by Peter Wacht
He also had to do something about the dark creatures terrorizing the northern Highlands. If he allowed them to gain a foothold, it would prove even more difficult to expel them than the reivers. And, of course, the sands in the hourglass were running dangerously low. In six months the rulers of the Kingdoms would gather at Eamhain Mhacha for the biennial Council of the Kingdoms. If he failed to make a claim for the Highlands, his homeland would revert to Rodric’s control. And that was something he simply refused to allow.
He had returned the wrist guard to its place, covering the birthmark that signified that he was the blood of Talyn Kestrel, the last Highland Lord. He had done it partly out of habit and partly out of practicality. Traveling the Highlands, even in the higher passes, was still a dangerous proposition because of the reivers and dark creatures. Better to be prepared so he could nock an arrow to his bow if there was a need. At least that’s what he told himself. He didn’t want to admit that after almost ten years of hiding his identity, he still wasn’t comfortable acknowledging his true heritage.
Maybe these immediate crises were actually opportunities, Thomas considered. He knew how some of the Highlanders would react to his claim, even with the proof he carried in his scabbard and on his forearm. Some would be skeptical. Others would accept him immediately. A few would probably oppose him. He would need to act quickly to consolidate his support, and the best way to do that was to give his people a purpose.
In cruder terms, by getting them to do something, they wouldn’t have the time or the inclination to think. Then, before they realized it, the Highlanders would have gotten used to their new Highland Lord, and he with them he hoped.
“Thomas. Thomas, are you paying attention?”
Coban stopped suddenly, about to take another hunter’s trail that branched off the one they were on. This one still wound around the mountain, but the steeper path offered faster access to the top of the mountain.
“Yes, Coban,” Thomas lied, not wanting to upset the Swordmaster. “I was just trying to take in everything you were telling me.”
“Good,” replied Coban, satisfied by Thomas’ response. He started up the new trail with his men following after. “Just let me do the talking when we get there. Stay in the background.”
Thomas nodded. Coban had explained how Highland politics had evolved in the absence of the Highland Lord and the constant threat of attack and enslavement by the reivers. Each village chief had become a power in his own right, much like a lord in any of the other Kingdoms. The chief was responsible for the safety of the people living in his village.
Though some combined their forces when an attack from the reivers was imminent, that wasn’t always a practical defense because of the isolation of some of the villages. And it was these villages that Killeran preferred to prey on. So the village chief had grown in power, becoming accustomed to it, and of these, Renn, Seneca and Nestor were the strongest. If Thomas could win these three over, then many of the other chiefs would follow.
Then there was Shagan. Coban had actually grimaced when saying his name, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. He was almost as powerful as the other three chiefs, but Coban held out little hope that Shagan would support Thomas.
“And don’t forget to stay away from Shagan,” said Coban, making Thomas think the Swordmaster had read his mind. “He is the only other Highlander who has a claim for ruling the Highlands, but it is so slight, the only way for him to actually become the Highland Lord is to challenge a more worthy opponent. Then he would finally gain the right to take the Tests himself. I actually thought Shagan might challenge your grandfather after he had passed the Tests, but he didn’t. Shagan’s a smart one. I guess he valued his life more than risking it on a warrior’s luck. And that was the only way he would have won if he challenged Talyn – luck.
“Yet even after Talyn stood on high, Shagan was a problem. It’s been eating away at him ever since. Everyone knew he wanted your grandfather’s place, but there was no way he could get it. So watch out for him, Thomas. You can expect a challenge from that one. Or something worse, like a knife in your back. As the years have passed, his bitterness has increased.”
“Don’t worry about that, Thomas,” offered Oso, pulling even with his friend as they continued their march up the steep trail. “He’ll have to go through me first.”
“Don’t let Anara hear you say that,” joked Thomas. “If she finds out you’re picking fights, Shagan will be the least of your worries.”
Several of the Highlanders following after chuckled, overhearing the comment.
“I can handle Anara,” boasted Oso, though he kept his eyes on the ground.
He didn’t want his friend to see the red in his cheeks. In his heart he knew the truth of it, he just wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet.
“Of course you can, Oso. Of course you can.”
Thomas and the Highlanders continued the remainder of their journey in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts, though they all paid close attention to the surrounding forest. The marks of passage were obvious, as many Highlanders had reached the gathering place before them, but still better to be safe.
Finally, after another hour’s travel, they reached the plateau, which stretched across the top of the mountain for more than a mile. At its far end, towering cliffs rose up, dwarfing everything else in sight. Thomas used his sharp eyesight to pick out a jagged cut in the heights, what he assumed to be the Ravine. Thomas stared at the cliffs for some time, wondering if he would succeed in his quest to become the Highland Lord. There was only one way to find out, of course.
The sounds of laughter and shouting drew Thomas’ attention away from the cliffs. Looking out across the plateau, he saw that several thousand Highlanders had arrived before them, each separate camp representing a different Highland village. Thomas realized that Coban had scheduled their arrival for this time on purpose. With the sun about to set, it was almost three days since Thomas had revealed his true identity to the people of Raven’s Peak. As the Highlander who had called this gathering, Coban was required to be the last to arrive.
“The other chiefs know we are here,” said Coban, glancing at Thomas. “We do not have to do anything until tomorrow morning if you like. Perhaps you could use the time to prepare for—”
“Thank you, Coban, but that won’t be necessary.” Thomas gripped his friend’s shoulder in acknowledgement. “I have waited too long already. Let’s begin. These people deserve to be free.”
Pride surged within Coban as images of Talyn crept into his mind. The similarities between grandfather and grandson were remarkable. If Thomas was but half the man Talyn had been, then the Highlands would once again be free. Coban knew that for a certainty. And if Thomas was more than that? If he proved to be even more than Talyn, then the other Kingdoms need worry, for there were several reckonings due.
Coban nodded and started out across the plateau. Thomas walked beside him with Oso leading the men of Raven’s Peak. As they passed each encampment, Coban greeted the chief, but he never stayed longer than a few seconds. Ignoring the questioning gazes at the suddenness and timing of this council, Coban marched steadily toward the center of the plateau, his face a serious mask. Thomas studied the chiefs and other Highlanders as they passed by, recognizing the three chiefs Coban had mentioned.
“A council so soon, Coban? This must be serious business indeed,” said a large Highlander with a grey beard that ran halfway down his chest who sidled up next to the Swordmaster.
Shagan. Coban’s description was a good one. Shagan was bald, even lacking eyebrows. The fires that swept through the Crag had been the cause, and the hair had never grown back. His most distinguishing characteristic, however, was the other result of the fires – the left side of his face had been horribly burned. Now it was a ridged mass of scar tissue, hidden only in part by his beard.
“Have you finally found a wife? Am I right?” the tall Highlander asked maliciously. “That’s got to be the reason.”
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Shagan laughed deeply.
“Only you don’t know what to do with her so you’ve come here for advice.” Shagan’s laugh became a bellow.
Several of the Raven’s Peak Highlanders had their hands on the hilts of their swords. Aric’s blade was halfway out of the scabbard until Oso pushed it back down. A good man, Oso, thought Thomas. Now was not the time to start a feud. There was too much at stake. Though Coban’s eyes burned brightly with anger, he understood that as well. He ignored Shagan’s insult and continued across the plateau.
Shagan dropped away from him, not wanting to waste any more of his time if he couldn’t get a rise out of the old Swordmaster. He glanced briefly at Thomas. Who was that boy? he wondered. He had the look of a Highlander, but then again, he didn’t. Strange indeed. There was something about the boy that stoked his memory, but nothing rose to the surface.
“Ah, well, perhaps a bottle of wine would help,” murmured Shagan, before sauntering off to his tent.
With his final destination in sight, Coban increased his pace. The Pinnacle rose before them. Constructed of several large slabs of stone that rose twenty feet into the air, the platform allowed all who gathered around it to see and hear who spoke. Coban walked up the steps to the top, Thomas right behind him. Oso and the Raven’s Peak men stopped at the base. Once at the top, Coban breathed deeply, trying to calm his already jangled nerves. The time had come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Myth Made Real
Time passed with agonizing slowness, though it was only a few minutes. Normally, when a council was called, it began on the morning after the third day since the summons. But not this time. Coban stood atop the Pinnacle as still as a statue, his eyes taking in all the Highlanders who had gathered. And there he waited as the chiefs of the various villages realized what was going on and then made their way toward the Pinnacle, their men following in their wake.
All the while Thomas stood silently besides Coban, realizing that he broke with tradition, for only one person was supposed to stand atop the Pinnacle at a time. He could see it in the faces of some of the Highlanders, wondering who this boy was and by what right he stood with Coban. Who was he to ignore the traditions of the Highlanders?
Thomas noted to himself that traditions, no matter how important they may be in the eyes of those who held true to them, often hindered change. And that was something his people would have to adjust to quickly. Change. If they were to succeed in regaining control of their homeland, they would have to adapt to new circumstances.
Finally, Coban moved, if only barely. He turned in a slow circle, seeing that thousands of the Highlanders who had gathered on this cloudy day had surrounded the Pinnacle, waiting for Coban to begin. Now, finally, after all these years, he could set in motion the process for redeeming himself and assuaging the guilt he still struggled with over Talyn’s death. Now he could finally exact his own revenge on those who had ransacked his homeland. Now he could do his part to make the Highlands strong once more.
And with those thoughts, he looked at Thomas. There was a question in Coban’s eyes, wondering if the young man was ready, for from this point forward he was no longer a boy. He couldn’t afford to be. Thomas nodded, his expression serious, his eyes intense.
Coban stepped forward to the edge of the Pinnacle. He studied the crowd of Highlanders. Normally, they milled about and talked quietly as they waited for a speaker to start. But not this day. No, there was an anticipation in the air, an energy. Everyone sensed it.
“My friends, I never thought I would live to see this day,” began Coban, sweeping his eyes over the crowd as his words easily carried across the plateau for all to hear. “We have suffered greatly since the murder of Talyn Kestrel, yet we have survived.”
Many of the Highlanders nodded in agreement, their faces grim. Everyone in the crowd recalled the atrocities inflicted upon them – the loss of a loved one to the reivers or the mines, the destruction of their homes, the pillaging of their beloved mountains – and the frustration and impotence they felt at not being able to prevent it from happening.
“Through it all we have stood strong,” said Coban. “Though small in number, we have fought against the reivers and their warlocks. We have fought against the dark creatures sent across the Northern Steppes. We have refused to surrender our homeland to a cowardly High King. Our homes have been burned, our loved ones murdered or worked to death, yet we continue to fight, for we are Highlanders, Marchers to the core, and to do anything else would be a betrayal of all that we hold dear.”
Coban’s words immediately swept up the Highlanders, taking them hurtling to the very roots of their existence. Thomas was shocked by the skill with which the old Swordmaster had begun his speech. Coban, indeed, was a surprising man. For the first time in a decade, the Highlanders remembered who they were – and all that was taken from them. Their anger and frustration had risen to the surface. All they needed now was an outlet.
“Almost ten years ago a traitor allowed reivers and Ogren to destroy the Crag, and with the destruction of our ancient fortress we lost our Highland Lord, Talyn Kestrel,” said the Swordmaster. “Perhaps the greatest of the Highland Lords, in fact, for he ruled the Highlands fairly, taking note of the interests of each Highlander and the greater good of all, always balancing the two to ensure the Highlands remained strong.”
Several Highlanders shouted their agreement, many too young to remember Talyn Kestrel, yet recalling the stories told by their elders around the cook fires.
“Since his death the Highlands have been desecrated by the High King’s raiding parties, by the Dark Magic of his warlocks, by the very presence of the Shadow Lord’s creatures!”
Shouts of anger erupted from the crowd. Coban had caught them in his trap, and he wasn’t about to let go. His voice softened, becoming almost a whisper.
“My friends, those days are over.”
Absolute silence greeted his words. Coban looked out upon the hopeful faces staring up at him for a moment, letting the anticipation build.
“For years we have heard whispers of the Lost Kestrel. For years we have hoped for his return. My friends, I must admit, I truly didn’t believe in the Lost Kestrel. I was at the Crag when it fell, I searched for the boy when hope was lost, and he was never found. Though I truly didn’t believe in the Lost Kestrel, hidden away in my heart the hope of his return lingered.”
Many of the onlooking Highlanders nodded their agreement. Like Coban, they didn’t believe in the Lost Kestrel, but a small part of them desperately hoped that they were wrong. The anticipation continued to build. Many of the Highlanders stepped forward, moving closer to the Pinnacle. Coban had reignited their hopes and dreams by stoking their anger. Now was the time to give them what they wanted.
“My friends,” said Coban, almost whispering, though his words still carried easily across the plateau. “The Lost Kestrel is not a myth. The Lost Kestrel has been found. The Lost Kestrel stands before you!”
Shouts of surprise and exclamation erupted from the crowd, but Thomas ignored them. He stepped past Coban and drew his blade. And at the very same time he pulled the steel free from the scabbard across his back, the misty rain stopped and the sun broke through the clouds that had draped the Highlands for most of the day. Holding the blade above his head, he allowed the sunlight to play across the steel. Then, as he had done in Raven’s Peak, he thrust the tip of the sword into the rock of the Pinnacle so it stood on its own.
The crowd grew quiet. They knew the blade. They were mesmerized by it. They saw the etchings. Whispers in the crowd carried backward so that all could hear, even those in the back. “The Sword of the Highlands!” “Truly, the Sword of the Highlands!” There was no other blade like it, having been passed from father to son, and in this case grandfather to grandson, for millennia.
Then the crowd finally turned their eyes to Thomas, who stood there calmly. He removed his wrist guard, and with a tantalizing slowness, rolled up the shirtsleeve of his right
arm. With the birthmark now visible, he thrust his arm into the sky.
At that very moment the sun burst through the clouds in all its glory, centering its rays on the Pinnacle and the young man standing there. The light illuminated Thomas in an almost blinding aura, reflecting off the stone polished over the centuries by the tread of Highland boots. They gazed at the mark on his arm. They recognized the claw. They were mesmerized by the mark of the Kestrels.
Shock registered on the faces of most of the Highlanders. Like Coban, most had never truly believed they would see this day. None truly believed they would ever gain their freedom. None truly believed they would regain their homeland. But no more. They believed now. The myth had come to life. Many of the older Highlanders saluted, recalling their days as Marchers, but most simply stared dumbstruck at this boy who looked like a Highlander but didn’t, completely unprepared for what had just happened.
“I ask to take the Tests,” said Thomas strongly. “I ask to prove my worth so that I may take the place of my grandfather as the Highland Lord.”
Shouts of joy and cheers greeted his words, the tremendous noise echoing off the surrounding peaks and drifting on the wind to the farthest reaches of the Highlands. Thomas felt tremendous relief, but he understood that he had only just begun along a difficult and dangerous road. Yet he didn’t feel fear; only resolve. These were his people, and he would do all that was necessary to return them to the glory they deserved.
In the morning, the Tests would begin, and the future of the Highlands would ride on his shoulders.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Mentors
Kaylie sat on her four-poster bed, deep in thought, twirling several locks of her raven-black hair between her fingers. Night fell upon the land, the shadows stretching from ceiling to floor and the sounds of the evening making their way through her windows. With the sounds came the chill of the breeze, and though the cool air brought goosebumps to her arms, she barely noticed.
