The Sylvan Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by Peter Wacht

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  Growing Trepidation

  Who were those two? They certainly didn't resemble the two figures he had expected to see. Kursool used his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. A man and a woman. They couldn't do much harm to him and his men from where they were standing, he decided. Why were they watching him, though? Despite the distance, the pair made him feel like he was cornered with no chance of escape.

  "Hold your fire," he yelled to his men. Several of the reivers had aimed their crossbows at the two; a few even fired. "They're too far out of range, you fools."

  The reivers with crossbows realized their futility and lowered their weapons. It had taken Kursool more than an hour to get his men back together after the rockslide, what was left of them anyway. He was down to seventy-three men from the original three hundred he had started the day with, most dead, perhaps twenty running away in fear. He had not bothered going after them.

  What were those two doing up there? Suddenly, the feeling of something being terribly wrong took hold of him again. He looked up the slope to see if any rocks were tumbling in his direction, but all was quiet. Nevertheless, he had ignored his sixth sense once today and paid the price for it. He would not do so again.

  A rumble filled his ears, very much like the sound of thunder. Kursool glanced at the blue sky. There was not a cloud in sight. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. Worst of all, he had the terrible feeling that his luck had just run out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Display of Power

  "Have you found the leader?" asked Rya, peering down at the soldiers.

  It was comical in a way. They watched the reivers and the reivers watched them. Unfortunately for the reivers, they didn't yet realize that instead of playing the role of the cat, as was their wont, Rynlin and Rya had assumed that character. Now, the reivers would be the mice.

  "Yes, I've got him. Let's get started."

  Rynlin and Rya took hold of the Talent, drawing on the great strength of nature. Each pulled in as much as possible, careful not to overstep the bounds of control. Once they had reached their limit, they opened themselves to each other and weaved their Talents together, combining their strength so they could pull in even more of the power of nature. The earth began to rumble beneath their feet, protesting at the energy they held within them, demanding that it be released. And release it they did.

  A lightning bolt streaked down from the clear blue sky, incinerating Kursool and temporarily blinding the men around him. The reivers were too horrified by what they had just seen to move. A lightning bolt had shot down from a cloudless sky, turning their leader into ashes before their eyes. Then another lightning bolt struck the ground, destroying several more reivers, and another bolt followed.

  The lightning bolts struck faster and faster, tearing up the earth in great chunks. Released from the spell they had been under, the reivers fled for the safety of the trees. What had been a simple mission at the beginning of the day had become one of personal survival. Yet, no matter how hard they tried to escape, the lightning bolts inevitably found them, leaving men torn and twisted, once live bodies now simply burned out husks.

  It ended in a matter of minutes. Rynlin and Rya released their holds on the Talent. Quiet reigned in the Highlands once again. The only reminder of what had occurred was the scene that lay before them. The ground below was covered with holes deep enough to hide a man. In many cases they did.

  "I don't think the reivers will be following after Thomas and the Highlanders any longer," said Rynlin, stating the obvious.

  "I do believe you're correct, my love," said Rya, having quickly lost interest in the battlefield. They did not enjoy killing, and certainly not on such a large scale, but sometimes it was necessary. And admittedly, it had felt good to retaliate against the men who had taken their grandson from them.

  "Why don't we catch up to Thomas and the others," suggested Rynlin. "I'd like to know how he got himself into this mess in the first place."

  "An excellent idea," agreed Rya. "An excellent idea."

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Farewell

  “Are you sure you don’t want to continue with us, Thomas?” asked Oso. “We’re only a few miles away. There are many who will want to thank you for your help.”

  “I’m sorry, Oso. I can’t. It’s time for me to go.”

  Thomas didn’t have the courage to explain his fear of meeting Coban once again. He felt like a coward, yet his heart told him he was doing the right thing. Now was not the time.

  "I still owe you a debt, Thomas."

  "You know, Oso, a great many people have been telling me that over the last few days. I'm getting tired of hearing it."

  Oso laughed. "We are Highlanders, Thomas. You know how important something like this is to us."

  "I know. I know." Thomas couldn't help but smile. "Well, then, to lessen the number of people who seem to feel they owe a debt to me, let me give you a task that will remove yours."

  Oso stood a bit straighter, though it was clearly an effort because of his exhaustion. “Anything, Thomas. Just name it.”

  "I want you to take Anara as your wife."

  "What—" Oso spluttered helplessly, shocked by the request.

  Thomas laughed heartily. "I'm sorry, Oso. I'm just kidding. I couldn't help myself."

  Oso looked greatly relieved. Thomas didn't doubt that if he had been serious, and Anara willing, Oso would have gone through with it. And Thomas had a feeling that Anara was more than willing. The way that she looked at Oso confirmed it. Whether Oso knew it or not, he had already found a wife. It was just a matter of time before he came to that conclusion as well.

  "Have a safe trip," said Oso, taking hold of Thomas' hand.

  "Thank you, my friend. Perhaps when I visit we can go hunting, if I can pry you away from Anara."

  Oso flushed, scuffing his boot in the dirt from embarrassment. "An excellent idea, Thomas. An excellent idea."

  Giving Oso a final wave, he walked to the edge of the trees where Rynlin and Rya waited for him.

  "So young man," said Rynlin, "shall we head home and take a break from your adventures?"

  "That sounds like a good idea, Rynlin."

  "Are you strong enough to fly?" asked Rya. She was still concerned about his recovery from his wounds. Most had healed quickly, and in a few days only the scars would remain.

  In response, Thomas walked deeper into the woods and took hold of the Talent. A few minutes later he flew high above the Highlands as a raptor, with two large hawks trailing behind him. As the currents of air flew past his feathers, he savored the freedom of flight, the freedom he had lost for too long a time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Demand

  "Why can't I learn the sword, Kael? You know I can do it. I'm already better with a dagger than any of the boys you're training now."

  Kael balanced on his toes, knees flexed, watching Kaylie as she circled around him much like a cat before pouncing on an unsuspecting mouse. However, in this situation the cat didn’t realize it was actually stalking a bear.

  It was early evening, the sun lazily dropping toward the horizon. The smells of the kitchen drifted on the wind to the training circle situated in the far western corner of the Rock. It was not much to speak of really. Just a large dirt field surrounded by stone walls on two sides and benches on the other two, much of it now in shadow because of the time of day. But it served its purpose.

  Kael had used it for twenty years to train the soldiers of Fal Carrach, and though some believed he was biased, he felt he could honestly say that there were no better fighters in any of the Kingdoms. Except the Highlands, of course. He was a Highlander first and foremost, so he allowed such prejudices.

  Kael turned to face the Princess of Fal Carrach as she searched for an opening in his defenses. She was persistent, sometimes annoyingly so, when she wanted something. What irritated him even more was that she was right. Kaylie surpassed his othe
r students in the dagger. She was fast, very fast. But he still was the Swordmaster, and the best blade in Fal Carrach, and as such, he had a reputation to uphold. On this day he would. Kaylie was not ready to defeat him. Not yet, anyway. Soon, though, she might very well take him. She was that good, and with her persistence would only get better.

  "Because your father said no," he reminded the princess.

  His response had its desired effect. They practiced with wooden daggers, their tips covered in thick leather to prevent any injury. Blue chalk dusted the leather to confirm a successful strike. During the past half-hour, neither had scored a hit. Kael had not really bothered to attack. Instead he had tested his current pupil, looking for weak spots in her technique. So far he had found none. Until now. Kaylie’s temper often got the better of her, and he had just found the right key for unlocking it.

  "That's not fair! If I can learn to fight with a dagger, I should be able to do the same with a sword. Just because my father thinks girls shouldn't fight with a blade doesn't mean he's right."

  Kaylie struggled to force out her words between breaths. Her exhaustion only added to her frustration. Kael had worked her hard during the session, which she appreciated. He always told her that she'd have to work harder than any of the boys to prove her true worth, and she had taken his words to heart. Yet there was a price to pay for that. Her long, black hair had become more of a nuisance as the duel progressed, the sweat-streaked strands clinging annoyingly to her forehead and swinging in front of her eyes, forcing her to flick them away with her free hand.

  "Your father said no and that's the end of it," he answered harshly.

  His words nudged the door to her anger open even farther. Kael had seen the signs — her indignant expression at being refused something, the angry glint in her eyes. Kaylie was very good with a dagger, but she had not yet learned how to keep her emotions in check. In a duel you had to remain calm and collected. Otherwise you died. It was that simple.

  "But—"

  "No buts, Princess. Your father said no. Now pay attention to what you're doing."

  Kael saw his chance. Kaylie’s rising anger made her movements less fluid. She clearly had lost her rhythm and concentration. Lunging forward with lightning speed, Kael caught Kaylie's dagger hand in his own and gently pressed his own dagger to her throat. The blue chalk on her neck ended the training session.

  "You're dead, Princess."

  Kaylie threw down her practice dagger in disgust, cursing as well as any soldier. She had been doing so well, only to lose because she had forgotten the most important thing Kael had taught her. Don't let anything break your concentration. How was she supposed to prove anything to her father if she didn’t maintain her composure? Wanting to strike out at something, she kicked at the dirt, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

  Kael ignored her display and walked toward the main hall. He was tired and hungry, and the smell coming from the kitchens promised an excellent dinner. Besides, if he didn’t make his escape now, she’d want another chance at him.

  "Pay attention to what you're doing, Princess. No matter how good you are with a blade, you only have to make one mistake to lose."

  Kaylie watched the Swordmaster until he disappeared through a doorway, frustration plain on her face. He was right, of course. She knew that, but she didn't have to like it. Another lesson learned. Yet she had almost had him! A couple of times she had come very close to winning, missing with her lunges by a fingerbreadth or less. She had done everything right, except stay focused on her task. She promised herself that she would not make the same mistake again.

  "A very good show, Princess."

  Kaylie jumped around, startled by the clapping. She always trained with Kael after he had finished with the recruits. She hadn't expected anyone else to be there. Maddan. Wonderful. Of all the people to watch her fail, it had to be him.

  "What do you want, Maddan?"

  "Nothing at all, Princess. Nothing at all." The blue-eyed boy walked right up to her. Too close for Kaylie's taste, she stepped away from him. Many girls at the Rock found his grin irresistible and swooned at the sight of his shoulder-length blonde hair. She was not one of them. "I was just watching. You're quite good with a dagger, Princess. Not as good as me, but still quite good."

  Her anger burned hotter. There were only two people in the entire Rock better than her with a dagger: Kael and her father. Kael had said so himself, and he was not one to give such praise lightly. She took Maddan's bragging as an insult.

  "That's a lie and you know it, Maddan. Now what do you want? I have better things to do than stand here and listen to your bragging."

  In her opinion that's all he was really good for, as evidenced by his display, or lack thereof, in the Burren. As the son of Norin Dinnegan, Maddan was used to being treated with a certain deference. However, his father’s wealth meant nothing to her, and Kaylie took particular delight in pointing out her lack of respect for him on a regular basis. It took Maddan several seconds to rein in his own anger before speaking. No matter how often she refused to acknowledge his standing, it still irritated him.

  "So you want to be a warrior? You're such a pretty girl, Kaylie. Why would you want to do such a thing?"

  Maddan was quite good at finding the holes in a person's armor. His jibe hit its mark.

  "I will do as I please, Maddan."

  "Of course, Princess. Of course. I didn't mean to imply anything. I was simply trying to point out that you should be thinking of marriage now, rather than being a soldier. There are many who would willingly have you as a wife." His arrogant sneer told her that Maddan was one of them.

  Kaylie's eyes narrowed. She instantly saw Maddan in a whole new light, though she had known him for years. He was playing a new game now. A dangerous game. She knew he was greedy, but only just then realized the full extent of his avarice.

  "I may be of an age to marry, Maddan, but I will not do so until I find the right person. And I have not found the right person." Kaylie bit off the last of her words as if she were chewing on leather, certain that he had picked up on her meaning. Turning her back to Maddan, she headed for her rooms.

  Much to her surprise, a hand on her arm whipped her back around. She stood face to face with Maddan, no more than a few inches separating them.

  "Don't walk away from me, Kaylie," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Perhaps you have found the right person, yes? You simply don't know it yet."

  Kaylie refused to be intimidated. "You forget yourself, Maddan," she replied, her icy words barely a whisper, yet her fiery eyes spoke volumes. She was the Princess of Fal Carrach and would not be treated in such a way.

  Maddan stared down in shock at the dagger pressed against his chest. A real dagger, and quite sharp. The point dug into his skin, drawing a few drops of blood. With one quick movement, Kaylie could bury the blade in his heart. He immediately released her arm and tried to step away, but Kaylie moved with him, keeping the blade just above his heart.

  Her father had bothered her countless times about carrying a dagger with her wherever she went, even going so far as to hide it under her gown if she were attending a feast or ceremony. Maybe if her father had witnessed how quickly she had turned the tables on Maddan his opinion of her learning to fight would change. Kaylie smiled wickedly.

  "I will choose whoever I wish to marry, Maddan. But know this. It will never be you."

  She pushed harder with her dagger to punctuate her words, the drops of blood turning into a slow trickle. Satisfied that she had made her point, literally, Kaylie resheathed her blade and walked toward the main keep.

  "Next time, Maddan, I won't hesitate." She didn't bother to turn around.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Playing the Game

  Inishmore was the largest kingdom in the west, dwarfing all its neighbors except Armagh. That’s what drew Rodric to it. He craved power, and in Inishmore that's what he saw — an opportunity to increase his power. Twenty years before a group of lords had as
sassinated the doddering old fool who had been king. That action had turned the once peaceful kingdom into a den of vipers. Since then Inishmorian lords and ladies spent most of their time jockeying with one another for the chance to become king or queen. Yet no king or queen had sat on the throne in Laurag since the Good King Lassin met his untimely demise.

  Oh, a handful of lords and ladies had succeeded in assuming the throne, yet none lasted for more than a few months at a time, some no more than a few days. Either their coalitions fell apart and they were forced to withdraw their claim or, more often, a competitor had them removed. Rodric saw it as the ultimate game of survival, playing in the politics of Inishmore. Over the years he had secretly supported a dozen or more claimants for the throne of Inishmore. Only one had survived, and the poison that some enterprising assassin had spread on the sheets of the fool’s bed had turned the poor bastard’s brain into so much mush he could no longer care for himself.

  Still, despite his failures, Rodric played the game. Inishmore was a rich country, with Laurag functioning as the main port for distributing the highly prized silks and spices of the Distant Island. The Three Fork River offered a fast and cost-effective route for transporting these and other goods to Armagh and the Heartland Lake. Controlling the trade along the river had certainly enriched Rodric's coffers, and if he could take control of the country itself, whether openly or through an intermediary tucked safely into his pocket, his wealth would increase tenfold.

  That's why the latest news from Laurag had upset him so much. He was a meticulous planner. When someone disrupted his strategies, he took it as a personal affront.

  "I don't give a cow's ass what Eshel thinks of the treaty, Toreal," yelled Rodric, slamming his fleshy fist down on his desk, its top a smoothly polished wood with his likeness carved into the very center under a cover of glass. "We came to an agreement. He will do as the agreement requires."