The Legend of the Kestrel

by Peter Wacht

  “Good morning, father.”

  “Good morning, Kaylie. I didn’t know you were getting such an early start this morning. It really isn’t that far to Oakwood Forest.”

  “I know, father,” she replied calmly, though her mind spun furiously, searching for a way to leave the courtyard as quickly as possible.

  Her father had given her permission to travel to Oakwood Forest, but what was the fun of going there? There was no adventure in it. And that’s what she wanted. She was a grown woman now, even if her father still didn’t know it. But changing her father’s perspective would be difficult at best. So, she had decided that it simply would be easier on everyone if she didn’t tell him what she was going to do, or at least not all of it. Besides, they would be traveling through a part of Oakwood Forest. You had to go through Oakwood Forest to reach the Burren, so it wasn’t a complete lie. Was it?

  “We just wanted to get going since the light is fading so early now.”

  “Uh, huh.” Gregory looked at his daughter doubtfully. Kaylie normally didn’t roll out of bed until late morning, and her friends were notoriously worse. He just couldn’t imagine that Oakwood Forest held such an allure that she and her friends would so willingly rise at the crack of dawn. He had a feeling that his daughter wasn’t telling him everything.

  Kaylie maintained her smile. Her father’s gaze made her nervous. It was the one he used on visiting emissaries who sought trade concessions. They rarely succeeded. She knew her father was recognized as a general. But most didn’t realize he was a cunning negotiator as well. To get away from his gaze, she nudged her horse over toward her friends, biting down on her tongue as her father walked beside her. She had a tendency of chattering when she was nervous, a trait her father was well aware of.

  “Good morning, my lord,” said Maddan. The others members of the small group offered their greetings. Lissa, Nikola and Camilla had grown up with Kaylie, and also had quickly grown accustomed to having their needs taken care of. Lissa, tall and fair, had a pouty mouth that detracted from her beauty, though she thought it made her more attractive. Nikola was rather plain, but her wonderful smile made up for it. Camilla’s high-pitched voice matched her sharp features. All three enjoyed ordering others about, and they happened to be very good at it. The boys were no better. At least Eric had the makings of a good soldier, or rather the body for it, if not the brains. Rohn, with his unkempt hair and pointed nose, had the look of a trickster, though he came from one of the most powerful families in the Kingdom.

  Maddan, son of Noran Dinnegan, had always enjoyed the privileged life. When Maddan had begun his weapons training the year before, he had assumed that because of who he was, he would be given a sword and then that would be it. Kael had had a good laugh at that, and then told the boy to get in line with the other students with a sharp whack of his sword on the boy’s rump. Nevertheless, he was still as arrogant as ever. He now fancied himself as the best swordsman in the Kingdoms. If Maddan wasn’t careful, though, his sword would get the better of him. Lissa, Nikola and Camilla stayed by the gate, obviously half-asleep in the saddle. Eric stayed with them, flustered by the appearance of the king of Fal Carrach.

  “Maddan,” replied Gregory. “So where are you off to today?”

  “To Oakwood Forest, my lord,” piped in Rohn, moving his horse next to Maddan’s. Gregory saw Maddan’s face turn red with anger. Maddan didn’t like to be upstaged. Rohn knew that as well, but it still didn’t stop him. No matter how hard he tried, he could rarely keep his mouth shut. “On a picnic.” He pointed to the food basket tied to the back of Eric’s saddle. “And Eric, Maddan and I were going to practice our woodlore skills to be ready for the Swordmaster.”

  Gregory examined Rohn with a quizzical eye. Of all the young men, only Eric approached his training as a soldier seriously. Both Maddan and Rohn were known for their lackadaisical efforts. The idea of the two of them practicing on their own was preposterous. Gregory waited to see if Rohn would say more. The best lies were always the simplest. The more elaborate they became, the easier it was to make a mistake.

  Kaylie tried to sit still on her horse, a look of alarm on her face. Why did men always think they had to handle things? She was doing just fine until these two oafs jumped in. She knew what her father was doing. She attempted to catch Rohn with her eyes, but he wasn’t paying attention. Kaylie groaned inwardly. Rohn was opening his mouth to speak again. Luckily, Maddan saw her expression and nudged his horse to the left. It brushed against Rohn’s dark grey steed, forcing him to steady the gelding. Annoyed by the disturbance, Rohn looked at Maddan in anger, who quickly motioned for him to stay silent. Seeing Kaylie’s expression, he did.

  “Well, we should really be going, father,” said Kaylie, turning her horse toward the gate. Her friends followed after her.

  Gregory smiled, shaking his head ruefully. Kaylie had hatched another scheme. Ah, well. Let her have her fun. If she could twist him around in so many directions he didn’t know which way was up, just imagine what she would eventually do to her husband.

  “Make sure you’re back before dark,” he called after them, receiving a wave from his daughter in return as the small party made its way out onto the bridge. Regardless of what she was up to, she couldn’t get into too much trouble. Not in Oakwood Forest, anyway. Maybe her friends could offer some protection if need be. Gregory chuckled at the idea. None of them showed the mettle Kaylie had. He hoped her friends’ attitudes didn’t rub off on her. A future queen couldn’t afford to have them.

  As he watched the small group make its way toward the mainland, Kael Bellilil joined him. A head taller than Gregory, he had the grizzled expression of a veteran soldier, and the scars to prove it. Completely bald, and with a scar running across one half of his neck, the joke in the castle was that to win a combat Kael simply had to look at his opponent. A sword wasn’t necessary with such a frightening countenance. No one would repeat such a joke to Kael, however. He was the best swordsman in Fal Carrach, which was why he was the Swordmaster. He had guarded Gregory’s back for twenty years, and Gregory could not think of anyone else who could do a better job.

  “Rohn, Maddan and Eric are going to Oakwood Forest to practice their woodlore.”

  “Are they now?” asked Kael in the lilting tone of a Highlander. His face crinkled in amusement, making him appear even more frightening. His father had been a Marcher; his mother a woman of Fal Carrach, who had returned to Ballinasloe when he was just a boy after his father was killed in the Northern Highlands fighting Ogren and Shades. Kael had never gone back to his birthplace, finding Fal Carrach more to his liking. “Eric, maybe. But the other two? I don’t think so. They don’t understand that if you want to be a soldier, you have to work at it. They’re spoiled brats and nothing more.”

  “I agree, and that’s what worries me.” Kael knew Gregory was very protective of his daughter, probably more so than most since she was all he had. Kaylie’s mother had died more than fifteen years before from a fever.

  “You needn’t worry over her. She’s got spirit.” For Kael, that was one of the highest compliments he could give, and he didn’t offer many. He was an excellent judge of character, and an even better Swordmaster. After ten years of training Fal Carrach’s soldiers, there was no danger in worrying over their ability. Only the Marchers could surpass the soldiers he trained. “You know, she wants to learn weapons herself. She asked me to teach her how to use a sword.”

  “And what did you say?” Gregory asked the question calmly, though his insides churned. First a horse and now weapons. How was he ever going to turn his daughter into a queen if she wanted to be a soldier?

  “That I was busy training soldiers. I didn’t have the time. Then she said she wanted to train with the soldiers. She said that just because she was a girl didn’t mean she couldn’t do as well as they.”

  “How did you handle that?” He envisioned exactly how she must have approached Kael — fists on hips, her face an angry red, standing right
in front of him, a commanding tone. She just might make an excellent queen some day, if her friends didn’t get in the way and she remembered what she learned.

  “I told her she’d have to talk to you.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’m sure it will be a fun conversation.” Kaylie and her friends were barely visible now, so he turned toward the kitchen. Kael followed him.

  “She does have spirit,” said Gregory. “I just hope that when it gets her into trouble, it gets her out of it as well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Awareness

  “Finally,” said Thomas. “Finally I get out of here.”

  He and Beluil walked quickly down the trail toward the western shore of the island. It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining down warmly on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time Rynlin and Rya had let him have some time to himself, with no lessons of any sort. And no chores. He hadn’t bothered to ask why. Instead, he left the house as fast as possible, having filled a small bag with food and grabbed his sword, the bow he had made with Ari’s help and a sheath of arrows. The bow was truly a massive thing, fully as long as he was tall. Yet, he could pull the string back easily. The weapons training had given him some additional muscle and improved agility. Though he still wasn’t very tall, he no longer viewed that as a limitation.

  When he had told Beluil where they were going, he had gotten a sour look from his friend at first, which had turned almost immediately to one of eagerness. He knew the rule as well. Still, that wasn’t going to stop them. Thomas wasn’t permitted off the island by himself. Rynlin had taken him across to the Highlands a few times in a small skiff, but only for a few hours. Today his grandparents had said he could do whatever he wanted. They liked Thomas to follow instructions to the letter, so he’d take that order literally. Besides, if he didn’t get off the island, just for a little while, he’d go crazy.

  Reaching the cove, Thomas pulled the small skiff down to the water, holding it steady so Beluil could jump in. He unraveled the sail and was about to push off when a voice behind him made him jump.

  “Good, I’m glad to see that you’re ready to go across,” said Rynlin, walking down the path to the small beach. “Rya wants me to find some herbs and roots for her that only grow at the edge of the Burren. I could use an extra pair of hands.” Rynlin walked past Thomas and stepped into the boat, sitting right behind Beluil. The wolf tried to appear innocent, but failed miserably.

  Thomas couldn’t believe it. His one chance for freedom, gone in the blink of an eye.

  “Are you going to stand there all day with that thick expression on your face, or are we going across to the Highlands?”

  His grandfather’s words quickly set him in motion. It may not be the way he had planned, but at least he was getting off the island. In only a few moments they were gliding across the waves. He should have expected this. It had all been a little too easy. As they broke free of the cove into open water a gust of wind caught the sail. The small boat skimmed across the waves, pushed along by the strong current. Thomas sat back comfortably, barely having to move the rudder. Relishing the feel of the wind against his face, he watched the fins of the Great Sharks follow after the craft. Though the massive sharks could bite the skiff in half, he wasn’t worried. In this part of the channel, the water was no more than three to five feet deep. If he ventured a hundred feet to either side, then he would have to worry.

  Rynlin also ignored the sharks, unconcerned. He settled back in the boat and soaked in the sun, oblivious to the waves lapping against the skiff. The sharks swam as close to the boat as possible, then turned away.

  Reaching the shore, Thomas turned south and followed the coast for an hour until Rynlin told him to beach the craft in a rocky cove where the Highlands met the Burren. After pulling the skiff far enough onto the beach so it wouldn’t be caught by the tide, they hid it under some branches. Thomas decided that his escape had failed because his weapons had given him away. Next time, he’d be more careful. He’d leave his weapons outside the house and pick them up on his way.

  As they walked away from the beach, Thomas and Beluil followed Rynlin into the forest, as he led them on a game trail that offered a quicker passage through the dense brush. By midday they reached the edge of the Burren. Thomas pulled out his bag of food for a quick meal of dried meat and cheese and passed some around to Rynlin and Beluil, who just wanted the meat.

  “Now that we’re here, it’s time to start looking for those herbs that Rya wants,” said Rynlin, rising from the rock that had served as his seat. He was dressed much like Thomas — green shirt, brown breeks and soft but thick leather boots, laced up to the knee. “It’ll probably go faster if we split up, so why don’t you and Beluil head in that direction, and I’ll go in this one. We’ll meet back here in three hours.” Thomas looked the way Rynlin pointed. That direction would take Thomas deeper into the Burren, which surprised him. Thomas smiled.

  “Thanks, Rynlin,” said Thomas, as he and Beluil slipped between the trees.

  Rynlin just nodded as he watched his grandson disappear in the thick foliage, the sun barely making its way through the branches. Thomas would be right at home. When his grandson had walked out the door with his weapons, Rynlin immediately knew where he was going. Rya wanted to stop him right there, but she held her temper after Rynlin promised that he would go with him.

  He agreed with Rya that it was safer for the boy on the island. Unfortunately, you couldn’t keep him there forever. He had to see the rest of the world some time, even if only a small part of it. Besides, Thomas was no longer a boy, and in Rynlin’s opinion, never really was one. They’d have to begin treating him as a man at some point anyway. With Beluil around, Rynlin was certain Thomas wouldn’t get into too much trouble.

  After Thomas and Beluil had wandered off, Rynlin moved over to an inviting looking tree, its roots curving along the ground in a manner reminiscent of a bed. Sitting back comfortably against the bark, Rynlin closed his eyes. Yes, three hours would be just long enough for him to take a nap. The herbs could wait. He had more important things to attend to.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Sense of Dark

  Thomas took several deep breaths as he journeyed into the Burren. He wasn’t sure what he enjoyed most: the smell of new surroundings or the taste of freedom. After six years on the island, the urge to explore, to see something new, almost overwhelmed him.

  Picking up his pace, Thomas jogged beneath the trees sure-footedly, darting around the trunks and easily avoiding the roots and branches littering his path. One of his teachers, Fergus Steelheart —the captain of the Golden Blades, the legendary personal guard of Ollav Fola — was now instructing him in swordplay. The men who formed the Golden Blades were reportedly the best swordsmen in all the lands. When Fergus served as captain, he was considered the best of them all.

  He had explained to Thomas that most soldiers wore their swords at their hips, which seemed like a good idea if you were marching into battle. However, running through the woods with your sword in that position would slow you down, and possibly even trip you. So Thomas preferred to hold his weapons in his hands when wandering about as Fergus had shown him; sword in one hand, bow in the other, quiver of arrows across his back.

  Beluil loped along beside him, enjoying the game. Soon, both were running at full speed, racing to see who could best negotiate the obstacles of the forest. The excitement of the contest thrilled Thomas as he ducked under a low branch then leaped across a small stream. Sometimes he would lead, other times Beluil, yet neither gained more than a pace on the other. Though dead leaves and branches covered the floor of the forest, neither made a sound. The only evidence of their movement was the air they disturbed in their swift passage.

  Thomas had just dodged around a huge rock when he skidded to a halt. It took Beluil a few moments to realize that his friend was no longer with him. Trotting back the way he had come, the large, black wolf found Thomas standing as still as a statue, a
faraway look on his face. Beluil formed a question in his mind. In an instant, Thomas’ eyes opened.

  “Something doesn’t feel right, Beluil,” he said, breathing easily despite the exertion. “It’s almost as if there is something in the Burren that doesn’t belong here.”

  Again Beluil formed an image in his mind.

  “No, I don’t think it’s a Mongrel, or Fearhounds. I’m not sure what it is.” Thomas focused on the source of his unease. He could feel nature all around him, and the Burren in particular. In his mind he pictured the dense forest as an area of green on a large map. The wrongness cut a deep red swath into the green, killing it, burning a hole into this well of life. He had had a similar feeling before, this sense of evil. The memory came back in a rush. He would never mistake that feeling again.

  Beluil looked at him expectantly. Thomas sent him an image of the wrongness — Ogren. Beluil howled with eagerness. It was time to hunt. Thomas recognized what Beluil intended, and it took only a moment for him to decide what to do. Rynlin was more than an hour behind him. By the time Thomas reached his grandfather, the feeling might disappear. And, even if the trail remained, Rynlin probably wouldn’t let him pursue it. Beluil was right. He had wanted excitement, and now he had gotten it. It was time to hunt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hunting Again

  The darkness in the cave was complete. Though the season had just turned to fall, the heat of the Clanwar Desert, only a mile or so away, could still become unbearable in the far western reaches of the Highlands, and its nights could be deathly cold. That worked to the bloodsnake’s advantage. Its prey, the wild pigs and small deer that lived on the border of the sand, often escaped the heat by finding a cave for shelter along the foothills of the Highlands, where it was cooler. For these animals, the caves were sanctuaries. For the bloodsnake, they were feeding grounds.