by Wacht, Peter
So much so that even as the Northern Peaks gradually transformed into the Charnel Mountains, inhabited only by the remnants of the Shadow Lord’s Dark Horde, the vigilance of the Kingdoms waned. As a result, only the Sylvana kept a sharp eye on the happenings in the north, ensuring that the Breaker, the Kingdoms’ sole defense against an invasion from the north, remained strong, the First Guard standing atop the massive wall at least for a time.
It was because of the Kingdoms’ short memory and indifference, the rulers of the various monarchies once more focused on fighting one another rather than the real threat, that one of the Shadow Lord’s servants stole the Key with an army of Ogren and Shades slipping past the Breaker and sacking Eamhain Mhacha in the process. The creature, known as Malachias, returned to Shadow’s Reach and attempted to free his master.
Led by the Sylvana, the Kingdoms quickly massed their armies and entered the Charnel Mountains once again, that event the beginning of what was to become the Great War. Knowing the urgency of the situation, the Sylvana forced Malachias out of Shadow’s Reach and prevented him from achieving his goal. In the end, the Sylvana and the Kingdoms crushed the Dark Horde against the Breaker, gaining the Kingdoms a respite that had dragged on for centuries, but it had proven to be a close thing and had come at great cost.
Nevertheless, Malachias’ efforts were not for naught. He succeeded in weakening the Shadow Lord’s prison, allowing his master to once again touch the world. And the prison continued to weaken over time as the bonds of natural magic frayed with each passing year, the Dark Magic of the Shadow Lord’s lair growing stronger in turn. As a result, it was only a matter of time before the Shadow Lord would be free once more and able to take revenge against those who had denied him the power that he had craved for so long. Judging by what was now going on in the north and the constant incursions of dark creatures into the Highlands and sometimes beyond, that time of darkness was almost upon them. The Dark Horde would march once more with the Shadow Lord in its vanguard.
It was also said that during the final battle of the Great War, right before Malachias escaped when the Dark Horde was crushed against the Breaker, he lost the Key. The Key that was the only opportunity the Kingdoms had to defeat the Shadow Lord and his Dark Magic. But who had pilfered the Key from Malachias and where it had been taken no one knew. Although the Sylvana had searched for the Key for centuries following the conclusion of the Great War, it had never been found. And with the deaths of Athala and Ollav Fola, they had little information on what the next step might be.
Following the lecture, all of which Thomas already knew, Rynlin continued his pacing, deep in thought. As he considered the challenge before them, the Sylvan Warrior recited the prophecy in an absent murmur:
When a child of life and death
Stands on high
Drawn by faith
He shall hold the key to victory in his hand
Swords of fire echo in the burned rock
Balancing the future on their blades
Light dances with dark
Green fire burns in the night
Hopes and dreams follow the wind
To fall in black or white
“Drawn by faith,” Thomas exclaimed, his smile breaking out. “We have been worrying about it for no reason.”
“What did you say, Thomas?” Rynlin had stopped, recognizing that his grandson pondered something, trying to put together a puzzle that offered more in the way of mystery than fact.
“Don’t worry. I can find it.”
“Find what?”
“The Key. I can find the Key.”
“And just how do you expect to do that?” Rynlin asked skeptically. “I have researched countless tomes, visited dozens of libraries, spoken with every Sylvan Warrior who answered Athala’s call, with little to show for it. Even what sparse information I pulled from the library at Eamhain Mhacha took me down a useless rabbit hole. I have still not given you the knowledge you need to …”
“I can feel it.”
Thomas quickly explained that it was much like before he became a Sylvan Warrior. The pull that he felt toward the Pinnacle in the Highlands that served as the Sylvana’s meeting place kept getting stronger when it was time for him to take the tests to become a Sylvan Warrior. So much so that he knew exactly the direction he needed to go, even if he wasn’t quite sure where he was going and when he would get there. If he turned in the right direction, the one facing the Pinnacle, the pull grew stronger. The same feeling slowly had come over him again, but this time whenever he turned his mind toward finding the Key. It was faint, he admitted. Barely a touch on his consciousness, but still there nonetheless and gradually increasing in intensity. The mistake in examining the prophecy was to not connect the preceding line Drawn by faith to the one that referenced the Key. Finding the Key required faith.
“I know what we must do. What I must do,” he corrected.
“Where is it pulling you?” asked Rynlin. His initial reaction was to be critical of his grandson’s conclusion. But Thomas’ logic made sense. And in all honesty, they had little else to go on. All his previous efforts at finding an answer had returned nothing of value, and he had no good leads to pursue now. So perhaps it was time to take a risk, to allow faith rather than logic to guide them as the situation became more urgent and the stakes increased.
“To the west. I’m not sure where, but I know I can follow it right to the source. Right to the Key. Whatever the Key might be. What do you think?”
“The prophecy points to you, so it makes sense,” shrugged Rynlin. “Obscure just like any other prophecy, but it’s all we have right now. Besides, time is not our friend.”
“Whenever we spoke about this you said you believed that I would have to find a way to get into the Shadow Lord’s domain and fight him there. The prophecy demanded it. Yet there was no known way to enter Blackstone without being detected or killed. But there must be. So why not an actual Key, magical or otherwise, that would give me admittance? If I’m supposed to fight the Shadow Lord in his city, I must be able to find the Key in order to meet the requirements of the prophecy.”
Rynlin nodded noncommittally, knowing that such conjecture was possible. Still, he was not entirely convinced. The Sylvan Warriors had bandied about the same concept for centuries, never reaching a conclusion that satisfied anyone.
Thomas saw that his grandfather remained skeptical. “Think back to some of our history lessons together, to what some of the other names were for the Charnel Mountains before they were called what they are today.”
Rynlin rattled off as many of the names that he could remember while certain that he had missed a few.
“There was another,” interrupted Thomas. “It wasn’t an actual name, but comes from a myth you once told me about the Shadow Lord and how he supposedly first came to the world of man in the Burnt Peaks.”
“Yes. Yes, I remember. Rising up from the burnt rock to announce his arrival to humanity.”
Thomas repeated the lines from the prophecy. “Swords of fire echo in the burned rock, balancing the future on their blades, light dances with dark, green fire burns in the night, hopes and dreams follow the wind, to fall in black or white.”
Rynlin quickly became angry with himself. It had been under his nose all these years, yet he had failed to put it together. Finally, he had confirmation of what he always suspected, that in order to fight the Shadow Lord, the Defender of the Light must do so in the Shadow Lord’s domain. He had suspected as much, but was still wary of stating it for a fact because of the lack of corroborating evidence. So why wouldn’t the Defender of the Light have some sense of how to get past the barriers that might prevent others from entering that corrupted city? It was so obvious that he had just skipped over it. Rynlin mouthed several oaths, including many that Thomas suspected were so old that few had heard them before, except perhaps for Rya. Rynlin came back to himself, regaining control of his temper.
“It’s a paper thin argument,” said Th
omas. “But perhaps for this to succeed, we must all demonstrate a little faith.”
“Now we know what must be done.”
“Yes, we do. I must find the Key.”
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Surprise
Gregory Carlomin, King of Fal Carrach, had prepared for the likelihood that the Home Guard would stand against his small army when it crossed Armagh’s eastern border. During their travels from the Highlands across the Inland Sea and then through Dunmoor, tracking the southern bank of the Corazon River, on a regular basis Kaylie made use of her growing skill in the Talent to search the land for leagues around them. Each time, she found the way clear, Loris of Dunmoor apparently turning a blind eye, until they approached Armagh and discovered the troops arrayed against them. Several tense minutes had given way to smiles and handshakes. He had not expected a welcome from General Brennios and an honor guard to escort him to the capital. But once Brennios explained what had happened, it all began to make sense. His worries were put to rest when he saw that several Marchers were there as well to greet him and confirm the events of the last few weeks. For the most part Gregory was quite pleased. Thomas had achieved the overall objective with little loss of life or injury; nevertheless, once again Rodric had slunk away with Chertney with the assistance of the Shadow Lord.
Despite that frustration, any potential threat that the former High King presented to their efforts to defend the Kingdoms at the Breaker had been removed once and for all. Moreover, following Thomas’ instructions, Brennios had moved the Home Guard farther to the east, in preparation for a move toward the Breaker at the appropriate time to join the other Kingdom armies.
All in all, the young Highland Lord had proven quite successful and efficient. Gregory had been less so in his attempts to convince his daughter to return to Ballinasloe. He had argued that he needed her there to rule Fal Carrach while he went to Eamhain Mhacha to settle matters with Rodric. His logic and contentions, though certainly legitimate and forming what he believed to be a strong argument in his own mind, never gained any traction with his enervatingly stubborn daughter.
Kaylie, sharp as a whip, knew that there was nothing that demanded her attention in Ballinasloe and that her father simply wanted to remove her from any potential danger, probably because of her penchant for ignoring his requests, such as her going off on her own without his permission to the Highlands to help Thomas defeat Rodric and the Armaghian army. As a result, her obstinacy and refusal to follow her father’s instructions had led to several heated discussions between the two, all while Kaylie continued with Gregory toward the capital of Armagh, the capital that was now coming into view over the undulating flow of the surrounding hills.
Gregory understood that he could no longer treat his daughter like a child. He knew as well that with her training, both in the sword and the Talent, that she was in a much better position to defend herself. But still he worried, just as any father would. He acknowledged, if only to himself, that Kaylie’s stubbornness could serve her well when she finally took the throne of Fal Carrach, assuming that she knew when best to apply it for her benefit and that of the Kingdom. But at the moment, it rankled him. Even the conversation Sarelle of Benewyn had attempted to engage him in regarding his concerns failed to assuage his worries. Gregory shook his head in resignation. There was nothing to be done now. They were approaching the city, and several officials stood in front of the gates waiting for them.
“Greetings, your majesties. I am Toreal, chamberlain of Eamhain Mhacha, and I welcome you to the city in the name of the Highland Lord.” Toreal bowed deeply from the saddle, acknowledging each ruler individually.
“Well met, Toreal,” answered Gregory, as they entered beneath the portcullis and made their way toward the fortress.
Sarelle took in all the activity of the residents. The last time that she had been here during the Council of the Kingdoms a pall had hung over the city. The streets had been empty, the few visible residents somber, as if they had been beaten down by poverty and despair. Only a handful of merchant vessels were docked at the waterfront. But no longer. Lively markets had sprouted in the squares. More traffic was coming through the front gates as farmers and merchants sold their goods and wares, and as they passed the harbor she saw much the same, many-masted trading ships carefully navigating the breakers that lined the entrance to the port. A once stagnant economy and people had become reenergized in a matter of just a few weeks.
She grinned at all that went on around her, seeing that Rendael had noticed it as well, and was also pleased by the transformation that had taken place so quickly in the Armaghian capital. Benewyn remained strong because of trade. If Eamhain Mhacha and Armagh once again had an open market, then her Kingdom stood to benefit, as did Kenmare.
“May I ask where the Highland Lord is?” Kaylie asked in a tight, much too pleasant voice. She had expected him to be here to greet them, but apparently not, and her pique at that discovery was quite obvious.
“He remains in the countryside, Princess, with his Marchers and some of our soldiers,” replied General Brennios. “Although he destroyed Rodric’s host of dark creatures, there are still a few strays that he’s ferreting out.”
“And you allowed him to do that?” she asked, her irritation plain. She would have thought that following their discussion after the battle in the Highlands, Thomas would be exercising better judgment now. But clearly not. “It’s quite dangerous.”
Brennios led his horse into the castle courtyard, hopping off as groomsmen ran over to take the reins. The chamberlain leapt to the ground as well, a spring in his step, and offered his hand to the Princess as she stepped down from her horse.
“A valid concern, Princess,” answered Toreal. “But having met and seen what the Highland Lord is capable of, I’d suggest that his activities are only dangerous to those horrid dark creatures that continue to plague our lands. The sooner they’re killed, the better.”
“Besides,” offered General Brennios. “Though I don’t know the Highland Lord very well, from what I’ve experienced, once he sets his mind on doing something, he does it, regardless of what others might think or say.”
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Unwanted Accolade
Toreal led them to a private chamber where they could wash away the dust and grime of their journey and then partake from a large buffet set up so that they would have space to talk. For there was much to discuss. Clearly, Rodric was no longer a threat. But what of his daughter Corelia?
Would Corelia remain in Mooralyn or would she attempt to stir up trouble? What of the Sylvana? They had played a major role in destroying the dark creatures. What could the Kingdoms expect from them in the future? Would they continue to assist in the northern Highlands and the Charnel Mountains?
What could they expect from the western Kingdoms? Would any answer the call to arms against the Shadow Lord? The consensus seemed to be no, but who could say. Perhaps some of the more ambitious western lords, in the less stable Kingdoms, would see this as an opportunity. Or in the alternative, perhaps they would remain focused on their own Kingdoms and objectives now that Rodric’s sway had been broken and seek to fill the power vacuum themselves.
And what of Armagh itself? It served as a linchpin between east and west, but all agreed that the reign of the Tessarils had come to an end. Who would take charge? And what of the need for a High King? No doubt several current rulers would seek the honorific, if for no other reason than the desire to add to their own prestige.
“I think the answers to those last few questions are quite obvious.”
The assembled rulers jumped a bit in surprise as Thomas walked silently into the room followed by Oso.
“My lords and ladies, welcome. My apologies for not being here to greet you.”
“Thomas, you’re covered in blood!” exclaimed Kaylie.
Thomas looked down, then glanced at his friend, realizing that they both wore dirty, worn, blood-spattered clothes, the dust of the road h
aving covered them in a brown muck.
“Yes, but none of the blood is mine,” replied Thomas with a smile, much to the delight of Rendael and Gregory, who both chuckled softly.
Thomas’ comment only served to irritate Kaylie all the more. “Thomas, you cannot take such risks. You have a Kingdom to rule and …”
“Kaylie, please, could we discuss this later?” asked Thomas. The smile on his face remained, but his green eyes were hard and flinty. “There are other things that we need to deal with first.”
“Quite right,” said Sarelle, patting Kaylie’s arm to show her support for the girl, but acknowledging the necessity of addressing more consequential items first. She would need to have a conversation with Kaylie and perhaps help her better understand when such battles as she was about to fight with Thomas should indeed be fought and where. “You were saying that the answers to our questions were obvious?”
“Yes, the last few questions, at least in my opinion,” he replied.
Oso had stepped over to the buffet, piling food onto a plate. He would leave the politics to his friend after several days of hard riding and fighting, only interested at the moment in filling his stomach.
“We had been considering the appointment of a temporary High King until a Council of the Kingdoms could be called,” said Rendael. “Someone we could trust who could handle those matters that a single Kingdom couldn’t and provide a strong face in the hopes of pulling some of the western Kingdoms to our cause.”
“An excellent idea,” said Thomas. “Though I believe the choice is fairly obvious.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gregory, an unsettling feeling beginning to bloom in the pit of his stomach.
“It should be you, King Gregory, at least in my humble opinion.”
Gregory stammered, trying to get his protest out but failing, never having considered the idea and not knowing what to say. But all the other rulers quickly agreed with Thomas’ suggestion.
