Talarren outlined his plan. They stripped the soldiers and dressed in King Dagan’s livery, carrying halberds, helmets and chainmail. Talarren led them up the path. At the front banner pole, he raised a blue banner indicating friendly visitors, as disclosed by the more talkative of the guards, for which he received a filthy look from his lieutenant.
“Do you feel important, Kron?” Talarren asked jokingly. “You represent a dwarven king.”
A shadow cross Kron’s grim eyes. He simply grunted, then adjusted his bundle of weapons wrapped in a cloak bearing King Dagan’s livery. “Let’s hope this plan works.”
“No reason it shouldn’t,” Talarren said.
They approached their now familiar decrepit barns. Everything was calm. They passed over the darkened gravel covering the hill giant blood. It wouldn’t be long before stray chickens and goats scratched and nuzzled away the dirt to reveal congealed blood and swarming flies.
They followed the path upward, walking confidently as if following orders. Clear signs of a once well-tended garden pulled at Alex’s heart. Snippets of distant memories flooded into his mind, triggered by vague recollections of once familiar sights - fountain, garden, flower bed. Trellises, pagodas and statues lay in ruin. Talarren studied the watchtower, approaching from eighty yards away, and casually waved to the suspicious goblins scrutinizing them. A large bronze bell sat ominously atop the watchtower, Harrad Castle’s only external building still fully intact.
“Start your spell, Razel,” Talarren instructed as they continued walking.
Presently two goblins exited the tower and approached, stopping within twenty yards. “What do you think you’re doing?” one spat. “You know you’re not allowed this far.”
“I know,” Talarren replied. “We are despatched from His Majesty King Dagan the Third. We bear an important gift and message from the dwarven kingdoms for Leroy Boadstool.”
Their goblin interlocutor looked confused. “This breaks protocol. Why weren’t we told about it?” he hissed, pursing his thick yellow lips, his suspicious eyes darting from one to another.
Talarren shrugged. “You know how it is. Us rank and file are always last to be told.”
“What gift?” the goblin asked. Was this Kingsman trying to ingratiate himself with them, trying to win their favour pretending to be as disgruntled with his boss as the goblins were with theirs? He pointed to Kron’s package wrapped in King Dagan’s livery.
“For Leroy Bardstool only,” Kron said as politely as he could. “Where can I find him?”
“It’s Boadstool, not Bardstool, idiot. Do you want to get us placed on kitchen fatigues? He’s in his chambers. But orders are orders. All goods must be inspected. No exception.”
“Well, our king’s orders are to give this gift directly to Leroy Bard…Boadstool,” Kron said. “But all right, it’s no skin off my nose. I’ll show you. But in there. Can’t let these others see.”
The goblin seemed satisfied. They walked back through shadows and entered the watchtower guardroom. “It’s done,” Razel said as she looked up a spiral staircase once they stepped inside. She was dressed in loose-fitting kingsman’s livery and head covered by a helmet too large for her head, her hair tied tightly into a bun.
As Kron placed his clinking package down, curiosity overpowered the unsuspecting goblins. What would dwarven kings be offering their druid boss?
Talarren’s halberd chopped off a goblin head. Kron smashed two goblin heads together. A resounding bang from their helmets rang up the stairwell. The fourth, already with short sword in hand, thrust it at Kron, who spun away quickly for a large dwarf. Razel and Alex backed away rapidly.
Talarren’s sword pierced through leather armour and heart of goblin number four before he shouted for help. Before number two and three recovered from their head-banging, a well-placed strike from Talarren smote one. A mighty downward stroke of Kron’s hand axe finished the other.
From above, a goblin cried out something in its own language, clearly alarmed by the commotion below. Talarren raced upstairs, sword in hand. “Hide these bodies,” he said as he ran. “Leave no trace.” Kron followed Talarren.
Confined by a narrow spiral staircase, the Ranger collided with a descending goblin who thudded backwards onto the stone stairs, shocked from the top of his oily hair to the tip of his woven socks. Talarren smote him before he knew what happened. Another goblin raced out a side door. Talarren struck him with his elbow. He fell, motionless. Ranger and dwarf continued up a third, then fourth flight of stairs. A goblin voice cried out from above. Talarren stopped just before reaching the lookout level. He snatched Kron’s wooden shield and bound forward with shield raised. A goblin arrow thudded into it. Talarren raced forward and drove his sword neatly through the helpless goblin’s heart. Kron followed.
Talarren walked to where a dangling rope hung. He gripped the rope and lowered it ever so gently. The faintest clang sounded from above. Razel’s spell had failed.
“With all due respect, Talarren, from which second-rate Circle did you find this hopeless spellcaster? Worst I’ve ever seen, and no mistake. Totally unfit for this quest.”
Talarren shrugged his shoulders. How could First Wizard be so wrong? In whose judgement could he trust if not First Wizard’s? He must never allow a repeat of this disaster.
“Can you trust her intentions?” Kron asked.
A frown creased Talarren’s forehead. Surely First Wizard couldn’t be wrong about her intentions? She was from the Alpha Circle of Wizards, most respected of all magic Circles. She has great potential, Talarren remembered him saying. Despite her youth, he recommended her highly. “I’m beginning to doubt it,” he admitted sourly.
They filed downstairs and met their colleagues two levels below in a storeroom. Three female goblins despatched by Kron lay dead, along with others covered by blankets. “Let’s have a look inside their purses, shall we?” Kron said. He rummaged through their clothes, extracting four pouches for a total of fifteen bronze pieces. “First taste of booty,” Kron said, smiling.
“Which we share out equally,” Alex reminded him.
“Of course,” Kron said, but his tone left Alex in doubt.
“Razel, your Rope! spell did not work,” Talarren said simply.
Razel’s naturally glowing skin turned bright red. “Are you sure?” she asked, mortified.
“Entirely sure.”
Kron turned on her. “If that last goblin had done what he was probably trained to do, who knows what we’d be doing right now?”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hunching her shoulders in shame.
“Let’s go back,” Talarren said. But first, he went up one flight of stairs to retrieve the goblin he’d elbowed. He slapped the goblin’s face till it came to. His eyes bulged with fear as he looked into Talarren’s grey eyes. Kron stuffed a cloth into the goblin’s mouth and held him in a vice-like grip.
They trudged back down the path. Perry was pacing up and back outside the cabin with impatience, chewing a blade of grass, Hunter at his feet. He stared at the goblin with interest.
Elfindi and Caspar had still not returned. Talarren briefly explained what had happened. “The watchtower has been cleared of goblins. We need to act now!”
Razel suggested she perform a Summon Familiar! spell. She explained that if successful, it would be ideal to infiltrate the castle. “The familiar I summon could be a rat, cat, mouse, bat or similar creature. I’ve practiced this spell a lot,” Razel said. “I have a rat that appears most times.”
“Why not all the time?” Kron asked.
Razel shrugged. “More experienced magicians summon any familiar they want, including magical creatures such as imps, pixies or fairies. For beginners, we have no control over familiars.”
Kron scoffed, then spat. He pushed the goblin onto the ground beside him. “Magic is a fickle affair. We dwarves have no doubts about the efficacy of our battle axes.”
“That’s a big word, Kron,” Perry said.
“How much?”
“One silver piece,” Kron said.
The others watched on with interest. “That’s a lot of money, Kron,” Razel said. “One can practically guess the meaning from the context.”
Kron dismissed her with a hmphff! “Well?”
“It’s like taking a sparrow egg from an empty nest, Kron, my friend. Like kissing a beautiful maiden. Nothing simpler.” Razel rolled her eyes. “You’re on, then.”
“So what does it mean?” Kron growled.
“Efficiency,” Perry stated smugly.
“I knew you’d say that,” Kron gloated. “You’re wrong, so hand over your silver.”
Perry shook his head. “My beagle’s unwiped backside I’m wrong. That’s exactly what it means. You hand over your silver.”
Kron’s voice got deeper. “You’re not the beagle type, I’ll wager. And you are wrong. So hand over your silver.”
Perry turned to the others. “Can someone give this dwarf a lesson in common speech? Efficacy means efficiency, does it not? Alex, you studied at university. What say you?”
“I’m no common tongue scholar, but what you say seems correct,” Alex stated uneasily.
“Exactly. What about you, Talarren?” Perry asked. “You’re leader of this party.”
“Trivialities later. Razel, perform your spell. A rat would be perfect for sneaking around without attracting suspicion.”
“Well said, Talarren,” Alex agreed. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry than subtle semantic distinctions between superfluous words.”
Kron glared at Perry. Perry returned a taunting look he no doubt developed as a privileged lad and never grew out of.
They got on with sorting their gear while Razel successfully summoned a large brown rat, which appeared at her feet. It jumped into Razel’s arms when it saw Hunter glare at it hungrily.
Immediately Talarren said: “Reconnoitre the keep first. Then report back.”
Razel picked up her rat and whispered into its twitching ear. It raced up the path. Razel relayed to Talarren that she told it to go into the keep and run across arches, along beams, through holes, beside walls, under debris, around fireplaces to gather every bit of information it could. Everyone waited anxiously for its return.
Talarren entered the wagon and slept, confident of Esmay and Hunter’s abilities to alert them at any sign of danger. The others paced, kept watch or guarded their prisoners. Eventually the rat returned, squeaking and nattering. Razel nodded, proud that her Summon Familiar! Spell had succeeded after her earlier magical failures. They woke Talarren.
“Interesting,” she said as the others gathered around her. “There’s a banquet hall filled with six long goblin-sized tables and chairs. In an adjoining kitchen a dozen grumbling goblins are preparing food. Everything looked deserted and ransacked. In the courtyard by the entrance to the keep five goblins guard a wide stairway descending to a lower level. A newly-constructed ramp for wagons and carts slopes downwards alongside the stairway. A huge pile of stone, rubble, rock and soil is stacked against the castle wall.”
Talarren traced his bottom lip with the side of his index finger, deep in thought. “Everything is underground; that makes sense. Minotaurs dwell in caverns and labyrinths. As do goblins, of course. They’re mining. Probably constructing an underground complex for whatever nefarious purpose this druid Leroy Boadstool has in mind. Or whoever he’s working for.”
“How do you know all this?” Alex asked.
Razel was anxious to acknowledge her admiration of Talarren’s resourcefulness. “He picks up tiny clues and pieces them together like a puzzle.”
“Experience,” Talarren answered humbly. “So, judging by what rat has told us, six long tables probably amount to sixty or seventy goblins. If they eat in the banquet hall, it means there isn’t room underground. They’re extending. A minotaur lives down there, as does a powerful druid. Knowing goblin communities, they’ll have space for dungeon, torture chamber, a captain’s quarters and an artisan quarter for amourers, swordsmiths, bow makers, tanners, cobblers and the like.”
The others regarded Talarren with astonishment. They knew his impressive physical stature concealed a razor sharp mind. They could not but conclude that before them stood a truly remarkable individual. His natural leadership made it easy to follow him. His plans came with clarity and sense. This Ranger was more than a simple adventurer, Kron decided. What on earth was in fact he really doing here? Gaining Title Deeds for a dispossessed dandy so he could resume his aristocratic lifestyle? Hardly. Seeking treasure? Gold did not seem to motivate him. What then? The thrill of fighting? Adventure seeking? Even more doubtful. Yet here was a man who knew folklore, ancient prophecies, monster-lore, histories and politics of men. A man who could fight and kill hill giants single-handedly. Who wielded swords, clubs, halberds with ease. Who communed with eagles and hunting dogs.
Dull rays of sunshine filtered through a cloudy sky to create indistinct shadows beneath them. A northern breeze fluttered through Talarren’s and Kron’s shoulder-length hair. Perry was impatiently waiting for his thick dark locks to grow to their usual length.
Talarren made a decision. “Now we make our goblin prisoner sing.”
Surrounded by armed strangers was not how this goblin imagined his afternoon would pass. Talarren’s face appeared like stone, emotionless yet holding untapped reservoirs of some mysterious power deep in his storm-grey eyes. Though hostility reeked from Kron’s dwarven pores, something about this Ranger made the goblin prefer his chances with the dwarf. Kron ripped the cloth out of his mouth.
“What are goblins doing here?” Talarren asked simply. It was not so much a threat but a disarming command.
“Digging for something. On my sainted and glorious goblin grandmother’s grave, I couldn’t tell you what. Building, too. Us goblins, we’re experts underground. Better than orcs. Better than dwarves. I know you want to know more but I couldn’t tell you. Gobbles, if I told you everything I knew, would you set me free?”
Before Kron could give this goblin a piece of his mind, Talarren quickly held up his hand.
“Do not address me as Gobbles. We will set you free provided you speak true, do you understand?”
“What?” Alex yelled.
“Come again?” Kron snapped, blinking as if he heard incorrectly.
“Proceed,” Talarren said. “Tell us all you know.”
“You believe this goblin?” Alex asked incredulously.
The goblin pointed his stubby finger directly at Alex. Its broad nose filled its face, as goblin noses do. He sniffed at Alex, a goblin insult. His exceedingly wide mouth ran across his entire face. He grimaced. His mouth opened and quickly closed again, like a toad. He wagged his finger at Alex then pointed at him as if it were a rapier. “Who do you think you are? Goblins lie no more than men, you know? Who are you?”
Alex moved forward to slap this impertinent goblin across his wretched face. It fearlessly moved forward to engage Alex in hand to hand combat.
“Stop!” Talarren commanded. To the goblin he said, “Speak,” not unkindly.
It waxed lyrical, as goblins tend to do when given the opportunity. He spoke quickly, pouring out a barrage of information. Talarren cross-examined him. His answers remained constant. When Talarren proposed something that showed he misunderstood, it pointed that out. When Talarren clarified a point, the goblin’s answer did not deviate from what he’d said before. His colleagues cottoned on to Talarren’s strategy. They could not help but be impressed. Either this goblin was an incredibly talented liar, which seemed highly unlikely, or he was telling the truth. He genuinely seemed ignorant of a bigger picture taking place beyond his limited, underground world.
“If you are going to set me free, would you care to cross my palms with gold? For my journey? Grasputin has a pouch of it hidden somewhere. I know he does. I seen him pinch it from them hill giant’s stash.”
Kron didn’t know whether to laugh or hammer this goblin into the ground like a stake. “He’s bold, this one.” He turned to the goblin. “Where is this stash you’re talking about it?”
“I can show it to you.”
“Not now, Kron, one thing at a time. What’s your name, goblin?”
“Hazbeen, nine hundred and fourth,” Hazbeen said proudly. “Seventeeth son of Hazbeen eight hundred and eighty seventh. When I’m done soldiering I want to colour heads.”
Razel bit her lip to prevent herself from bursting out laughing. Colour heads? What was this? A hairdressing career for fashionable goblins in Goblintown? A gruesome pastime involving dyeing skulls? Judging from the pride in his voice, it sounded like some well regarded profession among goblins.
Hazbeen told his story. A troupe of eighty goblins moved into Harrad Castle on orders from their weak-kneed, easily-manipulated general, Crispin Cluny under-Clown. Hazbeen corrected himself, declaring that Crispin was his real name but goblins called him ‘under-Clown’ behind his back. Crispin had been approached by a druid named Leroy Boadstool to dig hidden tunnels and secret rooms and to build a huge underground chamber for druids to carry out their ancient rites. Upon arrival goblins were placed under command of a minotaur who also bossed around three hill giants and a herd of bulls enclosed in a large pen behind the keep. “Them hill giants taunt and tease us goblins mercilessly.”
A wide set of stairs leading to an underground level had been extended by construction of a pulley system for raising dirt and stones. A ramp also had been built for oxen and carts. Immediately to the left of the bottom of the stairs was a guardroom where anywhere between five to fifteen goblins played cards, gambled, told ribald jokes or slept. Further along a passage were two doors leading to storerooms full of weapons, digging gear and other supplies. A passageway continued before turning at right angles. To its left a large barracks stuffed with bunks three rungs high doubled as a dormitory. Behind locked double-doors goblins took turns sleeping, half during daytime and half during night-time hours. Opposite their dormitory a large space without wall or door acted as a smith, complete with forge and tongs where half a dozen goblins fashioned weapons and armour. It led into a room used as an armoury, crammed with swords, spears, bows and baskets filled with hundreds upon hundreds of arrows.
Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet Page 14