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

by Wacht, Peter

  Recognizing Thomas’ exhaustion after the events of the last few days, Kaylie had insisted that he join her in the cabin so that he could sleep. It was a small room, the bed barely large enough for one person, the only other pieces of furniture a foldable desk and a washing stand. Kaylie sat on the edge of the bed, watching Thomas. He settled his head against the back of the bunk, but soon realized that Kaylie had an ulterior motive for getting him alone. Thomas’ eyes were closed, but he got the feeling that he wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.

  “You scared me,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention.”

  “We had talked about this, Thomas,” began Kaylie. “I thought that we had agreed that you would no longer put yourself in danger needlessly.”

  “Kaylie, we did. You’re right …”

  “You’re important to the Marchers, to the Highlands, to the Kingdoms. You need to consider how your actions affect others.”

  “Kaylie, I understand …”

  Kaylie wouldn’t allow him to interrupt, intent on making her point. “I don’t think you do, Thomas. You must look at the world differently now. Oso. Aric. Any of the Marchers could have found Brienne and arranged for our passage. But instead you left the inn without telling anyone.”

  “Kaylie, I …”

  “I’m not done, Thomas,” her tone sharp, commanding and cutting off Thomas’ protests. “You left the inn, leaving the rest of us unaware of your absence. You put our mission at risk so that you could, what, wander the city? Then you feel the need to involve yourself in what appeared to be an attempted crime, not knowing that it was a setup designed specifically to entrap you.” Kaylie’s voice had risen an octave as her temper threatened to get the better of her. “What possible reason could you have to …”

  “I wanted to get you something,” Thomas interjected in a soft voice, his green eyes glowing in the dim cabin.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Kaylie had not expected that answer and didn’t know what to say next.

  “I wanted to get you something,” Thomas repeated, pushing himself off the back of the bunk so that he could look Kaylie directly in her eyes. “When I was out, yes, the thought came to mind to find Brienne. That took less than an hour. Finding you this took a bit longer.”

  Thomas reached behind his back, pulled free the dagger, and handed it to her hilt first. Kaylie studied the blade she held in her hand, the blue steel catching what little sunlight streamed unevenly through the porthole. The bone-white hilt felt right in her hand, as if it was meant to be there, as if the blade was made for her.

  “Thomas, why?” Kaylie’s voice had changed, softening.

  “I just …” Why did he feel the urge to buy Kaylie a gift? He had no other explanation other than the fact that it had felt like the right thing to do. “I just wanted to get you something to show you that I cared about you. I looked at bracelets, necklaces, other things. They just didn’t seem right. When I found this dagger, I knew it should be yours.”

  “Thomas, it’s perfect,” she said, flipping the dagger from one hand to the other. The balance was perfect, but her mind returned to something else that Thomas had said. “I care about you, too.” Tears began to streak down Kaylie’s face, scared of what she had just revealed, but feeling better for it all the same.

  “Kaylie, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Thomas sat up. He ran his fingertips through Kaylie’s black hair, then wiped away the tears that ran down her cheeks. Leaning forward, Thomas’ lips brushed against Kaylie’s. Then once more, the kiss growing in passion, both their bodies warming to one another’s touch. As Thomas leaned back into the bed, Kaylie followed.

  27

  Agony and Hate

  “You must do better, boy! The Highland Lord will tear you apart if this is the best that you can do. Our master gave you a gift greater than you deserve. Do not waste it a second time.”

  Ragin Tessaril remained on his knees, gulping air. He had sweated through his clothes in the past few hours, struggling to manipulate the Dark Magic that the Shadow Lord had returned to him, trying to master the tremendous power with which he had been gifted in the way that Malachias demanded. Yet no matter whether he accomplished the task set out for him perfectly or he failed, the result always was the same. Pain. A burning agony that shot from his toes through his lower body, then up into his chest and arms until it felt like his hair was on fire. It was all in his mind, he knew, his body remaining unharmed, but it was still all too real. There was nothing that he could do but suffer through Malachias’ preferred method of instruction.

  “I have done everything you have asked me to do exactly as you have told me to do it,” growled Ragin, his anger surfacing, no longer caring about how Malachias would react to his insolence. “Everything!”

  Malachias laughed, a raspy sound much like sand scouring stone. “So, you have a spine after all. I doubted it. Especially since an old man banished you. An old man kept you from your task. From your dream. From your revenge.”

  “I did not know who he was!” screamed Ragin. “I just want to kill the bastard who did this to me! Who destroyed my life!” The former Prince of Armagh gestured to the weeping scar that stretched from where his right eye should have been to his throat.

  “And that’s the problem,” whispered Malachias. The tall, cowled figure, nothing but his bald pate gleaming in the meager torchlight of the chamber, began to walk slowly around Ragin. “You lack knowledge, and you do not have the patience to obtain it.”

  “I know what I need to know now,” protested Ragin. “I am ready for the Highland Lord and anyone who might get in my way. I have been here for weeks with no word of what will happen next. When I will be freed to do what I must do. What I need to do.”

  “All will be made known to you at the appropriate time,” said Malachias. “Perhaps even sooner than you think. But our master did not save you, did not give you the power that you hold now, to simply throw it away. Just like your sister did.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Ragin, his thoughts of revenge stopping short, if only for a time. What did Corelia have to do with any of this?

  “As I said, boy, knowledge is key. Knowledge is power. And this is something you didn’t need to know. But I will explain it anyway.” Malachias knelt in front of Rodric’s son, his hypnotic black orbs demanding Ragin’s attention. “Our master prefers to have many options when pursuing a goal. You are simply one tool for achieving his objective of killing the Highland Lord. Your sister was another. She had everything she needed to complete her task. And she had the Highland Lord. She had trapped him. Tried to use him. But she lost control. The Highland Lord is free once more, and she is dead.”

  Hunched over, Ragin stared at the slick stone. Corelia had been his sister, his competitor as well, but his sister first. Yet he felt nothing at the news of her death. No desire to learn more about what had happened. No emotion. Nothing at all. Except a small sense of relief. She had failed, which meant that he could still succeed.

  “I am not my sister,” Ragin whispered.

  “No, and more’s the pity,” said Malachias. “Because she, at least, thought about what she was doing. You don’t care. You think that just because our master has given you back the Dark Magic you so desperately need and crave, that you are a match for the Highland Lord. You are not! Just because you have the power does not mean you have the ability to defeat him.”

  Ragin pushed himself off the cold stone of the floor, his body aching, his nerves firing as if they remembered the burning pinpricks of pain that Malachias had extinguished just a few minutes ago. “I am done with your words of advice, Malachias. The Shadow Lord brought me here for a reason. When do I get to kill the upstart?”

  Malachias stared at Ragin for quite a long time. He had concluded at the very beginning of these training sessions, so many weeks in the past, that something had broken within Ragin. The Highland Lord had taken more than an eye from him. Yet what was he to do? The Shadow Lord had given Mala
chias a task, and to fail to complete it would mean paying a price that he could ill afford to pay. All he could do was train the vessel before him as best as he could and hope that the arrogant pup didn’t fail again. Maybe the fool would get lucky.

  “At a time and place of our master’s choosing. But if you let your rage control you, you will be defeated once again, and this time I doubt that the Highland Lord will leave you alive.”

  “I don’t care if I live or die,” whispered Ragin. “So long as I kill the Highland Lord first.”

  28

  Deeper Meaning

  After her experiences in Laurag, Kaylie was beginning to understand that what her father had spent so much time teaching her -- politics, persuasion, risk management and decision making, what she thought was boring and tedious actually had a practical application, much like her ability to fight with a blade. It was simply a matter of knowing what skill to apply when.

  Kaylie stood next to Thomas on the stern deck of the Waterborn, their shoulders touching. What had happened the night before consumed her thoughts. She hadn’t expected it. She hadn’t planned on it. She certainly didn’t regret it. But neither she nor Thomas seemed inclined to discuss it at the moment. She didn’t feel the need to do so, preferring instead simply to enjoy the aftermath.

  Their ship chasing the sun, they watched as the bright orange ball set in the west, their destination, the Distant Islands, too far off to be seen yet. After all that had occurred in the last few weeks, Kaylie felt much more confident now. Upon first joining the expedition, she had doubted herself, and with good reason she admitted.

  But after leading the effort to rescue Thomas from the now deceased Princess of Armagh, the Marchers viewed her as one of their own, something not easily achieved and a sign of great respect. Moreover, they saw what was happening between her and Thomas, something that they apparently approved of, although they kept their opinions to themselves, or at least out of earshot. All except Oso, of course, who whenever he came upon her had a huge grin on his face.

  “It’s strange,” Thomas said jokingly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Usually I’m the one getting you out of trouble. Now the shoe is on the other foot.”

  Kaylie couldn’t help but smile, remembering Thomas saving her and her friends from the Ogren in the Burren, and the time he and Beluil protected her and her father from the Fearhounds. Of course, there was also the journey home from Eamhain Mhacha, when Thomas and his Marchers had aided the Fal Carrachians when they were attacked by the Shade and his ensorcelled black-clad soldiers.

  “And how does that shoe feel?”

  Thomas turned the full weight of his gaze on her, drinking her in, marveling again at her beauty, and also sensing that this was a very important question, one that had several hidden, deeper meanings based on how he responded.

  “Very comfortable,” answered Thomas, after Kaylie worried that he wouldn’t say anything at all. “It’s good to have someone you can depend on, trust with your life if necessary.”

  Kaylie tried to contain the huge smile that threatened to erupt, but she failed miserably. She nudged his shoulder with hers, then reached out and took Thomas’ hand. He let her, holding hers tightly, watching the sun slide down below the horizon.

  Just as the setting sun kissed the ocean, Thomas turned around and placed his back to the waves, sensing what approached from behind. Three very large sailors, blocking out the light of the lanterns that ran along the rails of the ship, stood in a semicircle, keeping Thomas and Kaylie against the ship’s stern. They only wore breeches and were barefoot so that they could navigate the often slick deck more nimbly. They were lean, their muscles hardened from years of hard work at sea. That was to be expected. What worried Thomas was the evil gleam in their eyes. Thomas guessed that they had done this before, shaking down passengers, having selected the moment when his Marchers were belowdecks eating dinner to press their advantage.

  “What have we here?” asked the one in the center, a thick braid of dark hair trailing down his back.

  “Looks like a bit of fun, Cutter,” said the man to his left, the sailor on the right nodding his head and rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  “Could be, could be, Tin.” The large sailor in the center took one step forward, his right hand going to his waist, where Thomas saw the handle of a shank peeking out from the top of his trousers. “It’s been quite a long time since we’ve enjoyed the company of such a pretty lass.”

  Thomas stepped away from the railing, placing Kaylie behind him. But Kaylie had something else in mind, moving to the side so that she stood next to Thomas and she had freedom of movement. Thomas glanced at her, noting the determination on her face. He smiled in approval, seeing the dagger that he had given her already in her hand. He turned his attention back to the sailors.

  The three men took an involuntary step backward. Thomas’ green eyes glowed brightly in the rapidly encroaching darkness, startling them. Cutter and his boys had done this before. Maybe it was something as simple as charging an additional fee for safe passage on the ship, maybe it was something more, depending on the passenger. He had marked the two young ones when they had wandered to the stern of the large vessel and away from their compatriots. Now, for the first time, he was having second thoughts. Perhaps he had misjudged these two. The brightness of the boy’s eyes scared him. They reflected a danger that he had never seen before, not only a sense, but also a promise of impending violence.

  “You can return to your duties,” said Thomas in a very quiet voice. “Or you can attempt to do what you originally set out to do and know that the consequences will be severe. Likely deadly. I’d suggest that you follow the first path.”

  Tin and the other sailor took another step back in response to Thomas’ cold voice. There was a certainty in his words, what they took to be a guarantee. Cutter had the same urge as his friends. To leave these two be. To find easier prey. But not yet. Not with his mates behind him and the danger of losing his standing on the ship all too real. If he gave up now, someone else in the crew would challenge him. He had worked too hard to risk losing what he had gained just because of some hard words from a boy.

  Cutter did the only thing that he could think to do. Escalate the situation by using his size to intimidate. Drawing the shank from his belt, he glanced behind his shoulder to make sure that his men were still there.

  “Be careful with that blade, lassie,” Cutter warned. “You don’t want to cut yourself.”

  “You’re the one who needs to be careful,” said Kaylie. Despite the danger of their circumstances, she felt at ease. The current state of affairs didn’t compare to what she had faced the last few weeks while traveling with the Marchers.

  Somewhat irritated that he had failed to intimidate the girl, Cutter returned his gaze to the boy. The massive sailor became perplexed. The boy hadn’t pulled a knife. His hands held nothing. Yet despite the home-made dagger that Cutter waved in front of him, the boy appeared nonplussed.

  “Let’s keep things simple, boy,” said Cutter, feeling as if he were losing control of the situation, that he had made the wrong decision in approaching this young couple. But he couldn’t stop now. Too much was at stake. “I can slice you from top to bottom before you even knew it.”

  “I could do worse,” replied Thomas. Taking hold of the Talent, he concentrated his power on the shank the large sailor continued to flash in front of him.

  The blade sparked, and in seconds the hard steel melted to liquid, congealing on the deck, steam billowing up because of the intense heat. The sailors jumped back in shock, fear in their movements, knowing that they had nowhere to run.

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” said Thomas, now juggling three small balls of fire. The sailors, though terrified, were mesmerized as well, never having seen such a display. Despite their desire to escape, their feet remained rooted to the deck. They couldn’t take their eyes from the blazing spheres that the boy spun so quickly tha
t they resembled a circle of flame in the darkening sky. “I’d suggest not making the same mistake twice.”

  With that Thomas threw the balls of fire into the sea, the hiss of the flame touching the salt water audible despite the creaking sounds of the ship as it sliced through the waves. With that, the spell was broken. The sailors scurried away, Cutter pushing his mates in front of him, as they hurried belowdecks to get as far away from Thomas as possible.

  The sailors gone, Thomas turned to Kaylie, who sheathed her dagger. His eyes were a flat, dark green. She saw death there, and she realized that he had been prepared to kill those sailors in order to protect her.

  “I don’t think we’ll be bothered for the rest of the trip,” said Thomas. “Word of what just happened will spread quickly.”

  “I’m sure that you’re right, but you don’t always have to be so dramatic,” she said, her grin suggesting that she had enjoyed Thomas’ demonstration.

  Kaylie stepped up to Thomas, putting one hand on his chest, the other behind his neck. Gently, she pulled his lips down to hers. They remained there, hidden in the dark, well past the time the sun finally disappeared into the ocean.

  29

  Glowing Domes

  They had made good time upon leaving the port of Laurag, a strong wind at their backs cutting a day off their journey. Brienne, using all of her knowledge and experience, had kept the ship cutting through the waves, some rising as high as fifty feet, and avoided the squalls so common to the waters surrounding the Distant Islands. The sea leading to the harbor strangely calm for that time of year in which colossal waves were so common, they slipped into Afara with nary a worry as the sun began to set.