The Claiming of the Highlands

by Wacht, Peter

  Of course, that portion of the prophecy had come to pass. Thomas’ thoughts returned to that night so long ago.

  “What about the rest of the prophecy? What else applies to me?” Thomas had asked.

  “All of it, I think. We just won't know for sure until each event takes place. But I believe the last six lines refer to your battle with the Shadow Lord.”

  Rynlin had explained. “Let me repeat the lines of the prophecy that I think apply to you, and I'll give you my reasoning. Admittedly, the prophecies are all very obscure, and we really won't know if you are, in fact, the Defender of the Light until some later point in time. But, if you are fated to meet the Shadow Lord in combat, then it will happen. There will be no way you can avoid it. That's why I'm telling you this now. I want you to be prepared for that possibility. But I must repeat. I think it's more than just a possibility.

  “Also, keep in mind that the prophecies have never been wrong, and though there are several different ones that vary in certain places, they are never very far off when it comes to the important events. For example, all the prophecies were correct as to when the Shadow Lord would appear in the world, and that we would defeat him at certain points in time. Now, this is the intriguing point.

  “Before, the result of what would happen was always predetermined, meaning that the Great War was fated to occur, and it was expected that we would successfully push the Shadow Lord and his Dark Horde back into the Charnel Mountains. Of course, we didn't know this for certain until the Great War ended, and we went back to look at the prophecies. Then we were able to decipher what had largely been unintelligible to us before.

  “At that time, we looked ahead and saw that a battle between the Defender of the Light and the Lord of the Shadow would take place sometime in the near future. Of course, when you're dealing with the prophecies the near future could be a hundred years, two hundred years or more. Anyway, the interesting thing …”

  “Frightening thing,” Rya had interjected.

  “Yes, that's probably the better word. The frightening thing is that that's where the prophecies end. That's as far as the Seers of Alfeos went in their forecasts — to the actual battle between the Defender of the Light and the Lord of the Shadow.”

  “What do you mean? They stopped seeing the future?” Thomas had asked. He had understood everything up to that point, but he still wasn't sure how he had fit into it.

  “I mean that the prophecies end during the battle. The seers foretold nothing more beyond that point. They just stopped, and no one can explain why. Listen to the last six lines that I believe are relevant:

  Swords of fire echo in the burned rock

  Balancing the future on their blades.

  Light dances with dark

  Green fire burns in the night

  Hopes and dreams follow the wind

  To fall in black or white.

  “Swords of fire echo in the burned rock. That's a clear reference to the last battle, a point that is no longer debated by those who have studied the prophecies, some for hundreds of years longer than I. The battle will take place, and most likely somewhere in Shadow's Reach, or rather Blackstone, as it's known today.”

  “So, the Defender of the Light has to fight the Lord of the Shadow on his ground.”

  “Exactly, Thomas. Certainly not an auspicious beginning for the contest. Another reference, Balancing the future on their blades, gives us a hint as to what comes next, or rather what won’t come next. The prophecies end with those six lines. Why? Because this battle will determine what will happen next. That’s what the last line confirms: To fall in black or white. In the past, throughout the millennia since the Shadow Lord came to be, the victor of the battles between good and evil was always foretold. We have always been able to hold back the Dark Horde. To shackle the Lord of the Shadow. But not this time. The result will not be known until the battle is fought. There is nothing telling us what to expect.”

  “This battle will determine the future?”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “And if the Defender of the Light loses?” Thomas had had a feeling that he already knew the answer, and he recalled how his stomach had soured as the realization had struck him.

  “Then the Kingdoms have no future at all. The Shadow Lord and his Dark Horde will reign supreme, and humanity will face the possibility of servitude or extinction.”

  It had almost been too much for Thomas to take in at that time. He had guessed at this possibility, or perhaps even already knew it. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself, not yearning to take on this additional potentially suffocating burden just yet. His grandfather’s argument was logical. Logical enough for Thomas to believe it and to accept it. A part of him wanted to deny it, hoping desperately that Rynlin was wrong. The first attack by a Nightstalker as soon as he left the Isle of Mist for the first time so many years ago and the ones to follow suggested otherwise, however, and he knew that his wish was simply that — a wish. A path had been set before him, and no matter how he might try to change it, to find a new direction, he understood that such effort would be for naught. The course that had been given to him led in only one direction. Still, a small part of him wanted to resist that conclusion. But he knew in his heart that he couldn’t as the memory of that conversation continued to play through his mind.

  “And you think I'm the Defender of the Light? Just because a few lines seem to apply to me?”

  “Yes, we do.” Rya had nodded her agreement. “You are a child of life and death. You are expected to stand on high, at least once, when you return to the Highlands. And it also seems that you may become a member of the Sylvana. If you succeed, at the time you join the Sylvana, you will be standing in the Circle on a rocky promontory that sits atop the highest peak in the Highlands. The highest peak, in fact, in all the Kingdoms, even taller than those in the Charnel Mountains. When you are raised to Sylvan Warrior, much like when you become Lord of the Highlands, it is called standing on high. Another line seems to apply to you as well — Green fire burns in the night. You know, as well as I, what your eyes look like when you're angry, and especially during the night.”

  “I think green fire is a very appropriate description,” Rynlin had agreed.

  “That may be,” Thomas had said. “But your argument is still quite flimsy.”

  Why? Why did they have to do this to him? Didn't he have enough to worry about as it was? He recalled the fear that had surged within him then, threatening to incapacitate him, a fear that still surfaced when he dreamed.

  “I know,” Rynlin had replied, “but I still think I'm right.”

  Thomas had stared at his grandfather for several long minutes after his explanation. Rynlin had watched him with a quiet intensity. He had never known his grandfather to be wrong, and he didn't think he would reach these conclusions without a great deal of thought. Thomas still wasn't sure if he believed it all himself. Nevertheless, as his grandfather had said, it was better to be prepared for the future, rather than be surprised by it.

  “When will I know if I'm the Defender of the Light?” he had asked.

  His grandparents had said that he would simply know, and they had been right, as always. When he had become a Sylvan Warrior, he had known. Though he didn’t want to admit it then, he knew in his heart that he was the one destined to fight an evil that had never been defeated. A frightening thought, indeed, as Rya had clarified, but he needed to focus on more pressing matters at the moment, so he forced his attention back to the present, and away from an old conversation that had stayed with him over the years.

  “Rodric will be bringing his army into the Highlands across the Inland Sea. In fact, he’s already begun ferrying his troops. Fal Carrach stands with us but can’t do so openly. Gregory needs to concentrate on Dunmoor. My Marchers can take on Rodric and his army, but we can’t also deal with the dark creatures that we expect will be entering the northern Highlands more and more frequently. I need Nestor and his Marchers with me.”

>   “And you would like more help from the Sylvan Warriors in the northern Highlands?”

  “Yes. If my Marchers and I can engage Rodric, without having to worry about what might be coming at us from behind, I think we can stop the High King.”

  “You realize that to do this I would need more than just the handful of Sylvan Warriors helping us now,” said Rynlin. “You’re asking for more than what some of the Sylvan Warriors may be willing to give. Traditionally we have stood ready to fight the Shadow Lord when his armies march from Blackstone. You’ve already unsettled Tiro and several others by suggesting that the Sylvana ignore the Breaker and instead attack the Shadow Lord directly. I believe that Maden and a few others favor the shift in strategy, but I can’t speak for all. If they choose to help, they will do so on their own.”

  “I know the history and traditions, Rynlin. You and Rya made sure of that. Nevertheless, times are changing. And I recall the resistance Tiro presented the last time we spoke at the Crag. But the Shadow Lord is playing a different game now. He has Rodric in his hand and he’s using his dark creatures to soften the Highlands. If the Sylvan Warriors wait as they have in the past, it will be too late. They need to get into the fight now. If they’re willing, ask them to focus on the raiding parties. If they do that, my Marchers can manage Rodric and his host.”

  “We don’t disagree with you, Thomas,” said Rya. “But please understand that it will be difficult to change the opinions of some of your brother and sister Sylvan Warriors. They have done things the same way for centuries. Many are set in their ways. Even a small change can be difficult.”

  “I know. All I’m asking is that you try.”

  “In addition to Maden, I know some who would be more than willing to help,” said Rynlin. “I’ll start with them. Tiro and some of the others won’t like it, but the signs are clear. You’re right, Thomas. We need to adjust our approach if we’re to have any chance against the Shadow Lord. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” said Thomas, knowing that his grandparents would help, but not knowing if they could convince the other Sylvan Warriors. “One final request?”

  “What might that be?” asked Rya.

  “The Key, as we discussed briefly at the Crag,” Thomas replied simply. “Let’s not forget the line: He shall hold the key to victory in his hand. If any of this is to work, if we’re to have any chance of getting into Blackstone, I need that Key, whatever it might be.”

  “I’ve reached out to others who might know more than I about the Key,” said Rynlin. “So far, I’ve learned nothing that we didn’t know or suspect already.”

  “And we still don’t have any confirmation about what we’re looking for,” added Rya. “An actual key or something else.”

  “But we’ll keep trying,” said Rynlin.

  “Thank you,” said Thomas, sighing, not surprised that progress had been difficult. “Any help you and the other Sylvan Warriors can provide, I’d appreciate. I know that it’s important, absolutely critical, in fact, that we find the Key. But Rodric needs to take precedence right now.”

  Thomas settled back into his chair, staring into the fire, stroking Beluil’s soft fur. He could feel the time growing short. The Shadow Lord was gaining strength, and his own trepidation was increasing. He feared that the Kingdoms wouldn’t be ready. In fact, he was certain that most would not be prepared when the time came to fight the Dark Horde. He feared that despite his best efforts he would lose the Highlands to Rodric once more, ensuring the final destruction of his homeland. And, most of all, he feared that he didn’t have the strength or courage required for the most important task of all – challenging the Lord of the Shadow.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  The Key

  Rya placed a bowl of hot vegetable stew in front of Rynlin, who sat quietly at the small table in their home. Thomas had left to take Beluil back to the Highlands in his childhood skiff, needing his friend to continue his good work in the northern Highlands. The smoke from the cook fire disappeared ingeniously up through the flue built into their tree, dissipating along the way so that anyone looking for a sign of human habitation in the forest would never see it.

  Heart trees dominated the Isle of Mist, so when Rynlin and Rya first came to the island, they chose to take advantage of that fact. Rynlin crafted their home from the inside of a heart tree, creating a comfortable space, except for one mistake. A doorway built for the petite Rya rather than him, which meant that more often than not he banged his head on the frame. But it was a minor inconvenience, one that he could live with. As Rya liked to say, it helped to keep him humble.

  The heart trees were the oldest in the world, most of them gone because of the demand for their wood. The legends said that you could hear the power of nature coursing through them, their roots reaching to the very center of the earth to support their massive height. The legends also said that when the last heart tree died, the world would die as well.

  As Rynlin played with his stew rather than eat it, his mind focused on the challenge Thomas had placed before him, one that he had been thinking about since his visit to the Crag some months before. He knew that Tiro and some of the other more obstinate Sylvan Warriors would resist his entreaties at first, but they would come around. He was certain of that. Thomas would get the help that he needed in the northern Highlands. No, the larger, more immediate concern continued to plague him. A problem that he had mulled for longer than he cared to remember, yet he still had not found an answer that satisfied him. How could Thomas enter Blackstone, the city of the Shadow Lord, without being detected? The Shadow Lord had set wards and traps constructed of Dark Magic that would ensnare any who entered who had not pledged themselves to his service. The results would be gruesome and deadly. No matter how strong he or Thomas or any of the Sylvana were in the Talent, they could not break through all those magical protections without being discovered and likely destroyed. That was the crux of the matter. Thomas had to enter Blackstone safely to have any chance of success. To have an opportunity to challenge the Shadow Lord. The prophecy required it. Of course, if the prophecy demanded it …

  Perhaps that was it, mused Rynlin, snapping out of his reveries. The Key.

  “Rya, do you think the prophecy offers a more literal answer?”

  “You need to be more specific,” prompted Rya.

  “From earlier this evening when we spoke with Thomas. He wanted to bring the fight to the Shadow Lord, attack not defend.”

  “You seemed quite pleased with that as you did when he first mentioned it at the Crag.”

  “I was. He reminded me of myself.”

  “It’s good to see your arrogance remains even as you’ve aged,” said Rya with a smirk.

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, Thomas is right. Defending at the Breaker as we’ve done in the past won’t work. The Shadow Lord’s Dark Horde will be too many and we’ll be too few, even if the armies of the Highlands, Fal Carrach, Benewyn and the Desert Clans join us. It would simply be a matter of time before the Dark Horde broke through, and Thomas would have little chance to do what he must do.”

  Rynlin then recited the prophecy, one that he had studied for centuries, one that still held mysteries yet to be confirmed. One that felt more like a curse than a path to future knowledge.

  When a child of life and death,

  Stands on high,

  Drawn by faith,

  He shall hold the key to victory in his hand.

  Swords of fire echo in the burned rock

  Balancing the future on their blades.

  Light dances with dark,

  Green fire burns in the night,

  Hopes and dreams follow the wind,

  To fall in black or white.

  “As you said earlier, Swords of fire echo in the burned rock suggests Blackstone, doesn’t it?” asked Rya. “It almost seems that Thomas is supposed to be there to challenge the Shadow Lord. That despite all that the Lord of the Shadow might do to stop him, the prophecies seem t
o suggest that he will make it to that place at the appropriate time.”

  “It does. As Thomas suggested, could the line before be the answer: He shall hold the key to victory in his hand? I had always assumed that line was more metaphorical than literal. But could it be as simple as that? Thomas will hold the Key? An actual Key? Have I spent all this time looking for a solution that may have been there from the very start?”

  “Have you seen any reference to this in your scrolls and books?”

  “I’ll go back through them after dinner, but I don’t recall anything.”

  “If you don’t have any information on this Key, where else could we find what we need?”

  “I haven’t been there for almost a century, but Tiro confirmed that there was a library that he believed was quite complete when it came to ancient texts and artifacts and the mysteries surrounding the prophecies.”

  “You want to go there? Despite the obvious danger?”

  “Why not?” responded Rynlin, an evil grin splitting his face. “It might give us a chance to help Thomas in some other ways as well.”

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  The Search Begins

  Two massive hawks settled onto the darkened southern tower of the Eamhain Mhacha fortress, the sun having set several hours before. In a brief flash of white light the hawks disappeared from the windowsill, replaced by two people dressed in blacks and greys to better slide through the shadows, one rather tall, the other petite.

  They stood silently in the room at the top of the tower for several minutes, allowing their senses to expand and their eyes to adjust to the darkness. They didn’t move until they could pick out the shapes of the thousands of books and scrolls that littered the library of Eamhain Mhacha. Clearly, based on the fine layer of dust that covered everything, no one had visited the library, which descended several floors into the tower, for quite some time. Decades at the least.