by Peter Wacht
The Fearhound howled in fury from the pain as it struggled to stop its momentum and turn to attack once more. But Beluil never gave it the chance to do so. The large wolf rammed into the creature from its blind side and knocked it to the ground. Much as it did with the first Fearhound, before this one could scramble up, he tore into the dark creature’s throat.
Beluil peered around the gully and smiled, his bloody maw visible under the brightly shining moon. All the Fearhounds were dead or soon would be. His packs had made quick work of the dark creatures, closing the trap quickly so that none could escape, then using their larger numbers to take down their bigger opponents much as they would a stag, one wolf attacking from one side, another wolf attacking from another side when the animal turned away, simply waiting for that one opportunity when the wolves could swarm the beast.
Beluil raised his head to the moon and howled, the echo traveling for leagues through the Highland peaks. The other wolves imitated their leader, the howls rising to a crescendo that traveled near and far, announcing their victory against their blood foes. The wolves had triumphed that night, but they knew more would be asked of them. And they welcomed it. The large black wolf led them, and they trusted that fighting by his side they would clear their lands of dark creatures.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Taken
The glowing green eyes had captured her. Unable to look away, she felt as if the strong gaze had seen into the very core of her being. He had appeared out of the forest gloom, leaping down from the intertwined branches above the waterfall to protect her from the two approaching Ogren. With the help of the large black wolf, the boy had dispatched the dark creatures swiftly, displaying a skill and intensity that had shocked her and thrilled her at the same time. She had seen him again with the great wolf on a knoll, calmly striking down Fearhounds as they charged up the hillside, each arrow slicing cleanly through the eye as the attacking dark creatures collapsed in the long grass.
Next she returned to the glade near Tinnakilly having learned his name. Thomas. He was giving her the first taste of the Talent, reveling in the experience of what she could see and what she could do with the natural magic of the world. Then she dreamed of flying, gazing down on the land as it transitioned from plains to forest to mountain, then back again. The feeling of freedom compared to nothing else that she had ever experienced before. Just as she turned toward the mountains her focus lapsed, the vision blurring then disappearing altogether. An incessant pounding at the door woke her from her dreams.
Raising her head groggily, Kaylie looked to the window, noting that the night still lay heavy on the land. She had slept for only a few hours since Rya had left, her exhaustion from training in the Talent still with her.
“Who is it?”
The soft but persistent knocking stopped. “Captain Garlan, Princess.”
Kaylie reluctantly rose from her bed, pulling on a robe.
“I trust you understand that it’s the middle of the night, Captain.”
“I do, Princess. But I have news. While putting the measures in place as you instructed, we’ve come across two guardsmen who I suspect are involved in the plot.”
That claim immediately woke up Kaylie as she strode to the door with a renewed purpose. Pulling the heavy wooden frame open, a feeling of darkness swept over her. She tried to reach for the Talent but her rising fear and her instinctual need to step back, to run, distracted her. She realized that in a matter of seconds, her body wouldn’t respond to her commands. A cold fear settled into her heart. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t. She could see all that occurred around her, but she had lost control of herself. It seemed like she had left her body, looking down upon it from above as it slowly slid along the doorframe to the carpet.
A tall, cadaverous man wearing a grey cloak stared at her. Bald, his features sharp and severe, his malevolent grin terrified her. His eyes appeared to be swirling pools of black that identified and played off of your greatest fear instantly.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kaylie, Princess of Fal Carrach. I am Malachias.” The tall man motioned to two black-clad soldiers standing behind him. “We have plans for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Call to War
The sun began to sink in the western horizon as late afternoon settled over the Highlands. With the shadows lengthening, Thomas approached the Pinnacle and began to climb the narrow steps carved into the massive stone. As he did so, he continued to relay instructions to his chiefs.
“Divide the Marchers into equally sized groups,” said Thomas, capturing the eyes of Renn, Seneca, Nestor, Oso and Coban with his own before continuing. “You will each lead a war party. As we get closer to the village and I have a chance to survey the territory, we’ll settle on the final plan.”
His chiefs nodded their understanding, then stepped back. Reaching the top of the Pinnacle, the recent memory of standing on this same stone to be named the Lord of the Highlands flooded Thomas’ senses. When Coban had declared him the rightful ruler of the Kingdom, he knew that they weren’t alone. He had sensed the spirit of his grandfather, Talyn, standing with them. Thomas realized that in that moment his grandfather fully approved of his grandson finally assuming his rightful place as the heir to the Highland throne. But since then it had been one challenge after another, a constant stream of worries and fears that needed to be addressed if the Highlanders were to have any chance at reclaiming their homeland. And now their greatest challenge lay before them.
Thomas hoped that his grandfather’s approval would continue based on his most recent decision, the risk he took, the danger he pushed the Marchers toward. A massive gamble, betting the future of the Highlands and its people on a single confrontation, but Thomas knew in his heart that he had chosen the right course.
Gazing out over the mass of Highlanders below the Pinnacle, his breath caught in his throat. Thousands of men and women stood before him. Many were Marchers, hardened fighters of the Highlands. Others were just boys and girls who had come to the Pinnacle, having heard that the Lost Kestrel had returned. And the older folk as well. The ones he could no longer ask to fight, but he could count on to handle other tasks. All staring up at him with faith in their eyes, believing that he would lead them to their greatest desire, to a time when the Highlands would once more be free. It took only a moment for silence to descend on the plateau that surrounded the Pinnacle when the assembled Highlanders saw their new Highland Lord step onto the stone.
“My friends,” began Thomas. “In a matter of months the Highlands has changed. We have changed. We have begun forcing the reivers from our lands. Though at times we have struggled, we have risen to the challenge, freeing large portions of the Highlands from Killeran’s grasp.”
Cheers rang out from the Highlanders and Marchers, echoing off the surrounding peaks. Thomas waited for silence to return before he continued, his voice carrying easily across the plateau.
“Today, on this day, we have an opportunity to break the reivers once and for all. Killeran has massed his forces, his reivers and warlocks. And his hidden ally, recognizing the change in the Highlands, recognizing that now is the turning point and that the fate of the Highlands hangs in the balance, finally has shown his hand. Ogren and Shades march openly with the Army of the Black Sword, much as they did ten years ago when the Crag fell.”
Boos and hisses traveled across the plateau at the news. Many in the crowd had experienced the Crag’s fall, never forgetting that devastating night when one of their own had betrayed them, allowing their once unconquerable stronghold to fall and leading to the misery that had plagued them for almost a decade.
“Killeran heads for the village of Anselm on the southern edge of the Highlands,” said Thomas in a strong voice, warming to his audience. “He will be there by first light. If the village falls, he can make directly for the Crag. But we can’t allow that. Therefore, we must get there at first light as well.”
Many in the crowd cheered o
nce more, though just as many, particularly the younger ones, remained quiet.
“But how could we get there in time?” asked one Highlander. “Anselm is more than ten leagues from here. With night almost upon us, there is no way we can get there in time.”
“I’ve heard the stories,” said another Highlander. “About how the Marchers could march without tiring, always to a battle during the time of greatest need, always fresh to the field. But I always thought they were just stories, lore from hundreds of years ago. Just thinking about such a march is making my feet hurt, and we haven’t even started.”
Many of the Highlanders laughed at that, Thomas laughing as well, but only for a moment. His eyes burned fiercely, sweeping across his assembled people, capturing the gazes of many Highlanders and bringing quiet quickly to the plateau.
“Then we will run,” said Thomas quietly.
Shouts of disbelief rose up among the gathered Highlanders, the uproar bouncing off the surrounding peaks. The hard stares of Coban, Oso, and the other veteran Marchers standing around the base of the Pinnacle finally gained silence once more.
“I have heard the stories as well,” began Thomas in a voice barely above a whisper, yet a whisper that carried from the Pinnacle to the very edge of the gathered Highlanders. “My grandfather, Talyn Kestrel, told them to me before I fell asleep at night. He told me of the great deeds of the Marchers. How they could march fifteen leagues during the night then fight the entire next day, vanquishing the enemy. And then they would do the same the next night, marching fifteen leagues by moonlight to fall on their next enemy before the morning sun rose in the sky.”
Thomas ran his ardent gaze across the thousands of Highlanders gathered before him, letting his fiery, green eyes capture theirs once more, trying to force belief into them.
“Yes, I have heard these and other stories. Whether you believe them or not doesn’t matter.”
Thomas bowed his head for several seconds, gathering his thoughts. The short period of silence added gravity as the time passed, the Highlanders beginning to discern just how important this moment was to them as a people. When he raised his bright, glowing eyes a few seconds later, his voice was louder, stronger, filled with a certainty that latched on to the hearts of the listening Highlanders.
“What matters is not what we believe, but what we do. For almost ten years, reivers have ruled our lands. Reivers have driven us from our homes, enslaved and killed our families. Reivers have tried to make the Highlands their own. That time ends now.”
The surrounding Highlanders stared up at Thomas, the memories of the past decade strengthening their hearts and hardening their focus.
“A new time is beginning,” continued Thomas. “Our time is beginning. After tomorrow the other Kingdoms will know that once again the Highlands are free. They will know that if any trespass in the Highlands, they will face our wrath. They will be the ones to remember, to remember the glories of the Marchers. To remember our victories. To remember that to risk angering a Marcher means risking death.”
The intensity in Thomas’ voice increased as he bit off each word, which easily carried across the plateau. A palpable energy surged through the Marchers, as they too began to remember their past glories. They too began to remember the Highlands before the fall of the Crag.
“Just as you have, I too have heard the legends of the past. But those legends, they will remain in the past. For now, we must look not to the past but to our future. The future of the Highlands. Now is the time to make a new legend, our legend. Now is the time to march.”
Cheers rose across the plateau as the Highlanders released their pent-up longing, caught in the energy and spirit Thomas had woven around them. Caught by the purpose the Highland Lord had imbued within them.
Thomas raised his arms, the Marchers quieting instantly. His shout sent a bolt of energy through them, electrifying them, sending their hearts surging. “It is time to wake the Highlands! The Marchers go to war!”
The roar of the Highlanders blasted off the peaks, creating a cacophony of noise. Coban, Oso and the other war chiefs immediately stepped forward, mixing with the Marchers and shouting instructions to gather their gear and form into their war parties.
On their own initiative, several of the older Highlanders stepped to the top of the Pinnacle, joining Thomas, bagpipes in hand. In just a few moments the haunting notes of the bagpipes began to travel across the Highlands, drifting among the mountain peaks to the very boundaries of the Kingdom and beyond.
The men in the raiding parties who had been summoned by the Highland Lord but had not yet reached the Pinnacle stopped to listen, then picked up their pace, determination driving them forward. They could hear the call, feel it in their blood and their bones. The Highland Lord called them to war.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Threat Revealed
Rya stepped quietly into Dinnegan’s office, making sure to latch the hidden door behind her. The house still silent, she walked to the kitchen, the fires banked with the morning still hours away. She glided out through the servant’s entrance to the grounds, having entered the same way, and was glad to see that nothing had changed. She caught a glimpse of two guards lazily patrolling along the property’s wall far in the distance.
About to draw on the Talent so that she could return to Ballinasloe, Rya held off. Something didn’t feel right. She stood there for a minute, not moving, taking in everything around her. Then she sensed it. A darkness approached, the same darkness she had felt in Dinnegan’s cellar.
Hearing a commotion on the other side of the mansion, she moved unseen through the side garden until she had a good view of the front, remaining hidden from prying eyes. A carriage pulled by a team of horses skidded to a stop in the circular gravel path at the front of the mansion. Norin Dinnegan stood there waiting in anticipation.
Dinnegan’s steward opened the door to the carriage, allowing a tall, forbidding figure to step down to the stone gravel. The moonlight glanced off of his bald head and revealed his cadaverous features.
Rya hissed in anger. Malachias! She should have known. If the findings of her just-completed expedition were not confirmation enough, identifying a high-ranking minion of the Shadow Lord here removed any doubt. Dinnegan had sold himself to a power that he couldn’t negotiate with and that he didn’t fully understand. Eventually, he would realize his folly, but by then it would be too late for him.
Malachias reached back into the carriage and carefully extracted a still form draped in a robe. As he did so, several of the men she had seen sleeping beneath Dinnegan’s mansion walked out the front door. Rya sensed the wrongness that enshrouded the black-clad soldiers. Their movements weren’t as smooth or fluid as you would normally expect, as if their actions came in response to commands rather than natural instinct. Further, Rya could tell a small knot of resistance still remained within them, but with each passing day that internal conflict would lessen until the soldiers, once and for all, belonged to the shadow. She had seen this before and knew the cause. These men had doomed themselves as well, they just didn’t know it yet. Trading your soul to the Shadow Lord guaranteed only one end.
Malachias handed what now appeared to be a girl to two of the men, who then turned back into the mansion, carrying her between them.
A glance of moonlight on the still form’s face revealed her identity. Kaylie!
Rya’s first instinct was to attack, to take in as much of the Talent as she could and rescue her pupil. But she stopped herself, though not without a difficult internal struggle. Rya didn’t fear Malachias, but taking on that soul-cursed demon required all of her attention. She couldn’t confront a dark creature of such power as Malachias and hope to rescue Kaylie at the same time.
Cursing silently, she stepped back into the garden and hurried toward the back of the massive property. Kaylie lived, but how much longer that would prove to be the case was anybody’s guess. So time was of the essence. Kaylie’s political instincts had proven correct.
And a traitor in the Fal Carrachian Guard required their attention. But that could wait. First, Rya needed to get help.
Having reached the back wall and satisfied that Malachias would not sense what she was about to do, she took hold of the Talent. In a flash of bright, white light, she disappeared. In her place, a large hawk launched itself into the air, its powerful wings quickly gaining height. But rather than fly to Ballinasloe, the hawk banked to the west, following the road that led away from the capital of Fal Carrach.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The Plan
The Highlanders jogged through the night at a ground-eating pace, weapons tied across their backs and covered in cloth to prevent the clatter of steel from revealing their passage. A light snow fell, turning the world white and providing some small illumination since the clouds hid the moon. There were few sounds but the breathing of the Marchers and their light steps through the Highlands, that and the notes of the bagpipes that followed after them, which continued to float on the wind.
Highland scouts led the Marchers’ advancing line, but few worried about detection by their enemies. Supporting the scouts, Thomas used his Talent to scan their immediate surroundings and get a lay of the land as they approached Anselm and Killeran’s raiders.
During the early morning, the sky still slate grey, the snow stopped, leaving a light layer of powdery white on the ground. The clouds cleared, and the first dim rays of sunshine soon appeared on the eastern horizon. Thomas knew they were close, no more than a mile from the village. Calling a halt, he told his war chiefs, speaking to them with the Talent, to have their men rest for a few minutes, then prepare for battle.
