Genn said nothing, just placed her hands on his shoulders, and leaned close to him, her tresses tickling his ear. He leaned back into her and sighed, resigned that whatever had happened to them, they would not be returning to their friends anytime soon.
“What about the other door, the one we could actually walk through?” he asked.
“Locked and probably warded,” she said, dejectedly.
“There must be a way to open it. What if I try to smash it down?”
“You could try, but you would probably only succeed in hurting yourself. This place was made from the most powerful magic ever known in the existence of Llars. And if we truly are in a small pocket of the Fabric of Creation, you really don’t want to go out that door anyway; there is no way to know what is on the other side.”
Carym said nothing and sank his head back down on his arms. “Dryume said I am a Sigilist,” he said abruptly.
Gennevera glanced sharply at him. Had he noticed he might not have liked the look she gave him.
“What do you mean?” she knew about the old druid, as Carym had told her much about himself over the course of their journey. But he did not tell her about the significance of the Sigils and the druid’s suspicions about Carym’s power.
“He said I am a Sigilist, someone able to call upon the power of this Fabric of Creation you keep mentioning; a power gone from Llars for centuries and manipulated by the language of Sigils. Could that be how I triggered the magic? Could this be an ancient Sigilist hideout?” he looked up at her, his eyes weary and her expression softened.
“You never mentioned this to me before.”
“Everything seemed so...bizarre. So surreal. I truly doubted that there was any ancient power hiding within me. But it all makes sense, now. Hyrum, Dockyard City, the ghosts on the pier, and now this. It explains why we are being harassed at every turn, Umber is truly stalking me; he wants me dead!”
“Which means you are a threat, a powerful threat to make the likes of him nervous!” she said with a smile, pride and hope in her voice. “And, if you can make the Shadowfyr himself quake in his boots, what can you do to his lesser minions when you have mastered the Sigils?”
Gennevera was right, of course. He certainly must be a threat to have this level of interference from the Shadowfyr! He took a wry pleasure in the fact that he was causing trouble for the Lord of Shadows, and silently vowed to raise that level of trouble tenfold.
“Come here, I want to show you something I found,” she said as she walked to the back of the room. She pulled an old book down from the shelf and he could see that it was red with gold symbols inscribed on its spine and cover. Those symbols were so much like the ones he saw on Dryume’s pillars, they had to be Sigils too! She smiled and handed the small book to him.
He opened it and saw that like the other books, the pages of this one had been treated with clear resin too; the book was flawless. Inside the front cover, on the first page was a picture of several men that was like nothing he had ever seen. It was vivid and colorful and it was like looking through a window at a real person who was looking back, though much smaller. No painting or mural he had ever seen looked anything like this. He whistled in amazement and Gennevera smiled. The picture showed men in red cowled robes with hoods drawn low, faces cased in shadow, and scrollwork of gold and silver adorning sleeves and cuffs. Each bore a symbol on their chest depicting a three silvery flamelets. What wonderful enchantments! Then the image shifted before his very eyes and the men were standing with their hoods drawn back. Two had the appearance of humans with very pale features and wide eyes while the third was clearly of Elvish origin. Although his features were pale too, his skin and his short hair were more a silvery color, his sharp features and small cupped ears marked him as an elf.
The picture reverted to its original state and Carym turned the page. He was not prepared for what happened next. Suddenly he felt a surge of fire coursing through his veins and he became unbearably hot. The letters on the page surged and glistened in silvery flame, one by one, until the entire page danced with flame. Gennevera tried frantically to get him to drop the book, but he could no sooner make the world stand still. His skin felt like it was on fire and his vision faded; he felt like he was slipping into unconsciousness, consumed by fire.
Rapidly the sensation subsided, replaced by a pleasurable coolness. The pain and discomfort was gone now, and he could see again. As his hearing returned and he struggled to maintain his wits, he realized Gennevera was talking to him.
“I’m so sorry!” she said, nearly sobbing. “I should have known it would be warded!” She was cradling his head in her arms, her face pressed against his head. With resignation, he nodded and pulled away from her to catch his breath. As his breathing and body temperature returned to normal, he began to realize what had happened. The fiery ordeal had been a test, to see if he was worthy of holding the power that was in that book. And now, holding the book open before him he found that could read every word.
“My God, you’re reading it!” cried Gennevera with glee. “You’re ok and you’re reading the spells! Do you know what this means?”
“No,” he said quietly, still trying to regain his senses. He was lost in the book, the titles of the spells amazed him. He had no idea how much a person could do with the strange Sigils; words which were no more than varying symbols joined to make a single word. The language was functional and concise, the symbolism clear and powerful. Spells like Fireball, Explosion, Firewall, Enflame, Firesafe, Fireheal. As he turned the pages and delved deeper into the book, the spells seemed to become more powerful. Indeed, the summoning of a fire demon, creating a fire golem, ghosts made of pure flame, enchanting items with the added power of the flames, and storing power in mundane objects. Sensing the complexity of the construction of the Sigils words, he quickly returned his attention to the front of the book. The spells here were constructed more easily and Carym found himself eager to try. He looked at Genn who nodded silently and stepped back from his chair; she knew what he wanted to do.
Here before his very eyes was the power to take revenge against those who had been harassing him. But first he must find a way out of this truly amazing place. Carym searched among the spells hoping to find something to help them escape what would likely become their tomb. Gennevera stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder. “There must be something here that can help us return to our friends!”
“It does seem that this book would be our best chance of finding a way out.”
“Hey!” he exclaimed suddenly, pointing to a passage that Gennevera clearly could not read. “I think I’ve found it. There is a forward to this book devoted to a man named Fyrendi. It says Fyrendi was the first Fyrbold and the father of ‘the Order.’ It goes on to praise his mastery of the language of the Sigil of Flames and the creation of many of the spells in this book.” He read the words haltingly, struggling with their meaning. He paused a great many times examining a Sigil, breaking it down into its parts to learn its meaning.
“It says that Fyrendi’s Home ‘shall be open to all Fyrbold and shall always offer them impenetrable sanctuary. Entry is gained with the proper key, and exit may only be granted by permission of the Great Flame himself. Ask the Great Flame with great reverence and humility and speak the Sigil of Passage. If the Great Flame answers, you may pass. Only weapons of flame may cross the threshold.’ There is a Sigil here that is slightly more advanced than some, but more basic than others. It does appear to say ‘Sigil of Passage.’”
Gennevera squeezed his shoulders. “You did it! You found a way out!”
“Maybe.”
“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” she said, her voice still hopeful.
“Aye.”
Gennevera took Carym by the hand and led him back to the main chamber, back to the place where the panel was visible from the other side. They looked around for what could be viewed as a “Great Flame” for many minutes, until Gennevera finally settled on a statute over th
e hearth.
“Carym,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“This is it,” her voice was very quiet.
Carym stood beside her gazing at a beautiful statue, one that he was certain had not been there earlier. It was statue of a benevolent old man seated on a throne of sunlight, with golden rays emanating from the throne and flames of silver all around. She turned to face him, excitement apparent on her face. “Carym, the Throne of Sunlight is one of the most ancient references to Zuhr ever recorded.” As a Sister of the Order of Grymm, Carym was not surprised that the woman had an extensive knowledge of the rest of the pantheon.
“Zuhr,” he said quietly. Pieces began to fall into place. Zuhr. The father of all gods. The one who wanted Carym, a simple Cklathman, to carry this burden of news for Him. Zuhr, the most powerful and respected of the gods. Zuhr was, is, the Great Flame! Umber, the Shadowfyr, was at war with Zuhr, the Great Flame that could chase away the darkness. The Shadowfyr who was hunting him, was trying to stop him from becoming a Sigilist, which, until recently, he wasn’t even sure he wanted. And now, he would have to acknowledge this God of gods in order to escape their multidimensional prison; but, that really wasn’t such a bad thing.
Still holding the book in his hands he felt the raw power coursing through it, and the urge to use it was strong. Carym ensured his sword and other items were secured to his person. Then, he faced the statue and opened the book while Gennevera stepped cautiously back. He studied the image of the Sigil in the Sigilbook, the one needed to call the Great Flame. He looked at the statue and felt suddenly humbled, and fought the urge to drop to his knees. The eyes seemed almost alive, penetrating, measuring, weighing his worth. He braced himself, and spoke the Sigil of Passage as he traced the image of the Sigil in the air, building its power. Suddenly, a paralyzing surge of energy washed over him and filled his body, every fiber of his being was tingling with power. Then, just as suddenly, the surge of power escaped his body through his outstretched finger and the Sigil of Passage flared to life in the air before him! It held there, burning with flames of silver, then was absorbed by the statue. He watched the statue, entranced by its beauty; indeed the flames of silver now danced about the Throne of Sunlight and the eyes of the old man glowed brightly.
A gasp from Gennevera caused him to turn. The panel that had once been on the outside of the room, unreachable, was now facing inside and the red stone was still in its place pulsing with light. Carym quickly joined Gennevera by the panel and prepared to depart the room. Gennevera turned and bowed reverently toward the statue, hands folded above her breasts. Carym felt that this was the right thing to do and bowed low, his right hand across his chest. Then he turned, with Gennevera holding his shoulder as before, and he removed the red stone from its niche.
The return journey through the Fabric was not so bad this time, Carym noticed. He was momentarily blinded, and very dizzy, but regained his bearings quickly. Then he looked at Gennevera and smiled, the two embraced each other silently. Yag’s booming voice and stomping boots on the stairs announced his ascent to the room in which they stood. The pair quickly and regretfully relinquished their embrace and Gennevera walked out to meet Yag while Carym picked up Fyrendi’s Home and carried it reverently out of the closet and into the main room.
“I’m sorry we took so long, Yag,” said Gennevera earnestly. “You must have been worried sick about us.”
“Nonsense,” he said, glancing around. “You’ve only been up here a short time, but a short time is all we have. We’ve been hearing other bands moving about the city, but can’t tell for the echoes where they are. I do wish we had more time to explore,” the ex-pirate finished wistfully.
“More time? We’ve been gone for hours!” said Gennevera.
“Hours?” asked Yag, befuddled, casting a wary eye at the pair. “Not likely!”
“Never mind, Yag. If there are more troks about, we had best be moving. Let’s go!” said Carym.
“Aye. And what about yer sword? You might be needin’ that, lad.”
Carym looked down at his belt and saw that his sword was gone! He looked frantically about and glanced back to the closet, embarrassingly aware of Yag’s curious stares. Either the man thought Carym an irresponsible lout for losing his weapon, or he assumed it came off as Carym disrobed in the quiet presence of the Keneerie woman! Carym placed the box in Gennevera’s backpack and took another look around, knowing fully that he would not find his sword. Thinking that the weapon was now safe in Fyrendi’s Home, Carym put the thought from his head. He was a skilled fighter and confident in his abilities to fight even without a weapon.
“Come on, Genn,” he said, grabbing her gently by the arm. Yag removed a fighting knife from his belt and tossed it to Carym who tucked it into his belt as the trio hurried downstairs to meet Gefar, keeping watch from the door. The captain would not question him now about the loss of his weapon, but sooner or later he would have to explain it all; he wasn’t really sure he understood himself. He and Genn had been inside Fyrendi’s Home for what seemed like hours, yet impossibly, Yag didn’t seem to think it had been more than a “short time,” however long - or short - that was. Clearly time passes differently in multidimensional rooms.
“We ought to be very quiet,” Gefar said as softly as possible. “Them nasties r’about.”
“Don’t whisper,” cautioned Yag in a very soft and low voice, “The sounds are sharper and carry farther. Just talk real quiet like me and Gefar.”
Carym nodded, knowing this to be sound advice. Gennevera appeared skeptical but would not disagree with three battle-hardened men. One by one they left the building behind and walked down the path toward the road. Acutely aware of the loss of his sword, Carym tried to recall a passage in the forward of the book that he had only skimmed over. There was something there about homage to the Great Flame and...? Try as he might, he could not recall the words and vowed to research this later. In the meantime he made himself recall the images of the Sigils which he had studied closely in Fyrendi’s Home, just in case he needed something stronger than a knife.
The foursome left the manor house behind and set out down the boulevard. Carym took the lead position with Gennevera a few paces behind him on the left side of the street. On the other side of the street Yag walked parallel to Gennevera with Gefar limping a few paces behind. Carym believed that, should the group come under assault again, they would be harder to hit if spread out. Gefar’s injury was mild. Gennevera had not tried to heal him with her powers, fearing that the powers of her dismal god might bring more attention than they bargained for.
They moved along, careful to make their footfalls soft as possible in the eerie quiet of the long abandoned city, stopping every so often to listen for the sounds of possible enemy pursuit. When they stopped they could just hear the faint sounds of movement far off, but those sounds had to compete with their own hard breathing in the suffocating silence of Lordsdeep. They all felt as though they were being watched, and more than once a member of the group snapped their head to one side or the other in response to a perceived motion, but failed to see it every time. It was a harrowing ordeal and everyone’s senses were heightened, nerves frayed. Each expected an attack to begin at any moment. They all feared that a second encounter with the unbelievably hardy troks, especially in greater numbers, would not end well for them. Carym wished his friend and fellow adventurer were here; his battle prowess was not to be reckoned with.
They continued down the long street for several hours, stopping periodically to listen for signs of trouble. Three times they stopped and heard muffled sounds of possible enemies close by, probably only a street or two away. Each time the foursome quickly spread as far out from each other as they could, each attempting to conceal themselves in shadows or behind an object for long moments.
Once, they even saw the demonic visage of a trok peering around the corner of a building at the intersection a mere hundred yards behind them. The little creature’s ears twitched
and it sniffed loudly as it looked around before disappearing. The foursome remained in the shadows, hidden, for almost thirty more minutes to be certain the troks had not seen them, and weren’t coming back. According to Yag, troks were notoriously impatient and would likely not wait long to ambush the group had they been spotted; Carym wondered how Yag knew so much about the diminutive but terrifying fighters and vowed to question the man about his past eventually.
Feeling it was safe to proceed, Carym stood and led the group on. The scenery along the way was much the same as before, only it seemed as though the ostentatiousness of the buildings in this opulent city increased as they moved closer towards the center of the city. As the foursome moved along, a very unique structure appeared in the distance on the right. It was a plain structure, made of modest stone blocks. It was built like nothing else in this odd city and stuck out as much by its lack of adornment as by the opulence of its neighbors. There was no wall around this building and the front door was missing. Carym assumed that the door to this must have been made of wood in keeping with its modest appearance, for there was no evidence whatsoever of damage to the door frame to indicate it had been forcibly removed. For a moment he considered leading the group onward. It was precisely then that Carym felt the sudden urge to handle the stones in his coat pocket. Putting his left hand into the pouch with the stones, he felt an overwhelming urge to enter this building. He was a little leary of trusting these stones so implicitly, but they had not truly harmed the group so far.
Sigils adorned the outside of the building, though there were subtle differences from those in his book that made them illegible to him. Inside he could see rows of pews separated by an aisle that led to an altar at the far end, so he knew this was a temple.
“Carym,” said Yag quietly but urgently from the street. “This don’t look like a Blood Spire to me!”
The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) Page 3
