by Peter Wacht
"Yes, I know Coban, but I haven't seen him since I was a small child. I knew him at the Crag."
Oso sensed that his friend had lost interest in conversing. He was somewhere else, probably living in his memories. Oso desperately wanted to know why Thomas had been at the Crag. Had he been there during the attack? Who else did he know? But he didn’t ask. It just didn't seem like the right time. Maybe later.
Coban was one of the few Marchers who had escaped from the Crag, and he and the other survivors refused to talk about it. The memories were too painful for them. Oso knew that they blamed themselves for what had happened to the Highlands since the death of Talyn Kestrel. He also knew that they had done everything they could to protect the Highland Lord, yet fate had worked against them. And now his new friend had also lived at the Crag. Thomas certainly was full of surprises. He couldn't wait to see what he learned next.
CHAPTER NINE
Fighting Back
Thomas' days in the mines seemed to last forever. During the day the only sounds that traveled through the tunnels were the rattling of chains, the occasional clunk of a piece of rock dropped into the bucket, and the constant hammering of the pickaxe into the stone. He saw little of the sun, moving from one darkness to the next, with little to amuse himself except thoughts of escape.
Killeran had not yet led another raiding party in search of new workers, so the warlocks remained in the camp. Until Killeran did, and took the majority of warlocks with him, Thomas would have to wait before putting his plan into action.
Of course, Thomas did have to thank the mines for one blessing. Killeran had lost interest in him since he had been put to work, which allowed his body to heal. The cuts and bruises slowly healed, along with the headaches. He had passed the pit at the mine entrance ten mornings, and each time it had been empty — until today, when the body of a small child lay atop the open grave.
The power of the Talent rushed within him for the first time in weeks as he entertained thoughts of killing every reiver in the fort, but it would serve no purpose. The surprise on the face of the child who had died the night before, of not understanding what was going on and why it was happening to him, haunted Thomas throughout the day. There was so much he could do, yet so little. As a result, his rage boiled just beneath the surface, fueled by his frustration, waiting to explode.
Thomas heard the clanking of chains off in the distance and realized his eleventh day in the mines was almost over. The reivers were forming up the chain gang for the slow trip back to the Black Hole, as the Highlanders called Killeran’s fort.
A reiver soon appeared before Thomas, walking confidently down the dark tunnel with a key in his hand. Thomas had known of his approach for some time, his bad breath having preceded him. The thought of killing the man with his pickaxe sped across Thomas' mind, but first he’d have to break the chain connecting it to the stone.
The reivers had done everything possible to eliminate any hope for escape. After Thomas put down the pickaxe and stepped away from it so it wasn’t within easy reach, the reiver unlocked the chain from Thomas' steel collar and pushed him back up the passageway toward the other miners.
As he drew closer, something looked out of place, something that only he could see in the murky darkness. Normally, the Highlanders stood silently one behind the other once the reivers were ready to go back, exhausted by their efforts. But there was some kind of commotion at the back of the line. Freed from his neck irons, Thomas ran forward, surprising the reiver behind him. The guard shouted for him to stop.
Thomas ignored the reiver, running as fast as he could with the chains still attached to his ankle irons. Thanks to the journey after his capture, he had learned how to move quickly when impeded in such a way. The Highlander at the back of the line was lay on the hard stone floor, curled up into a ball as two reivers viciously kicked him with their steel-tipped boots. The other Highlanders, chained as they were, could do nothing to help. The Highlander was a threat to no one in his current condition, yet the reivers continued to kick him, their heavy boots thudding into his body.
Thomas lunged toward the two reivers, knocking both of them down. The reivers never expected an attack. Thomas took the opportunity to inflict some punishment of his own. Though his legs were chained, his arms were free. As one of the reivers tried to sit up, Thomas hit him with a flurry of punches. The crunching sound of the man's nose breaking filled Thomas with satisfaction. The anger that had simmered within him during the day finally had a release. The reiver fell back again in pain, clutching at his face as blood poured down onto his shirt.
The second reiver was tangled in the chains around Thomas ankles and having a hard time regaining his feet. Thomas kicked out with his feet, taking the man full in the face. Another crunching sound accompanied the blow. With his two opponents no longer in the mood to fight, he crawled over to the fallen Highlander. The man lay face down on the rocky path and hadn't moved since Thomas intervened. Grabbing hold of the Highlander's shirt, he pulled him over onto his back. Thomas drew back in shock. It was the Highlander in his dream. The Highlander who had spoken to him while sitting on top of the pit outside the mines. The Highlander who had died.
Thomas quickly recovered his senses and placed his ear just above the man's mouth. He was breathing. The man wasn’t dead after all. Relief surged through him. If he could prevent one dream from becoming reality, perhaps he could do the same thing about the others as well.
However, his victory was short-lived. Thomas suddenly felt a great weight on his back that crushed him against the ground. A half dozen reivers piled onto him, holding him down. Not satisfied that he was subdued, one of the reivers drew his dagger and brought the hilt down sharply across the back of Thomas' head. The darkness around him became more complete as he lost consciousness. The last fleeting thought that passed through his mind was one of pleasure. The Highlander would live, at least for now. The headache he would wake up with was a small price to pay for that.
CHAPTER TEN
Promise of Payment
Thomas groaned as his eyes adjusted to the bright light from the torches. He remembered working in the mine, but after that everything was a blank. The pain in the back of his head told him what he needed to know. He was getting very tired of being hit there. Very tired. When he tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness washed over him. Fighting against it, he tried to roll over onto his side, but he couldn't. In fact, he couldn't move at all, except for his head.
Lying back, he waited several minutes for the dizziness to pass. During that time he looked at his surroundings as best as he could. He was in some part of the barracks, he guessed. The floor was covered by a thick rug and the walls by rich tapestries, all with a Highland flair. Except for a large chair at one end of the room that resembled a throne, the room was bare. Killeran's quarters. Only he would have stolen so many things from the Highlanders and displayed it all so brazenly.
Finally, as his vision cleared and his headache receded to a dull thumping at the back of his skull, Thomas raised his chin to his chest. He had been strapped to a board, with his arms and legs tied down. Killeran. Killeran must have something planned.
"So young Thomas plays hero once again," said Killeran, striding confidently into the room. His nose looked even larger to Thomas as Killeran leaned over him. "You know, boy, you're almost more trouble than you're worth."
Thomas stared back at him, not saying a word. He flexed his hands against the leather straps, but knew they would hold no matter how much he struggled. One day he would meet Killeran when he was not chained like a beast or strapped to a table, and then this prissy bastard would learn the true meaning of pain. Until then, Thomas would have to suffer through his ministrations. The thought of using the Talent crossed his mind, but he held back.
"Still not speaking to me?" asked Killeran in mock surprise. He walked around the table so all Thomas could see was his head and his large nose directly above his face. "You should be thanking me profusely, you know
. Normally I would have had you killed for attacking my men, but I chose not to. Do you know why?"
Killeran waited expectantly for an answer. Thomas knew it was all part of the game Killeran liked to play. He simply waited, staring up at the large nose hovering above him. He knew what was coming next.
"Tight-lipped as always. Well, since you don't want to guess, I'll tell you." Killeran walked back around the table and started pacing along one side of it. "You see, Thomas, you still intrigue me. Why did you help the Highlanders? Only a fool would have done so. Why do you seem so familiar to me, as if I should recognize you? Why do you refuse to say a word?" Killeran didn't bother to give Thomas time to answer.
"I'd like answers to these and a host of other questions, but you refuse to take part in a civilized conversation. You refuse to say anything at all." Thomas focused on the swishing sound of Killeran's long white cloak as it trailed behind him across the carpet. He had long since learned that there was really no reason to listen to Killeran's constant ramblings. "Maybe that's why I let you live."
Killeran stopped pacing and leaned over Thomas, his nose almost touching Thomas' face. The stench of the onions Killeran had eaten with his dinner threatened to overpower him. "I have always been able to make someone talk. It’s just one of my many skills, but you still hold back what you know. You're a challenge, Thomas. And I love challenges. Remain silent as long as you want. As I said before, you'll break. It's just a matter of time. Of course, the longer it takes, the more fun I get to have."
Killeran snapped his fingers as he glided away from the table. Thomas heard the footsteps of someone entering the room, then leaving, but he couldn't see what was going on.
"The cestus didn't seem to bother you," said Killeran from somewhere behind Thomas. He heard the clinking of metal on metal, yet could only guess at what Killeran was doing. "So I decided it was time to try a different approach."
Killeran walked back around the table, standing in front of Thomas' feet. The evil smile on his face sent a shiver of fear through Thomas' body. He held a red-hot poker in front of him like a sword.
"If you answer my questions, Thomas, you won't have to feel the sting of my friend here," said Killeran, waving the poker lazily through the air. "Now, why did you help the Highlanders?" Killeran's question came out as a shout.
Thomas balled his hands into fists in preparation. He told himself not to cry out, no matter what. Focusing on Killeran's nose, Thomas' eyes blazed with hatred.
"Ah, well, I had a feeling you'd be difficult."
As Killeran jabbed the hot tip of the poker into Thomas’ side, his body jerked involuntarily against the searing pain. Thomas wanted to cry out, to scream at the top of his lungs. Yet his jaw remained clenched. Killeran jabbed again, and again, and again. Eventually, Thomas lost count and blissfully drifted off into unconsciousness, the smell of burnt flesh tickling his nose.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nothing for Free
The cold stone of the cell floor felt like a balm, soothing his tortured skin. The reivers had dumped him there as they would the trash in the garbage pit just beyond the walls of the fort.
"Thomas, what the—"
Oso stood gripping the bars of his cell tightly in his hands, the horror obvious in his face. Even in the dim light, the dozens of small burns that dotted Thomas’ chest and back flamed angrily. Oso wanted to help his friend, but the bars prevented it.
Thomas relished the cold against his chest. It was like slipping into a cool pool of water, but only half as far as he wanted.
"Just another one of Killeran's games."
Oso's face became a black cloud as his hands tightened on the bars. "That bastard is a dead man." The heat of his voice matched his emotions. "Mark my words, Thomas. He'll die for this. I promise you."
Yet, even to Oso's ears, his words sounded empty. He was in no position to do anything at all. He had never felt so useless.
"As I said before, Oso, you'll probably have to get in line for that."
Thomas carefully rolled over onto his back, recoiling initially from the cold of the floor before sighing with relief. This was much better. While his chest was still cool he could ease the pain scorching his back.
"What did Killeran do, Thomas?"
Thomas closed his eyes, imagining that the waves on the east coast of the Highlands splashed over him. Oh, what he would give to be there right now. The cold of the floor certainly helped. Unfortunately, his chest was beginning to tingle with pain again. It was going to be a very long night.
"This time he grew tired of the cestus, so he decided to use a poker from the fire instead."
Oso winced at the thought, shuddering at the possibility of having to go through such a thing. He couldn't understand how Thomas could speak as if it was nothing at all. Oso sighed with frustration.
"The Highlanders are talking about it, you know."
"Talking about what?"
Thomas adjusted his back slightly, trying to position a burn that was close to his shoulder blade so it would touch the floor. It was wasted effort. His movement only irritated his injuries, the pinpricks erupting all over his angry red skin. He rolled over onto his stomach again.
"About what you did in the mines. All the Highlanders in the cages know about it."
Oso looked at his friend with pride. He had already told some of the miners about how he and Thomas were captured, risking the lash. This latest effort by Thomas only increased their respect for the green-eyed boy.
"Is the man still alive?"
Thomas didn't care about the gossip. He wanted to know if his actions mattered. His memories of the incident had returned to him quickly, as pain had a remarkable knack for clearing the mind.
"Yes, he lives," said Oso with satisfaction. "A little bruised, perhaps, but all right. He's back in one of the cages and some of the women are looking after him. His name is Aric, by the way. He says he's your man for life now. Once again, a debt is owed. You gave him back his life, and it's yours to command."
"That's very kind of him," said Thomas, rolling onto his back again. The floor wasn't helping him as much as it had in the beginning. "But he doesn't have to do that. He needed help, so I helped him. I'm sure he or any of the others would have done the same."
Oso laughed softly. "Well, you'll have a very hard time convincing Aric of that."
Trying to keep a Highlander from making good on a pledge was much like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands. Besides, everyone knew the mountain would be more reasonable than a Highlander.
They passed the next few minutes in silence. Thomas continued to search for a comfortable position, finally deciding that there wasn't one. Instead, he found a place along the wall so he could talk face to face with Oso. His friend's thoughtful expression told him that Oso was struggling with something. The large Highlander was not the type of person who hid his emotions well.
"What's on your mind, Oso?"
"Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just curious about something, but I wasn't sure if I should ask or not."
"Go ahead," said Thomas. "I don't think I'll be sleeping very much tonight."
Oso laughed softly, amazed at his friend's ability to make a joke in his current condition.
"When you were in the tunnel, and the reivers were beating on Aric, you were free from the neck chain. You could have used it as a diversion and escaped."
"Yes, I guess I could have," said Thomas.
"Then why didn't you?"
Oso thought it was the most logical thing in the world for Thomas to do.
"I don't know," said Thomas, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
He probably could have escaped then, if he really wanted to. The reivers were too busy with Aric to stop him, and once he was in the side tunnels, he could have easily disappeared until the reivers left. But he hadn't. After spending almost two weeks in this hovel, he wanted to do nothing more than get out. Yet that thought had never crossed his mind when he saw what the reivers
were doing to that lone Highlander. Escape had never been an option. His instincts had taken over. The Highlander needed assistance, and he was the only one who could provide it. So he did what he had to do. Rya would have been proud of him.
It really wasn't a very difficult puzzle to solve. He was a member of the Sylvana, and though still rather new to it all, his responsibilities as a Sylvan Warrior had already become a part of who he was: to fight against the evil of the Shadow Lord, to protect the forest and its inhabitants, to help those in need. To not do anything would go against the very essence of his being. He had the added weight of also being a Highlander — the Highland Lord in hiding as Rynlin had joked a few times. These were his people, and whether they knew it or not, it didn't change the duty he had to them.
"I guess all I can say is that escaping then would have been wrong."
"What do you mean wrong?" Oso failed to keep the shock from his voice.
"I mean, if I escaped then, without helping Aric, I could only look at myself as a coward. I could have helped, but I chose not to. Instead, I chose to run and possibly gain my freedom. If I had done that, I don't think I could live with myself."
"That's a very harsh appraisal, Thomas. Most people probably would have tried to escape, and no one would have blamed them for doing so."
"You may be right," agreed Thomas, clenching his teeth briefly as the circles of fire dotting his skin flared up. "But if you hold yourself to the standards of most everyone else, you have little opportunity to improve as a person. My grandmother always says, ‘You must do what you must do.’ It took me a long time to figure out what she meant, and once I did I fought it for a while. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape it. You must do what you must do."
Oso stared at Thomas, not sure what to make of his new friend. He spoke as if what he had done was the most natural thing in the world, yet it was anything but.
"You are a unique person, Thomas. I am honored to call you a friend."
