by Wacht, Peter
Catching the faint shift of the Shadow Lord’s robes, Thomas jumped back. Grabbing hold of the Talent, he infused the Sword of the Highlands with the natural magic of the world, raising his weapon above his head. Sparks flew as the Shadow Lord’s blade, darker than night, slashed down and struck Thomas’ blazing white steel. More sparks showered down as steel met steel in a rapid series of strikes, revealing the determination in the eyes of the two combatants as they glided across the tiles.
The Shadow Lord had moved faster than a viper, seemingly crafting his blade from nothing before attacking Thomas. And now all Thomas could do was defend as he moved around the chamber, blocking, parrying and avoiding the Shadow Lord’s incessant assault. Each time the two blades met -- one black, one white -- a shower of sparks lit the surrounding shadows before falling onto the checkered floor.
Kaylie watched agonizingly, wishing that she could help. But knowing that even if she weren’t held by the Shadow Lord’s Dark Magic, her interference could only hinder Thomas, who appeared to be hanging on by a thread.
Thomas fought valiantly, but the Shadow Lord was faster than any opponent he had ever faced, even the spirits of the many warriors from the past that his grandfather had raised from the afterlife for his training. All he could do was concentrate on protecting himself, on keeping that cursed black blade from slicing into his flesh, and that was becoming more and more difficult by the second. Each of the Shadow Lord’s slashes, cuts and lunges kept him off balance, oftentimes Thomas’ blade coming up barely in time to keep his adversary’s black steel, a steel that he could only see because it was darker than the gloom of the room, from burying itself in his body.
He realized that he needed to change his tactics rather than continue as a practice dummy for the Shadow Lord. Otherwise, his fate was sealed. He thought back to his instructors, the spirits of warriors’ past. All had given excellent advice. Yet one stood out. His first blademaster. Antonin, First Spear of the Carthanians. He had fought more than a thousand duels, and he had admitted that there were times that the opponents he faced were better fighters than he was, either faster, stronger, more skilled, or all three. Nevertheless, Antonin had always prevailed. Not because he was a better fighter, but because he was more flexible. His opponents knew one way to fight, but Antonin was not chained to any one method or style. He would use all that he had learned from the men and women he had fought in single combat to his advantage.
Thomas remembered something that Antonin had explained to him during one of their first lessons together, the words offered by his reticent instructor having stuck with him: “You are a Kestrel, and you are a Keldragan. The families have two histories, yet you are the connection between the two. You can take the best of both and make it work for you. So it is in the training circle. Do not stay wedded to a single way to attack or defend. Be flexible. Take the best of what you face in the circle and make it work for you.”
Thomas raised his blade one more time, taking the full weight of the Shadow Lord’s steel on his own sword, the sparks caused by the metal meeting brightening the chamber for just an instant with each flash. But instead of backing away as he had been doing, Thomas ducked and drove forward with his shoulder, catching the Shadow Lord in the chest and pushing him back. Thomas followed that with a quick slash, forcing the Shadow Lord back once more, before launching himself forward, a quick lunge turning into a sweeping cut for the Shadow Lord’s legs.
The Shadow Lord slid back, shocked by the turn of events. His irritation increased as he caught sight of Thomas standing there calmly, watching him, measuring him, and apparently not too concerned by what he saw. The Shadow Lord’s simmering anger built to a roaring fire of rage as the boy who stood before him, the boy who should have died so long ago, had the audacity to smile.
The Shadow Lord leapt to the attack once more, black blade seeking Thomas’ heart, his speed incredible, so fast, in fact, that from Kaylie’s perspective the Shadow Lord’s onslaught was no more than a blur, her eyes scarcely able to follow the movement. To her amazement, Thomas easily stepped aside. Then he did so again. And again. As the Shadow Lord continued his futile assault, his blade striking out faster than a snake, and only catching air, Thomas dodged and weaved across the black and white tile of the floor, looking as if he knew what the Shadow Lord was going to do before the Shadow Lord did. Rather than defending, he simply sought to evade, not having any need to raise his blade.
Frustrated after a series of useless lunges and slashes, the Shadow Lord growled and charged once more, raising his blade for a downward blow that should have taken Thomas’ head. But his quarry wasn’t there. Thomas had already moved, raising his blade simply to deflect the strike. Again and again, the Shadow Lord sought to plunge his steel into Thomas’ chest, but his black blade never reached its target. And each time he missed, the Shadow Lord’s fury boiled all the more, for he saw that this boy who played at being a Sylvan Warrior had closed his eyes and had the gall to taunt him, to play with him like a child with a toy.
The Shadow Lord did not realize that Thomas had expanded his use of the Talent during the duel, not only infusing his blade, but now also using the natural magic of the world to extend his senses much like he did when he battled the Sentinel for the right to bear the Key. Thomas had been so fixated on the Shadow Lord’s black blade, remembering his dream of that very sword being driven into his side so many times in the past, that he had almost lost the combat before it had begun.
But he had remembered his training and the times that Antonin had required that he fight with a scarf tied around his eyes, forcing him to rely solely on his senses and intuition. And he remembered that when he did so, he had fought better because he no longer thought, which took too much time against some opponents, but instead simply acted, permitting his instincts and the Talent to guide him.
As he did that now, he could tell much to his satisfaction that the Shadow Lord’s frustration was building, which meant that Thomas had chosen the right course. Waiting. Being patient. Allowing the Shadow Lord to enrage himself. Seeking that one opening that would give him a chance at victory.
Relying only on the power flowing within him and his senses, Thomas drifted across the chamber. His eyes closed, his impulses leading him, Thomas found that he could easily avoid the Shadow Lord’s unceasing attacks. Whether a lunge or a sweeping cut, Thomas danced away, sometimes raising his blade to defend, sometimes not. But always watching for that one opportunity that he needed.
Then he saw it. The Shadow Lord had overextended his last thrust, trying to cleave Thomas in half with a two-handed blow. His adversary was off balance, the black blade striking a white tile and gouging it deeply, sparks flying and illuminating the shadows for just a second.
Instead of moving away as he had done so many times in the past, Thomas ducked and rolled, then immediately lunged forward himself, the Shadow Lord barely deflecting the blazing white blade as Thomas sought to bury the steel in his heart. The Shadow Lord stumbled back, no longer gliding effortlessly across the chamber, as Thomas continued to press his attack.
Now, it was Thomas’ blade that was a blur, the Shadow Lord raising his own just in time to stop the blazing white steel from connecting. Lunging, slashing, jabbing, Thomas refused to let up, knowing that this could be his only chance. His only opportunity to defeat his adversary. His only possibility for survival. His blade was getting closer and closer to the Shadow Lord, who struggled against the speed of Thomas’ assault. Sparks flew with every strike, the white and black blades meeting time after time as Thomas pushed the Shadow Lord around the circular chamber, forcing him back against the chamber’s stone wall, never giving his nemesis the time to recover.
Then Thomas opened his eyes in shock. He had moved instinctually, not thinking, simply doing. The Shadow Lord stood right in front of him, the Sword of the Highlands driven into his chest, the power of Thomas’ lunge so strong that the burning white blade had sunk a foot into the wall.
The Shadow Lor
d’s blazing red eyes had dimmed, now no more than banked cinders. As the seconds passed and Thomas’ shock turned to realization, the Shadow Lord’s softly burning embers gradually turned to black, the fire gone.
Thomas stood there for a moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then he pulled out his blade from the stone, allowing the Shadow Lord to slide off the point and slump against the chamber wall. The Shadow Lord, his greatest enemy, his greatest fear, was no more.
57
Blazing White Light
Kaylie ran to Thomas, the Shadow Lord’s demise releasing her from the Dark Magic that had held her in place. She threw her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.
“Thomas, I can’t believe you …” She couldn’t find the words that she wanted, still too shocked by what had happened. Thomas had killed a creature that supposedly couldn’t be killed.
“I know. Neither can I.” He held her tightly, relishing the feel of her body against his own.
Hands on his chest, Kaylie pushed back from Thomas, gazing up into his bright green eyes that glowed in the murky dark. “You defeated the Shadow Lord. You did it.” Gripping his shirt tightly, Kaylie pulled Thomas closer, kissing him deeply.
For a moment, Thomas lost himself in the feel of Kaylie’s lips. Then he smiled. “Later. We need to go.”
Thomas looked one more time at the Shadow Lord’s body, slumped against the wall. In a matter of minutes what had once been a terrifying face had become all too human, the blood-red eyes closed. The remains brought to mind what happened through a Shade’s kiss. The energy had been sucked from the body, leaving a dry, desiccated husk in its place. Yet despite his success, Thomas didn’t feel victorious. Rather, he felt like his work was incomplete. That there was still more to do, and it had nothing to do with the Dark Horde marching toward the Breaker and the Kingdoms beyond, but he didn’t know what it was that bothered him. He turned to leave, sword still in one hand, his other hand in Kaylie’s, when a harsh laughter filled the chamber. Thomas’ blood ran cold.
“You thought it would be that easy, boy?” The deep, bloodcurdling voice echoed around the Shadow Lord’s throne room. “You are more of a fool than I thought. You have taken my body, boy, but not me. Never me. Our duel is not yet done.”
Thomas looked up toward the chamber’s obscured ceiling, finding the source of the voice. A roiling black shadow darker than the surrounding gloom swirled angrily above him.
“You thought that a steel blade could kill me?” asked the raspy voice. “After all that I have survived? I have lived for millennia. Steel can’t kill me. You can’t kill me!” In the midst of the swirling mass, two blood-red pinpricks blazed fiercely. “But I can kill you!”
Having a good idea of what the Shadow Lord was about to do, Thomas grabbed hold of the Talent. Pulling Kaylie close, he formed a shield of white energy that expanded around them. It resembled the dome barrier that his grandparents had constructed when he battled the ancient dark creature the Shadow Lord had set upon him when his Marchers fought Rodric and the Armaghian army for supremacy in the Highlands. The barricade took shape just in time. The mist and shadow that the Shadow Lord had become, his corporeal body destroyed, surged down toward them. The blackness tried to consume them, smashing itself against the shield, pushing and probing incessantly along its length, looking for a weakness, searching for a way through the barrier. It took all of Thomas’ strength and focus to maintain their protection, understanding the likely outcome if he failed.
For several minutes, the battle raged. The Shadow Lord explored and prodded, whipping around Thomas’ defensive shield faster and faster, seeking a crack or weakness that he could exploit. Yet Thomas’ protective barrier held, flashes of bright white revealing when the Shadow Lord sought to force a way through with his Dark Magic.
“Well done, boy,” said the Shadow Lord, the black mist pulling back from its attack after several minutes of failure. “But you won’t be able to hold me back forever. As you weaken, I only grow stronger here. Here my power cannot be challenged. You will die this day. Both of you.”
It was then that a dark shadow detached itself from a column behind Thomas and Kaylie. Thomas couldn’t turn to see what approached, needing to maintain his complete concentration on his shield in order to keep the Shadow Lord at bay. But Kaylie did glance behind them, catching the movement, and watching the smoky form materialize into Ragin Tessaril, son of the former High King. Although the robed figure’s face was waxy and pale, the terrible, disfiguring scar was unmistakable.
“You are mine, coward!” he shouted at Thomas’ back. “You will pay for what you did to me!” The former Prince of Armagh ran a hand across the weeping scar that started where his right eye used to be and ended below his jaw.
A shard of black energy shot from his other hand, aimed straight for the distracted Thomas. Kaylie reacted without even thinking, placing herself in front of Thomas’ unprotected back and forming a small shield of white energy on her forearm that she used to deflect the Dark Magic.
“No!” raged Ragin. “The old man stopped me once before. Try as you might, Kaylie, you cannot stop me. If you do not step away, I will destroy you and then him.”
Maintaining her shield, Kaylie rose to her full height, placing herself squarely between Ragin and Thomas.
“You cannot have him,” replied Kaylie coldly. “If you want him, then you must come through me first.”
“So that’s the way of it,” hissed Ragin. “You’re more of a fool than he is.”
A pitch-black fog began swirling around Ragin’s hands, faster and faster, the constant motion almost spellbinding. Then a black ball of energy no larger than Ragin’s fist shot toward Kaylie. Using the shield on her forearm, she deflected the attack, the sphere of black energy crashing into the wall, blowing out several of the large stones and allowing more of the dim grey of the morning into the chamber.
“That’s the best that you can do?” asked Kaylie contemptuously. “You sell yourself to the Shadow Lord and that’s all you received in return?”
A maniacal laugh burst from Ragin’s throat. “Actually, no. I can do so much more.”
Another ball of black energy shot from Ragin’s fist, and then another, and another, until it seemed to become a constant stream of hand-sized spheres that shot toward Kaylie. The Princess of Fal Carrach stood there calmly, confident in her knowledge and abilities. She used her shield to take the brunt of the attack, parrying each ball of energy as she did the first, the Dark Magic blasting more and more holes through the walls and the resulting light brightening the Shadow Lord’s throne room. But she quickly grew tired of the game, Ragin demonstrating a singlemindedness and lack of creativity that had plagued him well before the Shadow Lord had granted him the ability to use Dark Magic. Kaylie then smiled as she made a critical discovery. She was stronger than Ragin and more skilled. Even with his Dark Magic, he was no match for her.
That realization filled her with a strength of will and purpose that she meant to put to good use. Turning the angle of her shield, the next ball of black energy Ragin shot toward her rebounded right back at him, forcing him to dodge out of the way, the Dark Magic blasting through the column behind him and then out through the far wall. Shocked, Ragin shot another ball of black energy toward Kaylie, which she just as quickly sent right back toward him, Ragin once again diving out of the way just in time.
“You made a mistake, Ragin.”
“What would that be?” he wheezed, rising to his feet with some effort and then dusting himself off.
“You’ve made me angry.”
A stream of white-hot energy burst from Kaylie’s hands, surging toward Ragin, who formed a swirling shield of black to defend against Kaylie’s attack. Unimpressed with his response, she maintained her assault while increasing its intensity, thereby requiring Ragin to focus solely on maintaining the integrity of his shield. Kaylie used that to her advantage now that she had his undivided attention, walking toward Ragin, the
strength of her attack increasing with each step, until she stood no more than a few feet from him. She could see the strain on his face as he struggled to hold back the power that she threw against him. And then she did something that drained what little color remained from Ragin’s sickly countenance, leaving him stricken as if he had just lost the most important thing in the world to him. Because he had.
Making use of the skill Ariel had shown her just weeks before on the Distant Islands, she used the Talent to cut Ragin’s link to the Dark Magic gifted to him by the Shadow Lord. Ragin’s face fell, shock his only visible emotion. But the former Prince of Armagh’s hate remained. Ragin reached for the sword at his hip, but Kaylie was faster. Pulling the dagger that Thomas had given her from where she had hidden it in the side of her boot, she drove the blue steel into Ragin’s stomach, then stepped back.
Ragin’s frantic efforts to pull his own blade free from the tangle of his robes stopped, his hands going to his belly as he tried to keep the dark red blood from spilling out onto the tiled floor. But he was destined to fail. What little color remained in Ragin’s face drained away as he dropped to his knees, his life seeping out to stain a large white tile.
“You can’t …” It was all that Ragin could say as his eyes glazed over, his world beginning to go dark. Everything that he had sacrificed for this one chance to kill his tormentor, selling his very soul, all for naught. First, stopped by an old man, and now by a girl. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t …
“I did,” said Kaylie quietly, at first unsettled by what she had just done, but then pushing that remorse to the side, knowing that she had no choice. That Thomas would be dead otherwise.