The Lord of the Highlands (The Sylvan Chronicles Book 5)

by Peter Wacht

  The Lord of the Highlands

  By Peter Wacht

  Book 5 of The Sylvan Chronicles

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2020 © by Peter Wacht

  Book design by ebooklaunch.com

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.

  Published in the United States by Kestrel Media Group LLC.

  ISBN: 978-1-950236-08-4

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-950236-09-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020900164

  Also by Peter Wacht

  THE SYLVAN CHRONICLES

  The Legend of the Kestrel

  The Call of the Sylvana

  The Raptor of the Highlands

  The Makings of a Warrior

  The Lord of the Highlands

  The Lost Kestrel Found (forthcoming)

  The Claiming of the Highlands (forthcoming)

  The Fight Against the Dark (forthcoming)

  The Defender of the Light (forthcoming)

  Contents

  1. Soon to Hunt

  2. The Feast

  3. On the Trail

  4. Changing Winds

  5. Defiance

  6. Finding His Way

  7. Desperate Gamble

  8. Cornered

  9. Final Step

  10. Freedom

  11. Spared

  12. Found

  13. Brightening Sky

  14. Getaway

  15. Failure

  16. Disfigured

  17. Rising of the Wolves

  18. New Adversary

  19. A Decision

  20. For Duty

  21. A Loss

  22. Hint of Madness

  23. Fixation

  24. Moving Forward

  25. A Declaration

  26. The Call

  27. The First Step

  28. Renewed Energy

  29. Signs

  30. Knowing the Ways

  31. Myth Made Real

  32. Mentors

  33. Taking a Risk

  34. Unwanted Attention

  35. Rescue

  36. Dark Visitor

  37. The Tests

  38. Test of Knowledge

  39. Test of Courage

  40. The Challenge

  41. Vengeance

  42. Standing on High

  43. Confirmation

  CHAPTER ONE

  Soon to Hunt

  The raptor flew low over the trees, its long tail feathers barely missing the topmost branches. The bird of prey welcomed the rush of speed as its powerful wings brought it closer to the monstrous monolith that dominated the lush, green valley. The massive stone reared up before the magnificent bird. Tilting its wings, the raptor drifted to the left, catching an upward draft so that it could negotiate its way to the top.

  As it circled the black, sheer stone, the raptor gradually gained altitude. The orange feathers lining its back glinted brightly as they caught the sun’s rays, in contrast to the black and brown feathers that absorbed the light’s energy. The heat from the sun energized the bird, building on the urgency it already felt. The raptor had seen much on its long journey through Fal Carrach, the kingdom that sat below the Highlands, as it watched from high above the earth.

  Raptors were solitary creatures, defending a specific territory. That territory often stretched for dozens of leagues in every direction, limiting the contact between these ferocious birds of prey. A meeting of raptors was even rarer because they were so few in number. Nobles and other fortune seekers had hunted them almost to extinction during the last hundred years, hoping to turn a profit with the carcass of these legendary animals.

  Strangely, since entering the Highlands from the south and finally reaching the Valley of the Crag, it had met three raptors. Yet, it was something else that made the creature wonder if the world was changing.

  Reaching the top of the promontory, the raptor looked down on what had once been the mighty fortress of a mighty people. Selecting the highest vantage point, the bird settled onto the crumbling stone of one of the collapsed towers of the keep, its razor-sharp claws holding it steady as the strong winds of the Highlands tried to unseat it.

  Meeting three of its kind in so short a span was unique, but that in itself wasn’t enough to make the raptor look at the world differently. No, it was what the bird had observed in the south, something it had never expected to see. It was still early, perhaps too early to tell for sure if the sense of urgency the raptor felt building within it was justified. The great bird sensed a shift in nature itself, and that shift was beginning here – at the Crag.

  Less than a decade before, the Crag had served as the capital of the Highlands — and home to the Marchers. Reputedly the best fighters in all the Kingdoms, as with any warrior, even the Marchers had a weakness. The Highlands was a rugged and dangerous land, and the same could be said of the Marchers, but, like the raptors, they were few in number.

  When the betrayal occurred almost ten years before, though the Marchers fought valiantly, they could not prevent the inevitable. A once mighty fortress fell, and a once mighty people were defeated. Since that time, the plateau atop the monolith had lain abandoned. Moss had sprouted between the stones and the forest began its quest to reclaim its stolen territory.

  The raptor shifted its right claw, adjusting for the wind. That tiny movement knocked away a small piece of moss, revealing the black stone beneath. Here, atop the Crag, the raptor felt the shift in nature even more, conscious of its growing strength and purpose. It sensed a new beginning. Hot blood was beginning to flow once more in the Highlands, beginning to stir, perhaps even boil, but only time would tell.

  For it was still early. But it was still a beginning. The Highlands was again showing signs of life after ten years of treachery and oppression. And much like nature itself, the people of the Highlands were an unforgiving lot. For centuries, it had been said that like a raptor, to risk the wrath of a Marcher was to risk death – or worse.

  As the raptor studied the harsh landscape of the Highlands, the sun began its slow descent in the west. Soon it would hunt, taking advantage of the dim light for an easy meal, for no creature could withstand the fury of a raptor’s attack as the large bird hurtled down from the sky with breathtaking speed, its powerful wings drawn in, its sharp claws extended for its prey, the bird no more than a grey shadow in the sky. Much like the attack of a Marcher.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Feast

  “You still don’t know if he has been freed?” Gregory whispered, not wanting Kaylie to overhear.

  “No, milord,” answered Kael, the Swordmaster bending down to keep his words discreet. “I haven’t been able to find out a thing. None of the soldiers or servants are talking.”

  In any palace, the servants usually knew more of what was going on than anyone else. Keeping a secret in such a place was almost impossible. Yet this one had been kept, acknowledged Kael, and that’s what worried him.

  “It bothers me, milord.”

  “Me as well,” said Gregory, who gave Sarelle a meaningful look.

  The Queen of Benewyn sat next to Gregory at the head table in the main dining hall of the Palace, and on his other side sat Kaylie. They looked out on the dozens
of tables below them filled with revelers. The Eastern Festival was coming to a close with a banquet to celebrate the contests won, the goods sold and the agreements made for the coming year.

  “I think Rodric is up to something,” said Sarelle.

  She wore a dark green dress that set off her auburn hair perfectly. When Gregory had come to escort her to the banquet, upon seeing her he had become distinctly uncomfortable, just as Sarelle had desired. Yet her thoughts turned from romantic conquests to other things when Kael appeared. His report worried her as well. Something stirred in the Palace, and it wasn’t for the good.

  “I agree,” said Gregory. “We should have had word of the boy’s leaving by now.”

  “Agreed, milord.” Kael, too, had gotten a bad feeling about this evening. “I’ve already alerted the men. We’re packed and ready to go whenever you give the command.”

  Kael turned to Sarelle. “I’ve instructed Captain Fornier to do the same, Queen Sarelle. I hope that was not presumptuous of me.”

  “No, not at all,” she replied, thankful that he had thought to prepare the captain of her guard. “I hope the good captain did not put up much of a fuss.”

  “He didn’t, Queen Sarelle. He sensed it too and had already begun his own preparations. I’ve asked him to wait at the stables just in case the need arises. The men of Fal Carrach wait nearby.”

  Gregory smiled briefly. Leave it to Kael to think of everything. There had been no outward signs of trouble, yet little things had pricked at Gregory’s sense of danger since the Trial. A few extra guards here, a few extra guards there. Restrictions on leaving the Palace. Subdued and quiet servants.

  “Thank you, Kael. You’ve done well, as always.”

  “I simply do as you command, milord.”

  Kael stepped down from the dais and made his way out of the hall, wanting to sniff around for more clues. Gregory watched him go, thankful once again that Kael Bellilil had accepted his offer of employment so many years before.

  “A good man there,” said Sarelle.

  “The best,” answered Gregory.

  He glanced to his right, checking on his daughter. It didn’t appear as if she had heard anything. Good. He didn’t want her to start worrying again.

  Kaylie took no notice of the brief conversation held between her father, Sarelle and Kael. Her thoughts were elsewhere. When Thomas defeated the Makreen, a huge weight had been lifted from her chest. She hoped that he was back in the forest by now, and as far away from Tinnakilly as possible. Her eyes wandered over the hall several times, yet always came back to the young woman sitting a few seats to the right of the High King.

  Corelia. She had shown far too much interest in Thomas after his victory. Far too much. Kaylie eyed the Princess of Armagh with suspicion. Corelia did nothing without good reason. As her eyes drifted down the head table, she locked gazes with Ragin for a brief moment, who gave her a leer that set her face afire. She tore her eyes away from him. Ragin had absolutely no shame. She was a fool for even being attracted to him at one time.

  She was about to ask her father what he had been saying to Kael when she realized that conversation had died down within hall, the loud rumble of many voices talking and laughing replaced by almost total silence. Looking toward the front of the hall, she gasped in shock. Her father jumped up from his chair, knocking it backward in his haste, his face red with anger.

  “What is the meaning of this, Rodric?” he demanded. “The boy passed the Trial. He was to be set free!”

  Thomas stood in the doorway, his legs and wrists chained. Two very large Dunmoorian soldiers dragged him into the banquet hall and past the startled revelers until he stood in front of the head table. Thomas appeared tired, yet defiant. His body was covered in bruises and dried blood, and no one had tended to his two wounds — the one on his forehead, the other on his side.

  “True, Gregory,” said Rodric, sitting comfortably in his chair as if nothing was amiss. “But it was not to be so. It seems the boy cannot suppress his true nature. Soon after he defeated the Makreen, we attempted to clean his wounds before letting him go. Throwing him out through the gates without any medical attention would have been inhumane.”

  The irony of what the High King had just said was not lost on those in the hall.

  “Yet he would not allow us to help. The boy stabbed one physick with his own scalpel, nearly killing him. And he injured several of my men when they tried to bring him under control.”

  “And where is this physick?” asked Gregory. “And your injured men?”

  Rodric was lying through his teeth, but Gregory could do nothing about it. His worst fear was becoming a reality and explained the tense atmosphere of the Palace. Rodric never had any intention of letting the boy go. That realization set his mind wondering once again as to why this boy was so important to him.

  He remained standing, flexing his fists in an effort to control his temper. Rodric was flouting the laws of the Kingdoms with this charade, yet no one was in a position to stop him. This was not a good sign at all. He glanced quickly to the back of the hall and saw Kael standing by the door. The Highlander nodded. At least they were prepared. Now the question was, what could he do about this, if anything?

  “In the infirmary, I’m afraid. Their severe injuries prevent them from being here.”

  Rodric had expected such a question from Gregory, knowing he would not be satisfied with his explanation. In fact, he had created his own casualties to complete the scheme if needed.

  “It was truly an unfortunate episode, yet if you need proof, my son Ragin was there, and I’m sure he’d be willing to fill in all the details.”

  All eyes in the banquet hall turned to Ragin, who looked back rather smugly. He studied Thomas for a moment, pleased by his condition, before slowly rising from his chair.

  CHAPTER THREE

  On the Trail

  “Two or three days old,” said Catal Huyuk, rising from where he crouched in the grass.

  “As I thought,” grunted Rynlin, not really paying attention.

  Rynlin had met Beluil in the clearing at the western edge of Oakwood Forest in the late morning. Luckily, Catal Huyuk was actually on the way to the Isle of Mist when he answered Rynlin’s call for help, sensing his need through his necklace. Beluil waited impatiently at one side of the clearing, eager to continue the hunt.

  “Thomas put up quite a fight,” said the dangerous-looking man, the blades of his many weapons gleaming in the sun. As he walked around the glade, he replayed the skirmish through his mind. “He was heavily outnumbered, but killed four or five, maybe more. He must have fought like a demon.” Pride was clear in his voice.

  Rynlin continued to stare at a particular spot in the grass, his anger raging within him. As soon as he arrived in the clearing, he had searched the surrounding area thoroughly, looking for some clue as to what had happened. Eventually, he came back to the blanket and basket of food — and the wine bottle. One sniff told him everything he needed to know. Once again someone had taken his grandson. His grandson! His only grandson!

  “Let’s get going,” Rynlin said, coming out of his trance. “The Eastern Festival is coming to a close. There’s only one place he could have been taken.”

  Catal Huyuk nodded, following after Rynlin and Beluil as they walked out onto the grasslands. Thomas was Rynlin’s grandson, but for Catal Huyuk he was something more — hope for the future, a bright light to follow in the coming darkness. Whoever had taken Thomas had made a grave mistake.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Changing Winds

  “Lords and ladies, it is— it is true.”

  Ragin’s voice wavered. Gregory’s open disbelief unnerved him a bit. Ragin scanned the back of the banquet hall, the dozens of Armaghian soldiers lining the walls renewing his confidence.

  “The physick attempted to examine his wounds. We expected him to be tired, to be grateful for the attention, but no.”

  Ragin appeared saddened by what he was about to relate.
“He grabbed a scalpel from the physick’s bag and stabbed the good man in the gut. He then went after me and my men, several of whom were injured while subduing him. After a great deal of struggle, we finally stopped him from injuring anyone else. As the Prince of Armagh, I swear it as the truth.”

  Ragin immediately dropped back into his seat at a barely noticeable motion from his father. He had wanted to say more, perhaps embellish his role in the charade, but his father had told him exactly what to say — and to say only that. By the feverish look in his father’s eyes, now was not the time to cross him.

  Kaylie looked from her father to Rodric. The two were locked in a battle of wills. For the first time she saw a murderous glare on her father’s face and knew for a fact that if Rodric stood any closer, the High King would be dead. Her anger matched her father’s, that and her disbelief.

  Ragin swore as Prince of Armagh! The thought was ludicrous. Everyone knew him to be a liar, yet no one would challenge him. Not here anyway. Kaylie could see that her father had already considered such an action, but wisely chose not to. When Thomas entered the chamber, the soldiers of Dunmoor and Armagh silently had taken up positions along the back wall.

  There was nothing she or her father could do. Gregory cursed in frustration, knowing full well that even though his men could defeat the soldiers of any other Kingdom, they were outnumbered here at the Palace. Even with the addition of Sarelle’s troops, the skirmish would be a short one.

  Gregory suddenly realized what he was considering. An uprising against the High King? In the middle of Dunmoor? Some might call it treason, others a necessity. Times had changed drastically in just a few days, and for the worse. Rodric was pushing against the fragile balance of power within the Kingdoms. If he continued, that balance would disintegrate.

  “Obviously you have taken every precaution, Rodric. You have won this time, but this is only the first battle.” Gregory sat back down in his chair, gripping the ornately carved wooden arms tightly.