The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (22 page)

“Forget him, lad. If you are going toward the Ogrewall Mountains, than I suspect a grand adventure you’re sure to have! Care for some company?”

Carym looked back at the bard, surprised. Who
was
this man?

“I doubt you would want to come with us, friend. It’s been a perilous journey thus far and is likely to prove more so as time goes on.”

“Exactly so! Danger is what I seek, so it is! How else can I write ballads of great heroes and vanquished foes without being there to witness the feat?”

Carym said nothing. Was Zuhr trying to help him by putting this man in his path? Clearly he has a talent for gathering news, and as a bard would be welcomed in almost any castle or keep. The thought was definitely tempting.

“Bart, there are dangerous...men, pursuing us. We cannot afford to be delayed by anyone who is not willing to follow orders. You could get hurt or cause one of us to get hurt.”

“I am a veteran of the Vaardic Raids and of the Broken Isles campaigns. I served under the mighty Boru of Ayre, so I did. I can handle myself in a fight, and cover your backside as well!” the man connected the three pieces of his staff back together and rested it across his lap. “And I can entertain you and your friends along the way.”

“I don’t know what time we will have for entertainment,” he paused. “Dawn approaches, Bart. We leave in five hours, although where to I cannot say. Look for me here in the common room. I will introduce you to the rest of my companions. If all agree, you may come with us.”

Bart gave Carym a wide, toothy, grin.

“You’ll be glad to have me, so you will!”

Carym nodded, hoping he was making the right decision. He knew that the Gefar and Yag would likely part company with him soon and it might be handy to have an extra sword in the group. Just as long as the man’s motivations were true. Carym bid the man goodnight, paid the barkeep and went up to his room with a glance at the Sheriff’s lieutenant. One day, he would be able to help the peoples of the Cklathish Isles be free of this type of tyranny. But how? That was the question.

C H A P T E R

7

New Companions.

The Curse of the Black Baron.

The next morning the companions were happy indeed to see the sun and were merrily eating a hardy breakfast in the common room of the
Crossroads
. The hearth was roaring and the inn was full of people. It seemed that many of the local villagers enjoyed visiting the inn for breakfast on Sundays. During the night the bard told Carym what time of year it now was and he was shocked to learn that it was dead of winter...six weeks later!

The companions took well to the newcomer, Bart O’Donnel. In fact, Carym was surprised to find that Bart and Kharrihan were old acquaintances, and the two embraced warmly on sight of each other. “Ha ha, I should have known you’d be in the thick of any adventure worth a song, so I should!”

“Indeed, old friend. It’s good to see you!” returned the elf. “And watch your purse closely around this one, Carym! He’s been known to lift one or two!” the elf said in jest. Knowing that the elf and the bard were old friends, Carym felt better about the man joining the group. Zach was cordial, but gave no indication of his impression of the bard. Gennevera introduced herself and politely welcomed the man.

After consulting with Kharrihan and the others, the group agreed that Myrnwell was the best destination. There, at least, the group could expect a friendly reception. Considering Bart’s vast knowledge of the area, there was little doubt about his added value to the team. According to Bart, Port of Obyn was a vast trading city where one could find, or hire someone to find, almost anything. There was a great library; wizard’s guilds, who could be paid for information; mercenary companies, with whom one must tread carefully but will part with knowledge for a fee; and, of course, those in the business of information buying and selling.

Bart was well aware that Carym and his companions did not want to share the nature of their quest and he was not offended. He assured them that he would earn their trust as a member of the team. And once they safely reached Myrnwell, he would be able to guide them to where they would have the best chance of finding what they sought. Bart also cautioned the team that since Ckaymru’s alliance with Arch Duke Sargan, press gangs were roaming the Isles in search of new recruits for the Steel Army.

High time to go.

As it turned out, it was time for Yag and Gefar to go their own way as well.

“Sorry, Carym. You’ve been a good man to serve under and you’ve led us through the worst. I don’t know how to thank you. But I must be on my way, for I have more than a few families to notify and a business to save.”

The two men embraced each other warmly. “You’ll have no trouble, then?”

“Trouble? Bah,” the man scoffed. “I believe someone you know once called me a pirate. I know how to handle a few bandits and thanks to our adventure, I’ve enough money to bribe our way free of the press gangs!” the man laughed heartily.

“Aye, and likely recruit the brigands to be part of our next crew!” laughed Gefar. It was the first time Carym saw the man show any humor at all.

“We should have little trouble finding passage south to Arnathia, I have an office and a permanent slip there. Me and Gefar have a lot of business to attend now. You’ll be heading north to Port of Obyn if I’m not mistaken, a safe and prosperous town, but not one to my liking.”

Carym was beginning to understand the captain’s desire to avoid safe and prosperous areas.

“I will be sorry to see you leave, friends. You both have been steadfast and courageous.”

“Aye. Alas, a few of my crewmen had families that will be needin’ my attention. And then there’s the lost ship and cargo I have to reckon with. Likely to keep me busy for nigh on a year!” he scowled. Gefar, laconic once more, nodded in agreement with his captain.

They all said their farewells to the Roughnecks of the
Marineer,
wishing each other safe journeys and exchanging hearty handshakes and embraces. At last, the captain and his sole surviving crewmate set off down the road toward Ckayer Moll, a nearby port town, and passage to Arnathia.

The group filed out the door and into the wintery morning air. The sky was overcast and gray and a light snow was still falling, though thankfully the wind had died down making the chill just a bit more tolerable.

Carym tried to sense what had caused his unease last night, that sense of a swelling black tide, but it was gone. He wondered if it had passed the village by in the night or if something dreadful was lying in wait for him and his companions.

The road was now beneath a layer of powdery snow and the going was a little slower than they had hoped. The way was hilly and tiresome to the travelers who had become adjusted to the relatively level tunnels in the Underllars. The road wound its way around large hills, steep gullies, and sheer mountains, leaving little option for them to move off the roadway should trouble find them. They followed the road north for many hours, passing very few travelers. Those few men they saw were heavily armed and disinclined to talk, clearly uneasy about what lurked in the woods.

Finally, as the sun began to set, hunger and cold overcame the group and the scouts were sent out to find a suitable campsite. Kharrihan scampered up a steep and rocky hill on the right side of the road and disappeared among the large boulder strewn landscape, while Bart slid quietly down a grassy embankment and vanished into the trees below. While the two men searched for a place to camp and scouted the area, the others maintained positions just off the road, watching in both directions.

Carym felt a sense peace here, despite their pressing mission. The snow was drifting lazily and the faint sound made by the lightly falling powder was lulling. He had to force his mind not to wonder, they were on a road in a bandit plagued Shire loyal to a tyrannical duke whose press gangs were seeking recruits. Danger was all around them. Was the cold getting to him? With the approach of bad weather, Carym wondered if they should find a place to hide Fyrendi’s box and shelter the night inside.
No, that wouldn’t be wise, especially if the ornery immortal were awaiting them inside.

The scouts returned and met with Carym to confer. Each had found a decent place to camp, but decided that Kharrihan’s place on the high ground offered better protection from discovery. Kharrihan led the way up. They trudged for nearly fifteen minutes in the diminishing light, climbing up over natural fingers, skirting massive boulders, and down into ravines until they reached the place Kharrihan had found. The elf had found a cluster of boulders sitting atop a natural rise with a good view of the ravines leading to and from. A large stone had been mysteriously and skillfully placed atop the rock formation aeons ago and formed a natural roof. There was even a large stream only fifty yards away on the bottom of a ravine.

“Good find, Khar!” said Carym, happy with their location. “We can defend this place well, and we should be able to stay dry if not warm under these rocks.”

“It is a place I used to stay when I journeyed around the Isles. A good place from which to hunt, and the stream yonder is teeming with trout!”

Carym smiled as he thought about the fishing rod he bought back in Dockyard City a favorite pastime of his.

“Looks like we have about an hour or so of light left. I’ll go and see if I can find any game for us to eat,” offered Zach as the others cleared away snow and tried to set up a comfortable camp.

“Zach, it’s not safe to be out alone in these parts,” warned Carym, the man only shrugged and as he left with Carym’s bow. After the packs were set and beds made, Gennevera started a camp fire while Kharrihan took first watch. Carym put his arm around Gennevera’s shoulder and the two rested each other’s heads together, enjoying the warmth of the campfire for a few moments.

“I think I’ll go and scout out this stream, Kharr was talking about,” said Carym with a smile. “Maybe we can have some fresh trout to go with dinner!” Gennevera squeezed his hand, saying nothing as she watched him go.

Carym walked down to the brook, dropped his pack to the ground, and pulled out his new fishing kit. He attached the reel as the old shopkeeper had shown him and slid the line up through each of the rings. Then he sat and watched the stream for a few moments noting that despite the cold, there were a few trout hovering around submerged boulders. He opened the box of flies and thought about which to use in the remaining minutes of daylight. Figuring most of the fish worth eating would not be willing to expend the energy needed to chase after a bug in this cold weather, he tied on something that was much like grub that would fall from the nearby banks into the stream. Then he pulled out some line with his left hand and flicked the rod back and forth propelling the grub into the stream where it plunked quietly into the slow moving water. He crouched behind a large boulder and watched the grub as it drifted along in the current passing in front of him, then drifting downstream and away. Then he flicked the rod again and watched as the grub went over his head and landed upstream of the large boulder, to repeat its journey downstream and past him again. Just as the grub passed directly in front of him, he saw a flash of silver in the dim light and a tug on his line. He quickly raised his rod tip and pulled the line tight; and there was a small trout fighting wickedly on the other end. He played the fish quickly to the bank where he was able to reach into the icy water, grab the fish, and toss it onto the bank where it couldn’t jump back in. He quickly cracked the fish on its head with one of his batons, killing it, and tossed it into a pile of snow behind him. He admired its beauty for a moment, its coppery skin with small circles of red and purple and green; then returned to try for another fish. In the remaining five minutes he caught two more and decided to return to the camp before total darkness set in.