The Defender of the Light: Book 9 of The Sylvan Chronicles

by Wacht, Peter

  From the chest, Thomas pulled out his daggers. He slid the one with the white bone hilt into the back of his belt, then flipped the two that remained in his hands, pleased by the balance. Then he turned toward Kaylie, daggers held as he had been trained, walking slowly toward the Princess of Fal Carrach.

  “Kaylie, get out,” Thomas said through gritted teeth, his face twisted into a snarl. “I can’t stop this. I can only slow it down, and not for long.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Corelia’s laughter echoed in the small room. “The collar, you fool. Once affixed, it can never be removed. And it is attuned to me. Which means that Thomas will do as I say, when I say, no matter what it is. He will do whatever I command. Thomas is mine now, and there’s nothing that you can do about it.”

  22

  Arrogance

  Oso took a step back, catching his breath during the short reprieve. The small doorway through which Kaylie had exited with Corelia had proven to be a boon, preventing Eshel’s guards from attacking in force.

  When Maddan Dinnegan had attacked, Oso had shoved Corelia toward Kaylie. The Princess of Fal Carrach had had no choice but to release Lord Eshel, who had scampered as quickly as his ponderous bulk would allow to safety, flopping into the manor’s main hallway and gaining the relative safety provided by his soldiers. As a result, now the Inishmorian Lord directed the attack toward Oso from the safety of the other room.

  But Maddan hadn’t been so lucky. At first, he had taken several wild swings at Oso, almost as if he were warming up before a bout in the training circle. Then he tried several taunts, thinking that he could incite his towering opponent to do something hasty by offering several lewd thoughts about his mother. Much to Maddan’s disappointment, Oso hadn’t bitten, simply standing in front of the doorway, keeping an eye on the soldiers who had begun to stream into the chamber behind the Fal Carrachian youth.

  Following that, Maddan had danced around in a semicircle, threatening to attack Oso, emboldened by the soldiers behind him, but never getting close enough to actually strike at him. Oso was more than happy to allow the boy who had interrupted their escape to continue doing whatever he was doing. It gave Kaylie more time to free Thomas and, most important to Oso, the fool blocked the soldiers who had responded to Eshel’s call to arms from attacking him. And it didn’t seem to bother Eshel’s guards. In fact, the soldiers hadn’t appeared to be in a rush to take him on. Whether because of his size and menacing appearance or the fact that they wanted to see what would happen to the beanpole in front of them waving his sword in the air, he couldn’t say. Regardless, Oso was more than content to let the minutes slip by. But then, whether because of pride, arrogance or impatience, Maddan made the mistake of lunging at Oso, sword fully extended, and leaving his side open, not expecting the large Highlander to move so quickly in response. Oso had sidestepped the clumsy attack easily, burying his dagger in Dinnegan’s belly. The son of the richest man in Fal Carrach now lay slumped against the wall, his eyes glazing over and his blood seeping out between his fingers onto the thick carpet.

  Since then, the large Marcher had killed or wounded six soldiers, the men having no choice but to engage with him once the skinny lord had been eliminated as a threat. Now those soldiers’ bodies blocked their fellow guards’ path into the fight. And that was fine with Oso. If more than just a couple soldiers could come at him at the same time, his odds of survival would plummet drastically.

  But that concern quickly lessened. Oso smiled, his confidence soaring. He could hear it now, coming from the main entrance to the manor. Aric and the other Marchers had figured out what was going on, likely when Eshel started screaming for his soldiers, and had joined the fray, complicating matters for the Inishmorian Lord.

  Oso rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants, then grasped his sword once more. He approached the soldier who had just pushed his way into the room, stumbling over one of the bodies that lay across the threshold. With a quick thrust, Oso drove his blade through the flailing man’s chest and then returned to his post by the door that led out of the office. He would hold as long as he could, and hopefully Aric would reach him in time. But Kaylie really needed to hurry.

  23

  Price for Failure

  Kaylie stepped back from the advancing Thomas, her eyes never leaving his, dagger to her front. She slid behind a small desk to keep some space between them. She had improved greatly with the dagger thanks to the training proffered by Kael Bellilil. But having seen him fight and win so many times, she knew that she was no match for Thomas, at least not yet.

  Thomas approached with an almost unnatural grace, although his face, contorted in a grimace, belied his internal struggle. Even with his strength of will, he couldn’t stand up to the Dark Magic of the collar pulsing around his neck. Try as he might, he could not break free from the ensorcellment Corelia had forced upon him. He desperately didn’t want to attack Kaylie, but the Dark Magic surging through the collar demanded it.

  Thomas’ arm whipped out, impossibly fast, despite his attempts to resist what Corelia required of him. Kaylie barely dodged out of the way in time, silently thanking the desk in front of her for impeding Thomas’ assault. He attacked again, and again, and once more, his daggers flashing past in a blur, just missing her each time. She could tell that he continued to battle the control Corelia exerted upon him. Otherwise, even with the obstacle in front of her, each of his attacks would have struck home. The thought of cold steel sliding into her flesh sent a shiver through her body. There had to be something that she could do to help Thomas.

  “Fight it, Thomas! You can do it. I can see you doing it now. Don’t let her do this.”

  Knowing that her fate was sealed if she stayed where she was, Kaylie rolled away from the desk and underneath a left-handed slash that came so close she thought that Thomas had taken off a few strands of her hair by her right ear. As soon as she regained her feet, she launched a series of lightning fast attacks. Much to her annoyance, Thomas easily defended each one, but each attack gave her a chance to dart past him and gain more space to maneuver in the small room.

  “Plead all you want,” laughed Corelia, who remained by the wall, enjoying the show. The bloodthirsty curl of her lips reminded Kaylie of Ragin that night on the Tinnakilly battlements. “So long as I control him, Thomas will do as I command. Your end is assured no matter what you do, and with you gone Thomas will be mine body and soul.”

  Thomas walked toward Kaylie once more, moving away from the desk. His steps were slower now, almost plodding, but nevertheless he could not stop his advance. Sweat poured off his forehead, his jaw clenched. He fought against the compulsion with every ounce of his being, but it just wasn’t enough.

  “Run, Kaylie! I can’t hold myself back much longer. The Dark Magic is too strong.”

  Kaylie considered the option for just a moment, the open door right behind her, but she refused to leave Thomas to his fate. Instead she thought about something that Corelia had just said, and then it clicked. She knew what she needed to do, and fighting Thomas wasn’t it.

  Turning her attention away from Thomas, hoping that he could hold off the Dark Magic for just a moment longer, she flipped the dagger in her hand so that she grasped the point between her thumb and forefinger. Then she flung it to her right. She knew that the steel had struck true when she heard the startled gasp of surprise and pain.

  Corelia fell back against the wall, her right leg giving out beneath her. Though not a mortal wound, the blade had sunk hilt deep into her thigh, a stream of bright red blood leaking out.

  “You pig-faced bi … ” The Princess of Armagh didn’t have time to complete her thought.

  Recognizing the opportunity as soon as the blade left Kaylie’s hand, Thomas was ready. With Corelia’s concentration broken, Thomas grasped the thin tendril of the Talent that he could hold. He forced it back into the seams of the cracked black onyx that he had been chipping away at earlier, pushing as much natural magic as he c
ould into the dense space. The pressure continued to increase, the seams first started with the sharp point of his amulet expanding, the stone now showing visible signs of fissures and flaking. Before Corelia realized the danger of releasing her control of the collar, if only for a second, Thomas pushed one final surge of the Talent into the now yielding spaces within the weakened piece of black stone.

  The damaged piece shattered, ripping apart the collar, which fell from Thomas’ neck to the floor.

  “No, you can’t do this. You can’t!” Corelia screamed, still slumped against the wall. She had made the mistake of pulling out the blade, and now her injured leg stretched out in front of her, dark red blood pulsing out from the puncture. Her face had become pale as she pressed her hands against the bloody wound. Thomas and Kaylie ignored her.

  Kaylie rushed to Thomas, grasping his cheeks with her hands and pulling his lips to hers. It was a brief kiss, but with a deep meaning, and just as passionately returned by Thomas.

  “Thank you,” said Thomas, grinning. “Quick thinking on your part.”

  Kaylie stepped back, though her hands remained on his cheeks. She relished the compliment, if only for a very brief moment.

  “What do we do with her?” she asked.

  Thomas glanced over at Corelia. He took a step toward her, thinking to bind her wound, then thought better of it. A swirling black mist had appeared above the blonde-haired beauty, spinning faster and faster.

  Consumed by the pain in her leg and shocked that Thomas had succeeded in destroying the necklace, it took Corelia a few seconds to realize that she faced a greater danger than the loss of blood. She shivered, not knowing why, then felt the first light touches of the inky mist on her skin as pinpricks, quick jabs of pain all across her body. She tried to drag herself across the floor, away from the building darkness that had appeared above her, but her injury prevented it. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but that only gave the swirling black an avenue to intensify its attack, the pitch-black murk surging down her throat, setting her body into a series of convulsions. In only a few seconds it was over. The once beautiful Armaghian Princess was dead, now no more than a withered husk, her energy and life sucked from her by the very Dark Magic that she had tried to harness, forced to pay the ultimate price for her failure.

  “Nothing, nothing at all.” Thomas stepped away from Corelia’s corpse, his daggers still in hand. “We have more important matters to attend to.”

  24

  Blazing Anger

  Thomas strode down the back hallway, Kaylie watching his back. The clang of steel and screams of battle grew louder as he approached Eshel’s office. He stopped in the doorway, staying in the shadows, taking a brief moment to survey what lay before him. Kaylie, in her eagerness to stay with him, stumbled into his back.

  “Easy, Kaylie. Keep out of the sharpest of the fight if you can. Daggers can do only so much against the sword.”

  Oso stood his ground in the room, two guards opposing him, the bodies of at least a half-dozen others strewn about the room, demonstrating how well the large Highlander had been keeping his attackers from advancing and buying time for Kaylie. Thomas could hear Eshel screaming in the hallway beyond the room, telling his men to continue to attack. But he picked up on their reluctance. Aric and his Marchers were pressing Eshel and his soldiers from the other side, giving them little room to maneuver. The confined spaces of the manor played to the Marchers’ strengths, reducing the number of guards who could attack at one time.

  But Oso was also tiring, the constant attacks sapping his strength. Seeking to help his friend, Thomas stepped lightly into the room, catching the blade of one of the guards by crossing his daggers above his head. The soldier had sought to strike Oso in the back while he engaged the other guard who had attacked the large Highlander with a series of lunges designed to distract him. Hearing the clang of steel behind him, Oso didn’t bother to turn around.

  “Took you long enough,” the big Highlander muttered. Then, knowing that Thomas protected his back, Oso advanced on his opponent, turning his full attention on the soldier who now realized the mistake that he had made by taking on an angry Marcher.

  Thomas shouldered the other guard into the wall, then slashed down with the dagger in his right hand, opening up the soldier’s belly. The stricken man slumped to the floor, trying to keep his insides from slipping out, but it appeared to be a lost cause. Thomas watched it all dispassionately. His anger was building. His patience was gone. Taking hold of the Talent, relishing once more the power that flowed through him, he infused his twin blades with the magic of nature.

  The steel daggers glowed a bright white as Thomas stepped through the office door into the long entry hall. Aric and the handful of Marchers squared off against a dozen guards, who fought desperately to keep them from reaching the Highland Lord despite their greater numbers. Just a handful of guards stood facing Thomas, and from among his soldiers Lord Eshel of Inishmore issued a constant stream of commands as he tried futilely to control a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of hand.

  “Eshel!”

  Thomas’ shout startled the Inishmorian Lord, who jumped back as his former captive strode toward him, blazing daggers in his grasp. The guards, seeing the Highland Lord approach, the tall Marcher at his back, quickly decided that with these two frightening figures striding toward them, eyes blazing with a deadly intensity, that discretion was the better part of valor. They stepped out of the way, dropping their weapons and not wanting any part of the men stalking toward them.

  “Where is Corelia? She has you under her thrall. You belong to her!”

  “No more,” replied Thomas. He walked inexorably toward the source of his anger, ignoring everything around him but Eshel.

  When Thomas was within striking distance, the Inishmorian Lord lunged forward, thinking that a quick attack and his experience with the sword would give him the victory against a pair of daggers. But he had miscalculated terribly. Thomas deflected the strike easily and in a rapid response, brought his Talent-infused daggers together and then apart where Eshel’s neck met his shoulders. The blades sliced through cleanly, taking off Eshel’s head, which thumped loudly when it hit the granite floor.

  Thomas stepped back, letting the steaming corpse fall to the ground. The hall went silent, the fighting having stopped so that all could watch the short-lived spectacle. Thomas stared at the guards still standing, murder in his eyes. Smartly, those who hadn’t done so already dropped their swords, having no stomach for continuing the fight. As Aric and the other Marchers secured the surrendering guards, Thomas turned to Oso.

  “Thank you, my friend. Now just one more favor before we’re done here.”

  25

  Queen

  Lady Colasa stood in the hallway of Eshel’s manor, staring down at the headless body of her former opponent.

  “You were really quite thorough, weren’t you, Thomas?”

  Thomas shrugged sheepishly. “I was a little angry, kind of let it out.”

  Kaylie stood next to him, holding his hand. The effort to break the collar crafted of Dark Magic and then infuse his daggers with the Talent had tired Thomas, taking more energy than he had expected and leaving him unsteady on his feet. After the unsettling events of the last few days, Kaylie had told him in a tone that brooked no argument that she would be staying at his side for the remainder of their time in Laurag.

  “Apparently.” The beautiful young woman turned her gaze to Thomas. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  “Can you make use of this?” Kaylie asked, her mind already racing through the political implications for the only remaining claimant to the throne of Inishmore.

  “I can,” replied Colasa, smiling deviously. “Thomas’ gift provides the lever to tilt the balance in our favor. But it needs to be seen as my having eliminated Eshel, not a band of Marchers. The stronger houses will respect such a show of strength and decisiveness.”

  “Mum’s the word,” said Oso
. All the Marchers had gathered their gear from the inn, including Thomas’ sword, before they had made their way to Eshel’s manor.

  “We’ll do one better than that. Let’s get you on a ship. We still have a few more hours before dawn. If you are all out of Laurag before the sun is up, then I can turn this situation to my advantage and eliminate any questions about who was responsible for Eshel’s downfall.”

  “As you command, Queen Colasa,” said Thomas, giving her a warm smile.

  26

  Thinking of Others

  Lady Colasa, now asserting her right to be the Queen of Inishmore, and likely to have that claim made reality by the end of the day once word of Eshel’s demise spread, had worked quickly in the early morning. Her men had roused Brienne, captain of the ship Thomas had bought passage on, and in no uncertain terms told her that she, her crew and her cargo were to be on the first tide out of the harbor before the sun brightened the sky.

  Brienne attempted to protest by citing the danger of rogue waves if they left too early, the difficulty of finding all her sailors on such short notice what with all the taverns and houses of ill repute packed into the harbor district, as well as a host of other excuses, all designed to raise the price. Once the transit was guaranteed at double the normal fee for passage to the Distant Islands, and the promise of more business in the future with the Inishmorian crown, the ship captain got moving and guaranteed that they would be free of the port without anyone the wiser. In less than an hour, the ship glided through the rough water well beyond the harbor walls, her crew working furiously as the wind picked up with the rising sun. The Marchers had found space in one of the holds, resting after a long night. Brienne had given her cabin to Kaylie for the few days that it would take to cross the strait to the Distant Islands. A fair trade, the ship captain thought, considering how much she would make on this single, short voyage.