The Tomb of the Dark Paladin (37 page)

"He'd not want it any other way," Ederick whispered.

More than once, Carym thought he had found the opening to the Tomb of the Dark Paladin. Each time he reached what he thought was the elusive opening, he found that he was in fact someplace else. The biting wind was making him so cold that he found it hard to concentrate. He took out his fighting sticks and cast an 
enflame
 spell upon them to warm his hands. In frustration, he slammed one of his sticks into the rock wall causing a small fracture in the stone surface. He stood there a moment, breathing hard, his body fighting to stay warm. Then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and whirled to face whomever had crept upon him.

But no one was there. 

He swung his sticks in distinct attack patterns to be sure, but met only thin air. Then the wind howled ominously through the rocks and carried the sound of laughter followed by howls of pain. He shook his head ruefully. It seemed he was heading for a meeting with dark spirits and he hoped his magic would be enough to protect him. 

He trudged onward, continuing his search for the tomb. His sense of time seemed numbed, he had no idea if he had been walking for minutes or hours. He stopped at a place in the trail where it seemed he could go no farther without scaling the face of a large bluff. He was frustrated and beginning to panic. He had to find the tomb! He could still hear the shrieks of the wasp dragons; one of them was bound to spot him soon.

Leaning back against the wall of the cliff to rest, he felt depression creep into his spirit. He was weary and his body wanted to rest, but his mind screamed at him not to. He felt around the wall with his hands, the rock was so cold it stung just to touch it. He forced himself to continue following the shape of an indent with his hand. It was a large circular shape about head-high, clearly made by mortal hands and not by the harsh wind and rain, its shape was too perfect. 

He explored the shape more, feeling about the center with his hands and discovered another depression. This one was vaguely hand shaped. He placed his hand in the circle and the depression suddenly became a door. This door did not open on hinges, but rather the door rolled silently to the side and into the wall in response to his touch. His mind urged him to be cautious, not to rush into the dark opening without observing it from the outside and checking it for traps. But the cold, shrill, wind was beginning to wear on his nerves and he lurched unsteadily through the opening.

He slumped immediately to the floor and rested. He was so cold that the air in the tunnel felt hot, though he knew that could not be the case. He decided to let his body temperature regulate to the tunnel, let his skin forget all about the abrasive, howling wind. After a few moments, he felt better and stood, looking for a way to secure the door but found nothing.

He cast a 
light 
spell and a tiny ball of flame appeared in the air before him, floating gently down the passage. As the wind and the howling receded behind him, he felt bolder, more determined. When he could no longer hear any more of the howling wind he stopped, listening. Something brushed by his ear, like the faint breath of a lover's whisper, and he nearly came out of his skin. He whirled with his sticks out, but nothing was there. He wished Hala had come with him. He would welcome the calm and quiet presence of the tough woman. Alas, the princess told him that only one person may enter at a time, lest a deadly curse befall any who defied that warning.

He gritted his teeth and continued down the passage, hoping desperately that he hadn't fallen upon a false tunnel. The fate of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders, and the fate of his dear friends weighed on his mind. He blew out breath he didn't know he had been holding and forced himself to concentrate, to be ready for anything that might happen.

Then the leering visage of a vaporous skull appeared in the air, piercing his soul with a powerful ear-splitting shriek. The sudden appearance nearly frightened the wits from his head, and the sound nearly forced him to his knees. But he lashed out with his right fighting stick and stuck the skull in hard swing. His hand registered the sensation of striking a solid object, but the skull dissipated into the air as though it had never been. 

He was breathing hard, his heart was racing, and he felt as though the hairs on his body were all standing up. He got a grip on himself and took a step forward. Cautiously, he continued along in the dim light, following the tunnel. The walls and the air were damp, he could see his breath in the dim light. His boots echoed loudly as walked; he felt as though the whole world could hear him but hoped nothing did. There was nowhere to go should he encounter something more substantial, something that fought back. Except backward. Would that door open for him or would he be locked in the mountain with no hope of escape? 

And what else was lying in wait ahead of him? The passageway left only a few inches around and above him, thus far there had been nowhere for him to hide or take cover along the way. He walked farther, his heart pounding, when he saw a door ahead and hesitated.

I can go back. Maybe I should. If there is anything in there, it surely knows I am here. It may as well have sent me an invitation!
 But Carym knew what must be done. 
I have to go on.

Carym placed his hand on the door and it opened silently. Inside he could see what appeared to be two skeletons in armor seated at a table. He cautiously entered and looked around. There was a large circle marked on the floor next to the table and little else. The door slammed shut behind Carym, the boom reverberated in the small room. He spun around, weapons out, ready to face whatever attacker might be there. There was nothing but the sound of his own heavy breathing breaking the silence.

He silently cursed the door, hoping there would be another way out once he found the Everpool. There had been no time to question Hala or her father about how to find the Everpool once he was inside the tomb. Now he knew he was definitely in a tomb. He turned back to investigate the deceased soldiers and looked more closely at the designs on their armor. It appeared to be made of gleaming obsidian and bore the mark of the ancient Zuharim. The swords strapped to their sides were also of the same material and design. The armor was richly adorned with gold and silver and jewels and the Zuharim coat of arms was emblazoned on their obsidian breastplates. He wondered if the armor had special properties, he had an urge to touch it. 

Other questions formed in his mind. It seemed odd that they should die seated at a table in an empty room. Why here? Surely neither of these men were the Dark Paladin. There was nothing special about this room and there was no pool of gleaming water. With no other clues in the room, he decided the mystery of these dead men would remain with them. He walked about the room, examining the walls. The walls had been shaped to resemble blocks of stone, it seemed that the room had been designed to look like the inside of an empty building. There were no windows, no doors, no openings. No decoration or art. Nothing. 

And then a stone beneath his feet sank a few inches, causing him to stumble and fall. When the dust cleared, Carym was lying amidst a heap of bones, armor and a broken table. He picked himself up, half expecting the skeletons to rise up and try to kill him. It was clear, however, that these heaps of bones and armor were not going to do anything of the sort. He brushed off the dust and tried to straighten the dead bodies, but realized the task was futile. He whispered a prayer to Zuhr asking for forgiveness for disturbing the dead and was shocked at how loud his whisper seemed against the silence of the room

As he straightened up and dusted himself off, he saw that there were three bolts of steel, not unlike crossbow bolts, protruding from the stone door through which he had entered. He looked over his shoulder to the opposite wall and saw three tiny openings. He glanced at the floor and knew that the loose stone he stepped on had triggered that trap. He had been standing in the line of fire and if he hadn't fallen, he might well have been killed. Being careful not to step on any more loose stones, Carym made his way across the chamber towards the circle in the stone floor. He stepped into the circle and heard a noise. The circular shape on the floor erupted in white light and for a moment he felt trapped. 

Then the floor dropped out from under him.

Carym's stomach was in his throat, blocking his voice, for which he was grateful. Had he been in control of himself he was certain he would have been screaming his fool head off. Fearful he was on the fast track to the afterlife, he frantically tried to grab onto something with his free hand, but there was nothing to grab. Just as suddenly as it began, his descent halted and he hung suspended in the air scant inches above another circle in another stone floor. His heart was once again trying to escape from his chest and his lungs were burning as he labored to catch his breath.

Awkwardly, he righted himself and his feet settled gently to the floor. He was in large rectangular room lined on each side by a row of giant columns. At the far end of the room was an altar made of obsidian with an armored skeleton lying atop.

Is this the Dark Paladin's tomb?
 he asked himself.

His shoulder erupted in pain and he cursed. There was a dart protruding from his shoulder. Angrily he pulled it free and cast it down. His sticks before him, he looked for the source of the trap and faced an armored soldier. This was a soldier long dead. Leathery skin made its face seem even more hideous, and when it laughed it boomed in Carym's ears. Another bolt fired from the crossbow but Carym used his magic and vaporized it in a ball of flame before it reached him. Then he charged the creature. It ended quickly, the ancient skeleton had been unable to withstand two blows from his fighting sticks before falling to pieces.

He turned his attention to the altar again and was about to continue when two more skeletal warriors appeared. He disposed of them with ease and strode confidently toward the altar. Then his
light
spell extinguished and he wasn't so confident anymore. He heard screams erupting all around him; in the darkness one voice screeched next to his ear. The power of the multitude of shrieking voices overwhelmed him and threatened to steal his sanity. Ghastly visages appeared here and vanished, only to reappear there, assailing him with their terrible wailing. He covered his ears and fell to his knees, fighting hard to push the sounds from his mind. Then something shoved him and he fell to the floor, prone. The bitter cold of the stone floor shocked his mind. Everything, even the shrieking ghosts, were pushed out. His survival instinct kicked in then, and he forced himself to latch onto the Tides. He let his mind free from his body and the power of his magic soothed his mind and comforted him. Now, he could see the chamber through the magical prism of the Tidal forces all about him. In the myriad of colors he saw that there were six more of the skeletal warriors. Rather than fight them all, he decided that he would end their existence with magic. He focused his sight on the silvery currents that flowed strongly about each of the ghastly creatures, knowing that only the power of the Spirit Sigil would help him break the tether that connected them between world of the living and the dead. He weaved threads of magical currents of both the Spirit and the Flames into each of the six at once. Then he cast the spell that caused the skeletal warriors to burst into flames of silver and red. In seconds, each had been reduced to a pile of ashes.

Back on his feet, he walked between the columns again using his enhanced 
sight
 to navigate rather than his 
light
 spell. There were more of the skeletal warriors in this chamber but they seemed inanimate, as though waiting for a command to attack. He wondered if these were the spirits of the soldiers who fought for the man who once dared to become a god. Finally, he reached foot of the altar. The vaporous form of a beautiful, voluptuous woman appeared before him. She was Elvish, her raven tresses spilled down her shoulders to cover an ample bosom. She was amazing. Her smile was dazzling and her eyes were so blue that it almost hurt him to look at them. Dimly he remembered the beautiful siren in Dockyard City who had preyed upon his weakness. It was the memory of her face, leaning in to kiss him, that snapped him out of a nearly fatal move. He backed away quickly and raised his sticks protectively. The beautiful woman's face changed from a sultry smile to that of a vicious monster, hissing and spitting like a viper. She lunged at him, shrieking loudly, singing a hideous song. The terrible noise hurt his head so badly he stumbled as he backed away, swinging his fighting sticks defensively. The deadly woman advanced, long dagger-like claws extended and ready to shred. Still she continued to sing her woeful melody and Carym finally had enough wits to blast her with a ball of flame. The spell didn't harm the woman but it did stun her enough to stop her deadly shrieks. Carym used that pause in the madness to attack. He pummeled the hideous thing with his sticks before she could renew her deadly song and she wailed in pain. Each shriek that the evil creature bellowed was like being stabbed in the head with a fiery dagger, but was far better on his wits than her horrible song. But Carym was relentless and would not stop until the thing stopped moving. Once it did, he stepped away and burned it to ashes with the fires of both the Spirit Sigil and the Flame.