by Peter Wacht
"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.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to think clearly and move quickly. If his fear got the better of him, he would die. In one fluid movement, the Shadow Lord pulled his sword from beneath his cloak, the steel blacker than the night. The already dim chamber grew darker as the steel absorbed the last few bits of light.
"I hope you've enjoyed your life, Thomas Keldragan Kestrel," said the Shadow Lord. "It's about to end."
The Shadow Lord lunged forward, his blade aimed at Thomas' chest. But Thomas expected the attack and easily sidestepped it.
"So, you won't be easy meat for me today," said the Shadow Lord as he circled back around Thomas. Thomas danced a few feet away, his sword held at the ready. The Shadow Lord's laugh echoed throughout the chamber. "Good. That is very good, Thomas. I could use a little fun today."
The Shadow Lord lunged forward again, arm outstretched, the black blade quivering in anticipation, searching for blood. Thomas avoided the blade and again put a few feet between himself and the Shadow Lord.
"A game of cat and mouse," said the Shadow Lord, watching as Thomas warily stepped around him and moved closer to the stone disk set in the floor. What little light there was in the room illuminated only the center of the chamber, and then only dimly. Even with Thomas' eyesight, he couldn't penetrate the outlying ring of darkness.
Fighting the Shadow Lord was certainly not something Thomas relished, but every one of his instructors had lectured about the need for information. Winning on the battlefield usually did not involve strength or courage or desire, though those factors certainly played a large part in tipping the scales in your favor. No, the key to victory was knowledge.
The same concept applied to single combat, and each of his instructors had counseled that Thomas first learn his opponent's style before committing himself to a course of action. "It would be unfortunate, would it not," Antonin, First Spear of the Carthanians, liked to say, "If you learned your opponent's greatest weakness just as his sword entered your gut."
So Thomas employed the strategy suggested by his many tutors. Wait and watch. See what your opponent will do. If you have the time, why not use it? Then, when you've found your opponent's weaknesses, attack. And then attack again. Keep attacking until you’ve exploited that weakness, then move on to the next one. And the next, and the next, until you've won.
Thomas leaped to the side, barely avoiding another thrust of the black sword.
"So I must earn my victory today," said the Shadow Lord as he circled Thomas. Thomas moved with him, blade ready in front of him, eyes locked on the red pinpricks glowing within the Shadow Lord's hood. "I never thought an undergrown boy could be so much trouble."
The Shadow Lord feinted forward with his blade, and then pulled back, judging Thomas' reaction. Thomas remained where he was, though his blade shifted reflexively to protect his exposed side. The Shadow Lord now played Thomas' game. Thomas had found what he was looking for. It was time to attack.
Rather than lunging forward, Thomas swung his blade down in an arc, catching the Shadow Lord by surprise. Fiery sparks flew into the air as Thomas' sword crashed heavily upon the black steel. The Shadow Lord tried to disengage, but Thomas wouldn't allow it, pushing the Shadow Lord back as he continued his attack, swinging his blade low, then high, in an effort to keep his opponent off balance.
Each time the two swords met, sparks danced through the air. No matter how aggressively Thomas attacked, the Shadow Lord defended himself. Thomas finally backed away, knowing that it was time to change his tactics.
"A boy with fire," said the Shadow Lord, breathing heavily. Perhaps Thomas had found one of the weaknesses he sought. Remarkably, his fear had left him. In the beginning, it had almost paralyzed him, but now he knew that he could hold his own against the Shadow Lord. "And full of surprises. Well, now it's my turn for a surprise."
The hair along the back of Thomas’ neck prickled just before he was knocked through the air and into the far wall of the chamber, landing heavily on the stone floor. Dark Magic! Thomas had foc
used so much on his swordplay, he had forgotten about the true source of the Shadow Lord’s power. As Thomas rose to his feet, another block of air knocked the air from his lungs and slammed him against the wall a second time. Gasping for breath, Thomas seized control of the Talent. He did so just in time, fending off a third blow from the Shadow Lord.
"The cub wants to lead the pack." The Shadow Lord laughed softly. "Let's see if he can." A ball of fire leapt from the Shadow Lord's hand. Using the Talent, Thomas formed a shield of air, deflecting the fireball against the far wall. Another ball of fire flew toward him, and another, and another. Each time Thomas' shield held.
Though Thomas had successfully defended himself thus far, the Shadow Lord's skill and experience with Dark Magic far surpassed his own with the Talent. If he gave the Shadow Lord the opportunity, eventually he would find a weapon that Thomas did not know how to protect against. Not wanting to give the Shadow Lord the chance to continue with his fun, a bolt of white light shot from Thomas' hand.
Surprised by the attack, the Shadow Lord dove out of the way just in time. Thomas ran forward, aiming his sword at the Shadow Lord's neck. It was extremely difficult to fight with the Talent and a sword at the same time, as both disciplines required absolute concentration. Thomas hoped the same applied to the Shadow Lord, otherwise he stood virtually no chance of making it out of the chamber alive.
Thomas would not make the same mistake again and allow the Shadow Lord to attack. That would only lead to his death. Though Thomas was strong in the Talent, and could use it quite effectively, he was no match in a drawn-out struggle against the Shadow Lord's Dark Magic. Given time, the Shadow Lord’s thousands of years of experience would win out.
Thomas attacked relentlessly, his blade almost moving on its own in search of the Shadow Lord's blood. Yet with each stroke of his sword, the Shadow Lord's black blade moved to defend. Several times the Shadow Lord tried to launch another attack with his Dark Magic, but Thomas prevented it by pressing him even harder. The dance around the chamber continued at a furious pace, the two blades crashing against one another in a shower of white sparks.
