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

by Wacht, Peter

  Gregory and his soldiers had taken advantage of the momentary lapse in the Ogrens’ assault to rebuild their defenses. Wherever an Ogren attempted to climb the wall, a squad of soldiers with massive pikes waited, prepared to use their deadly weapons to keep the creature at a distance if it reached the top as another squad of soldiers, these archers, stood behind the first, ready to pepper the beast like a pin cushion if need be.

  But the most important squad was the one charged with heating the oil or pitch that was poured down the stone of the Breaker and then set afire, forcing the dark creatures to make one of three choices before they could breach the top. The beasts could either be burnt to a crisp, fall to their death or try to descend the Breaker before the fire caught them. And now, after the respite, the strategy was working, as more and more of the Ogren fell from their perches, unable and unwilling to suffer the boiling oil and pitch that covered their bodies and too slow in their efforts to dislodge themselves from the rough stone, the fire streaking down toward them faster than they could reach the ground.

  For good measure, some of the archers dabbed their arrows in the oil and set them alight, then shot at the creatures hanging onto the rough stone, setting several ablaze. This practice had deterred many of the Ogren tasked with scaling the Breaker as the large beasts ignored the commands of the Shades. Several of the dark creatures, covered in flame as they fell to the grass below, started fires at the base of the Breaker that spread quickly and consumed many other dark creatures thanks to the defenders on top of the wall dropping barrels of oil and pitch to feed the burgeoning inferno.

  More than satisfied with his soldiers’ work and confident that they could hold the parapet as Sarelle assumed command, Gregory relished the opportunity that now presented itself. The Sylvan Warriors had been exceedingly effective at their work, slicing the Dark Horde in half and pushing the dark creatures toward the hills to the east and west. The Desert Clans had formed the other side of the vise, charging from their hiding places to catch the Ogren, Shades and other loathsome beasts by surprise.

  Now was the time for the final push that would break the Dark Horde once and for all. He could feel it in his bones. Looking down the length of the back of the Breaker, Gregory saw that all was ready. The time that he had been waiting for had come.

  “Open the gates!” commanded the King of Fal Carrach as he pulled himself up onto his horse. Kael appeared next to him, and just down the line, Coban, Oso, Anara and the other Marchers found their places. Thinking of the murder of his friend Talyn Kestrel a decade past, which had set in motion the events that brought them to this very moment, it seemed only appropriate that the fighters of Fal Carrach and the Highland Marchers would ride out to face the Dark Horde together this day.

  The soldiers at the base of the wall scrambled in response to the command. When constructed so many centuries before, the Breaker had appeared to be an unending wall of stone running from the coast of the Winter Sea to the Highlands. But in those places along the Northern Steppes where it seemed most likely that the Shadow Lord’s dark creatures would attack in their efforts to ravage the Kingdoms, the builders had included a useful and nasty surprise.

  Through feats of remarkable engineering, along the base of the Breaker in a handful of locations massive pulleys and winches pulled back on the wall, then lifted multiple sections of the weighty stone into gaps carved out of the inside of the Breaker. Because of the thickness of the wall, the process took a few minutes, as a succession of large openings in the base of the Breaker appeared.

  “The final block is moving now,” said Kael Bellilil, who sat his horse calmly next to Gregory.

  The Ogren and Shades didn’t even notice as the dark creatures remained focused entirely on the Desert Clans and the Sylvan Warriors. This would be a nasty surprise, indeed. Gregory urged his horse a few steps forward, Kael and all the other riders near him doing the same. When the light began to appear underneath the Breaker, the last section of the wall moving out of the way, he knew that it was time.

  “Ride for the Kingdoms!” shouted Gregory, spurring his horse forward. “Ride to victory! Ride to the Highland Lord!”

  As the Highland Marchers and the soldiers of Fal Carrach emerged from the hidden gates of the Breaker, the men and women remained silent, eyes fixed forward, lances and swords at the ready, the Dark Horde completely unaware of what was about to drive into them from the south.

  75

  Rodric’s End

  With the Sylvan Warriors pushing to the east and west and creating a gap to his front, Thomas burst into the open space. Acero needed no urging, their close connection telling the massive steed exactly what Thomas intended. The unicorn approved, knowing that cutting off the head of the snake was the fastest way to kill it. With their quarry just ahead, Acero lowered his head and used his horn and shoulders to eliminate several Ogren and Shades that had moved to block their path.

  Almost too late in identifying the approaching danger, Malachias turned his horse to face the Highland Lord just in time. Rodric watched in surprise, his fear palpable, as his adversary of the past decade charged toward him, the Sword of the Highlands in his hand. The once mighty High King had fallen far, and he realized quickly that there was farther still that he could go as he nudged his horse behind the Shadow Lord’s right hand, hoping to benefit from Malachias’ protection. He had no desire to end up in a shallow grave in the tall grass of the Northern Steppes thanks to a boy who didn’t know when to just roll over and die.

  “Malachias, the boy!” screamed Rodric, his horse prancing nervously because of its rider’s obvious and escalating anxiety. “You must do something!”

  “That’s certainly my intention, you fool!” hissed Malachias. “But I can’t deal with the boy with you still hanging around my neck.”

  Rodric stared at Malachias, his fear rising as a terrifying realization swept through him. “What? No, you can’t …”

  “I should have done this long ago,” said Malachias, all of his pent-up anger directed at the former High King. “Your usefulness has come to an end. Now you’re simply in the way.”

  Using his Dark Magic, Malachias sent a black mist streaming toward the High King, who didn’t take note of the danger until it was too late. The swirling darkness spun around him at first, almost tentatively, like a shark circling its prey to gauge its strength before attacking. Identifying nothing but weakness, the mist surged forward, covering Rodric in a whirling black mass.

  The High King tried to scream, but the mist wouldn’t allow it, flowing into his open mouth and attacking from within. Rodric’s eyes bulged, his body shaking uncontrollably, as the Dark Magic surged through him. In seconds it was over. The once powerful High King was no more, the black mist, now dissipated, sucking the life from him, the formless mass of Rodric’s body sliding off its horse and collapsing in the long grass.

  Pleased that he had removed the stone that had weighed him down for so long, Malachias felt lighter as he focused his full attention on the Highland Lord.

  76

  Thunderclap

  Thomas stopped his charge, seeing the Dark Magic in play. He watched dispassionately as the former High King met his ultimate fate. Although he felt a tinge of disappointment that he had not played a direct role in Rodric’s demise, he had little to complain about as the result was the same. After so many close escapes the deposed King of Armagh was dead and at the hands of a supposed ally no less.

  “Are you ready to try again, boy?” whispered Malachias, his raspy voice carrying easily across the distance. The Dark Magic formed once again, swirling in a black mass above Malachias much like a waterspout of evil. “I let you off easy the last time that we met. I should have finished you then, but now will do.”

  Exhaustion taking its toll and his strength failing after the struggles of the last few days, Thomas knew that he didn’t have the energy to engage in a lengthy duel with the Shadow Lord’s general. To stand any chance of victory, he needed to end this quickly. />
  Sending his thoughts to Acero, the massive unicorn whickered in understanding, then leapt forward, charging toward Malachias. Thomas took hold of the Talent, pulling in as much as he could hold and using Acero’s horn to continue to draw on the natural magic of the world.

  Pulling the Sword of the Highlands from the scabbard across his back, he infused the steel blade with the augmented power contained in Acero’s horn, setting the steel glowing a blinding white.

  Surprised that his opponent had not hesitated to attack, Malachias realized that something wasn’t quite right. The Shadow Lord’s servant began to think of escape, but it was too late. So confident of his abilities and believing that he could overpower the upstart boy with his Dark Magic, Malachias had never considered all the possibilities, such as a massive, black unicorn charging toward him. By the time that he realized his error and that his continued survival depended on his ability to get away, Acero was almost upon him.

  Not knowing what else to do, Malachias released the black mist, which swirled in a cloud for a brief second then surged toward Thomas.

  Raising his glowing sword, Thomas cut through the billowing, pitch-black murk with ease. The Dark Magic sought to evade the white light of the blade, but there was no escape. The infused steel was too powerful, pulling in the black mist, consuming it and then making its power its own. The evil fog destroyed, Thomas raised his blade as Malachias turned his mount and tried to flee. But another burst of speed by Acero kept Thomas breathing down the neck of the rattled Malachias until the right hand of the Shadow Lord had no choice but to stop.

  “Thomas, hold!”

  Responding to a silent command, Acero skidded to a stop. Rya appeared out of the slowly disintegrating chaos of battle, Kaylie riding at her back. His grandmother stared at Malachias with a gaze that could melt steel.

  “Malachias and I have unfinished business. Centuries old, in fact.”

  Thomas studied his grandmother for just a moment, noting the iron in her voice. Nodding to her in respect, he lowered his shining blade and nudged Acero next to Bella, then offered his hand to Kaylie. She gladly scrambled across to sit behind Thomas, wrapping her arms around his waist. Acero then circled away, giving Rya the space that she would need.

  “You couldn’t beat me at the manor,” hissed Malachias. “What makes you think that you can defeat me now?”

  “I didn’t defeat you before,” said Rya contemptuously, “because you ran. Just as you’ve done every time that we’ve faced one another.”

  Not having the patience for Malachias’ usual taunts, Rya took hold of the Talent and charged toward the Shadow Lord’s servant, Bella’s hooves digging up the grass and dirt. From both hands, Rya flung a stream of what appeared to be blazing, white daggers toward Malachias. Stunned by the speed of her attack, Malachias barely got his shield of Dark Magic in place. But the strength of Rya’s assault staggered him as he barely deflected the strike, and he didn’t have time to avoid the unicorn’s charge as Bella swiped her shoulder into Malachias’ horse. His mount crashed to the ground, Malachias flinging himself clear just in time to avoid being caught beneath the flailing horse.

  Malachias pushed himself up, his legs unsteady beneath him. “You will pay for this, woman!”

  “I’m tired of your prattle,” replied Rya, Bella circling Malachias in the space that had opened up around them. “You’ve plagued me for more than a thousand years. All because you couldn’t stand the fact that I didn’t want you.”

  “You were meant to be mine,” hissed Malachias. “Think of what we could have had if you had not played the fool. The power we could have shared. You were given to me. You belonged to me!”

  “This was why I had no interest in you, Malachias. For you there is nothing but power. I was simply another means to achieve it. To be just another of your possessions.”

  “You are still a fool. This is not over, woman. You will still be mine.”

  “Threats and words, but no action. Just as always. Your time has come to an end, Malachias.”

  “You can do nothing against me! Nothing! You are only a woman who …”

  Malachias’ words died in his throat as Rya sent a stream of glaring white energy toward him. Malachias tried to defend himself, raising his arms and making a last gasp effort to shield himself with Dark Magic. But the attempt was doomed to fail. Rya’s attack was too strong, her power too much, her anger too pure. The stream of energy struck Malachias’ shield and blasted through to strike the malevolent creature in the chest. A massive thunderclap sounded across the battlefield with a flash of white lightning that momentarily blinded all who were looking in its direction.

  Where Malachias had once stood, the charred imprint of a man appeared in the trampled grass. Rya rode up to the mark on the ground, satisfied that she had succeeded in finally eliminating the Shadow Lord’s servant who had been a thorn in the side of the Kingdoms since the Great War and a personal antagonist of hers for just as long. Thomas approached from the other side, Kaylie’s hands still around his waist.

  “Thorough as ever,” he said with a grin. “He certainly did like to jabber, didn’t he? I don’t know how you put up with it for all those years.”

  77

  Final Charge

  Riding past the burnt grass where Malachias had stood just a moment before, Thomas didn’t bother to look back, relieved that his grandmother was all right and had eliminated the last great danger presented to the Kingdoms. The silence that had descended on the battlefield during Rya’s short-lived duel gave way to a resounding cheer that rose up from the armies of the Kingdoms, soldiers on the Breaker and those engaged at the base of the barrier with the Dark Horde shouting madly, raising their swords and spears to acknowledge the combat’s victor, a petite woman with the aura of a queen.

  Thomas pulled Acero to a halt a few hundred yards from the Breaker, Kaylie riding behind him, and watched Gregory emerge from the hidden sally ports with his cavalry right behind him. In the lead, Oso and Coban and the other Marchers pushed their horses to the front, forming into an honor guard as they charged through the mass of Ogren and Shades toward their Highland Lord. At the same time, the Sylvana, having crushed the Dark Horde against the warriors of the Desert Clans, had circled around and formed once again into two wedges behind Thomas.

  Smiling with pleasure, Thomas turned Acero toward the right flank of the Dark Horde closest to the Breaker. The massive unicorn began at a trot, then moved to a gallop as the Marchers caught up. A portion of the cavalry streaming from beneath the Breaker followed the Marchers, the other half, led by Gregory, focused its attention on the Horde’s left flank nearest the massive wall. Now surrounded on three sides, the surviving dark creatures, their numbers greatly reduced, milled about in fear and confusion, some fighting for their lives, others looking for a path to escape the maelstrom of power, steel and death.

  Thomas raised the Horn of the Sylvana to his lips, blowing a clear strong note that echoed off the Breaker and traveled across the Northern Steppes.

  WE HEAR.

  The Ogren and Shades still alive on the battlefield were momentarily stunned, never expecting such a turn of events. Their fear at how easily the Sylvan Warriors had cut through them had become an immobilizing terror as Thomas and Gregory led their forces toward them.

  Thomas blew another note from the Horn, clear and true.

  WE COME.

  And then a third, the loudest of all, a blasting note that carried well beyond Blackstone, the former lair of the Shadow Lord.

  WE CONQUER.

  The remnants of the Dark Horde fled to the north, desperate to reach the relative safety of the Charnel Mountains, yet knowing as well that the Northern Steppes, which they needed to cross first, would give them no place to hide. In a swift and unexpected turn of events, all that the dark creatures that had once formed the Dark Horde could do now was flee for their lives.

  78

  Decisions

  The armies of the eastern Kingdoms pursued
the remnants of the fleeing Dark Horde across the Northern Steppes, decimating the Ogren and Shades seeking to escape. The Sylvana assisted, following the dark creatures into the Charnel Mountains well beyond Blackstone in an effort to eliminate the beasts as a threat to the Kingdoms. Likely just a wish, they knew, but in Rynlin and Rya’s opinion, a worthwhile exercise.

  Several months after what became known as the Battle of the Breaker, the rulers of the various Kingdoms met at Eamhain Mhacha in a hastily called Council of the Kingdoms. With Killeran’s death, Loris, King of Dunmoor, believed that there would be no proof of his alliance with Rodric and Armagh. He spent several days apologizing profusely for not getting his troops to the Breaker in time, offering different excuses to whomever would listen.

  Gregory, King of Fal Carrach, and now officially the High King despite his protests, allowed Loris to dig his own grave. The King of Dunmoor had forgotten how meticulous Rodric was with respect to treaties and agreements. Tired of the lies, Gregory pulled out the signed treaty between Armagh and Dunmoor that divided the Eastern Kingdoms between them once the Highlands had been conquered. The response from the other rulers was swift as they sentenced Loris to death with a new ruler to be selected for Dunmoor.

  Gregory proclaimed that if he were to serve as High King, he would not do so from Armagh. He would remain in Ballinasloe and the biennial Council of the Kingdoms would move from one Kingdom to the next, seeking to draw all the rulers more closely together to the benefit of all.

  Not wanting to have to deal with a potential problem in Armagh, the gathered monarchs named Brennios, former general of the Home Guard, King of Armagh. Having displayed his character and allegiance to his homeland rather than to Rodric, he was the logical, though perhaps unwilling, choice. But being the soldier that he was, he accepted the duty solemnly.