“Order!” bellowed the seaman, his voice so commanding conversation stopped. Now it was the turn for adventurers, mercenaries and bounty-hunting to spruik their wares from the front platform to potential patrons. Meanwhile, discussions continued on back tables.
During this time Elfindi discussed options with Perry, who kept an eye on Cara flitting from table to table like an exotic butterfly. They finally narrowed their options down to the Black Dragon, Norse pirates and Mugar trader. During their discussions Elfindi begged Perry to keep focussed. Throughout, Elfindi’s nimble fingers absent-mindedly toyed with his bison bone whistle, a habit he picked up in his early days as a footpad. “Guarding caravans along the Silk Road is easy money.”
Perry glared at his friend. “Since when has easy money been a consideration for us? Besides, it’ll earn us pittance.” He glanced around for a sign of the will’o’ the wisp spellcaster. “Can you imagine spending a month in company with that snivelling trader?”
Elfindi stroked his chin. “No, that wouldn’t be fun. But think of all those exotic sights, smells and sounds along the Silk Road – all those foreign towns and cities? We’d see a new world, and get paid for it. I can think of worse ways to pass our time.”
Perry stroked his chin. “There’d be no real adventure, though. Plus, a silver a day with twenty five gold coins upon completion. Big deal? You can make that with one flick of your knife on the docks.” Perry quickly looked around him, leaning forward and whispering: “Remember what I said earlier. Don’t dare even think about picking anyone’s pocket here. It could ruin us.”
“I hear you,” Elfindi snapped. “Regarding that Norse chieftain, I got lucky. I’ve never made so much with one purse. But to get back to business, I wouldn’t mind joining that halfling’s party. I like them. They look formidable, whatever you say. I reckon I could make my way past a Black Dragon.” Perry quickly scanned for Cara while Elfindi carefully observed the halfling party at a rear table. A dozen adventurers surrounded them. “Can you forget about Cara, please?”
Perry threw up his hands, then slammed his fist on the heavy, wooden tabletop, drawing a not-too-friendly look from one of the four fierce-looking dwarves on the table beside them. Perry winked at him, then turned back to his half-elf friend. “Sometimes I hate having an expert thief as partner, especially one with elven blood. I can’t get away with anything. Now that you’re on to me, where did that vision of magic magnificence go?”
“I don’t care. Let’s investigate that black dragon option and forget about those Highlanders.”
“Why?”
“To begin with, we’d have to assemble a large party. That’s hard work, especially if all we’ve got to offer them is a hundred Norse pirates and their pet yetis and possibly, I say possibly, loot. We have no idea how much. All for four hundred gold. I don’t think so.” Elfindi looked worried when he noticed Perry’s expression. “I don’t like that look.”
“That Norse option, my dear Elfindi, has the surest offer of loot, and much more than we can imagine, I’ll be bound. Successful pirates have lots of booty.”
“They also have a reputation for spending, along with pillaging, slaving and whoring.”
“Of course, but they make plenty of gold. They’d have a magnificent stash somewhere, mark my words.” Perry breathed in loudly, visions of pirate loot dancing in his head.
Elfindi’s fingers continued manipulating his bison bone whistle. He faced his impressive-looking friend head on. “So, you think facing a horde of Norse pirates and their abominable snowmen is preferable to one Black Dragon?”
Perry returned his gaze. “No question!”
Elfindi shook his head. “I’m not facing a horde of Norsemen on boats. I hate boats, you know that!”
Perry shook his head even harder, glimpsing as he did so a lone dwarf peering at him. “I’m not facing a Black Dragon. I hate dying, you know that!” He turned to face the dwarf who casually looked away.
Background noise rose steadily as patrons and clients negotiated terms. Smoke drifted lazily upwards, creeping like white tentacles among glowing lanterns hanging from shadowed walls. Many avoided public announcements, preferring more discreet methods. Agents were common, working for patrons or bounty-hunters. If one valued one’s future in the profession, one required trustworthiness. Whether patron or adventurer, honesty was critical. Most deals were sealed and signed with city notaries or lawyers the following day outlining each party’s expectations on parchment. Rare were transactions sealed purely on a handshake.
Perry and Elfindi stared at one another in astonishment.
“This is new,” they both said simultaneously. They had never disagreed on a significant adventure before. For small adventures a coin toss usually sealed it. On this occasion they agreed to investigate both options to get a better understanding of exactly what was involved.
A firm hand gripped Perry’s shoulder. “Hunting for adventure, I presume?”
Perry turned. Before him stood a man more physically impressive than himself, broad-shouldered, massive-chested. Light, comfortable hunter’s clothes covered his muscular frame. He peered out of penetrating eyes, storm-grey in colour. His weathered and tanned face creased into a warm smile. A scabbard holding a mighty sword hung from his leather belt, its hilt and pommel covered in ancient runes embedded with semi-precious stones. His lightweight shoes revealed a preference for speed. It did not take a scholar to work out what sort of man he was. A simple glance revealed the presence of a Ranger, that special breed combining uncanny hunting, tracking and outdoor skills, knowledge of lore, nature and healing and exceptional fighting ability. His natural charisma, Perry was forced to admit to himself once again, almost equalled his brother Aelred’s.
“Talarren,” he exclaimed. “What brings you to a place like this?”
Talarren smiled, politely evading his question. “Any luck?”
“No! Elfindi and I can’t agree. This is Elfindi, my friend.”
“Well met,” Talarren said extending his hand in Ranger style. “I’ve heard about you. I should watch my purse, should I not?”
Elfindi shook Talarren’s hand, powerful as a vice. “I wouldn’t dare,” Elfindi said.
“Just as well,” Talarren uttered in a tone that left the half-elf in no doubt it was better to leave him be.
“Best of luck,” and with that the mighty Ranger mingled with rowdy characters on the tavern’s far side.
“Who was that?” Elfindi whistled. “He is someone I would not wish to mess with.”
Perry nodded. “And you’d be wise not to, believe me. That’s Talarren, the Ranger I’ve told you about. Ballads of bards and songsters are replete with his exploits. He’s a hero and a good friend of Aelred.”
“Of course, the monster slayer. They say he speaks to animals. That he is expert in all weapons and no man can beat him in armed combat. That he’s a healer. Wasn’t he also a senior commander in the Western orc wars? What’s he doing here?”
Perry shrugged. “Don’t know, but I’ll tell you this. He’d be first pick of any patron, no question about it. As good as we are, we’re not in his league.”
Elfindi looked doubtful.
“We should enlist him,” Perry said suddenly.
Cara sidled up beside them. “Any luck, fellows?”
“Not yet,” Elfindi said non-commitally.
“What about you?” Perry asked her.
“I already told you, I’m looking for a fighter.” Cara pulled on her pink ribbon, releasing her lustrous black hair. It flowed like a glistening black waterfall on either side of her slender shoulders.
“What about them?” Perry said, indicating a party at the back tables engaged in discussions with a group of fighters.
“They look strong, but Black Dragons aren’t my thing.”
“What is your thing?” Perry asked.
“Let’s meet somewhere private,” Cara suggested, her sparkling buttons and shiny hair dazzling Perry. “It’s noisy in here.�
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Perry mumbled incoherently.
Elfindi laughed. “He’s stumbling over his words like a witless orc.”
They agreed to meet next day at a respectable dining salon well known to Perry not far from his villa. “We look forward to meeting you at midday. I recommend…” Perry added, but she turned on her heels and walked away.
Returning to his villa later that evening, Perry waxed lyrical about her elusive beauty. “Strong, self-assured and beautiful,” he drooled. “Exactly our sort of spellcaster, don’t you agree?”
Elfindi shrugged. “She’s rude. And we know nothing of her skill. Gatby has my vote. She isn’t a patch on him.”
Chapter Seven
A Night Encounter
TALARREN MADE HIS WAY through a back exit to the Adventurer’s Arms kennels. The keeper let out Hunter when he saw Talarren approach.
“Fine animal, this.”
Talarren nodded. Hunter barked excitedly and leapt on her master. She did not take to being confined in a small space surrounded by unfamiliar smells and sounds coming from neighbouring kennels.
“Good girl,” Talarren said as she frantically licked his face while he patted her side. “Come, we need a good night’s rest.” Esmay, his eagle, silently landed on his shoulder. He made his way through dark, empty streets.
Presently he came through a street lit by oil lanterns and chanced upon three men dressed in long cloaks. Sinister expressions darkened their scowling faces. Even from ten yards their beer fumes filled Talarren’s nostrils. Hunter growled, neck fur bristling.
“What errand brings ye out in this watch of night?” Talarren enquired politely. His voice contained a hint of steel, without any trace of fear. He stood tall and resolute. This should have been enough to warm them.
They hesitated. Armed ruffians, breathing violence and intimidation, were not accustomed to being questioned by a single man betraying no fear whatsoever. Though he stood impressively tall with a menacing sword hanging ready by his agile side, accompanied by a ferocious-looking dog, he was only one man after all. A surplus of ale made them brave.
“Who w-w-wants to know?” the largest man spat.
“I am Talarren, and I wish to know your business.” Talarren’s sword remained in its scabbard. His eagle took wing into darkness.
“Our business ain’t none o’ yer business,” a second hiccupped. “Now, move off while you can.”
“As soon as you tell me your business,” Talarren repeated.
The large one stepped forward. “Spikey said our business ain’t none o’ yer business. Be a good lad and head off to bed.” Despite their bravado, the trio were a smidgeon guarded. Either this crazy man had a death wish or he knew something they didn’t. “You a guard, then?”
“He ain’t a guard, Archy,” Spikey said. “He’s jus’ by hi’self and he ain’t wearing them kingsman’s colours. He ain’t a guard. No! No!”
Talarren threw out a lighthearted voice to entice an unguarded answer. “Now, if I were a dandy with a purse full of gold walking off his booze, what might you fine gentlemen do?”
The third ruffian guffawed loudly. “Why, we’d escort him ‘ome, wouldn’t we lads?”
All three chortled horribly. Talarren noticed a trace of blood on a sleeve of the man they called Archy. “I see blood on your sleeve, Archy. Yours?”
Confused, Archy checked his sleeve. “Don’t that belong to one o’ those sorry blighters we had to escort ‘ome, Archy?” Spike bawled.
“Unfortunately ‘e left some’ing behind, didn’ ‘e?” He jingled a pouch of coins in his pocket. Once again, they guffawed horribly.
Talarren’s eyes hardened. “That sounds to me like a confession.”
“I’m tired o’ this gent,” the third bellowed. He drew his sword, an old uncleaned blade lined with chinks and scratches. He pointed it at Talarren. “Now, shove off, if you know what’s good for you.” He turned his head, peering at Talarren out the corner of his widened eyes, liked a crazed lunatic. His lips twitched.
Spikey drew his sword. “You need to learn a bi’ o’ respect, I reckon. Think I’ll teach it to yer.”
“N-n-not so fast, lads,” Archy advised. “Let’s give ‘im a ch-ch-chance to hand over ‘is gold, and we’ll leave ‘im b-b-be.” He held out his hand for Talarren’s purse. His other hand whipped out a dagger.
“Your type are not welcome in this city,” Talarren sighed. “How have you avoided arrest? How long have you been in Alonçane?”
“That ain’t none of your business, and I’m bored,” Spikey muttered. He charged at Talarren. His two comrades followed. Talarren stepped forward to one side, collecting Spikey a bone crunching punch to his jaw, knocking him out cold. In the same moment he unsheathed his sword and swiped down with force enough to cleave Archy's hand, wrist and forearm in two. In a blinking of an eye, his sword pierced ruffian number three, named C.J., in his midriff before he knew what happened.
Talarren stood over Archy who clutched his split arm, whimpering like a dog. “Mercy. Please don’t kill me.” Talarren stamped his heel onto the man’s ribs. Crack! A scream of pain followed. He fainted.
With hands pressing against the blood-spattered wound in his stomach, C.J. cowered at Talarren’s advance before being knocked out cold by a jaw-fracturing punch. Two unconscious bodies lay on cobblestones with a third bawling in a pool of blood.
People peeked through wooden shutters.
“All’s well,” Talarren assured them. “Call the guard. These men need to be locked up.” Talarren gripped Archy by his shirt and pulled him close. Archy bawled like a baby, his jaw hanging grotesquely out of place. “If you live, tell your cowardly friends that if I see any of you again, there won’t be a next time.”
Archy coughed up blood. He snivelled loudly, unable to speak through his broken jaw. He nodded, whimpering.
“My turn to lighten your load.” Talarren ripped their purses off their belts. He searched their pockets and grabbed all coins he found. Then he gathered their weapons, tying them together from a rope in a pouch at his side. He flung their weapons over his shoulder.
“Call the guard,” Talarren repeated to onlookers peeking out of second storey windows. “Tell them what you saw. These men need to be fined and put to hard labour.”
A young lad rushed out. His mother called to him but he ran on. “Sir, thank you. These ruffians have been terrorising our streets for a week. They always come when the guard has passed. No-one dares stand up to them.”
Talarren rubbed the boy’s head. “Good lad. Next time, call the guard, you hear?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Goodbye, sir.”
Shouldering his weapons left his other free for his perching eagle. On his way, Talarren encountered a groaning man slumped up against a stone wall. He was barely visible in the shadows created by the oil lamp some feet above him. A blade wound bloodied his shirt. Talarren examined the man who groaned, barely conscious.
“Steady, sir. It’s a deep gash but nothing serious. That blow to your head did more damage. Let’s get you home and cared for.” A groan came forth but no speech. Talarren tied his bundle of weapons into a harness and placed it around Hunter’s neck. “Patience, girl. It’s not far.” He hoisted his patient, clearly a victim of the three ruffians, over his shoulder. “Thank Aelred and Alonçane’s council for our hospital. I’ll take you there now.”
Talarren waited patiently, then banged a third time, much more loudly. Finally a nurse showed her face. “Heavens above, what a racket. What have we here? Drunken brawl, was it?” she chided him. “No doubt over a pretty maiden? Or was it gambling? Shameful practice. What are you doing at this hour? Don’t you know we’re closed? What happened to him? Tell your dog to stand back, please. Do you know what time it is? Why is that dog carrying swords? What happened to this man? Why…?”
“Woman,” Talarren barked. “Stop your questions. This man has been waylaid by thieves. He needs care. Take these coins as recompense. Good night.”
<
br /> Talarren walked briskly away, leaving Nurse Nightingale gawking after him.
Chapter Eight
Assembly Hall of His Majesty’s Quests
IF SUCH A THING existed as respectable adventure-seekers and bounty hunters, they would be found congregating in the Assembly Halls of His Majesty’s Quests. Most cities ran a similar facility, as did populous towns located along major trading routes. Unlike Adventurer’s Arms, Assembly Halls of His Majesty’s Quests provided an official avenue for adventurers wishing to accomplish their objectives, whether they be wanderlust, adventure or gold. It also allowed Lafarrhine an opportunity to accomplish its state and regional objectives, as varied as they could be, by engaging experts, generally for shorter terms, who could represent officialdom or work clandestinely, depending on their needs.
As far as adventure-seeking respectability went, Adventurer’s Arms sat in the middle. A third alternative existed, one where the good, the bad and the ugly congregated for motives ranging from altruistic to nefarious, and everything in between. City docklands usually offered these opportunities. Several venues were notorious for this type of activity, especially in large cities. Most sailing or water related quests were transacted here, although not exclusively. Patrons also used places like Aventurer’s Arms. City officials always used Assembly Halls, even for water-bound quests. Adventurers knew that reputable kingdoms such as Lafarrhine paid reasonably well, so these venues always drew their fair share of customers.
Gates were opened at precisely ten o’clock each morning by a city official. Talarren arrived early, as he did for most things. He wore a casual, unremarkable doublet. His gleaming scabbard hung by his side. Hunter and Esmay were left behind. Animals were forbidden.
His soft camel-hair shoes made little sound. In contrast, boots and sandals of early arrivals squeaked like hungry piglets. Unlike the previous day, dozens of comfortable wooden chairs had been placed in neat rows facing a raised platform running from one wall to another accessed by five steps on each side. Windows ran alongside one wall only. Opposite those windows half a dozen doors led into small chambers dedicated to contract negotiations. On this wall, as on three others, were affixed noticeboards filled with notices.
Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet Page 7