More adventurers filed in as Talarren casually browsed one notice after another. His mission as Ranger allowed him ample opportunities to right wrongs, fight evil and strive for worthwhile causes. Many of these quests inevitably led to treasure of some kind, which compensated for his dangerous lifestyle. Despite his renunciation of a life of wealth and comfort, Talarren’s wealth, guessed some, matched that of a lord. As far as anyone knew, he possessed no castles, mansions or palaces, no country estates or luxury villas. His clothes were simple and functional though his armour and weapons were always the finest. Possibly his greatest expense was Gladron, his trained hippogriff, although he was said to own several small houses and apartments dotted around various realms. Talarren appeared and disappeared like a mysterious breeze, a mystery to all but his closest friends, first among them being Lafarrhine’s mighty paladin, Aelred.
Familiar faces appeared from their previous evening at Adventurer’s Arms. Talarren had been pleased to reacquaint himself with old companions from his usual haunts, previous expeditions and voyages, which included Gatby. He hoped the old magician would not be contracted. In Talarren’s view, Gatby made an excellent spellcaster for dangerous situations and an amusing travelling companion, even if a bit feisty. Though not greedy, he certainly charged a premium for his magical services.
Talarren had made valuable new contacts, including those hunting the Black Dragon. He had only ever once encountered a dragon – a young male along Rainbow Sea’s southern swamps intent on continuing his diet of fresh fishermen. At that time Talarren’s crew included Caspar, Houdouni the magician, another Ranger and an elven fighter-cleric. At the thought of Houdouni Talarren’s face fell. Memories of their quests forced themselves into his mind before he pushed them away.
He made his way to the entrance where a large, familiar-looking dwarf now stood, broad as an ox, wearing dwarf-fashioned plate mail, not an uncommon sight among dwarves far from their lands not bothered pulling trolleys full of armour and provisions. A heavy hand axe hung from his broad leather belt. He looked more like a Norse chieftain than most Norsemen. His beard exploded out from his chin. As it did the previous evening, it hung proudly before his massive chest, but this time plaited neatly into two pigtails. No man would dare mock such a beard, unfashionable as it was in Alonçane at that time. Its burgundy colour matched the mat of bushy hair covering his ruddy dwarven face. His features breathed ferocity. He was not a dwarf to be taken lightly. If Talarren was any judge this dwarf would be a good companion for what lay ahead. Kron made no bones about his motive. He wanted gold. Yet Talarren, astute observer of the heart, discerned much more within this complex character, so reticent to divulge anything about himself, not even his tribe in the Albatross Mountains, which almost all dwarves, without exception, boasted with considerable pride.
“Kron,” Talarren said, extending his hand in the Ranger handshake. Kron took it. Two hands with grips like the jaws of a crocodile recognised in each other a kindred spirit, a fighter of rare distinction, though Talarren had yet to see him in combat.
Perry and Elfindi approached them.
“Ah, did you make a decision?” Talarren asked, referring to the previous evening. Perry and Elfindi shook their heads. “Surprising! There was much on offer last night at the Arms.” He extended his palm in Kron’s direction. “This is Kron. I’ve asked him to accompany me.” They shook. Talarren noticed a faint stiffening of Elfindi’s shoulders when he and the dwarf shook hands. It was a subtle yet demonstrable sign of the long-standing feud between elves and dwarves that Talarren wondered would ever heal.
Elfindi blew on his hand. “Does anyone here have a grip that won’t break a lightfoot’s fingers?”
“Perhaps if the lightfoot’s fingers weren’t so soft,” the dwarf replied coolly.
“Calm down, I meant it as a joke,” Elfindi snapped.
“There she is,” Perry cried. They followed his gaze to the petite, shapely form of Cara some distance away. She stood alone, reading notices.
“I knew it wouldn’t be long before you noticed her,” Talarren remarked.
Elfindi threw his head back. “Noticed her? He’s practically begged her to join us.”
“What?” Talarren almost barked.
Elfindi nodded. Perry shrugged his shoulders. “Not quite, Elfindi. We haven’t yet confirmed her pedigree. We’re conducting our interview today.”
“Interview? Is that what you call it?”
Talarren sighed in relief. Perry looked at him askance.
“She asked to join me,” Talarren explained. “Something about her made me uneasy.”
“What?” Perry cried. Then he laughed raucously. “Her dazzling beauty makes you uneasy, Talarren.” Talarren had never publicly professed any vows of celibacy, as many Rangers had, but many believed he had done so privately. His reputation for avoiding romance was well known.
“She’s very young,” Kron observed. “Where is her chaperone?”
“Don’t be fooled,” Perry warned. “There’s more to her than meets the eye. She’s no simple naïve beauty. Did she seriously ask to join you, Talarren?”
Talarren pushed his finger with some force into Perry’s chest. “Her beauty has nothing to do with my uneasiness, Perry. From the time we played together as youths in our fathers’ fields you have been prone to immature judgments. I rejected her offer and you will do the same. You and Elfindi are coming with me.”
A hammer striking wood resounded through the hall. It prevented Perry asking what Talararen meant. Draped proudly in Alonçane colours, the royal Underherald of the Assembly Hall of His Majesty’s Quests unfolded a scroll. “In the name of his majesty King Toscannic of Lafarrhine, I hearby call today’s Assembly Hall to order.”
Everyone took their seats.
“Ladies and gentlemen, today I am authorised to read out thirteen commissions. Ten of these have been pinned up on noticeboards surrounding us. Nonetheless, I shall proceed through each in turn. Each has been assigned a number. Brief clarifying questions will be allowed, then I shall duly continue to our next assignment.”
Underherald Underwood cleared his throat. “Standing behind me are four notaries who will delve into more information on aspects of these commissions. This notary on my left,” he pointed to him, “will deal with our first four commissions. This notary will deal with our next three and so on. Seated within adjoining rooms are emissaries authorised by His Majesty’s office who have requested these commissions. I will notify you which commissions have emissaries. During intermission you will be permitted to speak to them.”
Perry turned around. He spotted Cara sitting two rows behind on the opposite aisle. He winked at her. She ignored him. Her cool self-confidence shocked and enticed him all at once. Why had she not approached them when she entered? She must have seen him. Alone he drew attention to himself. Standing with Talarren and this burly, thick-set dwarf, they may as well have had a sunbeam lighting them up. Yet she kept to herself. Why? They had arranged to meet at midday so why not say hello?
Gatby walked up to Perry. “You must keep away from pretty spellcaster. I do not trust her. I have found a party. I will not see you for long time. You be good.” Perry was left standing agog as the feisty, mysterious Gatby made his way to a well-dressed gentleman on the other side of the hall.
At first intermission, while crowds milled around notaries, Talarren made his way to the booth linked to Commission Number Three. He knocked, then opened to see Robert and Bruce, Highlanders from Adventurer’s Arms.
“No luck last night?” Talarren asked.
“Not as yet,” Robert said. “A few vague expressions of interest.”
“You’re in luck,” Talarren said, closing the door.
Chapter Nine
The King’s Council
NEXT DAY, AS THE dawn sunshine lit Alonçane’s buildings and rooftops, already bathing farms and fields in golden light, Talarren washed, dressed, left his animals in the care of druids and headed for an imposing ed
ifice, Alonçane’s King’s Council Chambers, bordered by a tall wrought-iron fence and surrounded by men-at-arms carrying halberds, liveried in Alonçane colours with longswords by their sides. Approaching the impressive, columned building surrounded by a green strip of manicured grass there lay a vast paved square filled with carriages, clerks, officials and a throng of people going about their business.
“Greetings, King’s Friend,” Captain Brassbutton boomed, “a great honour it is, a great honour indeed. King’s Friend for services rendered to His Majesty, King Toscannic. For services and succour in His Majesty’s service. Awarded to our mighty Ranger. Well met, Talarren, well met.”
They embraced before Talarren passed through the gate, across the courtyard and into a vast, gleaming hall decorated with magnificent frescoes. Long passages and broad staircases led off in different directions. Two members of King Toscannic’s Magical Guard paced up and down. Opposite, two large bronze doors opened into a wide antechamber. A well-dressed official sat behind a large oak desk. Neat piles of parchments surrounded him. Behind him a large honeycomb-shaped bookshelf filled with labelled scrolls bore testimony, as did rows of itemised cabinets and impeccable décor, to a well-ordered bureaucracy.
After a brief exchange, Talarren proceeded through to an antechamber adjoining King’s Council Chambers. The chamberlain greeted Talarren. “His Highness is expecting you, Talarren. Please proceed.”
Talarren passed into the chambers of the king.
“Greetings, Talarren, well met. I pray you’ve journeyed well.”
Talarren bowed deferentially. “That I have, your Highness. I am here in answer to your summons.” Royal attendants and guards stood by.
“You must have heard of troubles in Reswald?”
“There are many, Your Majesty. To which in particular are you referring?”
“It pains me to bring up appalling news from the past. You recall the sacking of Harrad Castle during the Norse Devastation. King Harrad and his two sons disappeared, believed dead or carried off by Norsemen.” Talarren nodded. He was familiar with this tragic events, as was anyone who lived through them. How could they ever forget? King Tascannic continued. “One son, Alex, has emerged in Reswaldtown. His royal bloodline was revealed to him by his dying aunt. He is said to have approached the Chief Magistrate of Reswald, an Archdruid, who dismissed him as an imposter and threatened to lock him up if he persisted in his pretence. Strangely enough, there are rumours of goblins inhabiting Harrad Castle, which Reswald’s ambassador denies.”
“With respect, how does this concern me, Your Majesty?”
“Aelred has informed me of your intention to attain the Highlands.” King Toscannic cast an inconspicuous look at his attendants. Talarren understood. “As you will be passing through Reswald with one or two…assistants, I thought you may see how you could help Alex infiltrate Harrad Castle and perhaps help him repossess his family estate. He claims he has a map showing where the official Title Deeds are.”
“Your Majesty,” Talarren began, “may I ask why the King of Lafharrine is concerning himself with such a matter?”
“Lafarrhine’s friendship with Reswald has declined since Dagan claimed the kingship upon Harrad’s disappearance. Unlawfully, many believe. But more importantly,” here the king once more cast a glance at his courtiers, “it is worth investigating these goblin sightings within Harrad Castle. Aelred believes a sinister hand is at work.”
Talarren understood all too well what King Toscannic was referring to. He had spoken to Aelred about that very thing over the past few months.
“This must be done in utmost secrecy. King Dagan cannot know of Lafarrhine involvement. And of course, I shall pay you and your party well.”
After a short discussion, Talarren accepted his commission. It was not the first time King Toscannic had specifically requested Talarren’s help. Talarren bowed and walked out.
“Once again,” Captain Brassbutton boomed as Talarren left the palace, “thank you for your sword-fighting lesson. My little ‘un can’t stop raving about it. He practices every day.”
Talarren smiled and nodded. But his mind returned once more to King Harrad’s disappearance nigh on twenty years earlier, and with him the disappearance of the Amulet of Power. No-one ever knew what became of it, despite great efforts by the Guardians of Rohalgamoth to track it down. There was never any hint or mention of it anywhere. Now Harrad’s son appears out of nowhere after everyone thought him long dead.
Precisely at this time rumours of the rise of the Sorceress of LLularven were spreading. These rumours coincided with goblin sightings around Harrad Castle and the increasing influence of the Druids of Purple Ivy inside Reswald. If that were not enough, there were reliable reports from the Steppes and across the Mugar empire of a brazen expansion of the priests of Baal, not to mention Tāhūbād’s continued expansion in the east.
Aelred had every right to be concerned. As did his two great friends, the Guardians of Rohalgamoth. As he walked through Alonçane’s streets, Talarren considered the high office of these Guardians of Rohalgamoth. They maintained the Pact, that invisible yet indispensable barrier made in ancient times at the dawn of history keeping at bay the spread of evil. Ever conscious of the cunning tactics of evil, Talarren anticipated the Age of Demons. He recalled his last meeting with the Companions of Aelred. Most believed evil was spreading its tentacles slowly but surely across the land.
And what of this Highland quest? The Companions of Aelred, which included both Guardians, had good reason to believe the Amulet was somehow connected with these accursed Norse pirates operating off the Highland coasts. Could these events be a convergence of influences ushering in the dreaded Age of Demons? There was no evidence of a link, yet neither he nor Aelred could shake off their suspicions.
As Talarren made his way passed a tanner’s workshop and into Smith Street where dozens of smiths plied their trade, hammers clanging and fires blazing, he contemplated Lafarrhine’s pre-eminent position in the known world. Its political and military power was unmatched. Its rulers and advisors governed wisely. Could all this, he wondered, casting his eyes upon Alonçane’s magnificent beauty, one day fall under the malignant power of rampaging demons? It was a very real possibility. He shuddered to think of it.
Later that day Lafarrhine’s council members took their seats around a massive mahogany table. Since he was in Alonçane and a trusted friend of the King’s council, Talarren was invited. He sat to one side and observed.
A map of Alonçane drawn on treated sheepskin filled one entire wall; cartography being yet another expertise developed in the Golden Ages among Alonçane’s artisan mapmakers. Intricate details of roads, buildings and amenities completed the map. Lines, symbols, charts and annotations coloured its design.
“Item one,” King Toscannic began. “King Dagan’s men have been taxing principalities outside his border. Independent feudal lords have requested our help. Any suggestions?”
Discussion moved to and fro. A decision was reached with surprising speed.
The quill of a scribe sitting at a desk furiously moved across parchment. After a while he was instructed by the King to read out his notes:
“Firstly, our ambassador to determine the veracity of charges against King Dagan. Is he unlawfully taxing principalities outside his realm?
“Secondly, ambassador to enquire about goblin sightings. Have goblins been invited into Reswald by representatives of King Dagan?
“Thirdly, ambassador to express concern over resurgence of Grove of Purple Ivy in Reswald; to seek assurances that ancient rites of child sacrifice and Dark Arts practices are outlawed in Reswald.
“Fourthly, to pass travellers’ complaints to King Dagan regarding increased lawlessness on roads in and around Reswald.”
The scribe bowed to the King, then resumed his seat, quill in hand, waiting for further instructions.
“Aelred, how are we placed offering assistance?” asked King Toscannic.
Aelred, Alon
çane’s legendary paladin, General Commander of Lafarrhine Army, requested time to consider the feasibility of his king’s request.
“Let us move to agenda item two,” the king suggested. “Highlanders have requested help to save their villages from marauding Norse pirates. There is talk of captors being sold to slavers in Galapagos Gulf. From there, prisoners are taken to slave markets in Zanzibar and Carakas-Khālim.
“I agreed to place this petition with our Assembly Hall as a gesture of goodwill to Thane Landreth. Our friend Talarren here has agreed to take up the quest.” The King nodded appreciatively at Talarren. His councillors did the same.
“Item three. Disturbing news of the cult of Baal spreading its influence. Word is they have secret temples in Central Alliance cities, including Alonçane and Tessor, but we have yet to discover their whereabouts.”
Aelred stood. “Your Majesty, it is also confirmed that clerics of Baal are moving freely around the Mugar empire. It would appear Tāhūbād has made some form of alliance with them.”
“This requires more discussion. For now, let us move to item five. Rumours are confirmed. The Sorceress of Llularven is at large.”
Talarren stole a look at Aelred. Colour drained from the paladin’s face.
“Item six. Mugar armies gathering. Movement toward a second invasion of Raysal-El-Hin.”
Talarren followed the discussion with interest. He had already fought in a Mugar war against Raysal-El-Hin. The massing of Mugar armies once more ignited his suspicions of a rising of evil, which was the first step in the coming of the Age of Demons. His stomach tightened. From his youth he felt duty-bound to take an interest in affairs involving evil. Under his mentor’s tutelage, he had been drawn to become a warrior against evil, and lived with a dread of the Age of Demons prophesied in ancient lore. For this reason he became a Ranger and made himself an ally of kingdoms and governments who promoted justice in their domains. He had roamed many lands over many years, befriending all types of men, races and creatures. He knew his skills as Ranger were exceptional. His fighting skills even better. All his talents were geared to snuffing out evil in all forms, expending all his energies for this purpose, and this alone. Personal ambition and desires had been excised from his heart for many, many years as a means to make himself a weapon against evil. In many ways, he and Aelred were twin souls in this regard. Their mentor, their beloved Ignatius, had been their guide since they were old enough to hold a small wooden sword in their tiny, innocent hands.
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