by Peter Wacht
The fastest of the Highlanders had reached the trees when the first reiver galloped into the ravine. Thomas sighed. A few would escape, but not many. They were just too tired, weighed down by the stress and fear they carried with them. The boy immediately placed himself in front of the reiver. It was a futile gesture, but one that Thomas admired. He certainly had courage.
The large boy never had a chance to make use of his sword. The horsemen avoided him and instead went after the women and children, the easiest prey. Recognizing what was happening, the boy ran toward one reiver who had jumped from his horse and grabbed the wrist of a woman clutching a small child to her breast. She struggled valiantly, just a few steps from the trees and freedom. The reiver never knew what hit him as the boy split his head in two, then gave the woman a push into the forest.
When the boy turned, another reiver charged toward him. The boy let out a yell that even Thomas could hear, a cry that tugged at his heart, that demanded that he do something! But he couldn't. Not yet. He had considered using the Talent, but there were at least three warlocks with this band of reivers, and even more in the general area. He was certain he could defeat the three, but it would weaken him greatly. If the other warlocks came upon him in such a state, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He could offer no help now, but perhaps later. If the boy survived.
The reiver charging toward the boy stopped just out of his reach, and instead of pulling out a sword, pointed his hand at the boy. A warlock. Thomas felt the Dark Magic being manipulated in the ravine below. In seconds, the boy slumped to the ground unconscious. With the only threat removed, the reivers made quick work of the remaining Highlanders. Thomas guessed that half of the group reached the safety of the forest. A few of the reivers went after them, but they would have little luck finding them. At least the boy's brave stand wasn't in vain.
The reivers placed chains around the hands of the women and older children they had captured, not bothering with the youngest. Thomas saw the look of defeat on the captives' faces, their hope for freedom extinguished by the steel collars fixed around their necks and the long metal chain that attached one to the other. In only a few minutes it was over. The reivers headed back in the direction they had come with thirty captives trailing along behind them, with the boy tied to the back of the dead reiver’s horse.
It was almost too much for Thomas to bear. This was his home, and his people! Thomas gripped the rocks in front of him, his knuckles white from the strain. He had to do something. He couldn't just sit there and watch. As the reivers disappeared from view, Thomas rose from his place on the cliff and trotted off to the northwest, paralleling their course. Tracking the reivers would be simple; just follow the evil of the warlocks.
Thomas matched his pace to that of his quarry, remaining well off to the west to prevent any chance of discovery. He stayed on his present course for several hours, until the sun began to drop in the sky. The reivers had stopped moving. Thomas wiped his forearm across his brow, removing some of the sweat that formed there. His pursuit had warmed him, so he again tied his cloak into a bundle and carried it across his back with his other supplies. He took a few sips from his water sack before stuffing everything except his sword under two large, column-like rocks, their tops balancing one another to form an oddly shaped entranceway.
He doubted the reivers he pursued would patrol this far to the west, but there was no reason to leave anything to chance. Thomas headed off into the forest, treading silently. Ari, one of his trainers, had spent many hours showing him how to walk across the forest floor without disturbing the branches, twigs or leaves. Thomas excelled at it. His grandfather once joked that Thomas could sneak up on the High King himself after walking five miles on dead branches and leaves, swipe the crown from his head and make his way back to where he started with no one the wiser. Rynlin wasn't far from the truth.
Thomas took his time as he approached. He could now hear clearly the reivers' voices. Though nothing was visible yet, it was louder than it should be. It sounded like this band of reivers had met up with another. The feeling of evil that Thomas had tracked came from just ahead. He continued to step forward on silent feet, then stopped.
Through the trees Thomas saw the campfires of the reivers, most of whom sat around them talking or eating. The prisoners were nowhere in sight, and that worried him. He was about to move closer when the crack of a twig off to his left froze his right foot just above the ground. Reluctant to make any motion, even moving his head just a fraction, Thomas instead used his peripheral vision to find the source of the noise.
A reiver stood off to his left, no more than ten feet away. The man leaned casually against a tree and spent more time looking in toward the camp, attracted by the activity at the fires, than outward. Thomas berated himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings. More foolishness on his part would do little to help the Highland captives and would most likely lead to his death.
That was something he wanted to avoid. He had a feeling that Rya's anger could transcend a simple obstacle such as death. Thomas was about to step backwards when he felt a tickle beneath his nose. The tickle quickly became almost unbearable. Thomas resisted the urge to scratch his upper lip with his finger, standing there for more than a minute, balanced on one foot, trying not to give in to his desire to sneeze. Thankfully the feeling faded away.
Then he smiled. If this guard was any model, the reivers weren't expecting an attack. That was good. It would make his job easier. Much easier. Thomas looked a final time at the guard to his left before silently stepping backward, taking extra time to ensure absolute silence. A few minutes later he was well away from the camp.
He set off at a trot through the forest, going back to the strangely shaped rocks and pulling his travel bag from beneath them. He'd wait until it was early morning, when the guards struggled against sleep. Then the fun would begin.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Silent Approach
The bright light of the full moon lit the reivers' camp as if it were early morning, offering a false sense of security to those within. The sentries had allowed the large cook fires to die down, until they were no more than smoldering ashes. Though the darkness dissipated somewhat, the shadows remained, and it was the shadows that Thomas skillfully used as he circled the camp.
He waited until well past midnight before silently reconnoitering the forest. The leader of this particular band of reivers had placed a ring of guards one hundred feet into the forest. Even with the trees to hide behind, Thomas saw them clearly in the moonlight and easily avoided them. Besides, at this time in the morning, most of the guards were too busy trying to stay awake. Rather than warning of potential danger, the quiet of the forest lulled them into a comfortable daze. Thomas had considered killing them, then discarded the idea. He didn't know when the guards changed. If the next set of reivers found the bodies, or didn’t see the men they were to replace, before he left camp, then this escape would fail.
The reivers set up their camp just as Thomas had expected. The cook fires formed a loose circle that served as the perimeter of the camp with squads of reivers curled up in their blankets around each one. A small cook fire segregated from the rest held a handful of sleeping men. Thomas assumed the warlocks stayed there, away from the others. Beyond the outer perimeter of fires and off to one side was a small tent. Whoever led the expedition probably slept there. On the other side a tiny, lonely fire flickered atop a small hillock. Several dozen bodies huddled around it. The women and children captured in the raid most likely.
After Thomas quietly passed through the outer ring of guards picketed in the forest, he stopped at the edge of the firelight and waited just within the trees. Most of the sentries were asleep, making his task that much easier. He stood there in the shadows for several more minutes, getting a feel for the tempo of the camp. The cool caress of the breeze felt good against his face. Despite the ease with which he passed through the picket line, on the inside his nerves threatened to get the
better him, the cold sweat running down his back confirming it. Whoever led this raiding party was either much too confident or a fool. Having only a thin outer line of sentries was a huge mistake, and one that Thomas happily capitalized on.
Dropping to his stomach in the tall grass, Thomas entered the camp, dragging himself across the ground on his elbows and knees. The tall grass concealed him perfectly, and in a matter of minutes, he passed the cook fires and sleeping reivers and made his way into the center of the camp. The dew on the grass soaked through his clothes, and this time the cool breeze chilled him, but it was a small price to pay for his current success. Thomas remained where he was for several long minutes, looking for any sign of unexpected movement, listening for the wrong sound.
He considered the possible need for a diversion once he freed the captives so they could reach the forest safely. The easiest way to do that, of course, was to use the Talent. A few bolts of energy certainly would cause the panic required. Unfortunately, he couldn't chance it with a half dozen warlocks less than a hundred feet away. Not unless he was left with no other choice. As soon as Thomas drew on the Talent, the warlocks would know, and his great escape would become a grand failure.
No, he'd have to do it the hard way. First he needed the keys since the reivers had chained the women and children together. Again, he could use the Talent, but even the tiny amount of energy required to break the shackles could arouse the warlocks because of their proximity. Though the idea of taking on those lifeless bastards appealed to him, he had no right to further risk the lives of those he meant to free.
Satisfied that no one had stirred, Thomas pulled himself up and crouched low to the ground. Once he got past the campfires, he only had a short distance of open ground to cross to reach the prisoners. Moving back into the shadows of the darkened tent, he surveyed the open space before the hillock. Thomas jumped back in surprise as a dark shape loomed up in front of him.
"What the—"
Not giving the reiver time to finish his sentence, Thomas stabbed with his dagger. The sharp steel slid effortlessly between the links of the man's armor and found his heart. At the same time, Thomas clamped his hand over the man's mouth to prevent the reiver from screaming a warning. Thomas remained in that position until the man’s strength gave out, sapped by the steel of the dagger. As the reiver's knees weakened, Thomas lowered him to the ground. He waited a full minute before removing his hand. Lifeless eyes stared back at him as he wiped his dagger on the man's sleeve. Thomas ignored the accusation he saw. After what they had done to his homeland, reivers deserved little sympathy. Thomas dragged the body behind the tent, thankful for the damp grass, which simplified his task.
Thomas smiled as he studied the scene before him. Another mistake. Thomas decided once and for all that whoever led this band of reivers was indeed a fool. The Highlanders were on a hillock that rose in the very center of their camp. On the one hand, Thomas understood why this site was chosen as a makeshift prison. The Highlanders were visible at all times to anyone in the camp, almost completely eliminating the opportunity for escape. But the reiver in command hadn't taken into account the possibility of help from the outside. A guard stood at each compass point, facing in toward the hillock. But, the guards couldn’t see above the hillock, and therefore could not see one another. Their isolation would work to his advantage.
Thomas approached the first guard, whose back was turned. As he got closer, soft sounds of snoring drifted through the air. The reiver was using his spear to stay erect as he dozed. The man didn't stand a chance as Thomas came up from behind. Thomas slipped his dagger between the links of black chain mail and into his back while his hand snaked around and closed over the man's mouth to prevent a scream. With a final twist of the blade, the man crumpled to the ground. Thomas rifled through his uniform for the keys, but no luck.
He stepped on silent feet around the hillock to the next guard. The thick grass hid Thomas' approach, eliminating the sound of his footfalls as he hugged the earth. This reiver had not fallen asleep, but like his friend, stood facing the hillock. Thomas reached around the man in a smooth motion and sliced cleanly across his throat. He too fell to the ground, dead in seconds. This one also didn't have the keys. Thomas cursed silently. If neither one of the remaining guards had the keys, he’d have to make an uninvited visit to the man in the tent, which would complicate things greatly.
Thomas stepped around the base of the hillock and approached the third guard from behind, the thick grass again hiding his footsteps. Another quick sweep of his dagger across the man's throat and Thomas' task was almost complete. The keys were nowhere to be found, though. Thomas hoped that his luck wasn't running out. He glanced around to make sure that the camp was still silent before trotting through the high grass and coming around to the final guard.
Thomas began his approach from behind, moving slowly, silently, blending into his environment. He held his dagger loosely in his hand. After each kill he had wiped the blood onto the uniform of each guard. He didn't want it to drip down the blade onto his hand. Fergus Steelheart had taught him that, explaining how a young soldier had fought like a hero against the Golden Blades, killing several and displaying a remarkable ability with his sword.
Unfortunately for him, when he finally met Fergus in battle, he had not wiped his blade clean. The blood ran down the hilt and the sword slipped from his hand right when Fergus lunged forward with his own blade. Thomas certainly didn't want to repeat that experience. He was no more than twenty feet away from his final target when the guard abruptly turned around. Bored with his assignment of staring up at a dark hill, he just couldn't stand to look at it for a second longer.
The shock in the man's eyes at seeing Thomas standing there was mirrored in Thomas' at seeing the man turn around. Before the reiver could shout a warning, Thomas adjusted the grip on his dagger, taking the point in his fingers. In one smooth motion he cocked his arm and released. The dagger took the last guard in the throat. The man feebly tried to remove it as his blood poured out onto the earth, but his fingers were already growing weak. The reiver slumped to the ground, the shock still in his eyes. A soft gurgle rose from his lips as his last breath left his body, lost in the soft brush of the wind across the grass.
Thomas rushed forward and searched the man's pockets. He smiled as his hand closed around a steel ring of keys. Perhaps his luck had not yet left him. Taking the keys, he looked around a final time. The camp remained quiet. If all continued to go well, the reivers would never know he had been there until he and the Highlanders were leagues away. Confident of his impending success, Thomas started up the hill as the moon moved lazily across the sky. A few more hours of darkness remained. By the time the sun rose, he'd have these people well on their way to the higher passes where the reivers dared not follow.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Discovery
Killeran tried to sleep in his bed for several hours, but with little success. Something bothered him, he just didn't know what. Maybe it was the almost total failure of the morning raid. He needed more miners, desperately, and he could not afford many more mistakes. If he didn't increase production Rodric would be the least of his concerns. Dinnegan had taken a personal interest in the success of their business venture, and the memories of their last meeting stayed with him. He hated the man, hated him with a passion, but he also envied him. Of course, at the moment, he was in no position to do anything about it.
Killeran threw his covers to the ground and sat up on the bed, swinging his legs onto the rug that covered the grass of the glade. He hastily pulled on his boots and draped a cloak over his shoulders. As he headed for the tent flap, he strapped on his sword. There was little reason to lie here and do nothing. Over the years he had developed the habit of inspecting his men at odd hours. It helped to keep them on their toes. Besides, maybe his doing something would alleviate his worry.
As he walked out into the early morning, he was greeted by a gust of cold wind that slipped undernea
th his open cloak and chilled his entire body. He pulled his cloak closer around himself, muttering and wiping his nose on his sleeve. This blasted, never-ending cold was making his life miserable. As he walked away from the tent, the day's events played through his mind. He couldn't believe how poorly his men had performed during the raid. He had set his trap perfectly, but it disintegrated in a matter of minutes. As a result, he had come away with two dozen women and children and one boy.
He could certainly put them to work in the mines, but they wouldn't last long and would produce very little in the way of gold or precious minerals. He needed the men. They lived longer in the severe conditions of the mines, if only because of their stubbornness. When he returned to his main camp he'd make an example of someone. He couldn't afford their blunders anymore. Such a display always did wonders in terms of the effort put forth by his men.
Killeran made his way into the forest, checking his outer ring of defenses first. He was pleased to see that his sentries were awake at their posts despite the hour. He had expected to find at least one sleeping soundly. A part of him was disappointed. He liked nothing more than putting someone in his place.
Several of the men in this raiding party had served under him for many years. They knew his habits and remembered what he had done to the last man he found sleeping at his post. Stories like that traveled fast among his troops. Killeran believed that fear was all you needed to be a great general. He had proven that time and again. Fear. Respect did nothing for you. With fear, you could achieve anything. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps his men did, indeed, need another lesson. He smiled at the thought.
He returned to the camp a half-hour later and walked toward the hillock, wanting to check the sentries stationed there before returning to his cot. Maybe he could get a few hours of sleep before morning after all. Then he could make an example of someone. It would serve two purposes really: improve the performance of his men and sufficiently cow his prisoners to take away any thought of escape during the long trek back to the fort. Killeran grinned wickedly. Besides, it would be fun.
