The Lost Kestrel Found (The Sylvan Chronicles Book 6)

by Peter Wacht

  At least that’s what he told himself, for he had never gotten the chance to prove himself. That infernal boy had dropped from the trees aided by that midnight black wolf. In seconds both Ogren were dead and Kaylie had become enthralled by an interloper who looked like he lived in the forest and had nothing to call his own but the clothes on his back and the weapons in his hands.

  Pushing that bad memory from his mind, Maddan rose from his chair and sat on the side of the bed, stroking Kaylie’s silky black hair gently. All that was in the past and no longer relevant. There was no one else to protect her now. Just him. The Princess of Fal Carrach was finally his.

  “What am I doing here?” Kaylie asked groggily, lifting her head.

  At Maddan’s touch, she scrambled back from him clumsily, sliding off the bed and putting her back to the wall.

  Startled from his reverie, Maddan smiled. “You’re safe here, Kaylie. You have nothing to fear.”

  “Why am I here?” she demanded again, this time putting steel in her voice, her clouded mind beginning to clear.

  “For your protection, of course.”

  Maddan started to walk around the bed toward her, but stopped when she moved away from him, sliding against the wall and keeping her distance.

  “There was a man …”

  Maddan chuckled. “Yes, Malachias.”

  “You know him?” Kaylie asked in shock.

  “I do. He’s here with my father.”

  “But why would your father …”

  Despite having just broken free from the Dark Magic Malachias had used to whisk her out of the Rock with no one the wiser, Kaylie quickly regained her senses and put together the pieces of the puzzle. If Dinnegan worked with Malachias and she had been taken here, then her and Rya’s suspicions were correct.

  Dinnegan lay at the root of the assassination plot. Once her father was eliminated, Fal Carrach would fall to her. Or rather to Dinnegan once Dinnegan forced her to marry his son. Something that recent experience told her was well within the power of this Malachias. Even with her nascent skill in the Talent, she didn’t have the knowledge or expertise to defend against the Dark Magic he would use against her.

  Maddan shrugged, having watched the realization come to her, then walked toward the door.

  “I see you’ve figured it out already. I should have expected no less.” As he stepped through and began to pull the door shut, he called back over his shoulder, the smugness in his voice overpowering. “Just remember. Soon your life will depend on me. So I suggest you begin to accept the reality of your circumstances. One way or another, you will do what I require of you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Final Preparations

  Thomas waited for his Marchers to get into position, still hidden by the forest. He watched the battle progress in front of the stockade wall, the Highlanders fighting ferociously to hold back the reivers. His heart ached watching the boys and girls who stood on the walls with their mothers and fathers, brothers, and sisters, doing all they could to defend their village.

  Coban appeared at his side, his men filing out behind them into a line of battle. Thomas knew that his Marchers were tired from the long march through the night, but many smiled or wore looks of grim determination, most of the men and women nodding in respect as they passed, a fiery gleam in their eyes. They could sense the opportunity and the risk just as well as he could. They knew what the day could bring, for good or bad.

  “Aric, come forward,” said Coban. “Open that package I gave you. You’ll know what to do.”

  The tall Highlander, saved in the mines by Thomas, bent to his task. Thomas turned back toward the village, his attention focused once more on the current attack. Killeran had pulled his reivers back, sending his warlocks forward instead. Only a handful of the warlocks remained, but they still represented a major threat to the village as they hurled balls of fire at the gates. Though not strong enough to blow apart the steel-banded barrier, eventually the magical flames would win out.

  Despite the best efforts of the Highlanders to douse the gates with water, it barely slowed down the inevitable as singe marks began to appear on the wood. Soon the fire from the Dark Magic would take hold, and then it would only be a matter of time before Killeran had his breach and the village fell.

  Confirming that his fighters were in position, he took a deep breath to steady himself. It was time. Time for the Marchers, his Marchers, proud, strong, and hungering for revenge, to create their own legend.

  Thomas turned back to Coban, ready to give the order to advance. Instead he stopped for a moment, surprised. Aric stood just a few feet behind him, Coban standing next to him. Both had huge smiles on their faces. He had forgotten about what Aric now held in his hands, though Coban clearly hadn’t. He nodded his thanks to the Highland Swordmaster.

  Well, grandfather, let’s see if I can keep my promise to you, Thomas thought. He remembered vividly almost ten years before, escaping through the passageway beneath the Crag, his grandfather sealing him into darkness so that the Ogren and reivers that were overcoming the Marchers’ furious defense of the Highland fortress could not pursue him. But before he did so Talyn had given him the Sword of the Highlands, the large two-handed sword with a double-edged blade, now strapped in the sheath across his back, and his mother’s necklace. On the end of the slim, silver chain hung a finely carved talisman with the center showing the horn of a unicorn, the thick bottom of the horn spiraling up to a razor-sharp point. He had followed that necklace to safety and still wore it around his neck, along with the one he had earned when he had become a Sylvan Warrior himself. He also remembered one of the charges that his grandfather had given him that night: “You are Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands upon my death, and I charge you to remember that and to make sure others remember it as well.”

  Thomas was, indeed, the Lord of the Highlands. Now he would do as his grandfather required and make sure others remembered it.

  “Aric, come with me,” said Thomas. “Coban, I’ll let you know when.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Start of the Show

  “Are you sure this is a good idea, King Gregory? There is no need for you to take this risk.”

  Gregory turned to the impressive, somewhat frightening woman standing beside him, understanding her point. Yes, she was right. Fal Carrach needed him. But his daughter more so.

  “She’s my daughter. I’m going.”

  Rya nodded, expecting nothing less. She looked behind her, satisfied with what she saw. Kael’s riders had pulled from three garrisons stationed in the countryside around Ballinasloe. Several dozen soldiers hid in the forest just beyond the back wall of Dinnegan’s estate. The remainder waited with Kael on the other side of the estate, closer to the gate.

  “How do you propose to scale the wall without rope and hooks?” asked Gregory.

  Rya grinned. “We’ll be taking a different route. One that’s designed to draw the attention of Malachias and his men. It will give Kael more time to advance through the main gate and hopefully take Dinnegan’s men from behind as we discussed.”

  Gregory nodded, motioning for his men to prepare themselves. All gripped their daggers, swords, and axes, ready to attack. Several of the horses whinnied or stomped their hooves, feeding off their riders’ anticipation.

  Rya turned back to the wall. Several feet thick, the barricade rose thirty feet into the air. Her smile grew wider. This was going to be fun. Taking hold of the Talent, the power of nature streaming within her, she focused her attention on the stone blocking her path.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Compulsion

  “I won’t do what you want,” said Kaylie, her voice strong as she fought to control the fear that coursed through her.

  Malachias chuckled, a terrifying sound that made Maddan think of claws skittering across stone.

  Maddan sat against the back wall of the room, as far from the grey-cowled, emaciated figure as he could. Getting too close to his fa
ther’s ally set his hands trembling, which prevented Maddan from projecting the image of strength and power he so desired.

  Norin Dinnegan sat behind his desk, writing correspondence to many of the lords and ladies of Fal Carrach, ready to announce the untimely demise of the current king, something that would happen once Gregory returned from his circuit around the Kingdom. And then, after Dinnegan’s assassin completed his work, he would be eliminated as well, removing any ties to Dinnegan and giving him a clear path to become the power behind the throne. A simple plan, as he preferred. Dinnegan had found over the years as a result of his many schemes and business dealings that simple plans were always best. Fewer possible complications meant fewer mistakes.

  “That’s the beauty of it, Princess,” replied Malachias in his raspy whisper. “You will have no choice.”

  He walked closer to her, until she could see nothing but the swirling black pools in his eyes. She tried to maintain her composure, but she sensed the power he held and the evil that lurked within him. It terrified her, and she knew that even with her growing skill in the Talent she did not have the capacity to defend against his Dark Magic.

  “You do remember what happened with that boy, don’t you? The one who befriended you at the festival?”

  “Thomas?” She had not meant to speak his name, but Malachias’ hypnotizing gaze compelled her to reveal it.

  “Yes, I assume that’s the one. You didn’t want to do that either, Princess. You didn’t want to betray him. But you did.”

  The incident had devastated her and remained an open wound. She had been told that what she had done had been the work of others. Even Rya had confirmed it, explaining that she had no ability to resist the compulsion likely placed on her. But there had always been a nagging doubt, her remorse over the incident frequently getting the better of her.

  “Yes, you see it now, don’t you? Chertney compelled you to betray the boy. Just as I will compel you to do as I command once your father is dead.” Malachias leaned down, his face just a fingerbreadth from hers, his rancid breath making her feel ill. “You have no …”

  Malachias raised his head, listening to something that only he could hear. Then they all heard it. A great avalanche of stone crashed down, as if the side of a mountain had just collapsed.

  Snarling, he strode through the door that led to the back of the property, followed by the black-clad soldiers that came streaming through the hidden door and the cellar beneath the mansion, summoned silently by their master.

  “What are you doing?”

  Dinnegan had ducked behind his desk, startled by the resounding boom. Malachias responded to Dinnegan without breaking stride.

  “We are under attack, you fool. Summon your guards. And make sure the girl doesn’t wander off.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Coming Tide

  Crendall, reluctant leader of Anselm, stalked the walls of the village with a vengeance, cursing some of the Highlanders, exhorting others, doing whatever he could to keep them focused and on task. He never wanted the responsibility of leading the village during a time of crisis, but no one else would take on the role. The Marcher with the most experience, his friends had selected him. With no one else willing to step forward, he didn’t have much of a choice. Now the fate of his village rested on his shoulders.

  To describe the current attack as a crisis was an understatement, he thought to himself, as he yelled at his neighbors to keep up with their attempts to stop the fire on the gates from spreading. The flames had only caught in a few places because of their efforts, but Crendall knew their luck wouldn’t last. The unnatural flames inexorably ate into the hardened timbers. The veteran Marcher understood that the warlocks’ Dark Magic eventually would win that small, but all important skirmish.

  No, this wasn’t a crisis. It was going to be an all-out disaster. As soon as the reivers breached the gates the Ogren and Shades would storm through, force the defenders to one place within the village, then leave the warlocks to disable the Highlanders so that Killeran could enslave them once more and put them into the mines as laborers. What would happen to the weak or sick, the women and children unable to work, he didn’t want to think about.

  “Come on lads, keep at it,” exhorted Crendall. “Leave the men above the gate to handle the flames. The rest of you …”

  “I’m not a lad,” called out one of his fighters.

  Crendall turned toward the soft voice with a smile on his face.

  “Quite right, Margery. Quite right, my lass.” Every able-bodied Highlander defended the walls.

  “Keep your eyes open and your wits about you.” Crendall continued his travels along the length of the parapet, repeating his instructions. “Stand strong. Watch each other’s backs. The reivers will be back at us soon.”

  Crendall stopped in his tracks, about to upbraid one of his smallest fighters, a young boy named Hurlin, for getting distracted. Something far beyond the wall had caught the boy’s attention. Crendall cursed once again. The boy shouldn’t even be on the parapet. He was too young. He could barely lift the spear he held in his hands. But what choice did they have? He needed anyone who could carry a weapon.

  “Hurlin, what in blazes …”

  Hurlin’s squeaky words cut him off. “Look, Crendall. Look at the edge of the forest.” Hope had worked its way into the boy’s tinny voice.

  Crendall followed Hurlin’s gaze. And then he saw it. At the very edge of the forest, two men stood, one of them driving a flag into the ground. A flag he never thought he would see again. On a field of white, three mountain peaks served as a backdrop to a raptor streaking down from the sky, claws outstretched for the strike. He had heard rumors, but no one from Anselm had made it to the Pinnacle to confirm then. Then the threat of attack by the reivers required all their attention. Perhaps the rumors were true. The possibility energized him.

  The flag now standing on its own, Marchers began to stream out of the wood, forming a battle line from the edge of the precipice all the way across the crest of the valley. The sight brought tears to Crendall’s eyes. A Highlander had come to the village just a few days before, regaling everyone with tales of what had happened at the Pinnacle, tales of the Raptor actually being the Lost Kestrel. And last night he had heard the faint sounds of the bagpipes traveling on the wind. But he had been afraid to believe, not wanting to deal with the potential disappointment after almost ten years of struggle.

  The reivers had yet to look behind them, seemingly more concerned by the dark creatures on their flanks, the bulk of their attention focused solely on breaching the gates. Crendall grinned wickedly. That bastard Killeran was about to receive the shock of a lifetime. Several Highlanders now stood by the flag, raising bagpipes to their lips. Crendall closed his eyes for just a moment, savoring the rich notes that blasted down into the valley. Momentarily the attack stopped as Killeran and his forces turned toward the forest, aghast at the Marchers aligned above them.

  As if by some silent command, the Marchers as one stepped down into the valley. Swords, spears, and other wicked instruments of death held before them, they began at a walk, then moved to a trot. In absolute silence the Marchers advanced toward the reivers, the Ogren and the Shades, allowing the sharp notes of the bagpipes to drive them forward.

  Crendall broke himself out of the spell that had kept his gaze transfixed on the Marchers and the flag that whipped violently in the now strongly gusting wind.

  “Come on, my lads. Come on, my lasses. Continue your efforts. Hold the walls.” Crendall trotted across the parapet, a vicious smile on his face. “Now you’re going to see what a real battle is like. Now you’re going to see the Marchers in their full glory. Woe to any who stand in their way.” He hadn’t felt this good in years.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Engagement

  The Fal Carrachian soldiers formed a double wedge as they urged their horses across the rubble of the wall and moved swiftly across Dinnegan’s property toward the mansion, Greg
ory at the point, Rya just behind. They dispatched briskly the few guards at the back of the estate, shifting their attack toward the black-clad men sprinting toward them in two perfectly formed lines.

  “Remember, they are under a compulsion,” shouted Rya. “They will never yield! They must be killed!”

  Gregory nodded as he and his men urged their horses into a steady trot. It was then that he saw a tall, dark figure glide from the mansion and follow after the soldiers aligned against them.

  “Hold your men here!” shouted Rya.

  Gregory quickly gave the order, his men halting their advance. Rya walked her horse several yards in front of Gregory and his men, an unnatural calm settling over her. The Talent flowed through her with a purpose. Having used it to blow a hole in the back wall, she now applied it defensively, crafting a massive, glowing shield of white energy and placing it in front of her and Gregory and his soldiers.

  The Fal Carrachians sat their horses bravely, seeking to calm their mounts, as bolts of black energy streamed toward them. They knew they had no defense against the Dark Magic sent against them, having no choice but to rely on the petite woman in their midst for their protection.

  Their trust was rewarded. The black energy slammed into the shield, setting off a dazzling display of energy and sparks as the two sources of power struggled with one another, then merged, the momentarily grey shield returning to its brightly glowing white as Rya easily absorbed the Dark Magic Malachias had flung against her.

  “Leave Malachias to me,” Rya said grimly. “Kill his men and get to Kaylie.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX