by Wacht, Peter
Thomas maintained his control over the Talent, Rynlin and Rya riding next to him and protecting him as he directed the massive amount of natural power that was available to him thanks to the efforts of the Sylvan Warriors and their unicorns. To Kaylie, the continuity of the assault resembled a dance with a distinct rhythm, the first strike tearing through the ranks of dark creatures in front of the Sylvan Warriors, the second falling just beyond to sow confusion and fear and provide the attackers with space to drive their unicorns into the massive host of dark creatures.
The strikes of white lightning slammed into the ground, causing great geysers of dirt and rock to be blasted hundreds of feet into the air along with dozens of Ogren and Shades each time a bolt hit. The leading wedge of Sylvana swept through the few servants of the Shadow Lord that remained standing, swords slashing down to bite into flesh, lopping off heads, arms and legs, and driving their blades through chests. When there were too many dark creatures for the unicorns to skewer with their blazing horns, the colossal equines, which rivaled an Ogren in height, simply lowered their shoulders and trampled the dark creatures as they strove to maintain the momentum of their charge.
In a matter of minutes, the Sylvan Warriors had left a wide swath of destruction in their wake, the broken, dead and dying Ogren, Shades and other dark creatures littering the grass of the Northern Steppes. A small but organized band of several hundred riders, making use of the Talent, steel and an overriding purpose and strength, had decimated the once overwhelming power of the Dark Horde.
Yet as the Sylvan Warriors drew inexorably closer to the Breaker, its intimidating expanse towering above them, Thomas realized that the utility of their current strategy was diminishing as the chances of getting bogged down in the midst of the confused and terrified dark creatures increased. The decreasing space in front of the Sylvana, combined with the dark creatures packed within it, had begun to impede their assault. And Thomas understood that continued movement was essential. If the Sylvan Warriors became mired in the seething mass of dark creatures, they would lose the advantages that they enjoyed presently and risk defeat. Thomas quickly decided on a new approach when he caught the glint of steel reflecting off the sun at the very fringes of the battlefield. Guessing at what Gregory had planned and hoping that he was right, Thomas issued new orders.
“Rya, swing right, push to the hills! Rynlin, swing left! We have some friends there who’d like to join the fun.”
Thomas’ grandparents, having a good idea of what their grandson had in mind, moved quickly to comply. With a dastardly grin Rynlin issued the necessary order, the two wedges on Thomas’ left swinging more sharply in that direction; the two on the right doing the same under Rya’s command.
The creatures of the Dark Horde were slow to respond as the Sylvan Warriors broke their two wedges in half, each now charging away from the other and pushing for the hills and thickets lining their flanks. The Ogren and Shades struggled to reform their defensive lines on each side as the Sylvan Warriors slammed into them. Yet the maneuver had done more than take the dark creatures by surprise. It had also opened a path toward the Breaker as Malachias tried to split his own force to respond to the change in tactics with the hope of using the knolls that bordered the battlefield on each side as an additional barrier.
But it was Malachias’ corresponding adjustment that played right into Thomas’ hands. Releasing his hold over the Talent, he returned individual control of the natural magic of the world to his peers, who quickly made use of it to continue their attack. Thomas communicated silently with Acero, who galloped forward, head down, massive horn leading the way, driving through any dark creature too slow to escape his charge.
Rynlin and Rya could spring the trap. Thomas had a different objective now. Malachias and Rodric sat their horses just a few hundred yards to his front with nothing but a few Ogren in his way.
71
From the Flanks
Chuma, appointed leader of the four Desert Clans, had watched the expanding battle with increasing worry, as he and his fighters hid among the hills and sparse forests that flanked the battlefield on each side. The Dark Horde had grown larger and larger with each passing hour and with each attack had demonstrated that eventually the Breaker would fall. It was inevitable. At first, he thought that whoever led the Dark Horde would send scouting parties down the flanks of the ground selected for the assault to ensure that no enemies lay in wait for the arrival of the Shadow Lord’s servants. But then he realized that wasn’t going to happen, in large part because of those few Sylvan Warriors tasked with helping the defenders of the Breaker using the Talent to help maintain the illusion that the barren and desolate knolls and barrows remained no more than that. Besides, who would be foolish enough to try to ambush dark creatures on this side of the Breaker? Yet as the hours passed, and he saw the Ogren wearing their specially made armor begin to scale the towering wall and exert greater pressure on the soldiers atop the parapet, his worry only intensified.
How could King Gregory and his fighters hold against such a powerful force? Chuma cursed himself for his doubt. There were no other choices left to them. There was nothing to do but fight. If the Dark Horde broke through, it was only a matter of time before every single Kingdom fell, including the Clanwar Desert. The empire of old would return, but this time ruled by the creatures of the dark.
When the horn blew from the top of the Breaker, his consternation almost got the better of him as the following silence stretched on, each passing second feeling like a year. His worry vanished when he heard the Sylvan Warriors respond. Thomas had survived! Confirmation of his young friend’s success came quickly with the sounds of battle coming from the rear of the Dark Horde. For the first time in centuries, the Sylvan Warriors had answered the call.
Knowing that the time to engage was fast approaching, Chuma sent orders down the line to his riders, who remained carefully secreted within the folds and nooks of the hills. Using a mirror, one of his men flashed his commands to the Desert Clans waiting on the far side of the battlefield. As a result, his men were already moving into position before the runner sent by Gregory of Fal Carrach reached him. Then they waited anxiously for several more minutes. The Dark Horde’s attack on the Breaker had faltered and then come to an end, the dark creatures focused on what was coming at them from the rear, their thoughts shifting from victory and conquest to sheer survival.
Chuma sat his horse as calmly as he could, refusing to allow his increasing tension to show in his features. His men struggled to do the same. From where they now sat their mounts, hidden from view, they had a clear line of sight to the fight enfolding on the plains, watching with great interest and itching to join the battle and strike into the heart of the Dark Horde.
That desire only increased when they saw the Sylvan Warriors come into view, the two wedges of legendary fighters driving through the Dark Horde in an unstoppable charge. The desert soldiers were amazed at the damage that so few could cause and were energized by the success of their allies.
Yet Chuma still waited. Outwardly calm but for his fingers tapping unconsciously on the horn of his saddle, inwardly his guts turned flips. After several more agonizing minutes, Chuma smiled. Thomas had seen them. The Sylvan Warriors had split their wedges into two lines that now pushed the Dark Horde toward the hills flanking the battleground, forcing the dark creatures to set their rear to his front. It was the perfect opportunity, his enemies completely unaware of the new danger that lurked behind them.
Chuma ordered another message to be sent to the Desert Clans on the other side of the battlefield, then he pulled his sword from his scabbard and raised it above his head. His bellow carried all the way down the line of impatient fighters.
“Ride soldiers of the desert! Ride to victory!”
Urging his horse forward, he was at a full gallop within seconds, and he knew that thousands of desert soldiers rode at his back. He was no more than a few dozen yards away from the unsuspecting dark creatures when he lowe
red his sword and lined it up with the back of a huge Ogren, and then he issued his final command.
“Ride to the Highland Lord!”
72
Tightening Vise
The Sylvan Warriors wasted little time in continuing their assault as the attacking wedges split into two wings. Once again in control of their Talent, the second line of riders called forth their natural magic, using the horns of their unicorns to magnify the power that they could control a hundredfold. The swarm of dark creatures reeled in shock and dismay, more and more of their number destroyed as each second passed. Now was the time to finish the fight, and the Sylvan Warriors had more than enough strength to accomplish that task.
Following a similar approach as during their initial assault, some of the Sylvan Warriors called down bolts of lightning. Others used their mounts’ horns to release bolts of white-hot light that tore through the Ogren and Shades that had little choice but to stand against the continuing onslaught because they were pressed so tightly together. Crushed into a single mass, the dark creatures had nowhere to run and barely any space to fight, the only openings appearing when those skilled in the Talent destroyed the front rank of dark creatures so that the first line of Sylvan Warriors could ride through and attack with steel, forcing the creatures closer and closer to the hills at their back.
That’s when disaster struck and any hope for a coordinated defense by the dark creatures fell apart. The Desert Clans burst forth from their hiding places, cutting into the surprised and unprepared Ogren and Shades from behind, the skilled horsemen slicing through the ranks of monstrous beasts with their curved blades as they sought to meet the Sylvan Warriors coming the other way.
Any attempt at defending themselves quickly evaporated as the servants of the Shadow Lord broke under the increasing pressure of the vise now being applied. Their thoughts turned entirely to escape, frantically seeking some way to break free and make a run for the Charnel Mountains. But much to their terror, the trap only closed more tightly around the dark creatures, the Sylvan Warriors sustaining their inexorable charge to the hills, the Desert Clans pushing from the other direction, and neither group willing to allow any dark creature to slip away.
73
Focus
“I know you’re tired, but you can do this. Focus!” Rya shouted, struggling to be heard over the pounding hooves of her unicorn Bella. The huge animal ran over the dark creatures that survived the Sylvana’s initial attack with the Talent, dropping her head every so often to drive her horn through a minion of the Shadow Lord, then shaking the body free with undisguised contempt.
Kaylie, perched behind Rya and holding tightly to her mentor’s waist, would have laughed if she didn’t need to concentrate not only on holding on to the Talent, but also on trying to stay on Rya’s steed as they galloped through the Dark Horde. Leave it to Rya to use the most important battle since the Great War to continue Kaylie’s instruction.
Forcing everything going on around her to the back of her mind, she set to her task. Kaylie reached for the Talent once more, and then again, and again, yet each time she was about to grab hold, a jolt or knock from riding among the dark creatures would throw off her concentration, to say nothing of the exhaustion that had settled within her bones from helping Thomas fight the Shadow Lord.
“This is impossible!” Kaylie screamed in frustration.
“Remember what I told you,” urged Rya. “Use the Talent to steady yourself first. Once that’s done, you can move on to the task at hand. You need to be able to do more than one thing at a time with the Talent.”
Kaylie grunted in irritation. The battle raged around her and Rya wanted her to focus, despite her worry for Thomas. She knew that after everything he had gone through in Blackstone that he was just as exhausted, if not more so, than she was. He needed to rest. But that fact had not stopped him from leading the Sylvana toward the Breaker at the call of the Horn and then charging right into the middle of the Dark Horde.
And now he had split the Sylvan Warriors into two separate fighting forces. She understood the strategy, applauded it as she saw the fighters of the Desert Clans stream down from the hills on either side of the battlefield and cut their way into the dark creatures from behind. But Thomas had kept going forward, his eyes focused on Malachias and Rodric, giving her no chance to follow or assist as Rya pulled her wing of Sylvan Warriors to the west to push the dark creatures’ backs toward the attacking desert fighters.
“Thomas needs to do this on his own,” said Rya, interrupting Kaylie’s thoughts. “And he can, but not if he’s worrying about you. So focus on what you need to do!”
Rya’s words felt like a kick in the backside. Doing as Rya instructed, albeit reluctantly, Kaylie forced everything else from her mind but her feeling for the Talent, which she grabbed hold of with a will. Weaving the natural magic around her, she anchored herself to the saddle, realizing that once that was done, she no longer had to worry about getting thrown off.
“Very good!” said Rya. “Now why don’t you see if you can make Thomas’ task a bit easier.”
Smiling in anticipation, Kaylie pulled in more of the Talent. Though still tired, she could manage more of the Talent at one time than many of the Sylvan Warriors riding with her. Having watched Thomas and the other Sylvan Warriors, she knew exactly what to do, weaving the natural magic she controlled into the horn of Rya’s unicorn, thereby increasing exponentially the power of what she was about to unleash.
As the first bolt of white energy shot from Bella’s horn, Kaylie reveled in the feeling. Thomas had his own charge to complete, and she would make sure that he had nothing else to worry about but that.
74
Nasty Surprise
“Oso, leave off. We don’t have time for this.” Anara tightened her horse’s saddle then vaulted onto her mount. She wore worn leather armor to give her the protection that she needed, but it was so supple that it wouldn’t slow her down. She was fast with a blade, faster than any other Highlander except for perhaps Thomas, and she meant to put that skill to use today as the Marchers made their final preparations behind the Breaker, waiting for King Gregory’s command.
“But Anara …” Oso tried to protest, but Anara, her red hair flaming in the sunlight, cut off the large Highlander before he could offer the same argument that he had been repeating for the last hour.
“While you were galivanting across the Kingdoms with the Highland Lord I was killing dark creatures and defending the Highlands just like every other Marcher. Moreover, I’m really good at it. Ask any of those old timers over there enjoying the spectacle that you’re making of yourself, and they’ll tell you true.”
Rather than be offended by Anara’s description of them, Coban, Renn, Seneca, and Nestor tried not to smile as they sat their mounts, talking quietly and working out the final details of their strategy. They tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, though it was proving difficult as Anara became more exasperated. The Highland chiefs weren’t ready for this argument, and they didn’t want to have any part of it. If they engaged in the discussion, they would get bitten no matter what perspective they offered, and they didn’t need the aggravation at a time like this. Or a close encounter with the dagger that danced deftly across Anara’s fingers.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” explained Oso.
“Don’t you think that the same thing goes through my mind every time you’re with Thomas? I don’t want you to get hurt either.”
“Anara, it’s just …” Oso was going to say more, but he didn’t know how, the words catching in his throat.
Anara’s eyes softened when she looked at him. She knew what he was trying to say. “I love you, too, Kylin. But you can’t expect me to hide away. I am just as capable as you, and I have and will continue to take the same risks as you. I will fight, just like you, to protect the Highlands. That’s who I am. You need to accept that.”
Oso’s shoulders slumped, realizing that he had just lost the argument. She
was right. He knew it. She was more than capable. But he was afraid. Not for himself, but for her. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost her.
“It was a good try, lad,” said Coban quietly, who nudged his horse up on Oso’s other side. “But it was a losing battle to begin with. Anara is a Marcher to the core. Get used to it. It’ll be better for both of us if you do.”
Oso knew that Coban was right. Shaking his head in frustration, he resolved to stay by Anara’s side during the fight. They would be together, fight together, on this day, and every other day thereafter if he had his way. Oso’s thoughts quickly turned to the battle to come as a shout sent a ripple of excitement through the Marchers.
“Prepare the sally gates!” ordered Gregory, as he appeared at the base of the massive wall, confident that all would go well with Sarelle in charge along the parapet. The command spread like wildfire among the troops waiting at the bottom of the Breaker, and his soldiers moved to obey.
The King of Fal Carrach had remained atop the huge wall for as long as he deemed necessary, ensuring that his soldiers completed the task of dislodging the remaining Ogren that had attempted to scale the stone before he moved on to the next step in his plan. Only a few dark creatures remained, clinging to the Breaker haphazardly as the charge of the Sylvan Warriors had distracted them.