Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet

by David Lawrence

  Much to their host’s disappointment his visitors finally retired to their beds inside a large barn. Butcher Keswick spread layers of fresh hay across the floor beside a single horse standing in its stall. Its aroma filled the barn. They tethered their six own horses with Gladron outside. Esmay perched on a brick chimney where warm smoke rose gently til it faded, then disappeared. Talarren scouted around while everyone settled under thick woollen blankets from their packs. Razel used a Light! spell to continue reading from her spell book and practising magic.

  Shortly afterwards, satisfied, Talarren snuck in and immediately fell asleep, followed by Caspar after reciting his ancient prayers and incantations. Kron, Perry and Elfindi stayed up late, talking in muted tones.

  Early next morning they heard Talarren and Keswick with other villagers in animated discussion. Yes, they were being taxed by King Dagan. Yes, the villagers resented it, but Dagan promised protection from Norse or other hostile attacks. Yes, their local lord also taxed them, similarly providing protection and other assistance when required. This local lord commanded two hundred trained and armed militia from surrounding districts, but as King Dagan’s men maintained, such numbers were insufficient, thereby requiring Dagan to reinforce numbers with his own troops, thus justifying his taxation.

  Breakfast left them feeling full to bursting. Bacon and eggs, salami and freshly baked bread, with dried fish brought in from the Rainbow Sea coast was practically rammed down their throats. “Now, my good folk,” Keswick said, “if it pleases, supper, breakfast and lodging for you and your steeds, and as you may have seen, I stuffed a salami into each of your saddlebags, will cost you a modest sum of one gold coin and four silvers.”

  Perry’s eyes grew to the size of the plate from which he’d just eaten “What?” he cried.

  Kron’s hand flew to his axe. Caspar stayed the dwarf’s arm.

  “You’re not serious?” Elfindi asked, aghast.

  Caspar stepped forward with his purse. “Your hospitality has been second to none. We will be delighted to pay you. Is bartering acceptable in your village? Perhaps you have a different system of currency? This is why my friends have shown such flabbergast.” Caspar showed no sign of anger. Unlike everyone else, including Razel, his robe and hair were impeccable, without a crease, as if he’d woken in a palace with servants tending to his ironing, dress, coiffure and adornment. How does he do it, Razel wondered to herself?

  Keswick shook his head. “I think not, my good man of the cloth. Our system’s same as yours, I’ll wager. Five coppers equals one bronze. Ten bronze equals one silver. Twenty silvers equals one gold. Five gold equals one platinum. Same rate, all realms, far as I know. You folks got a different one?”

  “Let me…!” Kron began, but once again Caspar placed a placating hand on the dwarf’s quivering arm.

  “You’re mistaken, my good man,” Perry said as patiently as he could. “In Alonçane, two meals each and a night’s sleep in a decent inn - with beds, mind - would set us back eight silver pieces, total. You’re charging us one gold for straw in a barn. Nearly four times the rate.”

  “Now see here.” Keswick threw off his apron. “You sat here in this very kitchen, being served better fare you’d get within a week’s travel.” Keswick addressed himself to each of his guests, including Talarren and Razel. “No frustrating hours hunting boar only to cook for an hour and still not have enough. No catching fever in draughty, cold air, hunted by wolves or bears or fined by King Dagan’s men for being out without a pass. Count yourselves lucky you ain’t being charged more.”

  Kron gripped the hilt of his hand axe. Caspar stayed his now shaking arm. He thought he heard the dwarf grinding his teeth.

  Perry spoke again. “So we’re lucky you’re only charging us one gold and four silvers, is that what you’re saying, sir?”

  Butcher Keswick stepped menacingly forward, gazing directly into Perry’s flaring fighter’s eyes. Perry stood a good foot taller than the butcher, his shoulders broad and muscly, with a glare that intimidated most men. “That is precisely what I’m saying,” the butcher said evenly. “And if you’re not happy with that, I’ll prize it out your purse myself, if it’s not too tight for me to open, that is.”

  The slight on Perry almost made his companions laugh. Such brashness in a butcher, with his stout wife defiantly egging him on, was too surreal for words. One thing could not be denied, this butcher’s bravery. Or was it foolhardiness? Did he miss his calling, Talarren wondered? Not chopping beef with cleavers, but cleaving orcs with choppers. Standing up to an angry Perry was no mean feat, even for an experienced soldier.

  Perhaps his companions found this upstart butcher humorous and brave, Perry thought. Not he. He gritted his teeth. His handsome features blazed with anger. This was the Perry Elfindi knew should not prodded - his inner bear. Once unleashed, blood could spill.

  The fat butcher felt Perry’s savage anger. Blindsided with a sudden realisation, he imagined what it could do if unleashed. Perry possessed a magnificent sword. His hand went resolutely for it. Keswick stepped backwards.

  Caspar opened his purse and gave the butcher one gold and four silvers. “We wish you well,” he said and walked outside, followed by Talarren and Razel. Elfindi dragged Perry after him. Kron scowled fiercely on his way out, with a parting dig: “Don’t come crying to the likes of me when Dagan’s men rake in your money unfairly. That’s what you’ve done to us.” Kron turned to see whether the others were far enough away. They were. He added: “Count yourself lucky we’re not a band of dwarves. Dwarves don’t sit back idly and let themselves get fleeced to the stinkhouse.” He slammed the door behind him so hard a bolt flew from its loosened hinges. He viciously kicked a pail of water sitting nearby, sending water splashing over three scampering chickens clucking indignantly.

  After an hour Perry regained his chirpy self. They recounted the incident and joked about it.

  “I’d wager that butcher over Perry any day,” Razel taunted, imitating Perry’s pugnacious pose during their confrontation.

  “Very funny,” Perry retorted. “I’d have gut that oaf like a wild boar if Caspar’s moral scruples didn’t get in my way.”

  Undulating hills punctuated with rocky outcrops and crisp green meadows reminded Talarren of his childhood. Presently a shimmering coast came into view. “Over that ridge is our seaport,” Talarren pointed out. “Travel will be easier from here.”

  “Except for Elfindi and his fears of…sharks, drowning, swampmen?” Razel teased. She relished the opportunity of dishing out to the half-elf the sort of slights he felt so free in dishing out to her.

  Caspar clapped his hands, something the others noticed when there was too much teasing or tension. “Razel, I’d be careful if I were you. These boys have been patient with your taunts. You don’t want to push them.”

  “My taunts?” she gasped incredulously. “Boys is a good choice of word,” she added.

  Elfindi exchanged a look with his old friend, then glared at Razel. “You don’t want to push us,” he warned.

  Talarren quickened his pace as they approached the crumbling battlemented town walls. Clearly little effort was spent on upkeep. They passed through its open gate. As they walked its streets, people stared. Occupants took in the unusual sight of six mounted strangers, including a dwarf, spellcaster and cleric. But they could not take their eyes off the impressive warrior riding a ferocious half-horse, half giant eagle, rarely seen in these parts.

  Along cobbled streets ran a line of craftsmen toiling at workshops, wheels, forges and fires. Farmers carried their wares along narrow lanes. The visitors passed a large fish market on the wharf. Vessels bobbed up and down on gentle waves. A long planked platform ran the length of a wooden wharf where shipwrights plied their trade and small fishing boats filled with pungent nets calmly waited for their next haul. Gulls screeched noisily as they fought for crabs and fish cast-offs.

  “Harbourmaster’s office,” Caspar indicated, pointing.

  The
y dismounted and waited outside while Talarren conducted business. He was sent to a wharf tavern where four oarsmen and a captain were whiling away their time over a flagon of ale.

  Presently they crossed a wide gangplank secured by iron clips sturdy enough for man and horse. Once inside the boat, horses were positioned into neat stalls so as not to interfere with the oarsmen who took their seats and prepared their oars. A stiff wind blew across decks. Seasalt filled their nostrils. A pelican squawked. Their dour captain prepared sail and rigging on a single mast, then mounted a platform. He steered from an elevated position on his vessel.

  “I know, I know,” Caspar told Talarren. “A druid would come in handy here.” Razel cast a Gust of Wind! spell which sailed them rapidly out to sea, to all six oarsmen’s delight. Captain Smythe was charged to sail his vessel downstream along the fast-flowing Frostibank River for one hundred and twenty leagues to Thane Landreth Keep. The journey usually took one and a half days, Captain Smythe explained. Longer if they encountered strong headwinds.

  “Come and look at these fish,” Razel called to Kron.

  “Thank you, but I’m keeping Elfindi company during his water terrors.”

  “He will survive,” Perry shouted over slapping oars. “They’re amazing. As long as a goblin and bright orange.”

  “Catch one for us,” Kron called back.

  “Come, Kron, you must see them,” Razel insisted, allowing her hair to blow wild and free as she huddled into her thick woollen coat against the strong breeze.

  “On our return,” Kron replied with a note of finality.

  Perry and Razel studied Kron. He had not left Elfindi’s side. Both practically hugged the thick, central mast. Since boarding, Kron had assumed a sudden solicitous concern for Elfindi’s welfare. Perry exchanged glances with Razel, wondering if she had similar thoughts about their ‘fearless’ dwarf.

  Temperatures rapidly dropped after leaving port. Everyone except the oarsmen donned coats, furs, gloves and scarves. Captain Smythe explained that with autumn came biting cold, followed by snow and sometimes ice as Frostibank River flowed into Iceland Sea. To Elfindi’s question, Captain Smythe replied that no, water dragons didn’t inhabit Rainbow Sea. No, neither did sea serpents. Or giant octopi. Or water trolls. No water monsters of any description. No killer whales, although closer to the river mouth killer whales had been seen on occasion. There were sightings of watermen, but they were not considered a threat.

  “By all the gods,” Elfindi wailed. “Did you hear that? Killer whales.”

  “Pipe down, half-elf,” Caspar scolded him. “Or when we get close to Thane Landreth’s Keep, I’ll throw you overboard. To help you face your fears, of course.”

  “Can’t you do a Dispel Fear! spell on him?” Perry asked.

  “Of course, but that won’t fix his deeper issue. Spells are only temporary, unless we go to a High Priest. He could perform an elaborate incantation of powerful magic over time. However, no High Priest has the time nor inclination to perform such a spell. Besides, Elfindi could never afford it.”

  “Unless we find this pirate treasure,” Perry countered.

  “We have a small task before we do that,” Caspar said casually.

  “Which is?” Perry asked absent-mindedly.

  “Find and kill a hundred bloodthirsty pirates.”

  Razel, standing near Perry, burst out laughing.

  Talarren smiled gravely.

  Kron frowned. In his opinion, this was not a laughing matter.

  Caspar cast a Dispel Exhaustion! spell on their oarsmen whose speed picked up immediately as if they had just began to row. Its effects began to wear off after an hour, at which time Razel cast a similar spell. Only two oarsmen felt its effects, and then only for a quarter of an hour.

  Talarren hitched a rope to his restless hippogriff, running it through an iron ring set into beams on the skiff’s bow. Gladron flew ahead, dragging her cargo behind. The oarsmen cheered. Rarely was their job made so easy.

  Captain Smythe blew a conch. His oarsmen worked ropes and rigging to unfurl their broad yellow sail. It flapped loudly when the wind blew against it. Like a gigantic canvas sheet, it snapped and whirred. It caught the wind and dragged the vessel along. Caspar performed a Gust of Wind! spell. Their boat lurched forward, its sails brimming, dragging them forward many times faster than rowers could ever propel them. Captain Smythe whistled and shook his head. “I love it when spellcasters are on board. We get home earlier and spend more time with our ladies.” His grateful oarsmen nodded agreement. Caspar stood astern with arms held out before him, concentrating on his Gust of Wind! spell for maximum effect. Following his spell, Razel performed hers. A significant difference in wind strength and duration was apparent between these two spell-casters. Everyone noticed it.

  Talarren looked into Razel’s crisp, blue eyes and said: “Remember, Razel. Caspar is a highly experienced priest of Ehud. You can’t compare yourself to him. Yet. First Wizard says you’re unusually gifted. That’s why he sent you.”

  Small tears formed in Razel’s beautiful eyes. She turned to make sure no-one was watching, deciding to finally let her guard down and confide her fears to Talarren. “I’ve let us down so many times. I can’t be relied on during a fight with pirates. I can’t do it.”

  Talarren gently placed his hand on her arm. She immediately felt his warmth and power, a strange sensation which struck a deep chord inside her, almost shocking her with its sudden intensity. What spell is this, she wondered? His confident reassurance restored her wavering courage. There was so much more to this Ranger than meets the eye, she decided.

  Standing under the sail, Perry shook his head when he saw Talarren placing his arm on Razel. “Wouldn’t you like to be in Talarren’s boots right now?” he whispered to Elfindi. “I’d be touching more than her arm.”

  “Of course you would,” Elfindi replied. Kron rolled his eyes without letting go of the wooden beam.

  Captain Smythe steered his vessel for another hour after dark as a result of Caspar and Razel’s Light! spells. “Normally we’d need to weigh anchor. We’re gaining valuable time.” Fish swam to Frostibank’s surface, curious about this unusual light. “We’ll dock before breakfast.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We’ve cut more than half a day off our journey. Thane Landreth’s chefs will be caught unawares.”

  At first light on a healthy breeze their vessel set sail. As their captain predicted, less than an hour later a large castle came into view set high upon a hill bordering the river. Grey clouds covered a domed sky. On either side a harsh landscape stretched out as far as the eye could see. Rocky hills, steep escarpments and narrow gorges punctuated with wide fens merged into vast fields covered in verdant carpets of grass.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Frosty Arrival

  THEY APPROACHED LANDRETH CASTLE. Its sheer walls rose directly in line with the cliff. A heavily battlemented stone landing dock prevented direct entry to the stairs leading up to the castle. Men-at-arms stood ready with ballistas. Catapults sat on platforms on three levels, beginning with the river level. Above that, typical of Highland castles, it rose another six stories high, its cone-shaped towers and turrets rising even higher. Its landing dock was broad enough to unload cargo from large ships. Heavy pulleys allowed goods to be winched up. Stairs and a winding, steep cobbled track trailed upwards. Archers stood by. Guards carried glaives. “I like those glaives,” Perry told Kron.

  He shrugged. “I prefer my battle axe.”

  Servants helped men and horses dismount. Robert and Bruce, the Highlanders from Alonçane’s Hall of Assembly, greeted them with beaming, hope-filled shouts. They warmly shook hands with everyone before leading them on. Horses were guided carefully up the stairs. Gladron needed no assistance. Her massive front claws clamped easily into the naturally cobbled ridges.

  Perry held out his arm for Razel.

  “I can manage,” she shot back. Perry happened to turn around and noticed Talarren behind him, cheekily sha
king his head. Perry threw up his hands and trudged upwards.

  They entered the keep, buttressed by fortified walls and battlements, passing through to Thane Landreth’s official audience chamber. Mounts, including Gladron, were taken to the stables. Hunter and Esmay stayed with Talarren. Waiting in the room with Thane Landreth were four well-dressed lords wearing patterned kilts, doublets and scarves held with silver pins of hawks, bulls, marlins or dragons revealing their clan symbols. Landreth introduced the four Highland lords. “Welcome and greetings to each. You’ve come a long way. We thank you for your pains.” They crossed into a smaller room lit by two blazing fires. Thick carpet lined the floor. Rich tapestries covered walls, embroidered with decorated Highland heroes and historic battles. A large stained-glass window allowed coloured light into the room. Way below flowed the Frostibank on its winding course toward Iceland Sea…and pirates.

  Landreth began by explaining their body politic. In total fifteen thanes ruled over all Highland territory. Thane Landreth assumed overall sovereignty. He explained that the Highlands did not run like most kingdoms in that no one king ruled over all. All fifteen thanes, or lords, met regularly to discuss matters of state, trade and defence of the land. The Highlands had, over centuries, often suffered at the hands of marauding Norse hordes. More recently, though, Norse pirates were embarking on unexpected raids. Villagers and farmers did not always escape to local castles in time. The pirate’s usual strategy was to wait for the regular fogs to fall so lookouts could not see their approaching longships. Highland lords did not possess sufficient wealth to maintain a standing army or navy and therefore their subjects often suffered devastation and pillage. During the Norse Devastation twenty years earlier many Highlanders were killed and taken captive.

  Since that horrible time, Norsemen had been quiet. They’d spent their energies in sea trading, forging new trade routes around the Central Continent, becoming skilled with livestock, farming and fishing, especially the increasingly lucrative whale trade. Demand for its fat, skins, teeth and meat soared, as did coveted parts used for potions and magic spells, especially from druids.