The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (8 page)

Her own power was growing, thanks in no small part to the forbidden arts which the Sisters of Grymm were loath to use.
Fools,
she thought. Although she had not been privy to much of Carym’s training, what little she saw assured her that it was quite powerful, possibly as powerful as the forbidden disciplines she had been secretly studying under the noses of her watchful sisters. The gifts bestowed upon her would be quite useful in the coming journey to the surface, a journey she was certain would lead her happily away from her Order.

With a great sigh she stored the cans and supplies for their journey and headed back to the main temple to find Carym and Mathonry. When she entered the chamber she saw the two standing together talking amiably. When Carym acknowledged her presence, Gennevera was shocked to see Mathonry chose that moment to take advantage of Carym’s distraction. She gasped as the immortal swung a large staff, seemingly from nowhere, at Carym with amazing speed and force. The impact surprised Carym, but he absorbed the painful blow and allowed himself to fall to the ground into a roll regaining his feet quickly. Carym raised his right hand high and she stared in amazement as a blade of shining black metal appeared in his hand and a baton of equally black and shiny metal appeared in his left; both shimmering in the light, dancing with subtle flames.

Gennevera half thought to hurl a missile at the Cjii, but rejected the notion remembering exactly how powerful he truly was. No, if he had truly wanted to hurt Carym...well she didn’t want to think about that. Then, just as quickly, Mathonry’s face changed from intense to joyful and he walked over to Carym. He examined the blades Carym had called forth with the Tides with an amazed look on his face. “You have a bit of the Earth in you, Carym! How did you do that?”

Carym’s mind was on his next move, his next parry, and he was absorbed in his fighting stance. It took a moment for that statement to register.

“Earth?”

“Aye,” he said with a smile. “The Earth Sigils are tapped to call forth blades of metal or stone. Then you limned them with Flame! It is quite impressive for you to be able to call upon a second Mystery so soon. Well done!” With a great hug that surprised Gennevera, Mathonry congratulated Carym.

“I have taught you the fundamental principles needed to harness the Tides and you have absorbed your lessens with great honor and courage. You are ready to begin your journey, though you still have much to learn.”

Carym had an eager gleam in his eye. He began to feel that youthful zeal again, like when he had joined the Arnathian Fleet and hoped to do good in the world. Only now he knew that he really would be a force for good, heralding the return of something precious and powerful and able to repel the evil forces of Umber and his minions. He let himself feel how good it was to have a good purpose; confidence radiated from his pores.

“Thank you for tending to the supplies, Genn. Are the others ready to travel?”

“Yes,” she said. “And eager to be gone. It was quite a thing for Yag to keep Gefar from running off on his own!”

Carym appeared thoughtful and it was clear to Gennevera that his mind was already moving elsewhere.

“Why do you not carry weapons now?”

Carym’s mind snapped back to the moment and he focused on her again. “I am told that Fyrbold, the masters of the Fire Sigils, adhered to a strict code which included not carrying weapons or armor except the traditional
bo-tani
.”

Carym withdrew two wooden batons from a strap on his belt that were just a bit more than a hand width in length. With a quick flip of his wrists, the batons extended in a telescoping fashion to about three times that length, one with a metal ball for a tip and the other with a short blade for a tip. It was a weapon she had not seen before.

Carym took a few quick swings in precise movements to demonstrate their effectiveness. Then he touched the bottoms of the two batons together and with a quick twist they were connected into one longer fighting stick.

“Very impressive!” she exclaimed. “I wonder why your predecessors chose to arm themselves in such a limited fashion.”

“Mathonry says that the Fyrbold were the most militant of the Orders. They believed strongly in the martial combat skills of non-magical fighting and in using the Sigils as little as possible to achieve their ends.”

Gennevera said nothing, studying him. Although she studied for many years of her life in the ways to suppress her emotions, she was having a hard time convincing herself that she was not attracted to this man. Even with no weapons the Cklathman possessed an air of calm confidence. He wasn’t altogether different from when she first met him, but now his bearing and confidence were much more pronounced.

“When a new recruit was accepted into the ranks for training, he was forced to lay down all arms and strip to the waist. Then, he would face off in a fight against a Fyrbold with all the skills and knowledge he possessed. The sparring session would show the Fyrbold how much instruction the recruit would need,” he paused for a moment rubbing his side. “And to humble any overconfidence from particularly headstrong recruits.”

She wondered how much of that sort of training he had endured during the preceding days. She knew he had already possessed considerable skills in the area of martial combat and guessed logically that most of his instruction would have been aimed at using the Sigils to unlock the powers of the Sigil of Flames.

“We’ve been fortunate to avoid detection by the troks patrolling this city. In fact, there have been skirmishes between Trokkish factions and we even spotted a few oroks wandering about,” said Gennevera. She found herself thinking of Carym’s selfless traits and lean physique far too much and chose to change the subject. “It was a miracle that we haven’t been discovered.”

“Indeed,” he replied simply. He took the cloak that Gennevera had offered him and studied it for a moment, considering its unusual quality. It was a plain thing, brown with black trim and inexplicably soft. He slung the cloak over his shoulders and tucked the batons into his belt.

“Where is Mathonry?” she asked, following Carym into the main sanctuary of the temple.

“He will not be joining us,” Carym replied matter-of-factly. “He took great risk in coming to us here. Although the Cjii are strictly forbidden from meddling directly in our affairs, Zuhr has made an exception for him. There is a great war brewing in the heavens, Genn. The pantheon of gods is tilting wildly and new lines are being drawn. The gods and the Cjii who serve them are choosing sides in a war that will rock the heavens,” he finished sadly.

“What do you mean?”

“All I know is that Umber has drawn some of his siblings and their Cjii to his side to fight with him. While the others have acknowledged Zuhr’s decree that his misguided children have overstepped their bounds. There are no true gods but Zuhr Himself! The rest are his own children, his own creations. I am told the children of Zuhr are less divine than He, but more so than any of the Cjii. I don’t truly understand it all, but Mathonry says that doesn’t matter. Only Zuhr matters; the others are meant to serve Him.”

Gennevera said nothing, watching him as he checked the weapons and supplies each person was carrying. They decided to move out in a file formation and each of the foursome was aware of their responsibilities to the group. Satisfied that all was ready and each person knew their responsibility when the inevitable conflict ensued, Carym led his team down the stairs into the darkness below the Temple. Gennevera cast a backward glance at the sanctuary, longing to bring with her the calm and serenity she felt there. Shaking her head, she wondered whose side Grymm had chosen.

The group moved on in silence. There was nothing to say, really. There were no other options that didn’t involve facing more troks on the city streets above. The group had spent a grueling five days under the tutelage of the ancient Mathonry Fyrendi, mercilessly drilling them on battle formations, marching tactics, and the use of magic. Carym had endured intense sessions in the use of the Sigil of Flames with his mentor. He learned much about the basics of its use and how to control it without burning himself to a crisp. Now Mathonry was satisfied that the group could face any number of attacks with a level of military efficiency that would see them through the vast reaches of the Underllars. They were ready and eager to see the sun again.

Mathonry could not accompany them on this part of the journey, but he urged haste in reaching the Everpool before the Dark Hunters caught up to them. He assured them he would check in on them from time to time and instructed them on the finer points of the use of his “home.” Having never truly spent much time in the Underllars, Mathonry knew little about how his “home” had come to be there and even less about how the group could find the surface. He did know what the Blood Spire was and told them how to find it. A secret tunnel led from the temple directly to the spire and he showed them how to find the entrance.

“Be wary, even in this place below the Temple of Zuhr,” he warned. “This place has been unwatched for a very long time and anywhere beyond the confines of this temple should be considered dangerous. Alas, I can offer you little else.”

Mathonry unceremoniously vanished then, leaving only his final instructions. Gennevera used her own brand of magic and lit the tunnel with a ghostly and very cold light. After walking through the cold, dank tunnel for what seemed like an hour, they came to another stair leading up while the tunnel itself continued on. Carym lead the group onward and upward, grateful there had been no traps, troks, or misleading corridors along the way. All of them silently hoped this was where they would find the Blood Spire.

They ascended a tightly winding spiral stair that seemed to go up forever. It took almost twenty minutes of climbing stairs before they reached the first landing. Gefar immediately sat down, grumbling to himself and muttering, but Carym paid him no mind. There was a door here. Carym opened the door and entered the room, followed by Yag and Gennevera. After a moment and a curse, he heard the sounds of the still grumbling Gefar and guessed the dour man had decided to come along.

As the foursome entered the room, glowing bulbs of light lining both walls immediately lit the chamber. While the temple, the passageways and stairways behind them were unremarkable and made from stone, this room was the model of opulence and decadence. The floors, walls, and ceiling were all made from smoothly polished ruby. Cabinets, tables, and desks, all made of something that appeared to be silver, with beautiful inscriptions and designs, were located in various places about the room. To Carym the room looked so well-preserved, it seemed as though there could have been people working in here just yesterday and he had the peculiar feeling as though someone would be back at any moment. But most striking was the large glass window at the opposite side of the room where Gennevera now stood. Carym approached and looked out the window to the city below.

“What a beautiful city!” she exclaimed wistfully. “Can you imagine what it must have looked like so many centuries ago when it was bustling? And the wealth and opulence of it all. This place must have been the envy of all the kingdoms in the world!”

Carym said nothing, looking out over the impressive place. From up here he could see the gate which led to the port where they had lost their ship, broad avenues, soaring towers, beautiful mansions; and not a modest brick to be seen. He sighed, wondering if it was extravagance that led to the downfall. Behind him he heard Yag and Gefar looking around, examining drawers and cabinets for something useful like a map. It was then, however, that he saw movement in the city below.

“I think I see more troks,” he said with foreboding.

“I see them,” said Gennevera after a moment’s searching, scanning the rest of the city. “I see at least five different patrols, each looks to have close to twenty troks!”

Gefar began cursing and his search continued in haste.

“Seems to me we ought to be fairly safe up here, and unlikely the little bastards will find us,” said Yag hopefully.

“But we have to leave sooner or later, and when we do they will be waiting. I would like to find a map and escape this city as quickly as possible!” said Carym as he turned. Then seeing the far wall for the first time, he noticed how out of place one large rectangular area was. It was completely bare while the rest of the walls were covered with inscriptions and murals and fancy jewels. At waist level was circular shape in the wall with a depression not unlike the one which unlocked Mathonry Fyrendi’s home. Carym strode to the wall and examined the depression. From his pocket he removed the key which he had used to unlock Fyrendi’s home, and placed it in what appeared to be a keyhole. Immediately the wall above him lit up with words and script in the alien language used by the Dalcasians of the Uta Millan Empire. When the words faded, an image of a person appeared and began to speak. This time, Carym was unable to comprehend the words and could only shake his head as the others looked at him expectantly.

“What sort of Shadow magic this is?” Gefar said to the image of the pale skinned man in a shrill voice. “Who are you?” he demanded to the figure.

“Gefar, I cannot understand him but I don’t think he can hear or see us. I think this was somehow captured and designed to be displayed when the key is placed into that lock. But why?” Carym said thoughtfully. Yag had walked to the large window and very slowly drawn a set of curtains closed to prevent the light from the image being seen on the streets below. He hoped that the troks had not already seen it.