The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (31 page)

“The device, it’s gone!” he shouted. “And the wand we found in the Underllars!”

“One of the guards must have-”

“No! Nothing else has been disturbed. Everything else is here. My cloak, my Sigilbook, my weapons. A thief would have taken them all, a wizard would have taken the device
and th
e Sigilbooks.”

“Then where?”

“Zach,” he growled. Carym glanced at Gennevera, seeing compassion in her eyes and he exhaled deeply.

“Sir Ederick, we must go. This is our only chance!” Carym said as he placed his hand on the knight’s shoulder. Ederick lifted his head and looked Carym in the eyes. Carym saw someone else in that face; someone who was wise and powerful beyond reckoning. Something that wanted desperately to be let loose, to fight and kill and destroy evil. Even if that evil was a force that was enabling their escape.

“This is evil beyond redemption! Abomination!” the knight said tersely. “We must finish this!”

“Ederick! We cannot. We must leave!”

“What?” the knight’s eyes shifted dangerously to Carym. “What did you say?”

“The reason we escaped is because I freed the Black Baron. Hessan had control of the item which bound him to this castle and damned him to eternal misery.”

“You did what?” the knight rounded on Carym, eyes alight with anger. “You released the Black Baron?”

“Yes, it was the only way for us to escape; and we must do so now.”

“Better we all die than to aid the likes of him! What have you done?” the knight demanded, angrily rounding on Carym. It was clear he was considering taking his anger out on his companion.

“I warn you now, Ederick: If you raise your sword against the minions of Baron Tyrannus, you will doom us all,” hissed Carym.

“You made a deal.”

Carym nodded at the knight’s observation.

“Very well. Honor is honor.”

The knight was no stranger to negotiations; in battle it is frequently done. He could respect the cost of such action, but he would have been loath to do so himself. Ederick recognized that he was part of the group and for now, he was not in charge.

Seeing that everyone was armed, and all the oroks and men belonging to Hessan were occupied in the deadly melee with ghostly fighters, Carym turned and hastened towards a staircase leading upward and out of the dungeons to the courtyard above. Carym was relieved to find Bart and Kharrihan fighting in concert with the spirits of the Black Baron; the pair fell in behind Carym and the others as they climbed the stairwell.

Carym hoped that the ghostly baron would not turn on the companions. The companions encountered several lusty eyed ghosts who watched the group closely but did not attack. As they neared the top of the stairs, Carym found himself facing a pair of oroks fleeing from a shrieking poltergeist. The malevolent spirit immediately disappeared, leaving him and his group unmolested as they slayed the terrified orok. Another of Hessan’s orok guards charged up the stairs behind the companions attempting to flee from a spirit that was slashing a silvery scimitar at its back. Gennevera turned and with one deadly stroke, crushed the orok’s skull with a cudgel she had acquired during the chaos. Again, the spiritual pursuer fled without confronting the group.

Finally, reaching the courtyard above, Ederick opened the door and the companions were surprised to see that the portcullis had been raised; all the troops were gone. Deciding that it was best not to question their good fortune, the knight spurred the group onward.

“Dawn comes!” said Gennevera, noting the lightening of the sky above the mountaintops to the east. “The sun will weaken the power of the dead and Hessan’s men will be free to follow!”

“Hurry, Carym!” urged the knight.

Carym agreed. A sense of foreboding inspired him to pick up the pace and the rest followed suit. As the companions neared the tree line beyond, Carym heard something that stopped him in his tracks.

A shrill scream twisted his stomach with fear, and he could not tear his gaze from the object that was now floating ominously through the air from the castle. Then he was shoved hard from behind and snapped out of the spell’s hypnotic effect. He fell to the ground covering his ears, the screaming voice of the skull was painful. He wanted it to stop so badly! Gripping the red stone in one hand he thrust his
bo-tani
fighting stick out before him and willed a burst of magical fire to shoot forth. A glowing ball of red flames hurtled through the air, crashed into the lazily drifting skull of blue and exploded. A shower of red and blue flames and crackling lightning bolts demonstrated that his spell had worked.

Who did that?
He wondered wearily, not knowing if he could withstand another skull spell. Was the Black Baron betraying the group? But he saw no evidence of the spectre’s involvement. Then he saw a figure emerge from the courtyard beyond the portcullis. A very real figure cloaked in black with the cowl of his hood drawn low, and a wand held in a very pale hand extended from a sleeve.

He turned back toward his companions, who were now quite far ahead of him, and began to run; he knew a spell caster when he saw one! Then he heard it again, another screaming skull! He knew he would never make the safety of the tree line with his companions, he had to do something. He turned and thrust out his
bo-tani a
gain, one hand clutching the Flamestone tightly, uttering the Sigil word he hoped would effect a spell to protect him. The screaming blue skull collided into a shield of flames which he had projected from the end of his fighting stick. And the force of the explosion rocked him backward into the dirt.

As he lay on his back, the wind knocked from him and unable to move, he wondered if he was going to die from another of those abysmal skulls, driven to the brink of insanity just before death. He cursed himself bitterly for accepting the first opportunity to escape and allying himself with such an incomprehensibly evil force as Tyrannus and ruefully wondered if he was now about to meet the Bloody Baron in the afterlife...and where in the afterlife that meeting might take place.

He struggled to make himself move and was aware of an awful sensation like pins and needles poking every inch of his body. Out of his peripheral vision he could see the spell caster approaching. The black cowl and black robe were decorated with silvery patterns of stars and moons. He hadn’t noticed any spell casters lurking about when the companions had been apprehended. But then, he assumed, it wasn’t likely that the ancient Hessan would reveal all his cards so easily. As the mage walked slowly closer, Carym saw the disfigured spell caster for what he was,
a binder mage!

Binder mages were known to be some of the most despicable spell casters on Llars. They gained their magical powers by making pacts with demons or spirits of powerful beings long dead; a pact that usually came with a terrible price. Carym could see the price this one paid readily enough for the hand that gripped the magical wand was no hand at all, but a tentacle!

Terror coursed through him and he frantically struggled against the magical paralysis. The Flamestone was still in his hand he realized, and he reached out to the stone with his mind. He used the stone to call the tides of the Flame Sigil and flooded his body with the tidal energies, hoping to push out the effects of the dark magic used upon him.

It worked!

Pain shot through his muscles but he could definitely feel them again. Not wanting to lose the element of surprise, he feigned the effects of paralysis until the powerful binder mage was closer. The man was fooled, and sauntered up to his prize very slowly. An ugly face full of tattoos and piercings leered down at him and foul breath wafted through the cold air and into his nose.

He fought back a wave of nausea and prepared himself for the tricky procedure of calling a Sigilspell with nothing but the force of his will, he could use no command words lest he give his opponent the chance to interrupt his Sigilspell. Now that he had his desired effect pictured clearly in his mind, along with a clear image of the Sigilword that would command his magic, he gripped the Flamestone tightly in his hand and again the Tides of the Flame Sigil coursed through him. He would have to be quick, for a seasoned warlock would certainly be prepared for surprise attacks.

The tentacle began to caress his face and Carym’s mind began to lose focus. He fought valiantly, but he could now feel another presence at the edge of his mind, intruding. He had to act now before this hideous man used his demonic powers to read his mind and predict his next move.

He focused his mind on the Flamestone and the great power that was held within. He willed the stone to channel the power of the Tides to do his bidding. A pillar of flame erupted from the ground beneath the feet of the binder mage. In seconds the man’s clothes were on fire, then his body was on fire; the screaming began. Finally the man fell down, consumed by the flames and he was gone.

Carym struggled to his feet knowing he would not be alone for long. He heard a woman’s voice shouting for help. Trying to listen over the beating of his own heart, Carym heard it again. It was definitely a woman calling for help. Then he saw the source of the plea for help; that strange girl who had also been a prisoner of Hessan’s had staggered into the courtyard and fell holding her side.

Carym doubted his course of action. Who was this woman? His friends needed him and were likely awaiting his return to the group. Could he take the time to try to rescue her? The sting of shame pierced his conscience and he berated himself. Of course he would! How could he do any less and still be a man? Perhaps these dark thoughts were signs of the Shadow Tide tickling his mind.

He took a deep breath, turned and ran back through the portcullis. The girl was struggling, crawling across the courtyard toward him and freedom.

Then he saw another binder mage, taller and meaner looking than the first, enter the courtyard. This one was wearing brown robes and his flesh seemed to be rotting on his frame, flies buzzing around him; he was armed with a wicked whip. The whip cracked like a thunderbolt and latched onto the girl’s ankle, crackling with magical energy.

Carym called on the powers of the Earth Sigil and conjured powerful magical armor of jet black obsidian. Enhanced by the power of the Tides flowing through him, he covered the ground between them quickly, the binder mage did not know he was even there. When the binder mage finally saw Carym crossing under the portcullis, the man threw a dagger at him. The mage’s blade missed and landed in the ground at Carym’s feet. He kicked the blade away and charged headlong at the binder mage. But something wasn’t right. The Tides had left him. His armor, sustained purely by the power of the Tides, had vanished and the flames enveloping his
bo-tani
staff had been extinguished!

How could this be? He was nearly within reach of the dark man yet now powerless against whatever demon-spawn powers he possessed. The spell caster was chortling, mocking him, and he knew it must be the binder mage’s power that had interrupted the flow of the Tides.

Recalling the tremendous power harnessed within the magical stones, Carym reached out to the Flamestone with his mind and was rewarded with a surge of energy that he knew could only have come from the stone itself. This binder mage, burdened with overconfidence, had assumed his little feat had crippled the man; and it nearly had. Casting a scornful glance at Carym the binder mage turned his attention back to the woman, clearly not believing any further threat existed from the pitiful Sigilist now bereft of access to the Tides.

Carym allowed the power of the stone to reform his armor and
enflame
his weapon, then he quickly covered the open space between himself and the binder mage. Though he was surprised, the spell caster was not unprepared and flicked his finger towards Carym. Sticky strands of spidery webbing appeared in the air and tried to wrap themselves around him but Carym’s magical flames were dancing across the plates of his armor and the webs simply vaporized.

With a sneer, and a sweeping gesture of his hand, the spell caster now advanced upon Carym with a magical blade of his own. Carym rushed towards the binder mage, his fighting sticks aflame. The force of his sticks striking the spell caster’s blade erupted in a shower of sparks. He was surprised by the unnatural strength of the man and his stomach twisted at the sight of his ghastly visage, a testament to the price the man had paid to gain his powers. With a sickly grin, the man hissed at Carym and spittle flew from his mouth. The spell caster laughed as the vile liquid struck the exposed flesh of Carym’s hand, sizzling as it burned away his flesh. Cursing in pain, Carym struck out with his
bo-tani
as hard as he could, seizing the momentum from the gloating binder mage. Luckier than he dared believe, Carym delivered a solid blow to the man’s skull. The binder mage fell to the ground dazed, but not dead.

Carym took the opportunity to look around and was satisfied there were no other attackers nearby. What did these binder mages want so badly with this poor woman? Carym felt a stab of pain in his shin and dropped to one knee. The binder mage, still conscious, had latched his claw-like hand onto Carym’s shin, inflicting a searing magical pain. He struck the weakened warlock in the head again, amazed that the spell caster had let go but was still conscious, growling obscenities.

Carym staggered back and away from the dazed man, intending to finish him off. This man was a product of dark magic, he could not let him live. Carym became aware of the black stone in his pocket, he reached in and gripped it tightly.
Why not use the Shadow to battle the Shadow? Surely there could be no harm in that.
He felt his strength returning and the soothing effects of the Shadow Tides as they flowed into him and healed the minor wounds on his leg.