The Tomb of the Dark Paladin (18 page)

As he emerged from the cave he looked up in surprise, it was too dark. From the appearance of the sun in the sky just fifteen minutes earlier, he could have sworn there was at least an hour until total darkness. But the sky was now nearly dark and the stars were beginning to appear. The air here seemed very different to the Storm Lord's nose too, he felt the Tides working in very unusual patterns.

He jogged and slipped back down the slope, tripping on a loose stone. The bard curled himself up and somersaulted back to his feet. Finding himself upright again, he was shocked to find that his body didn't stop moving! His entire body had left the ground and now he was hurtling through the air as though he were flying under the power of the Sigils. It was a wonderful feeling, and it was even more wonderful because he didn't have to expend any energy to do it.

But his mind very quickly told him that if this were not the function of a proper spell, then he must soon be reunited with the ground. He found that he was in fact gliding closer to the ground then he liked. He threw his arms up in front of him just as he plowed into the snow-covered ground and bounced in an oddly high fashion to a stop. The air grew colder and he was shivering now that he was covered in snow. He knew there was little time to waste pondering the strange events and hobbled over to where Ederick lay. Fortunately, it seemed that the knight was starting to awaken.

"Where are we?" asked the warrior, shivering and struggling to get to his feet.

"I haven't a clue," Bart answered, lifting the bigger man's arm over around his shoulder. "We have ta get back up the hill to that cave. Keep us warm tonight, so it will."

Ederick nodded, and the bard helped the man along. Strangely, as tired and weak as he was, the bard seemed to be having a relatively easy time getting the big man up the hill and into the cave. Ederick seemed to be getting on better as they went and by the time they reached the cave opening he was walking on his own.

"Something isn't right here, Bart," offered the knight. "I have traveled the length and breadth of the Northern Continent, and this place is not familiar to me."

Bart looked out over the rolling hills in the bright moonlight and silently agreed with the knight, something wasn't right. The bright light illuminated the landscape quite well and looking out he could see the reflection of the moon on the surface of a great lake. Mountains rose in the distance and forests and myriad smaller lakes dotted the landscape. The cold seemed deeper and more biting than any he had felt in his travels, even in the icy regions of Vaarland. 

"Where are on Llars are we?" whispered the knight as he gazed at the unnaturally large moon. Bart looked upon the colorful moon too, thoughtful. "How can it get so cold, so fast?"

Then it dawned on the bard where they must be. But could it be true? Was such a thing possible? In all his studies, and all his travels, he had never even imagined it, or known anyone who had.

"I don't think we are on Llars anymore, so I don't."

"I'd say you were mad, Bart, if my own senses didn't tell me otherwise. I've never seen Hastor look so large and so blue before."

"And that's because it's not Hastor you are looking at, Sir Ederick. It's Llars."

"We are on Hastor," he whispered in awe. Then his tone changed from awe to concern as he looked Bart in the eye. "Can you get us back?"

"I don't know. But I can do nothin' till I get rest, so I can't."

"Aye," replied the knight with a nod. "Is there anyone else on this moon, or are we alone?"

"Well, I don't know if there's anyone else on Hastor now like the legends say, but I daresay there has been. We better get deeper into the cave before we freeze to death out here."

"Right," said the knight using a tree limb he had picked up earlier to help him walk. "Let's go."

The two men walked deeper into the hillside and found that the air, although cool, was not as bone-numbingly cold as it was outside. Bart feebly called forth a ball of light that floated in the air ahead of them as they walked. The passage became so narrow that the men moved forward in single file. Bart was so tired that he felt as though he were going to collapse on the floor of the narrow tunnel, he knew Ederick must be just as fatigued.

Finally, the small tunnel ended in a chamber large enough for the men to lie down comfortably. It was a room with four smoothly carved walls and a ceiling to match. There were sconces on the walls for torches long since gone. On one wall, Bart noticed what seemed to be the arch of a doorway that had been carved into the wall. Strangely, there was only the arch and it seemed that no attempt had been made to make a door. Aside from the tunnel they came from, there seemed no other way out. 

Bart stared at the wall for a long time, his mind and body so tired he hardly recalled that he had actually lowered himself to the floor. Even then, dimly aware of the softly snoring knight, Bart continued to force his eyes open and ponder the meaning of the chamber. It was no use. They were safe, and he could not fight his body's need for rest any longer. As he drifted off to sleep, the last thing he remembered was a shimmering light drifting faintly about the door that wasn't. He sleepily thought that such a thing should not be.

"It's no use, Sir Ederick," said the bard. "I have tried, but I cannot open a portal back to Llars. I fear we are trapped, so I do."

The knight said nothing as he looked out over the strange landscape. He and the knight shared a feeling of hopelessness, they were powerless to return to Llars and help their friends. Then they heard a commotion at the bottom of the slope. Someone dressed in dark clothing burst from the trees, running fast for the slope. Ederick and Bart backed further into the cave mouth and watched as two more emerged from the tree line. The others were tall and slender, their skin was pale and their eyes shone like silver points of light. They, too, were attired in dark clothes, but their weapons gleamed in the reflected light of Llars. The two stopped and scanned their surroundings, one pointed at the first who was scampering up the slope.

"They are hunting him," said the knight. Ederick held his sword and seemed prepared to charge down the slope. The pursuers drew longbows from their backs and seemed ready to fire upon their quarry, now that they were clear of the woods.

"Who would you aid, Sir Knight?" asked Bart. "I cannot tell the matter, so I can't."

"I'll find out when I get there. I hope that one side or the other can help us find a way back to Llars." Then the knight charged down the slope. Bart was less enthusiastic about intervening but he would not leave his friend to fight alone. The bard leaped off the cliff face and sailed gracefully through the cold air, even as the knight stumbled and rolled down the hill. He landed hard and crouched by a boulder as the bowstrings snapped. The stranger was so shocked by the bard's sudden appearance, and by the knight crashing into a nearby boulder, that he seemed unaware of the rapidly approaching missiles. Ederick rolled quickly to his feet and tackled the man, taking him to the ground behind a boulder as arrows came down.

Bart summoned the Tides and channeled the power of the Air Sigil into his hands. A visible vortex of wind began to swirl about each hand as he thrust them toward the sky, knocking another pair of arrows out of the sky. Then he picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it with all his might, a surge of magical air propelled it with incredible force where it struck one of the pursuers hard. The pursuer fell to the ground, clutching his chest. The first grabbed his fallen comrade and tried to drag him to the tree line, but another of Bart's well thrown rocks struck him too. They were both down now.

Ederick got back to his feet and jogged carefully toward the fallen pursuers.

"Who in the Hells are you?" asked the man whom they had saved. It took the bard a moment to understand exactly what he had said. The words were familiar, similar to the language of the Sargan Duchy yet more antiquated. Once the bard heard the smaller man's words in his mind again, he understood. Despite the sing-song accent, and the odd way in which every sentence was intoned like a question, Bart felt confident that he could communicate using the Old Cklathish dialect still spoken in some isolated Cklathish villages; the two dialects were strikingly similar.

"Barthal, a meager bard of the Cklathlands, so I am," offered the bard quietly, holding his staff-flute before him.

"Llarsians," said the other in disgust. "Never met one. How did you get here?" The newcomer was perhaps five feet tall and garbed in black. His hair and beard were long and red and each was plaited with metal bands. His skin was pale and his eyes shone boldly blue, even in the darkening night. He held a staff in his right hand, the tip pointed toward the bard. Bart immediately sensed the Tides swirling about the man, he was a Sigilist! 

"I'm not sure," answered the bard, cautious. "I was hoping to find a way back to Llars quickly, so I am."

"You are no meager bard," said the smaller man. "You have the Tides about you!"

"As do you."

The smaller man's eyes widened as the powerful knight leaped and bounded up the slope with one of the pursuers under each arm. Then he dropped them unceremoniously on the ground. Bart knew the old lore of Llars as well as any sage, there was no doubt in his mind who these people were. "High Elves," he whispered in awe. Then he turned to face the shorter man. "And you are a Dwarvish Earthmage!"

"'Tis no small offense to harm the king's scouts, you'll not want to be around when his kin come a-looking."

"These are the king's scouts?" asked the knight. Bart was relieved that Ederick was able to understand the Dwarvish dialect well-enough. "Why do they want you?"

"I am an Earthmage," he replied somberly, his eyes on the two elves. "For that alone, I am scorned. You Llarsians would not know what degradations we dwarves are forced to endure at the hands of the 
High
 Elves. The practitioners of the Air Sigil are held in high regard in Elvish society, all other forms of magic are forbidden and only elves are permitted to use the Air Sigil. The Tides will have told them you are here, and they will have sensed your power as easily as I have. When they come, they will come in force."

"Do you think they are a threat to your strength, Bart?" asked the knight.

"Do not judge the lot by the pair," interjected the dwarf, nodding at the scouts. Ederick tossed their weapons in a heap nearby and bound the pair with their bowstrings. Bart agreed with the dwarf, he could not be sure how powerful the High Elves were. 

"It would not be wise to risk confrontation, Sir Ederick."

"Sir Ederick?" asked the dwarf, a frown creased his face. "You are a knight? Whom do you serve?"

"Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, knight of the Hand of Zuhr."

"Zuhr, eh? This lot will certainly have something to say about that."

"We gave you our names, sir. What is yours?" asked the knight. Bart could sense the man's consternation, he knew Ederick was eager to be reunited with Carym and the others.

"Hmm, well," the stranger began. "I suppose courtesy demands it. I am Aethelryd Hrothgar, of the House of Gar. No good has ever come from a Llarsian stepping foot here, though most Llarsians who have been here have not been good." The more the stranger spoke the more confident the bard was in speaking the peculiar dialect. 

"Aethelryd," repeated the knight. At that moment, one of the elves began to stir and all eyes shifted.

"Hrothgar," spat the elf, his silvery eyes flaring in anger. The spoke with a heavy accent, using what Bart considered to be the Dwarvish dialect. "You've already doomed yourself by committing treason. Bringing Llarsians to Hastor will bring the wrath of the Divine King. You pitiful dwarves are not worth the dirt on the feet of elves! Your lot in life is to serve 
us
!"