The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (2 page)

As much as he was fascinated by the toy, and would have enjoyed studying it at length during their travels, he felt it disrespectful to spend more than a few moments scrutiny and placed it back on its shelf. The group desperately hoped they would find something of use to them in the ancient city, maybe even a map to help them find their way. Yet the few inscriptions or books they found were written in an ancient language none could decipher. Yag asked Gennevera to call upon a wandering spirit to translate, but she cautioned that these spirits were rarely helpful. Most were notoriously stubborn and would lie for sport while others would say whatever it was you wanted to hear in order to keep your company a while longer. The group decided it was not worth risking a wild goose chase and continued on toward the city gate, hoping to find the Blood Spire quickly.

Carym wondered what life must have been like in this city here in the belly of the world so long ago. He wondered what manner of transportation they used to get around on hard ground and wondered what manner of livestock could survive down here with neither grass nor sunlight. Did they import all of their foodstuffs from the distant surface? Carym thought that unlikely, and wondered if the ancients relied on fishing instead. Then he let out a deep breath, wishing his old fishing buddy had not wandered off.

They passed through the gates to the city and the foursome marveled at its construction. The gate consisted of an arch made entirely of the rare and valuable golden marble with beautiful carvings and painted images. It was here that the walls of the massive cavern came together and formed a wall with the gate leading to a cavern on the other side. The scenes of the artwork were varied but focused much on the maritime industry, which had to have been critical to the survival of a subsurface nation. The ships pictured here, Carym noted, were similar to the now wrecked
Marineer
.

The group walked on through the gates but not without noticing defensive mechanisms everywhere; massive ballistae, arrow slots, covered pits, and giant cauldrons for oil or boiling water. They noticed the portcullis as they walked under it with massive spikes and retractable pins to lock it in place in the holes below their feet. Carym was certain that the defensive mechanisms were important to a city made entirely of precious stone and metal. Even though the city was silent and still, he couldn’t help but feel as though a great evil was lurking in the shadows. He feared what Umber had in store for them next. After all, the Dark Lord seemed to own the shadows.

After passing through the long tunnel that served as the entrance to the city, they emerged on the other side and were awestruck by what they saw. This city was as large as any major city in the Arnathian Empire that Carym had ever seen. Even Yag and Gefar who had sailed much of the known world together could say nothing for long moments. While the city had been laid out with meticulous mathematical precision, each building set at precise angles and aligned perfectly with its neighbors, and all streets ran at precise intervals with side streets branching off in much the same way, this was not what had struck the group dumb. Rather it was the sparkling radiance of the unimaginable wealth that lay here in the forms of the silent buildings alone. Even the outer areas of the city, and the port areas they had passed, paled in comparison to the wealth before them. How could all this have survived without plunder? And the farther in they walked, the more abundantly opulent it became. The light posts, which must have been enchanted to remain lit, appeared to be housed in globes of diamond or pure crystal, Carym couldn’t tell which.

Carym began to think the sounds and fears were just products of his overactive imagination and he was even beginning to question whether the encounter with the Dalcasian guards hadn’t been part of his imagination.
Was all of this some terrible dream? No,
he realized; it was not a dream. Seeing the soaring towers made of ruby and gold and sapphire and emerald in the center of the city, the foursome agreed the Blood Spire must be among them and began their trek down a wide boulevard leading toward the city center.

The street was lined on both sides by long two-story buildings that ran the entire length of the street breaking only at intersections. Doors with small porches appeared at regular intervals and fenced walkways opened to the street. Carym noticed Gefar veering toward the side of the street, and he could see what caught the Roughneck’s attention. One of these homes had a fenced walkway leading from the street to the front door, the stakes of the fence were made of shining silver with long sharp blades poised atop them. There was a gate at the end of the walkway, Gefar reached the gate and paused peering toward the large open door. Something wasn’t right.

“Why haven’t the oroks plundered this city and dismantled it brick by precious brick?” asked Carym, warily watching Gefar. For some reason, he felt like it was not a good idea to enter that house.

“Oroks ’re stupid beasts, barely intelligent enough to speak. They have little sense of value and exist much like animals do; eating, sleeping, hunting. Only thing is, oroks are as mean and wicked as they come. Don’t have use for money, so they take whatever fancies them at the moment,” replied the old captain. Carym had never encountered oroks before. He knew they were of the Orkine races, and he had faced hurkin before, but even the wicked hurkin were extraordinarily intelligent beings that could reason; the murderous oroks were not nearly so nice.

Suddenly arrows rained down on Gefar from the windows above. Quickly, the hardened Roughneck rolled to the side with his shield up. One of the arrows lodged into Gefar’s shield as he found refuge near the perimeter wall of the building. The companions quickly moved away from the killing arrows.

From behind the light pole where he was hidden, Carym spied flitting shadows within the house. He thought of simply calling to his friends and organizing a retreat, but he knew he would be harried by these bandits if the situation wasn’t resolved now. The pulsing of the stones in his pouch called to him now, so strongly that he was feeling dizzy.

No!
He berated himself.
I will not let this happen!

With his sword in hand, Carym charged headlong to where Gefar was pinned down, unable to move out from behind the stone fence on the adjoining home. Daggers of pure blue light flitted across Carym’s field of vision and into the bandits’ house as he ducked down next to the Roughneck. A shriek followed by sputtering in a foreign tongue told Carym that someone had been struck. Following the streak left in the air by the mystical missiles, Carym saw that they had originated from where Gennevera had hunkered down. Her powers intrigued him and he began to wonder exactly what else she was capable of.

Carym called on his military training; when ambushed during a patrol, advance into the direction of the enemy with full force, using every weapon at your disposal. Gefar had sustained a deep gash along his calf; it would slow him down, but it was not a vital hit. Carym knew that the Roughneck would be safe enough here and decided a charge into the fray was in order. He took a deep breath, watching the patterns of the enemies moving in the building, then ran down the walkway to the house as fast as he could, shouting as he went. Then three diminutive men wickedly armed with jagged blades and serrated swords appeared in his path spilling out from the door to the house, shouting their own battle cry. The Cklathman’s warrior instinct took over and left his muddled mind behind to wonder what kind of men these were while his body began fighting; it was like he was two persons acting in unison. In the heat of battle he often felt as though he was possessed of two minds; one watching everything transpire in slow motion and another making everything happen.

The first of the wicked little men, dressed in black mail and leather armor with a large red star on the breast, fell quickly with a gash across his throat. Carym noticed abstractly that the little creature was still swinging his dark blade even as its lifeblood drained away, weakly sputtering curses and trying to kill. Before the first had fallen, the other two closed in with pole arms and were able to reach Carym from several feet away. Deftly Carym attacked with his sword and parried with a small shield, fighting both foes at once; their size belied their strength and skills and Carym was fighting hard to keep up with the two diminutive, but well trained, fighters.

Then Yag appeared, lunging with surprising force into the flank of one creature, knocking the little beast to the ground with a blade in its belly. Yag fell with it. Still though, the hardy little fighter got up after Yag took to his feet and lunged at the surprised captain’s legs, slicing into his calf deeply. Then the little man fell suddenly to the ground dead, leaving Yag grateful that he didn’t have to tangle with it any further.

How had that thing gotten up?
Carym saw this happen in the blink of an eye while he continued to dance with the skilled fighter before him; he was dimly aware of more flashes of blue light above his head. Finally he had been able to grab hold of the shaft of the deceptively speedy creature’s polearm. The little olive skinned creature only grinned showing his pointed fang-like teeth and drew two long fighting daggers. Then, quick as a lightning strike, the little man abandoned his polearm and advanced in a blur of cold steel daggers and shining teeth. Carym was forced to block with his shield as he stepped back and away from the biting blades, then the creature scored a hit to Carym’s arm above the protection of his shield. The surprising strength of that impact was far too great for so small a person, and Carym actually fell back a step from it. He was amazed to find he had been unscathed; that hit should have flayed his arm open!

Carym accepted the momentum of the fall and turned it into a roll, allowing him to quickly recover and regain his footing. The Cklathman dove forward, driving his sword blade deep into the trok’s chest between the ribs. Instead of slowing it down however, the strike seemed only to awaken the little beast further. With both daggers the creature attacked Carym again, intentionally pulling itself down the blade impaling itself further just to reach its human assailant. After receiving a wicked slash across his shoulder, Carym let go of his sword and viciously kicked the creature in the gut sending it reeling backwards to the ground. By now enough of the still struggling creature’s blood had drained from it to cause the beast to weaken. It weakly rose to its knees, sword still in its chest and swung its dagger blades drunkenly, before finally slumping to the ground. Carym sensed that the battle around him had ceased and he stood breathing hard, one hand on his aching, but unwounded, shoulder.

Carym glanced quickly around to see if his friends had fared as well as he, suddenly worried for Gennevera. Then he spotted her near the Gefar, tending his minor wound and Carym was relieved. He approached the woman and gazed at her fondly, she was a good fighter.

“What were those things?” Carym asked, wondering if his childhood nightmares had come to life.

“Trok-Syth!” grumbled Gefar. “Weren’t no worse sort to just stumble across neither! Bound to be more of ’em about too!”

“Also known as Spider Elves,” said Yag. “Nasty mean disposition. ’Tis said the little beasties like to eat the ears and noses from their victims.” Yag gave the dead body of a nearby trok a solid kick for good measure. “Hard as the Seven Hells to kill, too!”

“Looting I could understand. But why would the troks be in this particular house, of all the buildings in this vast city, and not have taken any of the abundant gemstones and metal from inside?” Carym asked quietly.

“The little demons were lookin’ fer somthin’, fer sure!” muttered Gefar. “Ain’t never heard a no trok passin’ up a bit of plunder if he been havin’ the chance!”

Carym had heard of the Trok-Syth and everything he had heard came rushing back to him. Had he known they were about to engage the nefarious Trok-Syth, he wasn’t so sure his courage would have held. He shrugged off the emotion of the event and focused on the task at hand. He and Gennevera entered the mansion and conducted a sweep while Gefar and Yag searched the bodies of the troks to see what they were about. Finding nothing other than some copper money and their poorly made weapons, the men dragged the dead back into the house and took up watch from the doorway hoping to have a more defensible position should another band of troks find them.

Carym and Gennevera swept through the large home but found little different from what he had seen in the houses by the docks. The people who lived here long ago were so rich that the poorest among them were wealthier by far than nobles and kings on the surface. Aside from the decadence and the abundance of precious metal and stone furniture and the building itself, there was little to indicate who had lived here and no clues to a needed method of escape.

“Thank you for your help back there,” Carym said suddenly to Gennevera, as though he had suddenly remembered his manners. “Your powers are remarkable and certainly aided us against these little demons.” Carym sighed deeply, knowing full well that there was no coincidence in stumbling upon the troks. They had to have been sent by Umber.

“Would that I could have done more,” she said, eyeing him warmly. “Troks are the wickedest of the elvenkind, and the most reclusive. I wonder, truly, if they are of the elvenkind at all; some would say not.”

“What else do you know of them?”

He saw an interesting desk, made of silvery metal with sliding drawers. The pulling sensation from the stones in his pocket was strong now, pulsating in his head, urging him closer to the desk. As he opened the drawers one by one it looked as though the desk may have held papers long ago; all that was left was dust. As he opened the center drawer of the desk, a key fell noisily into the drawer. He looked closer and saw that it had been secured, somehow, to the underside of the desk and whatever had held it in place these long centuries gave way when he opened the drawer. He picked up the key and examined it, dimly aware that Gennevera had answered his question.