The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars)

by Tom Bielawski

  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.

  Gennevera began to stir and then sat bolt upright. She too, momentarily feared the vulnerable position they were in, having fallen asleep with no watch set. Seeing Carym awake and watching over them, she smiled warmly and stood. It was only a few more moments before Yag and Gefar roused themselves, casting wary glances around the temple and at Carym.

  “How it is, you been awake this whole time?” asked Gefar with little attempt to hide accusation in his voice.

  “I was asleep too, Gefar, but I awoke before you. Look at your wounds, they are healed!” exclaimed Carym happily.

  “I saw that meself, I did,” growled the man suspiciously. “I also saw you awake when I fell down, and awake when I opened me eyes!”

  “At ease, Gefar!” Yag said sternly to his mate. “This good man has helped keep us all alive.” The old captain cuffed his subordinate on the shoulder and was rewarded with a stare like daggers. “I’m healed too. An’ though I give my praise to the Lady of the Seas, today all praises to the Great Father!”

  “What do we do now?” Gefar grumbled, aiming the question at Carym. “And where’s yer weapon anyway?”

  “My sword is gone, Gefar. I’m not certain, but I suspect I know what happened to it.”

  Gefar looked decidedly disgusted; losing a weapon among Roughnecks was unthinkable and a sure ticket to a sound thrashing. Yag said nothing, but looked as though he expected a very good explanation. Carym took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing away the anxiety that was threatening to overtake him.

  “There’s been no time to tell you all before now, but something remarkable happened in that house where we were attacked by troks.”

  He took the device known as Fyendi’s Home from Gennevera’s pack and placed it on the floor in front of them. Yag whistled and Gefar eyed the box suspiciously. Then he removed the spell book and placed it reverently on the floor next to the box. Gennevera sat beside Carym and put her arm around his shoulders, leaning on him, comforting in a way he had not known for a very long time.

  “You have all suffered much, and lost more, merely for carrying Zach and me on your ship. For that I am truly sorry.” Carym looked down at his hands, remembering the men lost at sea, envisioning their blood. Then he looked up noticing that the apology had been appreciated, if not commented upon, and he continued. “For that I owe you an explanation, for we are not out of danger yet.”

  He began his account of what had befallen him and Zach during their flight from Hybrand and their stay in Dockyard City. “You may be certain that we are being hunted,” he said grimly. He noted the intent look from Gefar, and the incredulous look from Yag. “What stalks us are the minions of the Shadowfyr, the Dark God himself. It was by his hand, I am certain, that those beasts attacked your ship, and the troks that waited to ambush us. You are all in danger merely by being with me, and it seems that we must remain companions for a while. I will not be offended should any of you choose to part company from me
as soon the opportunity arises.”

  Gefar snorted derisively. Yag merely nodded, but said nothing. Genn continued to cling to him, trembling slightly. He thought that was odd for such a strong woman. “When you came to get us, Yag, we had just escaped being trapped in a multidimensional chamber for several long hours.”

  “Hours, you say?” said the former pirate, a cloud passing over his features. “You had only been gone but a few minutes ‘fore I came to find you.”

  “I know it sounds incredible, but this box is a multidimensional chamber. And, I’m not sure how or why, but it seems as though time passes differently inside the chamber,” he said, lifting the box. “This chamber!”

  Gefar shook his head in disbelief, “Yer daft.”

  Carym stood and walked to a corner of the temple, then placed the box on the floor. “Why don’t I show you how it’s done? In fact, there is a store of food in the chamber and I could certainly stand to eat something.”

  “Yer daft!” repeated Gefar. Yag cuffed him on the shoulder and told him to stand guard at the door while the rest of the company tested Carym’s theory. Yag’s expression illustrated his skepticism, though Carym was grateful the captain did not express it. Nonetheless, Carym was confident and held the key in one hand. He subtly grasped the Flamestone in the other hand, thinking it was probably best not to reveal the presence of the powerful items just yet.

  “What are you about, Carym?”

  Carym said nothing and placed the key into the slot, covering his other hand which held the Flamestone, then he and Gennevera each placed a hand on Yag. Carym turned the key in the slot and the room suddenly spun, the mists of time and space wrapping around them like a shroud. Then, just as suddenly, the mists cleared and the trio found themselves in the box known as Fyrendi’s home.

  Carym smiled, confident now that he understood the method to control the magical device. Yag stood up, sputtering a curse and glancing warily about, Gennevera laughed at him.

  “What’s the matter, Yag?” she asked, smirking. The ex-pirate turned on her and fixed her with a withering gaze.

  “What in Hades happened? Where are we?” he demanded.

  It was Carym who answered.

  “We are in Fyrendi’s Home.”

  Yag simply glared at him, saying nothing, his gaze demanding more.

  “It is the very ancient home of a Sigilist named Fyrendi. He was the father of the Order of Flames, and this chamber was his home. It is located in a pocket of space and wrapped in the Fabric of Creation.”

  “Aye, you’ve proved yer point,” he said as he approached the door which appeared to lead outside. Try as he might he could not open it. “Gefar is sure to be wondering what happened to us!”

  “Not likely, Captain,” said Gennevera. “Time moves differently here, more slowly than you think. In fact, we may return to the temple hours from now but we could very likely arrive before Gefar has finished crossing the room.”

  “Hmm,” he grunted, not entirely sure he believed that. “Fine, how the bloody blazes do we get back?”

  “You really shouldn’t curse so, Captain Yag,” whispered another voice, powerful and commanding voice. “It is unfitting for one of your rank and stature.”

  “Aye,” agreed the old pirate, still trying the door. Then, he whirled about realizing that voice belonged to none of his friends! “And who in Hades are you?”

  The newcomer stood silently as all eyes locked onto his form. Carym and Gennevera each mentally preparing a defense while Yag held his rapier before him. Carym was stunned, he certainly had not expected to encounter anyone in this centuries-abandoned place, especially when none had appeared earlier. The figure was robed in crimson with beautiful silver piping, silver trim, and silver scrollwork on the cuffs and epaulettes. The hood was large and drawn low to cast shadow over the man’s face, eyes barely visible in the dim light.

  “I am Mathonry,” whispered the strong voice. “Mathonry Fyrendi!”

  Carym, over the initial shock of seeing someone where he expected no one, held his hands out before him, palms up and bowed from the waist in deference to the newcomer. He had fully embraced his role as a Fyrbold now and accepted the fact that absolutely nothing should surprise him anymore. “I am at your service, Great One.”

  “Indeed you are,” he replied, the voice chilling from the depths of his hood. “And your services are required.”

  “I pray we have not unduly disturbed your rest Great One,” said Gennevera. The cowled head swiveled slowly to face her.

  “Rest? Hardly, Soulwarden,” he said, using the formal name for the Sisters of Grymm. “In fact, it is a welcome diversion from the more serious battles being waged by my brethren across the heavens.”

  Gennevera nodded and bowed in the same fashion as Carym.

  “To answer your question further, Captain Yag; I am Mathonry Li Alfrac Zeralarious Fyrendi. I am the founder of the Order of the Flames and I am a now a Cjii. I have survived three dozen centuries, rewarded with immortality by the Great Father, the one true deity who rules over creation; the one to whom this temple belongs.“

  Carym felt a strange force within him, trying to pull him toward this man. He suspected the colored stones in his pocket were the cause, the incredible power wielded by this man must be connecting him to the powerful stones in a way Carym could only speculate.

  “Please put away your pitiful weapon, pirate,” Mathonry said wearily to Yag. Abruptly, the stranger’s hood slipped back and the imposing demeanor vanished. His eyes held a somewhat sinister yet mischievous quality that belied the deadly serious impression he had created moments earlier. “And, Gennevera, please desist with any further thoughts of spell casting. I’ll have you know that you are insulated here even from the prying eyes of your not-so-beloved liege. Not that any of you could possibly hurt me, but it is so very disrespectful to consider such action against a Cjii,” now he sounded as though he were talking to children.

  “What is a Cjii?” asked Carym, striving to suppress his intense curiosity and not a little trepidation.

  “A Cjii, Carym!” Gennevera said urgently. “He is one of the immortal races!” This quest was getting stranger and more unpredictable by the minute.

  “A very astute observation, Gennevera al Louerra, although I am not one of the original Cjii.” he said with a sigh. “I have been sent by the Great Father to help you. You are destined to complete a very important quest for the almighty Zuhr and I mean to see you though it.”

  “You will be coming with us then?” asked Carym.

  “That remains to be seen,” the man said. “The will of the Great Father is not always clear, not even to me. Now, come over here man.”

  Carym strode over to Mathonry and stood before him, uncertain. To his chagrin, Carym saw that the immortal being was now wearing Carym’s sword strapped to his back. “I thank you for my sword, Carym. I’ve been without for so long.”

  “That was yours? It was given to me by-”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” he waived his hand to dismiss Carym’s statement. “You valiantly fought off a kraken took it from her spoils, right?”

  “No, it-”

  “You found it deep in the tomb of an ancient lich on one of your grand adventures?” he asked with one eyebrow raised.

  “No, I-”

  “Then what, boy? Speak up, I can’t hear you!” he said impatiently. Carym was getting angry.

  “It was just an old sword, though it holds sentimental value to me,” he managed to get out through clenched teeth before Mathonry could cut him off again.

  “How sad for you,” the irritating man now seemed to be genuinely crestfallen

  Carym shook his head angrily. “Look, there are roving bands of bloodthirsty troks out there ready to cut us all into little pieces!” Carym was shouting by the time he had finished. The other man looked at him feigning shock and dismay, holding a hand to his face as though he might cry. Which, of course, was all the more ludicrous coming from a man who looked like
he had fought a thousand thousand battles and won them all.

  “This is absurd,” said Carym abruptly as he turned to his friends. As Carym began to take his leave a vice-like grip clamped down on his shoulders and the pain of it forced him to his knees. He tried to focus through the pain and fight back, but he could not.

  “Now that I have your attention,” the man sneered. His expression changed now, he looked more like a battlefield general. “You will do nothing until you are told. You will not bore me with tiresome explanations. You will endeavor to humor me when I decide to create unflattering tales about you or other inconsequential matters. You were not given leave to go and you will go nowhere without leave. Is that clear?”

  Mathonry let Carym go and he slumped to the floor. Carym turned his gaze back to the man, fighting back his anger. The burden of his quest had begun to tire him, but now he sensed that burden could be lightened some with the aid of this man. Yes, he resolved, he would heed the words of this hard man and not be offended by his abrasive facade; he had been an Arnathian Roughneck sailor after all!

  “On your feet!” commanded Mathonry. His voice had become so powerful that even the others who were already on their feet stood a little bit taller. “The fate of the world is in your hands; strange as that may seem. Straighten up!

  “You are not so unlike your friend Zacharya who is getting himself mired quite deeply in shagha dung this very moment; the difference is that he is much better at hiding the smell.”

  Carym did his best to stand at attention. Much to his surprise, he did so fairly well; quite a feat considering the number of years since he had last assumed that position.

  “Yes, sir!” came the ingrained response from so many years in the military service.

  “Good. You are the first of the new Fyrbold! Men have kept the secrets of the Sigil of Flames for centuries awaiting your return. You will be their Commander and you will not let them down; so start acting like one! If I think for one minute that you may not live up to this task, I may strip you of your powers and bestow them upon the pirate!”