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

by Wacht, Peter

  “That would be wonderful! Thank you.”

  “Tell me, child. Have you learned how to break the link between a warlock or some other dark creature with a similar ability and their Dark Magic? How to cut them off from the source of their power?”

  32

  The Pull

  Several days of hard but uneventful travel deeper into the mountains had left the Marchers tired but confident. Thomas had provided the direction while Ariel identified the best path for them to take, and when a trail wasn’t available, the easiest way through the forest, ravines and gullies that crisscrossed the mountains. As they journeyed higher among the peaks outside Afara, they enjoyed the more temperate weather, as it didn’t take long for the sweltering heat and humidity to begin to wear on the Marchers, who were used to cooler climes.

  Ariel and Kaylie had used the Talent to scout for leagues around them with nary a trace of dark creatures to be found. Still, the Sylvan Warriors and Marchers were on edge, a sense of anticipation gnawing at their nerves. Perhaps it was because they were so close to achieving their goal, or perhaps it was something else, but a cloak of menace had settled over them. A premonition of attack, but by what and from where they couldn’t determine.

  At midday, with the sun hidden by the clouds that wreathed the mountain peaks, Thomas stopped abruptly, closing his eyes. The last few days he had worried less about what was around them and more about where they were going, his focus almost entirely on the nagging tug of the Key.

  “What is it, Thomas?”

  Kaylie stood beside him, never far from his side after he had first wandered off on his own among the trees after speaking with Ariel just a few nights before.

  “We’re close,” he said. “Very close.”

  The pull was so intense that it verged on pain for Thomas. The Key beckoned to him, demanding that he come, as if it knew the role that it was to play and it was eager to do so. Confident in his bearings, the pull guided him up a steep slope to a well-hidden seam in the mountain. A small ledge at its front, which only he could pick out from where they stood, offered the only hint that there might be a tunnel that led deeper within the stone.

  A jolt of energy shot through him as he realized that he was close to achieving his goal. But something bothered him, and his restlessness increased the tension of the Marchers. It felt as if something followed them, watching from the shadows, waiting to strike. Knowing that Kaylie and Ariel had been doing much the same, Thomas took hold of the Talent, searching throughout the mountains for any threat, any sign of peril, just to see if they might have missed something. But there was nothing. No sense of darkness or evil. Then why this feeling of impending attack?

  “Do you feel it?” he asked Ariel. She had stepped up next to Kaylie.

  “I do, but I don’t know what it is.”

  Once again taking hold of the Talent, Thomas extended his senses. Sweeping his consciousness for leagues around, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. There were no dark creatures that he could identify anywhere nearby. Yet the tickle at the base of his skull, warning of danger, remained. Could this feeling be connected to whatever was protecting the Key?

  He debated whether he should wait before continuing his pursuit of the Key, just to see if something happened. Perhaps the sense of danger would go away, though he knew that was unlikely. Besides, he didn’t want to leave Kaylie and his Marchers unprotected against something that they might not be able to defend against.

  “Thomas, don’t worry about us,” said Ariel, somehow knowing what was going through his mind. “Do what you need to do. Kaylie and I can manage if trouble appears.”

  Thomas nodded reluctantly, reaching out to grasp Kaylie’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Not satisfied, Kaylie reached for Thomas, hugging him fiercely before kissing him softly on his lips.

  “Be careful,” she said. “Take no unnecessary chances. Otherwise you answer to me.”

  Thomas smiled at Kaylie’s show of bravado. Taking hold of the Talent once more, in a flash of blinding white light Thomas transformed himself into a large kestrel, winging his way up the steep mountainside. Catching a warm air current, he circled the peak for a few minutes, just to get the lay of the land. The sense of danger remained, but even his sharper senses that resulted from his taking the form of the Highlands’ largest bird of prey offered no way to interpret the feeling of peril that continued to plague him.

  Frustrated by his inability to identify the source of his unease, he settled his sharp, strong talons onto the ledge that jutted out on the sheer rock face. Shifting back to his human form, he walked through the seam, unperturbed by the utter darkness.

  33

  Nervous Energy

  Watching Thomas enter the crease in the mountainside, the Marchers quickly established a defensive perimeter, their backs against the rock of the peak. Aric decided to take a couple of Marchers with him to scout the surrounding area, heeding Oso’s warning to stay close. They could all sense that a threat was near, but what that danger could be remained an irritating mystery.

  “Some dark creature of the Shadow Lord?” asked Kaylie, who had settled next to Ariel. The Sylvan Warrior scanned the rough landscape regularly, with both the Talent and her eyes, looking for what she didn’t know. But still she did it. It was a habit that she couldn’t break.

  “Who can say?” she replied. “If there were Ogren or Shades on this island, I would know. But that’s not what this feels like.”

  “So no clue as to what it could be?”

  “No,” she replied. “I sense something in the mountain. A power. But it doesn’t seem to be good or evil. It’s simply there. I don’t believe it’s a threat, at least not to us. No, there’s something else. I just can’t place it and that worries me.”

  While Kaylie and Ariel had been talking, Oso had made sure that the Marchers had established a strong shield line. Satisfied that they were as ready as they could be, Oso took out his sword and a whetstone, running it across the already razor sharp blade. Several of his Marchers followed his lead, needing to do something with their nervous energy. The tension seeped into their bones, the feeling that something stalked them playing at the very edges of their senses, and they wanted to be ready for whatever might come.

  As Ariel huffed in annoyance, she continued to scan the terrain and the skies. Kaylie kept her attention focused on the seam in the rock that Thomas had entered. She had wanted to go with him, but knew that she couldn’t. Whatever peril he faced in searching for the Key he needed to deal with on his own, and she didn’t want to distract him. If he didn’t make it out safely, Kaylie promised herself that Thomas would never hear the end of it. Cursing silently, Kaylie pulled her sword from its scabbard across her back and a whetstone from her pack. Just like the other Marchers, she needed to focus on something else while Thomas searched for the Key, and she feared that she’d have need of her blade sooner rather than later.

  34

  Invisible Sword

  Entering a pitch-black cave without a torch would frighten most people, but it had no effect on Thomas. His glowing green eyes allowed him to walk unimpeded through the scar, discerning the rough rock of the tunnel from the gloom as if the midday sun lit his way. The cave itself wasn’t very large, no more than forty or fifty feet across from end to end and running just a short distance into the mountain. With his excellent vision, Thomas made out the frame of a doorway cut out of the middle of the wall facing him.

  With no other path to take, he moved forward across the threshold. The rough stone gave way to carved slabs as Thomas walked down what became a hallway that led deeper into the peak. He continued on the path for several minutes, taking his time, trying to get a feel for what was around him. He stopped every few steps to listen for any movement. Yet all remained silent. He was alone.

  Finally, he came to the end of the passage. The hallway opened into a large chamber carved by ancient hands. A skylight, barely more than a slit in the stone above, allowed the grey light of the day to f
ilter into the room, giving it a murky cast.

  Along the edge of the chamber, dozens of statues resembling soldiers wearing ancient armor and holding spears or swords of stone stood guard, their features remarkably lifelike despite the fact that they were cut from the rock of the mountain. He spun around slowly, taking it all in. It was an impressive achievement, and obviously done for a reason. But for what purpose? And what to do now?

  That sense of being watched, which had plagued him for the last few days, had grown stronger with each step he took deeper into the rock. But here, in this chamber, that feeling seemed to be vibrating with an added intensity. The cause of it appeared to be centered in this very room. But where could it be coming from? There was nothing here but stone figures.

  He approached the wall on the far side of the hall. Whoever had crafted this place had chipped and then sanded the wall down to a glassy sheen. In fact, it was so shiny that it bore a strong resemblance to a mirror, so much so that Thomas could see his reflection in the dim light. There wasn’t a mark or imperfection on the gleaming stone, except for one. Right in the middle, about five spans up from the roughened floor, someone had carved a symbol. Taking a closer look at the marking, he thanked Rynlin for being so demanding with his education. It was an ancient symbol, but one that he recognized. It represented the word for “key.”

  Smiling at his good fortune, Thomas extended his senses. He felt it immediately, the natural magic that radiated from the stone in front of him. His grandmother Rya had told him about something like what he faced now. The wall was an illusion of a sort. Only the right person, the person who was supposed to be here, could walk through the barrier and reach what was beyond the translucent stone. Those who shouldn’t, or couldn’t, would see nothing more than a stone wall. Thinking of the power of the magic radiating from the stone, perhaps the Key had an even more aggressive defense for those who shouldn’t be here. His eyes traveled over the stone guards that lined the chamber as that thought crossed his mind. Was he the person who was supposed to be here? Steeling himself, he knew that there was only one way to find out.

  Thomas took a moment to center himself. What he was about to try could be the correct next step or it could unlock a hidden threat. Having no choice but to trust his instincts and be prepared for whatever may come next, Thomas extended his hand, placing it on the symbol carved into the stone. With just a little pressure, his fingers disappeared into the stone. He smiled, pleased that he had been right. Then he pushed his arm farther into the stone, the image shifting much like the surface of a pool of water that rippled when you dropped a stone in it. He pulled his arm out from the image, just to make sure that he was correct.

  Satisfied, he extended his hand once more, starting at the carving, then pushed his entire body into the stone. It felt as if he was walking through water, though nothing flowed around him. The stone had simply assumed a more viscous form, much like jelly, that allowed him to slide through it slowly.

  Thankfully, he only had a few feet to go, as the grasping nature of the magic unsettled him. As he exited the stone and entered a smaller chamber, he almost fell to his knees on the smooth stone floor, the pull of the Key threatening to overwhelm him. It was here, in this room. He knew it! He had been right. But before he could begin his search, he sensed something to his side, a whisper of movement, though nothing was visible. Allowing his instincts to take hold, the training Antonin and so many other legendary warriors of old had engrained within him governing his actions, he ducked and rolled away from the wall just as sparks streaked across the stone from the slash of an invisible sword.

  35

  The Sentinel

  Regaining his feet quickly, Thomas freed his sword from the scabbard across his back. The pull of the Key was insistent, demanding. It was definitely here. But where? He searched through the gloom quickly, his eyes fixing on a long table carved from the rock of the chamber and extending out from the far wall. With his sharp vision he picked out the dozens of actual keys set out on the stone. But he ignored them for the moment, a more pressing concern occupying his thoughts. Whatever had attacked him remained in the small chamber. Although he couldn’t see what it was, he could sense its presence.

  Feeling the air stir at his back, Thomas dove forward as an invisible blade passed through the air just behind him, barely missing his hip. He glided away from the center of the room, until his back touched the stone wall, reducing his opponent’s possible angles of attack. Normally he would have preferred to have more space so that he would have more alternatives for moving, but not now. Not when he couldn’t see his opponent. Now he needed to limit his attacker’s options. He didn’t know for sure what he faced, but it brought to mind something from the past, something that he had learned about when the spirits of the dead warriors had trained him to fight.

  Though he could not track his invisible adversary, he could sense the movement around him, the slight shifting of the air. He held his sword at the ready. He guessed that he faced one of the ancient Sentinels, warriors imbued with a magic that allowed them to appear or disappear at will. He stopped his thoughts from wandering to the point of losing concentration as a barely discernible disturbance in the air was all the warning that he received of the next attack.

  Rolling to the right, based on a hunch he swung back with his sword, catching the Sentinel’s blade on his own. Tired of being the prey and pinpointing his adversary’s location, Thomas continued his attack, launching a series of lunges and slashes that forced the Sentinel back. Thomas confirmed his opponent’s positioning each time his blade sparked on that of his adversary’s. After several seconds, Thomas stepped back, disengaging from the Sentinel.

  He could attack all he wanted, but he fought a losing battle. Eventually the Sentinel’s invisibility would prove the determining factor in the duel. He needed to even the playing field, and he knew of only one way to do that.

  Closing his eyes, he took hold of the Talent and extended his senses. He did it just in time. The Sentinel launched another attack, its curved blade scything through the air, but now, though the Sentinel remained invisible, Thomas could track his movement, his rival’s body taking on a ghostly hue.

  Keeping his eyes closed much like he did during his many training sessions as a boy with Antonin the Spear, he blocked the Sentinel’s strike, then swung his own blade low, hoping to catch the Sentinel across the knee and disable him. The Sentinel dodged the blow just in time.

  Thomas continued his assault, eyes remaining closed, as he used the Talent to follow the Sentinel across the room. For several minutes they glided around the chamber. If anyone had been watching it would have appeared as if Thomas were practicing the various fighting forms on his own, if not for the sparks that shot out frequently that confirmed the striking of steel on steel. Finally, sidestepping a lunge, Thomas got inside the Sentinel’s defenses. His blade a blur, he forced his opponent against the wall, then drove his steel into the Sentinel’s gut.

  A roaring sound rushed through the chamber, resembling a gust of wind blowing through the eaves of a house on a stormy night. Opening his eyes, Thomas looked down at the Sentinel, now visible, slumped against the wall. The defender of the chamber had turned to stone, just like his comrades on the other side of the wall.

  With the Sentinel no longer a threat, Thomas stood there for several minutes, maintaining his grasp on the Talent just to make sure that there were no other surprises coming his way. Confident that he was alone, he released the Talent and turned his attention to the many keys that lay upon the stone table cut out from the far wall. A final test, he assumed. There were so many, of all shapes and sizes, that he didn’t know where to begin. Some were plain, made from wood, others of stone or steel. Some were intricately carved and studded with jewels, or crafted from gold or silver. Some of the designs were so complex that it hurt his eyes to look upon them.

  Which one could it be? Which would grant him freedom of access to Blackstone? Which would guarantee a meeting with the
Shadow Lord?

  Thomas feared the possible consequences of selecting incorrectly. If he picked the wrong one, would the stone Sentinels in the other chamber come to life as well, waiting for him to emerge from the wall that was not a wall before cutting him to pieces?

  So he took his time while examining the dozens of keys lining the table. In the faint light, he saw that carved into the stone where the keys rested were the words “Knowledge is the key.” Could it really be that simple? Why not? He had entered this chamber by pushing on the ancient symbol that represented knowledge. It had proven prescient. Why not continue down that path?

  Thomas studied the many different keys. He ignored the ones made with gold and silver and those encrusted with jewels and other distracting ornamentation. After less than a minute had passed, he found what he sought. Intricately carved and hidden behind many of the more ostentatious offerings was a key made from hardened steel shaped into the ancient symbol for knowledge.

  Most would not know what it meant, as the symbol came from the language originally used at the time the Sylvana were formed more than a thousand years in the past. A language that was no longer spoken, but sometimes written, that Rynlin had required him to learn despite his many protestations at having to master a dead dialect. Maybe all that training and education his grandparents had forced on him was paying off, he mused.

  When he picked up the steel key, it felt right in his hands. The nagging pull that had plagued him for weeks disappeared, replaced by a warmth that began in the key, flowed into his hand, then arm, and then throughout his body. He had found the Key. All that time and effort, the commitment and sacrifice of so many people, leading to this moment. But there was no time to celebrate. He needed to move onto the next step. Inspecting the Key more closely, he saw that thin veins of what looked to be diamonds ran through the plain steel, which caught the little bit of light that illuminated the chamber. Inscribed in the same language as that on the table, running along one side of the Key, were the words “When the darkness surrounds, the light will prevail.”