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

by Peter Wacht

  “Acero has judged you worthy,” continued Tiro. The unicorn rose on his hind legs and neighed shrilly at the mention of his name, proud to be in the Circle once more. Acero could sense that Thomas was special, even if the boy did not yet know it. That filled him with a pride and sense of purpose he had not known for more than two hundred years. “When the time comes for us to fight, he will be your steed.”

  Tiro again pulled something from his robes, but held it behind his back. “The necklace you have just received ties you to us. It can never be removed from your neck while you live. If there is ever a time you are in need, we will know, and we will come.” That explained a great deal for Thomas. Now he knew why he could take the necklace given to him by his grandfather on and off his neck at will. It had been a gift and was not truly his.

  Tiro then handed him a golden horn curled once around in a circle. It was a very simple design with little ornamentation. The only way to identify it from any other horn was the mark running along the metal near the mouthpiece. The unicorn’s lance, just as it was carved into his amulet.

  “This is one of the Horns of the Sylvana. Once, all the rulers of the Kingdoms used them to summon us during a time of great need. Those days are over, and the Horns have been taken from those who care more for wealth and power than for the welfare of those they are duty-bound to protect. Use it wisely. This functions much like the necklace. Blow on it three times. We will hear. We will come. We will conquer. Woe to any who stand before us.” The bitterness at the failures of the Kingdoms remained for Tiro. Thomas didn’t doubt that many other Sylvan Warriors felt the same way.

  In Thomas’ opinion their feelings were justified. Based on everything he had learned of the Sylvana from Rynlin and Rya, as well as a few more objective resources, the Sylvan Warriors had once been a great ally to the Kingdoms. That had changed with the Great War when the political squabbles of the different Kingdoms almost led to their own downfall and the needless deaths of many Sylvan Warriors. The Sylvana withdrew from the affairs of man because of it.

  The power of the Sylvan Horns was legendary. Thomas even remembered a story that involved one of his relatives, the Highland Lord a few generations before his grandfather. Though the Sylvana had taken most of the Horns from the Kingdoms, at the time a few had remained with those rulers not blinded by personal ambition and greed. The Highland Lord had traveled through the Highlands and out onto the Northern Steppes to confirm reports of forays by the creatures of the Shadow Lord into his kingdom. After he and his men had marched a few leagues beyond the safety of the Highlands, several thousand Ogren and Shades making their way south ambushed them. The Highland Lord did his best to hold them off, but his hundred or so men could only do so much against a force several thousand strong. In desperation, he blew three times on the Horn of the Sylvana. The three strong notes echoed across the Northern Steppes and the Highlands, and beyond, but he had already lost half of his men and held little hope for survival.

  Those soldiers still able to resist the onslaught had formed a tight circle around his banner, fighting ferociously against the Ogren and Shades, but they knew it was only a matter of time. Much to the Highland Lord’s surprise, only a few seconds after he had pressed his lips to the Horn, far off in the distance he heard an answering cry. A second note then came from the west, clearer and stronger than the first. The Highland Lord tried to rally his men and give them hope of rescue, but the overwhelming number of Ogren and Shades pressed in on all sides.

  Then a third note sounded, even stronger and clearer than the previous two. The sound caused the earth to shake and the wind to howl, and as it lingered in the air, the rumble of hooves echoed across the Northern Steppes. A misty cloud suddenly formed around the battlefield and from its midst charged the Sylvana, bolts of fire and lightning shooting out from the sorcerers among them, blasting into the Ogren and Shades that dared to venture from the Charnel Mountains. It must have been a magnificent sight, Thomas thought. Tiro’s voice broke through his daydreaming.

  “As you know, each Sylvan Warrior is given charge of a particular land, and we now give you one that has lacked our assistance for almost a century. Rise, Thomas Keldragan Kestrel, and take your place among us as a Sylvan Warrior. The safety and freedom of the Highlands falls to you.”

  Cheers rang out from the Sylvan Warriors arrayed below him as Thomas rose to his feet. He felt the warmth of his new necklace brush against his chest. In a way, it felt like a new chain of added responsibility choking off his freedom, yet strangely he also experienced a new sense of purpose. Maybe he could do more with his life rather than focusing strictly on revenge and winning back something that he still didn’t know if he wanted.

  Darkbane. Darkbane. Unbidden, the name ran through his mind. Darkbane. Darkbane. Darkbane stands on high. Darkbane. Darkbane stands on high. Thomas turned to the north, unable to resist the urge to do so. From his vantage point, he could just make out the tips of the Charnel Mountains peeking over the horizon. Though a small part of his mind screamed in denial, refusing to accept it, Thomas knew the truth deep within his heart. It was as if a part of his mind, which had remained closed to him up until now, had suddenly sprung open. With it came a frightening recognition and a new knowledge.

  Rynlin had been right. The words of the prophecy streaked through his consciousness, mixing with his one overwhelming thought: When a child of life and death, stands on high, drawn by faith, he shall hold the key to victory in his hand. Darkbane. Swords of fire echo in the burned rock, balancing the future on their blades. Darkbane. Darkbane. Light dances with dark, green fire burns in the night, hopes and dreams follow the wind, to fall in black or white. Darkbane. Darkbane. Darkbane.

  He was Darkbane. He knew it in the very core of his being, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The course of his life had already been decided, and no matter how he tried to change it, the way his life would end had already been determined. He was the Defender of the Light. A whisper tickled his ear, one that he could barely make out, but he knew its source: The time has come. Let the duel begin. Thomas focused on the whisper, struggling vainly to hear more, hoping for some clue as to what would happen next. But there was only silence.

  Thomas spun around as footsteps pounded up the Stone. Rya arrived first and gave him a hug, tears of joy visible in her eyes. Rynlin then gave him a few claps on the back, his pride obvious in the huge smile he wore. Rynlin was not one for displaying his emotions, except his anger of course, so Thomas appreciated the gesture.

  “You never said it would be so difficult,” said Thomas.

  Rya pulled away from him, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She hated getting emotional, especially in front of others.

  “We thought it would be best if you didn’t know,” said Rynlin. “The tests require more in the way of reaction than thinking. The less you think, the more you function naturally. To pass the tests you must follow your instincts. If we had warned you beforehand, you might still be thinking about what choice to make.” Rynlin smiled wickedly. “We were quite concerned for a time. You seemed quite taken with the girl. Quite taken with her, indeed. What was her name? Kaylie?”

  Thomas flushed with embarrassment. So the Sylvana had seen everything. His ears and face turned bright red.

  “Don’t let your grandfather’s teasing get to you,” said Rya, giving her husband a sharp elbow to the midsection. Rynlin had expected it, but couldn’t avoid it because of the limited space on the Stone. Tiro had walked down as soon as he had declared Thomas a Sylvan Warrior, but even with him gone, it was crowded with Rynlin and Rya up there with him.

  “It all comes down to must, doesn’t it?” asked Thomas. “It always seems like we have a choice, when much of the time we really don’t.”

  “Yes, it does,” replied Rynlin, rubbing his side where Rya’s elbow had connected. After hundreds of years of marriage, she knew his weak spots. “Often we don’t have a choice. The difference comes, though, in that most people don’t have the c
ourage to do what they must. Sylvan Warriors, you, don’t have that option. Whether or not you actually have a choice really doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that you do what you must. You might not like what you have to do, but you will do it nonetheless.”

  Leave it to Rynlin to work in a lesson when they were supposed to be celebrating. Thomas’ mood suddenly darkened. “You know?”

  “Yes, we know,” said Rynlin, his expression almost sad. “We’ll deal with that later. Come.” Rynlin guided Thomas toward the steps. “It’s time for you to meet the others.”

  As Rynlin and Rya led him down the steps and into the throng of well wishers waiting for him, Thomas tried to remember all the names, but his heart wasn’t in it. His attention was focused on something else: The time has come. Let the duel begin.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Warming Cold Stone

  A beam of sunlight had again trespassed, making its way past the clouds over Blackstone and shining brightly through the darkened dome of glass situated on top of the largest building in the empty city. This time, though, the ray of light had little trouble fighting its way through the darkness as the shadows drifted back in fear.

  The sunlight struck the chamber in its very center, giving life to a large stone disk surrounded by huge tiles of black and white. On the disk, two figures battled — one a boy holding a sword of blue, another a man covered in black with a sword darker than the darkest night.

  The ray of sunlight settled there, warming the cold stone. As the seconds passed it grew brighter and brighter and stretched out over the floor, pushing its way into the corners of the chamber and driving away the murk. It continued to advance until the blinding light consumed the room.

  It was then that the earth began to shake. A soft rumble at first that increased in intensity. The dust that had settled onto the black and white stones danced in the light for the first time in centuries. The soft rumble became a roar as the columns ringing the edge of the room and buttressing the ceiling moved to the rhythm of the earth.

  The quaking became more violent, making the hundred-ton columns sway back and forth as if they were no more than stalks of wheat guided by the wind, until it finally moved outward, spreading through the broken city on the darkened cliff face and out into the mountains, and from there across the Northern Steppes and beyond.

  Then just as quickly as it had started, it was over. The earth became silent once more, and the bright ray of light returned to its home above the clouds. But the dust remained, swirling around in the darkness that had returned with an energy it had not experienced in centuries.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A Leader Must Emerge

  The afternoon passed in a blur of faces and conversation for Thomas as he talked with each Sylvan Warrior. Keeping track of all the names was a difficult task, but Rya stayed at his shoulder and helped him along. As the sun began to set, Catal Huyuk and Daran Sharban started a large fire to ward off the chill. Rya stepped forward then with Elisia and Aurelia Valeran and made a delicious stew in the largest pot Thomas had ever seen. Where it had come from he didn’t know.

  As the smells from the cook pot wafted out over the Circle, the desire for conversation decreased, replaced by hunger. Thomas, for one, was starved, and he was not alone. Finding a place next to Rynlin on one of the logs that some of the Sylvan Warriors had pulled close to the fire, he gratefully accepted a bowl of stew from his grandmother.

  “Were the images real?” he asked Rynlin between bites. Vegetable stew. One of his grandmother’s specialties.

  “Do you ever run out of questions?” Rynlin was also hungry, and therefore irritable. Thomas should have sat on the other side of the fire, but then he would be near Tiro, and he’d have to listen to him ramble on about something of little interest.

  “No, not usually.” Thomas sensed his grandfather’s reluctance to talk, but pressed forward anyway. “Were the images real?”

  “You mean the dreams with the choices?”

  Thomas nodded. “Yes, were they real?”

  “In part,” said Rynlin, digging into his bowl for the last few bites of his stew.

  “That doesn’t really help me very much,” said Thomas, slightly annoyed. Sometimes trying to get an answer out of his grandfather was like pulling teeth.

  “What I mean is yes and no.”

  “Rynlin—”

  “Patience, Thomas. Let me explain.” Rynlin set his empty bowl down next to the log. Now that he had finished his meal, he could move on to his second favorite task — teaching. “As you’ve probably guessed, those dreams were created with the Talent, and in part came from within you. In order to ensure that the choices you had to make meant something to you, they had to be formed from what you cared about most.”

  Thomas nodded his understanding. “Will they ever come true?”

  Rynlin shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. Some of us have had our dreams come true in their entirety, but I don’t know how often that happens. Sometimes only parts of the dreams come true. Sometimes none of it.” Rynlin grinned wickedly. “Looking for another kiss, are you?”

  Rynlin often could be relentless in his teasing, but he was also smart. As soon as the words left his mouth, he glanced around quickly to make sure his wife was still occupied at the fire. One elbow to the ribs earlier in the day had been enough for him.

  Thomas blushed slightly. That had not been his main reason for asking, though it certainly was a pleasant memory. Unfortunately, he had been thinking more about the third dream. The one that knotted his stomach in fear every time he remembered the feel of the Dark Magic erupting within his body, the feel of his life draining away as he pushed his sword through the Shadow Lord’s chest, and then discovering to his horror that he had wasted his life because steel couldn’t kill the Shadow Lord.

  Thomas wanted to talk to Rynlin about that, but didn’t get the opportunity. As soon as the meal ended, the discussion began. The Shadow Lord stirred once again, and they all knew the inevitable result of that.

  “We know what the future holds,” Tiro said. “The Shadow Lord will strike once more. The question is, with our reduced numbers, will we be able to stand against him as we have in the past?”

  “Of course we will,” replied Loki Jereil, a tall Sylvan Warrior who wore the robes of a sorcerer over his sparse frame. He was relatively young compared to the other Sylvana, having seen only three hundred summers. But he was old enough to remember fighting at the Breaker during the Great War. Thomas had enjoyed speaking with him for a few moments during the afternoon. Though his short beard was flecked with grey, his eyes retained their youth. “We have stood against him before, and we will again.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” said Tiro. “I wonder instead whether we will hold this time. The size of the Dark Horde continues to grow, while our numbers decrease.”

  “Tiro, we don’t need any predilections of doom from you,” said a massively muscled Sylvan Warrior whose sun-darkened skin matched the deep brown of his leather armor. Thomas thought his name was Jeran Caffalyn, from somewhere near the western edge of the Grasslands, but he wasn’t sure. Even with Rya’s assistance, he couldn’t remember everyone’s name.

  “I am simply throwing out the possibility,” said Tiro, raising his voice to make his point. “We must be prepared for every eventuality.”

  Tiro chattered on for several minutes, though Thomas no longer listened. Tiro seemed to be doing most of the talking, yet he clearly wasn’t a leader among the Sylvana. In fact, there didn’t seem to be a leader at all. Rather, decisions were made based upon the majority. Rynlin didn’t even bother to speak up. Thomas could understand why Rynlin often returned from these meetings so frustrated. Rule by committee certainly wasn’t the way to get things done during a crisis.

  “I think we must focus on what we know,” interrupted Maden, bringing the discussion back to the primary topic. He was almost as tall as Rynlin, and he too had a great deal of skill in the Talent. Unlike other sorcere
rs, though, he chose to wear leggings and a jacket, and a sword hung at his hip, though it now rested against his knee as he sat near the fire. He could have been as intimidating as Catal Huyuk, but his ready smile prevented it. “Daran has reported more activity along the edges of the Charnel Mountains, and Catal Huyuk has spoken of the dark creatures becoming bolder. Even Elisia and Aurelia have dealt with Ogren for the first time in two hundred years in the mountains of Kashel. The time for battle will be upon us soon.”

  Rynlin murmured his agreement. “Maden is right. The Shadow Lord will strike soon, perhaps sooner than we think.” The finality of Rynlin’s words filled Thomas with dread. Being named Darkbane was one thing. Actually proving it was quite another. “In the past, we have always succeeded in defeating the Shadow Lord, but I think that term — defeated — is deceptive.”

  “What do you mean by that?” interrupted Tiro. The portly sorcerer had a hard time remaining silent. In his own mind, he always had something of value to say.

  “I mean yes, we defeated the Dark Horde and prevented it from ravaging the Kingdoms. But we have never defeated the Shadow Lord. We have only delayed him.” Many Sylvana nodded their agreement. During the discussions, Thomas quickly discovered that most of the Sylvan Warriors deferred to Maden and Rynlin. They were the closest thing the Sylvana had to leaders. “Yes, we are fewer in number than ever before, but we should not allow that to restrict us when it comes time to act. Perhaps this time events will turn out differently.”

  Rynlin gave his grandson a meaningful look to punctuate his words, and one that was not lost on the other Sylvan Warriors. Thomas’ feeling of dread increased.

  “At the moment, there is little we can do but wait,” said Maden, shifting slightly on his log. “I propose, though, that we send regular patrols into the Charnel Mountains. That might give us early warning when the Shadow Lord attacks. It could be in the next few months, or the next few years; regardless, I want to be ready.”