by Peter Wacht
Inwardly, Rodric cursed Killeran for an incompetent fool. He had given Killeran everything he needed — men, supplies, money — and more, and still he sent only a trickle of the wealth rumored to lie within those cursed mountains. How was he supposed to pursue his plans when—
Chertney’s face darkened like a thundercloud. To him, Rodric was a weakling who had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He was a bug, and the only thing a bug was good for was being stepped on. Yet his master forbid it, for now. Though Chertney didn’t understand why, he knew better than to dispute his master’s decisions.
“What about the Lost Kestrel?”
“The what?” asked Rodric. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t, Rodric. You’re a fool. What about the Lost Kestrel?”
The insult failed to register. Rodric had heard that term before, but from whom? His confusion was obvious.
“The Lost Kestrel?”
Chertney ignored Rodric. “It is rumored that the grandson of Talyn Kestrel survived the attack on the Crag and has been hiding in the Highlands ever since. At first I thought it was just a story, created by the Highlanders as a way to keep their spirits up. I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Yes, I’ve heard something of that as well,” said Rodric, trying to appear knowledgeable. “It is nothing to worry about, Chertney. You’re afraid of ghosts. The grandson died just like his—”
Chertney’s withering glare pushed the High King back in his chair. “Just because it is a rumor does not make it false.” Rodric cringed at the harshness of Chertney’s tone. “Most rumors have a kernel of truth. The grandson’s body was never found after the Crag fell. I know. I was there. I destroyed the Crag and turned over every piece of rubble looking for the boy.”
“But that doesn’t mean he escaped,” protested Rodric.
The task for eliminating the Kestrel line had fallen to Rodric after Chertney destroyed the Crag, who had in turn left the matter in Killeran’s hands. Yet, if Killeran’s skills as Regent of the Highlands were any sign, it was entirely possible that he could have failed in that as well. He couldn’t admit to that possibility, though. The ally who had given him that task did not tolerate failure. “He probably died like his father and grandfather as Rodric suggested. His body simply was never found. The forest in that part of the Highlands is extremely dense and almost impassable in certain areas.”
“I used to think much the same, Rodric,” said Chertney. “But I have been hearing some new, disturbing rumors originating from the Highlands. I have heard of a man or a beast — no one knows for sure — who is systematically eliminating the servants of our master when they walk in the Highlands. The Highlanders call him, or it, the Raptor. Though no one can say exactly what this creature is, they all agree on one thing. Do you know what that is, Rodric?”
Rodric wished desperately that he had the answer, but could only mumble incoherently. His hands began to shake again, and though he clenched the armrests with all his might, it didn’t help.
“Green eyes, Rodric. Green eyes that blaze in the night.” Chertney leaned over Rodric to emphasize his point, and the tall man’s imposing frame loomed over the High King, placing him in shadow. “Did you know, Rodric, that the grandson of Talyn Kestrel had green eyes? Green eyes that supposedly blazed in the night?”
“Yes, well, that still doesn’t mean the rumor is true,” stammered Rodric, looking for a way to escape Chertney’s gaze. With Chertney standing in front of him, his throne now resembled a prison. “Many boys have green eyes—”
“Yes, that is true, Rodric. I offer additional evidence. After the Crag fell, and the body of the grandson was never found, our master sent several of his other servants in pursuit, in case the boy survived. These servants have not found him during all the years they have searched, and these servants do not fail. They simply can’t fail.”
Rodric immediately picked up on Chertney’s implication of his futility, but wisely chose to ignore the barb.
“My last bit of evidence: Your Regent captured a boy with green eyes. Despite my express order that I be notified if ever a green-eyed boy were to be taken, I never was.” Chertney stepped back from Rodric, giving him room to breathe once again. “Last I heard, the boy had escaped, and during his escape, had burned down the fort that served as Killeran’s headquarters.”
Rodric leaped to his feet in shock. “The fort burned—”
“To the ground,” answered Chertney. “Nothing is left. And from what I also hear, the Highlanders eliminated a large portion of Killeran’s reivers during all the excitement.”
Rodric slumped back down in his chair, his mind too numb to take it all in. The fort destroyed? How was he supposed to mine the Highlands without the fort? He needed more gold and silver than ever before. Otherwise his plans would come to a halt.
“This boy with green eyes may be no one at all. Then again, considering the amount of trouble he has caused, and the fact that rumors of this Lost Kestrel persist, I think it would be well worth your while to make sure this rumor truly is a rumor. Do you understand what I am telling you, Rodric?”
“Yes,” mumbled Rodric. “Yes, I understand perfectly. The boy with green eyes will be found. I will take care of it myself.”
“You have restored my confidence,” said Chertney, his sarcasm plain. “I suggest you get started right away. As soon as you have captured him, notify me. Remember, Rodric, our master is not one who accepts failure.”
Chertney’s words chilled Rodric to the bone. He felt as if he were standing knee deep in snow, his legs stuck in place, with a freezing wind tearing at his clothes and turning parts of his body to ice. For the thousandth time, he rethought his decision to serve the master Chertney spoke of, yet knew in his heart that it was too late. Once you made such an alliance, there was no turning back. You either succeeded or died.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A New Player
The palace of Eamhain Mhacha was the largest in all the Kingdoms, containing miles of hallways that connected thousands of rooms and chambers — some known, some not. Corelia Tessaril waited several minutes before pressing the hidden latch that released the wall, which allowed it to swing smoothly into the hall right in front of her father’s private chambers. The suite of rooms behind the throne room was reserved for the High King and his family. No one was allowed there without express permission, even the servants, so she had little fear of discovery. Still, it was better to be cautious than bold.
Stepping out of the cubbyhole carved into the wall directly behind the throne of the High King, Corelia brushed a thin coating of dust from her dress as the wall swung back in place. Her father had just bought it for her — a deep blue velvet with a tight bodice and flowing skirts. It had cost a fortune, but as her father liked to say, nothing was too good for the daughter of the High King. Of course, she took full advantage of her father’s largesse, for she knew the true reason behind his generosity.
Her father did not provide her with the best clothes strictly out of the goodness of his heart, though he would never admit to it. Corelia had observed the political games played in the hallways of the Armaghian palace. Power ruled here, and there were many ways to gain and manipulate it, as well as lose it.
Beauty was just one. Corelia’s long blond hair flowed to her waist, and her eyes were a smoky blue. They fit perfectly with her sultry voice. Though she was barely an adult, she had many admirers, and Rodric played that card cleverly and without a second thought. But that was all right with her. Corelia knew that she was beautiful, and she knew how to use it to her advantage. More important, she knew how to play the game of power. She had been playing it all her life, both for and against her father.
She knew much of her father’s plans already, thanks to her many hiding places. Yet today’s meeting with Lord Chertney offered a new and tasty tidbit of information. One that could prove profitable, if she could figure out how to make use of it. She bit down on her lower lip, hands on hips and
one foot in front of the other, deep in thought. It was a pose that most men found irresistible.
The Lost Kestrel, she murmured to herself. She imagined what he might look like — probably tall, with broad shoulders and a confident grin. A man to be reckoned with. A man of power, and perhaps a way to power. The idea of his possible existence intrigued her. Her father wanted the Highlands for the riches it contained. Perhaps she could gain those riches for herself. Men wanted power, but they also wanted something else. Something that only she could give them, if they were so fortunate.
She had heard stories of the Lost Kestrel and his many exploits. Though she had enjoyed their telling, she had never put much faith in the stories. But if Lord Chertney was so concerned about a myth, perhaps it wasn’t a myth after all. This Lost Kestrel sounded like a strong-willed man. She certainly would enjoy taming him.
“Daydreaming, Corelia?”
The question startled her, and she jumped back a step, almost hitting her head against the wall behind her. Anger filled her, and she was about to release a scathing reprimand on the person who had dared disturb her, until she saw who that person was.
“What are you doing in the private residence, Lord Chertney?” she asked smoothly, hiding her shock at his presence. “I’m sure you’re aware that my father does not allow anyone here without his express permission.”
Her voice was true royalty - one that was used to giving commands. Her indignation simply washed over Chertney, having little effect. His black eyes focused intently on the young woman in front of him. Corelia tried to maintain contact with those eyes, but found that she couldn’t and lowered her gaze.
Chertney smiled. A strong one, this girl, but still malleable. Strength was good when used properly. He could have tested her in other ways, but he didn’t have the time. Yet, he still wanted to find out if his initial estimate of her was correct.
“I have never met a spy as beautiful as you, Corelia. You have immeasurably enhanced a profession often looked upon with contempt by others.”
Corelia’s face turned red in shame. She had been found out. But how could he have known? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just guessing. Besides, this was her palace. She became a picture of cool serenity and strength, refusing to show her fear.
“I know nothing of what you say, Lord Chertney. As I said before, no one is allowed within these hallways without my father’s express permission. I am quite certain, Lord Chertney, that you do not have that permission. I suggest you leave.”
The acid in this young vixen’s words made Chertney grin even more, the smile giving his sallow, dark features a ghoulish cast. He was correct. This one could be of use. Not yet. No, definitely not yet. But soon.
“As you wish, Corelia,” answered Chertney smoothly, bowing at the waist and turning on his heel in one smooth motion. He was several steps away when he turned back around. “Remember one thing, though, Princess. Once you have turned down a certain road, often you cannot go back. I suggest you choose your path wisely.”
The tall, dark man strode down the hallway, his frame disappearing into the shadows created by the torches lining the walls. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Corelia stood there for several minutes, trying to regain her composure. Chertney’s words made her feel as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her, sending chills through her body. It was several minutes more before those chills finally disappeared.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
A Second Meeting
Norin Dinnegan’s head whipped around as the howl of a wolf ripped through the dark silence. On most nights such a sound would not have startled him. But this wasn’t a normal night. The cold wind whipped across his face, forcing him to adjust his cloak for the hundredth time since he reached his latest place of commerce. He preferred standing by the warm fire of his private study and conducting his business the way he wanted. But his latest partner followed his own set of rules. Rules that Norin had no choice but to honor.
He scanned the forest glade once again. His troop of hired soldiers remained at their posts, an impenetrable circle at the edge of the small clearing. Nothing moved but the wind. They had left his mansion an hour before midnight, making their way northwest until they reached the very edge of the Burren. It was a strange place for a meeting, as well as dangerous. Most people avoided the Burren during the day if possible; no one willingly entered it at night.
Dinnegan guessed that it was several hours before dawn - he’d been waiting for more than an hour — though he couldn’t tell for sure. Dark clouds hung in the sky, hiding the moon and stars. Even with the heavy wool cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, he shivered. However, he refused to admit to himself that the cause was anything but the cold. Besides the occasional wolf howl, silence reigned in the Burren. That’s what made him and his men uncomfortable. Forests were active places at night, becoming quiet only when predators prowled. In any other forest, man was the primary hunter. But in the Burren, even if only on the edge, man often became the prey.
Fear and anticipation mingled in his blood. He was the richest man in Fal Carrach, in fact in all the Kingdoms, yet his wealth no longer satisfied him. He wanted more. And as he had learned in his forty years of business, many times to achieve what you wanted you had to go outside the accepted channels of commerce.
“Well met, Dinnegan.” The raspy voice emanated from a shadow standing just a few feet in front of him.
Dinnegan jumped back in fear. The voice drew the attention of his men, many of whom reached for their swords. He waved them off.
“Who are you?” asked Dinnegan, trying and failing to keep a tremble of fear from his voice.
The shadowy man had slipped past his guards with ease. Even now, when Dinnegan looked directly at the dark shape, he had difficulty picking it out from the blackness of his nighttime surroundings.
“You may call me Malachias.” The crackly voice set Dinnegan’s teeth on edge. “My master says everything is ready. The task will be done.”
The shadowy man stepped forward, the sinuous, graceful movement lost to the eye. Dinnegan desperately wanted to run, sensing the creature’s evil. Every part of his being told him to run, but he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to complete this deal. “My master wishes to know what you will give him in return.”
Dinnegan licked his lips before replying, desperate for a swig of wine. His throat had suddenly gone dry. His response now would either make or break the deal. “Mountains of gold and other riches—”
“My master has no need for such things,” hissed Malachias contemptuously. “Gold and jewels mean nothing to him.”
“Then what?”
Dinnegan had never before had such an offer refused. Greed was a natural part of man’s character. He didn’t know what more he could offer. Dinnegan suddenly realized to his terror that he had horribly miscalculated. This wasn’t just another business deal. His prospective partner demanded more.
“He wants you, Dinnegan.” The chilling words burrowed into Dinnegan’s heart. The small voice inside his head again told him to run, to forget this arrangement and escape. Yet his overwhelming ambition locked his feet in place. “My master will do as you wish, and you will gain what you desire, but in return you will serve him — doing as my master commands, when he commands.”
Dinnegan stared at the dark shadow, for the first time in his life not knowing what to do. His fear, forgotten once the negotiations had begun, returned in full force. Could he make such an agreement, without knowing what the consequence might be? Was there any other way to gain what he wanted? Was there? If not, then was he willing to pay such a price? His greed and common sense battled within him. The fight lasted several minutes, but as it had so many times before, his avarice won out.
“So be it.”
He tried to make his words ring strong, but to his ears they sounded hollow. For the first time in his life, he felt unsure of himself.
“So be it,” replied the shadowy man, satisfied. “In
a short time you will have what you desire.”
With his task complete, Malachias disappeared into the night. Dinnegan spun around, looking for any sign of movement, but finding nothing. Not even in the thick dewy grass. Dinnegan’s feet had flattened the long stalks all around him, but there was no sign of the messenger’s passage. His soldiers weren’t even aware that the meeting had ended.
Dinnegan remained where he was for almost an hour, lost in thought. He had gotten into several business contracts in the past, and out of just as many with nary a scratch. The cold wind blew over him, and this time he welcomed it. Sweat had formed on his forehead. Hopefully, he could do the same with this one when the time came. However, the small voice that had previously warned him to run now told him it was too late. In his heart, he knew the voice spoke true.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
A Welcome Task
Thomas splashed into the water, trudging the last few feet to the shore and pulling the small sailboat up onto the beach. The calm of the early morning remained, the sun not yet touching the horizon. Soon, though, the animals and birds of the Highlands would awake, much to Thomas’ delight.
“Come on, you coward.” Beluil sat majestically on his haunches in the prow of the small skiff, not yet ready to disembark. He grinned wickedly at Thomas, showing his sharp teeth. “Your majesty need no longer fear getting his paws wet.”
Thomas’ sardonic tongue was lost on Beluil, as the large black wolf leapt onto the sand. He ran off to the edge of the tree line while Thomas dragged the boat farther up the beach, hiding it among the rocks and trees to prevent discovery. After wiping their tracks clean in the sand, he grabbed his pack and bow and followed his friend into the forest.
It was good to be back. Rya had argued that it was too soon, that he had not fully recovered from his wounds, as it had only been six weeks since his escape from the reivers. For Thomas it was not soon enough. Though still sore in several places, only the scars remained of his time in the Black Hole. Now the only pain he felt came when he looked in the mirror as his chest and back displayed the artistry of a whip and a poker. Just looking at the crisscrossing marks made him grimace in distaste. He could only imagine what someone else might think.
