Slowly he began to make out an arm through the tangle of trees before him, then a head appeared and at last, the chest. Now that Carym had a proper target he let out his breath, focused...and stopped suddenly.
The driver of the first wagon suddenly toppled from his seat, the fletch of an arrow protruding from his throat. And Carym had not fired! Then he heard the cacophony of sounds echoing from the trees and rocks around him. Shrill hawk cries, growling cats, and eerie owls sang from the woods. Frantically he looked about, peering this way and that through the sun dappled trees, hoping to spy the source of the assault.
More arrows soared through the air from higher up on the bluff as frantic Arnathian warriors scurried for cover. The prisoners huddled together in the wagon hoping not to get caught up in the assault. The horsemen who rode alongside the caravan for lateral protection tried feebly to turn toward the assault and counter-attack. However, the high bluffs prevented this and they were cut down quickly by the merciless arrows. Another volley soared through the trees and the Arnathian flank and rear scouts were no more. In moments all of the Arnathians guards and drivers were dead.
He cautiously abandoned his position and moved to the tree that Zach was hiding behind; his friend seemed equally perplexed. Several heavily armed men and women dressed in dark green and brown clothes had moved in and began releasing the captives from the wagon.
“Who are they, Zach? They wear no uniform that I recognize.” Carym studied the newcomers intently as he sighted in his bow, still nocked with an arrow. He was ready to fight should their intentions prove less than honorable.
Zach smiled and began to speak, but suddenly Carym couldn’t understand him. Odd, why is Zach speaking the Goblin Gib? he thought to himself. No, that isn’t quite right, is it? He thought sleepily. The words coming out Zach’s mouth seemed bizarrely drawn out and slow, almost comical. He turned to find a cloaked and hooded person pointing at him and chanting. His eyes were trying to close on him and he just didn’t know why he felt so sleepy. Then it occurred to his foggy mind that this was a spell caster! As his vision was dimming, he knew he must do something to protect himself; he drew back and loosed his arrow at the figure, just as his vision faded to black.
***
Voices.
Why are there voices in my head? Carym tried to comprehend what exactly was going on as he lay on what was apparently a very cold, very hard, stone floor. His head swam and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He groaned in pain. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he had gotten drunk and blacked out. But he knew he hadn’t been drinking and vaguely remembered being ready to kill a bunch of Arnathian soldiers.
What are they saying? It was as if he was hearing a language he did not know. And what is that banging?
As the fog slowly lifted from his mind he realized the banging was actually his own throbbing head. He opened his eyes and saw Zach standing next to a woman and a strangely dressed man, a Karbander he supposed. The woman was as beautiful as they came, Carym observed. She had raven black hair, feminine curves and tight-fitting clothes. The man was richly dressed and had the look of one who was well traveled. Different though they were, Carym noticed they both wore the emblem of a black widow spider on their garb.
“What on Llars is going on here?” he asked, as he rubbed his temples and stood shakily. It was quite cold. He fought the urge to shiver, refusing to display weakness in front of these strangers.
“Where are we, Zach?” he asked, his voice raspy and hoarse.
“We are in the underground caves of the Black Spiders of Amira, Carym.” Zach said to his longtime friend. “This is Saera Blades, she is a Spider officer and the lieutenant to whom I report.” Zach looked away and stepped back in deference to Saera.
“Amira, eh?” said Carym as he looked at his friend curiously. “I thought the Spider Knights of Amira disappeared a thousand years ago.”
“You know your history well,” said Saera with a smile and a flourishing bow. Carym couldn’t help but notice her voluptuous figure again, thanks to her revealing bust line. He hoped he wasn’t staring. He hoped the other man didn’t notice.
“Amira was destroyed by Zuhr when she attempted to prevent the spread of Zuhr’s faith among the Cklathish peoples. They tried to silence his followers yet it was Amira who was ultimately silenced.”
“We are succeeded from those same warriors of old,” she said.
The other man was fidgety and appeared eager to be gone. Carym decided to mind his tongue, lest it painfully get the better of him. Best to be wary.
“The Spider Lords went into hiding when Amira disappeared,” the woman continued. Carym needn’t have worried, she seemed to relish the opportunity to talk. “They continued to do the Amira’s work in secret for a thousand years. But now the goddess has returned, and so have her followers. Our liberty is at hand!” She spoke Hybrandese Cklathish perfectly, as though she was locally raised and her motivation seemed sincere though he did not recognize her.
Carym was skeptical but tried to remain deadpan, hoping to avoid confrontation over something that was truly of no consequence at the moment. Considering he was somewhere below the surface in a cave with a group of outlaws, he regretted challenging the woman.
“Why did you attack us at Hark’s Point?” he asked her, hoping to change the subject. “We were working toward the same end.”
Zach laid a conciliatory hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Carym. I tried to tell you before you fired. I recognized the magic-wielder at the last moment, but the spell had been cast. I didn’t know it, but they had already planned to rescue the villagers and were in place when we arrived.”
“We could not be sure that you were not a loyalist traitor, especially when you turned your weapon on our sorceress, Malyce,” said Saera, a bit smugly. “Your resistance to magic is remarkable. In fact, you were able to fire an arrow into her shoulder before the magical sleep took you; she was quite angry with you, you know.” The dark haired woman flashed a sensuous smile at Carym, her eyes holding him. “But she is indeed a powerful sorceress and has survived her injury. She may yet be persuaded to forgive you,” she said with a sly wink.
Carym was amazed that this woman could deliver innuendo in the midst of a serious conversation. Apparently she was trying to distract him; it was working. “The villagers who were not killed by the Arnathians have been freed and they have been sent to Dockyard City where we will obtain passage for them to Brythyn.”
“Thank you for your efforts to save our people,” he said with genuine relief.
“What are these things?” asked Carym, pointing at the floor.
“They’re cave lichens,” replied Saera.
“Like- what?” Carym seemed confused.
“Lichens. They are mosses that grow on damp rocks underground; they are colorful and some have special properties. This is a rare species brought to us as a gift by dwarves who built these tunnels for us. They provide us with natural light underground.” Somehow he doubted that the reclusive dwarves who had not been seen in three centuries, built these amazing tunnels at the request of a band of thieves and assassins.
“I’m glad we could we could enlighten you,” said Zach irritably. “What are we waiting for, Lieutenant?”
“We are awaiting the arrival of another operative. One who has been working deeply among the Arnathians. It seems he has been discovered and we cannot risk losing him.” The woman spoke nonchalantly, and yet Carym was certain she was disguising her ire. The Karbander tried weakly to remain stoic, yet his scowl persisted. Karbanders were not noted for their patience.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of acquaintance, sir. I am Carym of Hyrum,” Carym offered his hand to the fellow who simply looked at him. It was then that Carym saw the peculiar creature on his shoulder.
“Is that a bug on your shoulder?” asked Carym with a grimace.
“It is a praying mantis, peasant,” the man said condescendingly. “Be wary,
she bites.”
The man allowed himself a smirk framed in a curly black beard, then as quickly as the smirk came, it was gone. The bug appeared to be watching him very closely, rubbing its arms together and making a hissing sound; it truly perplexed Carym that the man would actually want a bug on his shoulder for any reason. What was more perplexing, was why the bug chose to stay there.
The man wore no weapon that Carym could see, but there was a beautiful rod hanging from his belt by a leather strap. His pants, though subdued, were flowing in typical Karbander fashion and ended at a pair of shiny boots. His fingernails were long and with arcane symbols etched in shiny paint on each one and there was a similar symbol tattooed to his head. Karbanders never ceased to amaze Carym with their exotic attire.
“Ahh, so good to see you my pet!” purred Saera. Certainly it couldn’t be...
“Willam, Rashel!” growled Zach as he drew his sword and advanced on the newcomer. Apparently Zach cared as little for Willam as for his sister, Rashel. Saera raised her hand, motioning Zach to stop, and he obeyed albeit grudgingly.
Willam stood in the dim light, his handsome features the subject of Saera’s scrutiny. He was dressed as Carym had seen him yesterday at the inn, wearing simple brown and gray shirt and pants. He looked haggard, his face soot-stained and his clothes were torn and bloody in places. He wore a silver-worked rapier at his hip, a weapon favored by those of his family.
“Well met, Carym. Zach. I am glad to see you both escaped safely,” he said politely as he walked over to Saera and embraced her warmly. The Chevals were a very polite and proper group, and even when they disliked someone Chevals always showed them respect. For a family scathingly regarded as turncoats, Carym found it hard to dislike the man.
When Willam had removed himself from the warm grasp of the sultry and buxom woman, Zach was standing right there facing him with an accusatory look. “Funny how you were at the inn yesterday right before we were attacked by Qra’zim!” he said with venom.
“Stand down, Zach!” ordered the woman, exasperated. She was well aware of the dislike between her underlings. Willam simply looked at Zach, expressionless. Carym noticed something in the young man’s eyes that betrayed his thoughts, however. Resignation? It was all very bizarre to Carym. This man whose family had sold out to the Arnathians had been covertly spying on the Imperials in the employ of a bandit gang. It did not surprise Carym that this man would feel resigned, his people would forever question his loyalty.
“Aye, Lieutenant,” Zach growled. He stepped back from Willam but did not take his eyes from the man.
“Zach, I know what you think. I know my reputation. Believe me, I have been on your side the whole time.” The man spoke earnestly; clearly it mattered to him what his childhood friends thought of him.
“Spare me, Cheval. I know-” began Zach before Willam interrupted him.
“You know nothing, man! You didn’t know that there was a second Qra’zim waiting to split your skull, which is why the other one was so bold. I killed him. I saved your lives!” he said passionately. “Please, believe me.”
Carym wondered why Willam cared so much what Zach thought.
“You see, Zach? I saw him standing over a body,” said Carym, standing with Willam. “You were mistaken about him.”
“That remains to be seen. How can he prove it?”
At that moment the man removed a stilton from inside his cloak and handed it to Saera. She examined it with a smile, turning it over and finally offering it to Zach who simply nodded and stalked into the tunnel. It was the stilton of one of the Qra’zim, one of Qra’z’ holy warriors would not give up the symbol of their power by any means short of death. It couldn’t have belonged to the one Zach had killed, for Zach had taken it as a trophy.
“Come, the Master awaits us,” Saera said as she turned and followed Zach into the darkness. Zach avoided Carym’s eyes and turned to follow the woman down the passageway.
C H A P T E R
6
The Prophet-General.
A Nightmare.
Shalthazar stepped out of the dim light of the magical portal and saw bright sunshine and greenery. He was now in the mouth of a cave on the side of a mountain, the bottom of which appeared to be located in a semi-tropical forest. He sighed regretfully at his luck; heat and humidity always seemed to foul his usually stoic facade. The cacophonous sounds of exotic birds drifted up the mountainside, echoing off the rocky bluffs and peaks. He knew, and dreaded, the heat and giant mosquitoes that awaited him below.
As he descended the rocky trail, sparse shrubs and spiky mountain laurel gave way to palmettos and ferns. As he descended, the cool mountain air was gradually replaced by warmer and more humid conditions. Finally, he detected the sound of a stream. Driven by thoughts of a cool drink, Shalthazar diverted off the main path toward that sound. After a short but treacherous walk over a natural finger on the hillside, the wizard located the source of that sound, a small waterfall. The water spilled out of the side of the mountain from a spring hidden deep beneath the surface and cascaded gently down over some rocks and into a pool.
Dripping with sweat, Shalthazar swatted at some giant bugs and briefly cursed the bargain he made with that dark god, as he made his way to the spring. The heat and humidity were rapidly sapping his strength, while the thin mountain air made him feel lightheaded. Shalthazar used his newfound powers and cast a Sigilspell allowing his body to quickly adjust to the conditions here; he dare not risk being exposed as an outlander fraud. Shalthazar shifted his vision so that he could see the natural ebb and flow of the magical Tides around him. He watched the multicolor waves of energy slithering across the ground like serpents and focused on the darkest one. The Shadow Tide was the faintest of the Tides he could see; nevertheless, it was the strongest of all the Tides. It pulled at him, powerfully addictive; he felt like he had to have it just to survive. He traced the image of the Sigil in the air above him and called the Sigil’s name in the language of the Shadow Sigil, a language near in power to the languages of the gods and the immortals.
Shalthazar watched as the Sigil he traced in the air, Acclimation, came to life and glowed with dark energy. The magical glyph shifted and slithered in the air like a snake before drifting slowly to the ground. The Shadow Tide slithered to him and began wrapping itself around him, beginning at his feet and working its way to his head. Shalthazar did not panic, though. He had been through this before and was now quite familiar with the nature of Sigilspells. Finally, the magic imbued the elf’s body with its dark power and Shalthazar began to feel the intoxicating effects. Regretfully, the pleasurable feeling was over just as soon as it came on, and the wizard had to bring his mind back to the task at hand. He felt different now. No longer sweating, Shalthazar felt like he could run a marathon in this stifling humidity and not bat an eye over it.
He waited near the area of the waterfall for a few moments to be certain there were no hostile creatures that wished to share his water and observed the town below. It was a medium sized city and from this vantage point appeared to be bustling in typical fashion. When he was reasonably sure there were no thirsty creatures nearby, the wizard made his way to the water and drank deeply to quench his thirst. He stripped off his clothes and secured them in a palmetto bush with his pack and his belongings. Then he waded chest deep into the cold water. He contemplated his first moves as he basked in the cool water, absently studying the colorful flora and fauna around him.
Magic as he had known it all his life, was weaker here. The once powerful magic-wielder could now only perform the more simple spells and charms he had learned centuries ago with any great effectiveness. The more powerful and complex spells required an abundance of magical energy to draw from and it simply was not available here, the effects of arcane magic were thusly muted.
What made the Shadow Sigil the most dangerous and fearsome of all the Sigils was the unthinkable and despicable power of soul stealing. This dark power was so black and evil that Zuhr bann
ed it from practice on Llars after it corrupted His most stalwart and faithful follower, infamously known as the Dark Paladin.
Umber, the dark god for whom Shalthazar now worked, revealed to the wizard that a group of his followers, known as the Dark Disciples, had been charged with the protection of the lore of the Black Sigil since its banishment by Zuhr. Its members were battle-hardened warriors and assassins and had been protecting the Sigil lore during the centuries following the fall of the Dark Paladin. These would be Shalthazar’s generals, his masters of chaos and destruction. They would also help propel him to the lofty goal which he thus far had shared with no one else.
Umber, or Ilian Nah as he was known here, had equipped the wizard with knowledge of the customs of this foreign land upon which Shalthazar now stood. In this part of the world Keneerie elves were considered equals among men, and such was to be Shalthazar’s disguise. Keneerie were a race of elves who were physically stronger and stockier than their Crimson and Frost elf cousins, yet they were still decidedly Elvish. Thus, Shalthazar’s new identity, that of a monk of Ilian Nah who had returned to the world from decades of solitary service to the god, would not be too far removed from his true physical persona and simpler to maintain. In this way his strange accent and uncertain ways would be attributed to being from the mystical monastery known to exist only in legend and lore.
Shalthazar again shifted his sight so that he could see the Shadow Tides. His eyes focused on the rivulets of colored energy blazing around him. Finding what he sought, the dark wizard traced the Shadow Sight Sigil in the air and watched as the spidery tendrils of dark energy swirled and raced into him. His mind believed he was going on a journey, yet he knew he still had his two feet firmly on the ground. He felt like he was racing along a raging river, yet it was his mind’s eye following a path in the river of Shadow Tides. From shadow to shadow, his awareness ebbed and flowed, shifted and swirled; from tree to tree, rock to rock, until he found himself in the shadows of buildings in the town below him.
A Tide of Shadows Page 10