by Peter Wacht
If he wanted to survive, he needed to think clearly and move quickly. If his fear got the better of him, he would die. In one fluid movement, the Shadow Lord pulled his sword from beneath his cloak, the steel blacker than the night. The already dim chamber grew darker as the steel absorbed the last few bits of light.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your life, Thomas Keldragan Kestrel,” said the Shadow Lord. “It’s about to end.”
The Shadow Lord lunged forward, his blade aimed at Thomas’ chest. But Thomas expected the attack and easily sidestepped it.
“So, you won’t be easy meat for me today,” said the Shadow Lord as he circled back around Thomas. Thomas danced a few feet away, his sword held at the ready. The Shadow Lord’s laugh echoed throughout the chamber. “Good. That is very good, Thomas. I could use a little fun today.”
The Shadow Lord lunged forward again, arm outstretched, the black blade quivering in anticipation, searching for blood. Thomas avoided the blade and again put a few feet between himself and the Shadow Lord.
“A game of cat and mouse,” said the Shadow Lord, watching as Thomas warily stepped around him and moved closer to the stone disk set in the floor. What little light there was in the room illuminated only the center of the chamber, and then only dimly. Even with Thomas’ eyesight, he couldn’t penetrate the outlying ring of darkness.
Fighting the Shadow Lord was certainly not something Thomas relished, but every one of his instructors had lectured about the need for information. Winning on the battlefield usually did not involve strength or courage or desire, though those factors certainly played a large part in tipping the scales in your favor. No, the key to victory was knowledge.
The same concept applied to single combat, and each of his instructors had counseled that Thomas first learn his opponent’s style before committing himself to a course of action. “It would be unfortunate, would it not,” Antonin, First Spear of the Carthanians, liked to say, “If you learned your opponent’s greatest weakness just as his sword entered your gut.”
So Thomas employed the strategy suggested by his many tutors. Wait and watch. See what your opponent will do. If you have the time, why not use it? Then, when you’ve found your opponent’s weaknesses, attack. And then attack again. Keep attacking until you’ve exploited that weakness, then move on to the next one. And the next, and the next, until you’ve won.
Thomas leaped to the side, barely avoiding another thrust of the black sword.
“So I must earn my victory today,” said the Shadow Lord as he circled Thomas. Thomas moved with him, blade ready in front of him, eyes locked on the red pinpricks glowing within the Shadow Lord’s hood. “I never thought an undergrown boy could be so much trouble.”
The Shadow Lord feinted forward with his blade, and then pulled back, judging Thomas’ reaction. Thomas remained where he was, though his blade shifted reflexively to protect his exposed side. The Shadow Lord now played Thomas’ game. Thomas had found what he was looking for. It was time to attack.
Rather than lunging forward, Thomas swung his blade down in an arc, catching the Shadow Lord by surprise. Fiery sparks flew into the air as Thomas’ sword crashed heavily upon the black steel. The Shadow Lord tried to disengage, but Thomas wouldn’t allow it, pushing the Shadow Lord back as he continued his attack, swinging his blade low, then high, in an effort to keep his opponent off balance.
Each time the two swords met, sparks danced through the air. No matter how aggressively Thomas attacked, the Shadow Lord defended himself. Thomas finally backed away, knowing that it was time to change his tactics.
“A boy with fire,” said the Shadow Lord, breathing heavily. Perhaps Thomas had found one of the weaknesses he sought. Remarkably, his fear had left him. In the beginning, it had almost paralyzed him, but now he knew that he could hold his own against the Shadow Lord. “And full of surprises. Well, now it’s my turn for a surprise.”
The hair along the back of Thomas’ neck prickled just before he was knocked through the air and into the far wall of the chamber, landing heavily on the stone floor. Dark Magic! Thomas had focused so much on his swordplay, he had forgotten about the true source of the Shadow Lord’s power. As Thomas rose to his feet, another block of air knocked the air from his lungs and slammed him against the wall a second time. Gasping for breath, Thomas seized control of the Talent. He did so just in time, fending off a third blow from the Shadow Lord.
“The cub wants to lead the pack.” The Shadow Lord laughed softly. “Let’s see if he can.” A ball of fire leapt from the Shadow Lord’s hand. Using the Talent, Thomas formed a shield of air, deflecting the fireball against the far wall. Another ball of fire flew toward him, and another, and another. Each time Thomas’ shield held.
Though Thomas had successfully defended himself thus far, the Shadow Lord’s skill and experience with Dark Magic far surpassed his own with the Talent. If he gave the Shadow Lord the opportunity, eventually he would find a weapon that Thomas did not know how to protect against. Not wanting to give the Shadow Lord the chance to continue with his fun, a bolt of white light shot from Thomas’ hand.
Surprised by the attack, the Shadow Lord dove out of the way just in time. Thomas ran forward, aiming his sword at the Shadow Lord’s neck. It was extremely difficult to fight with the Talent and a sword at the same time, as both disciplines required absolute concentration. Thomas hoped the same applied to the Shadow Lord, otherwise he stood virtually no chance of making it out of the chamber alive.
Thomas would not make the same mistake again and allow the Shadow Lord to attack. That would only lead to his death. Though Thomas was strong in the Talent, and could use it quite effectively, he was no match in a drawn-out struggle against the Shadow Lord’s Dark Magic. Given time, the Shadow Lord’s thousands of years of experience would win out.
Thomas attacked relentlessly, his blade almost moving on its own in search of the Shadow Lord’s blood. Yet with each stroke of his sword, the Shadow Lord’s black blade moved to defend. Several times the Shadow Lord tried to launch another attack with his Dark Magic, but Thomas prevented it by pressing him even harder. The dance around the chamber continued at a furious pace, the two blades crashing against one another in a shower of white sparks.
As time passed, the Shadow Lord’s movements became more lethargic, as did Thomas’. The struggle was taking its toll on both of them. Thomas’ sword felt heavy in his hands and his knees began to shake. He would not be able to continue his attack for much longer. However, if he stopped, the Shadow Lord would be free to use his Dark Magic. Thomas knew what the inevitable result of that scenario would be. He could use the Talent against the Shadow Lord’s attacks, but each time he did so he would become weaker and weaker, until finally he was just a little too slow and the Shadow Lord broke through his defenses. Time was quickly slipping away.
Energized by his need, Thomas redoubled his efforts. Ignoring the strain in his shoulders and arms, his sword was a blur. The Shadow Lord could only deflect the blows, unable to counterattack. Thomas pressed even harder. The Shadow Lord was weakening. Thomas’ sword came closer and closer to its intended target.
Seeing his opportunity, Thomas swung his sword in a downward arc with all his strength. The Shadow Lord got his blade there just in time, preventing Thomas’ steel from digging into his flesh. This time, though, rather than letting his sword glance off of the Shadow Lord’s black steel, he kept the full force of his blow on the upraised steel, inevitably pushing the dark blade downward until it crashed into the floor. The jolt from the blow weakened the Shadow Lord’s grip, and with a quick sweep of his blade, Thomas knocked it from the Shadow Lord’s hand. Thomas stood before the Shadow Lord, his sword point pressed against the Shadow Lord’s chest.
“A good fight,” said the Shadow Lord with some difficulty as he struggled for breath, seemingly unaware of the cold death poised just inches from his heart. “For that I will give you a choice.” The Shadow Lord’s voice remained a soft, cold whisper. The menace wi
thin it was clear, though now Thomas sensed something else. Could it be fear?
“I could have snuffed out your life anytime I wanted to,” said the Shadow Lord. “Your Talent is no match for my Dark Magic. Even now, I can take your life anytime I want to. But I will give you a choice nonetheless because you are a worthy opponent.”
Perhaps that was so. Perhaps the Shadow Lord could have killed him anytime he wanted to. It didn’t sound right, though. If he was truly the Defender of Light, the Shadow Lord had waited thousands of years for this moment, waiting thousands of years to kill him, thereby removing the final obstacle to his plans. All he had to do was eliminate Thomas and the Kingdoms would be his. Nothing else stood in his way.
But instead the Shadow Lord had dueled with him. Just for the fun of it? It was wrong. All wrong. Then again, who could guess how the Shadow Lord’s mind worked? Thomas knew the Shadow Lord could kill him in an instant with his Dark Magic. Of course, in an instant, he could embed his sword in the Shadow Lord’s chest. Shadow Lord or no, three inches of steel in his heart would certainly kill him.
“Remove your sword, and you will live,” said the Shadow Lord. “Remove your sword, and you will be free of everything. Even from the prophecy. I will not pursue you, and you can live your life as you choose. If you do not, you will die.”
Thomas stood there caught by his own indecision. Free from the prophecy? Free from all the burdens of his life? Free to make his own choices rather than having them made for him?
The pinpricks of red that served as the Shadow Lord’s eyes burned brightly. Thomas could choose freedom and do what he wanted with his life, but then the Shadow Lord would also be free to do as he wanted as well. Though it appeared to be a simple choice — life or death — it was anything but. The muscles in his shoulders bunched up, preparing to strike. Thomas chose death.
The blinding white light caught Thomas by surprise. When he opened his eyes he was back on the Stone. The Sylvan Warriors still stood in front of the enormous columns. Their expressions remained serious, but their eyes seemed more hopeful to Thomas. For a moment, he thought his battle with the Shadow Lord had been real, and that he had died. Thankfully, it was only one of the dreams. He wondered, though, if there was some truth in each of the dreams he had just navigated. Would he one day have to fight the Shadow Lord? Hold on. The challenges! Was that the final challenge?
“The Sylvana are a people of courage,” said Tiro in a voice that rang of victory. “You have chosen correctly.”
Thomas grinned at the pronouncement. Rynlin and Rya had both lectured about the importance of remaining silent during the testing. The candidate was not allowed to speak while on the Stone. When Thomas had asked why they had simply said tradition. Nevertheless, Thomas’ smile spoke volumes. Tiro’s next few words wiped it from his face.
“Each challenge teaches a lesson, and I bid you heed the lesson learned. Remember these three things, and you will join us if you are judged worthy.”
Judged worthy? Didn’t he just prove he was worthy by overcoming the challenges? From now on he’d demand full explanations from Rynlin and Rya. Their habit of holding something back, usually the most important bit of information, was becoming remarkably irritating.
“First, you must have the inner strength to do what is necessary, even at great personal risk. We protect nature. That responsibility comes before our own lives.
“Second, you must recognize that the choice between right and wrong is never easy, and that doing the right thing can often be more painful than doing the wrong.
“Third, no matter what choice you make there is always a cost.”
Thomas listened carefully to Tiro’s words. Each dream had taught him one of those lessons, and he knew that he would never forget them. Tiro sounded very much like Rynlin in the way he presented things in that he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Why should he be surprised? Tiro and Rynlin were probably good friends. Thomas was quickly brought back from his wandering thoughts by Tiro’s final pronouncement.
“It is time for the judgment.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Judgment
“You have proven you are a man of action, a man of honor and a man of courage,” began Tiro, his wispy hair a victim of the light breeze. “That, however, is not enough to become a Sylvan Warrior. A man or woman cannot make the final judgment. Nature itself must make the judgment. You have heard of the Valley of the Unicorns?”
Thomas nodded. All the time he had spent listening to Rynlin and Rya had finally paid off. The Valley of the Unicorns was for most people a place of fantasy, a legend thousands of years old. The ancient stories named it the home of the unicorns. Supposedly these mythical beasts were actual manifestations of nature — the natural energy given physical form. Other tales, even older than those myths, said unicorns were horses that had come to nature’s aid when nature itself was threatened by some long forgotten evil. To thank the horses for their assistance, nature bestowed their horns upon them, which held within them the power of nature.
No one could recall the veracity of these legends, but neither would anyone deny the unicorn’s unique closeness to nature. Located just below the Circle, the Valley overlooked the Breaker. Many adventurers had gone off in search of the Valley of the Unicorns, only to wander around aimlessly in the Highlands. It was said that only a Sylvan Warrior could find the Valley. All others were turned away by the magic of the unicorns. It guaranteed that only those who were supposed to find the valley did so.
The unicorns had a unique relationship with the Sylvana, serving as their steeds in battle. Not every Sylvan Warrior had the skill to master the Talent, and therefore was vulnerable to the Dark Magic of the Shadow Lord. The natural magic of the unicorn protected the Warrior in battle, and for those who could use the Talent, the magic of the unicorn augmented their strength.
It helped to explain why the Sylvan Warriors were such formidable opponents, despite their relatively few numbers. Of course, just like the Sylvan Warriors, unicorns were not immortal. A unicorn died if its horn was removed. And just as the number of Sylvan Warriors had diminished over time because of their fight with the Shadow Lord, so too had the number of unicorns.
Of course, Tiro didn’t assume Thomas knew more than just the name. “The Valley of the Unicorns is home to the war horses of the Sylvana. Every animal is a part of nature, but the natural magic flows within these creatures. They are stronger and faster than other horses and can gallop for days without tiring. It is they who will judge you worthy of joining the Sylvana.”
Thomas nodded his understanding.
“But be forewarned,” continued the portly officiant. “If you are not judged worthy, you will die. You have passed the tests, and once begun they must be completed. Now you have a choice, however. You do not have to enter the Valley. Though you can never become a Sylvan Warrior if you do not, you will leave here alive. Will you risk death to join us? Will you be judged?”
For Thomas little thought was required for his answer. He had come too far to turn back now. He nodded again.
“So be it,” intoned Tiro.
With the sweep of an arm, he directed Thomas’ gaze to a point just outside the Circle, on the side opposite the forest that had served as part of his first test. When he had arrived, that section of the plain looked just as desolate and uninviting as the rest, trailing off to a steep drop. Now, he saw a steep path leading down to a huge crater with an edge that stretched for leagues around.
Thomas tried to hide his surprise, though he likely did a poor job of it. The Talent could not have hidden the path from him. The strength needed to do that would be enormous, and with Thomas’ ability in the Talent, being so close to it would have alerted him. No, it had to be the natural magic of the unicorns. Truly amazing!
“The path will lead you to the Valley. Once there, walk to its very center. Then wait. There you will be judged. This time the choice will be made for you.”
Thomas studied the crater a final time
before walking slowly down the steps of the Stone, then out of the Circle. Once past the stone columns, he made his way to the path leading down to the crater. Thomas took his time because of the trail’s steep slope. After everything he’d been through so far, tripping on the loose rocks and falling to his death was something he wanted to avoid. Gazing back up the slope, the stone columns of the Circle were now just tiny specks poking up above the edge of the plain. He hadn’t noticed just how far he had traveled. Finally reaching the lip of the crater, he rested his hands on the large rocks that formed the rim. To his left, the path continued on into the Valley.
It truly was a remarkable sight, one that Thomas had never expected for a place as forbidding as the Highlands. Snuggled in the very middle of the highest peak in the Highlands sat a valley of lush green grass that appeared to stretch on forever. The grass resembled the waves of the ocean as it followed the commands of the wind. The only break in the green landscape was a sparkling river that ran along one side of the valley. A strong gust of cold wind sent shivers through Thomas’ body. Taking it as a sign that he should get moving, he ventured down into the Valley of the Unicorns.
That was odd. As he stepped between the rocks and down into the crater, he discovered that there were no trees. And where were the unicorns? All he could see, all the way to the other edge of the crater, was the tall, green grass flowing in the wind. What he found even stranger was the temperature. With each step, the air felt warmer. A gentle breeze wafted across the valley floor and sucked the cold from him. When he set foot on the floor of the crater, he thought he had walked into an early spring, a far cry from the chilly autumn that waited for him at the crater’s rim.