“What are you doing, Zach?” he said with not a little irritation in his voice, his attention back on his friend. “We need to find some shelter. And light a fire before you freeze to death.”
“This is amazing!” Zach said with excitement; it was obvious to Carym that his ire was lost on his old friend. “This is my wildest dream come true, Carym!” Zach spun around to face Carym with an expression he found disconcerting. During the ill-fated trip his friend had taken on a very dark disposition. He was fast becoming self-absorbed and angry. Carym was sad for his friend’s change of heart and he had hoped things would change whenever they reached the surface again.
“Zach, this is an ancient city, probably Dalcasia, city of the Uta Millan Empire. It is said the Dalcasians cursed their cities when they disappeared; we must be respectful.”
“Bah, don’t bother me with ghost stories! You worry like that nosy old hen, Mother Mairhe! The Dalcasians made buildings of golden marble, of the very rare metal known as silveryl; a gem of sapphire and ruby and diamond! Look, ropes made of gold!” he said as he pointed to one of the machines stationed nearby on the pier. “This city is empty and ripe for the taking.” Zach grabbed Carym by the shoulders and said, “Don’t you see? We don’t have to be poor anymore!” he gleefully threw his arms in the air. “With all this wealth we could destroy all of Arnathia!” Carym thought that was a bit ambitious, but still his friend had point. There was definitely enough wealth here to fund the resistance movement indefinitely.
“Carym is right, Zach. We must not disrespect the ancients, their spirits linger here still,” said Gennevera after a moment’s concentration. “It would be foolish and dangerous to ignore this.”
Zach cast a dark glance at the woman, making an unspoken promise with his eyes. Gennevera, however, was far from intimidated. Then, the young man started backing away.
“I see where your loyalty lies, friend!” he said to Carym, his voice dripping with venom, and daggers in his eyes.
“Zach, listen to me,” Carym began, but Zach turned away. “Zach wait!” Carym pleaded, but Zach continued on down the pier, his watery boot-falls echoing loudly in the eerily silent cavern. Carym noticed that Yag and Gefar, the lone surviving crewman, were watching Zach as he disappeared into the shadows of the city; concern shrouded Yag’s face while interest flickered in Gefar’s eyes. Gennevera guided Carym by the arm and the two walked down the pier looking for a safe place to set up a camp and try to warm the chill from their bones.
After Gennevera’s warning about the otherworldly inhabitants of this long-forgotten city, Carym and Yag decided it was best to set up camp in the port area and away from any buildings which may house riches (and dangers) too tempting to resist. They set up camp and made a small fire from pieces of the escape craft, and they began to feel better. Although they couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. Every now and then, one of the group would flash a quick look back at the lake and ask the others if he was the only one who heard the water splashing; none of them wanted to consider what that could be.
Yag decided to venture back to the dock to retrieve his charts. As he reached the end of the pier, a string of vile curses drifted across the water echoing in the massive chamber, and finally reached the companions around their fire. Carym hoped desperately the pirate’s tantrum wouldn’t attract any warves or troks, whatever troks were. A short time later Yag returned, lamenting the loss of his charts which, he said, could have led them to passageways that would lead to the surface.
The companions talked over what their plans would be for getting back to the surface, and acknowledged that such a trip would be difficult with the knowledge that they were being hunted. Yag and Gefar ardently avoided discussions of lost crewmen, each man grimly determined to make it back to the surface and make someone pay for this tragedy. Gennevera speculated what lay beyond the gates from the port area to the main city and suggested that cautious exploration might result in the discovery of a map. If this city had truly enjoyed vibrant trade with the surface, it would be logical to assume there might be maps here. Carym wondered and worried about what kind of danger Zach was walking into and hoped his friend had been right and that he was worrying entirely too much.
After a few hours had passed Carym managed to drift off to sleep, but was awakened by Gefar. Carym liked this sailor, and was glad the man had escaped the fate that killed the other crewmen. “Your turn at watch.”
“Any sign of Zach?” Carym asked blearily, rubbing his eyes.
“No,” came the simple reply.
Gefar was a swarthy Karbander, of the seafaring nation inhabiting islands to the far west. They were known for doing two things well. Ironically those two things were piracy and honest trade. There were many places in the Karbander Islands where these opposites worked together in earnest. To Carym, who had met few Karbaners - they were not welcome in Arnathia - most Karbaners looked entirely too much alike. Gefar was no exception. He was slim with coal black hair and brown eyes, his cheekbones were prominent and his chin stuck out ever-so-slightly more than a typical Arnathian or Cklathman. And the most well-known feature of Karbanders was their walnut colored skin. Most Karbanders were polite and even the Karbander pirates, though not known for their kindness, possessed a very odd but strictly honored code of ethics.
Suddenly they heard what sounded like the heavy boot falls of a squad of soldiers marching in unison. Their slow rhythmic approach foretold their coming and sent shivers of fearful anticipation down the spines of those who waited. Carym leaped to his feet and roused Yag and Gennevera. Indeed, a squad of very heavily armed soldiers turned a corner about a hundred yards away and marched slowly down the street towards them. Before the fearsome troops swirled a cloud of cold mist, leaving frost where ever it touched. When they finally arrived they stopped in unison, slamming booted feet together for emphasis, and stood stoically on the street at the edge of the camp. One man stood apart from the rest; he wore a kilt of leather and metal bands and armor the likes of which Carym had never seen. His breastplate was one solid piece of silver colored metal that appeared to have been molded to his chest. His face was colored with blue paint and his arms were tattooed with intricate weaving designs. Encircling the man’s throat was a platinum torq that none of the others wore.
Gefar challenged the man through tightly clenched teeth, shivering from cold, frost settling on his sword. The strange man merely stood silent and stared with authority at the group as though expecting them to recognize him and speak first. Yag, Carym, and Gennevera assembled behind Gefar. Yag stepped forward preparing to address the leader.
“I thought these parts were uninhabited, Gennevera,” whispered Carym.
“They are. The Dalcasians disappeared a century after the destruction of the Uta Millan Empire. Their wealth and knowledge disappeared with them. It is clear to me, however that these are the Dalcasians themselves!”
“How is that possible?” he whispered back as fear knotted his stomach; he silenced himself, however, as Yag spoke. His stomach tightened and he felt a sudden urge to grab the stones in his coat. He did not resist.
“I am Yag Ca-Rajir. We are lost, our ship sank and sea beasts savaged my crew. We seek refuge for the evening in your city, if you would be so kind.”
Carym thought he sensed fear in Yag’s voice, his senses were suddenly enhanced and he had to shake his head as Yag’s voice echoed painfully in his mind with odd...vibrations? Although he had been shaking from the cold and he felt as though he just could not warm up, now he felt a warmth drifting up his left arm and into his body. He noticed that the leader held out his left hand and placed his right hand on his sword, but otherwise had not so much as batted an eye. Yag, repeated himself in the Common Cklathish language and in High Cklathish, but clearly he was not understood.
“Gennevera, is there nothing you can do to talk to them?”
“I’m trying,” she said with effort, her mouth tight with cold, working hard to speak in the frosty air.
The lead guard raised his sword and spoke in a thundering voice as cold as ice. She shook her head in futility, trembling from the cold. “They are spirits, they are dead. I’m trying my spells, but the cold...”
“Aktenctar!” commanded the leader. It was no language any of the group had heard before, but the sound of his powerful voice sliced through Carym’s cold numbed mind and registered somewhere. He could hear the power in the soldier’s voice and assumed the man was identifying his rank and authority but he could understand none of what was said. “Ai ym Rhu-Tayn Byayn. Wy Vyl Cwymra Roeyl!” the leader said in a booming voice.
Gefar appeared to have actually frozen in place, his walnut skin now ash colored. Carym drew his left hand from his coat pocket, in his hand was a heavy stone of silvery metal with blue streaking like lightning across its surface. Finally, the chill had ebbed and his thoughts cleared.
The mysterious leader turned to look at Carym, then raised his sword in an apparent salute and spoke to him. Carym instinctively raised the hilt of his sword to his forehead in the ancient way to return a salute with a sword that was still practiced around Llars to this day. As the man spoke, Carym suddenly understood the man, not so much by his words, but rather he just knew what the man meant.
“I am Rhu-Tayn Byayn, Sacred city of Roeyl, capital of Dalcasia this is. For what purpose do you disturb this wondrous city?” the voice rang in the eerie stillness, the vibrations echoing in his head making him dizzy.
Carym was astonished that he could now understand the ancient-looking soldier. How could this be? Moments before he was speaking a language none of them knew, and he appeared not to know theirs. Yet the soldier’s words were definitely reaching Carym in his own language. Unsure if Genn’s magic had finally kicked in, Carym replied, “I am Carym of Hybrand, and these are my companions. A beast from the sea has destroyed our ship. Our pilot was killed and we are stranded. We seek only safe haven in your city and help to find our way to the surface again.”
The leader looked silently at Carym and nodded. He looked over each member of Carym’s party, deadly sorrow lingering in his eyes as he gauged their intentions.
“Well put from you. Granted haven here you are. Allowed to stay as long as you require, you are. Beware: holy and sacred are these grounds. Watching are we. The one who has strayed with mal intent, dearly may he pay. The dark powers of the Underllars here have strayed, and a war with them we fight. None to protect you can be spared.”
“I thank you noble leader,” Carym said bowing low.
“Caution apply as you must. Seek you the Blood Spire, mighty is the Great Father! Find there maps to lead you away.”
Carym bowed again, deeply grateful for the advice. When he looked up to relay his gratitude he saw that the entire party of warriors was gone.
***
The glowing poles that lit the streets of this mystical and quiet place were beautiful to behold but cast little useful light, and seemed only to deepen the existing shadows. Zach passed several buildings made of pure gemstone. Structures made from emerald and ruby and sapphire and more held little interest for a man who had become somewhat of a rogue of late. He smiled at the thought. Yes, the word rogue was apropos. He knew now that what lay ahead, what had been silently calling him, was worth more to him than the even these towers of untold wealth. He passed several beautiful statues of women and of men and of magnificent creatures that he had never before seen as he left the port area and entered the main city; yet he ignored these too.
An inexplicable, irresistible force called to Zach, commanding him and driving him onward toward a tower deep in the city. This force had been calling to him for days now and its pull became stronger by the minute. The force manifested itself in him sometime during their visit to Dockyard City. It began as a sensation of anticipation and excitement. It progressed to gnawing curiosity and suspense. Subconsciously, he knew that this same force was responsible for sending the pod of sea beasts after the ship and forcing the survivors to flee; it sensed him and it wanted him here. And now he couldn’t contain himself, he was positively giddy with anticipation of the wealth and power that he just knew was waiting for him here.
The marvelous city of Dalcasia passed by him in a blur, he could recall nothing of the journey that took him from the piers to the center of the city. Ordinarily he would have kicked himself for not committing the way to memory, but he was consumed by unnatural energy.
Finally, he reached center of Dalcasia and he beheld the magnificent square which he had just entered. This too, was lost on Zach as he cared only to meet his benefactor, the one who would lead him to the wealth and power he desired. The tower was a marvelous structure made of blood-tinged amethyst. The tower had the likeness of a dragon wrapped around it, spiraling its way to the top and finally resting its giant head on the pinnacle. The eyes of the dragon sparkled red in the light of the glowing poles; they seemed to be watching the man.
Zach approached the large platinum double doors, which were flanked by two statues of some long forgotten soldiers. The wealth of this city was not to be ignored and Zach imagined those who built it must have been powerful beyond reckoning. He paid no heed to the silent sentries as he bent down and removed some lock picking tools from a hidden pocket in his waist length coat. He inserted his first pick, designed to probe for traps and to determine if the door was even locked.
It was not.
Zach carefully pushed on the door. As it swung inward he paused letting his senses absorb the deathly silence. After a moment he took a step forward. It was then that the two statues came to life, dropping their large swords in front of him to bar his way.
Zach backpeddled, perplexed. Yet, somehow, one of the statue guards moved and was now standing behind him. It grabbed his arm and spoke to him in a strange and harsh language. Its grip was bone numbing and its crushing strength made his head spin.
“Hey, uh, I’m sorry! Let me go, I can explain,” at that moment the statue guard slapped Zach with a scepter; the blow knocked him to the ground, stunned. He lay there a moment, feeling the pain in his leg. Was it broken? Then he remembered the danger and tried to scramble to his feet. As it was, his attempt at a scramble turned into a slow stagger and he paid for it with a kick in the side from one of the guards that sent him down again. He forced himself up, fighting back the pain, as he prepared to face an awful fight with the strange statue guards. It was at that moment that a most amazing thing happened to him. Zach would later swear that this was a turning point in his life, helping him to find the path he was meant to follow. He felt a strange presence enter his body, uplifting his spirit and filling his soul with joy and ready energy. He suddenly felt rejuvenated, quick on his feet, and ready to fight. Spiritually Zach knew that he had found favor in the eyes of a god, probably ancient and long forgotten, and knew that he was being aided for a reason. Quickly drawing both of his swords he challenged the guards in front of him. He felt as though he could take on an army. The two guards advanced towards Zach, and he exploded into a blur of flashing steel. His reflexes were so fast that he was able to fight both guards simultaneously; hacking and slashing with a sword in each hand.
Zach struck the first guard in its now fleshy throat, killing it immediately. However when the guard died it returned to its previously petrified stone state, trapping his sword. He let go of the lost blade to concentrate on the second guard. This guard too, was no match for the fierce and deadly assault which Zach imparted upon him. Zach slashed this statute guard across its exposed midsection and quickly withdrew his blade, remembering the loss of his other weapon. This guard also returned to stone. He picked up one of the swords that had been dropped by a statute guard and wearily entered the tower. He felt a calling in his soul, like he was being tested and passing meant the promise of glory while failure meant rejection. He desperately wanted to pass this test.
The main chamber at the base of the tower was opulent; tapestries adorned the walls, fine carpets lined the floor, and suits of ancient armo
r stood silently, watching. Zach felt drawn to the ornately designed door at the end of the hallway. The designs were alien to Zach, but he felt tremendous reverence and respect for their importance nonetheless. He took a deep breath and grasped the metal ring that served as a handle for the door and stepped into the dimly lit chamber beyond; he was surprised to find that it was completely empty. There were no other doors, there was no staircase and there was no furniture. At that moment a circle appeared on the floor of the chamber, lined with glowing symbols.
For reasons he could not understand, Zach was compelled to step into that circle. As he did so, he felt a peculiar sensation as though the tower was ascending around him and yet he felt as though he were standing quite still. Suddenly the sensation ceased and he realized that he had rapidly descended several floors. Stepping out of the circle he faced another large door like the one above. He opened the door and was immediately knocked backward by an unseen force. Painfully, he leapt to his feet with both swords drawn but saw no attacker. His side began to throb and he felt the warmth of blood oozing out, too much blood.
“Where are you?” he demanded. “Come out and face me! I know you’re here,” he paused sensing something nearby but unable to put his finger on it.
Nothing but the echoes of his own voice answered him.
A faint glowing silhouette appeared before him and he was again knocked violently to the floor. Being the skilled fighter that he was, Zach knew that one must always learn from his enemy. And Zach just learned something vital to his survival, his adversary wasn’t able to maintain its invisibility while it attacked him. He leaped to his feet swinging his swords in a dizzying whirlwind of steel, moving in a circle about the room, hoping to force his invisible foe to show itself.
A Tide of Shadows Page 27
