“Cousin, what has happened to you? Why do you treat us so poorly? We have urgent news and urgent business to the north. We cannot delay,” said the Bard urgently.
“Yes, Barthal. Yes, I know. Forgive me. Something terrible has happened to me, sometimes I forget myself. Eat, then we attend the trial. Though it sickens me, I shall order the Bishop to treat your friend fairly.”
“Your Majesty,” began Carym. “Our mission-”
“Enough!” shouted the Rhi. “I know of it. I know about you, Carym. I know about the Princess Hala, I know about good Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, I know about your Keneerie thing. Your Crimson Elf friend came to me demanding my assistance and my troops.
“A promise was given. A promise will be honored. I do not like it, but I will honor it. I care for neither elves nor Zuharim, for they are the reason I am cursed.” Delfyd cast a baleful look at Gennevera.
“What curse, Delfyd? What happened?”
“Demon-dealing Zuharim! That’s what happened! They came in the night. Two of them; a Zuharim cloaked in white and an elf cloaked in blue.
“They offered me power, the Sigil powers deprived of the world by Zuhr.” The companions listened in wonder, and in disgust. The man who was the monarch of Myrnwell, and cousin to their companion, was dealing with the forces of darkness.
“You can command the Sigils?” asked Bart in wonder. “I cannot sense the Tides about you. How is this so?”
“Yes,” sneered the Rhi. “Rub it in, cousin. You always could sense the Tides, if not use them, and yet that was deprived of me. It meant nothing until now, however. Now we both can use the Tides!”
“How is this? What fiendish bargains did you strike?” he demanded.
“Fear for yourself, cousin!” he snarled. “It does not matter. I was given the power I wanted, though not in the way that I wanted it.” A shadow coalesced around the man’s face and his features shifted. Carym sensed the agitation in the Shadow stone, and so too did Delfyd for he looked directly at Carym. “What do you have?” he whispered.
“I sense the Shadow Tide in you, Delfyd,” stated Carym in reply avoiding the question.
“Power is power.”
The darkness coalesced about his body, and his skin became scaly and blue. His eyes darkened into pools of blackness. Carym jumped from his seat and resumed his armor and sword spell. Gennevera stood behind him while Hala again brandished her wicked dagger claws. And the monarch laughed. Then, just as quickly, his form reverted to normal.
“What-?”
“Spare me cousin. I gave my word to Morgon that I would aid you before this curse took me. So, aid you I will. Once.”
“Once?”
“My power came at a great price, cousin. Too great perhaps, but the past cannot be changed. I will send you across the straits to the lands of Princess Hala. From there you will be free to do as you please.”
“And what will you do with your newfound powers?” asked Bart.
The Rhi smiled grimly, a shadow flickering over his face. “That is my concern cousin. You should concern yourself with your own country and your quest.”
“I see.” Bart’s gaze was intent, and Carym felt the Airstone singing in his pouch. Carym suspected Bart was calling the Tides to him even now, but just as suddenly it stopped. Carym left the chamber in disgust and walked out into the audience chamber to await his friend. Gennevera and Hala followed him leaving the cousins in private, if not peace.
“What do we do, Carym?” questioned Gennevera.
“We cannot trust him,” asserted Hala. “He has become a binder!”
Carym nodded. “I agree,” he said looking back to Hala. “We will find Brother LeNoir and seek his assistance. Perhaps we can leave under the cover of darkness tonight.”
“I think that we should not discuss anything further in this cursed house, Carym,” Hala whispered. “I believe we are being watched.”
Carym glanced around the audience hall. He knew that there could easily be spy holes where Rhi’s spies could watch or listen undetected. He nodded his agreement to Hala, noticing the distinctly Cklathish artwork and construction in the room. The paintings depicted the various monarchs to rule over Myrnwell over the centuries. It pained Carym to learn his fellow Cklathmen were going to suffer under the rule of a man who sold his soul to darkness; Myrnwell seemed like such a peaceful, wonderful place.
“Why must the world suffer so?” he asked quietly, bleakly. A fleeting thought of killing Delfyd crossed his mind and was dismissed as quickly. Even if they could defeat him, there was still the entire palace guard and the Army of Myrnwell to contend with. Would the Hand get involved? What will they do when they find out that Delfyd has been corrupted by evil?
His musing was interrupted by the entrance of the Royal Herald. Seeing that his liege was not present, he stepped in and a file of armed guards entered behind. In the midst of the guards was Sir Ederick. Carym was surprised to see that he had been well treated and still wore his arms and armor. His escort did not entirely consist of palace guards. Among the captors were members of the Hand, wearing their distinctive white mantle with the emblem of their order bright on their chests.
Another group entered the chamber, this one a procession of brethren of the church followed by the bishop. The bishop was a man of middle years, his face lined and his beard full. His eyes beheld a deep wisdom which struck Carym profoundly, yet revealed a goodness deep within. The man wore a tabard of white and blue over black leather armor with a mace strapped to his side. A bishop who fights? He saw with pleasure that the jovial Brother LeNoir was in attendance as well.
Carym and the two women moved towards the prisoner and the guards parted to allow them a moment. Hala gave the knight a fierce hug while Gennevera smiled warmly at him. Carym then came and grasped hands with the nobleman.
“It is good to see that you are being treated well, Sir Ederick.”
“Aye, Carym. They have treated me well enough. My word of honor has allowed me to retain my arms and armor.”
The herald shouted, “The Rhi of Myrnwell!”
All in the room dropped swiftly to one knee, save the bishop himself who merely inclined his head.
Delfyd stalked to his throne and sat down, a dark look on his face. Bart followed and took his place at the side of his companions. Bart looked Carym in the eyes as Bart’s voice drift into Carym’s mind. “My cousin has changed. He is no longer the honorable man I knew. Whatever bargain he struck with the fiends of Umber has blackened his soul. We are not welcome here...I am sorry!”
Carym knew that Bart was harnessing the Tides and assumed he used a spell to mentally communicate with him. He maintained eye contact with Bart and silently said, “We cannot leave Ederick. We have to play this out and hope Brother LeNoir can aid us.”
“I hope you are right,” came the reply and the mental link was broken.
“Get on with it, Bishop!” growled Delfyd Rhi, his eyes smoldering with an inner anger. “I wish to be rid of this Zuharim filth.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The bishop’s warm eyes held a resigned look. “Bring the prisoner forward.”
The guards prodded Sir Ederick gently and the nobleman walked up to face the bishop who was now seated on a small throne. The bishop leaned on his long blue and silver mace as though he needed it to support himself. The mace was a beautiful weapon, gleaming in the light of the chamber it bore numerous inscriptions about its shaft and the head was a gleaming ball of blue crystal.
“Much has changed within the Church of Zuhr these long years you have been away, I’m afraid,” began the bishop. Ederick was struck by the man’s conciliatory tone. He stared at the man but said nothing.
“Please, Sir Knight, state your name for those in attendance.”
“Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, Knight of Zuharim, Commander of Zuhr’s Holy Order of Protectors; the Lord Baron of Danzk.”
“Impressive, Sir Knight. Although you must now know that your order is officially defunct, I will
accord you the honors you have earned in the service of our Great Lord, Zuhr.”
Ederick did not answer and the bishop let out a sigh. The Rhi grumbled impatiently.
“You are charged with being a member of the Zuharim, a charge to which you have already acknowledged,” seeing the knight’s rising anger, the bishop quickly added, “And a charge which is a mere formality of title.”
“The Zuharim have been disbanded for a very good reason; members have been engaging in the dark magic of necromancy.”
“Your record as a gallant and brave warrior has preceded you. In fact, through the investigations conducted by members of the Hand of Zuhr, we have learned that your superiors insulated you from their dalliances with the Lords of the Underworld.”
Ederick bristled, but listened intently. The bishop continued, “The demons who command the underworld legions have bargained with many of the Zuharim commanders. Their aim was -no, it is - to bring about the return of the First Paladin, whether he is ready to return or not. The demon lords promised the Zuharim to deliver the damned soul of the Dark Paladin, whom we all know was the First Paladin. Yet they fail to deliver because they cannot deliver. Their promises are lies.”
“The soul of the Dark Paladin is cursed to guard his own tomb for eternity. It was his punishment,” said Ederick stiffly, as though it would be absurd to believe otherwise.
“Indeed. That is the truth of it, Sir Knight. However, the Zuharim through their dabbling in the dark magic, became susceptible to the lies of the princes of darkness. The Book of Zuhr became irrelevant to them, as preposterous as that sounds.”
Ederick was seething inside, but he knew any outbursts would be counterproductive. He listened respectfully. The clergy of Zuhr have always been held in regard by the Zuharim, even if he was unused to the idea that clergymen should bear arms and armor.
“So, to the matter at hand then. To the charge of being a member of the Zuharim, how do you plead?”
“I am Zuharim.”
“To the charge of conspiring with Umber’s princes of darkness, how do you plead?”
“Outraged, and not guilty!” he snarled.
“Very well. I have taken the measure of your worth, and by Zuhr’s grace I have made my decision,” said the bishop.
“Finally,” grumbled Delfyd disdainfully, thrumming his fingers on the armrest of his throne.
“You are found guilty of being Zuharim,” said the bishop formally. There were gasps in the room among the assembled crowd of retainers, lords, and ladies of the court. Ederick scowled in anger and appeared ready to strike the bishop down with his sword. Carym too, was angry with the farcical proceedings; his magical armor gleamed on his body, the Tides surging through him.
However, no move was made by any of the guards and Carym was surprised when the bishop continued.
“The Great Lord Zuhr finds goodness in your heart, Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore. And clemency is granted,” with that the bishop stood and laid his hands on Ederick’s shoulders.
“Ahh, the farce concludes, then!” hissed Delfyd. “Are we finished, Your Eminence? The knight is no longer in your custody then?” The bishop did not miss the eager look in Delfyd’s twisted visage. The monarch had fully expected the knight to be granted clemency. Carym sensed the danger there too, and met Bart’s eyes.
“We must flee, Carym!” the bard urged silently.
Before Carym could reply, Delfyd flicked his wrist and one of his servants quickly opened a door leading out of the chamber. At that moment a stream of guards filed into the room and Delfyd smiled wickedly.
“I tolerate your filthy church because I have to, Lord Bishop; not because I want to.”
“The people love their church, Majesty,” replied the bishop. The Rhi snickered in response. The bishop spoke, “I have not finished, Majesty.”
“What?” said the monarch tersely.
“I have not finished. The knight and his companions are under my protection, Majesty. They must be taken to the Temple.”
“How, pray tell, are they under your protection? They are not members of the Hand!” he shouted angrily, crazily. Bart looked at his cousin with a mixture of pity and anger.
“To the contrary, Your Majesty. Each is, in fact, a member of the Hand. Gennevera is a member of the Sisterhood; Ederick, by virtue of clemency granted by the almighty Zuhr, is now a member of the Exalted Order of the Sword; Carym is a member of the Hand by virtue of his extraordinary mission; and Barthal and Carleigh-hala are of royal blood, you cannot detain them, by the Old Law.”
“Carleigh-hala?” he said, as though unsure if he heard right. “Princess of Jaguar Nation...” The monarch’s face darkened even more as he said the name, he had forgotten the Old Law. Delfyd stood simmering, his hand gripping and releasing the handle of his sword. “Be gone!” he shouted. “I will not tolerate the presence of this filth in my palace!”
A crazed look overcame the monarch. Even Bart looked amazed at the intensity of his cousin’s gaze. Brother LeNoir hustled over and prodded the companions toward the exit, “Come now, mustn’t keep the bishop waiting.”
The palace guards made no move to stop the companions as they filed towards the exit.
“You will regret this, Bishop!” shouted Delfyd. “And you, cousin. We will talk of this treachery again!” Bart cast a disdainful glare at his cousin, but said nothing as he turned his back on the monarch and left the throne room.
“Bart, what the devil happened in there?” demanded Carym as the group exited the palace. Carym was surprised to note that none of the Rhi’s troops followed.
Bart shook his head slowly as the group made their way towards a caravan waiting on the Royal Boulevard. The caravan consisted of several coaches, light and heavy cavalry troops, and foot guards. Each man or woman wore the white tabard bearing the open palm symbol of the Hand of Zuhr. The symbol adorned the doors of the coaches, the armor of the warriors, and the standards they carried. The highly disciplined troops presented an impressive sight and Carym understood the wisdom behind the Rhi’s lack of pursuit.
Perhaps the most impressive of the battalion was the heavy cavalry. He had never seen a cavalry unit like it. Their mounts were not horses; they were massive bulls! Each bull as tall as a draft horse, with long legs and wide muscular bodies. The beasts had long horns that curled forward, their tips adorned with spear-like metal caps. The men riding the impressive beasts were huge too. Their standard bore the symbol of the hand, and the additional symbol of a massive black bull wreathed in clovers.
Carym knew something of that standard, it was the standard of Clan Bovar. They were fierce warriors of the Cklathish Island of Myrnwell, a tribe of hill folk who gave allegiance to none other than their own Cklanthayne. Something persuaded these mighty warriors to lend their arms to the forces of the Hand of Zuhr.
Carym followed the bishop and Bart into the lead coach while the women entered the second coach with brother LeNoir. Carym said nothing until the coach began to move, sensing Bart’s desire not to speak until the caravan was safely in motion. As the coach finally lurched forward, Bart let out a profound sigh and shook his head. Carym said nothing, knowing the bard would speak when he was ready.
“Mighty Zuhr,” began the bard quietly. “What has happened to the good man who was my cousin?” The he turned to face Carym and the bishop.
“Blessed be the mighty Zuhr. Only He knows His own plans, Your Highness.”
“Please call me Bart, I gave up my claim to that title long ago, Your Eminence.” Bart looked out of the coach at the city that was now passing by his window.
“Why is Delfyd Rhi’s grudge against the Zuharim so personal?”
“Sir Ederick, it is as you have been told. The Zuharim have disgraced themselves. Carym described his own encounters with them in the Underllars. It has been no different elsewhere.”
“But why the personal animosity? What did the Zuharim do to him?” asked Carym.
“When you all left the dining chamber, I had a
n opportunity to question my cousin regarding that matter, so I have. He brought his own ‘curse’ upon himself. He blames them because they brought him the key to undertaking a binding!”
“Perhaps my clergy can aid him?” asked the bishop. Carym wondered what kind of aid the clergy could offer to break an enchantment. Were they dabbling in magic too?
“Indeed, Bishop. I am aware of your extraordinary gifts. However, I doubt that your gifts will aid my cousin. His curse is one of his own doing, he has not the faith to accept such wonderfully divine help.”
Bart was silent for a time, then he continued, “Long ago, my cousin and I adventured together throughout the Isles. We did many great things, helped many people, killed many monsters and arrested many criminals.”
“One day, we ran into a foul trickster. A warlock with awful powers who had been terrorizing a village in a remote part of the Sargan Duchy. We were on our way to Sarganburr after a visit to the lands of the Ogre Tribes.”
“We stopped at an inn for the night and learned of the small keep of Malric the Great, as he called himself. Malric was a hideous man, we were told. A man with alabaster skin and eyes as blue as sapphires who could freeze your blood with a word, so they said. Malric had been content to adventure the world and return quietly to his small castle away from town.
“One day Malric returned from an adventure and he had been changed. His eyes glowed with a blue fire, so said the villagers. His hair had all fallen out, and his hands and feet had turned blue. Even his lips had become blue, as though he had been a corpse lying in the snow for days.
“Malric began to harass the villagers. First animals, and then some of the villagers themselves began to disappear, so they did. The nearest lord to that area was a minor baron whose name I cannot recall, and who was more than a week’s ride away for help. So the men formed a council and decided someone needed to go to the castle and investigate.
“Being the brash young adventurers that we were, we took our presence there as fortuitous for the people of Glen Dalwyn. We offered our services, so we did. And away to the castle of Malric the Great we went.
The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) Page 29