The Tomb of the Dark Paladin (8 page)

The illusory image of the wizard disappeared, destroyed by the bard' staff. There was some activity near the wagons on the far side of the courtyard, yet Bart could not make out details between the blinding flashes and thunderclaps brought on by his own spell. Bishop Rohan had been dragged to the safety of a stone archway by some of his men-at-arms; he looked about in complete confusion. Bart hoped the bewitchment had been broken, but he didn't want to stay long enough to find out. Too weak to draw any more of the Tides into him, he gripped his staff tightly and drew out the small cache of magical power he had stored within it; it was last spell that his fading strength would allow. He concentrated the power and focused it one a point in the air behind him, and ripped open a hole in the very fabric of energy that surrounded Llars. A bright swirling light appeared behind him and he felt the force of strong winds buffeting him. He grabbed the knight's coat, dragging him backward and into the opening, as the confusion about him diminished and the thunder and lightning abated. Bart searched the courtyard vainly for some sign that the hurkin's spell had been broken, then the portal closed and he left the Tower of the Hand far behind.

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The ride back to the Tower was long and colder after night fell. Carym thought about all the lives lost while he continued his quest for the Everpool and the Tomb of the Dark Paladin. While his respite in Myrnwell had been fairly pleasant, he had to acknowledge that it was just a respite. Soon the journey would begin again and men would begin to die once more for Carym of Hyrum. A cool breeze sent a shiver down his spine. Gennevera gripped him tightly from behind.

Carym's horse ambled along the muddy road that meandered through a small community known simply as Tower City. Tower City was a community that had always existed near the Tower, more a castle with a great spire, but had grown exponentially along with the growth of the Hand of Zuhr. As men flocked to the new standard that would fly atop the lances of the knights and men-at-arms devoted to Zuhr, the trades that would support them came too. The town's population grew with the influx of makers of arms and armor, makers of siege weapons, dealers of cavalry mounts, carpenters who built barracks for troops, tailors and seamstresses, makers of bows and crossbows and arrows and traders of all kinds. The town was not as big as Obyn, but it was an impressive place.

Tower City was a very safe place, patrolled solely by the forces of the Hand. The troops of the Rhi of Myrnwell busied themselves elsewhere, knowing they were not needed. There were criminals in Tower City, naturally, but the overwhelming presence of the Hand of Zuhr and their swift dispensation of justice had been able to curb all but the most petty of criminals. Tower City lacked the organized gangs and crime families that plagued most large cities. 

Carym and Genn arrived at the gates of the Tower and wearily dropped from their horse. There were no guards visible on the parapet; no one stood watch at the closed gate. There was a commotion of some sort going on inside but Carym could not hear well enough beyond the thick outer walls of the Tower. Genn looked at him questioningly, but he remained silent.

He closed his eyes and opened himself up to the Tides, and as he did so he was overwhelmed by the collective forces of all the Tides at once. It was as though the Tides had come alive and were trying to strangle him. After a panic-ridden moment, the sensation passed and he was left with one that he had become all too familiar with. The dread of the Shadow Sigil lingered still, it wrenched his gut and made him want to flee.

He knew that this was the effect of the tremendous power of the Sigilstones. Each was connected to the Tides of his discipline through a supernatural means which he could not comprehend. But he knew that the more he used the stones, the more the stones tried to control him. The worst among them was the oily black stone that controlled the Shadowtides: the Shadowstone. Its ways were subtle and tempting, and Carym found it was the hardest to defend against.

It was the Shadowstone that was trying to distract him now and he was able to isolate its flow and remove it from his conscious mind. Then he reached out to the Tidal flow that was controlled by the Sigil of Flames and allowed his mind to drift along its winding paths. As he let his mind wander, he felt as though he were traveling down a river made entirely of flames. Varying colors represented the differing eddies and flows of the river and the longer he watched the river flow, the more he felt he understood of its mysterious nature. All along the banks of the river were lights, some were the lights of a torch or campfire while others were of a less obvious purpose. After what seemed an eternity, his saw a torch off to the right. This torch seemed to beckon to him, so he willed himself closer. As he reached out to touch this torch he felt himself being sucked into it, and found himself standing in the courtyard.

It was as though time stood still, every person seemed rooted to the ground and no one recognized that he was there. The atmosphere was eerie, almost dreamlike. Each person he passed seamed to scream out to him incoherently, yet their lips did not move. Was he hearing their thoughts? Was his mind reaching into the lives of each person? He had never done this before, and it seemed a frightening power. What if those in the shadows could do this? What if he could not leave?

The situation in the courtyard was desperate. Knights of the Hand and men-at-arms seemed prepared to charge Ederick and Bart, who were face-to-face with a hurkin wizard. He had not seen Bart in a quite a while, and sensed a new burgeoning power within the man. The Tides swirled and raged about him like an unseen storm of magic ready to unleash its fury.

All of the Hand's men wore feverish expressions, even Bishop Rohan seemed intent upon challenging his friends. In fact, Ederick seemed frozen atop his horse in mid-charge, his arm held high and a war cry upon his lips. What happened? Perhaps the wizard had them under a spell. Hurkin magic did not rely upon the Tides but upon the life forces inherent within the things and people around them. Their spells were based upon an ancient language, one that had a power of its own that could draw out energies and shape them. The study and use of that magic was mysterious and intense, it required years of study to master just its basic tenets.

Curious, he moved nearer to the wizard and thought to take his wand, hoping that perhaps he could at least hinder the magic-wielder. As he moved closer it became harder to walk, it felt like he was trying to walk through chest deep water. Shadows shifted and swirled all around him now, striking out at him angrily though doing him no actual harm. When he reached the wizard's side the shadows became more intense and started to swirl around the hurkin's feet, creeping up his legs. Sparks began to form at the tip of the wand and Carym knew that magical forces were being harnessed and channeled before him, though in a way that was alien to his own knowledge.

He reached out to grab the wand and felt a sudden and oppressive power fall over him. It was as though the eyes of Umber bore down upon him and ground his very will into nothing. His knees weakened, he wanted to retch, but he managed to resist. He sensed the sudden presence of the dark god now and knew that the longer he remained in this state the more likely Umber's grasp could reach him. It seemed as though he were now able to perceive tiny movements of those around him. Was time speeding up? Or was he about to be sent back to reality and the normal flow of time?

He forced himself into a desperate lunge for the wand. As his hand closed around its bony shaft, a powerful and numbing shock ran up the length of his arm. He rubbed his hand and looked at the wizard. He wondered then if the magic-wielder had placed wards of protection about himself, or if this were the inherent nature of the parallel realm in which he now walked. He suspected the latter but what could he do? The wizard's arm had not budged and the energy collecting about the tip threatened to burst forth and overwhelm the mounted knight. 

To his amazement, Carym's own fighting stick appeared in his hand in answer to his mind's call. He raised his staff high and channeled the power of the Tides into the shaft of wood. Then he slammed the butt of his the stick into the horse's flank with all his might while calling out the word in the Sigil language that bent the Tides to his will. As he expected, the power of the Sigils commanded the Tides to do his bidding and a violent explosion occurred a hair's breadth from the horse's side.

The power he had generated with that explosion was enormous, and the force of it sent him flying through the air. Heat seared his lungs and a thunderous boom rattled his skull. He landed hard on the stone ground, his head aching and his eyes blinded by flashes of light. Genn was leaning over him now, talking. After a few seconds her words began to register in his brain.

"... all right? What's going on?"

"I'm fine," he said groggily, getting back to his feet. Thunder cracked and lightning was coming down with abandon inside the walls of the tower. "How long was I gone?"

"Gone?" she said curiously. "Gone where?"

"Gone," he shouted over a boom and pointed to the keep. "Inside there!"

"Carym, you never left!"

Carym shook his head wryly. He had never before experienced the manifestation of Sigil power in that way before. However, he could not afford to dwell on this new intoxicating manifestation of Tidal powers, something terrible was going on in there. He leaped to his feet and held his staff aloft, using it as a focal point to channel power from the Sigilstones in his pocket.

"Carym, what--"

"Ederick is in trouble!" he grumbled. Then with all his might he swung his staff toward the gate and a great read fireball erupted from its tip. The fireball hurtled across the empty space and slammed into the gate in an explosion of flame and molten metal and rock. When the smoke cleared there was nothing but a hole in the wall where the gate had been. Carym rushed through the opening and into the courtyard beyond. Genn followed behind, her cudgel in hand and ready to fight.

But neither of them expected to see what came next. The courtyard was filled with knights and men-at-arms, focused upon a place in the courtyard even as they shielded themselves from bright light and thunder. A shimmering, brilliant, light flared before them all as angry soldiers looked on. Even the bishop seemed curiously intent, his crook aloft in an offensive posture. Then the light closed in upon itself and flickered out. Carym sensed a tremendous amount of Sigil power went with it. His eyes adjusted quickly, but so did the eyes of the gathered men of the Hand. As recognition dawned upon their faces and weapons slowly trained upon them, Carym realized that Ederick and Bart were gone.

Carym held one of his fighting sticks aloft and summoned a fireball made of magical flame. He held the fireball poised in the air above his fighting stick and waited as all in the courtyard seemed to slowly wake as if from a dream. Bows and crossbows began to lower and men sheathed swords, rubbing their eyes or their faces and wondering what happened.

"Carym?" asked the bishop, looking about in a confused fog. "Is that you?"

"Aye," he replied, wary.

Rohan looked around and spied the wagon across the courtyard. His face darkened and for the first time Carym thought he saw fury in the man's visage. Carym recognized the black wagon as belonging to the hurkin wizard that had been fighting with Bart and Ederick. Seeing that the immediate danger was over, Carym trotted after Rohan and caught him near the wagon.

"I'm so sorry, Carym. I don't know how this happened," said Rohan, stopping to look over the black wagon. "I remember the arrival of that wagon, along with a number of villagers who came demanding your arrest. They were being led by that vile hurkin, though his hood had been drawn so low when I first saw him that I had no idea he wasn't human. I remember Ederick's arrival and the hurkin ordered my men to arrest him. Then Bart appeared, quite dramatically, out of the sky and called down thunder and lightning from the heavens!"

Carym listened intently, unsure whether the bishop's mind was fully free of the spell, could he trust the bishop? If Bart could fly and hurl lightning bolts, the bard truly had become a powerful Storm Lord

"The lightning rained down in the courtyard and we were all forced to look away. When it stopped, Barthal and Sir Ederick were gone."

Carym sighed heavily. 

"What will you do, Bishop?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

"What we must, to avoid war. But I fear we may have already started one." The bishop's voice was strained, his expression pained. He looked about the courtyard at the damage and the bodies of the dead Myrnnish folk who had also been under the sway of the hurkin.