“Nevertheless, the keepers of the Earth Sigil lore, are generally fighters, trackers, woodsmen, and perhaps a few druids, and they have a finger on the pulse of what is happening all over the Northern Continent. I know many of them, though few else in this world are aware of who they are...” the old man’s voice trailed off.
Carym could say nothing. He was stunned. He had never had any interest in the arcane. That sort of interest would get a person arrested, or killed, in the empire. But he knew that things were out of hand now. Strange things were happening in the empire and in his homeland and he was concerned for the future. Deep inside, he always knew that he was destined for something greater; yet he had never conceived what form that “something” might take. He glanced at Merkhan, eyes closed yet listening; the wolf’s ear twitched in their direction every now and then.
Dryume nodded at Carym’s obvious connection. “The Ra’nzher, some were called in his day. And, maybe they will be called so again. Merkhan was indeed one of those men. His tale will have to be told another day, I’m afraid. Perhaps he will tell you himself,” the man said with a sly nod at the wolf. Merkhan was that old? Carym really didn’t think he should be amazed at anything after today, but he just was.
“So, that is how I was able to pass through solid stone?” The more the old druid talked about Sigil magic, the farther the events of the day had slipped from his mind. Dryume was a wise old man who had seen more than a century of life, and it was Dryume’s time tested belief that first things should be discussed first, and others things should be discussed later. Dryume knew there was nothing to be done about the situation in Hyrum, and he knew there was less that could be done to forestall the Arnathian punishment that would inevitably follow the day’s events. The hopelessness of it all was beginning to wear at Carym’s nerves, he wasn’t sure just how patient he could be with the old druid.
“I am not an expert in the lore of Sigils,” the old man admitted with a regretful glance at Merkhan. “Our goddess grants her faithful the powers we need to do her bidding, such as the power to pass through solid stone. If we do not obey her, or if we displease her, we may lose our powers. Those of us who remain in her favor have great power at our disposal.
“However, those who used the Sigils were never bound to the whims of a god. Sigilists use their powers at their own discretion. Or peril. It is a truly powerful form of magic. Its essence is malleable, able to be shaped to the will of the user. And through great meditation its power can be stored in physical objects, creating enchantments of infinite possibilities,” the old man paused and stared into the crackling and popping fire.
“Master druid,” Carym began as he fought off a rising sense of irritation. Although he was fascinated by all this, he truly wanted to discuss his plight and seek advice from his longtime acquaintance. The druid ignored him, however, as he was wont to do; he had more to say, after all.
“The power of the Sigils may be used to enhance the Sigilists’ own life force,” he said mysteriously. “Some Sigilists used this power to enhance their senses, to make themselves stronger, to live longer, or to change their very appearance. Some have used their powers to influence a person’s thoughts, to make a person fall to the ground unconscious, or to move a physical object through mental will alone. Some Sigilists have used the Sigils to conjure fireballs and other magical weapons, or even magical creatures like fire-dervishes and earth-golems that were bound to do their bidding.
“But there were some who used their powers to call upon demons, to raise corpses from the grave, and even to control or destroy the life force of a person’s very soul!” the druid’s tone became angry. “It is said that Umber himself assisted those dark ones in their search for newer and more sinister ways of using the Shadow Sigil - to suit his own nefarious ends, of course.”
Carym was amazed, overwhelmed even, by the knowledge that he might possess this magical ability. The use of magic, other than magic granted to the priests of Qra’z, was forbidden in Arnathia, magic-wielders of any sort were very rare and often persecuted. Great, he thought wryly. More reason for the Arnathians to hunt me!
“Do not discuss this matter with anyone. Few are aware of the obscure legends surrounding the Sigils. Those who do know about Sigils will be fearful and distrusting of its power.”
“How do I learn to use this power, Master Druid?” he asked, following the druid’s conversation.
“You are gifted with the Sigils, this much is clear. I believe the Earth Sigil can grant the user power to control the earth beneath them as well as the power to shape or change all things of earth and mineral. Alas, I can teach you nothing more, for such is not my gift.”
“I must leave this place, Carym.” The old man sighed wistfully. “For I too am a wanted. Your death will be certain if you stay here, and that would not serve the gods’ will.”
“What am I meant to do?”
“I am not certain,” said the old man simply.
Carym’s frustration was again rising.
“There is a place that is rumored to be a powerful source of the magical energy known as the Everpool. It is located in the Cklathish lands of the north, or near enough to them. It is a sacred and revered place, holy to Zuhr, and critical to the flow of the Tides in this part of the world. It has been hidden for centuries.” Dryume paused to enjoy his pipe. “It is said that the ancient Tome of Sigils is also hidden there. It may yield the answers you seek.”
“How on Llars am I supposed to find something that no one else has seen in five hundred years?” he asked, fighting to keep his nerves calm.
“I don’t know’” replied the druid, bluntly. “Ordinarily I would say you had no chance of finding such a place. Yet, ordinarily, I would also say you had no chance of bearing the return of the Sigils to the world. Considering this, I would venture to say that the Great Lord Zuhr will lead you there Himself. In what way, I cannot be sure.”
He was not pleased to hear the druid’s vague answer.
“One thing you may be certain of, is that you won’t be the only one seeking the Everpool. The return of the Earth Sigil almost certainly means the Shadow Sigil has already been loosed upon the world.”
“But what of my village? What of my life?” he said, wearily. “I don’t want to be an outlaw!” He just couldn’t help trying to get the old man to talk about the day’s events.
“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.
The Dragon Writers Collection Page 20