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

by Wacht, Peter

  Rising to his feet straight from the roll, sword at the ready, he was now able to identify what had disturbed him when he had first reached the bottom of the tunnel. Arrayed before him were four ghostlike fighters. The feeling that radiated from them was similar to what he experienced every time his grandfather had him train with the spirits of the great warriors, but with these four there was something more. A feeling of rot and wickedness oozed from the figures and permeated the rough-hewn chamber.

  The evil spirits surrounded him immediately, gliding noiselessly through the green light coming from the moss covering the walls. Thomas examined each one carefully. The guardians of the Well of the Souls, he assumed, four individuals with the darkest names in the history of the Kingdoms, and all easily identified. Thomas assumed that the Shadow Lord had done what Rynlin had done for him for his weapons training, summoning these spirits for a specific task. But unlike his grandfather, the Shadow Lord had never released them, instead chaining them here with Dark Magic, giving them the responsibility for protecting the Well of the Souls.

  Salacin, ruler of the Tenghos, a people that once dominated the Northern Steppes. He invaded what had not yet become the Kingdoms several times, conquering great swathes of territory and killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people in the process. Urala, one of the first High Kings, who slowly grew mad during his reign. As his insanity worsened, he took to torture, using it for no other reason than his own pleasure.

  Cleowna, once thought of as the most beautiful woman in the Kingdoms. Married to the High King, she fell in love with another who rejected her advances, unwilling to betray the trust of her husband. Angry at being spurned, she tricked her husband into starting a war that led to the death of her unwilling lover and the destruction of his Kingdom. And Arian, a giant of a man, standing almost eight feet tall. Once the greatest champion of the Desert Clans, he turned to cannibalism, eating his opponents after killing them in battle, becoming no better than an Ogren.

  Understanding now what he faced, Thomas glanced quickly around the room. The moss completely covered the chamber, ceiling and wall, thus the strength of the illuminating green light. At the far end, past his four opponents, rose a small well containing a dark black liquid that churned ceaselessly as if at war with itself. Thomas didn’t have time to examine anything else.

  Relying on his training, Thomas jumped forward, avoiding Cleowna’s quick stab at his back. But that only brought him face to face with Arian, the massive ghost swinging a hammer toward Thomas’ head. Dodging the blow, Thomas brought his sword up, catching Salacin’s blade on his own, before twisting away from Urala, who attempted to drive a short sword into his side.

  Thomas wanted to attack, knowing that it was the only way to survive against these fearsome adversaries, but he had little chance to do so. The next several minutes involved a singular effort simply to stay alive. Though his opponents were spirits, their weapons were real enough when they struck his own, sparks brightening the green gloom every time he parried a blade.

  The struggle continued for several minutes more, Thomas dodging and weaving throughout the chamber, never getting close to his primary target, the Well of the Souls, and not caring at the moment. His attention remained focused solely on staying alive as the four spirits sought to corner him. Once up against a wall, they would overwhelm him quickly. Thus the need to keep moving, staying away from the walls if at all possible, and ensuring that he had room to maneuver. But it was becoming more and more difficult as his strength ebbed, his exhaustion growing, making his normally crisp movements slower than he would have liked, and thereby increasing the danger that eventually the blade of one of the evil spirits opposing him would find its mark.

  Suddenly, and much to his surprise, through some unseen command the four spirits stopped their attack and arranged themselves in front of Thomas, staying between him and the Well of the Souls.

  “You fight well, boy,” said Salacin. Standing next to him Mad King Urala giggled uncontrollably. At what, Thomas didn’t know. “So well you would have been a welcome soldier in my army.”

  “And good looking as well,” murmured Cleowna, eyeing Thomas up and down.

  “Isn’t that what got you into trouble in the first place?” asked Arian, the giant warrior’s huge hammer resting on his shoulder.

  “Can’t blame a girl for looking,” replied Cleowna. “Besides, I’ve been stuck in this chamber with the three of you for centuries. A handsome new face is a welcome change compared to having to listen to the Mad King year after year.”

  “Enough, our task remains the same.” Salacin turned an angry glare from Cleowna toward Thomas. “Leave, boy. Your bravery and skill have earned you that right. We will offer you this opportunity only once.”

  Thomas stood his ground, using the passing seconds to catch his breath. “I have a task as well, a duty that can’t be ignored.”

  Salacin nodded. “I expected as much. But know this. Your death is inevitable. Granted, you may defeat one or two of us, your fighting skills suggest as much, but not all four. We are too strong for you. Too strong for a weakened Highland Lord.”

  Thomas stared at Salacin with some surprise, not expecting these spirits to know who he was. He didn’t dwell on it as he had work to do, and he could feel the sands running through the hourglass with Gregory holding the Breaker.

  “You’re right,” replied Thomas. “I can’t defeat you on my own, and perhaps I won’t have to.”

  Before Salacin could respond, Thomas took hold of the Talent, calling forth four spirits from the underworld, who coalesced next to him.

  Antonin, First Spear of the Carthanians, stepped forward. The spear he held gleamed brightly, its seven-foot length catching the green glow of the moss.

  “Worthy opponents, I see,” said the Carthanian.

  “Indeed,” replied Fergus Steelheart, a gleaming sword in his hand. The leader of the Golden Blades eyed the four spirits who stood before them. With a wicked gleam in his eye, he announced, “I get the giant.”

  “Not if I get him first,” said Ari the Archer, the tall man materializing next to Antonin. He held his bow in his hand, arrow already nocked, his fingers tickling the string and itching to pull back and release the shaft.

  “Boys never change,” said the final spirit who appeared next to Antonin. Camilla, Keeper of the Staff, stood taller than all three and matched Arian the Giant in height. Her staff appeared to be a small tree that had been smoothed down by a great deal of use. “If anyone gets the giant, it’s me.”

  Thomas grinned confidently. “I can’t defeat you on my own. But I have no doubt that my friends can.”

  “Thomas, leave these villains to us,” said Antonin. “You have a more important task.”

  With that, Antonin, Fergus, Ari and Camilla charged forward, engaging the evil spirits arrayed against them. Thomas watched for just a moment, waiting for a space to open up, then ran toward the source of the Shadow Lord’s Dark Magic, weaving his way between the four separate combats that erupted within the chamber.

  With the guardian spirits engaged and kept away from him, Thomas finally was able to approach the Well of the Souls. The roiling black water bubbled and hissed, churning with an anger that seemed almost palpable. Thomas pulled the Key from beneath his shirt. When he had first obtained the relic, he had seen the tiny inscription in the diamond set within the stone: “When the darkness surrounds, the light will prevail.” He hadn’t really understood what it meant at the time, but he thought that he did now.

  Thomas knew that he couldn’t destroy the Well with his own power, so instead he focused his Talent on the Key, drawing in as much of the natural magic of the world as he could and infusing the diamonds that ran the length of the steel with it, much as he did when fighting the Shadow Lord. The diamonds began to glow more intensely and soon pulsed with a tremendous, flaring white light.

  “No, you can’t!” screamed Salacin.

  Only he and Cleowna remained, Arian and Urala havin
g already been dispatched. The two evil spirits attempted to fight their way past Antonin, Fergus, Ari and Camilla, but it was no use. Thomas’ friends easily kept the two guardians of the Well of the Souls at bay.

  Ignoring the cry and trusting in his spirit protectors, Thomas continued to stream as much of the Talent into the diamonds as he could, throwing all his power into it. When he could offer no more, his strength waning, he dropped the blazing Key into the roiling Well of the Souls.

  At first, nothing happened. Then the black liquid began to churn faster and faster, as if it tried to expunge what Thomas had placed in it. But then the liquid began to change, the black becoming grey, then black once more. Then grey again with bits of white shining through. Thomas watched the struggle intently, enthralled by the battle raging within the pool of black.

  The inky liquid continued to boil, and then something happened that suggested that the struggle had turned. The white light that infused the diamonds shot out from the Well, growing brighter and brighter as the water boiled even more, threatening to escape from the receptacle of evil.

  The ground started to tremble, gently at first, then more violently. Moss covered rocks began to break loose from the walls and the ceiling, small ones at first, but soon the larger stones shook free as well. As the ceiling collapsed, Thomas dodged the falling stones. The Well of the Souls became a geyser of pure white light that shot through the hole, revealing the massive tunnel that Thomas had traveled through while on the stone disc. The blazing geyser lit up the length of the tunnel, then blasted its way through the floor in the chamber above, and then through the roof of the keep, tons of rock crashing down all around him.

  “Thomas, you must go!” commanded Antonin. Thomas’ four spirits had defeated the Guardians of the Well, and they stood there watching him, eyes filled with pride and concern.

  “Hurry, Thomas! It’s all coming down around us,” warned Camilla. The spirits had nothing to fear, but Thomas did as the fall of rock and stone increased in pace, the cloud of dust and dirt fogging the chamber despite the ray of light.

  Thomas considered making use of the disc that had brought him here in the first place, but then thought better of it. He’d be a sitting target as the Shadow Lord’s former palace fell on top of him with few options for escape.

  Gathering the last of his rapidly failing strength, Thomas grabbed hold of the Talent, encasing himself in a gleaming ball of white light.

  63

  Stone and Light

  Rynlin and Rya continued to look after Kaylie, though their attention was split as they glanced regularly at the crumbling keep, hoping for some sign of their grandson. Maden Grenis and Catal Huyuk had just returned from their latest circuit of Blackstone’s environs, finally satisfied that the Shadow Lord’s guards were dead or gone. They had confirmed that no dark creature remained alive in the city. The Sylvana had captured Blackstone.

  It was then that the ground started to sway and shake violently. Many of the decrepit buildings began to collapse if they hadn’t done so already over the long centuries, the old stone structures unable to withstand the violent motion of the earth. Even the massive hall from which Kaylie and Thomas had escaped began to shudder. Stones on its edges plummeted first, taking with them the gargoyles and other monstrous beasts carved into the parapet, and then the western wall disintegrated in a cloud of grit and other debris. To the amazement of the Sylvan Warriors, a stream of blinding white light shot through the roof of the castle, signaling its demise. It was only a matter of time before the entire structure fell in on itself.

  “Into the square!” shouted Rynlin. “Stay away from the buildings!”

  The Sylvana and their unicorns quickly heeded his command, taking advantage of the relative safety of the large open space as the ground continued to heave to and fro.

  Kaylie looked imploringly at Rya. “What about Thomas?”

  “He will be all right, child. He always is.”

  But this time, Rya found it hard to believe her own words, and Kaylie could decipher the worry in her eyes. Rya sensed Thomas through the necklace around her neck, but it was a faint feeling and rapidly fading. As they watched from the square, huge pieces of the fortress fell inward, burying the massive structure in its own stone, the ground around it torn apart by the angry earth. And through it all a blazing stream of white light shot into the sky, destroying the murk and the shadow and allowing the bright sunlight of the morning to illuminate the square for the first time in a thousand years.

  Rynlin stared for a moment at the collapsing keep, shaking his head in frustration, hands gripped tightly at his sides, before he started walking toward the worsening destruction, intent on finding Thomas.

  Rya’s words checked his progress. “You can do nothing for him. He will get out if he can.”

  Tears formed in Rya’s eyes. Rynlin stood stock still, overcome with emotion, wanting to aid his grandson but hearing the truth of his wife’s words. Finally he nodded, then walked back to them just as several more towering geysers of white light rising thousands of feet into the air burst through the rubble of what was once the Shadow Lord’s sanctuary. Many of the Sylvana watched in astonishment, glad to see the change occurring in Blackstone, but saddened by what that might mean for their fellow Sylvan Warrior. Kaylie’s tears streamed down her cheeks as Rya tried to comfort her.

  “Look!” shouted Rynlin, pointing to the sky.

  Kaylie and Rya turned just in time to watch a massive kestrel shoot between the falling rubble, the large predator weaving its way up and around the disintegrating stone and the streams of white energy. The raptor circled once over the destroyed keep, then banked toward the Sylvana waiting in the square, screeching out a cry of victory.

  Rynlin laughed with joy, recognizing the shape his grandson had taken. Rya smiled broadly.

  “Thomas,” Kaylie whispered.

  “Yes, child,” said Rya, stroking her hair while watching the kestrel soar free in the sky. “You should know by now that he is not one to die without a fight.”

  64

  Call for Help

  The morning had drifted unknowingly into early afternoon, a dark haze from the hundreds of burning fires dampening the bright sunlight of the day. The swirling smoke and ash fell prey to the wind, obscuring or revealing what occurred on the battlefield according to its caprice. Gregory stood atop the Breaker, having stepped back for a brief moment from the soldiers who continued to fight bravely, to fight with conviction and determination, but with the glimmer of fear beginning to show in their eyes. At first controlled and disciplined, with the Dark Horde’s continuing attacks, the soldiers’ actions became more frantic and desperate as the Ogren and other dark creatures tried to scale the parapet. The men and women who struggled so valiantly understood what the result would be if the Shadow Lord’s servants breached the Breaker.

  They had resisted two major assaults already, pushing back the Ogren that had climbed to the top of the Breaker. During the second attack the defenders had been required to sweep the parapet clear in a half dozen places, preventing the dark creatures from gaining a toehold on the wall. The struggle had been hot and intense, seesawing for several minutes, as the Ogren that had scaled the wall threatened to overwhelm the soldiers who struggled to contain the many attempted breakthroughs. It wasn’t until Gregory had been able to turn several dozen archers away from the task of shooting down into the milling mass of dark creatures far below that the soldiers on the wall forced the tide to turn. The King of Fal Carrach had formed the archers into companies charged with scouring clean the bulwark of dark creatures and allowing the hard-pressed defenders to pull back and regroup. Sending their steel-tipped arrows scything into the Ogren at close range slowed the beasts, the defenders on the Breaker then charging into their towering adversaries with pikes and lances, skewering the Ogren or sending them back over the wall to fall among the dark creatures screaming for blood at the base of the stone barrier.

  But this third attack was the large
st and most dangerous yet. Looking to either side, Gregory saw several thousand Ogren streaming up the massive stone wall, their spiky armor cutting into the carved rock and giving them a means to pull themselves up, his weary and dispirited defenders preparing to hold the parapet once more even though the odds were turning against them. There seemed to be no end to the onslaught. No matter where he checked -- left, right, to the front -- the dark creatures of the Shadow Lord came into view. And in the midst of the undulating Dark Horde that swayed like an ocean of hate and hunger from the foundations of the Breaker out onto the long grass of the Northern Steppes, a former High King, hunched over and shrunken in size, remained within the shadow of a balefully grinning Malachias.

  Wiping the sweat, dirt and blood from his brow, Gregory realized that he asked too much of his soldiers. But what else could he do? He had been given a simple but virtually impossible task. Hold the Breaker and give Thomas the time that he needed to kill the Shadow Lord, despite the odds against him, and, if possible, save his daughter at the same time. After the first two assaults, Malachias had offered Kaylie to him once again in exchange for safe passage beyond the Breaker at the cost of obeisance to the Shadow Lord. The offer was much like fool’s gold, all glitter and no substance. Gregory had refused, though doing so had almost torn his heart out. He told himself for the hundredth time that he could not put the life of his daughter before those who had already died in defense of the Kingdoms, and those who still fought for and believed in the necessity and justness of their cause.

  Gregory smiled mirthlessly, pushing his fears for his daughter from his mind. Thomas was a brave young man, perhaps the most courageous person he had ever met. But no one had ever defeated the Shadow Lord. Defender of the Light or no, the odds were stacked against the Lord of the Highlands. Just as they were now lined up against him and his fighters.