“Yes,” Caspar said.
“Razel, perform a Speed! spell on Gladron right now! Caspar, climb onto Gladron behind me. Elfindi, tie this rope around Caspar’s waist!” Once the half-elf catburglar had completed a perfect knot in record time, Talarren instructed him to thread rope under Gladron’s underside and loop it around his feathery neck but avoiding a noose. “Kron, I place these Highlanders under your command. Hold the pier, understand?”
Kron nodded grimly. He gripped his battle axe with powerful hands, gloved and gauntleted.
With a mighty bound, Gladron flew directly out to sea under the influence of Razel’s Speed! spell. Razel breathed a sigh of relief. Her spell had worked.
“Men, about face,” Robert ordered. “I’ve had enough of this madness.”
Kron leapt off his horse. He ripped his crossbow off its clip. “Halt!” he roared. Feet apart, he loaded a bolt. “Next man that moves gets a bolt in his chest.”
Razel turned to Robert and Bruce. “Please,” she entreated. “I beg you. Let’s wait and see. Kron, please lower your crossbow.”
“Shan’t,” Kron growled. His crossbow was aimed uncomfortably close to Bruce’s head. “You agreed to follow Talarren’s instructions as leader of this expedition. You undertook this commitment before Thane Landreth himself, as I recall. Are you a man of your word? Or does a comfortable bed mean more to you than saving these villagers? Will you trust a Ranger’s instincts, or the feeble eyes of your pitiful lookout?”
“By all the gods,” Perry whispered slowly, his chest gripped with horrified disbelief. Razel followed his gaze, then screamed. Highlander men went pale. Dread filled their eyes. Kron turned around. Before them, not three hundred and fifty yards away, three Norse longships appeared on the ocean, driven steadily forward by Norse oarsmen.
It was a terrifying sight. I’ll never doubt that man again, Perry told himself. If I live, he added wryly.
Caspar had begun his incantation from behind Talarren as Gladron raced toward the Norse ships at full speed. The Ranger’s razor-sharp eyes scanned as much about their adversaries as he could while mounted on his racing hippogriff. Suddenly a thin, grey stream like a spear of smoke shot towards them from a shaman on board. Talarren pulled at Gradron’s reins and swerved, still racing forward.
Caspar shouted, “Dispel Illusion!” The blur disappeared, revealing three longboats cutting the waves into sprays of water. Caspar gripped Talarren’s waist in desperation. That’s when those on the pier identified the longships.
“Well done, Caspar. Shield! spell. That shaman will bring out all stops now. I’m going down one more time.” Caspar performed a Shield! spell. Their exposure made them easy targets for a powerful spellcaster. Gladron flew skyward, his speed making Caspar’s stomach heave.
Talarren dived straight for all three ships at a speed he had not flown in many years. Their chief shaman stood beside his captain and a druid. Talarren unstrapped his bow and fitted an arrow with the rapid expertise of a master bowman. On Gladron’s terrific descent, a small series of concentric circles emanated from a wand toward them. The circles grew in circumference as they approached while a steady stream of smaller concentric circles continued from the wand.
“Shield!” Caspar cried, gripping his staff with both hands while his legs hugged Gladron’s flanks with all his strength. If Talarren had not thought to get Elfindi to strap him in, he would have fallen into the ocean several times already. Immediately a shimmering blue glow surrounded them, dissipating the advancing white concentric circles as they collided with a tremendous whoosh! into Caspar’s shimmering blue magical forceshield.
Talarren aimed his bow. Onward at breakneak speed his hippogriff descended, its massive wings thundering like a windstorm under Razel’s Speed! spell. The Norse captain, Olaf, seized his sword, even from that distance a mighty blade. He appeared shocked that one hippogriff rider would dare attack three heavily armed longships.
Caspar examined the approaching longships with dread. Hostile faces from all three ships followed them. On board, a spellcaster and druid prepared to retreat behind a mighty shield held by two seaman. Talarren advanced as far as he dared.
“Now, Gladron!” He released his arrow. His mount rushed upwards. The arrow pierced the shaman’s temple moments before he stepped behind the protective shield. His wand dropped with a clang.
Pulling hard, Talarren guided Gladron back to the quay. Elfindi leapt forward, quickly untying the rope, desperate for haste. Twelve mounted Highlanders stared at him, their wardogs obediently awaiting instructions. Behind them stood a rough band of fifteen freezing and fearful fishermen armed with clubs, forks, bows, arrows and swords and a handful of glaives.
From atop Gladron, a foot taller than most destriers, Talarren faced the men and woman standing before him. He breathed deeply. His voice contained a poise that somehow brought an unhoped for measure of calm. “Listen to me very carefully,” he commanded. “We can defeat them if you do exactly as I say.” He paused. “Behind us are three longships. They will attempt to land on this pier. High ledges along both sides of the coastline make landing too awkward anywhere but on this pier. Their third is a cargo longship and will hover behind the other two. We concentrate our defence here.” Talarren pointed to the snow-covered wooden pier upon which they were all standing.
“You Highlander archers will fire from this end. Perry will direct you when to loose and when to retreat. Follow his instructions. When you retreat, Perry and Kron will stand here. Robert and Bruce will stand three yards back and assist with glaive thrusts, preventing them getting through our battle formation. A line of wardogs will precede us. The rest of you will mount, take up bows and continue to fire until we’ve been driven back, which will eventually happen given their numbers. At that point you charge using your mounts. If yetis break through, use glaives. Make sure two of you attack it at once accompanied by at least two wardogs. Hopefully our spellcasters will neutralise them before they get that far.” Talarren paused, allowing his words to sink in.
“You militia brave enough to be standing here, I honour you. May your bravery see us victorious.” Talarren stared at them with intense, storm-grey eyes. “You are our third layer of defence. If the enemy does anything other than what I have anticipated, you will attack them as a united group. Archers among you, fire when you’re sure of your mark.”
Caspar spoke up. “Talarren has already put an arrow into their spellcaster’s skull. Current tally; one of them dead, none of us.”
“Caspar! Razel! Their druid and other spellcasters will cast a maximum incapacitation spell such as Surrender! Paralysis! Nausea! or something similar. We’re not worth anything to them dead. They want slaves to sell, remember. Afterwards, when their casualties mount, they will not worry about keeping us alive. Dispel their spells as soon as they’re cast. Then cast your own as you see fit.”
Strangely, Talarren’s words seemed to stack the odds in their favour. Each person believed it, even knowing they were outnumbered by a hundred men and three monstrous yetis which they could see from where they stood. Razel gazed at this marshalling Ranger, captivated by his commanding bravery and presence of mind.
“Perry, you understand what you have to do?” Talarren asked quietly. Perry nodded, grim-faced. This was not exactly the type of excitement he had in mind when they arrived. Hopelessly outnumbered, facing a murderous band of Norse pirates with spellcasters and yetis thrown in? Perhaps a scale or two down from that would be preferable. Too late. This was what they faced.
Talarren addressed his party, out of earshot of the Highlanders. “Perry, Elfindi and Kron, your first missile targets are spellcasters, then leaders, then yetis. Caspar and Razel, position yourselves behind Highlander horsemen. Choose your targets. Elfindi, take a shield. Protect our two spellcasters. That’s your only job once you’ve loosed half a dozen arrows into pirate skins.”
An ominous slapping of oars now clearly reached their ears. The first two longships cut through darkened
waters like crocodiles at a stuck pig. A third followed. Dim figures huddled along sides, to stern and aft of each longship, glaring at their prey huddled on the pier. They were now less than one hundred yards away.
“To the pier, archers. Courage, all!” called Talarren. Gladron ran some yards before taking wing. Razel’s Speed! spell was beginning to wear off. Talarren rose high in an attempt to draw spells away from his more vulnerable friends standing on the pier. The blue glow from Caspar’s Shield! spell remained, though paler in colour. Caspar’s power, Razel noted, was significant for his spell to last so long.
A Stun! spell cast from a longship suddenly gripped Talarren in mid-flight. Clearly the spellcaster wanted him to fall to his death. From that height it would be like falling on stone. Fortunately, Caspar’s Shield! spell provided enough protection for Talarren to hold his balance, yet he still would have fallen off had Gladron not immediately straightened then altered her line of flight. Talarren pretended to fall forward. He instructed Gladron to fly in an arc toward the rear of the ships while he watched the spellcaster, a druid, out the corner of his eye.
The Norse druid stood next to his captain, clasping his orange staff. He called to another druid on the neighbouring longship. They pointed to the small gathering of men, including dwarf and half-elf, on the pier. One druid began an incantation. Oarsmen kept an eye on this irritating hippogriff flying in an arc behind them, its owner lurching helplessly forward.
“Load,” Perry ordered. Twelve Highlander bowmen loaded their arrows. Perry and Elfindi did likewise. Kron loaded his bolt.
A wispy cloud of brown vapour issued forth with arrow-like speed over now choppy waters. Caspar jumped to the pier’s edge, holding his staff high above his head. As the brown vapour-cloud covered the pier, including Razel, horses, wardogs and militia, an overpowering sense of hopelessness filled their hearts. They were gripped with a desire to throw down their arms and surrender, starting with militia, then Highlanders. Razel was about to throw down her staff. Hopelessness and a desire to simply give up pulled at her heart.
“Dispel Hopelessness! Dispel Surrender!” cried Caspar. His staff hummed loudly, drawing brown vapour out of ears, mouths and noses, sending them billowing upward and disappearing into the cold, misty air. Immediately everyone’s valour returned. Razel gripped her staff. “Long live Caspar,” she cried. Militiamen cheered loudly. What a powerful priest to have on their side, they decided, who dispels such sinister spells cast upon them.
Perry’s deep voice of command cut through the cold air. Longships were now fifty yards from the pier. The still morning air favoured accurate bowshots. “Target the left longship only. Aim mid-mast. Fire!” Twang! from fourteen bows and clack! of a crossbow bolt cut the air. Fourteen arrows formed a single weapon, like a falcon diving into a flock of pigeons. Arrows hit mast and bow. Some landed in water. Others pierced sacks of supplies. Two found their mark. One entered a Norse oarsman’s right arm. Another lodged in a Norseman’s neck. Those standing at the bow, namely captains and druids, ducked for cover behind shields and the wooden bow. One arrow sliced past the shaggy fur of a yeti. It let out an ear-splitting cry, enough to distress its hearers.
“Load,” Perry commanded. “Same longboat. Fire!”
Perry swore. His first shot missed his target, the black-clad druid. At least that wraith-like blackguard was too preoccupied evading arrows to cast spells. This time Perry must not miss.
Another volley twanged shipwards. At that range, their targets were easier as they pulled on oars oblivious to oncoming arrows. Trained archers could pick targets at that distance. Five Norsemen cried in pain. Two others slumped forward on their oars. A yeti let out another ear-splitting cry, shocking its hearers as an arrow landed in its shoulder. Olaf shouted orders. Two Norseman stood before their druid carrying the large shield. His druid counterpart on the neighbouring longship received similar protection.
The druid on longship two raised his staff. Another cloud of wispy vapours covered the pier, this time tinged with a sick, yellowy hue. Caspar predicted such a spell. He had already begun to wield his staff in a circular motion, causing gusts of air to become a billowing wind, blowing the yellowy wisps of vapour harmlessly upward. But not before five militia, a handful of dogs and two horses began retching violently. As soon as Caspar’s billowing wind lifted, they stopped retching bar two who had been infected too deeply. Their violent retching continued, rendering them effectively helpless.
This second volley of arrows, distracting the Norsemen, allowed Talarren to send Gladron into a rapid, unexpected dive. His trusty steed moved at a spectacular pace. Talarren gripped his bow, loaded an arrow and aimed. He squeezed his thighs again, a signal for his hippogriff to hold a straight trajectory. Norse oarsmen who’d been keeping an eye on him only too late realised their vigilance had dropped with the second volley of Highlander arrows.
“The flying mount,” a Norse pirate shouted.
An arrow shot from a High Elf bow whizzed angrily through the druid’s shoulder-blade, undefended as he was from the rear. It entered his heart and protruded through his chest, sending him crumbling forward into wooden beams, smacking his head noisily. The two shield-bearers in front of him turned in horror.
“Crossbows,” roared Olaf. Half a dozen oarsmen on each longship dropped their oars and clambered across decks to collect their crossbows.
Talarren continued on toward the pier. Once there, he cried out: “Your arrows are hurting them.” A loud cheer rose high.
“Load,” Perry cried, filled with confidence, yet doubly angry with himself for missing his mark again. No-one else would know, but he knew. The longships were now only twenty yards away. “Shoot at will on any ship. When I signal, retreat.”
Norsemen took aim with crossbows. Their bolts whistled murderously toward Highlanders huddled together. Two fell amid cries of pain. A third dropped clumsily, splashing into water.
While they reloaded, others prepared to guide their longboats to either side of the pier. Their third longship hung back, as Talarren had predicted.
Yeti emitted more horrible cries, like wailing wolves. Two on the left longship shuffled savagely, their white fur filling a large section of the deck. A third growled from the longship now steering into the right pier. Perry was not going to miss a third time. Their captain, a monster of a man, carried his large round shield before him. One foot rested on the edge of his ship.
“Take them,” Olaf snarled as savagely as a yeti. “Take them all.”
Meanwhile, Razel prepared a Gust of Wind! spell to counter their druid preparing a similar whirlwind-type spell. The druid’s intention was to blow Highlanders and horses away like loose leaves in a snowstorm. When the Norse druid’s Gust of Wind! picked up, Razel’s gust blew directly into it. A tremendous noise like a hurricane resounded between longship and pier. To her delight, Razel had saved her Highlander friends from being blown off into freezing waters.
Perry took careful aim. His eyes never moved from Olaf’s head. He released. His arrow sailed across the water and pierced his target’s throat. The Norse captain did not complete his order. He fell, gargling horribly. Immediately a healer knelt by his side, lost to view under the longship’s protective wooden bow.
Highlanders now fired their arrows from point blank range at Norse crossbowmen. Arrows thudded into bodies. Four, five, six Norsemen fell backwards. Kron’s crossbow bolt struck a yeti in its midriff. It roared in pain, its ferocious jaws snapping impotently as its sinister eyes took careful note of Kron.
“Retreat,” Perry yelled, with not a moment to spare. Highlanders retreated with all speed to their horses. Two took up positions directly behind Kron, bedecked in splendid platemail and wielding his mighty battle axe. Perry finally felt his unsheathed longsword in his hand. Four wardogs stood in the first line of defence, barking furiously.
On both sides of the pier, pirates, without waiting for their longships to stop, jumped off, weapons in hand. Other pirates guided their longships
closer and threw ropes around the wooden poles lining the pier. All at once, three yetis jumped forward, emitting screeches to chill the blood.
Caspar pointed his staff at one. “Fear!” he commanded.
Immediately wardogs and the faces of Perry and Kron filled it with dread and fear. It stepped backwards, bumping into charging Norsemen. Then it raced backward along the pier. Pirates vainly tried to pull it back. It barged through them, sending two sprawling into the water. It dived with a huge splash, swimming out to sea as fast as its limbs would take it.
Norsemen charged into the Highlander’s ferocious line of dogs. Their weapons jabbed and slashed. Snarling dogs leapt at throats, keeping the first assault line at bay. Kron brought his battle axe down with a crushing blow onto a leading pirate’s head, splitting both helmet and head apart. Perry’s sword pierced another’s face. Before long all four wardogs lay dead in blood-soaked snow along with half a dozen pirates. Kron swept his battle axe across the shins of two Norsemen, felling them. He kept his axe swinging around, using both hands, and slew a third. The force of the blow sent the victim crashing him into another pirate trying to bypass them on the outside, sending both pirates hurtling into the water. From his horse, Perry swung, slashed and pierced, his sword flashing, cutting and piercing three Norsemen. Highlanders wielding glaives gave invaluable support to Kron and Perry with their long range jabs, preventing pirates passing their line.
More pirates jumped onto the pier. They stood five deep, waiting impatiently behind their fellows who were kept at bay by the front line held by Kron, Perry and the Highlander horsemen. Behind them, yeti jumped up and down, anxious to tear and rip with deadly fangs and claws. One with a crossbow bolt in its midriff and stream of blood-soaked fur never moved its eyes from Kron. Hatred lit its slanted, yellow eyes tinged with murderous desire. It leaped forward. At that moment Razel cried: “Levitate!” In mid leap, it rose upwards, and upwards, out of harm’s way, higher and higher, roaring in helpless rage.
Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet Page 20