“You must not concern yourself with these things. Your life in Hyrum is behind you now. Do not dwell on what has been; dwell only on what is now and what will be,” the druid said in typical mysterious fashion. “You know the Arnathians will kill you, and Umber’s minions have been about. Hurkin raiding parties have been spotted in the mountain passes to the east. Sign of what is yet to come, I fear. Umber will unleash pure evil, destruction, and the enslavement of every land he conquers. Once Umber learns of your powers, he will do all that he can to turn you, or kill you.
“It is clear that Zuhr believes in you and has a plan for you, Carym. You should go to the Everpool and perhaps you will learn of His will.”
Carym was not at all comfortable with these new revelations. However, knowing that a lack of action would result in his death at the hands of either the Arnathians or Umber’s minions, he resolved to go the Everpool as the druid suggested; there was really no other choice. Not that he had the faintest idea where to find it.
“The going will not be easy but Zuhr will guide your way. Perhaps your friend, Zach, will find it in his interests to accompany you,” Dryume leaned towards Carym. “It is said that the Spiders hope to return to the ways of the ancient goddess, Amira and the Cklathish Overlords of old. This is a disturbing ruse, for Amira has been dead a thousand years. Watch your friend carefully, Carym, his association with the Spiders clouds his future.”
“Zach is an old friend, Master Druid. Yet I have learned much about him these last few days. I will heed your warning,”
Dryume studied him carefully; Carym felt as though the druid’s eyes were boring through his soul. “I am troubled by a stirring in the heavens. Some of the gods have become silent, and no longer answer the calls of their faithful, while others have become very weak. Only Zuhr, Umber, and the Arnathian god Qra’z have remained powerful. I believe we are witnessing a significant realignment of power in the heavens that will affect us all here on Llars.”
The old druid was silent for several moments, sadly staring into the crackling magical fire. Carym wished he could share his earlier experience with the powerful spirit of Zerva, wished he could share the revelations she had imparted to him. It was far graver than the druid thought, but still he felt as though it would be wrong to tell him.
“My feathered watchers tell me there is much amiss in the world of men this night. Doubtless the Arnathians have learned of your deeds and they will be hunting you. We must not venture out this night, for we are both in danger. We will be safe here for now, protected by the goddess herself.”
“What will you do? Where will you go? This wood and the animals here need you,” Carym stated. He was becoming more confused as to whether he should ever trust a god, especially lately.
“I will return eventually, but I have been tasked with a mission of my own. My brethren in other parts of Llars are suffering far worse and this wood is no immediate danger.”
“I am grateful for your advice and warnings, O’ druid.”
The old man fell silent, and Carym pondered his lot. He was anxious now. Excited by the prospect of an adventure, scared by the prospect of being hunted, and unsure if he should be pleased to know a god wanted him, Carym of Hyrum - a lowly carpenter, to be a champion. He was afraid of how good it might feel to truly know godly love the way the druid felt loved by his goddess, and he was afraid he might lose it like everything else in his life.
The old druid quite suddenly curled up on a pile of furs near the wolf, he was sleeping soundly in minutes. Carym could only sit and stare at the fire as the implication of what he learned sank in. Time had gotten away from them apparently, for Carym did not know it was so late.
When Carym awoke he found that Dryume and the great wolf were gone. Probably out tending to his forest.
The druid left him a loaf of sweet bread and some winter fruit on a small table. After eating, Carym gathered his things and climbed the staircase to the stone door above. His backpack felt heavier and Carym knew the old man must have put some supplies in there for him. Dryume was waiting there for him.
“Farewell, Carym.”
“Thank you, Master Dryume. I am indebted to you for your hospitality.”
“May the winds always be at your back, may you always have the love of your friends, and may your feet always take you home,” said the old man using a traditional Cklathish farewell. The two shook hands and Carym left the druid’s henge, making his way back toward Hyrum to meet Zach.
***
Carym stopped at his favorite spot on his way back to Hyrum Village, it was early and he still had time to meet Zach. The spot was a small clearing on top of a hill, the last such clearing before descending down to the Imperial Highway. The hill overlooked the valley in which his village was nestled, and this particular morning chimney smoke drifted lazily above a blanket of fog. Carym picked a few wild winter fruit as he sat down.
He took the opportunity to see what the old druid had placed in his pack. A few small loaves of bread, a flask of whiskey, and a cloak. It was a beautiful cloak, soft and supple, with a thin leathery hide covering the outside. It was colored like an array of forest leaves and tree bark, and Carym knew it would aid him well in hunting wild game. He knew that there was a very real chance hunting would be the only way for him to eat during the coming days. He donned his cloak, drew the hood low over his head to protect against the brisk autumn wind, and slung his bow.
The rising sun was a reddish color this morning, giving the fog an eerie hue. The breeze stirred leaves still clinging tenaciously to oak, maple and birch. Fall had only just begun, yet many trees had already lost their leaves. Perhaps winter would come early this year. A sudden wind brought with it an even deeper chill; as it bit into him, Carym was struck with a realization.
His stomach twisted into a knot and he leaped from the rock upon which he had been sitting, running as fast as his feet could carry him towards the village. His mind did not want to accept what he knew must surely lie beneath the smoky haze. Fear gripped Carym’s heart as he ran down the now blackened stones of the Imperial Highway. Nothing was left of his village but the charred remains of the cottages and the rubble of their stone foundations; the village had been burned to the ground during the night.
In a daze he surveyed what was left of the buildings around him. Here and there piles of charred bones smoldered where an unfortunate villager did not escape before the town was razed. Carym could hear the sound of distant voices and numbly made his way through the fog and smoke, wracked by guilt and shame. He held his cloak tightly about his face to keep from choking on the noxious smoke and moved cautiously towards the sounds. He wondered if this was the work of the Vaard again, but in his heart he knew this was not so. He choked back sobs as he assessed the ruthless efficiency that could only have come from Arnathian troops; this was his own fault.
Visions of the Vaardic raids that took the lives of his wife and daughter flooded his memory. He stood, frozen, reliving the horrible moment when he had discovered the worst. This was done by Arnathians, their so called benefactors! Strengthened now by his rising anger, he drew his blade and made his way to the far side of the village near the road to Hybrand. There he saw that a large number of Imperial troops were gathered around groups of prisoners. They were preparing to load some remaining villagers onto a large caged wagon.
He ducked behind a large post in front of what had been the village Marshal’s Office as an Arnathian legionnaire looked in his direction. When the legionnaire’s attention passed and the man had moved on, Carym saw that a piece of parchment fluttered from a tack on the post he was hiding behind. It was an official Imperial Warrant:
“To all who see this decree, be warned. Know yea the following individuals are criminals of the most dangerous sort, and have been declared fugitives by His Grace the Governor in the name of His Imperial Majesty Emperor Arnath.
Said individuals are traitors to the Crown, responsible for the death of Baron Mebley, Commander of the Hybrand
Territorial Qra’zim, and are members of a rebel group dedicated to overthrowing the divine rule of the Emperor. These men and women are dangerous and must be brought to justice, at all costs.
The Empire will pay a reward in the amount of 5,000 Holy Imperial Crowns for the successful capture of each of the following criminals:
Eriagaabyn Zanzillyan, warlock; Saera Mistress of the Blades, assassin; Zach Von Reese, assassin and murderer; Carym of Hyrum, thief and murderer...and on it went.
Carym was seething with anger; the Arnathians were supposed to protect Hybrand and keep it safe! He looked back towards the wagons with despair in his heart. He knew these people well; his people. He grew up with them, played Cklathball with them, hunted and fished with them; they were all the family he had left.
He read on.
Be further warned, any who would harbor these enemies of the Crown, shall be punished severely. Let the lesson of Hyrum be learned by all and give no asylum to wanted men.
It was then that Carym felt the essence of his purpose. He knew that he was going to embark on a journey that could affect the lives of many of his countrymen. He knew that he was going to play a role in the future of his country and that he must leave the past behind. With an iron will, Carym took from his pocket that which had been the focus of so much determination in his life, yet was also the symbol of his grip on the past. He walked very slowly along the well-worn dirt path behind the marshal’s office, his legs heavy as lead with the burden of what he intended to do. When he arrived at the little cemetery, he found his wife and daughter’s grave sites - at least the cemetery had been spared. He dug a small hole in the ground that covered the remains of his family. He carefully and reverently placed the figurine in the hole, staying his hand for long moments, afraid to let go. He thought again about what he was doing and concluded it was right. He would leave the carving here, where it would not be lost and it would not be forgotten. As he buried the figure, tears streamed down his face and he swore he would return to Hyrum to rebuild and remember. For now, though, he must move on and pray that they allowed him to.
Carym felt his burden to be just a little bit lighter as he walked morosely down the path, remembering that it was up to him now to help his captured countrymen. Doubtless they would be taken to the Temple Square, or worse, to the slave markets. He began to think of a plan. I will free them or die trying, he mused grimly. They will rue the day they trained Cklathmen to fight like Arnathians!
Carym moved swiftly and silently through the smoke and the damp fog, hiding behind the rubble of ruined homes. He understood the Arnathian military language and could hear the guardsmen discussing their plans. They were going to travel south on the Imperial Highway to meet up with a larger caravan, before continuing on to the slave auctions on the other side of the Empire. It was the worst possible scenario; slave markets!
Carym remembered a nearby trail, about a mile south of the village. The trail was straight and direct while the road wound its way around hills, trees and rocks. There was a place where the road narrowed as it passed between steep rocky walls, a perfect place for an ambush. If he moved swiftly he could reach the Arnathians before they arrived at the Southern Imperial Highway; if he could somehow assault the lead wagon and cause it to stop, it would force the caravan to stop. Beyond that he was not certain what he would do, but he knew Arnathian blood would be involved. Carym pulled his cloak tightly about him and slipped quietly through the smoke in the direction of the forest.
Behind him he heard the sound of heavy footfalls and turned to see two Imperial soldiers closing rapidly, and he ducked behind a burned out wall to avoid them.
“You there, halt!” the Arnathian shouted. “You are under arrest!”
Too late! He thought with panic. He held very still, thinking what to do next. He had to get away and intercept the caravan!
The soldier leveled a crossbow in his direction and said, “Place your hands on your head, and you will not be hurt!” Carym remained still and silent, frantically searching for a way out.
“OK, OK, don’t shoot!” a familiar voice echoed from the smoky haze to his left. A figure emerged from the smoking ruins, walking towards the waiting guardsmen with his hands on his head.
They didn’t see me! He thought to himself, relieved. All right, Carym. You’re going to have to hurry to save those people, but you certainly could use an extra hand!
Carym quietly drew his bow and nocked an arrow, waiting for his chance. If he could save this fellow Cklathman, he could recruit him to help with his rescue mission. As the man who owned the familiar voice moved toward the guards, the Arnathians relaxed and lowered their weapons sensing there would be no resistance. Seeing his moment, Carym fired an arrow at the lead guardsmen and hoped the Cklathman would duck out of the way to allow him a second shot.
The bolt found its mark in the throat of one of the guards and the Cklathman threw himself to the ground in an unspoken answer to Carym’s silent plea. Carym rapidly drew and fired another arrow at the remaining guard, striking him in the throat as well. With both guards down, Carym ran towards his fellow. The man stood up, his hood falling to his shoulders revealing his identity.
“Zach!”
“Carym,” Zach began. “I will make them pay for this!” Seething with anger, Zach appeared ready to charge headlong into another knot of Arnathian soldiers.
“We don’t have time, Zach! We must get to Hark’s Pass before that wagon does; they are taking our people to the slave markets!” Carym whispered earnestly.
“Where did you come from?” Zach asked, trembling with rage. “Never mind.” He realized that his need for revenge had been outweighed by a greater purpose. “Now we are even!” he said with a grin to his old friend.
The pair quickly stripped the dead Arnathians of their weapons, knowing every second they delayed could be disaster for their plan. He tossed an Arnathian crossbow to Zach along with a quiver of bolts, and the pair ran as fast as they could into the woods.
***
Carym and Zach arrived at Hark’s Point minutes before the prison wagons. They were tired and Carym was breathing hard; he was surprised at just how out of shape he had become. Ruefully he controlled his breathing and the fire in his lungs dissipated. In his younger years this little run would have seemed like a leisurely stroll. Zach tossed his longtime friend his water skin.
I’m getting old.
“The convoy isn’t very far...” Zach’s voice trailed off, listening intently. There it was, faintly heard footfalls of one of the convoy outriders. Carym and Zach slowly pushed themselves against the trunk of a mighty oak tree and blended in.
“I’ll shoot him the moment he gets in range,” Carym growled in a very soft voice.
“No,” replied Zach, speaking as quietly as he could manage. “Can’t risk a missed shot. He would escape and warn the convoy. This has to be done from close range and right deadly. When I signal, I want you to whistle to him. He will look for you in front and I will take him from the flank.”
Carym nodded his understanding, not daring to make more sound than necessary in the deathly still wood. The outrider would not likely hear them over the sound of his own horse moving through the wood, but he was getting closer. He could not help but wonder if this man was simply a second rate fill-in, or if the rumors of the decay of the mighty Arnathian Army were true.
It was then that Carym realized Zach had disappeared. Moments before he and his old friend had been huddled next to the very same tree; now Zach was nowhere to be seen. A subtle movement by Zach’s hand caught Carym’s attention and he could now barely make out his friend’s outline in the bush; that was the signal! Carym cupped his hands together and made an eerie owl-like call, with his cupped hands. Before Carym’s hands had reached his sides, the outrider’s short-spear was out, poised for a deadly throw.
Slowly, the scout’s head turned this way and that seeking the source of the call. The shrewd eyes mentally disassembled every branch and shadow with his
penetrating gaze, yet he did not see Carym! Carym decided that his earlier impression of the outrider had been incorrect; this was no second rate fill-in. The soldier dismounted and dropped to one knee, seemingly inspecting the ground. Then a dagger sailed through the air and buried itself to the hilt in the side of the man’s head.
Zach dropped lightly to the ground from the boughs of tree. “The convoy will be here in less than a minute.”
Carym hopped to his feet and helped his friend tie the dead soldier across his saddle. Then, quick as lightning, Zach swung the Arnathian’s short-spear and separated the outrider’s head from his body. He tied the scout’s ponytail to the bridle of the now prancing horse and slapped it hard on the rump with the flat of his blade. Carym watched in disgust as the horse sped away toward the approaching convoy, the headless rider slumping wildly in the saddle and the bloody head dangling below the panicked horse’s head.
“Was that necessary?” he hissed at his friend as the horse frantically crashed through branches and bushes toward the narrow road below. Zach gave his old friend a dark look as he made his way up the embankment to their ambush position. Moments later, the horse found its way to the road, causing the convoy to come to a halt. The lead wagon driver stopped and tried to calm the wild eyed horse which was causing all the other horses to stomp and snort in fear.
“Wait for the others to dismount. When they move to help the soldier in front, we will take turns firing volleys. Kill the drivers and the horses of the lead wagon, then kill anyone who puts their head too far out!” Zach gave Carym a determined look and stealthily moved to a position about fifty yards away.
Carym was seeing a side of his old friend that he never knew existed. It worried him to think that Zach was such an expert killer and could stalk as silently as a shadow; however grateful he might be for that very same skill at the moment.
A Tide of Shadows Page 9