Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet

by David Lawrence

  Pirates, swords at throats, continued rowing. They sailed past lines of trees, which turned out to be a camouflaged gate that now lay open before them. Trees lined banks on both sides. Ahead, a canal opened onto a wide lagoon. Unarmed men and women gathered around its shores, awaiting news of the raid. Three longships lay moored around a circular wharf, along with half a dozen smaller skiffs and fishing boats. Olaf ordered his captured men to row into their designated area.

  “Captain, we have to fight. Now is our only chance,” a pirate roared. He managed to free his feet. He bound forward, intending to blow the conch to raise the alarm. Hunter pounced on him and brought him to his knees. A swift Highlander glaive ended his life, sending a clear message to the other pirates. Onlookers standing wharfside watched on with confusion.

  They were still some distance from the lagoon. Perry addressed their prisoners. “Listen, one and all,” he warned. “We will hack you to pieces if you attempt to escape. We cannot afford to fight you and them. If you co-operate we will spare your lives. Militiamen, bind them tightly.”

  As they did so, their longboat veered idly into the open lagoon. Onlookers, perhaps numbering fifteen men, women and children, watched on with increased confusion.

  Talarren flew upwards upon Gladron with a quiver full of arrows. “Don’t be alarmed,” their captain and chieftain shouted at those gathering to watch.

  Gladron made for Olaf’s quarters built into a rocky hill on the far side of the island, immediately recognisable from Carloff’s descriptions. Men and women tending fields and animals looked on with amazement. No alarm had been sounded, so they guessed this flying mount was their chief’s guest.

  From his vantage point in the sky, Talarren could observe the entire island which only measured half a league in length. In a clearing before Olaf’s quarters sat three large, low-flung wooden buildings. Around them two armed guards sat chatting. Talarren continued to fly around, gaining an understanding of where armed men were located. He waited until the longship was moored. Pirate prisoners sat on their stools guarded by wardogs and armed militiamen. Highlanders followed Perry and Kron onto the wharf.

  “What is happening?” asked Dene, a mountain of a man with a battle axe slung over his shoulder.

  “Do not be concerned, Dene,” Chief Olaf said, his eyes dulled, his voice clearly lacking authority.

  “It’s a trap, Dene,” a captive pirate yelled harshly, hoping for a last-ditch rescue. “Help us!”

  “Too late,” Perry warned. His sword glimmered even in the dull light of early morning. But not before Dene grabbed his axe. “Sound the alarm,” Dene shouted.

  A man raced toward the nearby storerooms where a large hollowed-out yak horn hung suspended from two poles. Kron felled him with a crossbow bolt.

  Dene swung his axe at Perry’s legs. Perry jumped clear.

  Woman and children screamed. Guards from both watchtowers left their posts and raced down to the lagoon. Guards seated around the three low-flung buildings also raced for the lagoon. One tumbled down with an arrow in his back. Perry and two Highlanders fought Dene off before a third Highlander glaive dropped onto his bare head, splitting it down the middle. A scuffle with women and children had them trussed with ropes. Talarren charged toward two men racing downhill from their watchtowers. Gladron’s rear hooves crashed into the sternum of one man with such force it killed him instantly. She continued up, then quickly turned around. Talarren aimed his arrow at a man escaping from a wooden hut. Thwack! His arrow sank into his exposed back.

  Men rushed out of random huts, brandishing weapons.

  “Bows!” yelled Perry.

  As pirates from the island ran forward, Highlanders loosed their arrows. One man after another collapsed as arrows pierced their unarmoured bodies. Women and children ran in all directions. Sheep bleated wildly. Two men from the opposite guard tower raced toward Olaf’s quarters, hoping to release their yeti. Talarren charged. Gladron took both down in a single blow, killing one with a hoof to his head and knocking his mate into a rolling somersault. Talarren jumped off his mount, rushed over and held his sword to the man’s throat. Gladron’s hoof had left a sickening gash in the man’s chest. He fainted.

  In a short space of time those pirates from the island and their women and children were rounded up.

  They counted seventeen men. “Others are hiding,” Carloff shouted. “Check the trees and cabins.”

  “Free all slaves,” Talarren ordered. “Give them food and water. Tend their wounds. Beware of ambushes. Gather all pirate women and children. Lock them in that hut. All pirate men, injured or otherwise, tie up and put with the prisoners in our longship. Robert and Bruce, send out two patrols of four men and two wardogs. Search every hut and tree. Bring them all in. Olaf, come with me.”

  Olaf guided them through vegetable patches and animal pens to his quarters. A lavish room filled with silverware and precious objects filled his chamber. A large corridor ran deeper into the hill. Olaf pointed to a heavy wooden door. “This leads to the yeti lair. We lock them in a rear cave when we access our treasure room behind it.”

  “Order your yeti into their cave.” Olaf swung open his door and led them into a large cavern. He opened a sliding, iron gate, too heavy even for a yeti to crash down. Two large yeti, over ten foot tall, paced their cavern, teeth dripping with saliva, claws menacing. “Cave,” Olaf ordered. They obeyed. He locked them in with keys taken from a compartment carved into the wall.

  Walking a little further, Olaf used his right hand to disarm the trap. He then opened the heavy door with a large key from the same compartment. Caspar carried a torch. Inside the treasure room lay a dozen large chests. Caspar opened the lid of one of the chests. He gasped. It was filled with gold and precious gems. His calm demeanour left him. His eyes gleamed, reflecting the dazzling colours of the precious jewels and gemstones filling the chest. A second chest revealed similar, glittering treasures. And so with the third. Caspar’s mouth fell open. He could not speak. Never in his life had he seen such a hoard; not even in his temple treasury.

  “We will need our wits about us, Talarren,” Caspar eventually breathed. “This hoard surpasses anything we expected.”

  “Indeed,” Talarren said. “You, where is the Amulet stolen from King Harrad of Reswald?” Olaf pondered on Talarren’s words for some time. He seemed to be trying to recall some incident in his past. He hesitated, but when Caspar repeated the question he pointed to two huge, old, iron-bound chests each bolted with three enormous padlocks. He shrugged his shoulders. “I know nothing about this Amulet you speak of, but we keep artefacts, amulets and jewelled antiques in those.”

  “Did you raid Harrad Castle twenty years ago during the Norse Devastation?” Talarren persisted. Olaf hesitated, as if weighing up the consequences of his answer. He turned to Caspar who nodded.

  “Yes,” said Olaf simply.

  “Is anyone from that castle here now?”

  Olaf considered Talarren’s question. He shrugged. “King Harrad became my personal manservant. When I didn’t get my ransom, something prevented me slaying him there and then.” A curious expression changed Olaf’s face, as if confused about why he show his prisoner such uncharacteristic mercy. He did not know then and he did not know now.

  Talarren studied him carefully. “Where is he now?”

  “He died. Blighter couldn’t endure our winters. Gave him his own room, I did. Fires burned night and day. Fever eventually killed him.” Again, a confused look came into his face. “Usually we throw our dead to orca. Don’t know why, but I gave him a proper burial.” As an afterthought, Olaf asked: “Could this win me clemency?”

  “Show me his grave,” Talarren ordered. Olaf led them past the two snorting yetis outside to a tended glade behind a low, grassy hill. A smattering of headstones dotted a small area. One gravestone read: “Here lies King Harrad of Reswald, only man ever spared by Olaf the Merciless.”

  “Dig him up,” Talarren ordered two Highlanders. He ordered another Hi
ghlander to fetch sheets and a rug from Olaf’s bedroom. Talarren grabbed a shield he saw inside Olaf’s chamber and raced back to assist in digging up Harrad’s grave. Presently they reached the bottom of the pit. Only bones remained. Talarren gathered up the bones and reverently placed them onto the sheet, wrapping them carefully. Then he wrapped the rug around the sheet.

  They returned to Olaf’s treasure room. “Where are your prisoners bound?” Talarren asked. Olaf divulged gruesome details of their trade with Galapogas Gulf slavers.

  Before leaving they locked up. Talarren kept the key. Angry yetis grunted, snarling at these unwelcome strangers, rattling the iron bars of their cage. Their grunts became more insistent. “Tell them to shut up,” Caspar snapped. Olaf gave the order. They whimpered, then retreated to the rear of their lair.

  As the others moved off a Highlander carrying Harrad’s remains in his arms. Talarren waited behind with Caspar. “The Amulet was not buried with King Harrad.”

  “We must find it,” Caspar said desperately.

  Using Olaf’s keys, Talarren unlocked the three padlocks to the first jewellery chest, sorting through brooches, necklaces, armbands, crowns, lapels, rings, belts, bracelets, tiaras, earrings, charms and accessories of all descriptions. Embedded or attached to every item were precious jewels of all conceivable types – diamonds, diadems, rubies, emeralds, amethysts, pearls. Their variety and beauty dazzled them. Ornamental daggers and dozens of ornamental objects filled the chest. Talarren picked up a plain-looking necklace inscribed with ancient runes. It appeared the most likely candidate for the Amulet of Power, yet it appeared old and scratched, seemingly of no value except for a large, dirt-covered green stone in its centre. Casper grabbed it from Talarren. He rubbed away the dirt and grit to reveal brilliant diamonds and a dazzling emerald.

  Caspar’s eyes lit up. “The Amulet of Rohalgamoth,” he whispered hoarsely. “At last, after all these years.”

  Talarren stared in amazement. Its legendary powers filled his imagination with wonder. Finally, they had accomplished what he earnestly desired to accomplish. His heart leapt.

  Caspar hugged the Amulet to his chest, then wiped it on his neat robes.

  Talarren observed in shock. Did his eyes deceive him? Caspar, using his impeccably clean robe to clean a dirty amulet? Caspar stood like a solemn statue of some ancient Temple. He placed his hand deliberately upon Talarren’s shoulder, a tear forming in his eye. “You did it, Talarren,” he whispered. For a long time, they stared at the Amulet, Caspar’s hand resting on Talarren’s shoulder.

  Meanwhile, Perry directed operations wharfside. A total of forty two prisoners had been freed, rescued from their fate, no longer chattels to be sold to the slavers of Galapagos Gulf. Food, provisions and items of value were gathered from huts and storehouses and neatly placed into piles along the wharf.

  Gladron spotted a pirate hiding in a copse of tree. She screeched till the Highlanders flushed him out. Two others hiding in hay in the stables were sniffed out by Hunter and the wardogs. They were dragged outside.

  Perry ordered that pirates from the island be hauled onto the longship in chains to join their fellows.

  Kron spat as they were dragged across the gangplank by Highlanders. “Lucky we don’t cut your miserable throats.”

  For their return journey to Thane Landreth’s castle Perry organised a convoy of three longships connected to each other by ropes. Freed prisoners were directed to carry as many items of value as their longboats could hold, including food and water, barrels of wine, cured meats, cheeses and grains, as well as spare rigging, sails, clothes, furs and blankets and other miscellaneous items. Chickens and sheep were carried or herded into a third longship along with the freed Norse prisoners.

  A second longship was designated to take goats and cattle, along with food and a supply of weapons and armour. No weapon remained on the island, not even a dagger. The dozen treasure chests were wheeled across the island, along with all items of value from Olaf and his deputies and deposited on this second longship surrounded by goats and cattle.

  Practically nothing of value remained on the island.

  The first longship held all pirate prisoners, including Olaf, under the watchful eyes of wardogs, Highlanders, militiamen and Talarren’s party. Pirate women and children were released back to their huts with enough clothing, food and cattle to survive the winter. Talarren promised a rescue ship at some point in the future. All remaining huts and both watchtowers were burnt along with other longships and most fishing vessels. At lunchtime they set sail, awkwardly rowing through the canal into open seas.

  “What a long trip this will be,” Elfindi complained. But the idea of counting their treasure filled him with delight. Nothing could wipe Perry’s smile off his face. Kron paced up and down, his eyes smouldering with anticipation. Even Razel felt a sense of excitement at her share of this mighty treasure hoard.

  Due to its incomparable wealth, Talarren decided to allocate everyone’s share before distributing it, including all victims across the Highlands, not just those present.

  “I can do that, can’t I?” Perry suggested. “You’ve got enough to do, Talarren.”

  Talarren stared hard at Perry, his storm-grey eyes intense and intimidating. Perry felt his motives exposed. It silenced him.

  No-one dared argue.

  That afternoon Talarren and Caspar boarded longship two which held the treasure chests and all other items of value found on the island. Perry, Kron and Razel followed, enviously watched on by those remaining in longship one, Highlanders and pirates alike. A sufficiently long rope prevented anyone crossing from longship two to longship three.

  All afternoon they placed coins in piles to count. Gold, silver and platinum from dozens of kingdoms filled many of the chests. Random gemstones lay glittered amongst the coins along with precious objects such as golden chalices and other artefacts set with jewels, gems and precious stones. It was many times more than a king’s ransom, and had obviously been accumulated over a rampagingly successful decade and a half of piracy. No doubt some of the treasure came from Harrad’s coffers during Olaf’s raid during the Norse Devastation.

  “Caspar,” Talarren said. “This hoard is worth many times more than fifty thousand gold pieces.”

  “Your competent authority for fair distribution among the poor and needy?” Caspar asked, his weathered features contrasting with the smooth icy seascape. “Aelred?”

  Talarren nodded. “Friends, we have been well rewarded for our labours. In gold alone there are one hundred and fifty thousand, one hundred and two coins. One thousand six hundred platinum pieces. Two hundred and twelve thousand silver pieces. I haven’t bothered to count the bronze or copper. These artefacts and items of jewellery are worth more than all the coins put together.”

  No-one had ever seen anything like it in all their lives, not even Talarren.

  Chapter Twenty

  In Thane Landreth’s Castle

  IT TOOK THEIR LONGSHIPS nearly three days to enter Frostibank’s rivermouth and moor by Thane Landreth’s pier. They stayed as honoured guests for two days, resting and recuperating in luxury. No expense was spared by Thane Landreth. His household servants and courtiers were placed at their disposal. In a grand ceremony, heralded by a troupe of bagpipes, flautists and sithars, Landreth handed his five contracted party members four hundred gold pieces each. Contracts were duly signed and witnessed amid much rejoicing.

  Messengers rode out with all speed. Thanes from across the Highlands made their way to Landreth Castle where Thane Landreth welcomed them warmly. Pirates were thrown into deep dungeons. Each former pirate prisoner received a pouch of one hundred gold pieces and given safe passage back to their village. Those living in distant lands began their long journey home to family and friends. Militia fishermen were handed sheep, cattle, chickens and goats and their share of spoils, along with gold for deceased families, making each of them exorbitantly wealthy fishermen. Each Highlander soldier, including Robert and Bru
ce became wealthy men and were asked to institute and command a small but loyal standing Highland army, financed in part by their new influx of wealth.

  On the second evening of banqueting stewards set up a large open space. Flutes, harps, fiddles and cithara, bagpipes, drums and horns played as lines of men and women faced each other for traditional Highland dancing. Others watched on, stamping their feet and drinking from quaichs and other traditional goblets. Kron sat on his banquet chair observing contentedly, threatening to throw into Frostibank River anyone who dared asked him to dance. To his annoyance but not surprise, no other dwarves were present. Highland weather did not suit dwarven tastes. Kron’s comrades eagerly joined in the merriment, especially Perry and Elfindi who sought to dance with every pretty maiden they laid eyes on. There was much laughter, clapping hands, linking elbows, twisting bodies and moving feet in the Great Hall.

  Much later, in the wee hours of the morning, Perry linked hands with a beautiful young maiden whose tiny mask barely covered her eyes. Her lavender perfume filled his senses with recognition.

  “Cara!” Perry exclaimed. “What in Olaf’s name are you doing here?” He raised his right hand to touch the palm of her firm left hand, as prescribed by the dance.

  “I missed you,” she answered, sliding closer than their dance prescribed. “I was worried.”

  “You’ve come all the way from Reswald?” Perry’s palm met Cara’s raised right palm.

  “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispered hoarsely. “I hear you were quite a hero.”

  In the banquet hall glow, lit by blazing fires and torches placed around walls decorated with patterned lanterns hanging from ceilings, a crimson hue coloured Perry’s face, already flushed by large quantities of fine red wine. “You hear correctly,” Perry answered, smiling. It dawned on him why Cara had travelled all this way, effectively from Alonçane, to follow him. She must be one of those women Aelred was always warning him about, ones that used their feminine charm to beguile wealthy and stupid men into their greedy clutches. She was after his gold, of course. Perry congratulated himself that even tanked with wine he could see through her. But that didn’t stop him dancing with her, or gazing at her enchanting beauty from inappropriately close quarters.