by Peter Wacht
“Thank you, my friend,” rumbled Catal Huyuk, looking to his left and seeing that the former leader of this small troop of Ogren had met the same fate as the other dark creature, a large, smoking hole appearing where its chest once had been.
“You’re welcome,” said Rynlin with a dastardly smile, stepping out from between the trees. “You look a bit winded.”
Catal Huyuk chuckled, simply glad to be alive. “You would as well if you had fought four Ogren before meeting these three.”
“Probably so,” he agreed. “I had expected Daran to be here with you.”
“As did I,” said the large Sylvan Warrior, who had bent over a dead Ogren, wiping the blood from his dagger and ax on the beast’s dirty clothes. “I haven’t seen him.”
“A worry for another day,” said Rynlin. “I have no doubt that roar at the end was heard for leagues. If there are other Ogren about, and I’m sure there are, they’ll be heading in this direction. Shall we move to a safer location?”
“An excellent idea, my friend,” replied Catal Huyuk, rising to his feet and then following after Rynlin as they disappeared among the trees.
The tall Sylvan Warrior had been correct. As they walked silently across a ridge, staying below the crest to avoid being seen, they could hear the roars of Ogren to their north and west, the beasts drawing closer with each passing second.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Political Nuance
“What’s the next step?” asked Kaylie.
After dismissing Garlan, she and Rya remained in her chamber, continuing to discuss the threat. The Princess of Fal Carrach felt more comfortable now as she sought to reveal the plot against her father, gaining strength from Rya and energy from the fact that she was making decisions rather than just reacting.
“Let’s talk politics,” suggested Rya. “Someone wants your father dead. So the first question is …”
“Who stands to gain?” interrupted Kaylie. “Who wants Fal Carrach?”
“Correct. Follow that thought.”
“After my father I’m next in line …”
She suddenly realized that she could very well be a target as well. Eliminate her and there was no heir to the throne. Her conclusion frightened her.
“Are you all right, Kaylie?” Rya knew what the young princess was thinking, but better to let her discover it for herself and learn to control her fear.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She took a deep breath, settling herself. Her ability to regain her composure so quickly pleased Rya. “Obviously, Rodric would stand to gain.”
“Yes, but he can’t take the throne openly. He would need a puppet.”
“Agreed. After the Carlomin line, no other noble house has a clear claim.”
Kaylie let her mind wander back to all of her instruction, the many tutors her father had forced upon her, until she found what she was looking for.
“It would be a free for all with several houses competing for the throne.”
“Which house would have the greatest chance of success?” prodded Rya.
“My guess would be Norin Dinnegan. He’s got the wealth and the political allies.”
“And the ambition,” concluded Rya.
“Yes, that as well.” Kaylie rose from her seat, feeling the need to move. “But what can we do? He may or may not be the one behind the attempted assassination. He certainly has motivation. If my father dies, he would have two options. Kill me and attempt to seize the throne on his own, which is certainly a possibility given his wealth and connections. Or …”
Kaylie’s face grew pale as she reached a conclusion that clearly did not appeal to her and seemed worse than death.
“Or what?”
“Or he could force me to marry his son, Maddan, thereby becoming the power behind the throne.”
“And once you’re married to his son?”
“That will never happen. Maddan is a conceited, arrogant, mean …”
“Continue with your original thought, Kaylie,” Rya prompted patiently. “Don’t get distracted. Keep your emotions out of your reasoning.”
With some effort, Kaylie pulled herself back to the matter at hand. “If Dinnegan forces me to marry his son, he has nothing to worry about from any other claimant. There would be no other claim. Besides, none of the other noble houses would be foolish enough to challenge him. And once the marriage occurred, after a period of time …”
Kaylie stopped pacing, the full scope of the potential deceit finally becoming clear.
“Tell me, Kaylie.”
“After a period of time, he could eliminate me as well. A fall from a horse or some strange illness would be offered as the excuse. The Dinnegans would have the throne with no one to dispute the claim.”
“An accurate assessment,” agreed Rya, pleased at the speed with which Kaylie had worked through all the potential political nuances.
“But what are we to do?” demanded Kaylie. “Just sit around and wait? There is no way …”
“No, girl,” cut in Rya, standing up. “We do not wait. It’s time for us to take the initiative. It’s time to visit Dinnegan and see if we can determine what game may be afoot.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Growing Confidence
Highland archers killed half the raiding party before the surviving reivers realized that they were even under attack. Some of the reivers tried to escape, but none made it back into the forest as the Marchers cut them down quickly, those few not struck down by arrows meeting their fate through sword and spear as they were unable to break free from the Marchers’ noose at it closed around them.
Many of the Marchers had heard of Thomas’ unique ability, but had never seen him make use of the Talent. Some now looked at him in awe. The bolts of energy tearing through the warlocks had shocked some and terrified others. But then their confidence grew, for now they had a weapon for the first time in a decade to combat the Dark Magic used to enslave them. They could take on the bastards who sought to take away their freedom without having to worry that the warlocks, despite the Marchers best efforts against the reivers, could still guarantee victory.
Thomas and Oso slipped out of the woods followed by the other Marchers, who moved quickly to gather up the bodies and bury them. Renn and Coban approached from the other side of the clearing, meeting them in the center of the village green where the body of the large reiver lay. After briefly admiring his men’s handiwork with their bows, he strode over to the two dead warlocks. He flipped over the body of one with his foot, the cowl of the warlock falling away as he did so. The warlock’s sightless, filmy black eyes stared up at him, its pasty skin looking more like melted wax. Thomas shook his head in disbelief, not understanding why someone would be willing to pay such a price for greater power.
“It shouldn’t take us more than an hour to clean up this mess,” said Coban, coming to stand next to Thomas, the sight of the warlock unsettling him. “The villagers will stay hidden in the glade until then. They can return home once we’ve removed the bodies.”
Thomas nodded, pleased with the result of the skirmish, though somewhat sickened by the carnage. Nevertheless, it was necessary if the Highlands were to be free once more.
“This plan is working better than I thought,” said Renn, the normally irascible Marcher grinning wickedly. “More Marchers are coming in from the farther passes every day, and more of the Highlands is free of Killeran’s reivers.”
“Yes, but I have a feeling that it won’t always be this easy,” replied Coban.
“You’re probably right,” said Thomas. “But no need to worry about that at this very moment. That’s a problem for another day.”
Oso grunted his agreement.
“Very true,” said Coban.
“Besides, there’s another group of reivers about five or six leagues from here,” said Thomas quietly, his unfocused gaze staring off toward the northwest.
The Marchers recognized that look, still somewhat intimidated by the fact that Thomas could search the
Highlands through the use of his Talent with such accuracy, but pleased by how it gave them an advantage in their fight against Killeran’s so-called Army of the Black Sword.
“Do we march?” asked Renn, his grin widening and his hand massaging the hilt of his sword in anticipation of what was to come.
Thomas came back to himself, releasing his hold on the Talent. The raiding party was no larger than this last one. Another easy target.
“We do,” replied Thomas. “Back to the hunt.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Weighed and Measured
“Who’s here?”
Norin Dinnegan, richest man in all the Kingdoms, sat comfortably in a large, straight-backed chair before the fire in his private office. Upon closer inspection, some could claim that the chair bore a striking resemblance to the actual throne of Fal Carrach, but none had ever offered such a perspective before, at least not openly. Why risk the wrath of a man known for holding grudges, remembering slights and having the capacity to gain his revenge whenever he so desired? Besides, almost all of the Fal Carrachian noble houses suspected Dinnegan’s ambitions. He had attained more wealth than any other lord through both legitimate and nefarious means, so should not the trappings of those extravagant riches in the form of the power that could be wielded follow after? Should he not have the opportunity to demonstrate that he could easily apply how he ran his many business interests to how he would rule Fal Carrach?
But it was not to be, at least not while the Carlomins remained on the throne. At first he told himself that he would bide his time, waiting for the right opportunity. But as time passed he realized that his natural impatience would not allow him to wait for what had become an obsession for him. He had never waited for anything in his life. When he wanted something, he took it. Simple as that. And he wanted, he needed, the Fal Carrachian throne. Therefore, he would have to engineer the opportunity on his own. He certainly had the means to do so, and his incentive increased with each passing day.
Dinnegan had achieved his wealth, and thus his power, at the expense of others. At the expense of those he deemed weak or foolish. And that’s how he viewed the world. There was Dinnegan, a man of intelligence and strength, of focus and unstoppable drive, and then there was everyone else. Woe to any who crossed him or offered a suggestion that might be contrary to his wishes or perhaps placed him in a bad light. There were always consequences for one’s actions and words, and Dinnegan relished meting out the harshest of punishments when he deemed it necessary. Not only was it good business, but admittedly he also enjoyed it, allowing him to harness the normally suppressed, sadistic side of his personality.
“The Princess of Fal Carrach,” replied Dinnegan’s steward.
“To see Maddan, of course.”
Dinnegan returned to the papers laid out before him. His silent partner had given him the primary responsibility for extracting as much wealth from the Highland mines as possible. Yet the unrest in that forsaken mountain Kingdom had made an already difficult task almost impossible. Mining had come to a stop and he had begun receiving reports that the Marchers were coming down from the higher passes, having declared open season on Killeran’s reivers. He needed to find a way around this current difficulty, and quickly. Knowing his partner, more than his fortune or his reputation were at stake.
His irritation rose rapidly upon seeing the steward still standing before him, something that his steward recognized and rightly feared. Corporal punishment for a mistake or a slight in the Dinnegan household was the least of his concerns at the moment. His master’s temper was short to begin with, even more so now that several of his most important business ventures struggled at best and threatened to collapse at worst.
The steward gulped, anticipating a burst of Dinnegan’s notorious temper, but he continued on in a shaky voice. “No, my lord. To see you.”
Dinnegan pushed himself to the edge of his massive chair, his escalating anger forgotten. His look of bewilderment was quickly replaced by one of worry. This was more than odd. Did they suspect? It had to be more than a coincidence. But what to do?
“Send her in,” he replied, his mind working furiously in an effort to determine why the young princess would want to speak with him.
Dinnegan rose to greet Kaylie Carlomin as she swept into the room. She was accompanied by a lady in waiting he had never seen before, an older woman in the place of the several inconsequential girls who normally tagged along with the princess. Dinnegan sensed that something wasn’t right, that he was missing an important piece of the puzzle, but he didn’t know what. The older woman displayed a confidence and composure that unsettled him. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into his very soul, searching for his most private and revealing secrets.
“Princess Kaylie, what a pleasure. If you would allow my steward to take your riding cloaks so that your visit here could be more comfortable?”
Kaylie smiled, then shook her head almost imperceptibly.
“Thank you, but no, Lord Dinnegan.” The Princess of Fal Carrach surveyed the room, taking in Dinnegan’s many tangible displays of his fortune. Her eyes were drawn to a locked glass case that enclosed a diamond larger than her fist and a string of pearls, each of which was twice the size of a marble. She assumed that these and the many other physical examples of Dinnegan’s success were there not only to remind him of what he had achieved, but also primarily to remind others. “I don’t expect we’ll be here for long. We don’t want to intrude any longer than necessary.”
Dinnegan stood there, his surprise obvious. The seconds passed slowly as he waited for the Princess to continue. But she simply stood there, a mischievous smile on her face. He began to fidget when he glanced over at her companion. The older woman’s face was barely visible with the cloak drawn up over her head, but her blue eyes sparkled faintly in the dim light. He felt as if this strange woman had weighed and measured him in an instant, and clearly she had found him wanting.
“I would have thought you came here to speak with Maddan,” said Dinnegan, seeking to gain control of a situation that made him exceedingly uncomfortable. “I understand you and he have been spending a good bit of time together, perhaps with a mind toward the future.”
Kaylie chuckled almost contemptuously at the suggestion, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. “I am not here to see Maddan,” she declared forcefully. “You can be certain of that.”
She would spend time with Maddan only if forced to do so, finding his arrogance and privilege insufferable. In fact, she’d rather spend time with an Ogren than with Dinnegan’s son.
“If you’re not here for Maddan, what can I do for you?”
“I simply thought now would be a good time to visit some of my more important subjects and supporters.” As she spoke, she continued to take in the opulence of the room, the obvious conceit and materiality, and cringed inwardly. “As my father often tells me, ‘Better to keep those who could have a real impact on the Kingdom, for good or bad, close to you.’ With my father traveling, and the responsibilities of Fal Carrach falling to me in his absence, I thought I would put his words into action.”
Dinnegan stood there, shifting his weight from side to side. He was a man of industry, a man of power and prestige, yet this wisp of a girl had sent a chill down his spine.
“Very good advice from the King, Princess,” said Dinnegan, a light sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead.
“Indeed,” agreed Kaylie. “As my father likes to explain, life is all about loyalty. For if there is no loyalty, then what do we have?”
“A good question,” said Dinnegan, his sense of discomfort increasing as he forced himself to ignore the beads of sweat that had begun to trickle down the side of his face.
“Indeed. But do you know, Lord Dinnegan? Do you know the answer to the question?”
Dinnegan shuffled a bit more, feeling like a schoolboy called out in front of the class. Unable to control himself any longer, he pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at
the droplets of sweat that marred his normally calm and commanding demeanor.
“With respect to loyalty?”
“Yes, Lord Dinnegan. If there is no loyalty, what do we have?”
“I’m sorry, Princess, but I don’t know the answer.”
Kaylie laughed softly as the piercing gaze of the woman standing just behind her remained fixed on Dinnegan, much like an eagle deciding when to launch at its prey.
“If there is no loyalty, then there is no trust. And with no trust, there can only be betrayal.”
A ball of cold fear settled within Dinnegan’s roiling stomach. He grasped his hands behind his back in an attempt to stop his fidgeting. He needed to calm himself. What was the Princess suggesting? What did she know? He had been more than discreet. There was no way she could have any idea what he had planned. But she was here now with this woman who made him feel as he did when meeting with the representatives of his silent partner. She couldn’t know. Could she?
“Uh, yes. Quite right, Princess,” said Dinnegan, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m glad you agree, Lord Dinnegan. Thank you for speaking with me.”
With that, the Princess of Fal Carrach swept from the room, her companion waiting just a moment, her sharp gaze taking in everything about him a final time before she turned on silent feet and left as well.
After almost a minute had passed, Dinnegan took a gulp of air, realizing that he had been holding his breath. He dropped back into his chair, his shaking legs threatening to collapse beneath him. He had met and negotiated with unsavory, dangerous men for years and had done so from a position of confidence and certainty. Yet this experience, at the hands of a girl no less, had left him frightened. He felt stripped to the bone, his innermost secrets open for all to see. It was not a feeling he enjoyed. But try as he might, he couldn’t escape the sparkling, knowing eyes of the woman who had accompanied the Princess of Fal Carrach. A woman who was clearly a threat to his carefully constructed plans.
