The Tomb of the Dark Paladin

by Tom Bielawski

  As if reading Cannath's thoughts, Amos said, "This turn of the weather will push many hurkin patrols indoors. They have no fear of us and they've grown complacent; it is a good omen."

  C H A P T E R

  S E V E N

  ~

  The portal closed behind Bart and he was suddenly in a whirlwind, buffeted by powerful gales with nothing beneath his feet. His face was struck by blasts of air that alternated from hot to cold to hot again. He was forced to squint his eyes so tightly that he could barely see, the Realm of Storms was a very stormy and hostile place indeed.

  Suddenly it got very dark and peels of thunder accompanied flashes of lightning and a torrent of rain. Bart held tightly onto Ederick's coat as the two were thrown about in the powerful winds. The force of the air against his face was incredible, making it difficult to breathe. The bard's grasp on the Tides was weakening and he was in danger of losing what little control he did have. He had no idea how long they were there, tossed about like leaves in a tornado, but he knew he had to get out before something terrible happened to them. He forced the power of the Sigils to open another portal between worlds, and they fell through. They were still falling when they emerged from a portal that delivered them back to earth--ten feet in the air. Their fall was broken, somewhat, by a stand of fir trees but hitting the ground still hurt. Bart rolled onto his knees and struggled to his feet, his side in terrible pain from the fall. He wasn't sure where they were and he wanted to be ready to fight in case they were back in the Tower of the Hand.

  He stood for a moment, breathing hard and fighting back the pain. Ederick was unconscious; either from the fall or from his ordeal in the Tower--Bart didn't know which. Nothing else seemed amiss. He truly had no idea where on Llars they were because he had opened the portal in haste, the urgency hampered his skill. They were on the slope of a hill in the midst of a forest of mixed evergreens and hardwoods and there was thin layer of snow on the ground.

  Seeing no threats, he looked about for anything that might provide them with shelter for the night. The air was very cold and he fought hard against the fatigue that always came after an intense use of the Tides. Farther up the slope of the hill he spied a cave and went to go and check it out, hoping that the knight might awaken by that time. The climb was arduous and Bart desperately wanted to lie down. The cave opening was small, and it was hard to see in the darkness of the forest. He went deeper into the cave and found that it narrowed somewhat but it went deep into the hillside. He was hopeful that the deeper the cave went into the mountain, the more stable the temperature would be. He didn't want to leave Ederick alone for too long in such a strange place so he didn't follow the cave back as far as he would have liked.

  As he emerged from the cave he looked up in surprise, it was too dark. From the appearance of the sun in the sky just fifteen minutes earlier, he could have sworn there was at least an hour until total darkness. But the sky was now nearly dark and the stars were beginning to appear. The air here seemed very different to the Storm Lord's nose too, he felt the Tides working in very unusual patterns.

  He jogged and slipped back down the slope, tripping on a loose stone. The bard curled himself up and somersaulted back to his feet. Finding himself upright again, he was shocked to find that his body didn't stop moving! His entire body had left the ground and now he was hurtling through the air as though he were flying under the power of the Sigils. It was a wonderful feeling, and it was even more wonderful because he didn't have to expend any energy to do it.

  But his mind very quickly told him that if this were not the function of a proper spell, then he must soon be reunited with the ground. He found that he was in fact gliding closer to the ground then he liked. He threw his arms up in front of him just as he plowed into the snow-covered ground and bounced in an oddly high fashion to a stop. The air grew colder and he was shivering now that he was covered in snow. He knew there was little time to waste pondering the strange events and hobbled over to where Ederick lay. Fortunately, it seemed that the knight was starting to awaken.

  "Where are we?" asked the warrior, shivering and struggling to get to his feet.

  "I haven't a clue," Bart answered, lifting the bigger man's arm over around his shoulder. "We have ta get back up the hill to that cave. Keep us warm tonight, so it will."

  Ederick nodded, and the bard helped the man along. Strangely, as tired and weak as he was, the bard seemed to be having a relatively easy time getting the big man up the hill and into the cave. Ederick seemed to be getting on better as they went and by the time they reached the cave opening he was walking on his own.

  "Something isn't right here, Bart," offered the knight. "I have traveled the length and breadth of the Northern Continent, and this place is not familiar to me."

  Bart looked out over the rolling hills in the bright moonlight and silently agreed with the knight, something wasn't right. The bright light illuminated the landscape quite well and looking out he could see the reflection of the moon on the surface of a great lake. Mountains rose in the distance and forests and myriad smaller lakes dotted the landscape. The cold seemed deeper and more biting than any he had felt in his travels, even in the icy regions of Vaarland.

  "Where are on Llars are we?" whispered the knight as he gazed at the unnaturally large moon. Bart looked upon the colorful moon too, thoughtful. "How can it get so cold, so fast?"

  Then it dawned on the bard where they must be. But could it be true? Was such a thing possible? In all his studies, and all his travels, he had never even imagined it, or known anyone who had.

  "I don't think we are on Llars anymore, so I don't."

  "I'd say you were mad, Bart, if my own senses didn't tell me otherwise. I've never seen Hastor look so large and so blue before."

  "And that's because it's not Hastor you are looking at, Sir Ederick. It's Llars."

  "We are on Hastor," he whispered in awe. Then his tone changed from awe to concern as he looked Bart in the eye. "Can you get us back?"

  "I don't know. But I can do nothin' till I get rest, so I can't."

  "Aye," replied the knight with a nod. "Is there anyone else on this moon, or are we alone?"

  "Well, I don't know if there's anyone else on Hastor now like the legends say, but I daresay there has been. We better get deeper into the cave before we freeze to death out here."

  "Right," said the knight using a tree limb he had picked up earlier to help him walk. "Let's go."

  The two men walked deeper into the hillside and found that the air, although cool, was not as bone-numbingly cold as it was outside. Bart feebly called forth a ball of light that floated in the air ahead of them as they walked. The passage became so narrow that the men moved forward in single file. Bart was so tired that he felt as though he were going to collapse on the floor of the narrow tunnel, he knew Ederick must be just as fatigued.

  Finally, the small tunnel ended in a chamber large enough for the men to lie down comfortably. It was a room with four smoothly carved walls and a ceiling to match. There were sconces on the walls for torches long since gone. On one wall, Bart noticed what seemed to be the arch of a doorway that had been carved into the wall. Strangely, there was only the arch and it seemed that no attempt had been made to make a door. Aside from the tunnel they came from, there seemed no other way out.

  Bart stared at the wall for a long time, his mind and body so tired he hardly recalled that he had actually lowered himself to the floor. Even then, dimly aware of the softly snoring knight, Bart continued to force his eyes open and ponder the meaning of the chamber. It was no use. They were safe, and he could not fight his body's need for rest any longer. As he drifted off to sleep, the last thing he remembered was a shimmering light drifting faintly about the door that wasn't. He sleepily thought that such a thing should not be.

  "It's no use, Sir Ederick," said the bard. "I have tried, but I cannot open a portal back to Llars. I fear we are trapped, so I do."

  The knight said nothing as he looked out ov
er the strange landscape. He and the knight shared a feeling of hopelessness, they were powerless to return to Llars and help their friends. Then they heard a commotion at the bottom of the slope. Someone dressed in dark clothing burst from the trees, running fast for the slope. Ederick and Bart backed further into the cave mouth and watched as two more emerged from the tree line. The others were tall and slender, their skin was pale and their eyes shone like silver points of light. They, too, were attired in dark clothes, but their weapons gleamed in the reflected light of Llars. The two stopped and scanned their surroundings, one pointed at the first who was scampering up the slope.

  "They are hunting him," said the knight. Ederick held his sword and seemed prepared to charge down the slope. The pursuers drew longbows from their backs and seemed ready to fire upon their quarry, now that they were clear of the woods.

  "Who would you aid, Sir Knight?" asked Bart. "I cannot tell the matter, so I can't."

  "I'll find out when I get there. I hope that one side or the other can help us find a way back to Llars." Then the knight charged down the slope. Bart was less enthusiastic about intervening but he would not leave his friend to fight alone. The bard leaped off the cliff face and sailed gracefully through the cold air, even as the knight stumbled and rolled down the hill. He landed hard and crouched by a boulder as the bowstrings snapped. The stranger was so shocked by the bard's sudden appearance, and by the knight crashing into a nearby boulder, that he seemed unaware of the rapidly approaching missiles. Ederick rolled quickly to his feet and tackled the man, taking him to the ground behind a boulder as arrows came down.

  Bart summoned the Tides and channeled the power of the Air Sigil into his hands. A visible vortex of wind began to swirl about each hand as he thrust them toward the sky, knocking another pair of arrows out of the sky. Then he picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it with all his might, a surge of magical air propelled it with incredible force where it struck one of the pursuers hard. The pursuer fell to the ground, clutching his chest. The first grabbed his fallen comrade and tried to drag him to the tree line, but another of Bart's well thrown rocks struck him too. They were both down now.

  Ederick got back to his feet and jogged carefully toward the fallen pursuers.

  "Who in the Hells are you?" asked the man whom they had saved. It took the bard a moment to understand exactly what he had said. The words were familiar, similar to the language of the Sargan Duchy yet more antiquated. Once the bard heard the smaller man's words in his mind again, he understood. Despite the sing-song accent, and the odd way in which every sentence was intoned like a question, Bart felt confident that he could communicate using the Old Cklathish dialect still spoken in some isolated Cklathish villages; the two dialects were strikingly similar.

  "Barthal, a meager bard of the Cklathlands, so I am," offered the bard quietly, holding his staff-flute before him.

  "Llarsians," said the other in disgust. "Never met one. How did you get here?" The newcomer was perhaps five feet tall and garbed in black. His hair and beard were long and red and each was plaited with metal bands. His skin was pale and his eyes shone boldly blue, even in the darkening night. He held a staff in his right hand, the tip pointed toward the bard. Bart immediately sensed the Tides swirling about the man, he was a Sigilist!

  "I'm not sure," answered the bard, cautious. "I was hoping to find a way back to Llars quickly, so I am."

  "You are no meager bard," said the smaller man. "You have the Tides about you!"

  "As do you."

  The smaller man's eyes widened as the powerful knight leaped and bounded up the slope with one of the pursuers under each arm. Then he dropped them unceremoniously on the ground. Bart knew the old lore of Llars as well as any sage, there was no doubt in his mind who these people were. "High Elves," he whispered in awe. Then he turned to face the shorter man. "And you are a Dwarvish Earthmage!"

  "'Tis no small offense to harm the king's scouts, you'll not want to be around when his kin come a-looking."

  "These are the king's scouts?" asked the knight. Bart was relieved that Ederick was able to understand the Dwarvish dialect well-enough. "Why do they want you?"

  "I am an Earthmage," he replied somberly, his eyes on the two elves. "For that alone, I am scorned. You Llarsians would not know what degradations we dwarves are forced to endure at the hands of the High Elves. The practitioners of the Air Sigil are held in high regard in Elvish society, all other forms of magic are forbidden and only elves are permitted to use the Air Sigil. The Tides will have told them you are here, and they will have sensed your power as easily as I have. When they come, they will come in force."

  "Do you think they are a threat to your strength, Bart?" asked the knight.

  "Do not judge the lot by the pair," interjected the dwarf, nodding at the scouts. Ederick tossed their weapons in a heap nearby and bound the pair with their bowstrings. Bart agreed with the dwarf, he could not be sure how powerful the High Elves were.

  "It would not be wise to risk confrontation, Sir Ederick."

  "Sir Ederick?" asked the dwarf, a frown creased his face. "You are a knight? Whom do you serve?"

  "Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, knight of the Hand of Zuhr."

  "Zuhr, eh? This lot will certainly have something to say about that."

  "We gave you our names, sir. What is yours?" asked the knight. Bart could sense the man's consternation, he knew Ederick was eager to be reunited with Carym and the others.

  "Hmm, well," the stranger began. "I suppose courtesy demands it. I am Aethelryd Hrothgar, of the House of Gar. No good has ever come from a Llarsian stepping foot here, though most Llarsians who have been here have not been good." The more the stranger spoke the more confident the bard was in speaking the peculiar dialect.

  "Aethelryd," repeated the knight. At that moment, one of the elves began to stir and all eyes shifted.

  "Hrothgar," spat the elf, his silvery eyes flaring in anger. The spoke with a heavy accent, using what Bart considered to be the Dwarvish dialect. "You've already doomed yourself by committing treason. Bringing Llarsians to Hastor will bring the wrath of the Divine King. You pitiful dwarves are not worth the dirt on the feet of elves! Your lot in life is to serve us!"

  "I did not bring them here!" shouted the dwarf, pointing his staff at the elf. Ederick stepped in and gently pushed the staff out of the way.

  "What do you mean, elf?" asked Bart. "Are dwarves not free people?"

  "Free?" the elf scoffed. "High Elves rule over all!"

  "The dwarves are subjects of an Elvish king?" asked Bart, amazed.

  "All on Hastor are subject to the Divine King, even human filth."

  "The elves are subjects of the Divine King," added Aethelryd darkly. "We dwarves are slaves."

  "What other place is there for a dwarf?" asked the elf, his voice laden with scorn.

  "Slaves?" whispered the knight.

  "Easy, Sir Ederick. We are on an alien world with alien customs, so we are. We cannot insert ourselves here when the fate of Llars is at stake."

  The knight said nothing, but it was clear to the bard that the thought of leaving this behind did not sit well with him.

  "You want to get back to Llars?" asked the dwarf. "I think I can help you."

  The elf's eyes flared with the words of the dwarf, bathed them all in silvery light.

  "What's he doing?" demanded the knight, his shield before him.

  "The light will not harm you, knight," offered the dwarf as the light dissipated. "But what comes next surely will. The Divine King sees through his eyes."

  "It seems our side has been chosen for us, Bart," said the knight, lowering his shield. "We cannot stay to await the arrival of a company of Elvish fighters or, worse, Elvish mages."

  "How can you help us, Aethelryd?" asked Bart.

  "I can take you to a sacred place," said the dwarf quietly, his eyes intent upon the elves. "It is the ancient portal that brought my ancestors here from Llars."

  "Sacrilege!" screamed t
he elf. "You cannot go there, it is forbidden!"

  "The Pathway Arch," said the bard in awe. "So that's how your ancestors disappeared from Llars."

  "Surely the elves are on their way," said the dwarf. "We cannot tarry!"

  "What about them?" asked the knight. "It is unwise to let an enemy return to the field of battle."

  "Yet we cannot take them with us," said the bard. "We should leave them here, bound to a tree."

  "Fool," laughed the elf evilly. "You have doomed the House of Gar, you and your kin are now but ghosts to my eyes. I will personally oversee the slaughter of your children!"

  The dwarf stiffened and walked closer to the elf. He leaned down and looked the elf in his silvery eyes. "You'll not oversee anything." Then he slammed a dagger into the elf's throat and ripped it to the side, a torrent of blood from the elf's throat. The light dimmed slowly from the shocked eyes and the elf slumped over, dead.

  Ederick grabbed the dwarf by the his coat and dragged him away from the elf. "What did you do? You cannot kill a prisoner!"

  The dwarf slammed his staff into Ederick's chest sending a shock wave of magic through the knights body. Ederick stumbled backward, angry.

  "I'll do what I need to, knight!"

  Ederick seemed ready to charge the dwarf but Bart intervened.

  "This is not our fight, Ederick!" The bard turned back to the dwarf. "What do you want in return for bringing us to the arch?"

  "There is a powerful artifact set in the capstone of the arch. It is a crown that once belonged to my people. It will inspire the dwarves to throw off the shackles of the High Elves, and it will give us the power to beat their magic."

  "You need our help in acquiring this crown, so you do," said the bard.

  "So I do. The ancients created a spell of protection over it that can only be broken by the magic of the Earth and of the Air. Once the spell is broken, only the strength of Zuhr can remove it from the capstone."