The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) Page 10

  In a flash they were upon them. A lumbering orok crashed into the clearing and impaled himself on Zach’s suddenly upraised blade. Zach used the forward momentum of the orok and leaned backward, letting the orok’s own momentum carry it over Zach’s head and behind him where he disengaged his blade and regained his feet. Carym was stunned by the acrobatic feat.

  Three more oroks burst into the clearing. Carym quickly picked up a handful of rocks and threw them at the oroks with his right hand. With his left he traced a Sigil in the air calling the Tides to rise up like a tidal wave and propel them onward toward their targets with deadly speed. The rocks struck two of the three oroks and both fell to the ground howling. Zach moved in and quickly dispatched one while Xin Xi slit the throat of the other. Seeing the demise of his fellows, the last orok turned to flee. But with one quick flash, the diminutive elf drew a small crossbow and fired a bolt that pierced the back of the orok’s head; it went down in a squealing heap.

  Zach rolled to his feet and spun to face the Silver Mountain elf woman, advancing as though he intended to fight her. “Zach wait,” Carym shouted to his friend. “She is- ”

  “A trok!” he interrupted. “And not to be trusted!”

  The woman stood there facing him with that condescending upward looking gaze, daring him to try. Her gaze was enough to halt the Cklathman in his tracks, as though he was reconsidering. He shifted his gaze to Carym, silently asking What the Hades are you thinking?

  Carym shrugged at his friend, and held his hands up. Then the small Elvish woman whistled and five more of her kind, attired and armed similarly to her, slid from the trees around them with weapons drawn. “We are not troks! And I tire of repeating myself!” hissed Xin Xi.

  Zach angrily sheathed his weapons; for all his hotheaded fury, Carym was grateful that he seemed to recognize he was outnumbered.

  He sauntered over to his friend and, in a low voice said, “What have you gotten us into now?” The sneer on his face was not lost on Carym. “Out of the pan and into fire, it seems!”

  Carym looked away from his friend and to the Elvish woman. With a nod, her acquaintances lowered their crossbows and resumed their watch from the woods. “You fight well, surface dwellers,” at least she sounded impressed.

  Carym bowed, “Thank you Xin Xi Zhuan.” He pointed to the still scowling Zach. “This is my friend, Zachyrya Von Reese. We are trying to make our way back to the surface where we belong. We did not intend to trespass on your lands, though we were hungry and sought to take game only so we could eat.”

  Xin Xi waved her hand dismissively. “Take what you need. You have helped us more than you know,” she said. “Although oroks pose little threat to our security, they are a nuisance and, if left to their own devices, would defile and destroy this pristine xanane. For your help, we are grateful. You have earned the right to pass through our lands.”

  Zach grumbled something under his breath, Xin Xi appeared not to notice. In fact, she appeared to take little notice of Zach at all.

  “I thank you, Xin Xi Zhuan. You are gracious and kind; I am honored to have made your acquaintance.”

  Zach rolled his eyes impatiently at the propriety.

  “And I, you.”

  “And now, with your permission, we will take our leave and continue our journey through and to the surface above.” Carym asked with formality and respect. Although he sensed no threat from this band, he felt the situation still precarious enough to warrant the utmost caution; and with Zach present, there was no telling how badly things could go. Zach was doing the best he could to pretend not to be bristling at the indignation of having to ask someone for leave to go. Carym was struck by how Elvish the beautiful, but diminutive woman looked, and understood their preference of being called elves rather than troks.

  “No,” she said, surprising Carym and earning a scowl from Zach. Then she continued, “The way you have chosen is too dangerous. That road winds into and out of Warvish territory and some of the other Trokkish clan holdings. You would not likely reach the surface alive.

  “I will have one of my scouts guide you the rest of the way to the surface. There is another road that leads through our own Clan Hold and there is danger in only once place, the Warvish Pass. From there you will surface in a place called Ckaymru. I know little of what occurs above and care less. I will assign a scout to guide you safely through our lands.”

  “Thank you, Highness. That is a truly generous offer,” he finished with a bow.

  “Ckaymru, you say?” asked Zach.

  “Yes. Once above you will be in Ckaymru. Though I caution you, Ckaymru is a very unpleasant place of late.”

  Zach’s expression changed, he seemed giddy. Carym was becoming certain that something drastic and sinister had happened to his friend back in Dalcasia. He had hoped to have a moment to talk with his old friend about it, but it seemed like the chance would just never come.

  “And how do we find the Everpool now? Your contact was in Caelambra?”

  “There never was a contact-” Zach began to reply.

  “The pool, you say? The Everpool?” asked Xin Xi. There was no need to glance back at Zach, Carym knew that he was probably ready to bury that dagger in his back for mentioning their quest. He sighed deeply, again he had said too much.

  “Ah, yes. Uh, what do you know of the Zuharim, Highness?” asked Carym, attempting to change the subject. The woman scowled and bared her pointy teeth.

  “Bah,” she spat. “Zuharim are Hades-Cursed and Hell bound! They tamper with the Lords of the Deep Realms and draw from their foul magics and they have inundated the region with shambling, bug-infested corpses. The Trokkish clans scour everywhere seeking ancient magical weapons for their evil masters and they mean to turn Dalcasia into a Gateway to Hades!” The clan leader appeared furious. “The imbeciles of the Trokkish clans fell for this lie in exchange for a stake in the riches of Dalcasia.”

  “I am sorry for your troubles, Highness. Would that there was more we could do to help you,” said Carym.

  Zach rolled his eyes impatiently and let out a sigh. He appeared incapable of empathy and Carym felt like letting out a sigh of resignation. He was getting very angry with his old friend and it shamed him, but he really felt like hitting him.

  “The Trok-Syth have long been aware of Dalcasia. However, most are deathly afraid of the afterlife and those sprits cursed to remain here in the Underllars; the Dalcasia is full of them. There is little you can do for us, for I fear we will be drawn into war; whether it is the Zuharim, Trok-Syth, or warves, it makes little difference.”

  “Then why could you possibly care what happens to us, elf?” Zach said, his tone biting. “We are but a pitiful example of humanity defiling your lands!”

  Xin Xi spared only a fleeting glance at Zach, focusing instead on Carym. “I saw the flames dance on your weapon, I saw the way you made those stones explode. You are the Fyrbold! Your coming was foretold, Carym of Hyrum:

  Two and three from above shall come,

  Seeking light in desperate need,

  Master of Flames and strong is one,

  Destined to return the Sigil is he,

  Strength of foes lives in two,

  Death will follow for one of three,

  Caution must be the way for thee.

  “Silver Mountain Clan has not forgotten the history of the Everpool, Carym of Hyrum. Neither have we forgotten our duty to Zuhr. We are a strong nation and we have fought for the light bound surface dwellers in our history. You are the One prophesied to return the Sigils to Men and lead a war against the Dark Lord and his minions.”

  Carym felt a sense of purpose filling him again. He had not heard of the prophecy of which the woman spoke, yet he knew she was right. All of the pieces were falling into place and little seemed to have been left to chance. The sense of purpose, however, was overwhelming and he felt as though he might drown from it before long.

  “You must reach the Everpool and fulfill your duty, Fyrbold! My spies have
told me of a dark wizard, a Lord of the Shadow Sigil, who is moving an army across the surface above us. It is said he seeks the Everpool as well.”

  “I fear I may not be ready for this,” he mumbled, a bit numb. He wondered how many would have to die for him.

  “This is nonsense, Carym,” said Zach urgently. “Why not go to Sarganburr first? We should warn them of the invasion, get reinforcements from the Arch-Duke!”

  “You will do what the prophecy has foretold, Fyrbold; in this you have no choice. And the prophecy has foretold you will reach the Everpool. What is unclear is whether you reach it before or after the Shadow Lord. You will lead armies in a great war. When the time comes, Silver Mountain Clan will fight with you.”

  Carym was overcome with emotion and he could not force himself to speak. He nodded his thanks to the clan leader and bowed his head, praying he was right for this job. Things were happening so fast.

  “Return to your camp. I will send a guide to take you to the surface.” Xin Xi turned on her heel and disappeared into the wood leaving the pair in silence.

  “Have you given up on your duty to Eriagabbyn?”

  “My business is my own, Carym,” he said quietly, head down. “You’ve chosen to accompany me and for that I am grateful. However, I fear we should part....We should part...” Zach appeared to have trouble continuing, as though he were struggling with something internally. “We should depart for the Everpool at once!” he finished with a snarl.

  Carym turned to his friend and hoped to talk with him.

  “Zach, what happened to you in Dalcasia....?” he began.

  “Save it,” Zach interrupted him and stalked towards the tree line kicking a dead orok as he passed. But then he stopped, and said over his shoulder, “I discovered something about myself back there. You would be wise to part company with me at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Zach, we have been friends for too long. We’ve- ” he paused with frustration. What the Hades happened?

  “Suit yourself, Fyrbold!” Zach said with a snarl. He turned and stalked away leaving Carym wondering. Carym shrugged it off. As much as he hated to do it, Carym decided that he had to let his friendship with Zach go. There was too much at stake, too many dangers in the road ahead to risk dividing the group further.

  Xin Xi was true to her word. A Silver Mountain elf glided from the tree line, wearing garb similar to that of Xin Xi and carrying an array of weapons and armor of shining silveryl, the favorite metal of most Elvish peoples.

  “Greetings, Surface Dweller,” the man said in flawless Cklathish. In typical Elvish fashion, his demeanor was reserved and his features revealed little. His eyes were large, not unlike Gennevera’s, his ears were cupped, and his facial features framed by a thin beard. Displaying the same amazing strength that the troks displayed, the small elf dragged the carcass of Zach’s earlier kill as though it were but a child’s toy.

  “I believe this belongs to you?”

  “Thank you,” he said, marveling at the display of strength. He wondered how closely related the Silver Mountain elves and the Trok-Syth truly were. “I am Carym of Hyrum,” Carym bowed slightly with his hand out and open, in the traditional Cklathish style.

  “Kharrihan of Silver Mountain Clan,” the little man extended his hand in return. “I will be guiding you through our lands and hopefully, through to the surface where we must part.”

  “I am grateful for your service, Kharrihan.”

  “’Tis nothing,” the man smiled, and the standoffish expression he bore earlier disappeared. Now, he seemed jovial. “When the Zhuan asks a favor, a man is honored to oblige.”

  “Nonetheless, this will be no simple trek. We are hunted by the minions of the Shadowfyr,” Carym said, hesitantly. He really did not want to embroil others in his own dangerous affairs, but they were in no position to refuse aid. He must, however, tell the man what to expect. “We have been attacked in our homeland of Hybrand, in Dockyard City, in the undersea tunnels, in Dalcasia and even here in your xanane.”

  The elf thought about Carym’s words and replied, “Our small nation and our precious holdings are in constant danger here in the Underllars. We are threatened by troks, oroks, warves, and even Zuharim necromancers. A day does not go by without an attack against one of our holdings. Yet, we have survived as a people these many centuries. Do you know why?

  “Because we have faith. Faith in our Lord Zhur to watch over us and faith in the strength and wisdom He gave us,” the man’s voice was strong and smooth, inspiring confidence. Carym marveled at the faith he held in spite of the constant threat of darkness around him. “So, my friend, dangerous roads do not deter the Silver Mountain Clan. We take care, we prepare, and we will go to Zuhr’s Palace if we are so called. If I do not return home beyond this mission, then my loved ones will know that I rest in Zuhr’s peace.”

  “Aye,” said Carym, unsure how to respond. The easygoing manner and calm acceptance of mortality by the Silver Mountain elves was truly amazing. It was as though the thought of lying in the gardens of Zuhr’s Palace was appealing to the elf, as though he did not fear death in the least. Carym was becoming a stronger follower of Zuhr, but he could not so easily accept his own mortality. Not yet.

  Kharrihan smiled and slapped Carym on the arm as he passed, casually dragging the deer carcass behind him. Carym followed along and the two eventually returned to the camp where Gennevera waited with a hearty cook fire and Yag and Gefar stood watch. The pair exited the tree line and a sweet smoky haze drifted lazily to Carym’s nose, stirring his stomach to restlessness.

  Gefar, who had been leaning on a large stone and standing watch when they left, was roused to wakefulness as Zach stalked through the underbrush into the clearing. Angrily he kicked the sleeping man in the foot and watched with a grim expression as the Roughneck sputtered and struggled to get up.

  “Forget it, man.” He growled as walked into the campsite. “You are already dead!”

  Then Carym and Kharrihan appeared in the clearing, the elf still dragging the large deer behind him. Gefar stumbled to his feet in a hurry, strapping on his sword and let out a string of curses upon seeing the elf.

  “Halt! What is that doing here?” snarled Gefar, pointing his sword at the small elf.

  “Stand easy, Gefar! This man is with me,” said Carym.

  After a tense moment where Carym feared insult to the small elf, Kharrihan only laughed and commented that cow excrement possessed more intelligence than did the Trok-Syth. Gefar was accepting of Carym’s leadership and nodded grudgingly, lowering his blade and resuming his post.

  “Gefar,” said Carym quietly so only Gefar could hear. “Do not sleep on post again. If you do I will let Zach address the problem. Is that clear?”

  “Aye, sir. Apologies, sir. Won’t happen again.” Gefar seemed contrite and Carym left it at that, nodding and walking into camp behind Kharrihan.

  He was delighted to find that Gennevera had begun cooking some giant mushrooms she collected from the nearby woods.

  “What is that sauce, Genn?” he asked.

  “That comes from Volan Blue Moss which grows near streams on the surface. Apparently it grows here too. I found it on the banks of that stream. When you squeeze it, the juice that comes out bears a creamy flavor that is good for cooking.”

  “Venison and mushrooms! We shall dine well tonight!” he said heartily. Gennevera smiled, taken in by the warmth in his eyes. Then she turned back to her food. Carym tried to engage Kharrihan in discussion about plans, but the jovial elf insisted on dressing out the deer as a token of appreciation of his people and would not discuss business until food was before them. He cut the meat into steaks and seasoned them with herbs he found growing nearby.

  Carym was joyful, despite the growing unease about Zach. The divide was growing but there was little to do about it anyway. Zach took over watch from Gefar and walked in silent patrols around the campsite while the food was prepared.

  After the meal had been cooked, it w
as served on plates made of tree bark that the men had peeled from a nearby tree. Carym sat quietly, amazed that such an abundance of life could be found in such a bizarre place. The rest of the company ate quietly, enjoying the meal and the sounds of nature. Zach remained on guard, invisible in the brush. Carym knew that the man could be trusted to guard them, he just wondered what would happen should the man find something that needed investigating. Would he abandon his post? Would he report his findings to Carym? The man had become so unpredictable Carym just didn’t know.

  “Carym,” it was Kharrihan. Carym nodded to the elf, grateful for the distraction from his now unpleasant thoughts. “We are relatively safe here in the lands of my people. This hold is far enough from the border that the troks will not enter, while oroks typically only come here to poach game. But I fear that we should not delay our departure unnecessarily. There have been reports of a Wasp Dragon in the vents of the Westerly Tunnels. I am afraid our path will take us quite close to the Westerly Tunnels, Warvish Lands they are, and the warves are quite fond of Wasp Dragons.”

  “I’ve never heard of a Wasp Dragon, Kharrihan. How dangerous are they?”

  “Deadly. They have a gaping maw full of needle-like pincers and their saliva is powerful enough to dissolve rocks. Their armor is tough as stone and they have wings like a bug which enables them to hover in the tight spaces of the Underllars. When they fly they can rub their wings together to make a buzzing noise that will quell the stomach of the stoutest warrior. The venom from a strike of their whip-like tail will kill a man in minutes. They have six legs so they can run very fast if they choose; their front legs end in dagger-like needles for spearing their prey and they often hide these front legs by tucking them under their long snaky torso.”

  “Doesn’t sound so bad? Anything else we can fight while we’re at it?” asked Yag sarcastically.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “There are far worse creatures than Wasp Dragons; if we are lucky the latter is all we will face.”