The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (16 page)

“How do we defeat a Wasp Dragon? And what style of fighting do the warves use?” said Carym.

“Warves usually patrol with six Warvish handlers. Two to handle the beast, three more fighters, and one spell caster,” said Kharrihan matter of factly. “Warves are vicious fighters and they are well-armed. They will have chain mail with metal plates and they prefer to fight with axes and hammers. They possess great numbers and use their numbers to their advantage in battle. A Warvish patrol party will stand and fight with a Wasp Dragon, but if we cut their handlers down, or take out their spell caster, the rest will likely flee seeking reinforcements.”

“Sounds like we have a plan, then.” Yag seemed to feel a bit better now that they understood the enemy tactics.

“Not a complete plan, however. The Wasp Dragon, once free, will still be a threat. And there will very likely be other patrols with Wasp Dragons available at a distance of fifteen minutes. The best plan will be to avoid a fight altogether. I may be able to find a route through some of the smaller vents, but if they turn a dragon loose on us inside a vent we’ll have no chance.”

“Hmm. Best hope we don’t find one of them beasties, then.”

C H A P T E R

6

Warves. The Surface.

Parting Company.

The group set off with Kharrihan in the lead. They moved along the road that wound through the
xanane,
the Underllars forest, passing rolling pastures and groves of trees. Carym chuckled wryly at the incongruity of the entire journey. He had never ventured into the Underllars before, and never met anyone who had. He made a promise to himself that someday he would come back and visit the land of his guide from the Silver Mountain Elves.

The friendly and jovial elf was a different person altogether when the group set out. He was intent and watchful, always alert for possible dangers and the farther they strayed from the
xanane
the more frequently he called the group to stop and listen. Although their movement called for intensity and focus, Carym couldn’t help but feel better when he realized they were finally going up.

They left meandering streams, forests, and unusual wildlife behind as the road wound its way out of the
xanane
and into another tunnel, or vent as Kharrihan called it. The vent was very much like the last one that led into the beautiful refuge; well-built with smooth walls and numerous niches in which unlit braziers were located. It was wide too, nearly ten paces across and again from floor to ceiling. The farther along they went, the more they left behind the natural lighting of the cavern. As the darkness set in Kharrihan ventured farther ahead, his keen eyes more attuned to the dark places than the surface dwellers’ eyes, leaving the five in the cool light of one of Gennevera’s spells.

Kharrihan had been impressed with the surface dwellers’ preference for military formations and cautious movement. He was a product of the harsh and deadly Underllars and understood the need for constant awareness and a forceful existence. Carym found the company of the man quite enjoyable. The two had become fast friends, sharing tales of adventure and the desire to see an end to the evil that had infested their world, both above and below.

As they moved along, a glance at his friend Zach forced Carym to recall that his friend had spent most of his time idly toying with his new dagger, disturbing piece of metal that it was. It had a wicked little skull-like visage with beady red eyes that seemed to glare at Carym, daring him to touch it, hungering to taste his flesh. Carym wondered how Zach had come across that blade, knowing he must have stumbled onto something during the few days he had been loose in Dalcasia alone. He wondered what else the man had gotten into. When he wasn’t toying with his new dagger he sat apart from the others, brooding. He looked at his old friend and, with relief saw a glimpse of the old Zach holding his position in the group, defending against attacks from the rear.

Carym let out a sigh and looked forward watching for signs of Kharrihan, as every now and then the elf would drop back into view to let them know he was still there.

After days of journeying upward; slowly, but upward nonetheless, Carym and the others felt their morale sinking again. The tunnel was still going up, but the climb was barely perceptible now and the trip was becoming monotonous. Hours and hours of traveling in the dark, maintaining their silence and alone with their thoughts, Carym knew their focus was lessening. They had stopped a number of times to listen for sounds that weren’t there, to explore shadowy niches that might hold oroks or troks, or to rest on the cold damp stones of the tunnel. If there wasn’t a break from this routine soon, something might just catch them unawares, their minds dwelling on thoughts of trees and mountains and sunshine.

On the third day of their journey there was indeed a break from the routine, but it wasn’t the respite Carym had hoped for. Kharrihan dropped back into the light, signaling a halt long before the group was due to stop for a rest; Carym knew something was wrong. The five took their positions; Carym at the front on the left wall of the tunnel, Genn on the right wall and back a few paces extinguishing her light, Gefar and Yag took watch at a pair of smaller tunnels that branched off both sides of the main tunnel, and Zach hugged the right wall facing backwards.

For a few moments there was total silence as the shadows seemed to whirl and dance before Carym’s eyes, though he knew it was just a trick of his eyes in the darkness. Then he heard something over the sound of his own breathing in the stifling darkness. It was a buzzing sound, an angry buzzing sound broken up by the occasional loud clacking of something sharp striking stone. Slowly the sound grew louder and voices could be heard drifting lazily down the corridor. It was coming from the front.

“Carym,” came a familiar voice whispering in his ear, startling him and causing his already racing heart to race faster.

“Aye,” he whispered after letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Warvish patrol,” came the whispered warning. “We are still in Silver Mountain holdings, but we rarely patrol this far. The Warvish lands are no more than half a day’s march from here. It’s a chokepoint to the surface for them.”

“Which means the Zuharim must have passed through here, probably unhindered by their Warvish friends.” he growled quietly.

“Aye. I can’t think of another way they could have gone.”

“What do we do?”

“We wait,” whispered the elf. “Stay here. I’ll find each member and tell them the plan. If they come our way we ambush them, if they branch off down a side tunnel, we go past as quickly as we can. Be prepared, friend.”

And then the elf had left him. Carym thought over the spells that were in his small book and wondered, not kindly, where Mathonry was now that they might be facing a dragon. He thought about taking the magical device that was the immortal’s home and hiding the companions in it until the danger passed. Though the group would surely be protected within the device’s magical confines, they would be powerless to stop one of the warves from taking it, and them with it. Then he recalled Mathonry’s warning; it was far too great a risk of letting the device fall into enemy hands.

After a few moments Kharrihan was back with Carym and whispered that all of the team was ready, each had a part to play and knew it well. He warned each of them the Wasp Dragon’s awful buzzing wings could drive one mad if they didn’t concentrate.

Carym wondered if they would make it out unscathed, if even the healing powers of the immortal Mathonry’s device were going to be enough to help them through this fight. He pictured the warves in his mind and decided he knew what spells he would use should they come to face the vile creatures and their pet.

Then it happened. The buzzing intensified so that it hurt Carym’s ears and he fought the urge to cover them.

“The dragon has scent of us!” hissed the elf. “Be ready! Remember a Wasp Dragon’s carapace is hard as stone. But his weakness is in the slats along his neck where he breathes. Force all of your attention on those slats!”

Carym started feeling sick to his stomach, and then he heard one of the Roughnecks groan and retch behind him: Gefar.
So much for surprise.
Yag hissed at the other man to “tighten up,” but it did little good. The dragon knew where they were now and the clacking of its legs striking the hard stone was getting closer and louder.

Then it shrieked. It was a deathly shrill wail that froze Carym down to the bones. He fought against the mental attack, hoping the others were faring well. The voices of the warves and their uncouth language drifted down between the wails of the dragon; laughing, thinking that they had cornered something. Then Carym remembered that these were creatures of the Underllars, adjusted to the darkness. That was something Carym and Gennevera could take away from the enemy.

He waited until he could smell the noxious breath of the beast and knew that it was close enough. He traced the Sigil of Flames in the air and hissed the word that released the power of the Sigil. As he did so he connected his two fighting sticks together and they blazed with flame, illuminating the pasty-skinned creatures before him. And the dragon!

Thankfully Gennevera had guessed Carym’s intentions and followed suit with a blaring light spell that she actually cast onto the dragon itself, causing it to shake its head this way and that as it fought to adjust to the bright light. Fortunately, the magic of the spells did not hinder the companions; unfortunately, the sight before them did!

Carym had to force himself to begin his next spell while the enemies were flailing back, covering their eyes in pain. He was distracted by the sight of the creature, it was so infuriated that its wings buzzed incessantly and drops of acidic saliva dripped from its mandibles, hissing angrily on the stone of the passageway.

Carym quickly traced a Sigil pattern in the air before him and shouted the command that would execute the effect that he had hoped for; it did! Suddenly he felt his skin harden as what seemed like plates of shiny brown stone fused to his flesh, a helmet of stone fused to his head. It was a disturbing feeling but Carym knew that his spell had worked and although he now had armor of stone to protect him it was as light as wearing simple clothes.

Carym rushed forward and struck the leader of the Warvish party in the head; as he crumpled to the ground Carym realized that might have been a mistake. The leader had been holding the tether that kept the dragon in check, and now it was loose. The other Warvish handlers were frantically poking at the beast with long pole arms, trying to prod it toward their enemy. Apparently whatever hold the warves had over the creature was lost in its fit of rage at being temporarily blinded by the light spell. The beast’s long, barbed, whip-like tail swung out from behind and took down two of the warves who had been trying to prod it towards the companions.

The warves were very solid warriors. They wore chain mail with metal plates and spikes protruded from various places on their bodies. Each was nearly five feet tall with a wide, powerful, build. And they all wore helms with visors that bore wicked looking Wasp Dragon faces.

Seizing the moment of confusion, Carym rushed in under the dragon’s great chest and began striking viciously at its carapace. To his chagrin, he found that his fighting stick simply bounced off the beast’s armor. Suddenly Carym was struck with a terrible force and sent flying into the side of the tunnel, the force of the impact of his stone armor into the wall leaving a rubble strewn crater. Stars filled his vision as he regained his wits and struggled to his feet.