The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (35 page)

As he prepared to unleash a powerful spell, a surge in the Earth Tide nearby distracted his attention. It was Princess Hala, and she was bathed in the Tide as she changed into the likeness of a great jaguar. The princess leapt to the ground from her place high in the boughs of an oak and bounded into a charging rider.

So that’s where their power comes from!

C
arym opened his eyes to see the hurkin fall to the ground clutching a gaping hole in his throat, futilely trying to stop the blood. Its mount, keenly aware of the penalty for failing its true master, Hessan, charged at Carym. He sidestepped and slammed his
enflamed bo-tani
into the creature’s flank, but the blow rang on an armor plate doing little damage.

The
werote
kicked savagely with its back leg, sending Carym into a pile of tangled shrubs and out of the fight. He caused a surge of flame to burn away the shrubs and leaped to his feet, ready to fight some more. Using the power of the Earth Sigil, he focused on the metal armor protecting the beast’s flank and caused it to heat. The
werote
was distracted enough by the pain that Carym was able to land a devastating blow to a gap in the armor covering its throat. The beast fell down on its side, gasping and gurgling for air against its crushed windpipe.

Carym rolled to the side as another mounted rider charged in and the fiery tongue of a whip grappled his arm. Stinging spikes penetrated his skin and caused his arm to go numb. He looked around wildly, seeing each member of the group now involved in the pitched fight. No help was available.

With both hands he grabbed the whip and willed the power of the Earth to make him stronger, something he had not before done. He was amazed as he felt his muscles bunching and surging with power. He yanked hard on the whip and pulled it free from the grinning fighter who simply pulled another from his belt and began striking at Carym’s face. When one of the attacks opened a gash on Carym’s head, anger filled him. He reached for the full power of the Fire Sigil and hurled a fireball at the beast and rider, engulfing them in flames. Or so he thought.

The creature emerged from the flames, chortling wickedly. Furiously Carym charged the mounted warrior and leaped up, intending to topple the man from his mount. His enhanced strength allowed him to leap much farther and higher than he normally would have and in a split second he found himself on the ground, grappling with a stunned fighter. Rage filled him and he allowed it to consume his mind as he pummeled the fighter’s face. Soon there was little enough left of the warrior to even tell it was human.

A sudden sharp sting in his left shoulder snapped him away from the pulp that was now his victim. He rolled to his side and away from the pain, but it was too late. Another mounted warrior had his whip firmly wrapped around Carym’s upper arm and shoulder, biting deeply into his flesh. The wicked pain was making Carym lose control of his thoughts, of his mind. He was fast becoming a thing of anger, pure rage. Instinctively he opened himself up to the Tides, began to absorb more and more of them into his body; had he been in his right mind he would never have allowed himself to absorb so much power. But he was having trouble focusing on the rational, and as such he couldn’t account for how using any of the Shadow Tide at all was a bad idea.

All the anger, all the pain, started to feel good. Even as the mounted fighter slowly pulled the seemingly numb victim closer, Carym was thinking about how to kill him. He opened his eyes grinning at his captor, delighting in his puzzlement. Dimly he was aware that fighting still carried on around him, but he didn’t care. He laughed at the fear in the eyes of his foe as his body now stretched and grew unnaturally large, unnaturally powerful. Somehow he knew he now stood taller by at least half of his height, and wider too with bulging muscles, the braided whip snapped easily as he flexed his bicep.

The fighter turned his
werote
and began to flee back through the snow covered woods towards his comrades. Carym ran hard, his feet sinking into the ground under his dense muscle weight with each foot fall. In seconds he was behind the fleeing rider, in another second he was leaping through the air. His giant arms latched onto the hind quarters of the beast, his great weight dragging it to the ground with a yelp. The rider sensed what was happening and jumped free as Carym wrestled the giant canine, wrapping his great arms around its thick neck. With a crack that sounded like a great tree snapping, Carym snapped its neck, and it fell still. He rolled to his feet and spotted the fleeing fighter. With a few great strides he overcame the man and crushed him to the ground too. There was little struggle as Carym smashed the fighter’s head and ripped it from his body with a great snap and spray of blood.

He sat there breathing heavily, a beast of pure animal rage, and glanced around the battlefield. A fiery surge of ecstasy washed over him and he felt more alive than he had ever felt before. His vision had sharpened and he spotted his friends, they were ok. There were a number of dead fighters and
werotes
scattered about the wood, but more riders were coming. Kharrihan and Bart were teamed up against one mounted warrior and seemed to have him in order while Sir Ederick and another large fighter fought a nasty bout. Genn was at the edge of the battlefield, safe and waiting for an opening with her bow while Hala was in beast form leaping around from tree to tree and swooping down on unsuspecting enemies. There must have been over a dozen of them.

Rational thought began to seep back into Carym’s mind and he realized that there could easily be more of these patrols nearby. Or worse, an entire company of infantry. A surge of anger shot through him and he felt his rational thought slipping away again. He must not let his friends come to harm. The great lumbering giant that he had become bounded across the woods to the aid of his friends. He was knocked off his feet.

He rolled to his feet with a stinking, burning, hole in his left shoulder. Then he saw what attacked him: a wizard. No ordinary wizard, but another of Hessan’s binder mages. He let out a deep growl and allowed the Tides to continue to surge through him, enhancing his strength. He bounded toward the mage. The binder mage, wand held before him, prepared to blast another hole in Carym’s body. Without thinking Carym called up a shield of energy, black shadowy energy, and the next bolt of lightning from the binder mage’s wand dissolved into his magical shield. He laughed triumphantly; why shouldn’t he relish in the power?
It worked, didn’t it?

Feeling the call of the Tide of Shadows more strongly now, Carym called on it again and fired his own bolt of energy at the mage. This was one of dark Shadow-wrought power straight from the Planes of Darkness. The magical bolt pierced the protections the powerful sorcerer had weaved and entered his chest, exiting his body through his back. Within a second the man had fallen to his knees and slumped over onto his face dead. A wisp of smoke exited his body and drifted upwards.

Carym grabbed the mage’s wand and tucked it into what was left of his clothing, then turned to see if anyone else needed help. Hearing a commotion, he saw Bart pointing and shouting at a fleeing
werote
, bolts of energy trailing through the air after it but sailing wide and striking a tree. Carym bounded across the scene and saw that the creature was carrying his friend Kharrihan slumped across the
werote’s
rump. The elf appeared to be unconscious or dead; he couldn’t tell. As his rational mind returned, he realized that the elf must be alive else the hurkin would not have gone through the trouble carrying him off.

An explosion rocked the area as another bolt of energy sailed from Bart’s outstretched hand toward the fleeing
werote
, but it missed, scorching a nearby tree. Carym felt a surge of fear for his friend and tried to chase down the monster, but he could not; his strength was leaving him.

“No!” he shouted. “Not now!”

Pain wracked his body and he choked back sobs of rage, his muscles stiffening and contracting. Slowly, painfully, his body returned to normal size and he collapsed on the ground, sinking into unconsciousness.

As Carym fell to the ground, Bart stopped his futile pursuit dropping to his knees as the
werote
disappeared. He could not hope to catch the fleeing creature on foot. His longtime friend and adventuring partner was gone. He sank to his knees on the ground, out of breath, out of energy. Ederick approached him and knelt beside the bard.

“No!” Bart said with a strangled cry. “My friend!”

Carym could say nothing. His friend needed him most and he was too weak to fight. Desperate to help he tried to call the Shadow Tide, but it failed him. The other Tides were there, but they weren’t as strong as the Shadow. He could almost taste it, but he was so very weak.

“Kharr,” he growled. That battle had finished and the riders had been beaten by Carym and his companions but the cost was great.

“What could they want with him?” he demanded, choking back a sob.

“Hostage,” growled Ederick as he approached the group. “That was the last survivor his patrol. The hostage was the only way he could report to his superiors alone.”

“A shame he escaped. A greater shame he escaped with a hostage,” said Hala. No one spoke as the reality of what was about to befall their friend sank in. He was being taken to the hands of one of the most despicable, evil, dastardly beings known to Llars. “Hessan will send greater numbers next time.”

Carym stumbled to his feet. “I’m going after him.”

Ederick looked at him curiously.

“No!” said Gennevera. “They will expect us to come after him. You can’t!” Carym saw the pleading look in her eyes and faltered.

“We can’t leave him!” tears streamed down his face unchecked. “I can’t leave him!”

The group was silent for a moment. Gennevera put her arms around Carym but he pulled away, too ashamed to allow himself any measure of comfort.

“We cannot go after him,” croaked Bart, shaking his head. “We cannot deviate from our cause.”

“Aye,” agreed the knight, his voice deep with regret. “We can only assume that they will question Kharrihan. He will hold, to be sure. But, for how long? Once our plans and route are compromised, it will not be long before we are overtaken.”

“Should we be foolish enough to follow now, we would be ambushed and captured; your entire mission would be for naught.”

Carym knew the reasoning was sound. How could the five of them battle the numbers in the enemy’s camp? Still, he couldn’t accept it. He was overpowered with guilt and remorse. Was there nothing he could do right? Would he ever stop hurting others?

“It is the price of such a monumental quest,” said Gennevera as she tended to Carym, reading the anguish in his eyes. She had become more and more withdrawn, clinging to Carym more and more; involving herself less in making decisions.

Genn wiped Carym’s head with a snow-dampened cloth. Now that his clothes were in tatters, he risked freezing in the cold wintery weather. “I’ll get him some clothes from one of these dead fighters,” offered the knight. Gennevera said nothing, just kept tending to Carym, mumbling under her breath.

Ederick wondered how long it would be before he must step in and take charge of the group. Zuhr had sent him here for a reason, of that he was certain.
What could come of this growing relationship between Carym and Gennevera? How could Carym be trusted to make good, unbiased, decisions now?
He shook his head as he disrobed a corpse that was near Carym’s size. After delivering a set of trousers, a shirt, and some fine hurkin leather armor, Ederick and Hala set about searching the bodies of the dead. Little of value was found. Bart remembered something and took out his staff. With a soft chant as he traced a few distinct patterns in the air, Bart began to walk among the bodies of the dead searching for something.

“What is it, Bart?” asked Ederick.

“One of these fighters withstood a fireball with naught but a laugh,” he said. “Should have turned the man and his beast into a pile of ash, it should have. Why do you think that is?”

“Enchanted armor?” asked the knight.

“Yes. Or, at the very least,
empowered
with Sigil magic.” answered the bard.

The bard had replaced his concealed rapiers within his staff. He whispered a word and traced a Sigil in the air, one Carym didn’t recognize. The tip of the bard’s staff cast a soft beam of light illuminating whatever the bard pointed it to. He walked among the corpses looking at each, but not stopping. Carym was sheepishly changing his clothes but his groggy mind was very much aware of the scrutiny the knight was casting on the bard and why. He recalled the bard casting some very powerful spells that could only have been from the power of the Sigils.