The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (14 page)

“What in Hades Fires...?” he wondered aloud, his throat rasping. He was stronger now and healed, but felt like he had a hangover and was in no shape to have a fighting chance against the trok. To his surprise, the trok had moved away from him and was towered over by an orok. The trok handled the orok very quickly and turned to face Carym, a slender sword in hand. Carym had both of his
bo-tani
sticks out and used his Sigil power to
enflame
them.

“No harm to you!” he heard the trok saying as it sheathed its sword. “No harm to you!” it repeated in heavily accented -
What? Cklathish? Sargannish?
His head was starting to clear now, and it was definitely Cklathish the trok was speaking. As his eyes began to focus, he saw that the trok was holding both hands out palms up, and stated again, “No harm to you!”

“What do you want?” Carym demanded, feeling stronger by the minute. He was sure he had enough of the Tides wrapped around him to cause a few stones to explode around the trok should he try anything, and the Sigilspell for his magical armor was on the tip of his tongue. It was then that he saw the trok was a
she
, and she was completely unlike any trok Carym had seen thus far. Her garb was orderly and neat, if travel-worn, and decorated with a symbol of a silver mountain over her left breast. Her features were far softer and rounder than what he had seen of the other troks before and her skin was very pale, not dark like the other troks; what he would expect of a person who had spent her life under a mountain. And, he thought, she looked decidedly more Elvish than the troks. Perhaps trok females were like that.

“Are you a trok?” he asked, unsteadily, still ready to lash out and blow up whatever he could. “What do you want with me?”

“No, I am not a
trok,”
she said the word with venom. Carym noticed that the woman shifted her speech to be far more Cklathish than it had been moments before, she must have recognized his own dialect. “We came to help you! We saw you fighting oroks and we knew you couldn’t be one of those vile Zuharim.
They
are not welcome here!”

“Not a trok?” he asked, still skeptical despite her Elvish appearance. She was just too small. He wondered where the blazes Zach was and how Genn and the others were faring.

“Bah,” she snorted. “Do I look so much like a trok to you?”

“A little,” he replied. “And
they
wanted to kill me.”

She simply stood there, staring down her nose and up at him at the same time - if that was possible. Her dark hair fell in curls to her shoulders, framing a very pretty face, and her silvery mail glistening in the odd light of the cavern. She said nothing, daring him not see reason.

Finally Carym nodded. Elf or trok, he was surely surrounded. Had they been troks, he would be fighting for his life right now...or dead.

“I see that I have much to learn of the peoples who inhabit the Underllars. I will not harm you.” Carym separated his batons and collapsed them back into their smaller carrying size, and placed them in his belt. The woman snorted, as though doubting Carym could, in fact, do anything of the sort.

“I am Xin Xi Zhuan, I am the Zhuan of the Silver Mountain Elves,” she paused to let that sink in and was rewarded with a curious look from Carym. “We are
not
troks. We have fought
them
dearly to maintain our lands and ancient holdings here for centuries,” she gestured to the beautiful cavern around them. “Now. Who are you and why are you here, surface dweller?”

“I am Carym of Hyrum,” he said. “Hryum is a Cklathish thaynedome that once was free, but was subjugated by the Arnathian Empire generations ago.” She seemed to recognize the names. “You are at war with the oroks?” he asked.

“Bah,” she snorted again. “War is hardly an appropriate term. They are little better than predatory animals, which we beat into submission from time to time. It is surprising the stupid beasts can even use their hands to hold a weapon at all! No, they are quite easily handled. ’Tis the Trokkish clans and the Clan of the Rock Warves with whom we war!”

“There is civil war, then?” he asked, still unsure of the relationship between the troks and the Silver Mountain Elves.

“No. Our clans have never held with the Trokkish societies. They are far too brutal and devious, downright evil. Silver Mountain Clan does what is right for Silver Mountain Clan. The others are little better than the demons and necromancers, and the warves they consort with!” she spat. Carym let it go at that. He understood well enough the important points; Silver Mountain considered themselves elves, not troks, and struggled with troks to maintain control of their own lands.

“Clan of the Rock Warves? Aren’t they dwarves? I thought they disappeared centuries ago.”

“Ignorant surface dweller!” she sneered. Then, with an exasperated sigh she said, “The ‘dwarves’ have disappeared. They suffered a situation not unlike our own. The dwarves, as they were known then, existed in many clan societies. Some of them separated from the other societies and sought out realms far deeper than our own and close to the Gateway to Hades, where they found a large quantity of
silveryl
. They became known as the Clan of the Rock Warves and forsook all ties to the Dwarvish clans and septs of the Upper Realms.

“It wasn’t long before their greed corrupted them, and they returned to the Dwarvish realms with a host of demonic spirits. A monumental battle was fought and the dwarves lost. Those that survived fled from the Underllars to the surface and were never seen again. To this day the Dwarvish holdings are terribly haunted, even the troks will not go there. The Clan of the Rock Warves maintains a token presence to fend off any unlikely intrusions from outsiders, but they truly prefer the Hellish Lower Realms.

“I only hope that we will not share their fate, for we are outnumbered by a far greater measure than even the dwarves ever were.”

Zach burst into the clearing brandishing his blood stained blades, and skidded to a halt. Shock registered on his face, clearly not expecting to see anyone else and certainly not Carym talking calmly to what he thought was a trok. The shock passed as quickly as it arrived when Zach spun on his heel, facing the way he came and squatted to the ground, sword upraised. Carym and the woman had the same thoughts and quickly sidestepped to cover behind trees preparing to fight whatever was pursuing Zach.

In a flash they were upon them. A lumbering orok crashed into the clearing and impaled himself on Zach’s suddenly upraised blade. Zach used the forward momentum of the orok and leaned backward, letting the orok’s own momentum carry it over Zach’s head and behind him where he disengaged his blade and regained his feet. Carym was stunned by the acrobatic feat.

Three more oroks burst into the clearing. Carym quickly picked up a handful of rocks and threw them at the oroks with his right hand. With his left he traced a Sigil in the air calling the Tides to rise up like a tidal wave and propel them onward toward their targets with deadly speed. The rocks struck two of the three oroks and both fell to the ground howling. Zach moved in and quickly dispatched one while Xin Xi slit the throat of the other. Seeing the demise of his fellows, the last orok turned to flee. But with one quick flash, the diminutive elf drew a small crossbow and fired a bolt that pierced the back of the orok’s head; it went down in a squealing heap.

Zach rolled to his feet and spun to face the Silver Mountain elf woman, advancing as though he intended to fight her. “Zach wait,” Carym shouted to his friend. “She is- ”

“A trok!” he interrupted. “And not to be trusted!”

The woman stood there facing him with that condescending upward looking gaze, daring him to try. Her gaze was enough to halt the Cklathman in his tracks, as though he was reconsidering. He shifted his gaze to Carym, silently asking
What the Hades are you thinking?

Carym shrugged at his friend
,
and held his hands up. Then the small Elvish woman whistled and five more of her kind, attired and armed similarly to her, slid from the trees around them with weapons drawn. “We are
not
troks! And I tire of repeating myself!” hissed Xin Xi.

Zach angrily sheathed his weapons; for all his hotheaded fury, Carym was grateful that he seemed to recognize he was outnumbered.

He sauntered over to his friend and, in a low voice said, “What have you gotten us into now?” The sneer on his face was not lost on Carym. “Out of the pan and into fire, it seems!”

Carym looked away from his friend and to the Elvish woman. With a nod, her acquaintances lowered their crossbows and resumed their watch from the woods. “You fight well, surface dwellers,” at least she sounded impressed.

Carym bowed, “Thank you Xin Xi Zhuan.” He pointed to the still scowling Zach. “This is my friend, Zachyrya Von Reese. We are trying to make our way back to the surface where we belong. We did not intend to trespass on your lands, though we were hungry and sought to take game only so we could eat.”

Xin Xi waved her hand dismissively. “Take what you need. You have helped us more than you know,” she said. “Although oroks pose little threat to our security, they are a nuisance and, if left to their own devices, would defile and destroy this pristine
xanane
. For your help, we are grateful. You have earned the right to pass through our lands.”

Zach grumbled something under his breath, Xin Xi appeared not to notice. In fact, she appeared to take little notice of Zach at all.

“I thank you, Xin Xi Zhuan. You are gracious and kind; I am honored to have made your acquaintance.”

Zach rolled his eyes impatiently at the propriety.

“And I, you.”

“And now, with your permission, we will take our leave and continue our journey through and to the surface above.” Carym asked with formality and respect. Although he sensed no threat from this band, he felt the situation still precarious enough to warrant the utmost caution; and with Zach present, there was no telling how badly things could go. Zach was doing the best he could to pretend not to be bristling at the indignation of having to ask someone for leave to go. Carym was struck by how Elvish the beautiful, but diminutive woman looked, and understood their preference of being called elves rather than troks.

“No,” she said, surprising Carym and earning a scowl from Zach. Then she continued, “The way you have chosen is too dangerous. That road winds into and out of Warvish territory and some of the other Trokkish clan holdings. You would not likely reach the surface alive.

“I will have one of my scouts guide you the rest of the way to the surface. There is another road that leads through our own Clan Hold and there is danger in only once place, the Warvish Pass. From there you will surface in a place called Ckaymru. I know little of what occurs above and care less. I will assign a scout to guide you safely through our lands.”

“Thank you, Highness. That is a truly generous offer,” he finished with a bow.

“Ckaymru, you say?” asked Zach.

“Yes. Once above you will be in Ckaymru. Though I caution you, Ckaymru is a very unpleasant place of late.”

Zach’s expression changed, he seemed giddy. Carym was becoming certain that something drastic and sinister had happened to his friend back in Dalcasia. He had hoped to have a moment to talk with his old friend about it, but it seemed like the chance would just never come.

“And how do we find the Everpool now? Your contact was in Caelambra?”

“There never was a contact-” Zach began to reply.

“The pool, you say? The Everpool?” asked Xin Xi. There was no need to glance back at Zach, Carym knew that he was probably ready to bury that dagger in his back for mentioning their quest. He sighed deeply, again he had said too much.

“Ah, yes. Uh, what do you know of the Zuharim, Highness?” asked Carym, attempting to change the subject. The woman scowled and bared her pointy teeth.

“Bah,” she spat. “Zuharim are Hades-Cursed and Hell bound! They tamper with the Lords of the Deep Realms and draw from their foul magics and they have inundated the region with shambling, bug-infested corpses. The Trokkish clans scour everywhere seeking ancient magical weapons for their evil masters and they mean to turn Dalcasia into a Gateway to Hades!” The clan leader appeared furious. “The imbeciles of the Trokkish clans fell for this lie in exchange for a stake in the riches of Dalcasia.”