The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (33 page)

“Tell me more of the Jaguar Tribes,” Carym said, to nobody in particular. He didn’t really care who answered so long as someone did.

“They are a tribe who dwell in the lands to the north of Myrnwell,” began Kharrihan. “I have met many of them. They are well known to the Cklathish peoples who inhabit Myrnwell and Ckaymru. They are honorable people, and it is said that one Jaguar warrior is equal in strength to three of his, or her, enemy. The nobility of their kind are said to be shape-shifters.”

“Shape-shifters.”

“As we have already seen. This woman must be a very important person among her people. Even without her status, you did well to rescue her.”

“Thanks, Kharr. We should go as soon as she is able to stand. I don’t know if the Headless Rider was defeated, but it won’t be long before his minions come after us.”

The group silently set about small tasks in the uncomfortable silence; securing their packs, eating a small meal, preparing their gear for movement. The sounds from the castle had dwindled and Kharrihan went back to see if he could find out what was happening there. A few hours later he returned and gave his report.

“The Baron’s ghosts have control of the castle now and Hessan’s troops have fled. It seems that whatever trick the Black Baron used to trap the Headless Rider, didn’t keep him trapped long; he is free.”

Carym grunted, not happy with either outcome. “Hessan lives,” he said numbly. That one would not rest until one of them was destroyed.

“Aye,” Kharr said numbly. “He does. And if we stay longer we will surely encounter him and his troops. We must go; can the woman travel?”

“She is better but we will have to aid her, we will,” said the bard helping the woman to her feet. She looked weak, Carym wondered if the damage inflicted by the binder mage’s whip had run more deeply than they thought. After Bart’s healing trick the woman should have been able to walk on her own.

“Has there been any sign of Zach?” asked the knight.

“None,” replied Kharrihan. Carym looked at the elf and nodded grimly, saying nothing.

A chill breeze blew in from the north and snow began to fall. The turn of the weather made Carym dwell on the time lost during their journey through the Underllars. As the group made their way through the woods the snow accumulated and made the going much more difficult. The dampness seeped through their thin clothes and the falling snow obscured their vision. The bare trees of birch and oak and maple gave way to thick shrubs and forests of oak the deeper into the woods they went. The sound of snow falling muffled the natural sounds of the wood making it all eerily quiet above the soft whispering of the falling snow.

Carym wrestled with the choices he made in Castle Tyrannus. He knew he should be pleased by the knowledge that Bart was a Sigilist like himself, but something was gnawing at him. Subconsciously he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and grasped the stones. He felt the power of the Tides flowing and roiling and became more confident in his suspicions. If the knight’s belief about the Storm Lords’ use of assassins had merit, then perhaps the man wanted to kill Carym so that the Storm Lords could seize more power. He really didn’t know anything about the practitioners of the other Sigils.
Where did their allegiances lie? Were they loyal only to themselves, or did they espouse altruistic beliefs? Or, did any of them pay homage to Umber?

He would watch the bard closely.

Once they had traveled a safe distance from the castle and there was little fear of being followed by the ghostly minions of Baron Tyrannus, the group stopped to rest once more. They found a small clearing just large enough for them to shelter amongst several large boulders and huddle for warmth. Carym and Ederick quickly assembled a lean-to from fallen tree limbs they found nearby while Bart and Kharrihan scouted for food and Gennevera prepared a sleeping space for the Jaguar woman.

“You were very brave, going back for her, Carym.” Gennevera smiled at him as she cleared a place under the shelter for the younger woman to lie on. Ederick had gathered the limbs of some spindly pine trees and placed them across the top of the shelter, then covered that over with pieces of bark and more pine limbs. The heavily needled limbs of the pine trees packed tightly together helped create a small barrier to retain heat. Once complete, the lean-to was cozy and surprisingly quiet.

Carym looked at Gennevera thoughtfully. “I wish I could say that it was a sense of greater good that drove me to do it Gennevera, but it wasn’t.” He paused for a moment. “Truthfully, I almost didn’t but for a nagging feeling that I should not leave her behind.”

Gennevera smiled at Carym and said, “From what I know of Zuhr’s chosen warriors, they were all noble and honorable men. Zuhr would not have called them into His service if they did not already possess a noble and true spirit and a desire for goodness. That feeling you had Carym, was your own. Zuhr may have helped you face those terrible enemies, but you would not have done it if you were not a courageous person.”

Carym said nothing, wondering how this woman who barely knew him could have so much confidence in him. Thoughts of the seductive dark magic and the Shadow stone touched his mind, at once tempting and revolting to him. How could he have succumbed to such evil power? How could this woman stand his presence if she only knew what he had done?

“There is more Carym. Back in the dungeon, I saw another spirit. It was the spirit of a warrior dressed in plain leather armor holding a long sword at his side. I sensed great power in him, great kindness and wisdom.”

The knight who, having heard the conversation thus far, dropped the log he was holding and looked at the woman. “A spirit dressed in plain leather armor, you say?”

Gennevera nodded.

“A peaceful spirit? Not one of the Black Baron’s devils?”

“Yes.”

“His long sword, was it plain steel with no decor?”

“Who was it?” Carym asked, thankful for the opportunity to think about something other than his own pitiful weaknesses.

The knight was silent for a moment, staring hard at Gennevera. “That was the spirit of Col Colain, the founder of the Zuharim, keeper of the hosts of Zuhr. Legends say Col Colain was a son of Zuhr Himself. It is said that ever since his death, his spirit has closely followed the state of our order bestowing his father’s blessings upon worthy knights.” The knight spoke with great reverence. “You are truly blessed to have seen him, Gennevera.”

“He was watching over you, Sir Knight,” she said pointedly.

The knight silently pondered this. Then he turned to the tribeswoman lying under their lean-to shelter and he knelt beside her. The woman opened her eyes and looked past the knight to Carym, recognizing her savior and smiled at him. Carym was taken by her eyes, they were beautiful brown and shone from a round face with sharp features framed by jet black hair.

“Kultek, tekana al cahoosee,” she said hoarsely as she tried to sit up.

Carym looked at Sir Ederick who shook his head indicating he did not understand her language. “I am sorry, I do not understand you,” he said in the Common Cklath language, assuming that if she was native to the region she might speak the language of his Cklath kinsmen. The woman nodded as though she understood and spoke again.

“I should have known by your bravery that you are a Cklathman,” she said, struggling to hold herself up. “I am called Hala, Princess of the Jaguar Nation.”

“I am Carym of Hybrand,” he said bowing low to her. As he stood back up he introduced the rest of his companions. “I am glad you appear to be feeling better. These are my friends; Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, Lord Knight of the Zuharim; Gennevera al Louerra of the Keneerie people; Bart O’Donnel, of the Bard Alliance; Kharrihan of the Clan Silver Mountain.” Gennevera was relieved that Carym did not mark her as a Sister of Grymm.

“I am pleased to meet you all. I am truly grateful to you for rescuing me, and my nation owes you its gratitude.” Hala allowed the knight to help her into a sitting position. “I know what it is that you seek. During my imprisonment, Hessan’s men spoke many times of a place called ‘the Everpool,’ and a dark tomb. I know of this place for it is holy to my people as well.”

All eyes in the camp looked at her intently, none speaking, they waited for her to go on. “It lies in a place that is sacred to my people, sacred to our great gods Tuatha and Fey,” she bowed her head as she spoke the names. “My father will surely wish to reward you for your kindness and bravery,” said the woman.

“Your Highness, it is not riches and wealth that we seek. We seek only to earn our god’s favor and to oppose the forces of darkness,” said Ederick.

“And I will ask my father to grant you passage to your Everpool.”

“My Lady, if your king will grant us the privilege to tread on your holy ground, you may be sure that Zuhr will be grateful. For such a gift may be the advantage we need to repel the invaders who threaten the existence of all on this great continent.”

The princess nodded. “I learned something of the Prophet-General’s plans. Hessan was sent to claim Castle Tyrannus on behalf of this Prophet-General. It is located strategically in relation to Shalthazar’s plans for conquest over the rest of the Cklathlands and even my own kingdom, though that phase of their expansion is not due to begin until the snows melt. Hessan was supposed to keep a garrison of troops in this castle and send them on patrols to look for the Everpool and the tomb. Thus far, I have learned that Shalthazar was less than pleased at Hessan’s lack of progress.”

“I noticed that Hessan commanded troops of strange men; where did those men come from?” inquired Ederick.

“They came with the Prophet-General from a land across the sea they refer to as Nashia; a great empire it is said.” The princess finished without further comment.

Gennevera approached the princess and sat down next to her when it seemed the men had finished talking. “My lady, how is it that you can, you know...shape-shift?” she asked nervously. “Are all your people able to perform this feat?”

“The ability to shape-shift falls only to those of royal blood. Those of us who are blessed with this gift must serve as the watchers and protectors of our lands. We use our powers to patrol our borders and repel invaders and we protect those who cannot use this power.”

“So it only falls to the royalty to perform this task?”

“It is an honor and a privilege to serve as a watcher. Occasionally a shape-shifter is born to the common classes. When they are identified they too must serve. They and their family are given noble status and become part of the ruling body of our country.”

“What an interesting culture you have,” she commented respectfully.

“I love my country and my people. But I am afraid that we may not be strong enough to fight off the massive army commanded by the Prophet-General. We have never before faced such a threat. Our only hope lies in joining forces with all of the Cklathish peoples, including your elven kin from Alfheym.”

Gennevera let out small sigh. “Alas, my lady. They no more consider me one of their people than they do you. To them I am merely a Keneerie, a Low Elf. They consider my people to be one step removed from humans, and sometimes we are treated as little better than slaves in their societies,” she finished bitterly.

“I see,” Hala nodded in understanding. “Some of your people were slaves in the court of that dark knight, Hessan. However, I did notice that the armies of men from Nashia were not comprised only of humans.”

The Keneerie woman looked at the warrior princess, waiting for her to go on.

“From what I have seen, Keneerie are considered equals among the peoples of Nashia. Some hold noble titles, they serve in the army, some hold commissions as officers while others are soldiers. This was a bitter point for the slaves of Hessan, slavery was outlawed by the Nashians long ago and all races are believed to be free. Hessan serves Nashian and he must keep his hatred of elves hidden from the Prophet-General, he cannot risk a revolt among the troops belonging to his master.”

“You say Keneerie are equals among men?” Gennevera asked, astounded. Although elves considered her kind to be more human than elf, her kind believed themselves to be more elf than human. What could her life have been like among those who considered her kind to be equals?

The princess nodded her head and continued. “When I was captured over a month ago I was dragged before Hessan for questioning,” a shadow passed over her face as she recalled the scene she alone could now see. “I will not bother you with that account. However, while I was before that cursed beast, a captain of the Nashian Army reported to him bearing a message from Lord Shalthazar. The captain was a Keneerie, like you. One of Hessan’s Keneerie slaves entered the room and the captain became enraged at the sight, threatening to tell Lord Shalthazar about the matter.”

“What happened?” asked Gennevera, afraid she already knew the answer.

“Hessan killed the messenger and the slave both, and threatened everyone in the room with the same fate if another word was ever said about it. The captain was reported missing in action.” Gennevera sat quietly for a time beside Hala, watching as Carym succeeded in getting a fire started.

“You should rest, your highness.” Gennevera got up and left the princess for the comfort of Carym’s company. She was bitter and angry. How had that vermin Hessan escaped? Could the companions have defeated the deathly creature in any event? Not likely. Sir Ederick was squatting near the fire, feeding small pieces of dry wood to the flames and coaxing it to grow. She forced herself to smile at the knight and wear a pretty face, though she detested him.
So full of himself and righteous. Who did he think he was, really? The great savior of all-kind?