The Tomb of the Dark Paladin

by Tom Bielawski

  "Am I to be arrested, then?" he asked. The bishop nodded solemnly. "On what charge?"

  "The Rhi of Myrnwell holds you responsible for bringing enemies of Umber into his country, and by extension those who hunt them. The Rhi has charged you with murder, a crime over which I cannot take jurisdiction."

  "So, you are going to just turn me over to the Rhi? After all I've..." Ederick was so angry he could not say any more.

  "I am not turning you over, Sir Ederick. I reject their charges, but I cannot refuse them." How could he not refuse them? It made no sense to the knight.

  He gripped the reins of his horse tightly in one hand, and held his sword high in the other. The Myrnnish villagers, the apparent delegation from Delfyd Rhi, moved to surround him; the warriors in the Tower, his brethren, did nothing to intervene. He backed his horse away from Bishop Rohan and turned the tired horse in hard circles. The formidable beast stomped and snorted, causing the villagers to break ranks in fear of being trampled.

  Ederick was angry, furious. He could not believe what he was hearing. He felt used and betrayed. How could all this happen? How could Zuhr do this to him? He was also angry with himself for not having insisted he and Carym return to their quest much sooner.

  Suddenly a clap of thunder cracked through the air above the Tower with enough concussive force to cause a few men-at-arms to stumble and fall. The thunderclap was accompanied by a blinding streak of light; those who could still see were seeing spots. The ground shook with a sudden impact, as though a meteor had crashed into the center of the courtyard leaving a cloud of dust and sending pellets of debris flying in all directions. When their vision returned they saw a man kneeling beside Ederick's horse, one hand on the ground and the other holding a long staff firmly on the ground. The cobbled stones beneath his feet were now rubble, having shattered from the impact.

  Slowly the man straightened and stood. He cast his hood back from his head and gazed imperiously at the people before them. The courtyard was completely silent; everyone looked at the newcomer in stunned amazement. Never before had they seen such a feat, and neither had Ederick.

  "The next man to take a step toward us will find himself shattered like the stones beneath my feet!" shouted the man with authority. Ederick watched him, stunned. Indeed, none seemed eager to take the chance. "You fools have been duped by a wizard from Hurkromin, so you have! Zuhr will be looking upon you with shame. We're leaving now, so we are. Don't be foolish!" The bard turn his back confidently.

  Ederick shook his head. How easily the Hand of Zuhr had fallen! Indeed, with neither battle fought nor sword drawn these men had proven themselves unworthy. He was pleased that his armor and his precious few belongings were already strapped to his horse, for there was nothing left for him here. He glanced at the bishop and just for a moment saw a sincere look of sadness in the man's eyes. It was as though the bishop were trying to tell the knight something. But what? A silent plea for help?

  Bart strode confidently toward the portcullis, the people in his way parted before him. Ederick followed after, his senses on high alert and feeling a bit guilty about leaving the bishop to the questionable mercy of the evil within the Tower. Then the twang of a bow sounded and a lone arrow flew through the air from the parapet. Bart whirled and thrust his finger into the air toward the hurtling arrow and the missile just stopped. It fell to the ground as though it had struck a wall. The bard stared hard at the stunned bowman who cowered under the powerful glare and dropped his bow. Seemingly satisfied, the bard turned and strode through the portcullis.

  Although the knight and the bard had not always seen eye to eye, he was certainly glad to see the bard right now. Ederick was amazed by the increase in the bard's strength and control over his powers. His appearance seemed more refined now, his features more chiseled. The knight was so surprised by the change that he wondered if the bard had cast a spell or if it were simply exposure to the magic. The bard's green eyes were brighter, his body leaner and more fit. His face was clean-shaven and it seemed that his skin wrapped neatly over the bones of his face. He didn't look unhealthy, but if the man had been thinner the knight would have been concerned for him.

  "Bart," he called, urging his horse to a trot to catch up to the bard. Bart slowed down, allowing Ederick to reach his side.

  "Halt!" shouted the bishop. He pointed his shepherd's hook at the bard in a threatening manner. It was then that Ederick noted the bishop's eyes bulged and seemed to darken almost to black in the flickering torchlight of the courtyard. He glanced at the black wagon on the far side of the courtyard. Its door slowly opened and a cloaked and hooded figure emerged from within. A purple and silver sash with strange lettering crossed the being's body and a number of odd talismans and pouches hung from many places.

  The hurkin wizard.

  The knight was at a loss. He knew these men and the bishop very well. They had become his friends, his comrades. Yet here they stood, ready to kill him. The hurkin sorcerer had bewitched them and Ederick could not understand how Zuhr had let that happen. The bard gripped his own staff more tightly then, his face a mask of grim determination.

  "Bishop Rohan," said the bard, the anger in his voice was profound. "Don't make me fight you."

  Ederick was poised for battle, but every bit as troubled as the bard at the prospect of fighting these good men and he would sorely regret taking their lives. The bishop seemed to struggle then, his hook trembled, perhaps fighting against the evil charms that had beguiled him. The knight prayed fervently that the bishop could somehow break free from the spell. The wizard disappeared, then a cloud of black smoke appeared beside the bishop. As the smoke dissipated the sturdy form of a cloaked figure appeared. The wizard's hood now rested on his shoulders giving them all their first look at his face. Gray skin, slightly upturned nose and small tusks that protruded from his lips marked him as a hurkin. Greasy gray hair framed a dark face with beady eyes filled with malevolence and hate. Although Ederick had fought hurkin before and knew what to expect from them, their exceptional strength and skill in magic still gave him pause. And this one was holding a wand of bone, pointed directly at the knight.

  "Ah, Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore!" exclaimed the magic-wielder in his thickly accented gravelly voice. "Why don't you stay a here with us for a while, eh?"

  Ederick spat on the ground in defiance. He knew the bard must be planning something and hoped he would act soon. With a snarl the wizard closed his eyes and began to chant softly, his voice barely audible. In a flash the knight spurred his horse and charged the hurkin, hoping to strike him down before his spell was complete, hooves thundering on the stone floor. Ederick reveled in the thrill and danger of the charge as he bore down upon his foe, his sword out before him like an extension of his own arm. He raised his sword, prepared to lob the wizard's head from his body and began the downward swing. Something slammed into his side and knocked him completely from his horse.

  C H A P T E R

  T H R E E

  ~

  An explosion of blue flames erupted from the hurkin's outstretched wand accompanied by a disorienting clap of thunder. Bart had only just recognized the danger before the knight was inexplicably knocked out of harm's way. He called upon his power over the air to buffer the blast just before he was engulfed in flames himself. Still, the heat was searing even through the shield of air and his lungs felt on fire. His mind raced to analyze defensive options. There were too many here who were bewitched. If he engaged in a prolonged duel with the hurkin, there would be no way they could avoid an intense battle that would surely result in the deaths of many of the Hand's soldiers and perhaps his own. He desperately wanted to destroy this hurkin wizard but in precious few seconds he would be defending himself against a maelstrom of arrows and crossbow bolts.

  Bart opened himself up to the Tides and called upon the Sigil of the Air, drawing in all the power he could harness. Then, bolts of lightning rained down from the sky with loud deafening reports of thunder and blinding bursts of li
ght. Indeed, the men-at-arms and knights scattered from the courtyard covering eyes and ears as bolts of lightning blasted the cobblestones into rubble. It was a moment of distraction that was long enough to buy him a few seconds, though it cost him dearly in terms of his own strength. His legs felt like lead now, having utilized a level of power that was only barely within his grasp. The hurkin wizard, too, seemed to have been stunned and staggered with his arm over his head. As he raced among the dancing bolts of lightning, he swung his staff low at the hurkin wizard's stumbling feet, hoping to knock him down. But his swing passed through the hurkin's body as though it were simply air and Bart almost lost his balance. He recovered quickly, realizing that the hurkin's image was an illusion, and dropped to his knees by the knight's side. Ederick was hurt, his head had clearly struck the hard stone ground after falling from his horse. Blood seeped from a wound on the side of the unconscious knight's head.

  The illusory image of the wizard disappeared, destroyed by the bard' staff. There was some activity near the wagons on the far side of the courtyard, yet Bart could not make out details between the blinding flashes and thunderclaps brought on by his own spell. Bishop Rohan had been dragged to the safety of a stone archway by some of his men-at-arms; he looked about in complete confusion. Bart hoped the bewitchment had been broken, but he didn't want to stay long enough to find out. Too weak to draw any more of the Tides into him, he gripped his staff tightly and drew out the small cache of magical power he had stored within it; it was last spell that his fading strength would allow. He concentrated the power and focused it one a point in the air behind him, and ripped open a hole in the very fabric of energy that surrounded Llars. A bright swirling light appeared behind him and he felt the force of strong winds buffeting him. He grabbed the knight's coat, dragging him backward and into the opening, as the confusion about him diminished and the thunder and lightning abated. Bart searched the courtyard vainly for some sign that the hurkin's spell had been broken, then the portal closed and he left the Tower of the Hand far behind.

  #

  The ride back to the Tower was long and colder after night fell. Carym thought about all the lives lost while he continued his quest for the Everpool and the Tomb of the Dark Paladin. While his respite in Myrnwell had been fairly pleasant, he had to acknowledge that it was just a respite. Soon the journey would begin again and men would begin to die once more for Carym of Hyrum. A cool breeze sent a shiver down his spine. Gennevera gripped him tightly from behind.

  Carym's horse ambled along the muddy road that meandered through a small community known simply as Tower City. Tower City was a community that had always existed near the Tower, more a castle with a great spire, but had grown exponentially along with the growth of the Hand of Zuhr. As men flocked to the new standard that would fly atop the lances of the knights and men-at-arms devoted to Zuhr, the trades that would support them came too. The town's population grew with the influx of makers of arms and armor, makers of siege weapons, dealers of cavalry mounts, carpenters who built barracks for troops, tailors and seamstresses, makers of bows and crossbows and arrows and traders of all kinds. The town was not as big as Obyn, but it was an impressive place.

  Tower City was a very safe place, patrolled solely by the forces of the Hand. The troops of the Rhi of Myrnwell busied themselves elsewhere, knowing they were not needed. There were criminals in Tower City, naturally, but the overwhelming presence of the Hand of Zuhr and their swift dispensation of justice had been able to curb all but the most petty of criminals. Tower City lacked the organized gangs and crime families that plagued most large cities.

  Carym and Genn arrived at the gates of the Tower and wearily dropped from their horse. There were no guards visible on the parapet; no one stood watch at the closed gate. There was a commotion of some sort going on inside but Carym could not hear well enough beyond the thick outer walls of the Tower. Genn looked at him questioningly, but he remained silent.

  He closed his eyes and opened himself up to the Tides, and as he did so he was overwhelmed by the collective forces of all the Tides at once. It was as though the Tides had come alive and were trying to strangle him. After a panic-ridden moment, the sensation passed and he was left with one that he had become all too familiar with. The dread of the Shadow Sigil lingered still, it wrenched his gut and made him want to flee.

  He knew that this was the effect of the tremendous power of the Sigilstones. Each was connected to the Tides of his discipline through a supernatural means which he could not comprehend. But he knew that the more he used the stones, the more the stones tried to control him. The worst among them was the oily black stone that controlled the Shadowtides: the Shadowstone. Its ways were subtle and tempting, and Carym found it was the hardest to defend against.

  It was the Shadowstone that was trying to distract him now and he was able to isolate its flow and remove it from his conscious mind. Then he reached out to the Tidal flow that was controlled by the Sigil of Flames and allowed his mind to drift along its winding paths. As he let his mind wander, he felt as though he were traveling down a river made entirely of flames. Varying colors represented the differing eddies and flows of the river and the longer he watched the river flow, the more he felt he understood of its mysterious nature. All along the banks of the river were lights, some were the lights of a torch or campfire while others were of a less obvious purpose. After what seemed an eternity, his saw a torch off to the right. This torch seemed to beckon to him, so he willed himself closer. As he reached out to touch this torch he felt himself being sucked into it, and found himself standing in the courtyard.

  It was as though time stood still, every person seemed rooted to the ground and no one recognized that he was there. The atmosphere was eerie, almost dreamlike. Each person he passed seamed to scream out to him incoherently, yet their lips did not move. Was he hearing their thoughts? Was his mind reaching into the lives of each person? He had never done this before, and it seemed a frightening power. What if those in the shadows could do this? What if he could not leave?

  The situation in the courtyard was desperate. Knights of the Hand and men-at-arms seemed prepared to charge Ederick and Bart, who were face-to-face with a hurkin wizard. He had not seen Bart in a quite a while, and sensed a new burgeoning power within the man. The Tides swirled and raged about him like an unseen storm of magic ready to unleash its fury.

  All of the Hand's men wore feverish expressions, even Bishop Rohan seemed intent upon challenging his friends. In fact, Ederick seemed frozen atop his horse in mid-charge, his arm held high and a war cry upon his lips. What happened? Perhaps the wizard had them under a spell. Hurkin magic did not rely upon the Tides but upon the life forces inherent within the things and people around them. Their spells were based upon an ancient language, one that had a power of its own that could draw out energies and shape them. The study and use of that magic was mysterious and intense, it required years of study to master just its basic tenets.

  Curious, he moved nearer to the wizard and thought to take his wand, hoping that perhaps he could at least hinder the magic-wielder. As he moved closer it became harder to walk, it felt like he was trying to walk through chest deep water. Shadows shifted and swirled all around him now, striking out at him angrily though doing him no actual harm. When he reached the wizard's side the shadows became more intense and started to swirl around the hurkin's feet, creeping up his legs. Sparks began to form at the tip of the wand and Carym knew that magical forces were being harnessed and channeled before him, though in a way that was alien to his own knowledge.

  He reached out to grab the wand and felt a sudden and oppressive power fall over him. It was as though the eyes of Umber bore down upon him and ground his very will into nothing. His knees weakened, he wanted to retch, but he managed to resist. He sensed the sudden presence of the dark god now and knew that the longer he remained in this state the more likely Umber's grasp could reach him. It seemed as though he were now able to perceive tiny movements of thos
e around him. Was time speeding up? Or was he about to be sent back to reality and the normal flow of time?

  He forced himself into a desperate lunge for the wand. As his hand closed around its bony shaft, a powerful and numbing shock ran up the length of his arm. He rubbed his hand and looked at the wizard. He wondered then if the magic-wielder had placed wards of protection about himself, or if this were the inherent nature of the parallel realm in which he now walked. He suspected the latter but what could he do? The wizard's arm had not budged and the energy collecting about the tip threatened to burst forth and overwhelm the mounted knight.

  To his amazement, Carym's own fighting stick appeared in his hand in answer to his mind's call. He raised his staff high and channeled the power of the Tides into the shaft of wood. Then he slammed the butt of his the stick into the horse's flank with all his might while calling out the word in the Sigil language that bent the Tides to his will. As he expected, the power of the Sigils commanded the Tides to do his bidding and a violent explosion occurred a hair's breadth from the horse's side.

  The power he had generated with that explosion was enormous, and the force of it sent him flying through the air. Heat seared his lungs and a thunderous boom rattled his skull. He landed hard on the stone ground, his head aching and his eyes blinded by flashes of light. Genn was leaning over him now, talking. After a few seconds her words began to register in his brain.

  "... all right? What's going on?"

  "I'm fine," he said groggily, getting back to his feet. Thunder cracked and lightning was coming down with abandon inside the walls of the tower. "How long was I gone?"

  "Gone?" she said curiously. "Gone where?"

  "Gone," he shouted over a boom and pointed to the keep. "Inside there!"