The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars)

by Tom Bielawski

  “Yes, sir!” Carym was surprised that the words flowed from his mouth, almost without thought.

  “I’m not a pirate!” Yag muttered, indignant. Clearly there were distinctions between piracy and what he did for a living.

  “Now Commander, open your ears for a bit of instruction. The Order of the Flames is dedicated to the study of the oldest of the Six Mysteries. The others are equally important and extraordinarily powerful in their own right. I pray to the Great Father daily that we of the Flames are the first of the Six to return. It could be disastrous if an ill-prepared Sigilist were to try to face off against Umber’s forces prematurely; they might even cause the loss of their entire Mystery. And it is a very rare man who can master more than one Mystery.

  “You must be always vigilant for members of the other Orders. They may give themselves away, they may disguise themselves; those of the Spirit Mystery are so adept at disguise even I was hard pressed to discover them and at times I have been fooled by them. Do not assume any other Sigilist from another Order, or from your own, to be friendly. In fact, you may find those who will try to fight you for the honor of your quest; and they could even be elves. As word of the Return spreads, there may be those with the gift who stray to the Shadow, but that would be a complicated affair and not likely a thing you will encounter in the near future.

  “During the height of Sigilist societies, the six orders coexisted across the face of Llars; some peacefully, some not. Each of the Orders developed means of protection from rival Orders, internal and external threats, and means to extend the influence of their own Orders. Within our own order, the Order of the Flames, some talented men and women simply could not master all of the finer points of the Mystery. They were retained within the Order and rigorously trained in the martial arts where they would combine Sigilist powers with martial prowess; they were known as the warrior monks and they were sometimes known as the Red Knights.”

  Yag and Gennevera retreated to another room, leaving the Sigilists alone to conduct their training. Mathonry beckoned Carym to stand closer. When he was within reach, the immortal gripped Carym’s right shoulder with his left hand and flexed his right hand ominously. Amusement drained from the immortal’s face as Carym realized the ancient Sigilist was about do something painful.

  “Am I to recruit new followers then?”

  “No,” said the Cjii, surprisingly. “The completion of your task will accomplish that for you. Zuhr wants your deeds to speak for themselves. Zuhr wants you to demonstrate that you are an arm of His might at every moment of your life. He wants it known that the Return has come about because of Him, that the powers harnessed by the Sigil Tides are His creation. People will flock to Him and reject the false promises of His children.”

  Carym felt his newfound enthusiasm slipping. The burden of his past that he had carried for so long, and had believed he had been set free from, came crashing back in a new form; responsibility. He sank to the floor and sat cross legged, resting his chin on his hand.

  “I am going to be your mentor for as long as I can stomach the job. You will learn what it is to be a Fyrbold and eventually you will be tasked with teaching others.”

  Carym forced himself to bite back his anger and accept his place, for now. There might come a time when he would consider shedding this responsibility. Unfortunately, trapped miles below the surface of the world, stalked by hunting parties of the Shadowfyr, Carym knew their best chance at escape lay in his acceptance of the powers bestowed on him.

  “I will be teaching you how to use and control the Tides that are all about you. These are powerful forces that will be at your beck and call. But you must learn self-discipline or you will destroy yourself with the power. You must maintain discipline over your emotions or you will surely be destroyed by them!

  “The Shadowfyr’s minions are powerful. Although the absence of the Tides has been an obstacle to them, they have found other ways to secretly practice their use of the Shadow Sigil. The Shadowfyr’s minions are not rusty in their skills.”

  Carym let that sink in.

  “Those pitiful wretches with whom you have already fought were nothing but the lowest of the lowly scum employed by the dark god Umber. He has been testing your strength, searching for weakness. He knows your potential but he does not know your worth and very soon he will send all the Dark Hunters of the Underworld he can find just to destroy you.”

  Carym didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What are they?”

  “The most powerful, and some say demonic, beings ever employed by Umber. There are many, and each one is terribly powerful. Umber will likely grant them each a host of vile soldiers. They are the most terrifying, destructive forces ever to walk Llars. They are immortals, like me, only they were never once mortal as I once was. Still, they can be defeated once you are powerful enough. But that will not be soon.

  “You may have heard these names before: Cerunnos, the Horned Hunter; Hessan, the Headless Rider; Acktlanda, the Seductive; Blathune, the Firey Witch; Corchrann the Serpent; Ckrathrawl the destructive; Havganwen, the Hag Witch; Samshan, the reaper; Scathach the Shadow; and Trigar the Bull. You are not ready to face them, so you must flee and you must practice your skills. The attacks you will face will become stronger and more complex and you must know how to counter them.”

  Carym had heard of these beings before. Hundreds of tales talk of these supernatural creatures which have haunted, hunted, imprisoned, or destroyed legendary men throughout history. By the tone of Mathonry’s voice, the tales didn’t do these Dark Hunters justice. Mathonry suddenly reached into Carym’s coat pocket and withdrew the velvety sack containing the other powerful stones. He poured the marble shaped stones into his palm and stared at them intently for a long moment, silent.

  “Bartholomeul?” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. Carym nodded dumbly, aware that this immortal was a truly powerful being in his own right.

  “You know him?” he asked carefully, remembering the old wizard and his Crimson Elf friend.

  “I have not seen him in centuries,” said the immortal, his face twitching oddly. “What a joyful reunion we shall have.”

  There was silence for a long moment. Then, upon seeing Carym’s peculiar gaze he explained; “He is the man who dared enter Hades and took the Shadow stone from the Dark Lord’s Keep.”

  Carym remembered the old man and had trouble connecting him with such an amazing feat, but he believed Mathonry nonetheless. He was awed to be so connected to these amazing heroes and felt insignificant in their presence.

  “To Hades?”

  “To Hades. As will you if your quest takes you there.”

  Carym stared at the man blankly.

  Mathonry let out a big sigh.

  “Have you no faith, man? As surely as you see me standing here before you, and as surely as you have survived your encounters thus far, do you still question? Maybe the Great Father was wrong about you.” The man no longer seemed mocking or supercilious, instead he seemed genuinely disappointed. “Why should I have thought differently?”

  Carym wasn’t lacking in faith at all. Why had he asked that? Finally it dawned on him as he stood there, staring at the man. It was his own worth in which he had no faith. Zuhr had given him the tools and the abilities he needed, yet he had not the faith in himself to use them.

  “It was faith in myself that has been lacking.”

  “Indeed, that is something you will always struggle with. Faith, ill-placed may fail you, but faith in yourself never will.”

  Carym nodded in understanding. He was glad his companions had left the room, they would only barely be able to grasp what was happening. It didn’t concern them, though. They had not been privy to the internal struggle he had been waging these many long years, never mind these last few days. It was a journey he had made from within and, truth be told, it still seemed too surreal to be true. But, somehow, he knew that was part of the leap he must make.

  “I am yours to command, sir.” />
  “Good.” Mathonry turned to the companions. “You should find adequate food stores of dried meats, cheeses, and jams in sealed containers along with carrying packs in that anteroom. The journey to the surface from this part of Uta Milla will be dangerous and take time.

  “But first,” he continued, “we shall spend five days here in Dalcasia in preparation for this journey. There are more than troks to fear in the Underllars and I want you to become a cohesive fighting team; your mission depends on it!”

  “Shouldn’t we be leaving? What if Umber’s minions beat us to the Everpool and destroy it?”

  A shadow passed over the face of the immortal being. “That must not happen,” he whispered dangerously. “Yet as it stands now, Umber has no idea where to look. He has been hoping you would lead him there, or close enough for him to figure out where it is. We have time.”

  “As for you, Carym, we are going to test what you’ve learned,” the man said with a sly expression.

  The group had, at Mathonry’s direction, spent little time in the multidimensional chamber warning them there were dangers for mortals spending too much time away from the mortal plane of existence. Most of the training was done inside the temple and below it in secret passages. Only Carym’s Sigil training was conducted within the device, as Mathonry was unwilling to call the attention of the Trok-Syth to the Temple.

  By the dawn of the fifth day of his training in the temple of the Great Father, Carym was thoroughly sore and exhausted. Mathonry was not a merciful teacher; he claimed that he always had trouble making himself observe that virtue. Mathonry believed in trial by fire. From the moment he taught Carym how to fight with the Flame Sigil, the two sparred relentlessly. Not only did Carym learn how to arm and defend himself with Sigil-wrought weapons and armor, he learned how to inflict pain; and how to heal his own wounds with the heat of ordinary flames.

  Yag and Gefar had managed to find a hidden door which led to an ancient armory. Carym tasked them with finding suitable weapons and armor, and the pair returned carrying two crossbows, a supply of bolts, a couple of swords, and a pair of shields. The blades of the swords were stylized in an ancient manner and their shields bore designs not used in centuries. But the men found that their blades were light and sturdy and their armor quick and maneuverable and so they expressed no complaints.

  The supply room inside the device was stocked with provisions which would supply half a dozen men for one month. Amazingly Gennevera found a store of cloaks in a closet in the temple. Although they were of the style of cloak worn centuries ago, they looked as though they had been made only yesterday; most people wore coats nowadays, although some still preferred to wear a cloak when traveling. When she tried one on and wrapped herself in it, she found that it kept her remarkably warm and the surface had a slick feel to it. These could prove useful if we ever reach the surface, she said to herself.

  She also found a few packs in the same pristine shape as the cloaks were in to replace the ones they lost on the water. The most bizarre items that the Keneerie woman found, though, were a number small metal cans with an odd sort of pull lever on them. Tentatively she pulled the lever back on the side of the can and it made a sucking noise that startled her so she almost dropped it. When she recovered herself enough, she opened the lid the rest of the way to find powdery wafer like objects. She was certain it was food of some kind, but could it possibly have survived ten centuries or more?

  Mathonry assured her that the canned food was quite edible, if somewhat bland, but cautioned them all not to depend on the interplanar device for food and rest. There were benefits and hindrances to the slower passage of time inside the device, he warned. It would be quite easy to over use the food supplies by spending too much time inside the device and finding that the span of two meals passed within, while only minutes passed in the world without.

  Gennevera was overwhelmed. Could we really have found food, arms, and clothes inside a magical multidimensional device inside a temple a dozen or more centuries old and miles below ground? And cloaks and carrying bags and weapons that still work? And the guidance and wisdom of an immortal being?

  She knew this was no coincidence. There were greater powers at work here, one of whom of was Zuhr. Something bothered her though. It was the hollow faith she had in her own god, and his lack of interest in herself. What was the point of revering a god who cared only for the dead and dying? She really had had no choice in her devotions. The woman had been abandoned as a babe and raised by the Sisters of Grymm; she had known no other life than that of the bleak existence of her Order. They were an intensely boring lot with very strict rules and little room for deviation. She had found herself on the receiving end of switchings many a time as a girl, which made her all the more determined to dabble in the forbidden. And as she began her instruction in the arcane arts from the Elder Sisters, she became aware of the awesome power that was out there waiting to be used. Dark power, to be sure, but waiting to be used nonetheless. The use of arcane magic was sanctioned only within the limits set by the Order and dabbling beyond those parameters was strictly forbidden. She had been dabbling in the forbidden arts for quite some time and now that Carym was training in a field of power not seen in centuries, she was bursting at the seams to gain some insight.

  Her own power was growing, thanks in no small part to the forbidden arts which the Sisters of Grymm were loath to use. Fools, she thought. Although she had not been privy to much of Carym’s training, what little she saw assured her that it was quite powerful, possibly as powerful as the forbidden disciplines she had been secretly studying under the noses of her watchful sisters. The gifts bestowed upon her would be quite useful in the coming journey to the surface, a journey she was certain would lead her happily away from her Order.

  With a great sigh she stored the cans and supplies for their journey and headed back to the main temple to find Carym and Mathonry. When she entered the chamber she saw the two standing together talking amiably. When Carym acknowledged her presence, Gennevera was shocked to see Mathonry chose that moment to take advantage of Carym’s distraction. She gasped as the immortal swung a large staff, seemingly from nowhere, at Carym with amazing speed and force. The impact surprised Carym, but he absorbed the painful blow and allowed himself to fall to the ground into a roll regaining his feet quickly. Carym raised his right hand high and she stared in amazement as a blade of shining black metal appeared in his hand and a baton of equally black and shiny metal appeared in his left; both shimmering in the light, dancing with subtle flames.

  Gennevera half thought to hurl a missile at the Cjii, but rejected the notion remembering exactly how powerful he truly was. No, if he had truly wanted to hurt Carym...well she didn’t want to think about that. Then, just as quickly, Mathonry’s face changed from intense to joyful and he walked over to Carym. He examined the blades Carym had called forth with the Tides with an amazed look on his face. “You have a bit of the Earth in you, Carym! How did you do that?”

  Carym’s mind was on his next move, his next parry, and he was absorbed in his fighting stance. It took a moment for that statement to register.

  “Earth?”

  “Aye,” he said with a smile. “The Earth Sigils are tapped to call forth blades of metal or stone. Then you limned them with Flame! It is quite impressive for you to be able to call upon a second Mystery so soon. Well done!” With a great hug that surprised Gennevera, Mathonry congratulated Carym.

  “I have taught you the fundamental principles needed to harness the Tides and you have absorbed your lessens with great honor and courage. You are ready to begin your journey, though you still have much to learn.”

  Carym had an eager gleam in his eye. He began to feel that youthful zeal again, like when he had joined the Arnathian Fleet and hoped to do good in the world. Only now he knew that he really would be a force for good, heralding the return of something precious and powerful and able to repel the evil forces of Umber and his minions. He let himself feel how good
it was to have a good purpose; confidence radiated from his pores.

  “Thank you for tending to the supplies, Genn. Are the others ready to travel?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And eager to be gone. It was quite a thing for Yag to keep Gefar from running off on his own!”

  Carym appeared thoughtful and it was clear to Gennevera that his mind was already moving elsewhere.

  “Why do you not carry weapons now?”

  Carym’s mind snapped back to the moment and he focused on her again. “I am told that Fyrbold, the masters of the Fire Sigils, adhered to a strict code which included not carrying weapons or armor except the traditional bo-tani.”

  Carym withdrew two wooden batons from a strap on his belt that were just a bit more than a hand width in length. With a quick flip of his wrists, the batons extended in a telescoping fashion to about three times that length, one with a metal ball for a tip and the other with a short blade for a tip. It was a weapon she had not seen before.

  Carym took a few quick swings in precise movements to demonstrate their effectiveness. Then he touched the bottoms of the two batons together and with a quick twist they were connected into one longer fighting stick.

  “Very impressive!” she exclaimed. “I wonder why your predecessors chose to arm themselves in such a limited fashion.”

  “Mathonry says that the Fyrbold were the most militant of the Orders. They believed strongly in the martial combat skills of non-magical fighting and in using the Sigils as little as possible to achieve their ends.”

  Gennevera said nothing, studying him. Although she studied for many years of her life in the ways to suppress her emotions, she was having a hard time convincing herself that she was not attracted to this man. Even with no weapons the Cklathman possessed an air of calm confidence. He wasn’t altogether different from when she first met him, but now his bearing and confidence were much more pronounced.