The Fight Against the Dark

by Wacht, Peter

  “I’m sure you can work out the details,” said Thomas, in between bites from the buffet. “Most of the Marchers will be returning home to prepare for the Shadow Lord’s expected invasion and continue to fight the dark creatures making their way across the Northern Steppes. With Gregory as High King, if only temporarily, then our individual armies can be merged into a single fighting force under his command to begin preparations to defend the Breaker.”

  “Where will you be going?” asked Kaylie, her gaze as sharp as a kestrel’s, stopping Thomas in his tracks as he tried to take his leave.

  Kaylie had listened closely to Thomas, understanding how his mind worked. She knew that Thomas had something up his sleeve.

  Thomas sighed, turning back to the group. “I need to complete another task before going to the Breaker.”

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Hard Conversation

  The conversation among the rulers continued for several hours, Gregory still reluctant to assume the position of High King but the other monarchs giving him little choice in the matter. Once that was finally decided despite Gregory’s objections, it didn’t take long to put the final issues to rest. Tired from his last few days in the field, Thomas bid them all good night, heading for the small room that he had been using since freeing Armagh from the Tessarils. Oso followed after, thankful to have finally extricated himself from the discussion.

  “What is it that you need to do, Thomas?”

  Kaylie had followed him out. He had hoped to make a clean escape, but should have known better. Kaylie was tenacious and would not let go what he had let slip.

  “It’s just something that needs to be done, and it’s something that I must do.”

  Thomas didn’t elaborate, much to her irritation. Noticing the keen intensity in her eyes, Oso decided to make himself scarce and go to his sleeping quarters on his own. He quickly bid them both good night and hustled down the hallway, glad to free himself from what he thought could become an extremely uncomfortable conversation.

  “Perhaps you need some assistance? You know I’m good with a blade, and you saw what I could do with the Talent in the Highlands.”

  Thomas smiled at the princess, taking in her determination and courage. He was drawn to Kaylie, dangerously so, but didn’t want to get too close. No one had ever survived a duel with the Shadow Lord, so allowing her beyond the emotional barrier that he had constructed around himself would simply put her in danger, something that he sought to avoid. He also needed to steer clear of anything that could distract him from meeting his responsibilities, and every time he gazed on her elfin face and dazzling eyes, his mind automatically wandered down a path from which he was finding it more and more difficult to return to the matter at hand.

  “I appreciate the offer, Kaylie. I do. But this is something that I must do alone. And you have other duties to Fal Carrach.” He turned to continue down the hallway, but stopped after a few steps.

  “Thomas, if this is about Tinnakilly, I’m sorry. I’ve tried so many times to show you how I feel about you, how sorry I am for what happened, but it just doesn’t seem to come through the right way.”

  Thomas’ shoulders sagged as he faced her. He smiled sadly. “That’s over and done with, Kaylie. You’ve proved your mettle several times over, the battle in the Highlands just one example. This has nothing to do with Tinnakilly. But as I said, this is something that I must do. It’s a task that I’ve been given that only I can complete.”

  “You must do what you must do,” said Kaylie, repeating the saying Thomas’ grandmother Rya had used so often during her training and had become a favorite of her own.

  Thomas smiled and nodded. “Yes, we must do what we must do.” He spun and began to walk silently down the corridor.

  “You know you can’t keep trying to protect me, Thomas. No matter how hard you try. We must all take risks.”

  Thomas stopped suddenly, but didn’t turn around, his chin dropping to his chest. “I’m not protecting you, Kaylie. I’m protecting myself.” Then he stepped deeper into the shadows that danced in the hallway in time to the flickering flames of the torches lining the hallway until he finally disappeared from sight.

  Kaylie watched him go, her gaze narrowing. His last words sent a flutter through her heart, and it took several minutes for her to regain her composure. She promised herself that he wouldn’t get away from her so easily. Whatever was going on between them, it would not end before it had been given a chance to become something more.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  Search Begins

  The night was colder than expected for this time of year. Then again, considering the stories that his grandfather liked to tell regarding the glacial cold during the Great War, a cold that froze exposed body parts to the point of shattering in just minutes, perhaps it wasn’t unexpected with the Shadow Lord stirring. Of course, his grandfather did like to embellish. He always explained that it was a key part to telling a good story.

  Thomas walked quietly through the halls of Eamhain Mhacha, not needing the dim light of the few torches lining the hallways to find his way to the stables. Acero had returned with the other unicorns to the Highlands. He would have preferred to take this next journey with his powerful, intimidating friend. But doing so would not allow him and his party to travel unnoticed, as the massive unicorn attracted too much attention and too many questions. Rather than a secret expedition, the journey would become a spectacle.

  And attention was what Thomas wanted to avoid. The sand was running quickly through the hourglass, the urgency of completing this next task pressing upon him. He had to find the Key, now somewhere to the west, the pull growing stronger, more insistent, every time he thought of it.

  Thomas understood that fighting the Shadow Lord in a military confrontation only delayed the inevitable and led to countless, needless deaths. Better to do what he could to limit the pain and suffering expected when the Dark Horde descended on the Kingdoms. The only way to stop the Shadow Lord, assuming the prophecy spoke with any semblance of truth, was for Thomas, the Defender of the Light, to defeat the never defeated Shadow Lord in combat, destroying a creature that had existed for more than a thousand years.

  Thinking about his small chance of success against the Shadow Lord threatened to paralyze him. Yet, even though he had resigned himself to his likely fate, as his grandmother Rya liked to remind him, and as Kaylie had noted earlier that evening, “You must do what you must do.” Consequently, though his fear crystallized into a constant tremor in his gut every time the thought of his future confrontation played through his mind, he locked it away and sought to distract himself with his current challenge.

  Taking a ship to the west offered the fastest way to get to the far side of the continent, but it would also be the most dangerous. Most ships avoided the Winter Sea this time of year. The seas were high and rough, often cresting over the masts of any vessel foolish enough to attempt a crossing. The cold added to the danger, as it could crack a ship’s hull. To say nothing of the Whorl, a huge whirlpool that moved with the currents of each season. If caught by the Whorl, the ship would be pulled to the bottom of the ocean in minutes, and once in the Whorl there was no escape. No one knew how to brave the Whorl, as no one had ever survived once captured within the swirling, watery maw. Yet there was nothing to be done but take the risk. Traveling overland would take too long and time was already short. But they still had a long way to go before they set their sights on the Winter Sea.

  When Thomas entered the stables, he nodded, pleased to see that his group was ready to depart. A small band of Marchers led by Oso discussed final preparations while Rya and Rynlin stood to the side waiting for him.

  His grandmother stepped forward, giving him a hug. “We wish we could go with you.”

  Even his grandfather, normally gruff in demeanor, grabbed Thomas into a bear hug. “We would, indeed, but we have other tasks to complete.” He stepped back, looking down at Thomas with pride. “But we do have a friend
here who has decided that you could use some additional help.”

  A black blur burst into the stables, leaping onto Thomas and knocking him to the floor. Scaring many of the horses, the Marchers rushed to calm the frightened animals. They likely would get used to the massive black wolf, a streak of white fur across his eyes, in a few days, but until then they would be skittish if not openly terrified.

  “Beluil!” exclaimed Thomas, grabbing the wolf around his large neck for a hug, his massive furry friend licking his face in welcome and leaving a string of saliva across his cheek. “Tired of chasing after dark creatures, I see.”

  Thomas rose to his feet, running his hands through the wolf’s thick fur. Both Rynlin and Rya felt better knowing that Thomas’ boyhood friend would be with him on this endeavor. The two were inseparable growing up, and they knew that the wolf would do anything to protect the young man he viewed as his brother.

  Rynlin watched the interchange between Thomas and Beluil with an amused grin. He desperately wanted to help his grandson, yet no matter what path he followed he was stymied. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “I’ve been looking for any new clues on the Key, how to find it, more importantly how to use it, but no luck so far. If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, grandfather. I appreciate the help. But I doubt we’ll learn any more than we discussed the night before.”

  Rya thought that she might have seen a small tear run down Rynlin’s cheek. Thomas rarely called the dour, intimidating Sylvan Warrior grandfather, and it clearly had an effect on her grouchy husband.

  Rynlin nodded, almost sheepishly. “Focus on the task at hand and you’ll be fine. Leave the politics to Gregory. We’ll meet you in the Highlands upon your return.”

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  Followed

  Thomas and his small band of Marchers made good time the first night upon leaving Eamhain Mhacha. Heading northwest toward Mooralyn, a port serviced by the Crescent River, they reached the sparse forests along the shore of the Heartland Lake before daybreak. After a short rest, they continued through the woods during the day, avoiding any well-traveled tracks or roads.

  Thomas used the Talent to check around them multiple times during the day, finding nothing of interest or concern other than the odd woodcutter’s hut. But as the sun began to set, Thomas took Oso aside.

  “Can you sense it?” he asked his large friend.

  “Yes,” he said, looking back the way that they had come but not seeing anything hiding among the trees. Beluil sat there with them, staring intently into the woods. “But I don’t get the feeling that whoever is following us is a threat. I think that they’re just tracking us. Mimicking our movements and keeping their distance.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a feeling,” replied the big Highlander. “The back of my neck isn’t prickling like it does when there’s something dangerous around, like Ogren. Whoever it is, they’re no more than a mile behind, but they’re not trying to get closer. They’ve stopped just as we have.”

  “That’s what you rely on to determine whether or not something’s a threat?” chuckled Thomas, somewhat incredulous but trusting his friend’s intuitiveness. “Whether the skin on the back of your neck warns you?”

  “It’s worked so far,” shrugged Oso.

  “Maybe so,” answered Thomas dubiously, though he did agree with Oso’s assessment. Whatever followed after them didn’t fill him with an overwhelming dread as was the case when he searched for Ogren, Shades or other dark creatures. “But I still don’t like the idea of someone coming after us and the fact that even though I can locate them, I can’t tell who it is. Why don’t you go ahead another league or so and then set up camp for the night. Beluil and I will catch up once we deal with whomever is tracking us.”

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  Moving Pieces

  “This has been confirmed?” hissed the raspy voice.

  “Yes, master. This comes from Chertney, who was loath to reveal the news but had no choice. Rodric has been defeated in Armagh, his army of Ogren and Shades destroyed by Sylvan Warriors, and he rides across the Northern Steppes now seeking refuge.”

  Malachias, no more than a shadow among the flitting wisps of darkness in the throne room of the Shadow Lord, avoided at all costs giving his master news of defeats or setbacks. He had seen the price that many of those messengers had paid in the past for being the bearers of bad tidings. But since this latest failure came at the expense of a direct rival, he felt more protected as well as an overwhelming need to drive the knife in a bit deeper. Besides, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to put himself in a better light. He had served his master since well before the Great War, coming to his service not long after the Shadow Lord had appeared in the Kingdoms, and he had little patience for a rival such as Chertney or Rodric seeking to displace him.

  The Shadow Lord, as was his habit, stood on the large balcony looking out on the deserted central square of Blackstone. Not a sound emanated in the dead city, other than the incessant wind disturbing the fine layer of black ash and cinder that covered the crumbling stone and ground.

  “There is more, master,” continued Malachias, trying to come across as disappointed rather than elated. “I’m afraid that Gregory of Fal Carrach now serves as High King. And our young Highland Lord is nowhere to be found.”

  The first was not unexpected, but the last worried the Shadow Lord, though his fleeting tremor of anxiousness could not be detected by his servant. His plans, centuries in the making, were not progressing as he expected or as they should. There were only a few more hands to be played in the game that he had started so long ago, and he could not allow the boy, the boy Rodric should have murdered a decade ago, to continue to unhinge his schemes.

  Moreover, with this latest news about the Highland Lord, he had an inkling of what the boy might be doing. Looking for something that had been stolen from him that even his minions had failed to find despite having centuries to complete the task. That’s what truly worried him. Not the fact that Rodric and Chertney had failed again. Not that a new High King had been selected. Those issues could be dealt with. No, his concern lay with this surprisingly resilient Highland Lord. The boy was too full of surprises and more often than not had turned difficult situations or expected defeats into victories. Would such be the case once again? Would he find what had been lost for centuries?

  The Shadow Lord had tried to remove the Highland Lord as a piece in the game, employing the time-honored tactic of assassination. But to no avail. His Nightstalkers, though specifically bred for such a task, had failed miserably. As had the other servants he had sent against the boy. Therefore, he had felt the need to try something different. So he had placed an adversary in front of this young upstart that he thought even the boy, slippery as an eel though he may be, could not escape. Yet the Wraith had failed, at least initially. Although that dark creature had been defeated, it would continue its efforts. It was much like a Nightstalker in that respect, hunting its prey until it proved successful. But knowing the history of these failed attempts, he decided that something more was necessary. He was not yet ready to admit that the prophecy spoke true, that the inevitable would occur and that the boy would stand in the hall stretching out behind him, sword in hand, to engage in the last battle. No, he was not yet ready to accept that conclusion. If he could eliminate the boy before the prophesied combat, then all the better. It would make the prophecy moot. And if not, perhaps one of the attempts on his life would weaken the boy and ensure that the duel was a foregone conclusion.

  “Thank you for the news, Malachias, disappointing though it may be.” The Shadow Lord turned toward his servant, his blood-red eyes, burning harshly, infecting Malachias with a fear that he rarely felt. “And next time, try not to be so jubilant at the failures of your rivals. All of my servants will get what they deserve in the end.”

  “Yes, master.”

  Malachias bowed, keeping his eyes o
n the tiled floor, massive white stones abutting black, much like a chessboard. He chose not to consider the full implications of the Shadow Lord’s last comment.

  “We will focus our attention on the Highland Lord. Visit with our friend once more and impress upon him the need for swift and certain action.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “But before you go, tell me again,” demanded the Shadow Lord, the harsh whisper of his voice alarming Malachias, sliding into him like a knife into the gut. “Tell me again of when you lost the Key.”

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE

  Discovered

  Kaylie was pleased with herself, certain that she had gotten off to a good start in her efforts to follow Thomas. She had escaped her rooms without her guards any the wiser, despite her father asking them to keep a close eye on her. Not even Kael Bellilil, who had sniffed out her plan when the Fal Carrachian army marched toward the Highlands just a few months before to support the Marchers against Armagh, had caught wind of her latest attempt to escape her responsibility and connect with Thomas. She saddled her horse and exited the stables, and then the city, with no one aware of her subterfuge, except perhaps the soldiers at the gate. But at that time of the morning, the sun still a distant thought, they likely had no clue as to the identity nor cared about the doings of the cowled noblewoman seeking an early start to the day.

  Breaking free from the confines of Eamhain Mhacha, she had led her horse quietly through the forest. Although Kaylie knew that her education in the use of the Talent was far from complete, she had learned many useful skills thanks to Rya Keldragan’s assiduous training. One such ability that Rya thought necessary for her to learn after her attempted kidnapping by Norin Dinnegan was how to infuse a small stone with the natural magic of the world, an almost imperceptible amount that someone versed in the Talent would not be able to identify unless they knew to look for it, but could be used as a tracking device.