights could be deathly cold. That worked to the bloodsnake's advantage. Its prey, the wild pigs and small deer that lived on the border of the sand, often escaped the heat by finding a cave for shelter along the foothills of the Highlands, where it was cooler. For these animals, the caves were sanctuaries. For the bloodsnake, they were feeding grounds.

  The bloodsnake slid slowly up the rocky slope. Its body stretched for almost thirty feet, and its head held hundreds of sharp fangs, each one filled with lethal poison. Only one result came from the bite of a bloodsnake — a quick and painful death. The reptile took its name from its blood-red skin. Rumor had it that the blood of the snake's prey actually created the color. The darker the color, the more kills the snake had made. Bloodsnakes were one of the greatest dangers of the Clanwar Desert, for they had no natural predators. As a result, these creatures feared nothing, not even man. More than once unwary travelers had come upon one, much to their misfortune.

  The snake moved silently into the darkness of the cave, its long body twisting and turning to propel it forward. A bloodsnake hunted its prey by sound. Once it found a target, it mimicked the motion of its prey so that the animal's own sounds hid the snake’s approach, until it was close enough to strike. As the bloodsnake moved into the deeper recesses of the cave, it sensed a slight motion toward the back. It began its attack, slithering forward quietly, the sound of its scales scraping against the rocky floor masked by the movement of its prey. When the motion stopped, so did the snake. It was a time-consuming process, but the bloodsnake was patient. Its hunger would be abated soon. Though it couldn't see in the pitch black, it didn't matter. It didn't need its eyes to hunt.

  Suddenly, the snake felt a claw grab hold of its neck. It tried desperately to break free, opening its mouth to bite at its attacker, but the grip around its head tightened. The bloodsnake was dragged easily into the light of the cave's entrance. The snake finally saw the arm of its captor, corded muscle rippling under a skin as dark as granite. For the first time in its life the bloodsnake knew fear. It writhed desperately, trying to break free. The claw tightened its grip once more, crushing the air from its body. The bloodsnake knew that it was going to die.

  The Nightstalker looked at the bloodsnake contemptuously with its glowing red eyes. With a quick flick of its wrist, the Nightstalker broke the bloodsnake's neck, letting the lifeless body fall to the stony ground.

  Finally, after all this time, it felt its prey again. It had never hunted for so long before. The Nightstalker had followed its prey for several days after receiving its task, only to have the feeling abruptly disappear. The Nightstalker had waited through the years for its prey to appear again, and now it finally did. It had sensed its prey briefly at times, yet only for a few fleeting moments, and never long enough to begin the hunt. Now, though, it knew for sure.

  The Nightstalker spread its arms out wide, the muscles in its shoulders flexing, the wings on its back stretching to their full length. The hunt would finally begin again. Its master would be pleased.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Ego Run Amok

  When Kaylie first thought of sneaking into the Burren, it seemed like the perfect adventure and a chance for some freedom. As she grew older, the demands made on her as a princess were becoming more and more of a burden. Her lessons were one thing. She didn't mind learning history or arithmetic or statesmanship. But standing still for several hours because of some stupid ceremony was just a little too much. She wanted to have some fun for a change. Unfortunately, her adventure wasn’t turning out as she had hoped.

  How come your expectations never matched reality? It had begun at the very start. After going across the bridge and thro
ugh Ballinasloe, they had turned north and entered Oakwood Forest. Maddan automatically took the lead, which greatly irritated Kaylie. The expedition was her idea. Therefore, she should be at the head of the group, so she had demanded to know what he was doing, using her most commanding voice. Maddan’s answer, "Because a queen's champion always rides before her," soured her mood for the rest of the morning. Why did men always assume that women needed protection? Judging by Maddan's skill with weapons, she stood a better chance on her own.

  What bothered her even more was Maddan's assumption that he was her champion. He was handsome she had to admit — blond hair, blue eyes, dazzling smile — and he had been paying a lot more attention to her in the past few weeks. More often than not, he'd come to her apartments after his weapons training to see if she'd like to go for a walk.

  Yet, despite his good looks, and much to the consternation of her friends, she quickly had grown tired of him. He spent most of the time bragging about how good a fighter he was, even going so far as to say that when Kael Bellilil retired, he would become Swordmaster. In Kaylie's opinion that was a long shot at best. Maddan was like all the other boys at the Rock — full of themselves; confident to the point of arrogance primarily because of their family’s wealth or status. Many of them conveniently forgot that the respect and courtesy with which they were treated had not been earned by them, but by their parents or grandparents or great-grandparents.

  True, hearing how beautiful her eyes were, or how silky her hair, or how witty her tongue, had been nice at first. But the more the boys voiced it, the less she believed them. Now it was a nuisance. None of the boys she knew could get past the fact that she was a princess. In fact, that seemed to be all they saw, especially Maddan. If Maddan’s father had already talked to her father about a possible marriage, she would not have been the least surprised.

  Kaylie crinkled her nose in disgust. The thought of marriage almost made her gag. Her father had said she should think about it. Becoming an adult, if only in the eyes of the law, had made it all too apparent. But what if she wasn't ready? All the Kingdoms were ruled by kings, except for Benewyn. Why should she have to share Fal Carrach with a man, just because he was a man? It didn't seem right. In fact, it wasn't right. Why couldn't a woman rule Fal Carrach? She had the distinct feeling that all the books she had read during her classes about the proper etiquette of a dignified and noble woman had been written by men. Why couldn't she ride off to war at the head of her father's army? Just because it normally wasn't done didn't mean she couldn't do it. She shook her head in frustration.