Age of Demons
In Search of the Amulet
Book One
David Lawrence
Welcome to Age of Demons. There’s nothing like books to sweep us into exciting new worlds. From my earliest years I found this love, thanks to my parents. I dedicate this book to my parents and all great writers who have enriched our world with their books. Like them, I hope to draw my readers into a world of pleasure, inspiration and enchantment.
Age of Demons: In Search of the Amulet is first in your Age of Demons trilogy. Each book plunges the reader into a captivating world of orcs and demons, dungeons and dragons, conquerors and commoners. It is filled with sages and sorceresses, prophecies and enchanted swords and an ultimate showdown between the forces of good and the powers of evil.
Book One Age of Demons: In Search of the Amulet
Book TwoAge of Demons: In Search of the Sword
Book Three Age of Demons: The Final Siege
In this book:
Talarren, an enigmatic Ranger, humble and heroic, leads an unlikely party to the frozen Highlands to end a reign of terror visited upon its inhabitants by ferocious Norse pirates. But he has a deeper reason, to search for the fabled Amulet of Power, said to be a final bastion of hope against the Age of Demons now threatening the world.
Copyright © 2018 David Lawrence
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright laws and Treaties. Any unauthorised reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reprinted or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
Cover: Brendan Elliston
Map: Liam Cushing (Modifications by Brendan Elliston)
Acknowledgements
I wish to thank Damean Posner, Brendan Elliston, Ian James and Liam Cushing for their assistance in the production of this book, and to Helen Y Smith, Ethan Bibile and Hannah Lawrence for suggestions, advice and proofreading. Thanks also to my Dad and brother Mike for their encouragement. Thanks to my brother Steve for his encouragement and to my Mum for her input. Most especially I wish to thank my wife.
Note on the maps
To expand the maps, keep your finger pressed to the Kindle screen. The zoom symbol will appear. Press it, then zoom out with your fingers as you would a touch screen computer. The first map is the complete one. The next two are halves of the first map.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title page
Front matter
Chapter One: A Castle is Breached
Chapter Two: Talarren Visits First Wizard
Chapter Three: Perry and Elfindi in Alonçane
Chapter Four: Docklands
Chapter Five: A Visit to the Hall of Assembly
Chapter Six: Adventurer’s Arms
Chapter Seven: A Night time Encounter
Chapter Eight: Assembly Hall of His Majesty’s Quests
Chapter Nine: The King’s Council
Chapter Ten: Talarren Gathers a War Party
Chapter Eleven: An Old Man
Chapter Twelve: Cuthbert Castle
Chapter Thirteen: En Route to Harrad Castle
Chapter Fourteen: Who is Leroy?
Chapter Fifteen: Some Documents
Chapter Sixteen: En Route to Highlands
Chapter Seventeen: A Frosty Arrival
Chapter Eighteen: Norse Pirates
Chapter Nineteen: All At Sea
Chapter Twenty: In Thane Landreth’s Castle
Chapter Twenty One: A Night Attack
Chapter Twenty Two: The Warrior Queen’s Citadel
Chapter Twenty Three: Sheila
Chapter Twenty Four: Back in Reswald
Chapter Twenty Five: Dinner with King Dagan
Chapter Twenty Six: Talarren and Appac
Chapter Twenty Seven: Leaving Florentino
Chapter Twenty Eight: A Questionable Transaction
Chapter Tweny Nine: Talarren and Razel Travel South
Chapter Thirty: Arrival in Tessor
About the Author
Map of Western, Central and Southern Kingdoms, Third Age
Chapter One
A Castle is Breached
“MAN THE BREACH!” a voice cried in anguish.
“They’re in!” someone shouted.
The watchtower bell rang continuously.
“To the keep!” cried the sergeant-at-arms. “Hurry!” His command was echoed down the line by desperate defenders.
Explosions shook the furniture. Bloodcurdling screams and harsh, foreign cries mixed with smoke, fear and the smell of blood. Clashes of arms echoed down empty hallways. Shrieks of pain and rage rang out through the din and carnage.
A man rushed into the bedroom, his face blood-stained. His wife screamed. She clutched her suckling to her breast. “You’re hurt,” she cried.
“A graze,” he panted. A nasty bruise swelled his bloodied face.
The large window had been shuttered with wooden planks. It was a precaution. They did not think it would come to this.
The maid held hands with two small, shivering boys, too young to know what was happening but old enough to feel the grip of fear surrounding them.
A well-dressed lady stepped forward. “Tell us, what is happening?”
“No time, Hilda,” he yelled as blood trickled into his mouth. “We must hurry.”
Without another word, sword in hand, he led the three women and children into a wide antechamber. Outside, more cries and screams filled the air. An acrid burning smoke clouded their vision. Swords and axes clashed against shields, helmets and human bodies.
“Where are we going?” his wife whispered, desperately trying to keep up with her husband.
A group of men-at-arms raced upstairs carrying armfuls of quivers filled with arrows.
“God speed, Your…,” the captain whispered.
“God speed, Ravensbrock. You have served me well. God speed, friend. To victory!” But he knew his words were hollow. Above all he needed to get his wife and children to safety. Then rejoin the fray. He would never abandon his home and men.
He raced down the hall and entered the servant’s quarters. “Quick,” he hissed. They scrambled as fast as they could, each of the women carrying the two boys and baby girl, who started wailing. His mother placed her hand over Sheila’s mouth. It was a futile gesture. Far too much noise surrounded them. But she did not want to risk betraying their whereabouts. Perhaps it was her and her husband they came for.
They scrambled down as fast as they could to the ground floor. There was running and shouting on the other side of the room they were in. Before entering the hallway, the Lord prepared to strike.
“Stay here,” he ordered. He rushed out.
Running along the hallway directly for him were three axe-wielding barbarians with blood splattered across their thick furs. Four defenders chased them. Behind them another band of barbarians brandished swords and axes. Leading that band he could not help but notice the same monster of a man that stood before the outer gates and ordered the castle’s surrender. His savage looks matched the savagery of his snarling accent. He wielded a massive sword in one hand.
An arrow pierced the back of one of the barbarians. He cried out and fell.
Taking his prey by surprise, it was not difficult for the Lord to st
rike the second barbarian through the throat. He fell, gurgling. Behind the door, his wife screamed.
The third barbarian raised his axe to strike a killer blow at the Lord’s exposed side. For some reason the barbarian’s eyes were drawn to the Lord’s chest. His stroke was delayed long enough for the Lord to drive his sword through the man’s heart before leaping back inside. He slammed the door shut, hoping his defenders would hold the approaching barbarian band long enough for him to make the secret trapdoor to the lower levels.
“Hurry,” he hissed at his wife, sister and maid, all three pressing the infants closely to them.
They raced back down the chamber and through a series of rooms, making for their only hope of escape, the castle’s hidden trapdoor.
By this time cries and battle sounds came from every direction. “Let us hope we are not seen,” the Lord whispered.
“There they are,” the barbarian chief cried as they crossed a hallway on the other side of the chamber. He towered above his men, large as an upright bear, clasping his bloodstained sword.
The Lord pulled the women through. He slammed the door shut and bolted it, then raced forward. “Quickly,” he cried.
In horror the maid froze, holding the child. His sister raced on with her little boy but his wife stayed, clutching her little boy. “Come Esmerelda, you must run.” Much as she loved her maid, it was the safety of Sheila, her baby girl, that most concerned her.
The Lord bound back and pulled his maid along. “We cannot delay. Hurry!” He slapped her hard across the face, then pulled her forward. She snapped out of her stupor and followed the others.
The Lord raced into a room off the keep’s main reception hall. He could hear fighting just outside the door. The barbarians were now on the verge of breaking into the keep. He waited for the maid to enter before slamming the door shut and locking it. He pulled aside a thick carpet and yanked hard on a steel ring set into the floor, opening the trapdoor. “Quickly,” he hissed. His wife went first, followed by his sister, then maid, all carrying children. The Lord carefully replaced the carpet and opened the door on the other side of the room as if to make out they passed through that way. As he scampered down the stairs he noticed his maidservant’s headscarf lying on the floor.
“They came through here,” a barbarian voice snarled from the other side of the door.
The Lord quickly decided to retrieve the maid’s headscarf. He could not afford to leave any clue there was a trapdoor in the room.
At the base of the stairs the three women huddled together, watching the Lord as he closed the trapdoor as quietly as he could. Then utter darkness. He dared not descend the wooden stairs in case he was heard. Holding his sword in one hand, he placed his finger to his lips, but it was pointless. The room was pitch black. No-one had a chance to prepare the room. No lantern was lit. They had no time even to bring a torch.
Heavy footsteps and cursing passed above them, and disappeared into the distance.
The Lord descended with great care. He felt for flint and the torch located in a box beside the staircase. He lit the torch. The faces before him were white with fear. Two held their hands over the mouths of children, who shook with fright. His wife held the suckling to her breast.
The Lord sheathed his sword and placed his finger to his lips. He dared not speak. They slowly crept forward in the lantern light toward the secret passageway which would eventually take them out into the safety of the forest.
A hideous cry froze their blood. The snow monsters accompanying the barbarians had obviously made it into the keep. They heard an ominous thumping. The monster was pounding on the trapdoor.
“They’re down there somewhere,” snarled the chief barbarian. In no time the trapdoor was flung off its hinges by a creature of devastating strength. “A trapdoor. After them!”
The Lord raced forward through the passageway to a locked door. He fumbled for the keys. Thankfully the monster would never fit through the trapdoor. It was too big. But not so the barbarians. Half a dozen scrambled down, including their chief, yelling bloodlust and murder.
The maid screamed.
“This way,” roared the barbarian. He bound forward. His men followed. The Lord pulled his sister though the door and went to slam it shut. But a boot stood in the way. The Lord gave his torch to his sister and pulled out his sword, slicing down upon the barbarian’s shin. The invader cried in pain and retreated. Another barbarian crashed into the door using his shield, putting his full body weight behind it. The Lord pushed but did not have the strength to resist. Another barbarian hurled himself against the door. It flung wide open.
“Run!” yelled the Lord. His sister and maid needed no instruction. The Lord’s wife passed her boy to his sister. Sister and maid, arms filled with three children, raced through another door and slammed it shut. His wife rushed to her husband’s side as he prepared to face the oncoming barbarians.
The barbarians seemed content to wait for their leader, the monster of a man who brandished his double-handed sword in one hand, a feat of extraordinary strength. He stepped forward. The violence in his eyes was unmistakeable. His long beard and hair were well-groomed. His helmet was studded with the teeth of a killer whale.
“They’re trapped like rats, O…”
“Quiet!” ordered the barbarian chief. He smiled as he slowly approached the Lord of the castle. Behind him came more barbarians carrying weapons, torches and lanterns.
“Please,” the wife pleaded, “we can show you our treasure. Do not kill us.”
The Lord pulled his wife behind him. His feet were apart. He stood ready to defend his wife and children to the death. He hoped his sister and maid had been able to make the secret passageway. Once they passed the door, his sister’s memory would determine their fate. The hidden pits were filled with spears to prevent would-be pursuers. If she remembered to keep to the left.
“I take your treasure anyway,” the barbarian snarled to the wife. “I take you first.” He stepped forward, raising his sword. The Lord thrust his own sword directly at the barbarian’s heart, but tall as he was, he moved with remarkable speed, kicking the Lord to one side. His wife procured a jewelled dagger and lunged. The barbarian gripped her hand easily and twisted vigorously. She cried in pain as dagger dropped clanged onto the floor.
Five barbarians surrounded them. “Get the others!” the chief ordered two of them. Three raced off. Three remained.
“Wait,” the Lord yelled. “Spare us.”
A horrible laugh came from the barbarian as he turned to his men behind him. Taking advantage of his lapse in concentration, the wife scooped up her dagger and drove it upwards. But once again the barbarian was too fast. He lifted his knee into her face, knocking her backwards with a cry. He drove his sword through her chest. She lost consciousness from pain and shock, staring open-eyed at the ceiling. Her lifeblood drained out through her fur-lined gown.
“Now for you,” he said to the Lord, who scrambled to his feet. His sword was knocked from his hand by a battle axe from one of the barbarians behind him. Without his sword and surrounded, he knelt beside his wife. He would not escape. His wife was dying. The fate of his three children lay in his sister’s hands. As he gently placed his fingers over his wife’s eyes, closing them to the world, and placed his hand to the amulet under his chainmail, the bear-sized barbarian raised his sword high…
Chapter Two
Talarren visits First Wizard
AT DAWN’S FIRST LIGHT Talarren made his way to First Wizard Tower. It stood like a benign sentinel in Alonçane’s northern districts where spellcasters practiced their craft in schools, workshops and arcane centres. Circles and Brotherhoods vied for the covetous reputation of developing the greatest magicians. Apprentice and master alike studied magic lore long into the night by the light of oil lamps or enchanted candles. Masters taught all manner of spell, wand or staffcraft to initiate prestidigitators. Magical items and artefacts were researched and fashioned, alongside potionmaking and alchemy,
the writing of magic scrolls and other magical practices.
Most peasants and illiterate folk avoided these northern districts like the plague. Anything could happen behind closed doors, they imagined, and often did. Strange and disturbing noises were not unusual. Magical creatures sometimes made appearances. They often did not appear too friendly. Scary-looking adventurers came knocking at spellcaster doors for reasons often best left unknown. Customers from all strata of society - army commanders, craftsmen, traders - came looking for potions, scrolls and enchantment for any and every known endeavour.
As Talarrren passed into the magical district he noticed two wizards arguing by the roadside.
“This is ridiculous,” the younger one said. He carried a large spellbook in one hand and a staff in the other. His cheeks were flushed with anger. “You seriously mean to tell me I need a permit to perform magic in Alonçane, by order of King Toscannic?”
The other wizard, who wore a strange hat, nodded patiently. “Not only in Alonçane, but anywhere in Lafarrhine.”
“But you cannot be serious,” the other shouted. He turned and pointed to a large tower, the one Talarren was making for. “First Wizard lives right there. He’s a Guardian of Rohalgamoth. Are you saying a Guardian of Rohalgamoth lets King Toscannic treat spellcasters this way?”
The older magician nodded. “On Lord Aelred’s recommendations. And don’t you dare drop a bad word on Lord Aelred. It is well known no kingdom runs as justly or efficiently as ours. He is loved by all, you must know this.”
“But surely First Wizard does not agree with such restrictive magical laws? I have not encountered such a thing in all my travels.”
“First Wizard has not tried to change it.”
“I have a good mind to move elsewhere. I can see why they call Aelred Lord Four Pea. What do they stand for again?”
The older wizard smiled and rattled off the words. “Pernickety paladin’s precious preferences. It’s said with affection, of course.”
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