The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (5 page)

“Nonsense,” he said, glancing around. “You’ve only been up here a short time, but a short time is all we have. We’ve been hearing other bands moving about the city, but can’t tell for the echoes where they are. I do wish we had more time to explore,” the ex-pirate finished wistfully.

“More time? We’ve been gone for hours!” said Gennevera.

“Hours?” asked Yag, befuddled, casting a wary eye at the pair. “Not likely!”

“Never mind, Yag. If there are more troks about, we had best be moving. Let’s go!” said Carym.

“Aye. And what about yer sword? You might be needin’ that, lad.”

Carym looked down at his belt and saw that his sword was gone! He looked frantically about and glanced back to the closet, embarrassingly aware of Yag’s curious stares. Either the man thought Carym an irresponsible lout for losing his weapon, or he assumed it came off as Carym disrobed in the quiet presence of the Keneerie woman! Carym placed the box in Gennevera’s backpack and took another look around, knowing fully that he would not find his sword. Thinking that the weapon was now safe in Fyrendi’s Home, Carym put the thought from his head. He was a skilled fighter and confident in his abilities to fight even without a weapon.

“Come on, Genn,” he said, grabbing her gently by the arm. Yag removed a fighting knife from his belt and tossed it to Carym who tucked it into his belt as the trio hurried downstairs to meet Gefar, keeping watch from the door. The captain would not question him now about the loss of his weapon, but sooner or later he would have to explain it all; he wasn’t really sure he understood himself. He and Genn had been inside Fyrendi’s Home for what seemed like hours, yet impossibly, Yag didn’t seem to think it had been more than a “short time,” however long - or short - that was. Clearly time passes differently in multidimensional rooms.

“We ought to be very quiet,” Gefar said as softly as possible. “Them nasties r’about.”

“Don’t whisper,” cautioned Yag in a very soft and low voice, “The sounds are sharper and carry farther. Just talk real quiet like me and Gefar.”

Carym nodded, knowing this to be sound advice. Gennevera appeared skeptical but would not disagree with three battle-hardened men. One by one they left the building behind and walked down the path toward the road. Acutely aware of the loss of his sword, Carym tried to recall a passage in the forward of the book that he had only skimmed over. There was something there about homage to the Great Flame and...? Try as he might, he could not recall the words and vowed to research this later. In the meantime he made himself recall the images of the Sigils which he had studied closely in Fyrendi’s Home, just in case he needed something stronger than a knife.

The foursome left the manor house behind and set out down the boulevard. Carym took the lead position with Gennevera a few paces behind him on the left side of the street. On the other side of the street Yag walked parallel to Gennevera with Gefar limping a few paces behind. Carym believed that, should the group come under assault again, they would be harder to hit if spread out. Gefar’s injury was mild. Gennevera had not tried to heal him with her powers, fearing that the powers of her dismal god might bring more attention than they bargained for.

They moved along, careful to make their footfalls soft as possible in the eerie quiet of the long abandoned city, stopping every so often to listen for the sounds of possible enemy pursuit. When they stopped they could just hear the faint sounds of movement far off, but those sounds had to compete with their own hard breathing in the suffocating silence of Lordsdeep. They all felt as though they were being watched, and more than once a member of the group snapped their head to one side or the other in response to a perceived motion, but failed to see it every time. It was a harrowing ordeal and everyone’s senses were heightened, nerves frayed. Each expected an attack to begin at any moment. They all feared that a second encounter with the unbelievably hardy troks, especially in greater numbers, would not end well for them. Carym wished his friend and fellow adventurer were here; his battle prowess was not to be reckoned with.

They continued down the long street for several hours, stopping periodically to listen for signs of trouble. Three times they stopped and heard muffled sounds of possible enemies close by, probably only a street or two away. Each time the foursome quickly spread as far out from each other as they could, each attempting to conceal themselves in shadows or behind an object for long moments.

Once, they even saw the demonic visage of a trok peering around the corner of a building at the intersection a mere hundred yards behind them. The little creature’s ears twitched and it sniffed loudly as it looked around before disappearing. The foursome remained in the shadows, hidden, for almost thirty more minutes to be certain the troks had not seen them, and weren’t coming back. According to Yag, troks were notoriously impatient and would likely not wait long to ambush the group had they been spotted; Carym wondered how Yag knew so much about the diminutive but terrifying fighters and vowed to question the man about his past eventually.

Feeling it was safe to proceed, Carym stood and led the group on. The scenery along the way was much the same as before, only it seemed as though the ostentatiousness of the buildings in this opulent city increased as they moved closer towards the center of the city. As the foursome moved along, a very unique structure appeared in the distance on the right. It was a plain structure, made of modest stone blocks. It was built like nothing else in this odd city and stuck out as much by its lack of adornment as by the opulence of its neighbors. There was no wall around this building and the front door was missing. Carym assumed that the door to this must have been made of wood in keeping with its modest appearance, for there was no evidence whatsoever of damage to the door frame to indicate it had been forcibly removed. For a moment he considered leading the group onward. It was precisely then that Carym felt the sudden urge to handle the stones in his coat pocket. Putting his left hand into the pouch with the stones, he felt an overwhelming urge to enter this building. He was a little leary of trusting these stones so implicitly, but they had not truly harmed the group so far.

Sigils adorned the outside of the building, though there were subtle differences from those in his book that made them illegible to him. Inside he could see rows of pews separated by an aisle that led to an altar at the far end, so he knew this was a temple.

“Carym,” said Yag quietly but urgently from the street. “This don’t look like a Blood Spire to me!”

Gefar nodded grimly, agreeing with his captain.

“This is a temple. The Dalcasian soldier said something about honoring the ‘Great Father,’” Carym turned to Gennevera who had moved up to the door to stand beside him. The other two were standing at the edge of the street scanning for trouble. “Isn’t Zuhr known as the Great Father among some peoples still?”

“Indeed,” she replied. “Great Father, Great Flame, Great Lord, and many other titles.”

“Aye, but I don’t see a Bloody Spire!” said Yag, his voice still low but harsh.

“I have a suspicion it is well hidden, Yag. What better place to hide something from greedy treasure hunters than by placing it in the poorest looking building in the city, a building made of ordinary stone?” Carym said. “Come on, let’s go inside and see if we can find something to lead us to the spire. We can rest here and perhaps find something to help us get out of this city.” The Cklathman did his best to hide his weariness. That battle had drained his energy so deeply he felt as though he was going to drop to the ground dead at any moment. And he desperately hoped his old friend would return to the group. “If we find nothing of value, we will leave.”

Carym turned and entered the temple, Gennevera close behind, and he was immediately overcome with a sensation of being home. He felt as though he had just completed a long journey and arrived on his own doorstep ready to collapse. He found it increasingly difficult to walk, his legs felt like lead as he entered an open doorway at the end of the chamber. Once inside, he sank to his knees, unable to go further. He felt sleep coming over him and turned weakly to see Gennevera on the floor beside him, eyes already closed. Blearily he looked to the doorway to see Yag and Gefar stumbling into the room. Yag let out a curse and said, “What in Hades have ya done to us, lad?” then he fell to the floor, asleep.

C H A P T E R

2

The Blood Spire. Zach Returns.

The Pack.

Carym woke from what his warrior’s instinct told him had been a very deep sleep. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to wake up; sleeping deeply in a strange land with enemies about is a good way to get killed. He struggled to his feet as quickly as his leaden limbs would allow and forced his eyes to obey him. He looked around and saw that his companions were still sleeping soundly. Rising to his feet, he surveyed the chamber and found nothing amiss.

As quickly as his fear came, it left him. As his mind truly began to focus and process what he was seeing he began to feel remarkably energized. Rather than waking his friends, he decided to keep watch and sat back down to think about the events of the journey; it was then that he noticed there was a door on the front of the temple; it was closed. It was clear to Carym that there was no small amount of “coincidence” involved in this journey; and he believed very little ever happened by coincidence. The old druid had explained the nature of Zuhr to Carym back in Hybrand. And it was Zuhr who was responsible for the loss of the Sigil powers so long ago. Dryume had told him that Zuhr had chosen Carym to play a part in the return of the Sigil powers, and that Zuhr looked upon men as his own children and cared for them. Now he was in an incredibly advanced - yet ancient - city where ironically, an attack by evil troks led them to find an ancient device and a church dedicated to Zuhr.

No, certainly not coincidence
, he thought to himself. He smiled, allowing himself to feel happy for the first time in a while. He truly felt like he was being guided and had Zuhr on his side. It had been a very long time ago that Carym actually felt any god was on his side; a time before his wife and child had been murdered by Vaard. And that was a time when he had been very, very angry at the heavens for allowing such a thing to happen. Time had tempered his wounds and though he was still more than a little bitter over the Vaardic raids, he had finally put that chapter of his life to rest.

Carym removed the spellbook from his pocket and watched over his friends for a long while, hoping Zach had fared well and praying that his irrational friend would find his way back to the group. After an hour or so of study, with the rest of his companions still fast asleep, Carym found the passage that had been nagging him since he found the multidimensional chamber known as Fyrendi’s Home. It said: “Those who endeavor to learn the power of the Sigil of Flames must exchange mundane power for the might of the Flame.”

Carym thought about those words for a while, wondering if his translation was accurate. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him. The word
exchange
is an ancient word with many meanings in many languages. Even in modern High Cklathish, similar to the long-extinct Old Cklathish, that one word meant
to give, to receive, to borrow or return,
and
to sacrifice.
He began to see that a price was demanded from him for the gift of the Flames, and that was a sacrifice of the symbol of his earthly strength; his sword. While he knew he would miss having the security of that weapon, he had found something deep within himself that no sword could match. In fact, in one short hour he had learned much that would help him and his companions should they be accosted again on their journey.