The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (20 page)

“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.

Finally Carym returned to his position at the front of the patrol. Suddenly he felt very, very, tired. The prospect of a hot meal prepared by someone else and a warm bed to sleep in was so joyous that he had difficulty concentrating on his surroundings.

Abruptly everything went quiet and Carym looked around in that odd sort of twilight left behind when the moon has sunk below the horizon but still manages to cause shadows to dance where they ought not to. The light layer of snow on the ground and in the trees gave off a ghostly gray glow but illuminated nothing. It was so quiet now, he could hear the others of the group breathing and shifting in their places, trying to sense what was beyond their small formation.

A sensation of sudden and intense fear and despair overcame Carym then and he almost gasped for breath. He fought wildly to control himself in the eerie quiet of the woods lest he give away their position to any lurking bandits.
Were there bandits approaching? Were there more of Umber’s minions hunting them?
He had studied the new book that Mathonry had given him, but felt little confidence in using any of the spells there without having had the time to practice casting them. It would be very dangerous to go into a fight with untested skills even for a swordsman, which is why swordsman practice constantly.

He let out a very slow breath, forcing reason to return. There was nothing there. Nothing. No sounds, no movement. Nothing. The others didn’t seem to feel as apprehensive as he did, although he could sense their tension. Carym closed his eyes and concentrated on visualizing the world through his
sight
. Slowly, the world shifted into view in a wild pattern of colors and hues that had nothing to do with its true appearance to the naked eye. Everything around him vibrated with varying intensity and colors and he tried to observe the patterns moving about the ground and in the air around him. Some flows came and went, like clouds of dust, while others meandered like a stream, eddying and swirling around trees and rocks.

Then he saw and felt,
it
. Like a tide of shadows; rising, inexorably forcing its way toward the companions. Deepening shadows of dread overcame the wilderness as trickles of the Shadow Tide swirled around his feet, cold as ice. But at the same time the Shadow Tide was soothing, tempting. Although Mathonry never offered any instruction in its use, the immortal had suggested that it
could
be used for good. But that thought was too disturbing for Carym to think about.

The shifting sensations struck his awareness with shocking force, stunning him briefly. He struggled to see his companions through his
sight,
but they appeared as abstract figures of muted colors, unrecognizable. He was suddenly aware of the black stone in his coat pocket. What if the Shadowfyr’s minions could track it? They could be hunting the group even now. Thoughts of hiding in Fyrendi’s home entered his mind, but he knew that would be futile against the Shadowfyr’s minions; they would find it with him and his companions trapped inside.

He turned his
sight
to the front again, searching for the impression that would be Kharrihan. He hadn’t been gone long and Carym had no reason to expect him back so soon. His nerves made him feel as though he had to do something. Then he heard it, a distinct crack like the sound of a large creature breaking a limb. It was far enough away that the group had a good chance to make it to the safety of the village if they hurried.

Carym signaled to Yag that it was time to move and the two sailors took positions facing the rear with their crossbows aimed behind. Nothing needed to be said, they trusted Carym’s senses enough to know that if they were leaving before Kharrihan had returned, something had likely gone wrong. Gennevera went first with Zach close behind, followed by Carym and the two Roughnecks. As it happened, the relative safety of the village was only a few hundred yards away, yet it seemed like miles to the companions. Each of them now sensed the dread that hunted the woods behind them. Quickly enough, however, they began to see buildings and people moving about and knew there would be relative safety in the village, by virtue of numbers alone if nothing else.

Could it be Hessan?

If it was he, then Carym just led the vile predator of the Shadows into a village full of victims. But he couldn’t know for sure
what
was back there and there were no spells that he was strong enough to use that would enable him to view what was happening so far behind. As the group methodically made their way down the path to the end of the tree line, Carym found his pace hurrying; they were nearly running by the time they exited the woods onto the crossroads. Kharrihan was coming out of the building which by its size and the sound of music drifting lazily in the cool night air Carym knew must be the inn.

“What happened?” he asked, glancing at the tree line.

“Something comes,” said Carym. Kharrihan nodded then hurried the group back to the relative safety of the inn. He hoped desperately that whatever was out there did not follow.

“Do you think it knows we are here?” the elf asked as they approached the door to the inn. The group stood there breathing heavily and clouding the air like restless horses sometimes do. Music and the noises of a healthy crowd emanated from behind partially cracked shutters and Carym could feel the warmth drifting out with the music. Carym shook his head; the presence of the inn had done much to calm his nerves and grant him rational thought.

“Something dark was coming this way along the path on which we had been traveling. I don’t know what, but I could see how it caused a rise in the Shadow Tides around us.”

“Into the inn, then. We hide among the crowds and watch.” The entrance to the inn was a wide double door. A great wooden beam that would block it tightly against unwanted visitors was propped near the door inside. The inn was U-shaped, decidedly unlike that of the Hybrandese inns. The exterior walls were white with wooden frames around each window and the roof was made of grassy thatch.

The
Crossroads
inn was warm and welcoming, even if unoriginal. A bard played a merry tune on his flute while a juggler juggled and a kilted maiden danced a very difficult style on the tips of her toes to a foot stomping beat. The men and women alike were of sturdy stock, rugged but their features were very much Cklathish; pale skin, hair of red and brown and blond, and eyes of green or blue. Many of the men wore great, long handled axes strapped to their backs, presumably for fighting as much for felling trees.

Kharrihan guided the group to a long table in the corner of the inn where they all sat down and removed their coats. Carym was still nervous about what may come from the woods, but he was able to see the door and they would not be caught by surprise.

“I’ve made arrangements for rooms on the second floor, here are the keys.” The elf placed the keys to three rooms on the table and handed one to Gennevera. “Carym, Zach can take one room while I will room with Yag and Gefar. Gennevera will have her own.” The group appeared satisfied and Carym was glad that the elf had offered to stay with the Roughnecks to avoid provoking Zach.

Soon, the group was served bowls of steaming beef stew loaded with meat and potatoes and good fresh baked bread. They ate their fill and while the Roughnecks downed a few mugs of beer, Carym and Zach took in only sips of the alcohol of something the locals called “Brew of Birch.” It was a sweetened drink made from alcohol, sugar, fruit juice, and birch tree syrup. Carym had no desire to be too drunk to wield weapon or spell should trouble find them.

An hour into their meal, the doors to the inn opened roughly and a draft of bitter night air wafted in, causing candles and lamps to flicker angrily. The crowd silenced in a moment of palpable fear and Carym and his companions were quick to see what was happening. A group of rough looking, but very normal, men filed in. There were five in all, three of them appeared to be human but the remaining two were taller and heavier built with slick black hair and pointed ears. They were all heavily armed, each bearing a blade along with a hand crossbow and a club. They stood near the door a moment, leaving it open, daring anyone to challenge them. Then they made their way over to another corner of the common room and sat down. Kharrihan looked questioningly at Carym, wondering if this was the threat which Carym had sensed. He shook his head in silent response, it had to be something more dire than a band of hardened men.