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

by Wacht, Peter

  What that meant, Thomas wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps Rynlin would know. But that was a concern for another day. At the moment, he was more concerned about a more pressing matter. Was the real test to come when he entered the main chamber once again? Were the remaining Sentinels waiting to welcome him or challenge him? Noticing the small oval in the Key’s grip, Thomas affixed it to his necklace, the cold steel warming at the touch of his skin as it slid next to his Sylvan Warrior amulet. That done, grasping his blade tightly just in case, he prepared for what might happen when he pushed his way back through the magical wall.

  36

  Guard of Honor

  Not knowing what to expect in the larger chamber, Thomas pushed his way back through the shimmering wall, his sword in hand and the Talent ready for use. The stone statues were gone. In their place several dozen men stood at attention, their captain several steps to their front. When Thomas had exited the magical barrier, the soldiers half-bowed in unison, their leader offering a slight nod of respect.

  Thomas spared a moment to take it all in. The men were tall, all with hard eyes who clearly knew how to use the spears, swords and battle axes they seemed to prefer. And their armor was something Thomas had never seen before. It resembled steel mesh, but the pattern in the metal differed for each man, suggesting for one tiny diamonds and another small, interlocking ovals, and so it went, though for all the soldiers the armor was painted a matte black with touches of grey. In the gloom, these soldiers blended into the darkness, so much so that Thomas had difficulty identifying them unless they moved.

  “You’re Sentinels,” said Thomas, his voice sounding overly loud in the silence as he turned his gaze to the soldier standing in front of the others.

  “We are,” the man replied in a soft voice. “And you are the Defender of the Light.”

  “I am,” replied Thomas, his voice catching as he acknowledged the title and its responsibility for the first time openly. Thomas’ mind worked furiously as he recalled his history. The Sentinels were the first soldiers to reach the Sylvan Warriors more than a thousand years before, offering their skill and blood to slow the Dark Horde before it could escape the Northern Steppes and invade the south. Their sacrifices, along with those of the Sylvana, had given the Kingdoms the time needed to bring their armies to bear on the Lord of the Shadow. Following that, the Sentinels had become the first defenders of the Kingdoms, aiding in the building of the Breaker and then becoming the first soldiers to stand watch atop its broad expanse, always waiting for the return of the one who had caused so much pain and loss in the Kingdoms.

  “Your name?” asked the Sentinel captain.

  “Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands.” Thomas sheathed his sword in the scabbard across his back and released his hold on the Talent, knowing intuitively that these soldiers would not attack him.

  “And your mother’s surname?”

  Thomas was surprised by the question, so it took him a moment before responding. “Keldragan.”

  The Sentinel captain smiled. “As I expected. I can see the resemblance. We are kin, Defender of the Light. I am Kincaid, Lord of the Western Isle and brother to Rya Westgard, now known as Rya Keldragan.”

  What had started out as a strange journey in so many ways was only getting stranger, the soldier’s words shocking Thomas. “You’re my uncle?”

  “Yes, your great uncle, centuries removed,” the Sentinel captain said with a smile. “How is my baby sister?”

  Thomas smiled as well, trying to adjust to the surreal nature of the conversation he was having with his just-discovered relative. “She is well. Irascible as ever.”

  “Yes, that sounds like my sister. More often than not when we were growing up, she was as smooth as a nettle.” Kincaid laughed, unable to control his glee. “Rynlin as well?”

  “Yes, Rynlin probably is no different than he was the last time that you saw him. Demanding and not one to suffer fools.”

  “That is an excellent description, nephew. I must admit that when I first met him, I did not think that he was the right one for Rya. But the more I realized that his stubbornness matched my sister’s, I knew that they were meant to be together.” Kincaid shook his head at the memories that flooded through him. “But we must move on, Thomas. Though I would love to learn more about you and the world beyond this stone, as you know time is short and action must take precedence over talk.”

  “Can I ask just one question?” Kincaid nodded, willing to humor him at least for a time. “How did you and your men come to be here?”

  “The Key,” replied Kincaid. “The same reason you’re here. When Malachias stole the Key, my men and I were given the task of taking it back. It took us years to locate it, then just as long to steal it back from him. Then we ran. The men you see behind me are just a small remnant of the many who began the quest.”

  “Why here in the Distant Islands? And why didn’t the Sylvan Warriors know about the location of the Key?”

  Kincaid studied his nephew, sensing the power and courage within him. Yes, he would do well with the task set before him, regardless of how it may end. “We had nowhere else,” Kincaid answered simply. “Malachias and his servants, one in particular, pursued us relentlessly. Those of us who made it to Afara were all who survived. We were hounded across the Kingdoms by the Shadow Lord and his dark creatures, whittled down as we tried to escape. When we finally did, and at great cost, this seemed to be the best place to make our stand. We expected that Malachias would find us eventually. But apparently not. We truly had escaped, no one knowing what had become of us or the Key.”

  “But why not get a message to Rya or Rynlin? Why not let them know about the Key and where you were?”

  Kincaid’s eyes darkened, and Thomas noticed the change in his soldiers, the visible anger breaking out on many of their faces, their bodies taut. “There was a traitor among the Sylvan Warriors. Whether there still is, I don’t know. That’s why Malachias succeeded in stealing the Key in the first place. We didn’t know who we could trust. So we remained silent, believing that as the years passed memories would fade, giving us an added layer of protection.”

  Kincaid raised his hands, stopping Thomas from asking the next question that waited impatiently on his lips. “We knew the prophecy as well. That the Defender of the Light would find the Key. So we decided to remain hidden from the world, guarding the Key, for when the world had need of it again. And it seems that that time has arrived.”

  Thomas nodded at his uncle’s decision-making, which had stood the test of time. “This might not mean much to you and your soldiers, but thank you for your sacrifice. If Malachias still held the Key …”

  “Then all would be lost,” finished Kincaid. “You are correct about that. You are welcome. Now that we have completed our task, we can finally rest.”

  “The Sentinel that I fought in the other room. I didn’t …”

  “No,” cut in Kincaid, motioning to one of the soldiers at the end of the column, who nodded with the faintest tilt of his head. “You did not kill him. But once you entered the chamber of keys, we needed to test you just to confirm what we suspected.”

  “What was that?”

  “That you’re more than a match for the Lord of the Shadow.”

  Thomas nodded, pleased but made uncomfortable by the praise. “Before I go, may I ask one more question?”

  “Of course. You are the Defender of the Light, and my nephew to boot. Ask what you will.”

  “Do you know how to use the Key to enter Blackstone?”

  For almost a minute the Sentinel captain did not respond. When he did it was the answer that Thomas had expected but didn’t want to hear. “I am sorry, but I do not.”

  Thomas nodded, expecting as much. “Again, my thanks. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Uncle Kincaid. I will bring word of you to Rya and Rynlin.” He then spun on his heel and began to exit the chamber, but he didn’t get far.

  “Before you go there is one other thing that you should kn
ow.” Thomas turned back to Kincaid, the Sentinel’s ghostly presence appearing dimmer, as if each passing second brought the spirit closer to the peace that he craved. “There is more to the Key than what’s said of it in the prophecy. It will help you enter the Lord of the Shadow’s lair, but its power is greater than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Key negates Dark Magic. Destroys it. You have heard of the Well of the Souls?”

  “Yes,” answered Thomas, his thoughts returning to a lesson with Rynlin on a very hot day years in the past. His home had been stuffy, the air barely moving, which was rare on the Isle of Mist. All he had wanted to do was finish his instruction and go to Shark Cove with Beluil for a swim. “I was told that the Well of the Souls could be the source, the receptacle, of the Shadow Lord’s Dark Magic. That during the Great War the Sylvan Warriors had failed to kill the Shadow Lord because they had not found the Well of the Souls. But Rynlin said that it was only a guess, never confirmed, for no one had ever come across the Well of the Souls. Therefore, the thought that it was perhaps more myth than fact, though he had no good way to judge.”

  “That is correct again, Thomas,” replied Kincaid, the spirit’s presence beginning to flicker, its connection to the material world continuing to weaken now that his mission was complete. “But not entirely correct. Remind Rynlin for me when next you see him of that fact. That should annoy him to no end. Remember, if you want to destroy the Shadow Lord, completely and utterly, you must destroy the source of his power, and the Shadow Lord is never far from it for that very reason.”

  “The Well of the Souls.”

  “The Well of the Souls,” agreed Kincaid. “Use the Key to destroy the Well of the Souls.”

  “But how …” Thomas’ words caught in his throat. Kincaid and the Sentinels had disappeared.

  37

  Dragas

  When Thomas emerged from the cave and peered down from the narrow ledge, he realized immediately that something was terribly wrong.

  The Marchers stood in a semicircle with the base of the peak at their backs, Ariel and Kaylie in the middle. Facing them were three huge Dragas. He had last encountered such dark creatures while standing on the Breaker so many months before. Some had thought these massive beasts extinct, not knowing that they had instead remained close to their traditional hunting grounds around Blackstone. As large as a cottage, the Dragas’ sharp claws dug into the stone, wings spread wide as the sun glinted off their black and green scaly hides. Maws gaping, their sharp, needle-point teeth dripped a thick saliva that flickered with a greenish tinge. When the saliva dripped onto the ground, steam rose as it burned into the rock like acid, scarring the stone.

  The Marchers had kept the dark creatures at bay, which Thomas found strange. Not because he doubted the abilities of the men and women who had traveled so far with him, but because these monsters were not known for their patience, demonstrating a ferocious aggressiveness that could rarely be matched by any of the other servants of the Shadow Lord. Yet the massive creatures seemed to be holding back for something, content to keep the Marchers in place. As if they were waiting for him to obtain the Key and then …

  An ear-splitting screech shattered the stillness of the mountains, giving Thomas the little warning that he needed. He leapt from his perch just in time, the claws of a fourth Dragas digging huge furrows into the mountainside and opening the small crevice Thomas had slipped through into a wide gash as pieces of shattered stone fell to the ground several hundred feet below.

  Using the Talent to transform into a kestrel as he fell through the air, Thomas had little time to do anything but evade the massive Dragas that chased after him. Thomas had hoped to go to the aid of Kaylie and his Marchers, seeing out of the corner of his eye the other Dragas launch themselves at their prey now that he had exited the passageway. But he was too busy with his pursuer to assist. Ariel pulled an arrow from her quiver and shot at the black and green blur streaking after him, but to no avail, as the steel tip of the shaft slid off the scales on the Dragas’ foreleg. More arrows followed, again with no effect, the dark creature’s armor protecting it from the excellent marksmanship of the Sylvan Warrior.

  Thomas dodged through the air, hugging the ground, whipping around trees and rocky outcroppings, all in a frantic attempt to evade the Dragas. Due to its size and strength, the Dragas was more direct, simply plowing through the groves of trees and smaller rock formations that dotted the landscape that Thomas attempted to use as an obstacle. As he curled back around to the small clearing, he was both pleased and relieved to see that his Marchers still stood strong, the three Dragas dead, hacked to pieces. That surprised him, even with Kaylie and Ariel there to help through the use of the Talent. But he didn’t have the time to ponder what had prompted such a savage and effective response by his Highlanders.

  A shriek of anger brought Thomas back to the problem that he faced. The Dragas, though slowed initially by Thomas’ attempts at evasion, still remained behind him and was gaining, the dark creature’s needle-sharp teeth nipping at his tail feathers. He knew that eventually his pursuer would catch up to him if he continued in the form of a raptor. So he decided to take a different tack.

  Approaching the edge of the clearing, Thomas quickly transformed back to his human form, sliding to a stop on the rocky plateau. The Dragas screeched in triumph, homing in on its prey. With only seconds to react, Thomas grasped the Talent, preparing to shoot a bolt of energy from his hand toward the huge beast that streaked toward him, sharp claws outstretched and ready to tear him to shreds. But before he could do so, a shard of white hot energy sliced through the Dragas from tail to snout.

  Temporarily blinded by the flash, Thomas dove to the side, the force of the creature’s mass barreling through the air buffeting him, threatening to force him over the edge of the cliff, as he scrabbled away on the rock. Mortally wounded, the beast skidded across the stone, coming to a stop on the very fringe of the precipice. Smoke rose from its carcass where the blazing hot energy Kaylie had released had burned through its armored hide.

  “Thomas, are you alright?”

  Kaylie ran up, pulling him to his feet and then into a crushing hug.

  “I’m fine.” He returned the hug, enjoying the closeness. “What happened with the other Dragas? I saw the three charge you and Oso, but I didn’t see what happened after that. How did you manage to kill them so quickly?”

  Unwilling to let go of Thomas, Kaylie talked into his shoulder, explaining how they were preparing to hold off the beasts for as long as they could while he was in the mountain, but it turned out that they didn’t need to. Before the Dragas could close on the Marchers, some mysterious, invisible attackers killed the dark creatures. The only thing the Marchers could make out, other than the practiced butchery of whatever swarmed the Dragas, was the occasional spark when a blade struck a scale and failed to slide between the hardened armor into the creatures’ soft underbellies.

  “The Sentinels of the Key,” said Thomas. “When I was leaving, the stone statues assigned to defend the Key came to life. They explained a bit of their history. I guess this was their final service to the Kingdoms, making sure that we escaped with the Key.”

  “Perhaps it was,” agreed Ariel, who had approached on quiet feet. She stared at the dead beast just a few feet away with distaste. “Dragas have not flown beyond the Northern Steppes for centuries. We must move quickly now. The Shadow Lord stirs if he has loosed these dark creatures so far to the west.”

  38

  Good News

  Anara stared into the flames of the fire, enjoying the brief moment of peace. The last few weeks had been constant motion, constant decisions, constant adjustments as the Marchers fought to maintain control of the Northern Highlands against ever increasing numbers of dark creatures seeking to gain purchase in the Kingdom. Renn, Seneca and Nestor, the Highland chiefs responsible for distinct fronts of the Marcher defense and who sat across from her, looked just as tired as she felt. But
though exhausted, they were also pleased. So far, the Marchers had held against even the most ferocious attacks, thanks in large part to their allies, a band of legendary warriors who could harness the natural power of the world.

  “It appears that the Ogren have pulled back,” said Rynlin Keldragan. He stood by the flames, allowing the heat to soak into his body on what promised to be a frigid night in the Highlands.

  “Do we know why?” asked Seneca between bites, the grizzled Marcher finishing the first warm meal he had eaten in days.

  “No,” replied Nestor. “But I’m not complaining.”

  The others around the fire murmured their assent, thankful for the respite. Anara watched all of them closely. She had grown to know each of them quite well during the last few weeks as they fought together. At first, when Thomas had charged her with leading the defense of the northern Highlands in his absence, she had balked at the assignment. She knew that she could do it, and do it well, but she didn’t think that the older war chiefs sitting across from her would accept her authority. Nevertheless, despite her doubts, she had acceded to Thomas’ request and taken over responsibility for the Marchers in the north. In the beginning, there had been some tension between her and the Highland chiefs, but that had disappeared swiftly once they saw Anara in action. Whether killing an Ogren opposing her or needing to move Marcher companies over long distances quickly in order to block dark creatures from entering the higher passes, she had proven to be extraordinarily competent at these and any other challenges placed before her. A fact that Renn, Seneca and Nestor had seen demonstrated multiple times, benefited from and now appreciated and respected. So much so that the three Highland chiefs had taken to the orphaned Marcher in a way that she had never expected. Now it seemed like she had three uncles at her back, helping her, guiding her, listening to her, as they held to their difficult duty.