“The Black Baron...” the knight’s voice trailed off, his voice suddenly dry. “I have heard of him. I thought it was just a myth.”
“No myth at all, Sir. As any from these parts could tell you, so they could.”
Ederick exhaled deeply. “It makes sense. Our pursuers are no ordinary oroks. Considering their elusive nature and the way they seem to appear and disappear, I’d say they are a company of ghosts.”
That revelation didn’t do much to lighten the mood of the companions.
“We weren’t much of a match for sixty living oroks. We will be even less of a match for sixty oroks that are already dead,” said Kharrihan.
Tensions were mounting among the companions. The continual presence of the elusive oroks, always just out of range and never close enough to see, was beginning to cause paranoia and fear. Fortunately, with the elusive oroks still absent from their pursuit, the disturbing emotional turmoil had ceased. But not for Carym. The pull of the black stone was stronger then ever, like a constant buzzing in his ear even when he did not touch it.
After a quick discussion, the group decided to set up a small camp and rest for the night a few dozen yards inside the tree line from the road. They dropped their packs to rest with Bart volunteering to stand watch at the edge of the road.
The mood in the camp was somber, tense even; something that the growing shadows of dusk and the settling fog did nothing to alleviate. After the halt was called each person found a comfortable place to rest and cleared the snow from the ground. Zach found a large flat rock in the path and cleared the snow away from it, apparently interested in lighting a fire. Carym found no harm in it, considering that no attack seemed imminent and did not comment to his surly friend. Instead he took comfort in the presence of Gennevera, seating himself beside her, sharing the warmth of each other’s bodies.
“What’s going to happen, Carym?” she asked, watching Zach struggle to light the damp leaves and twigs. “Where do we go from here? I am beginning to fear what comes when we reach the castle.”
“Well, aside from being stalked by nearly sixty very elusive and well-disciplined oroks, what could you possibly be afraid of?” his attempt at levity garnered only a slight smile from the woman.
“Grymm has been silent.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has not answered any of my prayers, has not renewed my powers. I have only the spells that are left in a few enchanted items that I possess. When those are depleted....” she let her voice trail off.
Carym nodded, understanding her sense of weakness. Spell casters often felt defenseless without their magic as the study of the arcane arts leaves very little time for martial practice. Even more so is the case with those whose powers are granted by the gods, for they must spend inordinate amounts of time in meditation and prayer to receive such divine favor.
“Could it be that you have not had time to meditate properly?”
“No,” she said simply. “I am no novice to the Order. I can clearly sense when his favor is with me; and it is not.” The woman was quiet for a few moments, then looked into Carym’s eyes and smiled. “It is a burden that has been lifted from my heart, Carym.”
He looked at her in surprise, wondering what she meant by that. Most god-favored spell casters were extraordinarily proud of their divine relationships and the favor they possessed. “It is more of a blessing than you could ever know, beloved,” she said very quietly and leaned in to kiss him. Carym let his defenses down. The kiss ended and the two held each other tightly, each silently fearing there may not be another embrace.
“What makes you say it is a blessing?”
“I have lost faith. I have come to learn in my heart that some choices I have made were wrong, terribly wrong. Whatever happens from here Carym, I want you to know that I truly love you. I have never met a soul so compassionate and warm and honest. You are a true leader and you are everything a champion for the cause of goodness should be. I am ashamed of my own life. What have I done with it?” she said with emotion. “What have I done?”
“Don’t be hard on yourself. I have come to love you too. It wasn’t easy for me to see that, with what I have been through and what lies in my past.” He placed his hand on her cheek and looked into her eyes. “I have done horrible things also. Too horrible to repeat, all in the name of vengeance. The memories still haunt me, plague me, make me doubt myself at every turn. I will not burden you with those tales, and I do not expect you to share your tales with me if you are not ready. Know that I have come to love you as well. I will protect you.”
“Will you teach me the way of the Sigils?” she asked in a whisper. “I have no magic left. I have no favor with my god. I know little of swordplay or other forms of combat and I fear I am not suited for either.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he said, wondering. “I’ve been so absorbed with learning that I had given no thought to teaching. Perhaps.”
She nodded. “I was hoping that learning the Sigils, learning to harness a power for the good of the living could help me combat my own self-doubt. To fight against my own demons when they come for me.”
Carym said nothing as the woman sighed and settled into his shoulder once more. Whatever her demons were, they must be powerful indeed. The thought of sharing the Sigils with this woman was exciting. Still not wishing to use Fyrendi’s Home for fear of its effects on the Tides, he decided to pray about his dilemma. He was beginning to find that silently praying in quiet moments on the march helped him focus his mind. It helped him think about his problems logically. It calmed him and helped him find perspective, which often helped him find solutions or positive ideas.
The sudden clang of steel cause Carym to sit upright, shoving Gennevera free of him. Then he spied the source of the sound and relaxed, grinning his apology to Gennevera and nodding at Zach. The man had become so frustrated with lighting a fire that he began to slam the point of this dagger into the kindling. Genn smiled too.
Suddenly a blaze leaped up from the stone and engulfed the soggy wood filling the campsite with damp smoke. Zach held his dagger in his hand in wonder, then quickly shoved the blade inside his jacket. He looked around to see if anyone had been watching; everyone had. He grumbled and sauntered off to get more firewood.
Zach returned a short while later and dropped his wood unceremoniously on the fire. He stood there staring at the flames for a moment, then turned to Carym, his face a mask of resolve.
“We cannot go to the castle, Carym.” Zach was troubled, but had apparently come to a conclusion about what he must do. “We must flee!”
“Did you find another way out?”
“Back the way we came, if we backtrack maybe we can find another shift of the borders. We can follow Yag and Gefar. We can-”
“Get lost, and harried, and tired, and arrive at the castle anyway,” interrupted Kharrihan wearily.
Zach ignored the interruption as though it were beneath him. “What will we do when we get to the castle, Carym?” demanded Zach. “Let the Black Baron impale us all?” Zach looked around wildly, a dangerous light in his eyes, daring anyone to challenge him. “I’ll not stand for it!”
“Zach we have no choice! If we split up, we will surely end up dead out here. At least going to the castle may surprise whoever - or whatever - lives there, giving us an advantage.”
“Whatever is at the castle will not be surprised,” said Bart. “We are being herded to the castle. Of that there can be no doubt.”
“Aye. Otherwise the oroks could have attacked us at any moment,” agreed the elf. “But, they haven’t. None who have ever lived to tell tales of Castle Tyrannus have ever reported a merciful showing on the behalf of the Black Baron. Something is amiss and it seems the Baron wants us to see it for ourselves.”
“All the more reason not to go there!” asserted Zach. “It’s madness!”
“Perhaps,” said the bard. “Perhaps not. I have been with you all for a very short time indeed. However, I am
perceptive enough to know that you are being hunted, so I am. Perceptive enough to know that whatever is hunting you, is trying outwit you, so it is. And what better way to outwit you than to heard you to the castle of the Black Baron?”
“How is that anything but madness, bard?”
“You may not feel it wise to discuss your plans with me yet, but we are in this together now, so we are. Telling me what you can might help me make better sense of the situation, so it might.”
Carym stared at the bard, hard. Then he glanced at the knight who said nothing, his face a mask of indifference. Clearly he would not try to push Carym into revealing anything before he was ready. Zach shook his head, indicating he didn’t think it wise.
Carym sighed. “Very well,” he said with an apologetic look at his friend. He felt a responsibility to the knight and the bard, they needed to know what they were involved in. “I will keep this brief. Our journey has been long and eventful. When there is more time we may fill you in on the rest. What you must know is that I have been gifted with the power of the Sigils.”
“How did you end up in charge anyway, Carym?” Zach asked tersely as he strode past his friend, shouldering him in anger. The venom in Zach’s voice was not lost on Carym. He watched his friend gather his belongings as if to leave.
The Bard whistled and grinned at Carym, silently urging him to go on. Ederick looked pensive, serious, and very interested. Zach scowled, he was not happy Carym was about to give away the farm. “As you know that power has been gone from Llars for many centuries. Umber has found a way to circumvent Zuhr’s decree banning the use of the Sigils. Umber knows of me, and has sent his hunters against me and to find the Tomb of the Dark Paladin.”
“What does he want there?” asked the bard in wonder.
Zach cursed as he slung his pack, expressing his dissent. Carym would not reveal Zach’s personal stake in the quest. That much he owed his friend.
“Aside from the presence of the Everpool, it is rumored that the Tome of Sigils is stored within the Tomb. The Shadow Sigil is but one of six Sigil magics that were banned by Zuhr. I am told that the Tome of Sigils may bear the knowledge we need to bring the rest of the Sigils to prominence and stop Shalthazar before it’s too late.”
“Well, that is something. I think, perhaps it is best if this Tome does not fall into Shalthazar’s hands, so I do. So, as Zach says, the longer we delay, more is the chance that the Shadow will reach the Tomb first. Yet, from what I know of this wood we stand almost no chance of escape without the assistance of the Black Baron. And it certainly seems something is amiss in his ugly world!”
Zach was fuming; and ready to leave. “Well bard, thank you for clearing that up!” growled Zach. “But, ‘almost’ having a chance to escape is certainly better than no chance of escape; which is exactly what you have if you make it to the Black Keep. I am leaving. Now.”
“Zach, what are you doing? You can’t go out there alone! There are too many-”
“What?!” he demanded. “What could you possibly say to convince me to go to the Black Baron’s Keep? I’m going my own way!”
“Zach, please we need you here.”
“You don’t need me, Carym; you have your precious elves to protect you. You never needed me,” he growled.
“That isn’t true, Zach. We’re friends.”
“Friends?!” he shouted, “Friends don’t keep secrets Carym! You knew about the Everpool and intended to go there before the Spiders forced us to!” Carym was hurt, and guilty. Zach was right, he had been keeping secrets.
When it appeared that Carym would say more, Zach gave him a disgusted look and shook his head. “Spare me. You have made your choices, now I make mine. And I-do-not-need-you.”
With that said, Zach stormed out of the wood and onto the ancient road, the shining moon rising high. Carym felt his stomach twisting into knots as his friend left. Gennevera gripped his hand warmly, comforting him. Carym let out a great sigh. Part of him wanted to go after his old friend, and he was deeply torn by that. He had a duty to his new companions, to lead them onward. But he knew he would miss his friend greatly, he was bitter about the man’s decision to leave.
“Sometimes we must walk our own path, no matter how dark it may seem. Nothing you can say or do will change that, Carym,” the knight said as he stood by him. “We can only pray to Zuhr that he will find his own way, safely.”
Carym nodded somberly. He knew the knight was right. Deep inside he knew this had been brewing, he knew his friend was becoming dangerously unpredictable. Perhaps they would meet again.
“Carym, is there nothing more you can tell me about this?” Carym eyed the bard, grateful for the distraction.
“Aye. The Hunter of the Shadowfyr is Hessan, the Headless Rider.”
The bard said nothing for a moment. “Him, I have heard of. ‘Tis said he was beheaded for his dark crimes. But he was so dark and so evil he refused to die and now he roams the land seeking a new head.
“No fooling around on your part, eh Carym? When you’re being hunted, only the best will do!” It was clear that the bard was making an effort to lighten the mood. “It’s my business to weave tales, and to know when one is being weaved before my eyes. As for the Headless Rider, him I have seen with my own eyes, so I have!”
Carym wasn’t sure he believed it himself. But he was certain that he was being hunted, and whatever it was was a dark hunter indeed. “How is that?”
“That is a long tale best left for another time. No,” he said quickly, “I’m not dodging you. It is a long tale best left for another time. In any case I can tell you this,” Bart went on. “The Headless Rider once served as a Zuharim Paladin. He was cast out in disgrace, so he was, and soon thereafter allied himself with the Dark Paladin when that one threw his lot in with Umber. I do not doubt that Hessan is a willing servant of Umber now. Ready to take his revenge on those who take up with Zuhr. Hessan seeks revenge on any who serve Zuhr. It was Zuhr to whom Hessan’s master, the Dark Paladin, had turned for forgiveness in the final moments of life. It was the Dark Paladin’s rejection of Umber that caused his is Dark Legion to be defeated and captured, its survivors executed. Hessan was among those beheaded for his crimes, so he was.”
“So Hessan has allied himself with the Black Baron?” asked the knight.
“Not likely. The oroks and the hurkin who patrol the lands of the Baron were doing so to hunt the Baron’s minions, they were. That ghoul was one of the Black Baron’s minions, and it seems the oroks were part of Hessan’s own troops. ’Tis not the sign of a friendly alliance.”
“So you believe that Hessan’s presence is unwanted by the Black Baron. Why would the Black Baron not willingly aid Hessan?”
“Tyrannus ever served only one master...himself. No, I’ll wager Hessan had to muscle his way into this bloody land and he occupied the keep with the unholy power of Umber at his call, so he did. Unhappy, the Baron may be, stupid he is not. For himself the Baron operates; always.”
“So does the Black Baron think we are going to help him?” asked Carym, incredulous.
“Yes,” said Gennevera. “The dead are independent, manipulative, and proud to a fault. It fits that the Black Baron, learning all he needed to learn about us from Hessan, would want to use us to his advantage. After that, he will probably try to kill us.”
“So what do we do?”
“What we must,” answered Gennevera. “We must go to the castle. We must find a way to pit the forces of the Baron against Hessan, and break Hessan’s hold over him, freeing him to fight Hessan for us.”
“What if that happens and the Baron is set free? What will happen to the Baron?” asked Carym, not liking the idea of freedom for the undead scoundrel.
“He could pass on to the other side lifting his curse from the land with his departure. Or...”
“Or?” prompted Carym.
“Or he may be free to terrorize the lands beyond his own,” she whispered.
Carym shook his head as the bu
zzing suddenly flared to life around the camp, vicious looking oroks materializing all around them, shouting and rattling weapons at them. This time, the oroks did not flee.
“It seems that our friends desire us to move on,” said Ederick over the noise. Carym nodded and the group quickly picked up their packs, no rest for the weary. The oroks edged their way closer than ever, nearly prodding them with spears, urging them out of the wood and onto the road. Once there, the group of oroks in the wood vanished. Then very slowly, a fog lowered onto the road behind them, the direction in which Zach had fled. As the fog settled it swirled and twisted and then was gone.
What was left behind from the fog was an army of ghostly warriors. Thousands. Skeletons, mostly, flesh hanging from bones and armor dangling in pieces, sightless eyes staring vacantly.
“Whoa!” whispered Bart. “What are they doing here?” The warriors did nothing, simply stood there blocking the road in that direction.
“I’d say that they want us to go the other way,” said Ederick, wryly.
“Aye,” agreed Carym. “What then?” With no answer forthcoming Carym signaled for the group to move out in the opposite direction. As they left, the skeletal warriors vanished into the fog only to return each time the group stopped for a rest or to scout ahead.
Finally the group passed out of the wilderness, the significance emphasized by an arch of broken stones heralding an open plain. The moon was high in the sky now and bright, its light reflecting brightly in the snowy landscape. It truly seemed as though the companions had left the Isle of Ckaymru and entered an alien land. The companions could see the road winding its way toward a lonely hill on the flat terrain topped by an imposing sight; the castle of Baron Tyrannus. The Black Keep.
The castle stood bathed the silvery light of the moon, its many towers jutting up from the battlements like fingers reaching for the sky. The fearsome sight gave the companions pause, but they were immediately prodded into action by the presence of the skeletal army.
The dark castle grew larger as the group made their way closer and closer. The fog began to lift and the silver light of the moon revealed much of why the legends had said this had been such an evil place. Large spikes had been placed at regular intervals along the roadway. At the base of each gigantic spike was the body of an unfortunate soul who had been impaled there. The bodies appeared to be of various races and were in various states of decay. Indeed, some appeared to have been there for many, many years while the smell of others revealed their more recent torture.
The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) Page 18