There was a whole chapter dedicated to the Call Familiar spell. It was an interesting concept to him for it offered the caster the ability to attract a creature with resonances of the Sigil of Flames to serve him. He wondered briefly what sort of creatures he could tame through the use of this spell, it did not mention which creatures would answer the call.
Then he was into the chapter dealing with the Spirit Sigil and how to infuse his Flame constructs with it. The Spirit Sigil was one that mastered all of the aspects of the powers of the mind, body, and soul. It was one of harmony, wisdom, and balance. Especially balance, he learned as he read on.
Balance was the key to understanding the mechanics of the Spirit Sigils and constructs. It required the caster to give in return for what it gave back. The Spirit Sigils called upon the inherent power within one’s own self, not from the Tidal forces of the exterior world. A concept that fascinated Carym and he hoped sincerely he would find someone to mentor him in that discipline.
They dared not risk resting any longer, so the group set out again. Carym warned them of the danger now hunting them in the form of Hessan, the Headless Rider. He had not liked the idea of telling the group lest their own fears undermine their desire to escape, but in the end he felt that being prepared for what might face them was more important. Again, the group of friends’ strength and loyalty amazed him. He was moved by it. Emboldened by defeating a dragon and a band of warves, they all expressed their conviction that the group could face the Shadowfyr’s minions and survive; even Zach.
They filed past the carcass of the dead dragon, Gefar kicking it for good measure as they pushed onward toward the surface. They spread out into formation as they moved into the wider open tunnel ahead, staggered in their lines, ready to turn and face whatever awaited them. They journeyed for several hours facing no threats other than those already in their minds, shadows leaping everywhere in the magical light cast by Gennevera’s spells.
With Kharrihan taking his place in the lead, Carym allowed his mind to wander, mentally rehearsing the steps needed to construct a weapon that could injure a demon like Hessan. Finally, he settled on one of the spells he had seen in the book: Firespear. Only he would empower the spear with the addition of the Spirit Sigils into the construct, ones that he hoped would have a very special and deadly effect on the hunter.
The journey took longer than anticipated, many more days had passed. Each day in the long dark tunnel becoming more monotonous than the last and the group found themselves wishing for a fight to end the tedium. In fact, since the group desperately wanted to reach the surface, they had all agreed to continue with all haste stopping only as long as completely necessary, rarely longer than a few hours.
But they had lost track of time. They no longer knew how many days had passed since facing the Wasp Dragon. Kharrihan called for a sudden stop, forcing Carym’s mind back to the present after its undisciplined wandering, and hissed for the lights to be put out. After only a moment, Carym saw what had caused the group’s cautionary stop; the tunnel ahead was just a little bit lighter! Yes, there was no longer the inky blackness of the Underllars that blinded the surface dwelling travelers. The faintest hint of sunlight lay within reach.
Carym was elated and he found that his heart was pounding. He wanted to run out of the tunnel and bask in the warmth of the sun. But Kharrihan would not be rushed. He signaled that the group should stand fast while he scouted ahead. The others noticed the light too and were looking about excitedly as Carym passed the signal for vigilance.
Each member took their position and provided for the security for the group and waited. Finally Kharrihan reappeared in their midst, speaking very quietly.
“I bear mixed news. We have indeed reached the surface, but we are not at all where I had thought to bring you,” the elf seemed genuinely perplexed. “We have arrived in the wrong part of Ckaymru.”
“I’ve not heard of this place. Who rules it?” asked Zach.
Yag answered first, “Tywys Rhi. He is a bastard of a tyrant, if there ever was one. Rules his land by fear and intimidation. His Sheriffs are loyal to him alone and equally cruel. I traded with Tywys once,” he paused. Then he growled, “Never again! I vowed never to return to this cursed realm and here I am.”
Gefar was nodding enthusiastically, apparently having shared the captain’s experience. “And the haunted keep of the Black Baron is in the Ckaymru Mountains; a place to avoid at all costs, that!”
“It is true,” said Kharrihan sadly, answering Carym’s unspoken question. “Tywys is no less a cruel and devious master than Tyrannus, the Black Baron, was when he ruled Ckaymru centuries ago. And, Tywys has no shortage of lackey’s who share his penchant for torture and killing. It is said the penalty for theft is loss of a hand, and the penalty for speaking against the Rhi is loss of tongue. His cruelty has driven many to become outlaws and crime is rampant. There is a bandit gang in Rendon Shire driven by good intentions, they exist solely to harass the Rhi and his men, and are quietly supported by the people of Rendon Shire. Alas, they have little hope of defeating Tywys or his lackeys, the gang is merely holding off the inevitable doom that has befallen the rest of the Shires of Ckaymru. These Shires are plagued by true bandits, some of whom play on the good reputation of the Rendon Shire Gang, others having been good people driven to crime by severe poverty. They are a worthless lot of miscreants and thieves and will harass us every step of the way!”
“Are we in Rendon Shire, Kharr?” asked Gennevera.
“No, my lady. We are in Ghent Shire, ruled by a cruel but cowardly Sheriff. He is nephew of the Rhi, and thus has not been removed for his ineffectiveness. The gangs of this land are almost as cruel as the Sheriff, but far stronger and more organized. I fear we have come to an impasse.”
Carym said nothing, dwelling on the problem. “What time of day is it, Kharr?” he asked, thoughts of seeing a beautiful sunset dancing in his mind.
“’Tis high noon, Carym. Your desire to the see the sun must wait just a little longer, I fear.”
“Why is that?” rumbled Gefar.
“Because you would actually like to see the sun, fool,” hissed Zach. “Creatures of the Underllars can control the size of their pupils, making them wider to allow them to see extraordinarily well in the dark, and making them smaller to prevent bright sunlight from blinding them. You, however, must wait and slowly allow your eyes to adjust to the sun’s light. Go on, pirate. Rush out there and see, or don’t see, what happens to your eyes.”
Gefar glared at Zach dangerously. Carym shook his head, exasperated. Why did Zach have to aggravate everyone?
“Yes,” said Kharrihan, attempting to interrupt the rising tension. Surface dwellers always resorted to squabbling amongst themselves after too long underground. “And, you should know that it is winter and a blanket of snow covers the ground.”
Carym nodded. They were all prepared for cool weather as it had been autumn in the warmer south when they left Dockyard City. Now it was winter and they were in the colder Northern Continent. He did not relish the coldness that would await them in the dark hours of the world outside.
Now would be a time to rest and adjust their eyes, and tomorrow would bring the sun they all longed to see. And so the group set up a small camp in the tunnel and took turns with the watch while others slept and ate. Each yearning for the approach of night so they could venture outside for the first time in a very long time.
Anxiously, the group awaited the completion of the sun’s journey, so they could complete theirs. They were far enough away from the cave mouth that their eyes were not suffering from the distant rays of the sun, after having spent so long in the bowels of Llars. They were in no immediate danger and they could easily sense an approach from any direction. Their time below had been so fraught with danger there had been no time to socialize, so the companions passed much of the wait by swapping tales and getting to know each other just a little better. Carym was first to tell a little bit about himself to Kharrih
an. The friendly elf listened intently and politely, asking questions and making good conversation. Gennevera seemed to be absorbing everything Carym said, learning as much about each man as she could, and asked many questions.
Soon enough all of the companions, even the moody Zach, told a tale or two and the time passed swiftly. After the Roughnecks told of their many adventures together at sea, and of how Yag came to be “convinced” to become a privateer, the conversation drifted to the topic at hand. Carym wanted to know more about the lands in which the group now found themselves; the homeland of his ancestors.
“One thing you will find, Carym, is that not all Cklathman share your good senses. Ckaymru is firmly in the camp of the Sargan Duchy, as is the Tully of Mannaught on the Isle of Ayre, just across the straights. The High Boru of Ayre, Connor Jaymes II, was truly saddened at the man’s change of allegiance, for they are cousins and Mannaught possesses some of the most beautiful land on the Isle of Ayre.” Kharrihan shook his head. “Once, it seemed, that peace could be had between the Cklathlands and the Sargan Duchy. Alas, that fool has a grandiose scheme to restore the Steel Empire, which has not stood for a thousand years. He will be the ruin of all the Northlands, you may be sure.”
“Your knowledge will help us greatly on our journey; I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to come with us.”
“Aye. Truth of it is, we Silver Mountain men have always enjoyed a special trade relation with the High Boru of Ayre. They like gold and we like to sell it to ’em!” the elf quipped. His laughter and genial way was contagious. “In any event, the doings of the Sargan Duchy are concerning for us. Another part of my job is to report on economic and military situations on the world above, so you might say I’m a bit of a spy!”
Carym chucked with the man but realized there was much more to him. He believed the man really was a spy for his people but could hardly fault him for that.
“Tell me of this place called Ayre.”
“My favorite place in all the land was Mannaught. I was rather fond of the Tully, Willie the Bull, who ruled there and he was a loyal subject to the High Boru, Connor Jaymes II. Now, his boy Rhon and me were the grandest of friends. He and I had been on many adventures in our younger years, but always we enjoyed the homecoming to the Tul-Castle. Though we explored much of the Cklathish Isles together, it was there in Tully, Mannaught’s Tul-Castle where my heart was. You see, Rhon’s sister, Maraigh was quite taken with me and I her.”
“What happened?”
“What happened,” he repeated evenly. “Well, Willie the Bull died on a grand hunt. When Rhon took the seat as the new Tully of Mannaught I thought things to be in fair hands and returned home to bear the news to my superiors. When I returned, I found that Rhon had welcomed a sect from those greedy Qra’zians of Karbandom and began railing against Holy Zuhr, of all things! Then, I learned that Maraigh had been sold off to that Sargannish brute, Yerkses.”
“Yerkses,” Carym repeated. “You mean the Yerkses? The Arch Duke of Sargan?”
“Aye, one and the same,” the elf let out a resounding sigh but the glint of mischief never left his eye. “In time I forgot about her as I’m sure she’s forgotten me. And I learned I was no longer welcome in Mannaught. In fact, none but Ayresmen were allowed to set foot in Mannaught on pain of death, no less. Well, I went to see the High Boru in Ballahullay to find out what was going on. I learned that Rhon had declared his lands free of Ayre and subject only to the crown of the Steel Emperor, who doesn’t exist. The scheming Yerkses sent the Black Earl to bolster Mannaught and a stalemate ensued. The High Boru, Connor Jaymes II, had been busy in a summit of the Clanthanynes, Tartans, and Tully’s of the Cklathlands, discussing the rising threats to the sovereignty of the Cklathlands.
“Now, I suppose I could have just summed it all up by saying that Rhon made a back-room deal for power with Yerkses and separated from Ayre. But, wouldn’t that have been a boring story?” the elf finished jovially, making Carym laugh despite himself and wondering whether the tale was true. He shook his head, there was no way he was going to remember all that anyway!
“Kharrihan,” said Gennevera sitting beside Carym, her arm around his waist. “Tell me more of the allegiances of the Cklathish leaders. How do they align themselves here?”
“There are several states which identify themselves as Cklathish. But the major Cklathish military powers are Myrnwell, Lochland, Ckaymru, and Ayre with Brythyn being a highly regarded ceremonial power. Ayre, as I have said, is ruled by the High Boru, Connor Jaymes II. The Isle of Ayre is a wondrous place of rolling hills, moors, streams and forests,” he said wistfully. “It is divided into Tullies, each being ruled by a chief who is given the title of ‘The Tully’ of his tribe.
“Lochland is a land of tall mountains, vast forests teeming with wondrous wildlife and huge lochs. It is divided into clanshires, which are inhabited principally by specific clans. Each clanshire is ruled by its clan chief who is called ‘the Tartan’ of the clan. Most of the tartans owe fealty to the High Tartan, or king, of Lochand. A particularly undesirable pair of Tartans have thrown their lot in with Mannaught and the Sargan Duchy, no doubt they’ve been promised all sorts of titles and lands once the rest of the Isles fall under Sargannish sway.
“The High Tartan is a hot headed fellow and he actually agreed to the separation. He declared them all to be Sargannish pigs and that they had forfeit any right to be called Lochmen, making them enemies of Lochland. This, naturally infuriated the renegade Tartans, but alas, lines have been drawn.”
“Fascinating,” said Zach, but his tone indicated that he thought it was anything but. “What about the Rhi of Ckaymru? Is he tied to Sargan?”
“Aye, sadly so. Sargan has become a brutal tyrant and rumors fly that he is even planning to annex the financial power known as Amberlou.”
“Is he kin to Arch Duke?” asked Zach. Carym thought his friend’s question apt.
“It is said they are very distant cousins, but the connection is so remote it’s hardly worth mentioning.”
Zach smiled. “I had no idea there was such an abundance of maneuvering here in the north.”
“Aye, far too much,” offered Yag. “The instability has been bad for business.”
“If we can make it safely through the wilds of Ckaymru, we have only to cross the straits to Port Obyn in Myrnwell.”
Carym was fascinated by the political dynamics of the Cklathish Isles and tried to absorb as much from the well-traveled elf as he could. Finally, after an interminable wait, the company was ready to journey out into the night. Kharrihan agreed to continue on with the companions as their scout to guide them through the Cklathish Isles, for which Carym was truly grateful. But how would they ever find the tomb? He hoped Zuhr would put the answer to that question before him soon.
As the companions made their way out of the cave mouth and into the cool night air, Carym was struck that even the light of the moon was irritating his overly dilated pupils. Kharrihan warned them to expect this and during the night their eyes would get used to the brightness of the moon. The air was crisp and clear and a blanket of snow reflected the moonlight among the peaks and frosted the branches of the towering pines, majestic oaks and maples, and the silvery birch trees.
The elf scout took his place in the lead of the team ahead of Carym by nearly a dozen yards. The trail leading from the cave mouth was really a narrow ledge with the towering slope of the mountain on one side and a steep drop on the other. They were forced to walk in file as they made their way down the treacherous trail to the bottom and off the mountain. The companions were glad to be moving as the mountain air was quite cold, as they made their way down it became much more tolerable.
This place was nothing like the Arnathian continent from where Carym haled. Already he could see that the trees were taller, the dirt was darker, there were towering mountains and streams everywhere. The wilderness sang with the sounds of wildlife and nature. A stark contrast to territorial Arnathia, he felt. There it seemed
the wilderness had been choked and smothered by the presence of the wicked Arnathians. Here he felt the pulse of his soul, his heritage, calling him. He was home.
They had been traveling for many hours along a well-defined trail when Kharrihan signaled for a halt. The air was alive with the sounds of birds flitting among branches and creatures scampering about, he even saw a giant red deer. These isles were the ancient homeland of the Cklathish people. His people. Displaced from a war with a different empire millennia ago, the Hybrandese Cklath sailed across the sea and settled on the peninsula now known as Hybrand. Ironically, the tyranny they fled from centuries before found them centuries later in the form of the Arnathian Empire.
The scout signaled for the group to maintain their fighting positions and security while he conferred with Carym. “This trail leads to a village ahead. It is at a crossroads of two island routes. One seldom used road leads to the bandit infested woods nearby but ultimately to the Port of Gryfu, while the second leads to the Port of Powyss. There is an inn called the Crossroads and it is a very busy place. It is frequented by businessmen, travelers of all types and even bandits. There is a strange neutrality about it.
“I tell you this because we can be safely anonymous here, but there is great potential for conflict. And conflict will draw the attention of the Sheriff’s men who do not like to be disturbed from their carousing and drinking.”
“You go ahead and make arrangements and I’ll pass on the information to the rest,” Carym replied in a low tone. Then he handed the elf a purse. “Take this for payment.”
The elf nodded and silently disappeared into the night. Carym could just barely make out lights ahead in the gloom, but would have thought his eyes were playing tricks on him had Kharrihan not told him of the village. He slowly approached each person, apprising them of the nature of the inn and ensuring continued vigilance in these bandit patrolled woods.
The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) Page 13
