The Call of the Sylvana (The Sylvan Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  The Call of the Sylvana

  By Peter Wacht

  Book 2 of The Sylvan Chronicles

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2019 © by Peter Wacht

  Cover design and formatting by Ebooklaunch.com

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.

  Published in the United States by Kestrel Media Group LLC.

  ISBN: 978-1-950236-02-2

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-950236-03-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019901433

  Also by Peter Wacht

  THE SYLVAN CHRONICLES

  The Legend of the Kestrel

  The Call of the Sylvana

  The Raptor of the Highlands (forthcoming)

  The Makings of a Warrior (forthcoming)

  The Lord of the Highlands (forthcoming)

  The Lost Kestrel Found (forthcoming)

  The Claiming of the Highlands (forthcoming)

  The Fight Against the Dark (forthcoming)

  The Defender of the Light (forthcoming)

  For Jacob and Michaela.

  Thank you for reminding me

  about what’s really important.

  Contents

  1. New Direction

  2. A Little Fun

  3. Revelation

  4. A Calling

  5. A New Skill

  6. An Unexpected Visitor

  7. The Circle

  8. Unfortunate Meeting

  9. The Village

  10. Choices

  11. A Prelude

  12. The Judgment

  13. Darkbane

  14. Found Worthy

  15. Warming Cold Stone

  16. A Leader Must Emerge

  17. Bringing the Chains

  18. Learning His Trade

  19. Attacked

  20. Escape

  21. Taking Charge

  22. Plan Gone Awry

  23. A New Path

  24. Silent Approach

  25. Discovery

  26. Bad Luck

  27. Easy Decision

  CHAPTER ONE

  New Direction

  Rynlin said it would be just another training session. Thomas hadn’t believed him then, and he certainly didn’t believe him now. One thing he had learned while living on the Isle of Mist was that Rynlin liked routine. He was comfortable with it, which was one of the reasons why Thomas’ day was so regimented. Having a weapons session in the morning struck him as odd, and the fact that Rynlin now watched him with the eyes of a hawk made it meaningful, as his grandfather rarely observed his martial training. Though Rynlin munched calmly on an apple while using the massive root of the nearest heart tree as a seat, the gleam in his eye spoke volumes of his interest in the struggle unfolding before him.

  Thomas’ grandfather was a tall man, slim but with a deceptive strength. His piercing, green eyes held an intensity that frightened most men and accentuated the sharp features of his face. The short black beard flecked with grey gave him an almost dastardly appearance. If anyone had the courage to tell him so, he would have smiled and thanked them for the compliment.

  Rynlin had been back for less than a week, and since then every day offered a new test for Thomas to pass. The previous night, Thomas had again been up past midnight answering questions presented by Rynlin and Rya regarding the Sylvana. The questions came rapidly, with little time to answer. Many times his grandparents spoke over one another, increasing the difficulty. The questions he answered incorrectly yesterday he would have to answer correctly tonight. And if he got them wrong again … well, he didn’t want to think about that. Neither Rynlin nor Rya was known for their patience. Thomas told himself to stop letting his mind wander and instead focus on the task at hand.

  Not the tallest of lads, Thomas’ constant training had given him broad shoulders and a wiry strength. Pushing several strands of wavy brown hair from his brow, he turned his sharp green eyes to the figures standing across from him. These and the other spirits he fought against during training were brought forth by Rynlin, using in the Talent in a way that Thomas had yet to learn. Usually when he practiced in the ring, he faced one opponent. Today he fought three men known as shock troopers. They were the vanguard of what had once been the army of the Perosian Empire, which for a time had stretched along the western coast of what are now Kashel, Inishmore, and Ferranagh, and included both the Western Isle and the Distant Islands.

  The three shock troopers circled him now, moving on their toes. They made him think of the big cats that hunted in the Highlands and how they stalked their prey. The three men wore standard armor with chain mail for the legs and arms and interwoven plates of steel covering their chests, torsos and thighs. What surprised Thomas were the steel helmets. Each one was unique, although they all followed the same theme. Instead of the nose guard or slits common to the Kingdoms, the steel displayed images of ancient monsters. He understood why they were called shock troopers. If an opposing force didn’t know what to expect, they would most likely run in terror from these warriors, thinking they were fighting creatures from their nightmares rather than men. The shock troopers twirled small spears in front of them as they circled Thomas, with one end of the blade ending in a sharp spike and the other curving to form the edge of a scythe.

  His opponents had watched him for several minutes now, not bothering to attack. Instead, they waited patiently for an opening. Thomas grasped only his sword and a small spear. He was clearly at a disadvantage, yet competing against Antonin and his other weapon tutors had shown him that no matter what the odds, you always had a chance. Thomas watched the movements of his three opponents carefully, turning slowly around in a small circle of his own, trying to keep an eye on the man behind him. He knew the first attack would come from that direction.

  The three shock troopers slowly closed the circle, waiting for their chance. They yelled at him now, trying to unsettle him. Their bloodcurdling cries set his teeth on edge. Still, Thomas ignored them. That was the first step in surviving any battle. You had to remain calm and focused. With three opponents, a single mistake on his part would lead to a quick death.

  With blazing speed, the trooper at his back launched himself at Thomas, swinging his scythelike spear at Thomas’ neck. A well-placed stroke would have taken his head off. Thomas quickly sidestepped the attack and moved behind the trooper. For a brief moment, Thomas was out of the trap, with only one opponent in front of him. Thomas lunged forward, not wanting to waste this opportunity. He stabbed with his spear, taking the trooper in the back of his thigh. With his first attacker’s attention focused on the steel in his leg, Thomas sliced with his sword across the man’s neck, forcing the blade underneath the dragon-shaped helmet where it met the breastplate. In a flash, the man disappeared, returning to wherever he had existed before Rynlin had called him forth. Thomas had won the first skirmish.

  The two remaining troopers immediately took up positions so Thomas was once again turning slowly, trying to watch his front and back at the same time. The minutes passed slowly as he followed the movements of the two men. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his brow, but he couldn’t take the chance. He guessed that the third one, the one Thomas had killed, had moved sooner than his two companions had expected. That mi
stake allowed Thomas to escape for a few seconds. He didn’t think he’d have the same opportunity again.

  This time the two shock troopers attacked at the same time, one charging forward with his weapon raised high, the other lunging with his weapon low, aiming for Thomas’ legs. Thomas let his training and instincts take over. He ran forward himself, toward the trooper with his scythe raised above his head. He wanted to put as much space as possible between himself and the second trooper coming at him from behind.

  The trooper in front of him was surprised to see his target charging at him. Thomas saw it in his eyes, but the man recovered instantly and swung his spear in a shorter stroke. Thomas caught the scythelike blade with his sword, then jabbed with his spear. The man dodged Thomas’ lunge, but it put him off balance. Thomas didn’t let him recover. He kicked out his right leg, slamming into the trooper’s knee. The man fell to the ground with a cry of pain. Allowing his instincts to take over, Thomas swung his sword in a broad arc behind him, stopping the blade of the second trooper just inches from his leg. Again Thomas stabbed with his spear, but this trooper was the quickest of the three, and he stepped back easily. The injured trooper remained on the ground, so Thomas left him to focus on the other trooper, a soldier whose mask resembled the dragons of yore.

  He continued his attack, swinging his sword and stabbing with his spear, the steel often no more than a blur. But much to Thomas’ disappointment, the trooper blocked each of his maneuvers. Thomas was losing time. The injured trooper would be on his feet soon, and then he’d be back where he started, caught in a standoff. Worse, the duel had lasted for more than an hour now, and he was getting tired. Both of his arms ached, and he knew that his movements had slowed. The faster you tired, the sooner you made a mistake. Thomas decided to try a different approach.

  He turned quickly toward the second trooper, now rising from the ground. The other trooper saw his opportunity, reversing his spear and stabbing for Thomas’ back. Thomas had expected that, and he again twisted around, deflecting the thrust with his spear. He then swung with his sword at an angle. The blade sliced through the shock trooper’s armor and the man disappeared. Two down.

  Thomas jumped back around, but saw that he had misjudged. The injured shock trooper had gotten up faster than expected and was only a few feet from him, his blade poised to strike. Having no chance of evading the thrust, he did the only thing he could, thrusting with his spear and taking the man in the gut. It was a killing blow, but the trooper’s blade struck home too, taking Thomas in his side. The third trooper disappeared.

  “A good fight,” said Rynlin, rising from his seat underneath the tree and throwing the apple core into the bushes. “You misjudged in the end, though.”

  “I know,” said Thomas, thankful that it had only been a practice session. If it had been a real fight, he would be dead.

  “Still, holding off three shock troopers is quite a feat.”

  “I should have won.”

  “That may be,” said his grandfather. “But you didn’t. Next time, make sure you do.” Rynlin headed for the house and Thomas followed, putting his sword in the sheath strapped to his back so he could use his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  His sword. After all these years it was still hard for him to think of it as his sword. The claymore had belonged to his other grandfather. All the swords that kings or lords wore at their sides had magnificent jewels in the hilt that sometimes ran halfway up the blade. But his grandfather’s sword - he corrected himself - his claymore was different. In fact, it looked just like any other claymore that a Marcher might own.

  The long, double-edged blade held an air of menace. The hilt was wrapped in soft leather so his hand wouldn’t slip. The symbol of the Kestrels - a raptor streaking down from the sky, claws outstretched to grasp its prey - was carved into both sides of the blade and at the pommel and was the only form of ostentation, along with the words “strength and courage lead to freedom.” Words that seemed to burrow more deeply into his heart with each passing day.

  The strain of the contest, both mental and physical, had exhausted him. Maybe staying alive for as long as he did was a victory in itself. Thomas threw out that notion immediately. If you accepted defeat you wouldn’t live very long. That’s what Darius the Great had said when teaching Thomas how to fight with a dagger. It was funny, really. Praised as a cunning statesman, the politics of Darius’ time involved an unusually high amount of bloodshed. To survive, Darius had mastered the dagger, since it was the best weapon for fighting in tight corridors and other places with little room to maneuver. It all related to an earlier lesson that Thomas recalled. In short, people remembered what they wanted to remember. Thomas wondered what people would remember of him, if anything at all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A Little Fun

  “Are you ready for your next lesson?”

  “My next lesson?” asked Thomas, surprised. Thomas smiled for an instant. Perhaps Rynlin would finally teach him how to summon the spirits of the great warriors. He had trained against several, but there were so many more from his history lessons that he wanted to challenge. Rynlin stopped in the glade normally reserved for lessons in the Talent. He should have known. It was only midmorning. Rynlin liked to make the most of his time. Why not fit one more lesson in — or rather test as Thomas saw it — before lunch.

  Thomas jabbed the tip of his spear into the ground, then stood next to Rynlin. In the beginning, both Rynlin and Rya had instructed him in the Talent. Thomas would watch how they accomplished a task and try it himself, with either one following along with him to make sure he was doing it right. With time that had changed. Now, they told him to do something, and he had to puzzle it out for himself.

  “I’ve got a simple task for you today. I want you to become invisible.”

  Simple! Becoming invisible was anything but, requiring a great deal of skill. Thomas shook his head in frustration. He was tiring of all these tests. Fine, his grandfather wanted him to become invisible. He had some experience in this. He’d do it and offer a little surprise of his own.

  Taking a few steps away from his grandfather, Thomas drew in the power of the Talent, the power of nature, enjoying the warmth as it coursed through his body. He then focused the energy inward. In just a few seconds he disappeared. If anyone walked into the glade at that moment, the only person visible would be Rynlin.

  “Very good,” said Rynlin, looking at where Thomas had been before he had disappeared. “Now why don’t you see if you can move around without being detected.”

  “I already have,” replied Thomas, tapping his grandfather on the shoulder. Rynlin jumped, startled at hearing his grandson’s voice in his ear.

  “Blazes, Thomas! That was completely unnecessary!” he said, his face turning red with anger.

  Thomas laughed softly upon reappearing, this time standing right in front of Rynlin. His grandfather almost jumped again, but he controlled himself. That’s what you get for trying to teach an impertinent boy. Nothing but trouble.

  “I thought it was necessary.”

  “Why do you say that, Thomas?”

  Rya had entered the glade, coming to stand by Rynlin and patting his arm. Rya smiled at her husband’s indignant expression. No more than five feet tall, Rya carried herself like a giant. She had the appearance of a queen, her dark chestnut hair regularly slipping down to cover her face, forcing her to sweep it away to reveal her deep blue eyes.

  Thomas looked from Rynlin to Rya, then back again. “For the past few days you’ve tested me at a faster pace than normal — the history of the Sylvana or the Talent or weapons. I want to know why.”

  They both looked at him with serious expressions. They weren’t used to being addressed in such a manner. Thomas held his ground. Things had changed since he returned from the Burren, having taken on and defeated two Ogren to help save a beautiful girl with long black hair — a beautiful girl who, much to his pleasure and confusion, continued to haunt his dreams. He recapt
ured his focus. His training had become more intense. As if there was an urgency now that hadn’t existed previously. He wanted to know the cause. Rya glanced at Rynlin, who nodded.

  “We have been testing you,” began Rya, walking to a heart tree and sitting on one of its roots. Rynlin and Thomas followed her, finding their own seats. Heart trees climbed hundreds of feet into the air, their trunks blocking a person’s view for a hundred feet to either side. Running along the backbone of the Isle of Mist, the heart trees were thousands of years old. It was said that if you lay your ear against the trunk, you could hear the beating of the earth within it. There weren’t many heart trees left, and the same story said that once they were gone, the earth would die as well.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because it was time to see if everything Rya and I have been teaching you had sunk in.”

  “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

  Rynlin smiled. The boy was sharp. He corrected himself — young man. He, too, sometimes had a hard time remembering that Thomas was no longer a boy.

  Rya sighed in resignation. She had always tried to protect Thomas. The trip to the Burren had shown that she couldn’t, not anymore. He’d have to protect himself. That’s why she’d been so angry for the past week — not because of what had happened in the Burren, though that had not helped her mood; rather life was changing, and she wasn’t prepared for it.

  “We talked about why the Nightstalker was after you,” said Rynlin.

  Thomas nodded. The conversation had occurred less than a week before. The sickening stench from what remained of the Nightstalker after Rynlin destroyed it had stayed with him for days. A creation of the Shadow Lord, a Nightstalker towered over a man, easily reaching eight feet in height. Its body the color of black granite and covered in raven black scales, the only way to see a Nightstalker was to look at its head.

  Unless it was caught in sunlight, the Nightstalker was invisible, its body automatically adapting to the darkness around it. But you could never miss the eyes, the blood red eyes that glowed in the dark. The sharp white teeth that protruded from its jaws and sharp claws fit its purpose perfectly - to hunt, and to kill. And when given its prey the Nightstalker hunted until it completed its task, no matter how long it took.