Kalial watched the stranger weave among the dense trees on
his massive warhorse. The sounds of pursuit had halted at
the edge of the forest. The froth-flecked horses of the
nine men in bloody tunics that had thundered after the
stranger now milled just beyond the shade. The men yowled
and shook their battleaxes at the darkness, but none of
them made a move to enter after the stranger. He glanced
back at the final flickers of sunlight glinting off the
rusty armor emblazoned with the symbol of the Serpent, and
then nudged his horse forward. A hint of animosity
wrinkling her brow, Kalial watched him from her hiding
place in the branches of an old, gnarled oak tree.
His back was bare and drenched with sweat. Every muscle
rippled and bulged with his movements. Long midnight hair
stuck to his sticky skin that was maimed by scratches and
bruises now healing. Just before he turned away from her
she saw one strand of hair plastered along his cheek and
down a supple neck. She judged that he was nervous by the
way his eyes continuously scanned the forest and by the
frequent flicking of his horse's ears. A howl from a
nearby forest beast caused the horse's tail to swish and
it balked. The man stroked the crest of the dark mahogany
steed and encouraged the horse forward into the darkness.
"You'll never get out alive, McTaver! You'll wish for the
mercy of my blade before the night is over!" shouted one
of the Serpent's men. His horse reared and struck out with
its hooves.
Another man called, "The forest dwellers will rip you to
pieces and feed you to their beasts! Come out while you
still can for we offer swift death, a mercy you will not
see in Loch Nidean forest!"
"You forget I was born next to this cursed place! It does
not frighten me, you cowards," Ronin shouted back,
although he looked around nervously.
"You are a fool, Ronin! Everyone knows that Druid powers
guard the forest."
"I fear naught! Go on your way, mercenaries, and tell
Lothian that you saw me eaten by the beasts of Loch
Nidean." Ronin leaned down, peering through the branches
as he slowly entered deeper into the forest, leaving the
soldiers behind.
Kalial's amber eyes narrowed as she watched the Serpent
men confer, then circle and move off. Her face was black,
coated with grease mixed with dank earth. Her hair, too,
hung heavy and dank with the concealing grease. She leapt
nimbly to a lower branch and swung her body to the forest
floor. There she froze as a black jaguar paced around the
tree and stared at her. Kalial reached out her hand and
placed it upon the great cat's nose. "Let us follow him,
my pet," she whispered in a soft, singsong voice, "and
drive him from our sacred trees, for no stranger is
allowed within Loch Nidean forest." As she started
forward, seven equally black bodies sprang down from their
hiding places and spread out behind her. The birds that
rustled and cried out warnings as Ronin McTaver moved past
them settled into forest song in the presence of the
silent followers.
"God help me in this evil place," Ronin McTaver grumbled
aloud. He shifted in his saddle to check his meager load.
In a worn saddlebag he had thrown what food and tools he
could find in the stable where he had crawled after the
tower had collapsed around him. He had been in agony. His
shoulder had been wrenched from its socket. His ribs had
throbbed and at least two were broken. His skin still
ached from contusions and was scored with multiple
abrasions.
However, his memories pained him most. His family, his
clansmen... their deaths had driven him, crawling, out
from under the stones of the collapsed tower. His hatred
had settled into a seething force in his soul and had
given him strength to wrap up an old saddlebag, a hunting
knife, a flint and a rope trap. Hatred had given him the
will to slam his shoulder against the wall and silently
endure the whitehot pain of the bones grinding back into
place. With fingers still tingling he had lashed the
saddlebag and his sword and crossbow onto a saddle.
Then, leading a stallion and carrying his bundle with his
aching arm, he had crept with quiet stealth to the family
church, pried up several planks from the altar and removed
a beautiful, golden-threaded tapestry. Eyes burning in
fury and pain, he had rapidly rolled it in concealing
dust, then placed it upon the back of his mahogany steed
disguised as a saddle blanket. He had ignored the urge to
touch the material as he recalled the horror of his
family's destruction. He had clenched his fists in fury,
then knelt upon the altar as he held the reins of the
restless stallion.
A silent vow of vengeance had come from his gut and blazed
through his soul. The church air froze and dust fairies
fled in frightened panic when he surged abruptly to his
feet, swung up upon the warhorse and galloped out of the
holy sanctuary. As he burst through the arched doors, the
Serpent mercenaries attempted to converge upon him,
grabbing his thighs and seeking to trip his horse. A
scream of fury trumpeted from the stallion's throat and he
struck out with both hind legs then leapt above the
ground. The men scattered and Ronin clamped his legs
around the angry stallion, causing him to gallop madly
away from Castle Roseneath.
For three weeks the Serpent men pursued him as he slipped
in and around the shifting waters of River Chaos. Then
despite his skill, two hours ago the mercenaries had
closed in, and Ronin McTaver had decided upon a daring
gamble. Racing his exhausted horse to the west, he headed
for the dreaded forest that flanked the coast from his
castle lands to just north of the port town of Rath-
thuaidhe.
Loch Nidean forest, the wilderness shielding the sacred
Nidean lake, was a land of witches, Druids and ferocious
beasts. Tales of the place had beguiled him since
childhood. The mysterious forest dwellers- ancient Druids,
people said- fiercely guarded this domain from any
intruder and no one risked penetrating its thick growth.
Yet, with no other choice but to run until his horse gave
out beneath him, or fight until the attackers carved the
flesh from his body, Ronin had plunged his steed into the
Loch Nidean forest.
Stories told of a magical, mystical land that vibrated
with shapeshifter, animal speakers and invisible spirits.
Legend spoke of the bottomless Nidean lake that swallowed
man and steed, such that any who entered the forest never
returned to the Scottish moors. Intermixed with such was
the legend of the Scottish Gold, which was said to have
been hidden and lost within the dangerous forest long ago.
The legend was old... older than any person Ronin had
known and older than any they had known. As such, truth
and fiction had merged. Only children played at searching
for the legendary Scottish Gold, for once they were
adults, such frivolity was discouraged. Besides, no matter
what soothsayer spoke of it, no one knew the secret to
finding it, or for that matter, what the treasure truly
entailed.
Ronin's childhood fascination with the treasure had
abruptly ceased one early morning many years ago. Waking
him in the wee hours, Laird Robert said, "Ronin, my son,
it is time to teach you about our family. You are a
McTaver, and that means you must one day be master of all
around you. Our lands abut the Loch Nidean forest, and our
destinies are forever entwined. What I tell and show you
must be kept secret forever. Do you understand the
responsibility I give you this day, my son?"
Solemnly, Ronin nodded and followed his father outside. ,
No hound stirred from the fireside, no servant milled in
the courtyard. The two men walked quietly out to the
church where Laird Robert latched the door from inside,
locking them in. Then, motioning Ronin forward, Laird
Robert pulled up the altar boards and extracted an
exquisite length of fabric- the golden tapestry.
"This, more than the castle or these lands, is your
legacy. A long time ago, our ancestors made an uncommon
union between our ancient line and that of an ordinary
woman traveler who wandered into our land while lost in a
horrific storm. The woman and the laird of the castle fell
in love, and from that marriage sprang a wealth that has
not been seen since. The wealth of the Scottish Gold. In
jealousy, a feuding clan killed the McTaver laird in
search of the riches that flowed from this union, yet
despite ransacking and torture, he could not find the
place where the gold was hidden.
"As the mother of our clan lay trapped in the tower,
awaiting her fate and sorrowing for the loss of her
beloved, she wove three tapestries, each telling a part of
the tale that would lead to the heart of the Scottish
Gold, so that her descendants could one day reclain it
from its hiding place. Of the three, only this one remains
in our posession. It is the Second Hunt, the intermediate
map that now has no beginning and no end, and thus without
its mates is useless in anyone's search for the hidden
treasure. The greedy still seek it, but such hatred will
only destroy it. Know that the Scottish Gold dwells within
our family, my son, and that this treasure is your destiny
and that of your children. Someday the other tapestries
will surface, and when they do, you will be bound to
protect and guard the treasure they describe."
Ronin grimaced at the remembered warnings and shook his
head to clear the sorry thoughts. His hand strayed to the
hilt of his sword. The coolness of its familiar presence
steadied his nerves. He looked up to judge his direction
by the sun but was met by lush foliage through which
seeped only glimmers of light. He slowly pivoted his steed
while keeping his eyes closed to feel the infinitesimal
differences of heat and wind upon his bare back. He
stopped where the warmth was strongest and glanced around
at the mosses on the trees. It was thickest on the shaded
side, indicating the northern direction. With a silent
salute to the spongy plants, he set off northwest- toward
the ocean on the other end of the bleak Loch Nidean
forest.
Kalial's worry grew as the man got his bearings and
proceeded into the heart of the forest. A shiver raced
through her as his eyes passed over the bush where she was
hiding. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck tremble
when his gaze paused and seemed to bore through the
fronds. He stroked the jewels on his warrior's sword and
slowly turned his eye past her. He was watchful but
relaxed now as he bent over his horse's neck to avoid a
low hanging branch. The velvet undersurface of the leaves
stroked him as he rode beneath them. She could see the
sheen of his body oils on the leaves as they swung back
into place behind him.
The musk of his body teased her nose. He was big! She had
never seen such a large man. His thighs bulged as thick as
her waist. His shoulders were near two lengths across.
Even his powerful jaw was imposing. A call from her left
startled her and she creased her brow in annoyance. She
whistled back and her seven followers started after Ronin,
forming a large, moving circle around him and his horse.
Ronin felt something. His heart started to pound and his
senses sharpened. He knew someone was nearby. When the
sharp cry of a bird to his left was immediately answered
by a whistle behind him, he knew that others now tracked
him. He deliberately kept his muscles soft and his eyes
unfocused. He could see vague movements around him. Most
of the movement was undirected and natural. Birds took
flight, long strands of moss waved, leaves rippled. But
one, two... multiple dark shadows moved with a purpose
that matched his own. He could not keep track of any one
shadow in particular as they weaved in and out of the
forest greenery as if they were part of the land itself,
but he was well aware of their deliberate pace. He began
to anticipate where he would next see a flash of dull
black.
His horse stumbled with fatigue and Ronin swore under his
breath. He subtly altered his course toward a break in the
trees ahead. The open meadow would afford no hiding places
for his uninvited traveling companions. There he would
stop and rest his horse. A fire should keep the forest
animals away. Perhaps it would also deter the followers.
Kalial stroked the fur of the black cat beside her. She
checked her clothes. The band around her breasts was snug.
She had discovered that as she grew and her small, pert
breasts became full and round, she was better able to run
and fight when they were bound tightly under a shapeless,
loose black tunic. Dark leggings covered the telltale
whiteness of her long legs and the fur foot coverings
hardly made a sound when she stalked her prey. Kalial dug
her fingers into the rich loam beside her and spread the
earth over her cheeks, forehead and nose. She ground more
dirt into her hair and then tied it back with a small
leather thong. Only her brilliant yellow eyes marked her
as separate from the night.
She waited until the warrior ate and settled down to
sleep. Soon he slumped forward. The fire was left to
smolder. She commanded the cat to wait, and then moved
silently toward the mahogany horse. She nickered at the
stallion and blew warm air through moistened lips. The
horse arched his neck and shook his mane at her. She
smiled in the darkness and called again. This time the
horse took short steps toward her, emerging from the
circle of firelight. When the man did not move, Kalial
wrinkled her nose in disgust. Only a fool would allow his
beast to be so easily taken.
With the stallion blowing in her ear, Kalial reached down
and sliced the hobbles around the horse's fetlocks. Freed,
he pawed the ground and nipped at her shoulder. She led
the magnificent horse out of the meadow and into the
forest where a comrade materialized to take the steed. The
horse snorted his dismay when Kalial turned away, but a
soft touch soothed him. She melted back into the tall
grasses of the meadow.
A cluck from the back of her throat called the great cat
forward. The black McCat, a Scottish jaguar, had appeared
on Kalial's second birthday as a kitten partially grown.
She was as dark as the new moon, with subtle stripes upon
her hide, and long canines that were only partially
covered by her whiskered lips. Woman and beast hunted and
played together as they grew together. Now they worked
together as Kalial accepted the responsibilities of her
birth. She was the protector of the secrets of Loch Nidean
forest and dhu Cait, the jaguar, was her familiar.
No one had ever ventured so deep among the trees and
Kalial wondered how to deal with the intruder. She had
never killed a man before, relying upon her forest beasts
to frighten and injure careless stragglers. Yet she knew
her duty. This man must either be driven out of the
forest, or captured and brought to Loch Nidean and dumped
into its fathomless depths.
A faint snore reached her ears. The man must be exhausted.
She whistled into the night sky and began her final
advancement. She intended to grab his hair, yank back his
head to expose his throat and hold her dirk to it while
the others trussed him by hand and foot. She could see the
others moving with her as she reached the faint edge of
the firelight and went silently to his side.
She had reached up and grasped his hair when her whole
body froze in shock. Two deep indigo eyes gleamed up at
her. They were rich and deep and very alert. In that brief
pause he sprang up and crashed his fist into her abdomen.
Kalial collapsed in the grass and struggled vainly to gulp
in air. Her eyes widened in terror as the jewels on his
sword hilt winked in the firelight as he swung his weapon
toward her.
The forest around them erupted into chaos. Screams from
her people blasted upon her ears and a jarring clang of
metal upon metal filled the air above her head. She saw
two swords locked together in front of her eyes when
suddenly the jeweled sword flicked forward and into the
gut of the man trying to save her. A breath finally burst
into her lungs and she rolled over to avoid her comrade's
falling body. Three more men sprang at the warrior, but
his arms outreached their own and he kept the men at bay.
Kalial struggled slowly to her feet and leaped clumsily
onto the man's back, her dirk held high to plunge into his
neck.
His bellow of rage vibrated through him and coursed along
her legs wrapped around his waist. She felt her wrist
being clenched tight. Almost instantly her fingers went
numb and the dirk fell harmlessly to the ground. He
grasped her thighs, wrenched them apart and swung her to
the earth where she crashed, headfirst. A haze clouded her
mind and she struggled to clear her thinking.
Ronin grinned ferociously. The attacking forest dwellers
were swift, stealthy and clever, but they were small and
not skilled in hand-to-hand combat. They were untrained
young men whose talent lay in surprise and mental
intimidation. Their blackened faces and shapeless tunics
created a resemblance to the demons of yore or to the
sexless, shapeless beasts of the underbrush. Yet Ronin had
already been fighting his version of demons for three
weeks, and the forest dwellers caused barely a flicker of
unease in his soul. Instead, he poured his anger at the
Serpent into his sword a as he fought the hapless forest
dwellers with deadly intent.
Ronin lunged forward and opened the arm of another
attacker. He sensed someone approaching from behind and
turned to fling his dagger into his chest. The man hung
still for a moment with a confused expression before he
collapsed. Ronin heard a sudden series of birdcalls, and
then felt a shift in the direction of the attackers. They
all surged to the right, toward their fallen companions
leaving the left flank clear for escape. Ronin almost
dashed through the open avenue when he saw his horse
standing in the trees, yet battle instinct made him hold
his ground.
The remaining forest fighters became vicious as they
closed in upon him. A thrown dirk hit his sword arm and
his swing faltered, but to his surprise they did not take
advantage of his momentary lapse. Instead, they reached
toward the one who was just now struggling to rise for a
second time. Suddenly deciphering the boy's importance to
the forest men, Ronin lunged forward, his sword tip
raising the chest of the man who was trying to grab the
fallen comrade from the ground. The man fell back a step
while holding an edge of the boy's shapeless tunic.
Abruptly, Ronin's sword flashed down and severed the
cloth, separating the tenuous bond between the two males.
The boy stumbled again, unbalanced by the abrupt tear of
his tunic. He fell down in front of Ronin whereupon Ronin
slammed his booted foot onto the boy's leather bound hair
and jammed it into the churned dirt. The boy screamed in
anger and tried to jerk away. The other forest dwellers
rushed forward with their swords and dirks leveled at
Ronin's chest.
His eyes cold, Ronin lowered his sword. The gaze of one of
the attacking forest men gleamed with triumph as he closed
in for a fatal thrust, but then he saw the direction of
the warrior's blade, pressed into the throat of his
comrade. The advancing man froze and barked out a warning
to the others in a strange voice. They instantly ceased
their attack and glared at the warrior holding their
comrade with his booted foot.
Kalial jerked and pulled at her hair until she was sure
her scalp would be wrenched off her head. She looked up
past the powerful thighs, past the rippled stomach and up
to his face. His gaze was deadly. As blue as the depths of
Loch Nidean, it held the same promise of mercilessness
that filled the lake waters.
"No!' Kalial screamed at her men. "Sacrifice me. He must
not survive!" But the men continued to fall back.
Ronin saw a few flames start to lick at the boy's tunic
and realized why the fighters had suddenly stopped
pressing him. He kept his sword on the boy's throat and
waited until the others fully understood that his captive
would soon be ablaze. The man in front of him visibly
trembled.
Kalial felt heat on her leg and through her tears of
frustration she saw the hungry flames. She arched up to
try to escape the fire and consequently drove Ronin's
sword through the first layer of skin on her throat.
A trickle of warm blood soaked the tip of his sword at the
boy's struggles and Ronin lifted its deadly point a
fraction higher. With the boy squirming underneath him,
Ronin withdrew a skin of water from his belt with his free
hand.
"Allow me safe passage," he commanded, "and I will allow
this boy to live." The forest dwellers started at his
words. "I demand no interference from here until the
ocean. You will not attack or hinder me in any way, or
your boy dies with flames scorching his flesh." A drop of
water splashed on the flaming tunic edge and the hiss was
audible even above the boy's screams of rage and fear.
One man quickly nodded. "We will not seek to harm you. We
will be true to our word." He spoke in a strange accent.
The man glanced anxiously at the boy who had finally
fallen still. Ronin kept his blade against his skin.
An arch of crystal clear water flowed out of the bladder
skin and down onto Kalial's clothes. The shock of the cold
water made her gasp. The warrior reached down and hauled
her to her feet with a strong hand wrapped around her
slender arm. A few strands of her hair still caught on his
boot and were ripped out of her scalp, adding pricks of
pain to her bruised and battered body.
Ronin noted that the boy was smaller than the others, not
even old enough to shave. He shook his head.
"I will keep him with me to ensure that you keep your
word." The boy glared at him and spit on his cheek.
Ronin's eyes grew cold. "And if any attempt is made to
rescue him, I will not rest until I have ripped out his
liver."
Kalial watched as the thin line of spittle dripped from
his cheek and onto his chest level with her eyes. She saw
him take a breath as his chest expanded and a piercing
whistle called forth his mahogany horse. The stallion
danced forward and blew on Kalial's face in bestial
apology. Kalial expelled her pent up breath in a snort not
unlike that of a frustrated bull.
The warrior wrapped one arm around her neck and used the
other to place the dusty saddle blanket and saddle upon
the stallion's huge back, then lashed on his saddlebag. He
tossed her face down over the horse's withers. The ridge
of the leather dug into her already aching belly, but she
did not have time to concentrate on that displeasure when
she felt him swing up behind her and her head started
spinning again. At a slight clench of the warrior's thighs
the warhorse sprang forward into a controlled canter.
Before Kalial sank into unconsciousness, she twisted her
head in order to see her men standing still, passively
watching as she was taken away. Her last thought was for
her great cat, padding silently beside them just out of
sight.