The Fight Against the Dark

by Wacht, Peter

  The Shadow Lord. The High King. Two problems that continued to plague him. Separated, these two opponents tested him constantly. Combined, they could prove overwhelming. So better to cut away the High King and eliminate that threat as quickly as possible. When he returned to the Highlands, he would convince the other rulers of the course that needed to be taken.

  That decision made, his mind began to wander. Was Kaylie Carlomin another issue that needed to be dealt with? The Princess of Fal Carrach had made her anger known when he had stepped within the dome of energy his grandparents had constructed with the Talent as they sought to contain the Hydra-like dark creature the Shadow Lord had set upon them during the final battle for the Highlands. Just thinking about her punch to his arm after he had destroyed the monster set his arm aching. The vehemence of her words continued to play through his mind: “Don’t ever do that again.” He could understand her anger, but what she had done next had left him stunned. Why had she kissed him after hitting him? Her action had surprised and confused him, leaving him standing there not knowing what to do. But the more he thought about the incident, the more he realized that there was more to her words and actions than met the eye, and that worried him. What was he to do? And knowing what his future held, should he do anything at all?

  A shrill squawk that reverberated off the Breaker pulled his thoughts back to the present. The large kestrel settled itself onto the battlements just a few feet from Thomas, its sharp gaze seeking him out. Its strong wings spanned seven feet, and the white feathers speckled with grey on the bird’s underside blended perfectly with the sky. When visible, the raptor was a dangerous predator. When hidden, it was deadly, shooting down through the thin air like an arrow, its sharp claws outstretched for the kill. The Highlands was the raptor’s domain, now its only home. Once, not too many years before, raptors lived in every Kingdom from the Western Ocean to the Sea of Mist. But no more. Nobles and wealthy merchants paid dearly for the feathers of the mighty bird. Rumors of their magical powers abounded. Some believed the feathers, when ground down and mixed with a few select ingredients, served as an aphrodisiac. Others insisted that drinking the strange brew gave wisdom. Still others thought it brought riches. Though no one had ever proven the truth of these myths, the old beliefs died hard. As the years passed, so did these majestic birds, until none remained except those in the Highlands, protected by the harsh weather, the rough landscape and the Highlanders themselves, for the raptors held a special place in their hearts. Moreover, the kestrel was the namesake and the symbol of the Highland Lord.

  Thomas knew this raptor, having met it several times before. It appeared almost as if this kestrel looked out for him. And with that knowledge, strange as it may seem, came a sense of comfort. Looking up into the cloudy sky, he picked out the four other raptors that circled above. Not a day went by that he didn’t have four or five kestrels flying above him now, ever vigilant. Watching. Waiting. Protecting. The massive birds enjoyed the strong current of air gusting off the Charnel Mountains and flowing toward the Breaker, twisting and turning at the whim of the wind. He realized that circumstances had changed drastically when they dipped their wings at the same time to curl toward the blackened mountain peaks to the north.

  Dots appeared in the sky, appearing larger with every heartbeat. The raptor that had landed on the Breaker nodded to him, then used its sharp claws to push off the weathered stone, beating its wings fiercely to catch up to its brethren. Thomas watched intently, a sense of dread settling in his stomach as those dots materialized into monstrous beasts. More than four times the size of the raptor, the Dragas was a significant threat. The flying dark creatures enjoyed a clear advantage over the kestrels, their scaled hides offering them additional protection though it did cost them the speed that the raptors put to such good use.

  Five Dragas approached, roaring in fury upon seeing the raptors. Normally, the kestrels would work together to take on just one of these massive dark creatures, seeking to dig their sharp claws into the soft underbelly of their mortal enemies. But they couldn’t do so today. There were simply too many to fight. Yet that didn’t stop the predators. The raptors dove from above, hurtling down toward the Dragas and trying to catch them by surprise. Although several of the kestrels did succeed in slicing into the unprotected undersides of a few Dragas, most failed, their sharp claws simply skittering off the hardened scales as the Dragas avoided the attack. The battle quickly denigrated into a game of cat and mouse, as the kestrels used their speed and tighter maneuverability to avoid the chasing Dragas, understanding the penalty if they were caught by the dark creatures’ long, spike-like claws and sharp teeth.

  Thomas watched the fight in the air begin, his anger growing, as he saw several of the raptors barely escape the Dragas, which were emboldened by the knowledge that though the dark creatures did not have the speed of the kestrels, they enjoyed greater stamina and strength. The longer the battle continued, the greater the chance of success for the dark creatures. Keeping all that in mind, Thomas took hold of the Talent. In a flash of bright white light, he took the shape of a kestrel, rapidly winging his way toward the aerial fray.

  Quickly gaining height, Thomas surveyed the sky around him. One kestrel flew to his left, darting about, desperately trying to escape a Dragas that flew just a few feet behind its tail feathers. Tipping his wing, Thomas banked down and to the right, curling toward the raptor that struggled to dodge its pursuer. With a final burst of speed, Thomas shot right below the chasing Dragas, extending his claws and slicing across the dark creature’s belly. The Dragas extended its wings, stopping its flight and hovering in the air, its attention now focused on Thomas as its black blood flowed freely from the long, deep gash that scored its underside. Ignoring the pain of its injury, the Dragas prepared to launch itself toward Thomas, who had flown back around in a tight circle with the hope of lining up another strike. The Dragas viewed his attacker as the primary target, realizing too late that Thomas had become the bait. Not sensing the danger, before the Dragas could propel itself toward its new quarry, the raptor it had chased slammed into it from behind, its deadly claws tearing through the Dragas’ wings until the thin, loose skin had been shredded into a bloody mess. With a screech of anger and fear, the Dragas dropped from the sky, its broken and torn wings no longer able to support its weight.

  Thomas and the other raptor didn’t bother to watch the dark creature slam into the ground far below. Instead, they turned their attention to another Dragas, this one also pursuing a kestrel, so intent on its prey that the dark creature missed what had just occurred. Working together, Thomas and the other kestrel quickly dispatched the next Dragas in a similar fashion, Thomas focusing on the belly, the kestrel on the wings, both raptors so quick in their attack that they didn’t have to worry about the Dragas’ teeth or claws. Thomas and the kestrels built on his strategy, and as each Dragas fell from the sky, plummeting to the grassland far below, the kestrels, which had at first been the prey, quickly had become the predators. In just a few minutes, the skirmish came to a satisfying end for the kestrels. The sky clear of Dragas, the raptors screeched in triumph, exultant in their victory.

  Thomas turned to the south and began winging his way toward the Highlands. Four of the raptors took up positions around him, much like points on a compass, while the fifth kestrel, the one that had tracked him since his time living in the Crag, dipped down from a higher altitude to fly next to him, its pride obvious in its sharp eyes. As Thomas and his escort neared the Highlands, the snow-covered peaks became more distinct as the raptors’ powerful wings drew them ever closer. Thomas resolved that he’d keep this latest incident to himself. Remembering her reaction to his taking on the dark creature sent by the Shadow Lord, he didn’t want to risk angering Kaylie again. Who knew what she was capable of?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Council

  A few days after what had come to be called the Battle of the Highlands, in which the Marchers and their allies routed the Armaghian host,
the rulers of the Kingdoms that had participated gathered in a small, makeshift tent raised by Gregory of Fal Carrach’s soldiers. The wounded had been seen to, the dead buried, and plans made for the thousands of prisoners taken when the Highland Lord destroyed the dark creature and the High King fled. Now they had to address more strategic issues, and as they worked to resolve these challenges, they understood the gravity of their discussions, for they held the fate of all the Kingdoms in their hands.

  Thomas, Lord of the Highlands, had thanked his allies individually, wanting them to know how much he and his Marchers appreciated their assistance. Moreover, he wanted them to understand that the Marchers stood with them in the days to come, that the victory over the High King had not concluded matters and that there was still more to do. It had simply been a first step in a larger gambit. Thomas needed these leaders to recognize that there was a greater evil coming that would require their alliance to continue and expand if at all possible. But he could see in their eyes a reluctance to heed his words, to believe what he had to say, because to believe meant that likely sooner rather than later action would be required against a foe that had last afflicted the Kingdoms hundreds of years before. A foe once defeated, but never destroyed. A foe that for many was still little more than a myth.

  “The creature that Thomas eliminated was not of Chertney’s making,” explained Rya Keldragan, her regal bearing dominating the small gathering. The patronymic Keldragan still had meaning for those assembled, as the ancient name still exerted an influence over the Kingdoms, and had since the time of Ollav Fola.

  Rynlin sat beside her, staring into the flames of the fire that burned in the pit dug in the center of the tent. The two Sylvan Warriors were proud of their grandson and what he had accomplished, but they knew that victory over the High King was just one move in a longer, harder, deadlier struggle. A chill had settled across the Highlands, as if the dark creature that had emerged through the portal had brought with it a shivering premonition of what was in store for the Kingdoms. The cold wind that played at the edges of the tent, finding the gaps that it needed to cause the flames to flicker and dance, reminded Rynlin of a darker time. A time that he feared would return all too soon.

  “True, Chertney has a strong ability in Dark Magic, in fact he’s probably one of the most powerful warlocks in all the Kingdoms, but that conjuring was beyond him.”

  “Lady Keldragan,” said Rendael, obviously struggling with the content of the conversation. “I can’t pretend to understand much about the Talent or Dark Magic, or these beasts that suddenly appear out of blackness, more heinous than I could possibly imagine. But please understand, it has been three centuries since the Breaker has been threatened. Yes, dark creatures remain a problem. They always have been to a certain extent. And I understand from the young Highland Lord the threat posed by these monstrosities to his Kingdom. But believing that the dire time that preceded the Great War has returned requires a leap in logic that many of us are unprepared to take. We only just learned of Rodric’s ultimate deceptions and betrayals, but to believe that the Shadow Lord is returning after so many years of dormancy? That is more difficult to acknowledge. Granted, we have some evidence that dark creatures stir in the Charnel Mountains, but where is the actual proof of the Shadow Lord? Something tangible? Something real?”

  “I understand your hesitancy, King Rendael,” said Rya in a soothing tone. The flames of the fire accentuated her chestnut hair and set her blues eyes sparkling. “Believing requires a change in perspective that can prove difficult. And, as you said, it means the return of dire times. But those dire times are already upon us. To ignore the signs would be folly. It would ensure the fall of the Kingdoms.”

  “Rya is correct,” said Rynlin, still staring into the flames, his expression grim. “What’s happening now is exactly what happened prior to the Great War. The chill that’s settling over the eastern Kingdoms is only one sign out of many. Remember, my lords and ladies, the number of attempted incursions by dark creatures into the northern Highlands has increased tenfold in just a matter of months. It is not happenstance. Those beasts came for a reason.”

  Rynlin turned his attention to Rendael first, then dragged his eyes across those of all the other sovereigns participating in the discussion.

  “You ask for tangible proof,” he continued, his intense gaze arresting. “You will not have it until the Dark Horde marches for the Breaker. Besides, you speak as if the Shadow Lord has been gone since we last defended against the onslaught of dark creatures that flooded down from the Charnel Mountains. Such a perspective is incorrect and naive. The Shadow Lord has always been here, biding his time. He never left. He simply was waiting for the best chance to strike once again, and that opportunity draws nearer.”

  “What my grandfather says is correct,” interjected Thomas. “If not for the Sylvana helping to defend the northern Highlands, the Shadow Lord would have a foothold beyond the Breaker already. The fate of the Kingdoms would have already been sealed.”

  The Marchers assembled behind the rulers of the Kingdoms nodded in agreement, knowing that their countrymen charged with defending the northern passes could not have succeeded so far without the assistance of the Sylvan Warriors. And then when Thomas called Nestor and his Marchers south to aid in the fight against the Armaghian host, several more Sylvan Warriors arrived in the Highlands to take their place, working with the wolfpacks led by Beluil, the pony-sized wolf who grew up with Thomas and took particular pleasure in killing dark creatures, to prevent the servants of the Shadow Lord from achieving their goal of making the Highlands their own.

  “What happened to the Shadow Lord after the Great War?” asked Rya, continuing her husband’s argument. “We defeated but did not destroy him. We could not destroy him, in fact. He was too strong, despite everything that we tried. He’s waited for another opportunity ever since. Rodric’s treachery and alliance with the Shadow Lord, the increasing activity in the Charnel Mountains, the war parties coming across the Northern Steppes into the Highlands, the assassination attempts on the Sylvana, some unfortunately successful, they all point to the fact that the Shadow Lord has awakened. He is probing, identifying our weaknesses and seeking to exploit them, while massing his Dark Horde.”

  “We can believe what we want,” said Rynlin. “We can ignore what we see going on around us. But that’s simply folly. We must prepare for what is to come. To not do so will mean the end of the Kingdoms and a time of terror and subjugation from which we may never escape.”

  Gregory, Sarelle, Chuma, even Rendael, bore grim expressions, Rynlin and Rya’s arguments having persuaded the monarchs that the threat presented by the Shadow Lord could not be ignored. All the rulers were intelligent men and women, pragmatists at heart. Their reluctance to believe wasn’t so much because of what would be required of them, but rather resulted from knowing the consequences of failing to act, of understanding the pain and misery to be unleashed if these two Sylvan Warriors were correct. They had no reason to doubt the truth of their words. It simply took time for them to come to terms with what the future likely held.

  “But why send that dark creature?” asked Sarelle. “It couldn’t have been solely to rescue Rodric.”

  Remembering the beast as it burst through the black portal sent a chill down the Queen of Benewyn’s spine. The demon’s eyes had blazed with a blood-red fire that had terrified her, freezing her, and she knew that it had had the same effect on some of the others sitting with her now, their minds having struggled to comprehend the evil that had been unleashed. Yet Thomas had not been affected, appearing immune to the terror that had radiated from the monster. He had advanced toward the dark creature, sword drawn, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the danger. She knew that there was something unique about the Highland Lord. She was only now beginning to understand the potential significance of her conclusion.

  “You are correct, Sarelle,” said Rya simply. “The Shadow Lord did not send that demon to save the High King. The portal
itself was all that was needed for that task. Rather, it was a test.”

  “A test for whom?” asked Kaylie. The Princess of Fal Carrach sat next to her father. She balanced her dagger lengthwise on her right index finger, seeking an outlet for her nerves, the conversation making her uneasy.

  “For Thomas,” answered Rynlin, resignation clear in his voice. “The Shadow Lord wanted to measure his greatest threat.”

  “What exactly do you mean, Lord Keldragan?” asked Rendael.

  “Are you familiar with the prophecies?” asked Rynlin, seeing a few nod their heads, others wracking their brains to remember their lessons from when they had received their schooling. “The prophecies are very obscure. In order to understand them, you have to know what you're looking for. And even then, we miss what’s important, often not able to piece the puzzle together until a foreseen event actually has occurred. Nevertheless, indulge me for a moment.”

  Rynlin’s tone suggested that his request was anything but. He began reciting what sounded like poetry:

  When a child of life and death

  Stands on high

  Drawn by faith

  He shall hold the key to victory in his hand.

  Swords of fire echo in the burned rock