by Peter Wacht
He had never remembered the escape tunnel being so cramped before, his shoulders scraping against the sides. He didn't have time to be careful, though. Alus had given him thirty minutes, and that's all he'd get. Halfway down the hole, Oso pushed in a knob he found with his hand next to the ladder rung. The hatch, table and all, closed, shutting him in complete darkness. He'd have to move by memory now. A few seconds later his feet touched the ground. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before continuing.
As he walked through the tunnel, he hunched over slightly to avoid the low ceiling. He saw the basic outline of the roughly cut rock walls, but little else, which forced him to go slower than he wanted. He traveled through the tunnel a few minutes longer, trailing his hand along the wall, when the glimmer of a torch appeared before him in the distance.
"Hold," whispered a harsh voice. Oso felt the steel pressed against his stomach. One jab and he'd have the luxury of a slow and painful death.
"After spending so much time baking bread and treats for me, Lara, do you want to ruin it all by gutting me like a fish?"
"No, Oso," her sigh of relief audible. "Can't afford to take any chances, though."
Lara resheathed the dagger and led him down the tunnel toward the light.
"Are the men holding?" she asked anxiously.
"For now," replied Oso. "We only have twenty minutes. Warlocks."
Lara grunted her understanding. "Then let's be about it."
When they reached the end of the tunnel, Lara pulled the torch from the sconce in the stone and pushed in on an irregularly shaped stone. The wall in front of her slid quietly to the side. Stepping out into a small ravine a half-mile from the village, Oso shielded his eyes for a moment from the bright sun.
He was glad to see that all of the women and children had made it out of the village. The younger children, many only a few years old, clung in fear to their mothers’ skirts. They didn't know what was going on. That was for the best, probably. The older children knew exactly what had happened, and though they were afraid, they retained their composure. Nonetheless, they remained close to their mothers. The women were afraid too, but that was barely noticeable through their looks of determination. If not for the children, the women would have joined the men. Most of the stories spoke about the skill of the Marchers, yet the Highland women received the same training as the men. Gender meant little to the Highlanders. Only a person's abilities mattered.
As Oso gazed at the women and children, he realized that their eyes had turned to him. He was the leader now.
"Is everyone accounted for?"
"Yes, Oso," answered Rea, her daughter Lisel standing next to her. He was supposed to have dinner with them later in the week. When Lisel had asked, he didn’t know how to say no, but the thought of being stuck between the two as they teased him mercilessly about settling down and finding a wife had set his stomach on edge. Now, the thought of dinner with the two sounded quite appealing.
"All right, then." Oso filled his voice with a sternness that sounded foreign to his ears, yet he hoped it gave his charges a feeling of confidence. "Let's not allow the efforts of Alus and the others go to waste. We have twenty minutes. Everyone knows what to do. Lara, please shut the tunnel door."
Wordlessly Lara walked back to the opening in the ravine wall. She pressed in on a portion of the stone that looked no different than any other and the door swung shut soundlessly.
"Thank you. Lara, you stay in the rear. If you see any sign of pursuit, give a yell. Now remember, if we are attacked, scatter. Go to ground then head for the higher passes. Is that understood?"
He waited until everyone nodded. The fear that battled with determination in the eyes of many of the women, even some of the older children, disappeared. Oso had given them a task, a purpose, and they would focus on that. They would forget their fears and their worries — for now.
"Good. Single file, mothers carrying small children. Let's go."
Oso moved to the front and the Highlanders hastened to obey his commands, the women picking up any small children who could not keep up, the older children forming a line. As he led the motley band out through the ravine and into the forest, he wondered if they would make it. They had a long way to go until they reached the safety of the higher passes. He hoped Alus bought them enough time to escape. They would need every second of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Plan Gone Awry
Those fools! He had given specific orders, but they had failed to follow them. Those stupid fools! He had told them not to engage the Highlanders, just keep them in the same place long enough for the warlocks to arrive. The warlocks needed room to work their Dark Magic. If the reivers were too close, then they would be affected by it as well. But no, as soon as the shout of warning had been given, the sergeants had ordered their men to attack. And now, when the sergeants finally gave the order to disengage and form a circle around the Highlanders, they hadn't moved back far enough. The fools!
Killeran finally reached the bottom of the crest and entered the trees leading to the village. He motioned with his hand, and one of the warlocks stepped forward. He found the warlock’s gaze unnerving. Most people betrayed some emotion with their eyes, whether fear or pain or hate. The eyes of a warlock betrayed nothing. They were empty, devoid of emotion, which made them all the more unpredictable. Killeran equated that unpredictability with danger.
"Yes, milord?"
The grating voice set Killeran's teeth on edge. It sounded metallic rather than human. "Take your men around to the east, over there, by that gap in the trees. You can approach from that direction."
"Yes, milord." The warlock stepped back and motioned for his companions to follow. At least Killeran didn't have to worry about the warlocks obeying his commands.
As Killeran broke through the trees, he saw that his sergeants had finally realized their mistake and were pulling their men farther back in anticipation of the warlocks' arrival. Seeing him approach, the three sergeants ran over to report. He didn't pay any attention, though, as they babbled on like children. He had seen everything that had happened with his own eyes. A quick slash of his hand through the air shut them up. Many generals said that you needed the respect of your men to lead them effectively. Killeran disagreed. In his opinion, you needed their fear, and he had captured that long before.
As he studied the situation, something nagged at him. A boy had run into one of the houses just a few minutes before. Killeran had assumed that he had gone looking for a bow, but the boy had not yet emerged from the dwelling. That was odd. The Highlanders seemed quite content to wait there, in their loose circle around the three houses, for him to make the next move. They could obviously see the warlocks moving around them now, but they didn't seem to care. The boy. What could the boy be up—
Tunnels! That had to be it. The Highlanders hadn't remained to protect the women and children. Instead, they wanted to buy time for their escape.
"Kursool, move the men forward from the west. Push the Highlanders toward that gap in the trees. Now!"
Kursool jumped into motion, startled by Killeran's sharp command. He quickly obeyed, yelling orders to the reivers.
Grabbing another sergeant by the arm, Killeran yelled shrilly into his face. "Help him! Get those men moving now!"
As the second sergeant ran after the first, Killeran turned his attention back to the Highlanders. A tall Highlander was giving orders now, making sure that all of his men heard his words. What was he telling them?
Before the sergeants could get their men moving, the Highlanders charged forward, their bloodcurdling yells echoing through the trees. The large Highlander had picked his spot carefully, looking for a weakness in the circle of reivers. It hadn't taken him long to find it. And just in time, too. The warlocks were almost in position.
The Highlanders ran forward, swinging their weapons above their heads, yelling at the top of their lungs. However, right before they charged into the northern side of reivers, t
he Highlanders reversed direction, running full speed to the south and catching the reivers behind them completely by surprise. Not expecting the attack, the reivers on that side barely had time to raise their weapons before the Highlanders struck.
At the same time, the reivers to the north stood there dumbstruck by the tactic, and many just a little thankful. None had any true desire to come face to face with a Highlander. In a matter of seconds, the Highlanders had broken through the reivers to the south, leaving a trail of dead black-clad raiders behind them. As they got deeper into the trees, the Highlanders scattered to further confuse the reivers, as well as draw them away from the women and children, now hopefully on their way into the higher passes.
The Highlanders' tactic surprised Killeran just as much as it did his men. He quickly recovered, however, cursing his men and doing his best to get them to regroup, but to no avail. The Highlanders had won their freedom, at least for a time. Killeran had planned everything so perfectly, and now it was a disaster.
"So much for those other villages," he muttered under his breath.
He'd be lucky to come away with a handful of new workers now, and he was already counting the three sentries he had captured with the warlocks' aid before the raid even began. He would have preferred to capture the Marchers since they lasted longer in the mines, but pursuing them would be a waste of time. No, maybe he could salvage something from this mess after all. Women and children never lived as long as the men in the mines, but they could still work there, for a time.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
A New Path
Every time Thomas entered the Highlands, a surge of adrenaline rushed through his body. This time he started in the southeast and traveled along the Fal Carrachian border for several days. Lately, each of his visits to the Highlands brought him in contact with Ogren or Shades, and even a few Fearhounds. The Shadow Lord’s minions preferred roaming the northern border because of its proximity to the Northern Steppes. During the last few months, though, the Shadow Lord's spawn had hunted farther and farther south. Thomas found that particularly odd, but had no answer for it. Neither did Rynlin, who normally had an answer for everything. Hence his decision to search in the south first.
As he wandered through the lush forest, gazed at breathtaking peaks and passed hidden mountain lakes, a sense of anticipation filled him. Fighting the creatures of the Shadow Lord gave him a particular pleasure, or rather a feeling of completeness, as if he was doing what he was meant to do. The last time he came this far south he ran across a squad of Ogren. Beluil accompanied him then and they spent the better part of the day stalking the beasts. When evening approached, the five Ogren settled in for the night in a small gully.
Thomas and Beluil waited until the moon moved well across the sky before making their move. It was simple, really, as he silently stepped among the large, dark shapes and Beluil stood guard, watching for any sudden movements. Using his dagger, Thomas slit their throats with nary a sound. It wasn’t the most honorable form of combat, but it was effective. Thomas had learned long before that when you drew steel, you fought to survive. How you accomplished that really didn't matter, as long as you lived to fight another day.
He had just eliminated the last Ogren when Beluil growled softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow gliding along the edge of the gully. The moon dominated the sky that night and the wind remained still. None of the other shadows created by the branches and bushes that encroached on the gully stirred. Rising from his crouch, Thomas pretended to keep his attention on the final Ogren. A deep growl issued from Beluil’s maw as the shadow came closer. Thomas communicated to his friend to stay quiet and still. Beluil obeyed, albeit reluctantly.
The evil emanating from the Ogren disappeared, but a new one replaced it and steadily grew stronger. The shadow crept closer. Sweat streaked down Thomas’ face as he waited with his back turned. The feeling of evil increased as the shadow moved at a snail’s pace along the edge of the gully. Thomas watched from the corner of his eye, but still he waited. Beluil wanted to strike, and the large wolf tensed, ready to launch himself at the approaching shadow. Thomas ordered him to wait. It was not an easy thing for a wolf to do.
The shadow continued to inch along the tree line, blending in with the darkness. At times, Thomas could just make it out. But he didn't have to see it to know where it was. The feeling of evil intensified as it ever so slowly glided closer. The muscles in Thomas' hand itched to grasp his sword as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He waited, though, ignoring the cold sweat running down his brow. The shadow drifted across the open space, approaching him from behind.
The blood pounded in Thomas' head, his mind screaming for him to do something — anything! He remained still, not yet making a move. The shadow was almost upon him, now no more than a few paces away. Just a little closer. Just one more step. In a single motion Thomas pulled his sword from its scabbard and whipped around, swinging the blade in a high, curving arc. A single moment of resistance jolted his arm before the blade continued smoothly on its course. The shadow crumpled at his feet. Beluil leaped forward, prepared to attack if Thomas had failed to strike true. The moonlight revealed an attacker dressed all in black with a black, steel sword in its hand.
A Shade. Thomas had sliced cleanly through its neck. The body convulsed a few times before finally lying still. Beluil watched it warily until he was certain that it no longer posed a threat. The head had landed a few paces away, coming to stand right side up. Thomas had seen only a handful of Shades in his lifetime and was glad for it. Deadly fighters, they reminded him of a snake. Their sinuous yet graceful movements could trick the eye, and a single touch from their swords meant death.
The taletellers said that Shades had once been men, but that the Shadow Lord had changed them with his Dark Magic. If they had once been human, there was no longer any sign of it. From a distance a Shade appeared as any other man, with long, dark hair and black clothes. Yet, their skin held a ghoulish cast. And their eyes always gave them away. Their milky white, soulless eyes. Thomas didn't sleep for two days after that encounter, his nerves still on edge. Where he found the fortitude to stand with his back turned to a Shade he didn’t know.
Turning north a few days after entering the Highlands, and then east once again to make his way back to the coast, Thomas decided that his normal prey had taken to ground, so he adjusted his sights. Whenever dark creatures absented themselves from the Highlands, Thomas instead spent his time hunting reivers. It was remarkable, really. These enemy soldiers occupied a land in which they had failed to conquer the inhabitants, yet they often wandered around as if it was their own, not recognizing the dangers presented by the Marchers and the terrain until it was too late.
His poor luck held, however. He normally found reivers in the foothills, but not this time. Disappointed, Thomas had almost made it back to the coast when he sensed Dark Magic to the west. He immediately went in that direction, moving from the foothills to the higher elevations. The darkness that clouded his senses every time he came in contact with Dark Magic originated several leagues away, and he knew the cause.
Warlocks, which meant a raiding party. But why would they risk searching for Marchers outside of the foothills? The higher passes still belonged to the Highlanders. Whoever made the decision to come this far took a huge risk, which meant Killeran was desperate. You couldn't run the mines without workers, and only his need for more explained this course of action.
The Dark Magic of the warlocks felt very much like the evil Thomas sensed when Ogren or Shades entered the Highlands, but this darkness was more twisted, and more subtle, as if some experiment had gone terribly wrong. He had only come face to face with a warlock once before, when he accompanied Rynlin on a trip to the Breaker. The feeling of wrongness that came from the warlock never left Thomas. Just thinking of the experience made him feel corrupt and dirty.
It didn't take long for Thomas to locate the source of the Dark Magic. He made good
time coming up through the foothills and now stood on a cliff several hundred feet above a Highland steppe laced with ravines and crevices on its northern face. Gusts of cold wind sent shivers through his body, so he unwrapped his dark green cloak and slipped it around his shoulders, securing it beneath his neck. After waiting a few minutes, a flash of movement below him caught his eye.
About a mile away a group of women and children exited the trees. Most walked hunched over, too tired to think, only concerned about where they placed their feet. They didn't bother to scout the surrounding countryside. No, he was wrong. There was a boy with them, leading the group along the floor of the ravine toward a pass that paralleled the steppe and led higher into the mountains. Large boy, rather. Though he was a mile or more away, with his heightened vision Thomas saw that this boy, who looked to be about his own age, was probably the same height as Rynlin with much broader shoulders. He too walked with weary steps, but that didn't stop him from glancing off to the sides every few seconds, looking for any movement. He must be the leader. If so, then it could mean only one thing.
Killeran’s reivers had raided another village. These Highlanders had come a long way obviously, but unfortunately not far enough. The evil of the warlocks Thomas had been following approached rapidly from the same direction the weary troop had just come.
Thomas knelt down next to a cluster of rocks situated near the edge of the cliff. He would never get down there in time to help. Pounding his hand against the rock in frustration, he could only watch. He didn't have long to wait. Less than a minute later the pounding of horses' hooves echoed through the ravine. The boy knew exactly what was happening, but he had few options. Before he even saw his attackers, he ordered his people to scatter. A smart move on his part. Those who made it to the trees on either side would greatly improve their chances of escape. As his people ran for cover, the boy stood in the center of the ravine, his sword drawn.
