The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (12 page)

Satisfied that nothing else was moving about in the vicinity, Carym motioned to the group to remain in place. Then, with a motion to Zach to join him, Carym approached the doorway to the millennia-old structure. With slight annoyance Carym turned to see why his friend had not joined him and was startled to find him standing scant inches away. How did he ever learn to sneak around like that?

With a nod, Carym turned and entered first. Rather than attempt to harness the tidal forces in his weakened state, Carym drew his batons and locked them together to form one solid fighting stick. Carym had his first opportunity to study his friend and the new weapons he now bore. The sword Zach had been using since his return was not one Carym had ever seen the man use. It was beautifully made, and elegant, with a curved blade. In his other hand, a dagger with a long snaking blade of reddish steel and skull-topped pommel; its beady eyes seemed to follow Carym.

He would ask Zach about his weapons later. Carym glided along the right wall and Zach to the left upon entering, each ensuring their half was unoccupied. Then the two approached the stairs.

Carym went up first, slowly and quietly padding backwards towards the landing, facing up, prepared to face whatever may be waiting at the top looking down at them. Zach crept along behind, still watching and listening for any troubles from the street. As Zach reached the landing he turned and followed Carym up to the top, repeating the routine they used downstairs.

Finding nothing, Carym strode to the window and looked out to survey the area. Other than observing their fellows on the street below, there was little to be seen from this second story window in a neighborhood of five, six, and seven story buildings. Seeing the window had no glass, Carym leaned out and made a hissing sound, gaining the attention of the others below and signaled them to come inside.

“What happened to you, Zach? We always stuck together, you and I.”

“I follow my own path now, Carym,” he said, thrusting his dagger into his coat.

This too was something Carym had not had time to observe. It was a plain gray short coat, buttoned up to the neck, studded with small rubies on the cuffs and collar. The tone of the man’s voice held an angry and bitter edge that struck Carym deeply; they had been like brothers.

“But, I led you on this goose-chase, friend, and I will finish it with you.”

“Then what?” Carym almost told his friend the truth, almost told Zach of his own reasons for seeking the Everpool.

“Then we part company.”

Zach turned from his old friend, and walked away. It was clear to Carym that Zach would not talk about the reason why he had left the group, that did not make it any easier for Carym to trust him.

Well,
Carym thought
, Zach was in for a few surprises of his own.

Carym wondered how the ancient Dalcasians knew when it was night and time to sleep, and speculated they must have developed a reliable time telling device of some sort. He decided that everyone was tired enough for it to have been nighttime on the surface and that would just have to do until they could see the sky overhead. The group decided to take refuge in a building near the entrance to the Sun Tunnel. They all needed to rest after their harrowing ordeal with the Trok-Syth and this would give them time to prepare for their journey.

The evening went by with little excitement and each of them took a turn standing watch. At one point Zach woke Carym gently and pointed to a group of figures coming out of the tunnel. As the figures moved steadily closer the pair watched in silence. There was little reason to assume that the newcomers knew he and his friends were hiding in this building and so he chose not to wake the rest.

Carym felt well rested, even though he had only slept a few short hours. Closing his eyes he let his sight shift and soon he could see the world around him in shades of gray and sweeping tides of stream-like flows of energy, ebbing, rising, eddying and crashing. He reached out with his mind and focused on the swirling Tides of varying shades of brown and red and blue pooling at his feet. With the slightest of effort the Tides began to surge into him, gushing and flowing like a wild river; the experience made him giddy. His time with Mathonry had been fruitful and the immortal had shown Carym much of the Sigils and the various Sigil languages and admonished the man to study them diligently with every waking moment.

He was beginning to make sense of the Sigils now; it really was like learning another language. And he was learning that the possibilities of the effects that could be created with the Tidal forces were almost unlimited, depending largely on crafting the proper Sigil to produce the desired effect. Enormous amounts of preparation and study were required to shape effects into a new Sigilspell, and Carym had had precious little time for that. Instead he could only rely on the existing Sigilspells that he had been taught.

With his eyes closed, the approaching figures appeared shadowy and indistinct but one thing stood out sharply to him; the Shadow Tides seemed to be flowing madly around one figure among the group. In fact, the Tides seemed to flow into and out of this man and back into his companions, wrapping each in a virtual shroud of shadows. In a panic he opened his eyes and looked at the group. Through his mundane vision the dark swirling Tides were gone, but the sense of dread still held onto his soul and panic was setting in. The Shadowfyr had been preparing for this moment for centuries, Mathonry had said.

Thirteen figures he counted, straining to see who and what they were. Twelve of the figures walked in military formation of two ranks of six; the thirteenth stood to the side of the marching group. No, marching is hardly the word. Shambling is more like it, he thought. They were well-armed, six bearing ax and shield, the other six bearing spears and shields; all were wearing white and blue plate mail armor shining with golden ram designs. The leader of the group wore no armor and glided silently alongside the group in a white cloak with blue piping and golden knots, his blue hood pulled low, concealing his face.

Carym panicked with the thought that if this was one of Umber’s Dark Disciples, his own hiding place could be betrayed by the Tides! Abruptly Carym forced himself to calm. He looked at his friend and saw that Zach’s expression was stone cold, maybe even a touch eager.
Eager?
He thought wryly. Carym guessed the possibility existed that the figure had not seen them....

“Corpses, Carym!” Zach hissed. “They are dead men; walking!”

Carym’s stomach was in knots, he knew this must be one of the dreaded Shadow Lords of Umber. He watched as the group passed by down the street below, shambling, armor and weapons squealing, bones clicking like the mandibles an angry bug. Some of the diabolical warriors had pasty rotten flesh, while others were merely bony skeletons; all had points of white light emanating from their eye sockets.

“Seven Hells, Carym! Do you see who leads them?”

Carym shook his head.

“A Shadow Lord?”

“Zuharim!” he said through clenched teeth. “Is this what the knights have become?”

By now it was evident that the patrol would pass them by and the pair relaxed their vigil somewhat.

Stunned, Carym looked at his old friend;
Zuharim?
“How is that possible? That must be one of the Dark Lord’s minions! Since when do the knights practice magic, let alone black magic?” he demanded. “You’re being paranoid!”

“Am I?” he snarled.

Carym didn’t like the way his friend was wielding that new dagger of his. “Look at the insignia on the back of his cloak!”

Carym waited, skeptically, for the patrol leader to walk past so he could see the back of his cloak. As the man walked past, cloak billowing behind, he saw that Zach was not wrong. On the back of the cloak was a large circle of interweaving lines with the emblem of the Zuharim in the middle; a cross within a circle.

Carym let out a breath, “Damn!”

Zach nodded with satisfaction.

“The Spiders have been spying on the Zuharim for some time now,” Zach said, taking pleasure in the shocked look on his friend’s face. “We have had reports that the noble and mighty Zuharim have been somewhat unsuccessful of late. In fact, the great and noble warriors of the light have taken to dabbling in dark magic. Throughout the ages, the great Zuharim have waged war against witchcraft and dark magic. And now they have perfected its use!” Zach laughed, enjoying the irony.

Carym could say nothing. The demise of the knightly order he once revered was disheartening, but it was not what troubled him most. Carym was on the verge of reviving a long dead order of powerful Fyrbold, devoted to preserving peace and order, finally deciding that he would devote himself to Zuhr. How could Zuhr allow his followers to become necromancers? How could Mathonry have failed to mention this aspect of the Great Father he had come to worship and love? Could it be that the wise and powerful immortal didn’t know? It seemed unlikely.

Carym felt himself spinning and fought for control. Cold rage bubbled and brimmed at the periphery of his awareness and he desperately fought it back down.
Trust in Zuhr in all things,
Mathonry had said. What could be the purpose? What good can come of this? Angrily he shook his head and looked back at Zach, vowing not to let the man make more out of this than he could really know.

“Why are you so amused?” Carym shook his head.

“Not amused, Carym. Pleased. Now the world will truly see what has become of those smarmy knights! The knighthood has been falling out of grace with the nobility; the Archduke of Sargan has relegated them to guarding the walls of Sarganburr like common soldiers. So desperate were they to fulfill the prophecy of The Return that they have resorted to studying the art of Necromancy, hoping to find a way to facilitate the Return themselves! Ha!”

“Get some rest, Zach. I’ll take over the watch. We leave soon,” he said angrily.
I wouldn’t mind running into Mathonry now
!

After a few more hours of rest, and no further sign of activity elsewhere, Carym roused the rest of the group and they all moved out. They made their way into the tunnel without incident and began their journey toward the surface, or so they all hoped. For days or what they had assumed were “days” with no real way to tell time, they made their way along the tunnel.

Along,
thought Carym,
not upward
.

Indeed, as difficult as it was to sense anything properly this far below the surface, it just didn’t feel like they were going up at all. During their travels the group noticed odd tunnels branching off here and there, but Gennevera commented that those tunnels looked much newer than the centuries old tunnel they were in, speculating those must have been made by troks. Luckily, the group had not encountered any more of the robed Zuharim; Carym was still burning to know why they were in Dalcasia and how they even knew where to find it. One thing was certain, if the Zuharim could find their way down to Dalcasia, then Carym and his companions could find their way back up. The trick would be figuring out which way the necromancer came from, and dodge any more that might be following.

Eventually the dreary and dimly lit passageway opened into a massive cavern every bit as big as the one that housed the large Dalcasian city, only this one did not house a city at all. It was a sight the five of them had never seen before, and in all likelihood, would never see again. The roof of the cavern was lit in varying colors of yellow and pink and orange giving everything a distinctly warmer feel;
It does feel warmer in here
, thought Carym.