by Peter Wacht
“They couldn’t have followed so quickly,” protested Anara. “How could you know?”
“Do you really want to know?” Thomas asked.
“Anara, if Thomas says the reivers are an hour behind us, they’re an hour behind us,” said Oso.
“We need to get these people to a safe place. I know they’ll fight, but they won’t last very long. And I’m not going to let them die after just setting them free.”
The vehemence of Thomas’ voice surprised Oso. He had never seen his friend so intense before.
“My home is about a day’s travel from here, in the higher passes,” said Anara. “It’s called Raven’s Peak. It’s the closest village I know of where we could defend ourselves against the reivers.”
A day’s trip. It would be a long and hard journey for everyone involved, but they really didn’t have any other options.
“Anara, let’s get these people walking again. You take the lead. Raven’s Peak it is. Oso and I will do what we can to slow the reivers down.”
Anara nodded. “Don’t you want any help?”
Thomas looked around him. The men were all fighters, as were the women, but in their condition they would be more of a hindrance than a help.
“No, Oso and I will be able to take care of it ourselves. We’ll buy you as much time as we can.”
Without another word, Anara ran toward Razel, who was sitting with the other leaders Thomas had selected from the five different cages. It didn’t take her long to relate what Thomas had said about the pursuing reivers and the plan that they had developed. The men dispersed quickly, and in a matter of minutes, the Highlanders were back on their feet and traveling to the northeast.
“Oso, do you happen to have any bows and quivers of arrows in that bag of weapons you’re carrying?”
“Let me see.” Oso hunched over the bag and rummaged through it. “You’re in luck,” he said, pulling two bows and several quivers of arrows from its depths.
“Then it’s time to hunt.”
“Finally,” said Oso. “I’ve been wanting to do that for almost a month now.”
The two men walked back down the trail, the quivers strapped to their hips and the bows resting on their shoulders. The sun was just beginning to peek out from behind the mountains to the east, the hazy red glow pushing back the dark of the night. A day’s travel. The Highlanders still had a long way to go, but Thomas was confident that he and Oso could get them there safely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A Dangerous Animal
“Anara seems quite taken with you,” whispered Thomas as he adjusted the leather guard he wore on his right wrist.
Killeran had taken away all their weapons when they were captured, and the reivers had even found the knives hidden in Thomas’ boots. But they had never forced him to remove the wrist guard, for which Thomas was thankful. Otherwise, he would have been dead weeks before. Killeran would have recognized the birthmark on his wrist in an instant.
Every so often Thomas extended his senses to get a fix on their pursuers. The reivers were coming after them fast, following the same trail the Highlanders used, but thankfully because of the terrain they would have to come on foot. Their horses would slow them down on this rocky path. When the reivers were no more than ten minutes behind them, he and Oso had slipped into the trees alongside the path.
“What do you mean?” Oso looked at his friend with a quizzical expression.
Thomas laughed softly. “What do I mean? What do I mean? You know exactly what I mean. I saw you when I caught up with the group. She was walking so close to you, from a distance I couldn’t tell you two apart.”
“That was nothing,” protested Oso.
“And what about when we were talking. When she joined us she went right to your side.”
“You probably scared her,” said Oso, trying to regain some of the ground he was rapidly losing in the conversation. “Those eyes of yours, when you’re angry, even scare me sometimes. You’re not a very big person, Thomas, but you certainly do know how to frighten people.”
Thomas smiled. It wasn’t easy to keep Oso on the retreat, even verbally.
“Just what are you saying, Oso?”
“Well, Thomas, to be completely honest, you can be a bit scary. Green eyes glowing, balls of fire bursting forth from your hand. Frightening indeed.”
They both laughed softly.
“Well, she does like you,” said Thomas. “And I have a feeling that Anara is the type of person who, when she finds something she likes, goes after it. And she doesn’t stop until she gets it.”
“I know,” replied Oso. “That’s what worries me.”
He was going to say more when Thomas raised a finger to his lips. The reivers had almost reached them. Giving his friend a pat on the shoulder, Thomas moved off to the left, gliding silently between the trees.
In a few minutes, the sounds of footsteps crunching on the loose rock of the path traveled up the slope. Oso marveled at Thomas’ abilities. If he could do what Thomas could, he’d bring home a feast to feed a village every time he hunted, rather than a single buck or boar. Then again, it was probably a good thing. How would he carry it all back by himself?
Oso quickly pushed his idle wonderings from his mind. He had work to do. The black-clad reivers trotted up the trail, unaware of what lay before them. Whoever led the reivers in Killeran’s absence was being cautious, sending the scouts out first. Seven in all. The rest of the reivers must be farther down the trail, probably about a half-hour behind this group.
Oso nocked an arrow to his bow and pulled the string back to his cheek. He waited until they were almost even with him before releasing. When Oso heard the twang of Thomas’ bow off to his right, he also released. Thomas had moved farther down the trail, so he shot at the back of the group while Oso targeted the front. That way they wouldn’t aim for the same target.
He didn’t wait to see if his first arrow struck home. The screams of surprise and fear coming from the reivers confirmed the quality of his aim. Oso quickly pulled another arrow from where he had pushed a half dozen into the earth point first. He sighted and released, and then again.
He was about to let another arrow fly, but silence greeted his ears. Looking out through the underbrush, Oso saw the seven reivers lying dead in the dirt and rocks. This would certainly give the reivers coming behind the scouts something to think about, and perhaps even make them more cautious. The more time they could buy for his people the better. Thomas stepped from behind a tree, his bow in hand.
“Good shooting, Oso.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you ready for the next ambush?”
“More than ready.”
“Good,” said Thomas. “Let’s get going. We’ll give the reivers a chance to feel safe again before we dissuade them of that notion.”
After retrieving their arrows, Thomas loped off into the forest, moving away from the path. To Oso, he looked more like an animal than a man with his graceful and strong movements. A very dangerous animal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A Brief Respite
The ambush earned the Highlanders several hours’ respite, but that still wasn’t enough time. The same short sergeant with whom Thomas and Oso were so familiar led the reivers now. Kursool had become the living embodiment of Thomas’ hate, since he was the one responsible for carrying out Killeran’s orders. In Thomas’ opinion, Kursool enjoyed carrying out those orders far too much, particularly with respect to the Block. Yet it was probably his zealousness that won him a place at Killeran’s side. The lines of age and scars of battles past fit perfectly with the short but broad-shouldered man’s personality — sharp and abrasive.
Kursool was perpetually angry, and he found his happiness by taking that anger out on others. For the past few weeks, Thomas and Oso had been his targets. At the moment, though, Thomas thought the sergeant’s primary motivation might not be anger so much as fear. Kursool had been in charge of the fort when the Hi
ghlanders escaped. As a result, he would be the first one to taste Killeran’s wrath.
Thomas knew that though the first ambush was a success, much of the day still remained. The sun, which offered little warmth on this cold morning, had not yet reached its midpoint. There was little he and Oso could do against such a large body of men. Kursool had almost two hundred reivers at his disposal.
However, despite the overwhelming odds, because of the first ambush Kursool played right into their hands. Not knowing how many Highlanders were responsible for the attack, he had decided on a cautious strategy. He sent out overlapping five-man squads to scout a quarter to a half mile in front and behind his main force of reivers. By doing so, he hoped to deter more ambushes, and perhaps even flush out the attackers.
Yet, there was one problem. That strategy, though militarily sound, was of little use under the current circumstances. Though the main force had better protection, it left each five-man squad more vulnerable to attack, allowing Thomas and Oso to continue their ambushes and not only buy time for the Highlanders’ escape, but also diminish Kursool’s remaining forces. Oso had said that some of the larger villages deep within the Highlands were home to several hundred Marchers. He hoped Raven’s Peak was one of them.
“There is a group of five coming from the east,” said Thomas, materializing out of the forest right in front of Oso. They had picked a spot along the trail where the forest grew thick on both sides. Getting through it required the use of a sharp axe, so they assumed the reivers would stay to the trail. Two hours had passed since the first ambush. With any luck, the reivers had grown lazy since then.
“Would you please stop doing that,” grumbled Oso.
He had almost jumped out of his skin when Thomas appeared. One moment he’s standing next to a tree, watching for any movement in front of him, the next Thomas is speaking to him from only a few feet away without having made a sound during his approach. It just wasn’t natural for someone to move so quietly in the forest.
“Sorry,” said Thomas, who found a spot a few trees over where he would have a clear line of sight to the road. “I’ll shoot from left to right.”
“Sounds good,” said Oso.
They soon heard the crunching of boots along the trail. Five black-clad soldiers walked into view across the rocky ground, crossbows held at the ready. In the first ambush, the reivers held only swords and daggers. Thomas and Oso would have to be more careful now. If they missed, these reivers would shoot back.
Thomas waited until all five were in plain sight before firing, Oso having released just before he did. His first arrow took the last reiver in the chest. The man just in front of him heard the loud thunk of the bolt striking home, but before he could turn around and discover what happened, Thomas’ second arrow pierced his heart. Both died before their bodies hit the ground.
Leaving the first two to Oso, Thomas pulled a third arrow from the ground, nocked it and aimed for the reiver walking in the middle of the column. The man had seen his two companions in front of him crumple to the ground and was about to flee when Thomas’ arrow plunged deep within his chest. In a futile effort, the reiver pressed the trigger of his crossbow, but the bolt flew harmlessly up into the sky as the man collapsed.
“Good shooting, Oso,” said Thomas.
“Thanks.”
Thomas trotted through the woods and out onto the trail. Dagger drawn, he checked to make sure each reiver was dead before pulling the arrows free. Four came out clean, but the fifth was wedged tight beneath one of the reiver’s ribs. During his struggle to remove it, the steel tip broke off. Thomas threw the useless shaft into the forest before rejoining Oso. They had only so many arrows to use and their supplies were dwindling quickly.
“Let’s move a little farther down the trail, but not too far. I doubt Kursool will expect another attack so soon after this one.”
“A good plan,” agreed Oso, taking the two arrows Thomas handed to him and wiping the tips clean on the grass before putting them back in the quiver on his hip.
Oso made the calculations in his mind. Another few hours won, but still a half day or more left. Their work was far from over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Fear and Worry
“Clean through the heart, sergeant,” said the reiver as he turned the body over. He looked at the five dead reivers with distaste. He was a veteran of many battles, but he didn’t like being around dead men anymore than the next person. “All of them. Clean through the heart.”
Kursool studied the five bodies one more time. All dead. All from an arrow straight through the heart. Just like the other five. And the other five. And the seven before that. He had never seen such efficient ambushes before. For the first time in many years he was afraid. He had known those two boys were trouble the minute he had seen them, but rather than killing them right away like he had suggested, Killeran had decided to play with them first.
Well, now the boys were having their fun, along with however many Highlanders were fit enough to join in. Judging by these two attacks, they probably had a dozen or so men with them. It was the only way to explain the ease with which they had eliminated so many of his men.
Unfortunately, a part of his mind — the part he listened to during a battle, the part that had saved his life more times than he could count — told him that he was wrong. A dozen Marchers weren’t ambushing his men. It was two, and boys at that. He could see that some of his men already had come to the same conclusion. He could also read from their expressions that they were wondering something else.
In the last hour the reivers had entered territory regularly patrolled by bands of Marchers. If only two boys could do this, what would happen if they came across a squad of Marchers? None of his men had ever seen what those Highland bastards could do when the warlocks weren’t around to interfere. Ordering Marchers around while they were in chains was one thing. Matching steel with an angry Highlander was something else entirely. The thought of walking into a group of Marchers terrified him. But what could he do?
He was probably already a dead man for letting Killeran’s fort burn to the ground, and the only chance he had for staying alive was bringing the Highlanders back, along with those two boys. If they didn’t catch the escaped Highlanders before the day was out, they probably wouldn’t catch them at all. Then he and his men would be the hunted, rather than the other way around.
“What should we do, sergeant?” asked another reiver.
Kursool looked at the man with steely eyes. Resin. He had discovered the men murdered in the barracks. Kursool had not bothered to ask him why he had left his post. Time for that later.
“We keep going, Resin.”
“But sergeant—”
The man’s words caught in his throat as Kursool fixed him with a murderous glare.
“Resin, are you challenging my authority?”
Resin gulped at the implication, his face turning white. The only way to move up within the reivers’ ranks was through a duel. Obviously Kursool was one of the best fighters among all the reivers, otherwise he never would have achieved his current standing. Resin was there to make money, and both he and Kursool knew it.
“No, sergeant. Forget I said anything.”
Kursool stared at the man a few moments longer. His right hand twitched, hovering over the hilt of his sword. It was too bad Resin had backed down. Killing him in a duel would make leading his men much easier.
“Vanin,” he called out.
A tall reiver approached. His long, curly red hair formed a ring around his head that stuck out from underneath his helmet. His overall appearance was humorous, but no one dared to laugh. Next to Kursool, Vanin was the most dangerous man with a blade in the Black Hole, or rather what had once been the Black Hole.
“Yes, sergeant?”
“Take fifty men and increase the size of the scouting parties. I don’t want any more surprises.”
“Yes, sergeant.”
“What was the last report regardi
ng the Highlanders?”
“One of the scouts guessed that they were only a few hours ahead of us,” replied Vanin, shuffling his feet uneasily. Vanin was a man of few words and didn’t like to talk.
“Good,” said Kursool. “Then we can still catch them before the sun sets. Get going, Vanin. We don’t have time to waste.”
“Yes, sergeant.”
Vanin immediately called for the first fifty men in the long column to follow him farther down the trail.
“Let’s move out,” yelled Kursool as he trotted up the rocky slope.
Kursool’s men followed after him, swords drawn and crossbows at the ready. As each man walked past the five dead reivers, their eyes immediately went to the trees around them, scanning the foliage for any sign of movement. They were supposed to be the hunters, they kept telling themselves, not the hunted.
They had gone no more than a mile before the next attack. Kursool was caught completely off guard, not expecting such a bold move from the Highlanders. Somehow the Marchers had slipped behind his scouts. As the first few arrows sped through the air, the reivers stood on the trail too shocked by their attackers’ audacity to do anything. Who would risk assaulting such a large group of soldiers?
A larger group of soldiers, most likely. Their shock quickly changed to fear that a Marcher war party surrounded them. The reivers bolted for the trees along the trail, trying to hide behind the thick trunks before they joined their friends lying dead on the rocky path. The once organized column of soldiers deteriorated into a mass of terrified men, knocking one another out of the way as they gave into man’s strongest instinct — survival.
Though the attack seemed to last forever, it was over in less than a minute. Kursool peeked out from behind the tree he used for cover. The sight horrified him. More than a score of his men lay dead or wounded on the path, the shafts of long Highland arrows sticking up from their chests.
They had to be facing at least a dozen men. They had to! Two boys could not do so much damage. Two boys could not be so deadly! Kursool tried to convince himself of that fact, but the voice in his head kept telling him that he was wrong. He and his men were up against two boys, and the boys were winning. Shaking off his growing fear, Kursool walked out from behind the tree.
