by Peter Wacht
It was over. The village was safe and none of the women seemed to be hurt badly. He regretted the killing, to a degree. The fact that he had killed ten men in a matter of minutes hit him squarely in the gut, the gorge rising in his throat. He fought the urge to empty his stomach, trying to ignore the bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t enjoy killing these men, and he wasn’t proud of what he had done, but it proved necessary in this situation.
He thought his grandfather, Talyn, would approve of his judgment. The sick feeling subsided and he began walking toward the women to see if he could help those injured by the attackers when a bright, white light flashed before him. Once again, black spots danced before his eyes. Thomas sighed in frustration. This was becoming wearisome.
When Thomas opened his eyes, he stood atop the stone with Tiro. The Sylvana remained as still as the stone monoliths towering above them: quiet, forbidding, dispassionate. Yet Thomas was certain he felt something percolating within them. He was sure of it. Hope. He could see it in their eyes now, even if their faces continued to hide it.
Then another thought struck him. He should have realized it before, but he had been so busy thinking of what he had to do, he had failed to pay attention to what was going on around him. He had sensed the energy from the beginning. The Sylvana, at least those who could control the Talent, were using the Circle as a focal point to combine their strength and bring Thomas back and forth from wherever they sent him or create the scenario he had to respond to, and watch what he did most likely. It was an interesting discovery on his part, but one he couldn’t explore at the moment.
CHAPTER TEN
Choices
“The Sylvana are warriors, people of action,” intoned Tiro. “You made the correct choice. On to the second dream.” In another flash of white light, Thomas left the Circle. This time, though, he closed his eyes before the white light blinded him. When he opened his eyes, his vision was clear.
Or was it? He stood in the middle of the most lavish, luxurious room he had ever seen. It was enormous. The ceiling rose twenty feet into the air, and upon the lacquered wood an artist had painted various scenes. One showed a castle sitting majestically in the middle of a bay, a long causeway connecting it to the mainland. The Rock of Ballinasloe, Thomas assumed. No other fortress resembled it. Another depicted a man standing on a hill, his golden armor shining brightly in the sunlight. Ollav Fola perhaps. The others Thomas didn’t bother to examine.
Dozens of windows rose from floor to ceiling, showering the room with bits of green, blue and red as the sun shone through the beautiful stained glass. Even the furniture was magnificent, and Thomas usually didn’t pay attention to such things. A stool was a stool and a table a table. Though there were only a few tables and chairs lining the walls, leaving the center of the room bare, they were all intricately carved with swirls, points and curls. The back of one chair illustrated a dolphin leaping out of the water, another an eagle gliding through the sky. He had never seen such sophisticated and precise craftsmanship before.
Thomas examined a table more closely. To his surprise his feet sank into the floor as he walked around the piece of furniture. A dark blue carpet lay beneath his feet, which were barely visible because of its thickness. It was then that he noticed his clothes. He wore a white silk shirt, a pair of blue trousers with gold running up the sides and soft leather boots that came to just above his ankle. A red sash ran around his waist, and a gold chain at his hip held a dagger.
Thomas pulled it out of its sheath. Truly remarkable. The blue steel joined to an ivory hilt encrusted with diamonds, opals and moonstones. Thomas quickly returned the dagger to its sheath. He had never held something so valuable in his hands, and it made him uncomfortable. He was not used to such wealth. It didn’t feel right. Nothing about the room felt right, in fact. He didn’t belong here.
As he stood there pondering what to do next, his forehead crinkled in thought, the door on the far side opened silently. A beautiful young woman stepped into the room. Thomas’ frown turned into a look of surprise. It was her. The girl from the Burren. She wore a dark blue dress with white lace at the collar and sleeve. Her long, raven black hair curled around her face. His heart missed a beat when he saw her smile. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
What was her name? He should have remembered it. He had heard it at the glade. What was it? Kaylie. That’s right. Kaylie. And she was coming toward him. Thomas gulped, trying to swallow his nerves. As she drew closer, his heart melted. The dress complemented her sea-blue eyes perfectly. Thomas smiled, attempting to mask his discomfort.
Her smile grew wider and her eyes danced with delight in response. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. If he spent the last of his days staring at her face, he would die a happy man. Wait a second. Kaylie wasn’t stopping. She was only a few feet from him now, and her smile had become a mischievous grin. Not knowing what else to do, Thomas held his ground.
Finally Kaylie stopped, yet she was so close Thomas felt her breath on his neck. Slowly she reached upward, her soft hands taking hold of his cheeks and drawing his lips to hers. Thomas closed his eyes in delight. An unfamiliar yearning rose up within him. Thomas hugged her to him. This excited Kaylie even more, her kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding. He didn’t have any idea what to make of his current situation, but he didn’t care. The uneasiness he had originally experienced dissipated. After much too brief a time Kaylie pulled away from him, but not so far as to require Thomas to remove his arms from her waist.
“Patience, Thomas,” said Kaylie, a sly grin on her face. “Tomorrow we will be able to do this whenever we want rather than having to sneak a kiss in private.” Her voice was soft, but commanding. She was used to giving orders. To his ears, though, it sounded like music.
“Tomorrow?” he asked in some confusion. Her eyes had captured him once again, and he surrendered meekly.
“Yes, silly,” she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder in mock anger. “Tomorrow. How could you forget?”
“Forget? I didn’t forget.” Thomas had absolutely no idea what Kaylie was talking about.
“I should hope not. Forgetting about our wedding tomorrow would certainly be the wrong way to begin our marriage.”
Wedding? Thomas immediately closed his mouth once he realized he had opened it in shock. He was marrying Kaylie? Now he was thoroughly confused. Thomas felt Kaylie’s hands on his cheeks once more, and his worries disappeared as he kissed her again. He pulled her tightly against him once more, relishing the feel of her body against his.
The kiss grew more passionate, and more passionate still, when the sound of someone walking down the hallway outside the room traveled through the open door. Kaylie jumped back from Thomas in fright, hurriedly working out the tiny wrinkles that had formed where her dress had pressed up against him. Married to Kaylie? What was going on?
“I didn’t come in here just so you could have some fun,” she said sternly, though her eyes twinkled in delight. Women certainly did have a strange way about them. Some day Thomas would have to ask Rynlin about that. Then again, maybe he should talk to someone else. Rynlin’s skill with women, as demonstrated with Rya, often left something to be desired. “I came here because my cousins have arrived, and I want you to meet them. Now come along, Thomas. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”
Stepping forward, Kaylie gave him a final, quick kiss on the lips before taking him by the hand and pulling him out into the hallway. With kisses like that, he could get used to this quite easily.
Thomas walked hand in hand with Kaylie as she led him down a long corridor lined with huge tapestries hanging from the wall. Sunlight illuminated the hallway through large, rectangular windows regularly spaced along its length.
“Now don’t forget, Thomas,” Kaylie began telling him. “My aunt’s name is Matile. She’s the one in black. Her husband died ten years ago, but she refuses to wear anything else. And my two cousins are Julee and Lorela. Julee’s the tall one with black hair
, Lorela’s the short one with brown hair.” Kaylie’s words floated over Thomas as he watched this beautiful young lady out of the corner of his eye. Marry Kaylie? He couldn’t believe his luck.
If you choose wrongly you will fail. What? Thomas shook his head in confusion. Was he hearing voices? Why would he have to choose?
Thomas noticed that Kaylie had slowed her pace. Two men walked toward them from the other end of the hall. He recognized the one on the left as Kaylie’s father, Gregory. The other looked familiar. Thomas and Kaylie waited for the two to approach. Her hand gripped his tightly. She glanced at him in worry, the mischief gone from her eyes.
Something tickled at his memory. The man with Gregory reminded him of someone, but who? He was a Highlander, that was easy enough to figure out. He wore brown trousers, a green shirt and a dark green cloak that flapped along in his wake. The dust of the road covered the man, and he hadn’t bothered to clean a small cut on his forehead, the dried blood having congealed in his slate grey hair just above his right eye. His face held a grim expression.
Coban? Could it be him? Thomas hadn’t seen him in years, but it certainly did look like the Highland Swordmaster. It was him. He’d recognize that craggy face and hard eyes anywhere. What was he doing here? Kaylie’s hand tightened even more over his own. Thomas smiled down at her reassuringly, then turned his attention back to the two men who stopped in front of them.
“Milord,” said Coban, falling to his knee in front of Thomas. Thomas was taken aback by the action. What was going on? And why was Kaylie about to cry?
“Coban?” he asked hesitantly, still not completely sure.
“Yes, Thomas,” said Gregory, his voice grim. “Coban arrived just moments ago. He demanded to see you at once. I thought it best to comply.”
“Milord,” began Coban. There was an intensity in his eyes, brought on by desperation. “The Highlands are under attack. Ogren, Fearhounds and Shades have broken through our northern defenses. In a matter of days they’ll reach the Crag. We need you, milord.”
“You need me?” It was too much for him to comprehend. When he was growing up most of the people in the Crag wanted nothing to do with him. Now they wanted him back?
“We can’t stop them,” continued Coban. “Only you can. Only the Lost Kestrel can lead us to victory.”
Tears streamed down Kaylie’s face. Thomas tried to offer her some comfort, but she pulled away from him and buried her head in her father’s shoulder instead. Gregory’s expression turned sad. Thomas stood there, feeling more alone than ever before.
“And if I don’t go back with you?” he asked Coban. Why should he return to the Highlands? His people hadn’t cared about him while he was there.
“Then the Highlands will die, Thomas. Many of us have treated you poorly, but we are still your people. The Lost Kestrel must return.”
The finality of Coban’s words stung Thomas to his core. The Highlands would die. Yet if he returned to the Highlands, would he ever see Kaylie again? Why now? Why the day before his wedding? Why did he have to choose? Return to a people who didn’t care about him until they needed him and break Kaylie’s heart, or stay here and marry the most beautiful woman in the world? It should have been an easy choice. But it wasn’t.
Torn on the inside, it felt as if two warriors had taken hold of his heart, each one tugging on it in an attempt to sway his decision. He could make the easy decision, and stay here with Kaylie. He had no doubt they would have a wonderful life together, and he would finally be free of his past, free of the problems and responsibilities. But then the Highlands would be no more. And it would be his fault. Could he place his own interests above those of his people?
Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think. You must do what you must do. You must do what you must do. The voice kept playing through his mind. It sounded like his grandmother’s. Thomas realized he didn’t really have much choice at all. Kaylie continued to sob into her father’s shoulder, as if she already knew what he would do. Stepping forward, he kissed her lightly on the back of her head. It only increased her tears.
Nodding at Coban, he started walking down the hallway. Coban quickly caught up with him and the two made for the stables. Each step away from Kaylie made the tightness in his chest increase just a bit more, until finally he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Kaylie’s cries echoed in his ears as he entered the stable yard. He felt as if his heart had shriveled up and died.
The blinding flash of white light beckoned. Thomas rubbed his eyes, trying to rid his vision of the spots dancing before him, which were now joined by two images of Tiro. One Tiro was quite enough in Thomas’ opinion.
Tiro ignored the anger so obvious on Thomas’ face. He had seen much the same thing many times before. Although the dreams always differed based on the individual, the choices to be made remained the same. In Tiro’s opinion, how the challenges affected the person was immaterial. The only thing that mattered was that the candidate passed. He knew firsthand that life was not easy, and the choices offered in life were hard, especially for a Sylvan Warrior. But the choices had to be made nonetheless.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Prelude
“The Sylvan Warriors are a people of honor,” Tiro intoned. “Often we must choose between two competing responsibilities. Knowing which takes precedence, despite our dislike of the choice made, sets us apart from others. You have made the correct choice. On to the third dream. Though the restriction is now removed. You may use the Talent if required.”
Wait. What? Thomas closed his eyes quickly, just barely avoiding the blinding flash of light he was expecting. Maybe he wasn’t fast enough after all. The spots had not appeared, but he couldn’t see anything at all. He stood in total darkness. Slowly, his eyes adjusted.
He stood in the center of an enormous chamber. Its ceiling, several hundred feet above the tiled floor, was made of a glass dome that allowed a few tiny rays of light to enter. It did little to dissipate the shadows, however. Thomas saw that he wore his own clothes this time, and his sword — his grandfather’s sword — was strapped to his back. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and the blood flowed more quickly through his veins. He had been given weapons at the green. If he now had his sword, he would probably have need of it. Tiro explained that you could die during the tests if you failed. The battle he had fought on the green had certainly been real enough.
Thomas remained in the center of the room for several minutes. He listened for any sign of movement, but there was nothing, only silence. The room felt empty. Yet there were eyes upon him, and the ambience of the room made his skin crawl. An evil lived here, an evil greater than he could ever imagine. But where? And what was he supposed to do if he found it? He considered wandering around the room in search of a doorway when he stopped.
The floor consisted of huge tiles, alternating black and white across the surface. It very much resembled a chessboard. However, it wasn’t the stones that surprised him. In the very center of the floor, a large circular stone lay surrounded by the black and white tiles. He had been standing on it but he hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t make out the details of the stone in the dim light, so he knelt down to get a closer look.
Two figures stood opposing one another. On one side a tall man all in black fought with a sword of midnight. The sword appeared to eat the light and darken everything around it. A boy stood across from the man in black, a sword of fiery blue in his hands. Their blades were locked in front of them in a struggle in which neither refused to budge. Whoever did would lose, and die.
Wait a moment. That boy. Thomas bent even closer, trying to get a better look at the face carved into the stone. It looked remarkably familiar. In fact, it looked more than familiar. It looked like him! But what could it mean? Why would his image be set into this floor? The answer was so obvious he had missed it. Was his grandfather correct? Was he the Defender of the Light? If so, then the man in black carved into the stone must be—
“So, after all
these years, my opponent has finally arrived.” The soft words, said with undeniable menace, echoed throughout the chamber. A voice in Thomas’ head told him to run, to escape, but it was too late. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you. A very long time.”
Thomas rose to his feet and turned around. A man coalesced out of the shadows, his boots thudding softly on the stone floor. It was as if the image in the circular stone had come to life. The man before him wore midnight black with a long cloak flowing behind him. The hood of the cloak hid the man’s face, but the eyes were unmistakable. The pinpricks of red blazed in the darkness. A bolt of fear shot through Thomas, and his hand automatically went to the hilt of his sword. The voice inside his head screamed hysterically, ordering him, then begging him, to run, to get away. But his legs refused to move. The Shadow Lord had come for him.
“Don’t look so surprised, boy,” said the Shadow Lord as he stalked across the room toward his prey, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. “You should have known it was simply a matter of time; that you were destined to stand across from me one day.” The Shadow Lord’s words crackled with anticipation, with hunger. Thomas shivered with fear. His greatest nightmare had come to life and now was no more than twenty feet away and fast approaching.
Thomas pulled his sword from its sheath. The few rays of light danced off the blade and burned a path through the shadows that misted and curled about the room. The light disappeared quickly, crushed by the darkness.
The Shadow Lord laughed softly as he continued toward Thomas. “I had hoped that this would be easy, that you would recognize the futility of your efforts.” His words sounded like the dry scraping of a snake as it slithered across a jagged, rocky surface. “But we all must live with disappointment.”
Thomas breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. Though his fear remained, he had locked it away into a small part of his mind. All of his weapons trainers had told him much the same thing: Fear was common on the field of battle. There was little difference between a great warrior and a competent soldier, except the great warrior recognized his fear and used it to his advantage. The soldier only knew that he was afraid.
