The Lost Kestrel Found (The Sylvan Chronicles Book 6)

by Peter Wacht

  “Grab your blade.”

  Kaylie wanted to sprint across the room, instead settling for a fast walk as she tried to maintain the decorum appropriate for a Princess of Fal Carrach. Rya couldn’t help but smile, understanding the girl’s excitement. Kaylie pulled her sword from its scabbard, turning to face Rya, her eyes alight with anticipation.

  “What I am about to show you is not a difficult thing to do with the Talent, but it does require concentration,” said Rya. “I understand that you’ve come face to face with Ogren.”

  “Yes, in the Burren. Two Ogren attacked us and Thomas and this massive wolf appeared out of nowhere to help us. And then again when a pack of Fearhounds—”

  “No need for stories, Kaylie. You’ve seen what it’s like to fight Ogren, but have you ever come upon a Shade or some of the more deadly creatures that do the Shadow Lord’s bidding?”

  For a moment Kaylie didn’t respond, wondering how Rya could possibly think that an Ogren was not as dangerous as some of these other creatures. “No, thankfully not.”

  Rya nodded. “We’ve talked a bit about how those practicing Dark Magic came to be, how they’ve sold their soul for the power offered by the Shadow Lord. As a result, a different approach is required when defending yourself. For example, when facing a warlock, you must learn how to negate the compulsion and other nasty tricks they like to employ. But we will touch on that in greater depth when you’re better versed in the use of the Talent. Instead, I will show you something that you can do when facing any dark creature, something that will improve your odds of surviving.”

  Kaylie jumped back in shock, almost dropping her sword when it burst into a blazing white light. Unable to stop herself, she reached down with her free hand, pushing gently for just a second against the blade. The light gave off no heat but sparked at her touch.

  “The power of the Talent will not harm you,” said Rya, coming to stand next to Kaylie. “But, it will burn through any defense offered by a dark creature, warlock or Fearhound or Ogren, it doesn’t matter. When the blade is infused with the Talent, it will cut through anything, Dark Magic or steel armor, with equal ease. If at some point you face a Shade or some other minion of the Shadow Lord, this is something you can do to even the odds.”

  Kaylie was entranced by the white light that now illuminated her blade. “How do I …”

  The Talent disappeared from Kaylie’s sword, leaving the cold, shiny steel in its place.

  “Take hold of the Talent,” Rya instructed.

  Kaylie nodded. Reaching out for the Talent, once again it slipped through her fingers. Then again. And once more. She fought to control her rising irritation, taking a deep breath to settle herself. Remembering the advice Rya had just given her, Kaylie imagined a large, intricately carved wooden door, behind which she could sense the Talent. Slowly, with just her fingertips, she pushed on the door, allowing a tiny trickle of the Talent to flow within her. Exulting in her success, she forced herself to maintain her concentration. She pushed on the door just a bit more, allowing the flow of the Talent to increase. Then, turning her attention to her sword, she opened a path for the Talent to flow into the steel. In an instant, her sword came to life, the Talent blazing brightly across its length.

  “Well done,” applauded Rya, smiling with pride. “Now release the Talent.”

  Kaylie did as Rya instructed.

  “Good. Infuse the sword once more.”

  This time, in less than a second, the Talent coursed through the steel blade. Kaylie grinned in pleasure, finally having mastered one of the most important and basic tasks for working with the Talent.

  “Well done, indeed, child. We’ll continue the lesson tomorrow.” Rya strode toward the balcony and the setting sun. “In the meantime, continue to practice what you have just learned until it becomes second nature and you barely have to give it a thought. We will build off your newfound skill during our next session.”

  “Where are you going?” asked the sweat-drenched, exhausted heir to the throne of Fal Carrach.

  “Exploring.”

  The petite woman exited through the balcony doors, disappearing into the gloom of the evening. Kaylie watched her go, too tired to follow after and wondering if Rya liked to leave her in this manner for a reason other than the dramatic effect.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Calculated Risk

  “It’s been three days,” said Seneca, voice tight, arms crossed against his chest. The grizzled Marcher was worried. “There have been no sightings of raiding parties by any of our scouts. Something’s not right.”

  “Aye,” agreed Nestor. The oldest and most experienced of Thomas’ chiefs, he spoke the least but all listened to what he had to say. “Every raiding party Killeran has sent out in the last month we’ve either wiped out or sent back to him with their tails between their legs. My guess is that he’s changing his tactics.”

  The other chiefs nodded their heads, agreeing with the assessment.

  “We’ve heard tell that Killeran has pulled all his reivers into a central location in the lower Highlands, near the border with Dunmoor,” continued Nestor. “That’s likely the start of whatever he has planned.”

  Thomas grunted, acknowledging the soundness of Nestor’s logic. He had used the Talent the last few days to scan the higher passes, searching for raiding parties to supplement the efforts of his scouts. Yet all that ever did was confirm Seneca and Nestor’s findings. Thomas took hold of the Talent, allowing the power of nature to flow through him. Taking a moment to savor the energy surging within him, he began to search. The thrill of it, first experienced when training with his grandfather, never lessened. He started once again in the higher passes, close to the Crag, then expanded outward, his mind’s eye soaring above the majestic Highland peaks, gradually extending his gaze as each second passed.

  Thomas stretched his Talent beyond the Pinnacle, quickly expanding his senses to the very edges of the Highlands. As he had grown older and his strength and experience in the Talent increased, he could stretch his senses all the way to the western Kingdoms, even gazing down at the brilliant waters of the Western Ocean. But that wasn’t necessary today. As he turned his attention to the southwest, he sensed the evil immediately, a blot of darkness on the land at the very edge of the Highlands, exactly where his scouts had reported Killeran had made his latest camp. But Killeran was on the move.

  Thomas released his hold on the Talent, his anger brewing. “You’re right, Nestor. Killeran has taken a different approach.”

  Killeran had formed the largest raiding party that Thomas had seen to date, essentially bringing together all his reivers. Moreover, he had acquired several hundred Ogren led by a handful of Shades. Warlocks, as well, shuffled along at the back of the long column. The vanguard of the raiding party was already several miles from Killeran’s camp and well into the lower Highlands marching for the higher passes. If they continued on their route, Thomas guessed that they would reach one of the larger Highland villages in the western peaks in just a few days. With that large a raiding party, the village could not hold out for long. Killeran had, indeed, adopted a new strategy, but perhaps one that could play out to the gain of the Marchers.

  Thomas had recognized the danger and the opportunity immediately. This gave him the chance to destroy Killeran’s Army of the Black Sword, to break their will, once and for all. But to fail with such an attack would be a crushing blow and most likely the death knell of the Highlanders. It would mean an end to the Marcher resurgence in its most nascent stage. Calculating the advantages and disadvantages, Thomas quickly concluded that the profit to be gained outweighed the potential risk.

  His men could fight the reivers easily enough, and they didn’t lack the courage and knowledge to take on Ogren and Shades, but the warlocks were a different matter. They had no way to defend against the warlocks’ Dark Magic. That concern had faded when the Marchers saw the power that Thomas wielded through the Talent. He debated for just a moment longer the cours
e to be taken, measuring whether he was strong enough to take on so many warlocks at one time. Because if he failed in that task, the entire enterprise was doomed, and his Marchers would be heading to their deaths or enslavement. Though some doubt and worry remained, he knew the decision that had to be made.

  “Renn, find Oso and Coban,” ordered Thomas. “Then gather the Marchers. I’ll call in all the raiding parties and direct them where to go.”

  In addition to searching over great distances, Thomas had the ability to communicate with people from afar through the Talent as well. A useful skill when needing to coordinate the actions of so many Marcher squads functioning independently in such a rugged landscape.

  “Why?” asked Seneca. “What do you see?”

  “The reivers, all of them, heading for a village in the western Highlands that sits at the edge of a higher pass,” explained Thomas. “Killeran’s silent partner is coming to the fore as well. In addition to the expected warlocks, the raiding party contains Ogren and Shades.”

  The hoary Marcher spit in disgust, cursing under his breath.

  “So the time has come more quickly than expected,” said Nestor, the veteran Marcher conducting the same calculation Thomas had just completed regarding risks and rewards. “Victory or defeat.”

  “Yes, the time has come,” said Thomas. “But in my mind there’s only one possible outcome.”

  “And what would that be?” asked Nestor, having reached the same conclusion as Thomas after measuring and balancing all the different variables.

  “Victory,” said Thomas quietly. “And freedom for the Highlands. The time of the reivers has come to an end.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Suspicion Confirmed

  Rya stood silently in Dinnegan’s office, the same room earlier in the day in which she and Kaylie had visited. Although guards patrolled the mansion and its grounds, which was located less than a league from the Rock, she had no trouble entering the estate and then the actual house unseen. One of the advantages of having mastered the Talent.

  Before she began a more thorough search, she wanted to get a better feel for what was around her. During her initial visit she had focused so much attention on Dinnegan himself, she didn’t have the time to scan her surroundings, other than to be repelled by Dinnegan’s many trinkets that he had acquired in his drive for greater wealth. Rya huffed in disdain. If this was how he measured his success in life, a sad and lonely existence he must lead.

  Reaching for the Talent, Rya let it flow within her. Smiling as she always did when she touched the natural magic of the world, she extended her senses. A mental map quickly formed in her mind. She noted the many rooms of the mansion, satisfied that she was alone. Two servants dallied in the kitchen, enjoying their privacy, as all the other residents slept except for the guards wandering around the mansion and the grounds. Dinnegan had the top floor to himself, alone and apparently asleep as well.

  Not finding anything out of the ordinary, and certain that she would not be interrupted, Rya directed her senses toward the cellar. She found the hidden passage instantly. Most people used their cellars to keep their food fresh, but Dinnegan clearly had put it to another use as well. Something down there that appeared to be a black cloud had piqued her interest earlier in the day, and that same premonition of muted evil remained. Keeping the map of the mansion she had constructed in her mind, she stepped up to the fireplace behind Dinnegan’s desk. Rya examined it for just a few seconds before finding the hidden latch.

  Pulling back on the lever set just within the stone, a small door swung open to her left. Pitch-black darkness welcomed her. Rya crafted a small light with the Talent, just enough so that she could find her way without falling, then stepped onto a metal staircase that led deeper into the dark.

  She took the staircase carefully, her progress impeded by two doors. One steel, the other oak. She knew the wooden door led to the cellar, so she focused her attention on the steel door. She wove the Talent into the lock, manipulating its mechanism. In seconds and with a barely audible click the door swung open on silent hinges.

  Rya stood there for a moment, extending her senses into the inky murk. The feeling of wrongness increased tenfold. Dimming the light that danced just above her palm so that it was barely a glow, she walked on noiselessly down the dirt passageway. It wasn’t long before she found what she was looking for.

  The roughly cut passageway opened up into a large room dug out from the mansion’s stone foundation. At the far end, she made out a gap, likely another way in and out of the rutted and pitted room. In the middle of the space, strewn out across the floor, irregular shapes lay covered by rough blankets. Black-clad men, swords, and daggers close to their hands, slumbered quietly.

  Rya took it all in for a few moments then stepped back soundlessly. She made her way back through the passageway, locking the steel door behind her once again, then strode purposefully toward Dinnegan’s office. The men felt wrong, tainted by darkness. That’s what she had felt earlier in the day. But there was something else now, a stronger sense of evil. Something else had been there within the past day, something more powerful in Dark Magic. Something more dangerous. Thankfully, it had left, otherwise it would have sensed her. But the fact that she couldn’t identify what it had been worried her. She didn’t like not knowing what she faced.

  Regardless, now she knew for certain, having confirmed her suspicions. Dinnegan had taken on a dangerous ally, and his play for Fal Carrach would come sooner rather than later.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Leading the Pack

  Night had fallen. The massive wolf, a strip of white across its eyes the only break in its coat of thick black fur, stood patiently among the rocks, watching, waiting, hidden by the dark of the night and the shadows that played across the mountainside. All was quiet but for the rustle of the wind coming down off the Charnel Mountains far to the north and sweeping across the Northern Steppes into the northern Highlands. The large wolf scanned regularly from side to side, its sharp eyes picking up glints of light reflecting off the full moon above. Wolves lay in wait among the rocks and the trees, at least six packs. Under most circumstances the wolves maintained a good distance between the packs, respecting one another’s territories. But the black wolf had called, and they had answered. They were there to hunt.

  Thank you, Beluil, a voice whispered in the wolf’s mind. You have done better than I had hoped for.

  Beluil responded with a small growl of affection in his mind, pleased to be able to help his friend. With the Marchers concentrated around the Crag in order to better protect the Highlanders from the reivers, Thomas had agreed with Seneca and his other chiefs that help was needed if they were to begin the difficult process of reclaiming their homeland. They feared leaving the northern Highlands undefended against the constant encroachments of the Shadow Lord’s dark creatures. Seeking a way to address this worry, Thomas had used the Talent to speak with Beluil. The large wolf had moved quickly to assist. In a matter of days, he had gathered all the wolf packs in the Highlands among the northern peaks. The wolves were more than happy to assist. They hated dark creatures with a vengeance, viewing them as sworn enemies and an affront to nature.

  They come, Beluil. They’re only minutes away. Fearhounds.

  Beluil growled his acknowledgement, his attention fixed on the gully above which his hundreds of wolves lay in wait. Below a dry stream bed led up from the Northern Steppes, offering a ready-made path into the lower foothills.

  Be careful, my friend. Good hunting.

  With that, Thomas disappeared from Beluil’s mind, leaving the wolf to his task. Beluil didn’t have long to wait. He caught flashes of movement along the flanks of the stream bed, deep among the trees and boulders. Several packs had shifted silently from their perch above the gully so that their prey would have a harder time escaping once the attack began.

  Beluil could sense the restlessness among the wolves. The restrained energy. They wanted to fight. The
y wanted to attack. They didn’t have long to wait. Dozens of large shapes began to appear, barely distinct in the darkness, but easily picked out by the wolves’ sharp vision. As the moon escaped the passing clouds once more, several Fearhounds were revealed by the bright light.

  They represented just another one of the Shadow Lord’s experiments, having been named because of their supposed ability to track their prey based on fear. The dark creatures appeared to be huge dogs, but that’s where the resemblance ended. There was no mistaking their similarity to normal hounds in terms of the shape of their bodies, but actually they were the size of small ponies, their top two canine teeth extending beyond their lower jaw. Moreover, their thick, ridged hides made them a hard kill, providing only a few weak points to be exploited. But the wolves had fought these and other fearsome beasts for centuries. They knew what to do.

  Beluil waited just a few seconds more, until the last of the Fearhounds had entered the gully, before leaping from his perch and digging his huge paws into the lose dirt and rock that led down to the dry streambed. He knew the wolves that had waited with him followed, barely making a sound, intent on the enemy below.

  Only feet away from the lead Fearhound, Beluil let loose a howl that echoed off the surrounding peaks. His packs followed suit, surprising the Fearhounds, for they had failed to discern the trap.

  Beluil slammed into the lead Fearhound, using his size to his advantage. Knocking the dark creature onto its back, Beluil leapt onto its belly and dug his sharp teeth into the Fearhound’s throat, tearing it out with a twist of its massive head. The large black wolf immediately found its next opponent. A Fearhound charged toward him, its large craw opened as it hoped to use its blade-like teeth to slice into his flesh. Beluil waited until the very last second before jumping to the side, barely avoiding the creature’s slavering jaws. As the dark creature skidded past, Beluil had reached out with its front paw, swiping across the beast’s face and blinding it in one eye.