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

by Wacht, Peter

  “Something that Daran doesn’t expect.”

  40

  Combat

  Daran maintained his assault on Thomas knowing that based on his past efforts trying to defeat the Highland Lord in a duel would be a risk, and perhaps one that could cost him his life. Though the veteran Sylvan Warrior had the edge in experience, Thomas was stronger than he was in the Talent, so he did not take any unnecessary chances. Daran’s job was to delay and allow events to move forward as he had been instructed.

  Therefore, Daran was quite content to maintain his current position, using his power to keep his adversary at a distance. Thomas’ focus on not only the girl but also himself forced him to concentrate on their defense, making Daran’s task easier as the minutes passed and the appointed time grew closer. He didn’t need to defeat Thomas with the Talent. He just needed to keep him backed up against the dome that he had created.

  But then the situation changed, and not for the better. Daran had never known that the Princess of Fal Carrach had the Talent within her, nor that she had any training. He began to worry as he watched her craft a shield similar to the one Thomas was using to hold off his own attack. And then Daran had no time to do anything but defend himself.

  Thomas released his shield, sending his own spears of blazing white energy toward the traitorous Sylvan Warrior. Daran’s attack faltered as he struggled to protect himself from the ferocity of Thomas’ assault. Seeing his former friend scrambling to respond, Thomas pressed forward, hoping to overwhelm his adversary with brute force.

  Angry at Daran’s betrayal, Thomas fought now in a cold, seething fury. Angry at the loss of so many Sylvan Warriors because of one person’s greed. Angry at unknowingly having put Kaylie in danger.

  Confident that Kaylie was safe behind her shield, he redoubled his efforts, forcing Daran back against the magical barrier. Bolts of white-hot energy followed lightning strikes, then a blinding swirl of energy rushed toward the red-haired Sylvan Warrior. Each attack pushed Daran toward the far side of the dome, away from Kaylie, which was Thomas’ goal.

  Abruptly, Thomas stopped his attack. He stood there calmly, staring at Daran with contempt. The only sign of the emotion roiling within him was his tightly clenched hands held down to his sides. The traitorous Sylvan Warrior also released his hold on the Talent, letting his shield drop.

  “So was it worth it?” asked Thomas. “To come to this point?”

  Daran struggled to catch his breath. Defending against Thomas’ attack had drained him. He had attempted to kill Thomas twice before without success, but in this very moment he realized that he could never expect to defeat him in a fair combat. Thomas was too strong. Too determined. Too tenacious. Daran’s greater experience in the Talent, and his additional powers in Dark Magic granted to him by the Shadow Lord, meant nothing in this fight.

  Daran laughed, his irrepressible personality forcing its way to the surface despite the dire circumstances that he faced. “Probably not,” he replied. “But sometimes in life you make bad choices. Or perhaps they are choices that aren’t really choices. Who can really say? No matter. In the end, you pay for them for the rest of your life.”

  Thomas ignored Daran’s attempted rationalization. “You were my grandfather’s best friend.”

  “Aye. Your grandfather’s a good man, and I’ve always liked you, lad. I’m sorry it’s come to this. But as I said, bad choices and all.”

  In a flash, Daran called on his Dark Magic for the first time, crafting a staff made of pulsating black energy and swinging for Thomas’ head. Thomas created his own staff from the Talent, blocking the blow. They moved around the dome much like the gladiators of old, attacking and defending often in the same motion, the glowing staffs of energy -- one a pulsing black, the other a blinding white -- sparking whenever the Dark Magic and the Talent connected.

  The Marchers watched in fascination, never having seen two opponents move so fast. The Sylvan Warriors fought at such a speed that often Oso and the other Highlanders could only catch the blur of movement, the only sign of engagement the sparks cascading in the moonlight when the staffs struck one another.

  Kaylie remained where she was, keeping her shield in front of her to protect against the stray bolts of energy that ricocheted through the dome whenever the two staffs met. She knew that Thomas was stronger in the Talent, but she still worried for him. She desperately wanted to help, but acknowledged reluctantly that attempting to do so in the middle of such a duel could be deadly for Thomas if he were distracted by whatever she tried to do.

  The fight continued as the minutes passed, Thomas and Daran spinning and gliding around the dome as they engaged in a deadly dance. Yet those watching could see that Thomas was having the better of it. He had forced Daran back against the dome, his unceasing aggression keeping the traitorous Sylvan Warrior on the defensive. Thomas continued to batter at Daran, knowing that with every blow of his staff, another ounce of strength drained away from his opponent.

  “Thomas, enough!” Daran released his Dark Magic, his staff blinking out, and he fell to one knee. Sweat poured off the Sylvan Warrior, soaking his clothes despite the cold. He looked wan and pale, his efforts to defend himself having taken a heavy toll.

  Thomas stepped back, though he kept hold of the staff.

  “What now, Daran? You have nowhere to go. The only thing keeping me from killing you right now is the friendship that we once had.”

  “And for that I’m thankful,” huffed Daran, trying to catch his breath. “You’ve proven yourself once again. But unfortunately for you, I assumed that you would make this incredibly difficult. So I figured that I would need some help.”

  Daran looked up and Thomas followed his gaze. What Thomas saw turned his blood cold.

  Thomas hadn’t realized that Daran had reshaped the dome, eliminating the top but keeping the walls in place to keep the Marchers out. Streaking through the opening came three Dragas, their huge, leathery wings fully extended as the dark creatures descended through the air until their three-toed claws dug into the rocky soil. Thomas cursed himself for a fool. He should have expected as much from Daran, knowing that his former friend’s own survival was always foremost in his mind. Even worse, these Dragas were larger than the ones he and the Marchers had faced when claiming the Key, and this time he didn’t have the Sentinels to help him.

  41

  Taken

  “Thomas!” screamed Kaylie, as she saw the three Dragas glide through the opening in the dome, venomous saliva dripping from their jaws to scar the earth beneath them.

  The Marchers began to pound on the translucent shield once more, seeking to aid their friend and leader. But it was wasted effort. They had no way to break through the magical barrier.

  “Malachias, I’m glad you made it,” said Daran. “Otherwise this boy would be the death of me.” The Sylvan Warrior laughed at his own macabre sense of humor.

  Thomas stood in front of the three Dragas, the massive beasts surveying the man who dared to challenge them without a hint of fear. He saw the hunger in their eyes, the stench of their rancid, poisonous breath turning his stomach. Thomas shivered upon seeing the tall man on the back of one of the Dragas, a saddle tied around its belly. The robed figure’s bald pate gleamed, his cadaverous face appearing all the more skeletal in the moonlight. Even in the darkness, Thomas couldn’t miss the blackness of Malachias’ eyes. Yet he refused to back down.

  “So once again this is the one giving us so much trouble,” Malachias said in a brittle whisper that carried within the silence of the dome.

  “Aye. The Lord of the Highlands himself.”

  Malachias stared malevolently at Thomas for a moment, seemingly assessing him in an instant.

  “How did you break free from the collar, boy? No one’s ever succeeded in doing that.”

  “I think I’ll keep that to myself.”

  “Probably a wise decision,” muttered Malachias. “It doesn’t need to end this way, boy. Chained or not, think about wh
at we discussed when last we faced one another. If you challenge my master, your fate is sealed. There are other paths from which to choose.”

  Thomas shook his head, a look of determination settling on his face. “There is only one path.”

  Malachias grunted in disgust. He had expected such a response. The boy was a predictable fool, but a dangerous fool.

  “There was no need to kill the Princess of Armagh. She was a useful tool.”

  “I didn’t kill her,” replied Thomas. “She killed herself when she threw her lot in with you and your master.”

  Grunting again in response to Thomas’ comment, Malachias finally turned his attention back to Daran Sharban. “For someone as clever as you, you were going about this all wrong, Sylvan Warrior.” He bit off the last few words as if they tasted badly.

  “Really? How so?” asked Daran, standing unsteadily as the massive pull on the Talent that he needed to form the protective dome and take on Thomas had left him weak and unsteady.

  “As we expected, the boy is made of steel. So the key to defeating this one is the girl.”

  With an unseen command, one of the riderless Dragas charged toward Kaylie, screaming in rage and hunger. Thomas sprinted toward her, but he knew that he couldn’t get there in time. The Dragas was too fast.

  Having little opportunity to respond, Kaylie’s training with Kael and Rya took over. She moved based on instinct rather than thought. Whipping out her sword, she infused the blade with the Talent, thankful that Rya had made her practice this skill hundreds of times before she was satisfied that Kaylie had mastered the task.

  The Dragas sped toward her, claws tearing up the rocky ground, mouth agape, teeth the length of a man’s forearm shining in the moonlight and large enough to take her in one bite. Kaylie waited until the dark creature was almost upon her before she swung down, then slid to the side. Her blazing blade sliced through the tough hide of the Dragas like a knife through butter, taking off a large portion of its lower jaw.

  The beast screamed in anger and pain, rising up on its hind legs to get away from the prey that had chosen to fight back and injured it so grievously. That’s when Thomas struck. Using the staff made of white energy, he swung through the back of the creature’s hind leg. He heard the satisfying crunch of bones breaking as the dark creature pitched forward, its damaged leg unable to support the weight of its upper body. Thomas then leapt up, using the Dragas’ collapsing body as a way to launch himself up into the air so that he could bring the staff down once again, this time on the beast’s left wing. Once more he heard the rewarding sound of breaking bones.

  The Dragas collapsed to the ground, blinded by a pain that was now accompanied by fear. It had never been bested and had never expected to be. But now it was helpless as it writhed on the dry grass in mind-numbing agony.

  Kaylie stepped forward with her sword and brought the blade down on its skull, the magicked steel sliding into its brain and killing the wounded beast.

  Yet Thomas and Kaylie had no time to savor their victory. Malachias used the attack by the Dragas to craft his own ambush, pulling on his Dark Magic and sending a shard of corrupted black energy toward Thomas. Focused on helping Kaylie, Thomas turned at the last second. He brought his staff up in an attempt to block the attack, but he was only able to deflect a small portion of Malachias’ strike.

  The Dark Magic cut into his side and blasted Thomas backward, slamming him against the dome of energy that continued to keep the Marchers from the fight. He slid to the ground and lay there in a crumpled mess, not moving.

  “Thomas!” screamed Kaylie. Dropping her blade and releasing the Talent, she sprinted toward him. His clothes and hair sizzled from the Dark Magic that had burned through him. His eyes were closed, parts of his skin scorched, and he wasn’t breathing. “Thomas! Thomas!”

  Kaylie pulled him into a hug, attempting to wake him, desperate to see his eyes open. But he didn’t move, his body limp. The Dark Magic had torn through Thomas, sucking the life from him much like the kiss of a Shade. Kaylie pulled Thomas closer, trying to will life back into him, her tears dripping down onto his face as the realization of what had just happened slammed into her like a wave crashing onto the shore.

  “As I said, the boy’s weakness is the girl. A distraction, and a useful one at that.”

  “Indeed,” said Daran. “You were right.”

  Daran stared at the girl, but even more so at Thomas. He had known Thomas since he was a child and had spent more time with him than he could recall through his friendship with Rynlin and Rya. And now that boy was gone, his life taken. One decision on his part, Daran thought. One bad decision, and it had all led to this.

  “Take the girl,” said Malachias. “She could prove useful still. And find the Key.”

  For a moment, Daran thought about resisting, of finally fighting back. But he knew that the time for that had come and gone as he pushed that brief defiance from his mind. It was pointless. There was nothing that he could do now. The only thing that he could achieve by refusing was his own death.

  Approaching Kaylie, Daran pulled her away from Thomas. Inconsolable, she struggled violently, not wanting to leave him. Using his Dark Magic, a touch to her forehead ended her struggles and put her to sleep. But in doing so, he realized that his worsening weakness was turning into exhaustion, his power beginning to fail. Looking up he observed that the dome of energy had begun to flicker, and through the haze he could see the Marchers more clearly now. Staring at him. Intent. Waiting for the barrier to fail. Waiting to exact their revenge upon him. If the magical shell fell before he was away, he wouldn’t have the strength to mount a defense. Acknowledging the risk of the decision he was about to make, Daran quickly looked down at Thomas’ body, sprawled in the dirt and grass. Thomas could have the Key on him. Then again, perhaps he did not. Daran tried to convince himself of that possibility, knowing that it was a foolish and unlikely thought. Did he have the time to search the body? A sharp crack to his left decided it for him. The dome of energy was about to fail, the once translucent haze flickering faster and faster. It was only a matter of seconds before it disintegrated.

  Shaking his head in frustration, Daran carried Kaylie to the Dragas, laying her across the front of his saddle before hopping onto the beast. As the two Dragas launched themselves into the air, the traitorous Sylvan Warrior released his control over the shield, and the wall of energy dissipated.

  Daran didn’t bother to look back as they winged their way into the chill of the night. He didn’t need to see the Marchers finally come forward in silence to stand around their fallen lord. He had liked Thomas, thinking of him as a nephew. But that was in the past now, better just to let it go. For the Highland Lord was finally dead and the Shadow Lord and the Dark Horde now had an open path to the Kingdoms.

  42

  Imprisoned

  Kaylie awoke over the northern Highlands, the cold night air scraping across her face and forcing her eyes open. She struggled to regain consciousness for several minutes, fighting through a groggy haze that made it difficult to focus or think, her memory no better than a jumble of disparate impressions. Finally, she recalled what had happened, the terrible events of the early morning all crashing down upon her like a monstrous wave on the shore. The Dragas. The treachery. Malachias. Thomas. When it all returned to her, she jolted from her confused state of mind to one of instant terror. She struggled frantically, trying to escape. Trying to do something. But she could barely move, and she was soon thankful for that. If not for the leather straps Daran had used to tie her to the saddle, she would have fallen to the peaks far below.

  She shivered more from her fear than from the cold as the full weight of her predicament struck home. The Dragas glided easily through the sky, their powerful wings pushing them across the Highlands then out over the Northern Steppes. Though the massive dark creatures frightened her, she took solace in the fact that she had killed a Dragas, one on her own in the Distant Islands and one with Thomas’ help, b
ut she did nonetheless drive her sword through the beast’s skull. So these monsters could be killed. But could her captor? The figure riding to her right, bald and sharp featured, a fetid grey robe flapping in the wind, terrified her even more than a Dragas.

  The man whose eyes resembled swirling pools of black gave off a trace of ancient menace. The one named Malachias. He had looked at her the instant that she had awakened, knowing immediately when she had returned to her senses, a predatory glint in his eye. It felt as if the skeletal figure were undressing her, but not in the way Daran did. The traitorous Sylvan Warrior seemed to take particular pleasure in the fact that she rode in front of him. His hands had settled around her waist now that she was awake, and she knew his actions weren’t designed to keep her in her seat. She had experience in dealing with that kind of predator, but not with one such as Malachias, whose needs appeared to have transcended the demands of the flesh.

  When Daran looked at her, she knew that he saw her as a prize, as something for him to use so long as he desired and then discard when he was done. But when Malachias looked at her he stripped her inner self bare. It felt like he had evaluated her soul and in seconds determined how he could use her to his advantage. If her assessment was accurate, she didn’t know if she had the strength or courage to deal with a creature such as him.

  Malachias had taken her for a reason, a reason that she didn’t want to think about but was all too obvious as the burnt ash of the Charnel Mountains replaced the dead grass and scrub of the Northern Steppes flowing beneath them in the bright moonlight. The hills below her quickly turned into towering mountains that seemed to challenge the soaring peaks of the Highlands for hegemony, her fears increasing tenfold.

  She reached for the Talent, desperately hoping to feel its familiar touch, but her anguish only deepened. Her thoughts were still too muddled to do anything but confirm that her skill in molding the natural power of the world remained, but was just beyond her reach. Several times she tried to concentrate, to break through whatever impediment kept her from feeling the familiar warmth of the Talent flowing through her, but her mind continued to drift, as she was still muzzy from whatever Daran had done to her.