Guardian of Light
Soulless eyes stare out from a great black helm full of razor-sharp needle teeth in a serrated jaw. A groaning wall of crude black armor stands in a well-drilled formation. At their backs hang great broadswords, the height of most mortal men. The Black General nudges his stallion forward, and his Umbal demon horde follows, marching to victory. Merefen will fall.
tattered gray robe and pulls out a ring that shines like starlight. “Star-glass,” he declares, "the very fabric that cradles the light of a star.” The ring's surface ripples like an oyster shell, shining with a light as bright as the stars in the great void. He passes the ring to Algwain. “Well, don’t just look at it. Put it on unless you want to look like a complete fool.” Nirtesh shakes his head, takes Algwain’s hand, and slips the ring onto his forefinger.
A radiating warmth floods Algwain as the ring slips on, turning into burning heat. The ring sears into his skin, knitting with his flesh, feeling like a static charge. Algwain winces in pain. “What the feck was that?” he asks, rubbing the thin band scar on his forefinger.
“Watch your tongue,” Nirtesh snaps, covering the girl’s ears and pulling her tight. “That was the bond; you are now a Guardian of Light.”
“A what—” Algwain’s words are cut off as the old mage knocks his staff on the floor, filling the hall with a bright blue glow. Nirtesh gives an elaborate bow, his back already hunched. “Good people of Merefen,” he addresses the silent crowd, “it is time to stand with your general, for he will light up the night and vanquish the evil taint from the land. The Umbal approach the gates of Merefen.”
The hall erupts with frantic gasps and fearful mutterings as Merefen’s horns blast two resounding notes. Riders approach the gate.
The mage shuffles from behind the table and strides with surprising speed towards the great hall’s doors. In one hand, his staff knocks on the floor as he walks; in the other, he holds the child tight.
"You best have a plan,” Algwain mutters to Nirtesh beneath his breath as he strides behind him.
The hall erupts in hesitant cheers. They gulp down their ale, exchanging uneasy glances before following the mage out of the hall and into the depths of the torchlit night, their steps slow with apprehension.
A cold winter breeze whips through the courtyard, and Algwain drinks it down, feeling an inner peace. As if pushed by a thousand hidden hands, he climbs the ramparts stairwell, up onto the castle’s wall. His world feels like a drunken dream.
Nirtesh comes to stand beside Algwain, and then, from his staff, he sends a beaming searchlight of electric blue plasma from the rampart across the pitch-black moors. The light of the staff cuts through the darkness, illuminating the moorland with a mystical sapphire glow.
“What are you doing?” Algwain hisses in the mage’s ear as he tries to shake his head free of his dreamlike state. “What did you do to me?”
“I’m letting the Umbal know I am here. They won’t make it to the gate, but they will come close enough.”
“We don’t want the bloody demons to come any closer.” Algwain rubs his temples with furious blinks. He looks along the rampart wall, where the people of Merefen stand shoulder to shoulder, staring with defiance out to the moor. They then let out a triumphant roar.
A thunderous, hideous screech returns Merefen’s battle cry as the Umbal hisses and spits ungodly words unknown to all.
The people of Merefen fall into silence as fear begins to gnaw at them all.
“Close enough.” The mage grunts.
Algwain peers in both directions along the top of the rampart; all he sees are fearful faces staring back at him, their eyes waiting for some form of miracle. Algwain then turns his gaze to the pitch-black moor, where the frozen floor reflects the dying light of the clouded sky. “Close enough; I can’t see anything.”
“Look again.” The mage dims the blue plasma light of his staff into the softest of glows. All is silent. “Your bow, if you please, master Eifear.”
Algwain turns to face a bemused-looking Eifear, who reluctantly hands Algwain his bow with a shrug. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Algwain nods as Eifear passes him his two quivers of arrows, which he lays against the wall. He plucks a single arrow, nocks, and stares down the arrow shaft.
Algwain’s world falls into a dreamy silence as he sees the world through wisping spectrums of light. He turns his gaze to look along the rampart, where he’s greeted by a rainbow made of men, women, and children. Their plasma lights flicker around them in vibrant halos and orbs of color. Some are yellow, some are blue, and others are green, red, and bright white light.
Algwain looks to the mage, who burns as bright as the brightest of stars. He stands, holding the girl, in an explosion of ethereal, pearly light. Algwain blinks back the vision and turns to face Eifear and Eindred, who shine like balls of bright polished silver.
“Don’t fight it,” the mage leans into him with a whisper, “aim with your heart, then let the arrow fly.” Nirtesh then smiles with a three-toothed grin. “You must trust me, Algwain.”
As the arrow’s fletching brushes against Algwain's cheek, peace washes over him. He breathes in the night’s crisp air and glances upward, where he sees through the clouds to every star in the sky shining brightly and looking down upon him. The nebula of The One, the sacred eye, sits in an explosion of golden plasma and shooting starlight.
Algwain licks his lips, and his world drifts into slow motion; he sees the moors through new eyes, where the darkness of the night is now a bright celestial white light.
The Umbal horde roams before him as clear as the day. Algwain sees the army of Umbal not as shadows but as men and women remade. Forged from gloom and drenched in black obscurity, beneath their heavy black armor, thousands of layers of umbra wisp and weave around each of them. The shadow shrouds their truth, obscuring their first nature. They utter unspeakable words from wicked tongues, words he hears and understands as misery, torture, death, and decay. The Umbal’s vile mutterings come laced with untamable fury. He deciphers every wicked chatter, squelch, and rancid mutter; they will not flee, for the Umbal need to slaughter and feed.
The Umbal wear armor as black as the darkest night, forged as crudely as an anvil, concealing their shadowy forms. Through the serpentine slits in their great helms, inky eyes—darker than the deepest chasms of time—peer out. Their heavy black armor creaks with each step, and their black chain mail glints faintly in the wind. Engraved on their breastplates is the seal of Galt, a black dragon, its gaping mouth poised over their heartless chests.
Algwain shudders as he counts the immense Umbal host. Over five hundred Umbal stand in battle formation on the freezing moors. They fly a green banner of a black dragon, fluttering in the wind.
A battalion of two dozen Umbal approaches Merefen. They march forward in an organized formation, crunching down on the frozen earth. The Black General, mounted on his stallion, follows at the rear of the approaching force.
An ethereal hand rests on Algwain’s shoulder, and the warmth of the touch fills him with peace and certainty. The Elim mage whispers in Algwain’s mind. “A guardian of light possesses a guardian's sight. Have no fear, and your aim will always be true.”
Algwain takes a breath as his bow creaks tight. He feels the energy of the bow latch onto his arm, attaching itself to him, one and the same.
The people of Merefen gasp in utter wonderment as the shaft and arrowhead beam in a bright white, glowing light. The light is as bright as starlight, rippling with effervescent strands of power.
The power thrums in Algwain's ear, vibrating through his core as tendrils of white power wisp over his bow arm. He takes a steady breath, then releases.
The people of Merefen stand slack-jawed in awe as the arrow lights up the night, punching through the air in an unwavering flight. It shines like a shooting star, illuminating the moorlands below.
The arrow soars over the heads of the approaching Umbal battalion, shooting towards the head of the mounted Black General.
The Black General gathers the reins, and his stallion comes to an abrupt stop as the arrow of light hurtles through the darkness, shooting towards his face. At the last moment, The Black General cocks his head to one side, and the arrow tip kisses his great helm and thuds into the frozen ground behind him. The Black General nods at Algwain and continues to advance with the marching shadow horde.
“Fool.” Nirtesh hisses in Algwain’s mind. “Don’t waste the arrows. Elda power is bound to the physical. Once you’re out of arrows, your blade is the only way to fight.”
Algwain grunts and reaches down to the quiver set against the rampart wall. He nocks another arrow and loses. The shining arrow lights up the night, its flight dead set, the aim true. The starlight arrow thuds into the head of an Umbal which then explodes in a flash of pure white light. The Umbal’s body rains down like sparkling, glittery dust over the moorland floor.
The walls of Merefen erupt with cheers and triumphant calls as Algwain nocks, loses, and another Umbal falls.
The sky ignites as more brilliant white arrows light up the night. The flurry of arrows loops down, thudding into more Umbal, who explode in blasts of white-shooting starlight.
Sparkling white dust rains down on the moors as Merefen cheers and sounds the victory horn.
Paroooooom. Paroooooom. Paroooooom.
Algwain takes aim, and another falls—another, then another, then another. The walls at Merefen stand mesmerized as Algwain nocks and loses with superhuman speed. The arrows fly as true as his heart. The approaching Umbal horde falls one by one into exploding celestial chaos.
The last remaining arrow loops up into the night sky, lighting up the moors, shooting like a star with a vaporous trail, arching over the remaining Umbal and then over the brow of the valley hill, and thumps into the earth, way out of sight.
“Sentimental fool.” Nirtesh passes the child to Eindred and raises his staff to the heavens.
Algwain sees the old mage with new eyes, and through his sight, as Nirtesh gathers the power, his body pulsates and ripples with flowing tides of electric blue plasma. The mage’s wooden staff is a pillar of the brightest of all lights. It ripples and crackles with strands of blue energy that descend from the sky, unseen to mortal eyes. A lightning rod of sheer power, thrumming as it draws its celestial authority.
The mage leans back, and then, with an almighty swing, like a great axe cleaving at a tree, the Elim swings the staff and sends its power out into the night.
The people of Merefen jump back in surprise as the colossal swing shoots out a tidal wave of bright blue, pulsing light.
The tsunami of power glides over the moorlands in a sheer wall of azure energy, which smashes into the approaching Umbal ranks and obliterates them like pearly snowflakes flying on the wind. They explode in balls of sparkling dust that rain down to carpet the frozen earth.
The remaining Umbal battalion screams and cowers, clinging to what remains of the shadowy night.
The Black General comes to a halt and looks up at the wall. He nods to Nirtesh, turns on his stallion, and canters back towards the Umbal horde. The immense host of Umbal reset their ranks, then march in retreat into the depths of the night.
Algwain’s bow clatters to the wall's stone floor as his reality returns. In the flickering torchlight, the awestruck people of Merefen look to him with stares of amazement and shock, bred with disbelief and fear.
Algwain, the Captain of Merefen, stands tall and proud, a man of Galt, a Guardian of Light. He turns to face Eindred and Eifear, who gaze upon him with looks of bewilderment and pride.
Eifear picks up his bow from the rampart floor and runs his fingers along the bowstring. “I’m keeping this bow, general.” More a request than a question.
“Have no fear, Master Eifear.” Nirtesh slumps exhausted onto the battlement. A mischievous grin beams from his broken old mouth. His cataract eye shimmers with the nebula of The One as he speaks. “Your time will come.”