After some discussion they decided Queen Zenobia would retain the Amulet inside her impregnable Citadel until such time as it was needed.
Each prepared to embark on journeys towards their respective lands next morning.
“I shall go ahead and meet you at Cuthbert Castle,” Caspar said. “It is best we travel in smaller groups or alone while in Reswald, I deem.” He bid them good bye. “Alas, I will need to return in happier times to enjoy the hospitality and ambiance of this glorious Citadel.”
Aelred suggested he meet Talarren, Razel, Perry and Elfindi in Reswald. As Lord Protector of the Realm of Lafarrhine, he had requested an audience with King Dagan to discuss affairs of state. He wanted Talarren by his side. Once finalised, and after Talarren had reunited Sheila and Lucien under Lord Cuthbert’s protection, Aelred would send Talarren to Tessor to discover why King Xertes had not attended their meeting. While in Tessor the mighty Ranger could lend assistance to King Xertes co-ordinating Central Kingdom involvement with the defence of Raysal-El-Hin.
Aelred flew south upon Silverwing.
Chapter Twenty Three
Sheila
DAYS LATER TALARREN RECEIVED a letter delivered by two messengers from Lord Cuthbert.
Talarren read it. “Listen to this. Lord Cuthbert, quite independently, has not only discovered King Dagan’s daughter, Sheila, but has located Lucien, her and Alex’s brother. We are to meet Sheila in a small village called Harvest End, where she is in hiding, then accompany her south to Cuthbert Keep where Lucien is now living.”
“This Sheila,” Perry asked casually as he scrutinised with ostentatious intensity the tip of his dagger, “is she attractive?”
“Do you never stop?” Razel retorted.
“He never does,” Elfindi returned.
Lord Cuthbert’s directions were impeccable. They knocked at an innocuous homestead and met Sheila’s guardian, who cried profusely when her young charge left in tow with these battle-hardened travellers.
“I think you two should meet us there separately,” Talarren suggested to Perry and Elfindi, “so as not to draw attention.”
There was no argument from either Perry or Elfindi, as Razel had suspected. It would have been a very different story if Sheila was comely. “You two are unbelievable,” she snapped.
“Don’t draw attention to yourselves,” Talarren warned.
“Yes, Talarren,” Perry drawled atop his horse, as if being told off by a nagging parent. He and Elfindi dug in their heels and raced off ahead.
In his desire to meet Aelred, Talarren wasted no time setting off on the road to Reswald. Before he ever showed his ferocious hippogriff to Sheila he took great pains to describe her and how gentle he was. His quiet efficiency and natural ease put Sheila at ease. Though she was Razel’s age she was extremely shy, Razel discovered, and after a time found it easier by not asking her questions. This gave her more opportunity to talk to Talarren, but she found he preferred travelling in silence more often than not. Even so, Razel enjoyed travelling with him. Simply being in his company somehow gave her a sense of comfort, a feeling she revelled in on their long hours in the saddle.
They travelled for some time before signs of farming appeared. Distant, tiny figures ploughed and tilled in picturesque fields. Small livestock herds - pigs, goats and cattle - gathered under shady trees. Talarren sent Gladron to hide in a nearby woodland. She understood her master’s needs and knew exactly what to do.
A hamlet appeared, nestled in a valley away to their left. Off into the distance to their right chimney-smoke curled upwards from a small village. As they approached Reswaldtown they passed local traders and travellers. They had dressed so as not to draw attention to themselves - three ordinary travellers and a hunting dog, nothing noteworthy about them except Talarren’s impressive weaponry and, once close enough, Razel’s beauty.
“So this is Reswald?” Sheila asked, as if uncomprehending the truth of her lineage. Razel nodded. “My family are rightful rulers of this land?” Razel nodded again. “And my second brother, Lucien, who has been found by Lord Cuthbert, is rightful king?”
“Yes,” Talarren answered. “However, King Dagan the Third sees things differently. He won’t be so accommodating of your claims.” Talarren pulled his hood more tightly over his head.
“What will I do?” Sheila asked.
Razel turned with interest to Talarren. What would he counsel, she wondered?
“In my view,” Talarren replied, “you move to Lafarrhine; carve out a new life for yourselves in a land of peace and prosperity.”
“That’s it?” Sheila asked, eyes incredulous. “Without a fight? Lord Cuthbert finally tracks me and Lucien down after all these years, reveals my true identity, only to leave everything I know and live somewhere else?”
“Surely not,” Razel cried indignantly.
“I’m afraid so,” Talarren replied. “Dagan has consolidated his power. He has impoverished the House of Harrad. Grove druids are his allies. They’ve become powerful again, it seems. It’s too dangerous to return.”
“But they practice Dark Arts,” Razel said. “That means Dagan is evil.”
Talarren shrugged. “He is ruled by power, is what I think, but I do not believe he is evil. If his druids help his reign, what does he care? Unfortunately for him, Druids of Purple Ivy are not content with being magistrates. They will usurp him eventually, once their power grows.”
“But we must stop them,” Razel cried. “We can’t let Dark Arts survive. We must destroy them before it’s too late.”
“Yes, indeed,” Talarren replied, “but it’s not that simple. Firstly, they have Dagan’s protection. For now. Secondly, these cunning druids have ingratiated themselves among the people through good governance of Reswald since the Norse Devastation. Reswald’s citizens do not know the ultimate goal of their Druids, and would not believe it if we told them. Thirdly, destroying the Grove of Purple Ivy needs to be done properly, otherwise it will go underground again.”
“Do you mean these Druids want to rule Reswald?” Sheila asked.
“I have no doubt,” Talarren said. He pulled on his horse’s reigns, setting a more vigorous pace. “We must rejoin your brother before nightfall. He will be delighted to meet his long lost sister. It is tragic you could not meet Alex.”
“I have so many questions,” Sheila said.
“They will be answered,” Talarren assured her. “Such matters are best not discussed on open roads.”
They followed the road leading to Cuthbert Castle. Meadows dotted the countryside, interspersed with healthy farms of barley and wheat. Grazing cattle and pungent sheep odours wafted into their nostrils. Up ahead they spied the topmost spire of the tallest castle turret. “These are Lord Cuthbert’s lands,” Talarren explained. “Few lords remain loyal to the House of Harrad, and risky it is. Cuthbert’s loyalty has survived since the Charter of Reswald.”
“What’s the Charter of Reswald?” Sheila asked.
“An ancient document declaring the kingship of Harrad’s lineage. But we shall discuss this forthwith.”
They rode on in silence, casually observing farmers tilling soil or reaping harvests, their scythes slicing through wheat and barley, then piling stems into neat bundles collected by women and children working behind them. Cattle and sheep grazed in meadows. Larks swung sweetly overhead. A rabbit raced ahead in the distance. “Steady, Hunter,” Talarren said as she bristled, ready to chase after it.
Cuthbert Castle, Sheila discovered, was typical of feudal castles of the Reswald flatlands. Surrounded by farmhouses forming a patchwork of cart tracks connected to main roads, Cuthbert Castle’s stone foundations lay on a relatively flat area surrounded by arable farm country, circled by verdant hills and distant woodlands. Its outer walls formed an unevenly shaped hexagon protected by a moat. Each juncture of wall intersected with a turreted tower. Like most of Reswald’s castles, its drawbridge and winch looked comparatively new, Talarren observed, owing to their destruction du
ring the Norse Devastation. Enclosed within castle walls stood an imposing keep and bailey, stables, kitchens, farmhouses, a mill, forge and other buildings typical of its type.
“Who goes there?” a guard shouted from a drawbridge landing. The drawbridge lay open in these days of relative peace.
A watchtower guard guided them through a compound to the keep. Horses were escorted to the stables. Esmay flew upwards. An attendant sent for Lucien and summoned Lord Cuthbert who greeted Talarren warmly, suggesting they dine before anything else. Much to everyone’s annoyance, Talarren declined, preferring instead to form a plan of action.
They met Caspar enjoying an ale in the balcony on the floor above them. He lifted his mug to them in greeting. His robes glowed resplendently. He clearly had them starched and laundered. She would not have been surprised to learn he’d applied some form of enchantment upon them to make them look so clean. She was surprised at how pleased she was to see the cantankerous old priest.
Chapter Twenty Four
Back in Reswald
LUCIEN, RIGHTFUL HEIR TO Reswald’s throne, son of King Harrad and brother to Sheila, rushed in puffing madly. He carried an old leatherbound manuscript.
“Listen to this,” he panted, reading from a bookmarked page without greeting Cuthbert’s guests. “’When Grove Druids openly began practicing their dastardly arts, none in all our realm dared stand up to them save Harrad’s knights and allied nobles. Many brave combatants ended up as human sacrifices on the bloody altars of despicable druidic rituals.
“Chief among Grove druids, Archdruid Avon Mistletoe assumed full control of Reswald. Dagan II, Reswald’s reigning monarch, became Avon Mistletoe’s puppet, unwittingly furthering Grove designs. Creatures such as goblins, orcs and bugbears roamed Reswald’s countryside with impunity, instilling fear in the local populace. Taxes increased. Grove wealth grew exponentially. Avon Mistletoe amassed treasures from powerhungry neighbouring kingdoms and evil sorcerers, placing his Dark Arts at their disposal in return for precious metals and jewels. Many people fell under sway of these druids and their Dark Arts. Evil spread everywhere.
“For Avon Mistletoe, the Amulet remained powerless, though not without beauty. Its central emerald set off a circle of glorious diamonds surrounding it, contrasting with the elegant silver chain of the necklace.
“Over time, Avon noticed his Amulet mysteriously pulling at his neck, as if wanting to escape. He ignored it. He was not aware of the supernatural, magical properties of the Spirit Slayer, or Log-Kyrios. It, like the Amulet, had been fashioned by the original Guardians of Rohalgamoth in collaboration with mighty High Elven swordsmiths of Great Lakes Forest, at that time the greatest smiths in Central Earth. Amulet and Sword were forged as companions to each other. If underworld spirits ever found a way to enter earth, these magical artefacts would act as a last line of defence. Log-Kyrios possessed magical, supernatural abilities like no other weapon for the purposes of confronting these evil denizens of darkness. Not all their special qualities are now known, as both have not been used since their disappearance.
All undead, no matter how powerful, were powerless before the mighty Sword of Extinction, or Log-Kyrios. Spirits of the underworld, even deities, shook with fear at the very thought of the blade, aware that it was in fact and in deed Spirit Slayer, the Sword of Extinction, and not simply a hollow myth. Like the Amulet of Power, Log-Kyrios’s power increased when wielded by a worthy possessor. Working together, both artefacts increased their respective powers.
Liching Ling, an undead sorcerer of immense power, drew his powers from Dark Arts. As such, gorgons, giants, dragons and rastamals lurked in dark corners throughout his empire. He knew well the threat Log-Kyrios posed.
From distant lands mounted on his Pegasus, Paladin Samson-Ramon led his army into battle. His sole objective lay in defeating this evil tyrant. He knew with Log-Kyrios in his hand, Liching Ling would not survive should the sword strike him. This is why the undead-tyrant fled.
Finally, when Liching Ling’s minions fell one after another, and Central Kingdom armies invaded under the leadership of the Guardians of Rohalgamoth, Liching Ling lay dead in the Great Griffon Mountains, his armies scattered. They searched everywhere for Samson-Ramon but they could not find him. His sword, the mighty Log-Kyrios, was never recovered. Avon Mistletoe was never to know it, but the Amulet possessed the power to locate Log-Kyrios. When First Wizard and the High Priest of Ehud eventually defeated him and attempted to wipe out the memory and power of the Grove of Purple Ivy, they discovered the Amulet had withdrawn some of its power. Being worn for so long by one possessed by Dark Arts, and through many spells of destruction cast against it, its capacity to draw its bearer to its other half dimmed, then disappeared for fear of leading its counterpart into the wrong hands.
When Kings of Reswald wore the Amulet as an eternal sign of victory over Purple Ivy druids and Dark Arts, they noticed a gradual revival of energy within the Amulet, yet it never tugged at the wearer’s neck as before. The Guardians deduced Log-Kyrios had been destroyed by the powers of Liching Ling and gone forever.”
As Lucien was reading, Caspar’s eyes continually passed to Talarren. Whoever wrote that manuscript was familiar with arcane powers and ancient lore. Such a text was surely dangerous to possess if it fell into the wrong hands. Lucien must not promote this knowledge inside Reswald or anywhere Purple Ivy druids held political sway.
“That’s all very interesting, Lucien,” Perry said in the middle of a huge yawn, “but do we have to hear any more?”
“I think it’s fascinating,” Lucien replied. “I never knew these famous artefacts were so interwoven with our own history.”
“Well,” Caspar warned him, “make sure you don’t show text or talk about it to anyone outside Lord Cuthbert’s castle, for your own safety’s sake.”
“Thank you, Lucien,” Talarren said, reminded once more of the necessity of his mission in the Highlands. “However, I am keen to meet Aelred before our audience with King Dagan. Then I must go to Tessor to learn of King Xertes. His absence concerns me.”
“Must everything concern you, Talarren?” Razel asked.
“He wouldn’t be a Ranger if it didn’t,” Perry said provocatively, or so Caspar thought.
“Give me a thoughtful man over a thoughtless one any day,” Caspar responded.
“I hope that wasn’t a dig at me?” Perry asked.
“Take it any way you want.”
“When it comes to adventures Perry epitomises thoughtfulness,” Elfindi chipped in. “Outside that…” Elfindi let his sentence go unfinished.
“We need supplies,” Talarren continued, his tone serious. Razel rolled her eyes so that neither Talarren nor Caspar could see. “Caspar, we shall go.”
“But,” Perry protested, “we have all this gold. Can’t we enjoy some of it in town, relax, celebrate our great victory?”
“And brag about it to every pretty girl in Reswaldtown?” Elfindi added.
“If that takes your fancy, Elfindi,” Perry rejoined, distancing himself from Elfindi’s base desires. No-one in the room had any doubts that bragging to every pretty girl in Reswaldtown is exactly what Perry intended to do.
“That can wait till Alonçane,” Talarren said. “We need discretion.”
“But you’re discreet about everything,” Perry complained.
“We’ll celebrate in Cuthbert Castle,” Talarren said with finality. “Now, there’s something I’d like you to do, Razel.”
She looked askance, even hopeful, the others would have said.
“Yes?”
“Not far from here is Catwinkle Wizard Workshop.”
“Ah, yes, a fine wizard workshop it is,” Caspar added. Razel scowled at him.
“It is run by a good friend of mine,” Talarren continued. “A wizard called Ori Dreamweaver. I have already sent ahead. He is expecting you, Razel.”
“What are you talking about?” Razel snapped.
“Before we travel south I think
you’d benefit from his tuition. He is in residence and has agreed to mentor you for the short while I’m away.”
In her eyes Caspar could see Razel deliberating. Was she grateful or insulted? Thankfully her humility won the day. Caspar had to hand it to her. Feisty and snappy as she was, she was certainly committed to her magic.
“Good lass,” Talarren said. “Perry and Elfindi will accompany you there, which will keep them out of mischief.”
“I’m not your lass, Talarren.”
“And we don’t need to be kept out of mischief,” Elfindi said.
“But we’ll go anyway,” Perry said. Talarren knew Perry required little persuasion to accompany Razel anywhere, short of a Black Dragon lair. They gently dug their heels into their horses and made off for Catwinkle Wizard Workshop.
“Good. God speed to you all. Onward, Caspar, let us depart.”
Ranger and cleric made their way into the keep. A two horse cart had been prepared by ostlers at Lord Cuthbert’s orders. It was mid-morning. A chill crept into their bones. The sun hid behind a thick veil of clouds. A distant rumbling of thunder sounded in their ears, making horses skittish.
They departed. Talarren and Caspar spoke in hushed tones. Previous adventures taught them it was always wiser to exercise discretion. In natural settings where druids of Purple Ivy ruled, who knew what trees, birds or animals possessed informant ears. They would buy food and wine, then meet Aelred. After their audience with Dagan, they would depart post-haste.
Chapter Twenty Five
Dinner with King Dagan
DAGAN’S DINING TABLE EXTENDED far in both directions. His royal ascension to Reswald’s throne had manifestly expanded his tastes. His banquet hall was lavish and extravagant. Exotic silverware and bone china glinted in chandelier light hanging from high, ornate ceilings. An overabundance of food left room for little else from one table corner to another. Venison - deer and boar - roasted in royal kitchens with every garnish procured by druidic gardens filled enormous trays. Pheasant, quail and duck lay in steep bowls filled with sauces. White and red wine filled crystal decanters. Fruit of all colours lay on top of each other in enormous bowls. Sauces, gravies, cured meats and silver serving plates filled with carrots rubbed against fresh garden greens, corn and turnips and grilled salmon pieces swimming in fish sauce.
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