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

by Wacht, Peter

  He and his soldiers had given all that they could, and he knew in his heart that no matter how bravely they fought they would not be able to hold back this current assault. Their enemy was too great in number. They could only delay the inevitable. Once the Ogren gained a foothold on top of the Breaker, the dark creatures could sweep down its length in both directions and open the path to the Kingdoms. The battle would be done.

  Not knowing what else he could do to prevent the defeat of his army, Gregory reached to his belt, pulling free the Horn of the Sylvana. Thomas had given it to him shortly after being confirmed as the Lord of the Highlands, and Gregory had kept it safe and close ever since. His instincts told him that now was the time to use it. Centuries ago, when the Sylvana were many and played a more active role in the Kingdoms, every ruler held a coveted Horn. If dark creatures threatened the Kingdoms, Sylvan Warriors answered the call. It was the bond that the Sylvana had with the Kingdoms, but would they answer it now? Could they? Had they succeeded in Blackstone? Or had the Shadow Lord been triumphant, his Ogren surging up the Breaker as a symbol of that success? Gregory had seen the blast of bright sunlight in the Charnel Mountains, watching in shock as the clouds that had blanketed those mountains for centuries dissipated. But what did it mean? Nothing else had happened since other than the incessant attacks against the Breaker by the Dark Horde.

  With all of his other options gone, Gregory didn’t have a choice. He was out of ideas. Even the reserve that he continued to hold back could do little against a host of such size and ferocity. If help was to come, it had to come now. Raising the mouthpiece to his lips, he hesitated for just a moment, then blew strongly into the instrument. The note blasted from the Horn, drowning out the sounds of battle and echoing off the Charnel Mountains far to the north. For almost a full minute, Gregory stood there in silence as the fighting stopped along the length of the Breaker. His soldiers caught their breath as the Ogren climbing the black stone and milling around its base looked around in confusion. Even the war parties that trudged across the Northern Steppes toward the massive wall had halted. It seemed as if time had stopped, man and dark creature alike all across the battlefield waiting to see what would happen next.

  Gregory brought the Horn of the Sylvana to his lips again, then once more, blowing two more strident notes that carried all the way to the Winter Sea. The silence and stillness stretched on along the Breaker and the bloody and charred ground below it. Not even Malachias, so intent on breaking through to the Kingdoms, had moved since Gregory had blown the first note from the Horn of the Sylvana.

  Absolute quiet ruled as the seconds slipped by, and then the minutes, even the gusts of wind from the Charnel Mountains having stopped for a time. Gregory had hoped for an immediate response, some guarantee that the Sylvan Warriors came in answer to his call. He could use that to bolster his soldiers, to keep them fighting just a little bit longer and perhaps push the Ogren back from the Breaker one final time.

  But there was nothing. Had the Shadow Lord killed Thomas and then destroyed the Sylvana? As the minutes dragged by, the silence gradually dissolved. The dark creatures began to stir once more, the Shadow Lord’s servants realizing that perhaps the legends of the past were not about to appear. That perhaps the Sylvana were no more and that there was nothing but the soldiers atop the Breaker to keep them from taking the Kingdoms for their own.

  65

  Answering the Call

  The Sylvan Warriors heard the first blast from the Horn as they headed down into the lowlands that bordered the Northern Steppes. Kaylie sat behind Rya on her unicorn, Acero pleased to have Thomas on his back once more. Beluil and his wolves had ranged ahead, having already reached the tall grasses that led toward the Highlands and the Breaker, planning to warn of any danger and eliminate any dark creatures that got in their way.

  But so far, no obstacles had appeared to their front. The Shadow Lord had never considered the possibility that the Sylvana might attack Blackstone, instead expecting his cursed enemies to make their stand at the Breaker as they had in the past. As a result, the Shadow Lord had sent all his Ogren war parties and other dark creatures toward the massive wall. The Sylvan Warriors now had an open path to come up behind the Dark Horde undetected, something that Beluil and his wolves confirmed.

  “That’s got to be the Horn I gave Gregory,” said Thomas, his weariness plain in his voice though he continued to push himself, the battle not yet done. “He wouldn’t have blown it unless there was need.”

  “That he wouldn’t,” confirmed Rynlin, having known Gregory for decades and immediately approving of the King of Fal Carrach upon taking his measure. “What shall we do, Thomas?”

  Thomas was taken aback by the question, not expecting it. He glanced around quickly, seeing the eyes of the assembled Sylvan Warriors watching him. But they weren’t weighing him, not like when he took the tests to join their hallowed fellowship. He had been an untried boy then. Then, they knew of him, of his potential, but they didn’t know him. That was no longer the case. They knew him now. What he could do and what he had accomplished. And they respected him. It was clear in their eyes and their postures. Dispatching the Shadow Lord had changed the dynamic. He recognized it in Catal Huyuk’s expression and even in that of Tiro who had always been so cantankerous. Thomas was the Defender of the Light. He had defeated the Shadow Lord. As a result, the Sylvan Warriors now looked to him for leadership.

  Thomas turned Acero quickly toward the south, urging him to a trot, the other Sylvan Warriors nudging their unicorns forward to keep up.

  “We do as we always have!” shouted Thomas over his shoulder, as Acero picked up his pace, moving from a trot to a gallop.

  Yet the gallop of a unicorn did not compare to that of an ordinary horse. The natural magic that flowed through the unicorn allowed the massive equines to sprint faster than any other animal in the Kingdoms. When they reached the edge of the Northern Steppes, having traversed the last gullies and hidden valleys of the Charnel Mountains, Acero and the other unicorns sprinted even faster, to the point where they appeared to be no more than a streak of color shooting through the tall grass of the desolate plain.

  “We answer! And woe to any who stand against us.”

  Many of the Sylvan Warriors smiled now, knowing what was to come, craving the battle to be fought. They had struggled for so long to keep the evil of the Shadow Lord at bay, and now they finally had the chance to eliminate that wickedness completely. They had the opportunity to destroy the Dark Horde.

  66

  Bolt of Fear

  “What was that?”

  The former High King Rodric Tessaril danced his horse nervously in circles among the Ogren and Shades of the Dark Horde, barely able to control the animal. Just a minute before these terrifying, massive dark creatures had strode inexorably toward the Breaker to join their brethren seeking to scale the imposing wall and force their way past the Kingdom defenders. His success was guaranteed. It was only a matter of time before the Shadow Lord’s servants overwhelmed their foes.

  Then, once beyond the Breaker, Rodric could ride straight back to Eamhain Mhacha and claim what had been taken from him. More important, he could have his way with the many people who had betrayed him. Gregory of Fal Carrach first, then Sarelle of Benewyn … well, perhaps he would take his time with Sarelle. She was a beautiful woman, after all. But Gregory, the man who had become High King at his expense, the man who stood atop the Breaker at this very moment leading its defense, would be the first put to the sword.

  Malachias stared at the former High King in contempt, guessing at what ran through the fool’s mind. The man was oblivious. He was nothing more than a figurehead at the moment, one who would be disposed of shortly. As soon as the Dark Horde overran the Kingdoms, Rodric’s utility would come to an end. The Shadow Lord had promised Malachias that he could be the one to put down the incompetent fool for good.

  “A horn from atop the Breaker,” replied Malachias distractedly. “Nothing more, a
nd nothing to worry about.”

  The horn sounded once more from the top of the huge wall and then for a third and final time.

  An unwelcome shiver ran down Malachias’ spine as the shocking realization dawned upon him. The Dark Horde had stopped. Even the beasts scaling the Breaker hung there in anticipation. He realized why in an instant, and his blood ran cold. The Ogren, Shades and other dark creatures remembered, even though they, and he, had not heard a Horn of the Sylvana for centuries. An ancient, instinctive fear settled over the Dark Horde, adding an uncomfortable weight to the unnatural quiet. The silence dragged on, but with each passing second Malachias’ smile grew. Always in the past there was an immediate response. A Horn of the Sylvana responding, warning that the Sylvan Warriors had heard the call and prepared to unleash their fury. Always. But nothing this time. Nothing at all.

  Malachias’ smile shifted into a raspy laugh. He was about to order the Shadow Lord’s servants to begin the assault once more, but the command stuck in his throat. A note sounded from the Northern Steppes, crystal clear and carrying on the thin air of the north. A note that sent a bolt of fear straight through his heart.

  67

  Three Notes

  The resumption of the Dark Horde’s assault on the Breaker wavered, the creatures of the Shadow Lord continuing to hesitate, indecision and worry freezing them. Initially confident that the three blasts from atop the Breaker would go unanswered after so many minutes had passed, most of the beasts still kept their heads turned to the Charnel Mountains, listening. A nervousness settled within the dark creatures, setting the stage for fear. They saw that the clouds had disappeared to the north, no longer hiding the jagged landscape. Bright sunlight now streamed down onto the barren, burnt peaks for the first time since the arrival of the Shadow Lord so many centuries before.

  The strange silence lengthened, beginning to wear on the nerves of all the combatants. Then to the north, at the very edge of Gregory’s hearing, came a sound that sent a jolt of energy through his body. An answer to his call. The note was soft but strong, rebounding against the black stone of the Breaker to hang in the air over the hushed battlefield.

  WE HEAR.

  The silence continued, for some dragging on interminably though it was only seconds. Could it be? His hope, extinguished just moments before, blazed back to life. A second note followed, this one louder than the first, closer. It cracked like a bolt of lightning striking the earth.

  WE COME.

  Looking to the north once more, from atop the wall Gregory could see that something was happening at the very edges of the Dark Horde which stretched out for more than a mile onto the Northern Steppes, some kind of confusion. The order of their advancing war parties had been disrupted. There were flashes of light visible through the smoky haze of the battlefield and grumbles of thunder, even though the sky was clear, followed by the rumbling of the ground that made him think of an earthquake. For the first time since his early morning ride with Sarelle, Gregory smiled. He sensed that the battle was about to turn.

  Then a third, final blast echoed off the Breaker and the Highland peaks, the call so loud and ear-splitting that many of the Ogren fell from their perches on the wall, their serrated armor sliding free from the cracks and crevices as the stone shook.

  WE CONQUER!

  The Sylvan Warriors had returned.

  68

  Thunder and Lightning

  The Sylvana burst out onto the Northern Steppes from the Knife’s Edge, the primary pass leading out of the Charnel Mountains. Thomas rode Acero in the middle of what was becoming a wide line that began to take on a new shape as they raced across the tall grass.

  The Sylvan Warriors knew their business. Rynlin and Rya, with Kaylie riding behind her, made up the point of the wedge with Thomas. The Sylvan Warriors without the Talent spread out to either side, while those with skill in the natural magic of the world held their surging unicorns back to form a second wedge just a few yards behind the first.

  Normally the journey from the Charnel Mountains and across the Northern Steppes to the Breaker could take as long as a week by horse. But such was not the case with the unicorns of the Sylvan Warriors. The Sylvana’s mounts sped across the grasslands in a blur. In just a matter of minutes the Breaker became visible, towering above the land. And just a league ahead, Thomas’ sharp eyes picked out the straggling war parties of the Shadow Lord that were just now joining the rear guard of the Dark Horde.

  “Thomas!” shouted Rynlin, who rode beside him. “You will be the focal point. Remember, do not take in too much of the Talent at one time. Conserve your strength. You still haven’t recovered from the last few days, even with Acero’s assistance.”

  Thomas nodded. And then, as if through some silent command, the horns of the unicorns began to glow with a searing white light. Glancing behind at the second wedge of Sylvan Warriors, Thomas confirmed that Tiro, Maden Grenis and the others had taken hold of the Talent.

  Reaching out tentatively, Thomas hesitantly touched the massive build-up of the natural magic of the world, a huge reservoir of the Talent provided by his peers and held in the horns of their steeds. He was more than tired after his duel with the Shadow Lord and then the destruction of the Well of the Souls. So he heeded his grandfather’s warning, knowing that if he took in too much of the Talent, he’d leave himself nothing but a charred crisp.

  Therefore, he decided on a different approach, grasping hold of the Talent gently and weaving a connection to each of the unicorns. Their horns pulsed even more brightly, blindingly so as he began to manipulate the power contained within them.

  The final Ogren war parties to arrive had reached the last of the dark creatures that made up the Dark Horde. The Shades that led them sought a way through the mass of Ogren and other monstrous beasts that blocked their way as all the dark creatures tried to find a path to the Breaker. They didn’t know what was sprinting toward them from behind, and for that they would soon pay a terrible price.

  Faster and faster the Sylvan Warriors approached, the thunder of their unicorns’ hooves masked by the milling mass of Ogren, Shades and other dark creatures. Finally, with the charging Sylvan Warriors no more than a hundred yards away and closing at an incredible speed, some of the Ogren had the sense to turn toward the Sylvana. But by then it was too late. Their fates had been sealed.

  As the Sylvan Warriors in the front wedge drew their swords and spears, preparing to strike, Thomas released the Talent. Streaks of white light shot from the tips of the unicorns’ large horns, blasting into the back lines of the Dark Horde, incinerating the dark creatures and leaving behind burned-out husks and piles of ash. Those few Ogren and Shades that survived that first assault met a bloody end as the leading wedge of Sylvan Warriors swept through the survivors with sword and spear, their unicorns using their horns as lances to skewer any dark creatures that tried to oppose the charge.

  Recognizing that the sheer number of dark creatures could be a major impediment to the Sylvan Warriors reaching the Breaker, Thomas adjusted his strategy. He began to stagger the spears of energy, first from the front wedge, then from the trailing wedge. The bolts of lightning from the first line struck to the front, seeking to clear a path, while the bolts from the second wedge shot up into the air and slammed down fifty yards beyond the first line, opening up space so that the Sylvan Warriors could continue their charge.

  Sensing the opportunity, Acero and the other unicorns dipped their horns and surged forward, slamming into the rear of the Dark Horde.

  69

  Lull

  The Ogren scaling the Breaker hung from the wall precariously, their spiked armor dug into the stone, as they stared to the north, having forgotten the defenders that waited for them above. They were trying to determine what was happening at the back of the massive host of dark creatures.

  Gregory followed their gaze. He had taken advantage of the small break in hostilities to rally his defenders, making sure that archers were resupplied with arrows,
the soldiers with pikes and lances had regained their formations, that those manning the catapults were restocked with boulders and pieces of stone, and the soldiers tasked with releasing boiling oil and pitch reheated the fires and pulled out new stocks, preparing for the attack to begin once more.

  Flashes of light caught Gregory’s attention at the rear of the Dark Horde, the streaks of white continuing at a consistent pace and the ground protesting with each strike. As the lightning came closer and closer to the Breaker, slicing through the Dark Horde with an almost inhuman precision, the King of Fal Carrach noticed the change in his troops. A building confidence had replaced their fears and doubts, and what had once been viewed as a desperate last battle to save the Kingdoms had turned into something that was different and altogether unexpected, but quite welcome. A chance to destroy the Dark Horde.

  Grinning wickedly, Gregory turned to a smaller man who stood at the back of the action, a man from the Desert Clans who had been placed there for this specific purpose.

  “Get to Chuma. Tell him to be ready to ride!”

  70

  Path of Destruction

  The Sylvan Warriors, attacking in two wedges, tore through the Dark Horde like a sharpened scythe through fall wheat. The flow and ferocity of the offensive terrified the dark creatures. The Ogren and Shades in the front ranks realized too late what was happening. But with the Sylvana slamming into the Shadow Lord’s host from behind and the Breaker to their front, they had nowhere to go, trapped in a slowly closing vise. The dark creatures, thousands upon thousands, were pushed back into one another, their movements and options limited as they were forced together into a tighter and tighter space. Panic began to set in. Many of the dark creatures desperately sought a path to escape, but only those beasts on the very edges of the Dark Horde had any chance of success. The Sylvan Warrior attack was too methodical, too efficient, too deadly.