The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (43 page)

“Bart, what the devil happened in there?” demanded Carym as the group exited the palace. Carym was surprised to note that none of the Rhi’s troops followed.

Bart shook his head slowly as the group made their way towards a caravan waiting on the Royal Boulevard. The caravan consisted of several coaches, light and heavy cavalry troops, and foot guards. Each man or woman wore the white tabard bearing the open palm symbol of the Hand of Zuhr. The symbol adorned the doors of the coaches, the armor of the warriors, and the standards they carried. The highly disciplined troops presented an impressive sight and Carym understood the wisdom behind the Rhi’s lack of pursuit.

Perhaps the most impressive of the battalion was the heavy cavalry. He had never seen a cavalry unit like it. Their mounts were not horses; they were massive bulls! Each bull as tall as a draft horse, with long legs and wide muscular bodies. The beasts had long horns that curled forward, their tips adorned with spear-like metal caps. The men riding the impressive beasts were huge too. Their standard bore the symbol of the hand, and the additional symbol of a massive black bull wreathed in clovers.

Carym knew something of that standard, it was the standard of Clan Bovar. They were fierce warriors of the Cklathish Island of Myrnwell, a tribe of hill folk who gave allegiance to none other than their own Cklanthayne. Something persuaded these mighty warriors to lend their arms to the forces of the Hand of Zuhr.

Carym followed the bishop and Bart into the lead coach while the women entered the second coach with brother LeNoir. Carym said nothing until the coach began to move, sensing Bart’s desire not to speak until the caravan was safely in motion. As the coach finally lurched forward, Bart let out a profound sigh and shook his head. Carym said nothing, knowing the bard would speak when he was ready.

“Mighty Zuhr,” began the bard quietly. “What has happened to the good man who was my cousin?” The he turned to face Carym and the bishop.

“Blessed be the mighty Zuhr. Only He knows His own plans, Your Highness.”

“Please call me Bart, I gave up my claim to that title long ago, Your Eminence.” Bart looked out of the coach at the city that was now passing by his window.

“Why is Delfyd Rhi’s grudge against the Zuharim so personal?”

“Sir Ederick, it is as you have been told. The Zuharim have disgraced themselves. Carym described his own encounters with them in the Underllars. It has been no different elsewhere.”

“But why the personal animosity? What did the Zuharim do to him?” asked Carym.

“When you all left the dining chamber, I had an opportunity to question my cousin regarding that matter, so I have. He brought his own ‘curse’ upon himself. He blames them because they brought him the key to undertaking a
binding!
”

“Perhaps my clergy can aid him?” asked the bishop. Carym wondered what kind of aid the clergy could offer to break an enchantment. Were they dabbling in magic too?

“Indeed, Bishop. I am aware of your extraordinary gifts. However, I doubt that your gifts will aid my cousin. His curse is one of his own doing, he has not the faith to accept such wonderfully divine help.”

Bart was silent for a time, then he continued, “Long ago, my cousin and I adventured together throughout the Isles. We did many great things, helped many people, killed many monsters and arrested many criminals.”

“One day, we ran into a foul trickster. A warlock with awful powers who had been terrorizing a village in a remote part of the Sargan Duchy. We were on our way to Sarganburr after a visit to the lands of the Ogre Tribes.”

“We stopped at an inn for the night and learned of the small keep of Malric the Great, as he called himself. Malric was a hideous man, we were told. A man with alabaster skin and eyes as blue as sapphires who could freeze your blood with a word, so they said. Malric had been content to adventure the world and return quietly to his small castle away from town.

“One day Malric returned from an adventure and he had been changed. His eyes glowed with a blue fire, so said the villagers. His hair had all fallen out, and his hands and feet had turned blue. Even his lips had become blue, as though he had been a corpse lying in the snow for days.

“Malric began to harass the villagers. First animals, and then some of the villagers themselves began to disappear, so they did. The nearest lord to that area was a minor baron whose name I cannot recall, and who was more than a week’s ride away for help. So the men formed a council and decided someone needed to go to the castle and investigate.

“Being the brash young adventurers that we were, we took our presence there as fortuitous for the people of Glen Dalwyn. We offered our services, so we did. And away to the castle of Malric the Great we went.

“I won’t bore you with all the details. Suffice it to say, Malric was exactly as the townsfolk said, so he was. A twisted and evil spirit, if ever I met one. And a dabbler in dark magic, he was. Malric had fearsome powers. He could blast us with freezing air that would make a man’s heart stop cold. His touch was death itself, sucking the life force from a body like a vampire bat, so it was.

“After we defeated him, and that was a near deadly ordeal, we found dried out husks of bodies of the villagers. Husks leftover after the bastard sucked their lives from them.

“During our investigation of the castle, we found Malric’s experimentation rooms and his laboratory. A bloody affair, that. And we learned what happened to him. Malric wasn’t always a bad person. But he struck a deal with an Ice Demon, a prince of the underworld who inhabits the frozen wastes of Hades. And eventually he went mad.

“As Delfyd explained to me today, a Zuharim necromancer came to him one night. They offered him the powers of the very Ice Demon we vanquished so long ago; and he took it, so he did.”

“And
I
am the filth,” said the knight, disgustedly.

“His wits are muddled. We shall enjoy no end of harassment from him now.”

“Can you not try and condemn him publically?” asked Carym.

The bishop smiled sadly. “No, Carym. We cannot. We enjoy a high level of prosperity in Myrnwell, thanks to the people. We are, and have long been, entrenched in the security of this land. It is a precarious balance.”

“For that I apologize, Your Eminence. It seems now, that because of me, your order may suffer.”

“
Our
order, you mean,” said the bishop, seeing Ederick’s eyes darken. “Yes, by virtue of your pardon, you are now a member of the Sword. You could renounce it and all knightly orders, however you would lose my protection. Protection that will prove to be valuable, I think.”

“You mean this military escort. You expect an attack by the forces of Delfyd Rhi, then?” asked Carym.

“Indeed, Carym. His mind is full of vitriol and hate. He is spiteful and of late vindictive to a fault.”

“An Ice Demon,” said Carym dully, wondering if it was just another coincidence that pain and suffering appeared everywhere he went. “Will you help us get to the border, bishop?” Carym asked.

“Aye. It is the will of God that you were delivered to me. He would be none too happy with me if I didn’t aid you on His divine mission,” smiled the warrior-bishop. “In fact, you will be under the protection of the Church while we prepare for the journey, and teach you the ways of the Hand. Although the border is but a few days north of here, the weather has turned. Beyond the border the snow and wind will be too strong. The Ogrewall Mountains will be impassable.”

“I hate snow,” grumbled Bart. “Doesn’t snow much on Ayre. Might be we should just winter here, so it seems?”

The warrior-bishop smiled at that, but said nothing. Carym smiled too, as he peered from the warm and friendly face of the bishop to the magnificent heavy bull cavalry as they walked along behind his coach. Even though the dangers of this journey were still on his mind, he finally began to relax. The rhythmic plodding of the horses pulling the coach, made him doze off.

Carym dreamed of heavy snows in the mountains to the north, blanketing the land in heavenly white. He saw trees glistening as the ice in their branches caught the rays of the cold winter sun. Beauty which he had never truly experienced in the milder climates of the Arnathian Continent. But his dreams were troubled by images of a dark army camped hastily, but skillfully, constructed wooden forts and massive wooden walls. Swaths of bare earth and stumps revealed forests that had been cut down to contribute to the defenses of the massive army.

Then his dreams shifted to that of the mountain range, and away from the army forts which spread along the foothills of the Ogrewall Mountains.

A bump in the road awoke Carym from his slumber, Ederick and Bishop Rohan were in deep conversation about the merits of the order to which Ederick now belonged. As Carym dozed in and out of sleep he recalled hearing the conversation shift to that of an army encamped at the foothills of the Ogrewall Mountains. He awakened at that point, trying to determine if perhaps the conversation triggered his dreams, or if had dreamt of this before the men spoke of it. As the fog of sleep drifted away, he realized it didn’t matter and listened more closely.

“Our agents report that the enemy’s search parties have found nothing that will lead them to the Tomb. And that leads me to believe that you and your companions are the only link this Prophet-General has to finding the Tomb.”

“Aye,” said Ederick. “So what of my fellows who are fighting and dying in Al Zocar, then?”

“Alas, it is not the will of Zuhr to take Al Zocar yet. That time
will
come, and when it does the Hand will go there in force. But there are bigger things afoot than losing those islands to the followers of Qra’z and Umber.”

“We have sent numerous dispatches to the Zuharim who still fight there. Our answers have been met with disdain. We offer our fleet to aid in their retreat and to bring their men home to safety, yet they refuse. Their pride will lead them to complete destruction at the hands of their enemies. I believe this has been orchestrated by the forces of the wayward brothers Qra’z and Umber in their hopes of weakening their Great Father’s power.”

Ederick said nothing, but it appeared to Carym that he had accepted Bishop Rohan’s authority and logic. Perhaps, having come from Al Zocar so recently, the knight had been somewhat aware of the pitifulness of his leaders and their failure to accept aid from the Hand.

“In any case,” Bishop Rohan continued, “there is no way for you and your companions to venture beyond the Cklathish lands and into the Jaguar holdings”

“Which is why I propose that you all stay here under my protection and train with us. Teach us what you can Carym, and we will teach you what we can. I think you will find that the Hand of Zuhr has discovered some very powerful gifts which will help you.”

“Why not march the Hand of Zuhr to engage this new army of foreigners now?” asked Bart, ever impatient.

“The enemy’s army is far greater in numbers. And our presence could provoke a far greater war than we are capable of handling. Until our numbers grow, we have adopted a strategy wherein specialized harassing missions are carried out by covert personnel. Missions which will disrupt the enemy, weaken their morale, destroy vital supply sources, obtain special weapons for our army, and gather critical intelligence against theirs. It is our hope that we can weaken them sufficiently before the snows melt so that when we do face them the advantage will be ours.”

Bart nodded, accepting the wisdom from one who knew far more than himself on such strategical matters. “So we have some time to rest and refit then.”

“That will be nice,” said Carym, sleepily thinking of spending some time alone with Gennevera. He wondered if her new order had restrictions against such things.

“Long enough to accomplish what I believe will make your mission successful. Then we will escort you to the Jaguar lands where you can begin the search for the Tomb.”

“How long until we reach the training complex, Bishop?” asked Carym, feeling his eyelids getting heavy again.

“Another two hours until we reach the barracks of the Hand of Zuhr, I’m afraid. We must make our way all the way through the city and there are many people about to slow us...” Carym smiled, nodded, and leaned his head back against the soft seat of the coach and drifted off to sleep.

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