The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars)

by Tom Bielawski

  Carym opened his eyes and focused on the group of wicked little fiends trailing behind Zach, now running wildly and apparently unaware that their victim had friends positioned ahead of him, lying in wait. Carym was relieved to see that this band numbered a mere half a dozen; far less than many of the patrols they had spotted thus far.

  Carym placed his right hand on the ground and began tracing the Sigil pattern in the air with his left. When he was done, the ground below him began to vibrate and hum. He let Zach get as close as he dared, ordering his friends to “hold steady,” sensing they might begin the attack and disturb his own powerful assault. He marveled at the fact that they trusted him enough to listen to his commands even as a band of fearsome troks raged towards them.

  Zach ran headlong into their midst, passing Carym, turning his head hard and seeing his friends for the first time. As Zach had sailed safely past, Carym slammed his right hand down on the road, sending a wave of Earthtide surging towards the troks like a tidal wave. Oblivious to the dangers, the evil Elvish creatures ran headlong towards the wave as it launched rocks and bricks in every direction. As the wave neared the troks it grew bigger until suddenly it blocked them from view entirely. Then, Carym willed the wave of moving stone and earth to crash on the road in front of the enemy, bombarding them with an explosion of debris.

  Momentum worked against Zach, and when he tried to crane his head around to see what was happening behind him, he slammed into a light pole and careened headlong to the ground, sliding to a halt. Groaning, but unwilling to be bested, Zach uttered a string of curses and rolled smoothly back to his feet; blades out and ready to fight.

  Most of the troks had been subdued by the magical assault, but a few of them picked themselves up and began making their way towards Carym and his friends, unwilling to let their quarry escape so easily. These diminutive cousins of the surface elves were remarkable in their ability to simply shake off forceful attacks.

  “Fire!” ordered Carym. Yag and Gefar each took turns shooting while the other loaded, throwing a steady volley of bolts towards the enemy while Genn unleashed a battery of magical bolts of her own. The group was stunned at the ferociousness of the fighters as they stumbled but continued on, taking hit after hit.

  Finally the lead trok fell after three deadly crossbow strikes took him in each eye and in the throat, still struggling to fight as death took him. Two more fell, consumed in flames caused from repeated hits by Gennevera’s magical bolts while Carym prepared another attack against the remaining four.

  Zach recognized the formation his friends had taken as he sailed past them and quickly found a position for himself, ready and eager to fight.

  “Save some for me,” he hissed at his friend.

  Yag and Gefar dropped their unwieldy crossbows and drew swords as the troks made their way closer. The men knew it would be unwise to continue with distance weapons now that the hardy troks had closed in, knowing that it could take too much time to load a weapon which might not even kill their foes. Genn cast another spell at the demonic little elves which sent ropes of magical energy flying from her fingers binding the hands and feet of the troks. All four of them fell down as Carym, Yag, Gefar and Zach rushed in before the deceptively strong creatures could work free.

  The vicious troks broke free of their magical bonds quickly and leapt to their feet, snarling and cursing in Trokkish. Zach was able to dispatch one of the them quickly with his new dagger while Yag and Gefar faced off against one together, the small creature was incredibly fast, scoring hits on the both men, but taking hits from them as well. With a great roar, Yag managed to strike the little trok in the gut, yanking and pulling against the creature’s leathery hide to flay its belly while Gefar pummeled it senseless. Meanwhile, Carym faced one with his bo-tani sticks. With a word taught him by his immortal mentor, the sticks flared to life and magical red flames danced along the surface of the polished weapon, putting fear into his foe. Of all the things that had shocked Carym during this adventure, the fact that these vicious little troks seemed scared of anything at all seemed truly shocking. The little elf seemed terrified of Carym’s fiery sticks! Seizing the initiative, Carym swept in past the lowered defenses of the sword-wielding trok and pummeled it with his sticks, each strike sending flames across the skin of the beast, singing its hide. Finally, Carym landed a powerful strike against the trok’s head and the beast fell to the ground, its skull caved in and its skin on fire. Even then, the hardy creature struggled all the way to the ground before it died.

  “We should be going now!” warned Zach. “There are plenty more where these came from-” Zach stopped as he watched spindly little arms thrusting their way out of the debris farther down the road. Impossibly, the troks the companions thought had been killed by the rocky tidal wave were climbing their way out of the pile of rubble. Although he had faced these beastly creatures once before, Carym still couldn’t believe how any creature of flesh and blood could so be damned hard to kill.

  No sooner had the first trok managed to climb free of the rubble than the companions begin firing on it. Yag and Gefar fired bolts of lightweight metal unerringly, striking the creature’s arm and a leg. Then bolts of blue fire flew out from Gennevera’s fingertips, setting that trok completely on fire. The creature howled, brandishing its spear and charged towards the companions, aflame. Carym picked up a stone and infused it with the power of the Flame Sigil, then he threw it at the still charging and wildly burning trok. When the stone struck the creature in the midsection it exploded violently, sending bits and pieces of bones and flaming rubbery flesh in all directions.

  Two more troks climbed out from the rubble and paid for their enthusiasm with crossbow bolts in their knees and midsection. Still they came with teeth bared, saliva dripping, and hunger in their eyes. Gefar and Yag took turns firing at the lead trok and only after it suffered an arterial strike did the thing fall, bleed out and fall to its knees, dragging itself by its hands toward its enemy before it died.

  The last trok stepped over his fellow and advanced, showing only slight signs of injury, muttering crazily in its absurd language. Gennevera unleashed a volley of pure flames upon the advancing trok. The spell only slowed it, however, as Genn’s strength was weakening and so were her spells. The demonic elf howled in pain and anger but continued on, dripping bits of burnt flesh to the ground as it went. Carym threw another exploding stone at the angry trok, catching it in the midsection and sending pieces of the trok in several directions.

  Gennevera had clearly given all that she had in that last volley and fell back behind the safety of the other men. Yag and Gefar brandished their swords while they took up defensive positions near her. Carym nodded at each of his companions, but said nothing. Now was not the time to celebrate, but he was pleased at how cohesively they all fought together. Mathonry was right to drill them hard and train them to fight as a team. Thanks to the Cjii’s training none of the party was injured.

  But Carym was getting dizzy from the exertion and squatted down for a moment to rest. He very quickly drew a small amount of the tidal forces into himself for strength and stood back up. Mathonry had warned that Explosion was a dangerous spell, and should not be performed without dire need. But facing another patrol of troks with only their blades was enough to make Carym take the risk, he couldn’t let his friends down. After all, they were in this mess because of him. He sustained himself with magical energy and would be able to keep going, but at the same time his body felt tired and he knew he needed rest. They hadn’t even left the city yet and he was already thinking of using Fyrendi’s Home to rest and heal. But he remembered the counsel of the Cjii and urged his friends to form up and move.

  Zach had watched the battle transpire in amazement; he had no idea his old friend could wield such powers. Zach wiped the blood from his blade and tucked it back inside his coat, away from the view of his friends. He scanned the corpses quickly and then back down the street where the Trokkish war party had come from.

 
; Carym glanced at his friend and nodded and checked on Gennevera while the other men retrieved as many crossbow bolts as they could from the Trokkish corpses. Zach aided the others in their task, all the while glancing nervously down the road in case more came.

  “Will you be alright?” Carym asked Genn with quiet concern.

  “Yes,” she whispered. They all knew that stealth and speed were critical to their successful escape from Dalcasia. “I will need to rest before I can use my magic again. But I am strong enough to fight without it!”

  Carym smiled at her perseverance. She had told him that the Sisters of Grymm were schooled in some forms of armed combat, though as far as he knew Gennevera was untested in that discipline.

  Desperate times, he thought to himself. He nodded at her and signaled for the group to reform. They had gathered what valuable items they could from the dead troks, precious little, and spread out on the road. Zach took Gennevera’s position on the flank allowing her some protection between the armed men. They moved silently down the street toward the so-called Sun Tunnel. It was in sight now and Carym was heartened that they were nearly free of the infested city. But what lay ahead? What would they find in the tunnel to waylay them? How long would it take to reach the surface? He shook his head as hunger began to gnaw at him. Carym reckoned that half the day had passed at least and decided a stop would be in order once they reached what he hoped was the safety of the Sun Tunnel.

  Carym glanced back on the company and seeing his friend felt guilty that he was actually torn about Zach’s return. Part of him was glad to see Zach, but the other part knew he had probably been up to no good and very likely would put them all at risk. He had had no time to question his friend, and vowed to do so later, he hoped that Zach had some very good reasons for doing what he did. Though he was glad for an extra blade or two! Little communication was truly necessary as both men well knew; they had worked together for many years and fought together in the military and afterwards. The tension between the old friends was not lost on Gennevera who had become rather fond of Carym. And neither were the scathing glares Zach cast at her whenever he could, as though this was somehow all her fault.

  The pack stood on the deck of the ship on which they had booked passage between Dockyard City and Caelambra; Aura standing near the bow sniffing the air. Karl and Calepo stood a distance away, their menacing looks keeping any curious sailors from getting to close.

  “Well? They didn’t just disappear!”

  “Check for yourself, Aly. You have a nose too!” came the sharp reply.

  The Pack Leader exhaled slowly, thinking. Although there were reports that the ships of a foreign navy had been pursuing the pack’s prey, there had been no report of capture. They all found it very strange that the Shugu reported that the ship called Marineer, had simply vanished when he was within reach of catching her. How could a ship simply vanish at sea? There was no debris in the area and by all accounts, the Shugu’s ships were close enough to find wreckage if there had been any.

  “You are right, Aura. Something is very strange here.”

  “Aye. The trail simply ends here!”

  “We can’t go back to Dockyard City empty-handed,” whispered the Pack Leader with a shiver shared by her second in command at the thought of facing Morghal with failure.

  “We should continue on. Wasn’t Caelambra where they were going?”

  “Yes. It was. But as we have already learned, these Spiders betrayed them. There is nothing waiting for our prey in Caelambra except their own deaths, which is perhaps why we have lost their trail.”

  “They learned of their master’s betrayal and detoured somehow.”

  “Somehow.”

  “Weren’t they seeking the Tomb of the Dark Paladin?”

  “Yes. And now, so are we.”

  C H A P T E R

  3

  Shalthazar.

  The wizard smiled. During the months of occupation and expansion among the city-states near the Vaard lands, he had been keeping himself busy, practicing the ways of the Shadow Sigils and recruiting followers. One of his most proficient disciples was a woman called Balzath. Balzath was a powerful witch; even considering the relatively weak nature of ordinary magic on Llars. She sensed the great potential for power in Shalthazar’s employ and had endeared herself to him, becoming his closest adviser and lieutenant.

  Balzath adored Shalthazar, but the dark elf knew his admirer adored power more. Still, he had no fear of betrayal on her part as she had demonstrated her loyalty time and again. No, the wizard was certain the witch merely wanted to cement her role in the new kingdom that he was carving out. Now it was time for the witch to earn her keep. Umber, or rather Ilian Nah, had recently revealed to him the location of the Everpool. Its waters were said to give eternal life to any who drank from its well. Some even said that it would bestow magical power to any lucky enough to find it.

  But the chamber where the pool lie hidden was also the hiding place of the Tome of Sigils and the resting place of the most nefarious person in Llarsian history; the Dark Paladin. Shalthazar knew of this mortal man who had been scant inches from destroying Grymm, the Lord of the Dead, in hopes of aspiring to take his place. And the dark wizard wanted very much to learn the secret of that one’s powers. But, much to Shalthazar’s consternation as he learned the story, the Dark Paladin somehow found salvation in his final moments. In despair over the destruction his duel with Grymm would cause, he allowed himself to be killed by Grymm rather than ruin all that he had hoped to gain. The Dark Paladin’s actions were recognized by Zuhr and he was forgiven; but his sin did not go without punishment. The powerful knight was sentenced by Zuhr to stand eternal watch over his own tomb, located at the sight of the magical Everpool.

  Shalthazar tasked Balzath with finding this Tomb of the Dark Paladin and to retrieve the Tome of Sigils, which would prevent Zuhr’s followers from using the Sigil Magic against him. The devious Elvish wizard also wanted some of the fabled waters of the Everpool and the promises of power held within its depths. So he granted Balzath command of a garrison of troops recently arrived from Nashia and sent her south into the Cklathlands to find the Everpool.

  But Umber had another, highly secret plan in mind. The dark god wanted a very powerful item recovered at all costs. Although the wizard did not know what that item was, he suspected that it must be truly important and he desperately wanted to see it for himself before handing it over to Umber. Having just reached out to the Society of the Damned, those cursed and undead inhabitants of Llars whose main goal was to force others to share their tortured existence, Shalthazar had something in mind. He had recently commissioned the Society to track down and neutralize someone who was a threat to his grand plans.

  Why is there always someone who can thwart my schemes? He wondered darkly, dreaming of ways to make the meddler pay. Just once, I would like to commit my crimes with no interference!

  Shalthazar knew the Pack would track and kill his interloper, but something about all this was bothering him. The dark elf was not a believer of coincidence, as was proven by his own recent events. It was odd that the object of the dark god’s desire was located deep within the Underllars, a place where this scheming do-gooder was currently fighting his little army of “mini-drow;” Shalthazar was as fond of that little nick-name as he was of his vicious little Elvish cousins. He had little doubt that the Trok-Syth would destroy this Carym and his pitiful little band with impunity. What worried the wizard was the proximity of Carym to the device in the Underllars, which Umber so intensely desired.

  And could be no coincidence, he decided. All the more reason to squash this human and secret away Umber’s precious little object. He wanted to study it and perhaps clone the device, or find a way to exploit its powers. But that pesky god was more meddlesome than any deity he had ever had the misfortune of dealing with. Umber, true to his word, had indeed provided Shalthazar with some very valuable weapons. The wizard had access to the dark god’s fearsome Shadow Lords,
the infamous undead warriors of Umber who haunted the minds of men throughout Llars, in order to carry out highly specialized missions. Umber had also given the elf the secrets to ensnaring his mortal servants by allowing them to bind their souls to those of the dark god’s immortal demon lords; the process granted the mortals powerful magic while the god received souls to feast upon.

  No matter, his Pack would soon take care of both of these problems.

  Another of Shalthazar’s fiendish lieutenants had recently captured a very strategic, and very haunted keep. This had turned out to be a wonderful ordeal, the dark elf having wished he could have been part of it. The result had been an explosive display of power involving the worlds of both the living and the dead.

  The elf sat atop his sleek nightmare at the head of his mighty army, once doubled in size from volunteers and draftees, now tripled in size with reinforcements from Nashia. He detested the formalities of rank, but he had learned much about maintaining order and discipline among an army. The Nashians were exceptionally skilled at this and the dark elf knew his generals knew their business. Yet, every now and then he must appear before his forces, conduct inspections, speak with the troops, observe drill maneuvers and bestow awards. Especially awards. Rewarding behavior he considered basic habits of a job was a foreign concept, and one he was a bit unsure of. Yet, he trusted in his subordinates and was amazed at the extent to which his troops would go, even sacrificing themselves in battle for the good of their fellows and to accomplish their mission; all because they knew they would be recognized.