The Black Keep (The Chronicles of Llars) (41 page)

“And why should a bishop so honor me with his ear?” sneered Ederick.

“Because, Sir Knight, he did so for me!” the man said, earnestly. His eyes told the truth of his words, and the emotion in his voice touched him. Ederick lowered his blade.

“You were Zuharim?” he asked, still somewhat suspicious.

“Indeed. I was a field lieutenant of the Myrnwell Sword Company. I too fought in Al Zocar, Commander. I lost part of my foot to an axe blade in battle,” the officer tapped his foot with his weapon, the dull thud of a wooden foot verifying the truth of his words. “I returned to my homeland to continue serving the Great Lord Zuhr, only to find an arrest party awaiting all of us invalids at the pier. We were treated kindly and with respect. The Bishop granted us clemency and transferred our service into the newly formed Hand of Zuhr. Due to my station as a knight of the Zuharim, and my loyal service, I was commissioned as an officer in the Sword of Zuhr, the elite knighthood of our new order.

“Much has happened among the Zuharim while you were away, Commander. Please, if you give your word to come with us peacefully you may keep your weapon.”

Sir Ederick judged the man and found his words seemed true. Warily, the knight did as he was asked and sheathed his sword. Realistically, he had no choice. He was outnumbered and any fight would surely result in his own death and likely the deaths of others who need not die. Although he was mentally prepared for it and his nerves were like coiled springs waiting to be sprung, the attack did not come. This man was true to his word and the group escorted the knight toward the Cathedral, where the Bishop resided. Lieutenant Kindreck tried vainly to engage the knight in conversation about Al Zocar as they walked, but Ederick would not speak. All the horrid rumors about the plight of his order had come true. People had begun to step out from doors to see the man escorted by the Hand and Sword of Zuhr. A few taunted and jeered at him, but most watched in silence.

And now he would be faced with renouncing his claim to the title he had earned with his blood and faith. Would the Bishop truly reinstate him? Would he formally charge the knight with heresy and seize his lands? What of his mission for reinforcements? For his mission to help Carym toward the goal of reaching the Tomb of the Dark Paladin before the forces of Umber?

When the officer realized that Ederick was not going to engage him in conversation, he told the knight he would respect the elder veteran’s wishes and left him to his thoughts. Ederick silently prayed to Zuhr for guidance. He was in a terrible dilemma. It was a crossroads that fate had been steering him toward since he found his companions near the haunted lands of Baron Tyrannus. Was this all Zuhr’s plan? Would he be forced to renounce his Order? Would he relay the message he was charged with carrying, recruit soldiers, and return to Al Zocar? Or carry on with his quest to reach the Tomb of the Dark Paladin, and forsake his comrades in Al Zocar?

He shook his head sadly and resigned himself to let the situation play itself out. He prayed to Zuhr to guide his actions, and to aid in whatever way would most benefit his mighty God. He was so overwhelmed by his choices that he could think of little else. Zuhr would have to find a way to help him out of this; he could no longer help himself.

Carym had been awed by the sheer magnificence of the palace at Ckayer Obyn, the capital of the nation of Myrnwell. It was every bit as awe inspiring as the Temple of Zuhr he visited earlier. The palace was immense. It was bright with intricate murals along the walls. The streets within the palace walls were made from richly polished stones of marble, and men walked to and fro sweeping and cleaning the streets. The towers of the Royal Palace soared so high Carym became dizzy looking up at the top of the largest tower he had ever seen. It was green and bright and reminded Carym distinctly of the amazing buildings of the Underllars, yet this one was not made of emeralds.

“This is the Tower of Mysts, Carym. It houses the knowledge of our ancient order, the Circle of Mysts, it does. It has been sealed and locked for centuries, its knowledge protected until the time that Zuhr released the Tides back into the world,” Bart said in awe. Then he grinned and looked at Carym, “That time has come at last, so it has!” Carym hadn’t seen the man this happy since before the kidnapping of Kharrihan.

The four walked up to the entrance of the palace of the Rhi, a further demonstration of the immense wealth of this seafaring power of the northern lands. After stopping at several points to register with palace guards and to surrender their weapons, the foursome was escorted to the royal audience chambers.

“I have not seen my cousin in years. It will be good to see him again.”

“What of Ederick?” asked Hala.

“I will appeal to my cousin on his behalf, princess. I am sure we can secure his release.”

Carym wasn’t so sure. He had learned a little more of the ways of the Hand. If Ederick had been found guilty of conspiring with darkness, nothing could be done to save him.

“Now presenting: Royal Accepted Master Bard of the Noble Order of the Isle of Ayre, Commander-General of the Isle of Ayre, Earl of the Dominions of the Blight and the Isle of Sanx; His Royal Highness, Barthal Horace Alec O’Donnyl V, Crown Rhi of Ayre!”

Carym felt numb inside. Things were beginning to spin out of control and his nerves were beginning to fray. Zach betrayed his trust and fled when he was needed most; Ederick arrested and to be tried as a common criminal; Gennevera giving herself to Zuhr and joining a missionary order; Kharrihan was enduring God knows what torment at the hands of Hessan the Headless Rider; Bart, a prince in his homeland of Ayre; and here he must beg a monarch for help.

The companions were ushered into the courtroom of His Majesty Delfyd Rhi, monarch of Myrnwell.

“OUT!” shouted the Rhi to his attendants and courtiers. Sensing the displeasure of their monarch the room rapidly emptied as Delfyd stalked over to his cousin and planted the tip of a sword at his throat.

Carym’s stomach twisted as he mentally reached out to the stones calling the Tides to him, preparing a spell of that would arm him with a supernatural sword of flames and armor of stone. Carym glanced at Hala and saw that her fingernails had subtly extended into razor sharp daggers.

“How dare you!” shouted Delfyd at his cousin, who stood remarkably still. “How dare you show your face here!”

At that moment Carym drew the Sigil shape in the air, which caused the spell to take effect and uttered the command word in the language of the Sigils. The marble of the floor seemed to liquefy beneath the Carym’s feet, swirling up his legs and over his entire body and wrapping him in plates of stone. He held his hand out and a blade of flames surged outward.

The men-at-arms in the room were so shocked by the sudden confrontation, and subsequent display of magic, that they faltered a brief moment before acting. A moment that Carym needed to put the monarch of Myrnwell at the point of his own blade, the smell of slightly burning flesh pervaded the air. Hala used her innate native magic and shape-shifted; her skin sprouted a glistening sheen of fur while her hands now looked like the paws of a jaguar. Her catlike pupils glistened with a fiery intensity and her teeth became fangs. She sprang before the advancing men-at-arms, hissing, slashing her dagger-like claws before them.

“Yield!” said Carym. The Rhi of Myrnwell slowly lowered his blade and Bart exhaled slowly. “Tell your men-at-arms to stand down.” The flames tickling monarch’s chin convinced him to comply. He nodded to his men.

“Leave us!” he commanded his men. “Leave us now. I will be well enough with my
cousin
.”

The commander of the guard reluctantly nodded, and ordered his men to exit the chamber.

Now alone, Hala shifted back to her human shape. Carym stepped away but did not dispel his magical armor.

“Why the hostile reception,
cousin
?” asked Bart with anger.

“You dare to bring a foul, death dealing knight of the Zuharim into
my
country?” exclaimed his cousin. The Rhi was a fair skinned man with auburn hair, but his physique suggested that he was in very good shape and his poise demonstrated that he knew how to fight.

“Sir Ederick is an honorable man! He has commanded legions in the fight for Al Zocar. He has dedicated himself to a life of righteousness and goodness. Were it not for his aid, we would be dead many times over. How can you suggest otherwise?”

“Be easy, Carym. My cousin was just about to explain...wasn’t he?”

“Aye,” said Delfyd as he sheathed his knife. The monarch seemed to truly notice Carym for the first time, his blue eyes bulging at the display of magic. “What manner of dark magic is this?” he breathed.

“It is no dark magic, cousin!” said Bart. “He is the One, so he is. The One who brings the Return of the Sigils!”

“No, it is impossible,” argued the Rhi.

“Believe it, cousin. You and I are part of the Circle of Mysts, so we are. You know the secret prophecies. It was written and it has come to pass. He is here.”

“No,” said Delfyd.

“What is wrong with you, Delfyd?” demanded Bart.

Delfy didn’t answer right away. Then he nodded to Gennevera. “Please, my lady. Open that door and ask Captain Harold to enter.”

Bart nodded his ascent and Gennevera did as she was asked. The Captain of the guard entered the room with scathing glances at the gathered companions.

“Where is the Zuharim knight, Captain?”

“A prisoner of the Hand, Your Majesty.”

The Rhi breathed a sigh of relief, and dropped his head. “It is not too late then.”

“Too late for what, Delfyd?” demanded Bart.

“Fetch the bishop and the knight!”

The captain snapped to attention, saluted, then he conducted a perfect about face and exited the chamber.

“What have you done, Delfyd?” demanded the bard again. The Rhi gave him a weary look then walked away from his cousin. “Is he to face judgment?”

“I didn’t know who he was, cousin,” said the monarch. “I thought he was another one of those wretches back from the wars.”

“What sort of judgment?” asked Carym. The Rhi looked back at Carym in awe. It was then that Carym noticed how young the monarch was. Certainly he was no more than twenty three or twenty four years old. Bart was clearly the elder possibly thirty and had been someone the younger Rhi looked up to.

“He was to be tried by Bishop Rohan. The bishop decides whether the man is truly a member of the evil sect of necromancers or one of those truly dedicated to Zuhr.”

“And then?” asked Carym.

The monarch continued wearily. “If he is found guilty, he will be punished. If he is innocent he will be allowed to join the Hand.” Delfyd turned and walked towards a small antechamber, beckoning the others to follow with a curt wave of his hand.

The companions filed into the chamber and saw that there was a table lavishly set with food and drink. Delfyd sat down at his place at the head of the table and motioned for the others to follow. Carym was struck by the chaotic nature of the man’s personality. In the span of moments, he went from blind rage to...bored.

“Please, eat. It will be some time before the Bishop and your knight arrive,” Delfyd said despondently. Though Carym did not miss the venom in his voice when he said the word “knight.”

“Cousin, what has happened to you? Why do you treat us so poorly? We have urgent news and urgent business to the north. We cannot delay,” said the Bard urgently.

“Yes, Barthal. Yes, I know. Forgive me. Something terrible has happened to me, sometimes I forget myself. Eat, then we attend the trial. Though it sickens me, I shall order the Bishop to treat your friend fairly.”

“Your Majesty,” began Carym. “Our mission-”

“Enough!” shouted the Rhi. “I know of it. I know about you, Carym. I know about the Princess Hala, I know about
good
Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, I know about your Keneerie
thing
. Your Crimson Elf friend came to me demanding my assistance and my troops.

“A promise was given. A promise will be honored. I do not like it, but I will honor it. I care for neither elves nor Zuharim, for they are the reason I am cursed.” Delfyd cast a baleful look at Gennevera.

“What curse, Delfyd? What happened?”