Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet

by David Lawrence

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  A Questionable Transaction

  SOME TIME AFTERWARDS HIS horse followed a village road nestled in a narrow valley surrounded by fields on all sides, framed by vineyards growing along its western slopes. Local wine had gained an enviable reputation, consumed with spit-roast local lambs. In Talarren’s view these could not match Lafarrhine’s vineyards but they were good enough. The tiny tavern frequented by locals and thirsty travellers provided an ideal lunch venue. Its peaceful surrounds brightened Talarren’s heart. Here at least no threat of war darkened its sun-drenched fields. Here daffodils grew wild and free, and honest folk plied their trade and grew crops without a sword within arm’s reach.

  He tethered his horse. Dressed in comfortable tunic, cape and boots, he greeted a sharp-eyed tavern keeper who summed Talarren up as a traveller, perhaps a soldier given his rugged face and powerful physique. “Hoy, folk will arrive shortly. Just in time or there’d be nothing left. I’m Waldo, by the by.”

  “Just as well. I’m hungry. As is my horse, dog and eagle,” Talarren said, placing four bronze pieces on one of four old wooden tables scattered around Waldo’s rustic tavern. “And I’ll have a generous cup of your local wine. While you fix that, I’ll fill my gourd from your well and water my horse.”

  Waldo’s eyes glinted at the four bronze coins, more than double his rate. He set about preparing two sizzling spit-roasted lambs in preparation for lunch. He poured wine from a hidden barrel under his counter, not from the large, ostentacious barrel set into the wall behind him under which read a label: “Best wines in Walden”.

  Presently Talarren re-entered, leaving Hunter to guard his belongings and chariot. A generous slice of lamb covered with gravy, carrots and a mound of turnips was placed in front of him. “Where are you off to, then?” Waldo enquired in what to Talarren seemed like fake friendliness. “That’s not a sight we see hereabouts, that there chariot of yours, no sir.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Talarren replied. “This lamb is good. This wine, though, is weaker than I’d been told to expect from these parts.”

  Waldo’s cheeks reddened like a mischievous boy caught red-handed. “Not our best year, sadly.” He swallowed ostensibly.

  Talarren drank another mouthful, swirling it in his mouth. His stony face hid his secret enjoyment. “Definitely weak. Just yesterday an innkeeper in Florentino told me how good seasons have been these past few years. Never better, in fact, is what he told me.” A large helping of lamb at the end of Talarren’s fork hung in the air. Talarren studied it before placing it in his mouth.

  Waldo’s eyes shot uncomfortably at Talarren’s cup, to Talarren, to cup, back to Talarren. Talarren pushed his cup away. “I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse this wine. But your lamb, yes, this is good. Gravy, too.” His confronting gaze met the tavern-keeper’s puffy eyes. “Tell me, which vineyard supplied your wine? I might have a taste of that without a middle-man serving watered-down counterfeits, bringing your local industry into disrepute. Say, did my four bronze pieces not cover your costs?”

  A butcher by trade, with hands and forearms to prove it, Waldo gave his butchering away to open a small tavern. His large belly and copious rolls of fat, in comparison with Talarren’s suberb physique, told him any fight would end badly for this butcher-turned-tavernkeeper. His face turned beetroot-red. “Oops, yes, of course. Mixed me wine, didn’t I? Keep a watered-down version for the missus. She don’t take strong wine well, you know? Her stomach, you know. Can’t have it too strong, of course. You understand.” He quickly exchanged Talarren’s mug for another lying on a tray by the counter. He poured liberally from the barrel behind him, his hands visibly shaking.

  Talarren took a swig. “This is more like it.”

  At that moment, loud barks broke the tranquillity, followed by an eagle’s shrill cries. Talarren rushed outside. Some way along the narrow village road four mounted soldiers came galloping toward them. Talarren barely made out King Dagan’s livery. Strange, he thought to himself. He whipped up his scabbard and fastened it to his belt. He swept up bow and arrow quicker than Waldo thought possible.

  When the horsemen were a stone’s throw from where he stood, Talarren called a halt. They slowed, then stopped. “Abandon your bow, in the name of the king,” a soldier, Colin, shouted.

  “Which king?” Talarren called out.

  “King Dagan the Third. We come in peace.”

  “King Dagan has no jurisdiction here. What is your business?”

  “We stand inside King Dagan’s domains. This is royal business. You are required as a witness.” They approached, their horses crunching on gravel. Since when had Dagan annexed Florentino? Appac had not mentioned it.

  “You may speak from there,” Talarren said, casually glancing around him. Waldo stood uneasily in his doorway. Intrigued farmers looked on from their fields. Village folk peered out their windows nearby.

  “If you do not come willingly,” Colin advised him irritably, “we shall be forced to arrest you.”

  “If I do not come where, and why?” Talarren asked.

  “To Magistrate Archdruid’s chambers for questioning about a matter of legal documents.”

  Talarren frowned. What did this have to do with him? Why not request them from Aelred. Perhaps it had something to do with ransom letters, or Leroy Boadstood’s correspondence? Again, Aelred had that in hand.

  “Be more specific,” Talarren demanded.

  “Sir, we follow orders. What I told you is all we know. Come with us. Once questioned, you’ll be free to go.”

  “Has this summons been authorised by King Dagan?”

  Colin’s shoulders tensed. He’d heard about Talarren. He’d heard he answers to no-one and feared no man. “Yes,” Colin lied.

  “Why on earth would a king summon a simple Ranger about legal documents that do not concern him?” Talarren asked.

  “Sir, I have told you all I know. Enough time wasting. Come with us, or we will be forced to arrest you.”

  By now villagers had gathered around. I could do with Sontay right now, Talarren decided, thinking of his old friend, a monk with extraordinary unarmed combat skills. “I have important business to attend to,” Talarren explained. “You’ll need to arrest me. Your problem, however, is that all four of you will be dead before you get within ten yards.”

  At that moment a horse came galloping down the hill, furiously driven by a hooded rider. “Wait,” a female voice cried from under the hood.

  Soldiers hesitated. They knew Talarren by reputation. This was confirmed by his total lack of intimidation before four fully armed kingsmen. His High Elf bow appeared awfully long; its arrow exceedingly sharp. The newly-arrived hooded woman gave Colin a reason to delay. He hoped for a resolution before things spiralled out of control.

  She dismounted and made her way toward them, leading her horse by its reins. She spoke softly with the soldiers. Talarren could not make out their muted conversation. To his surprise, all four horsemen turned around and rode away. Colin called to Talarren: “Approach Dagan Castle and announce yourself.”

  Talarren guessed the identity of this mysterious hooded rider. She approached him, ignoring stares from intrigued villagers. His face broke into a huge smile.

  Razel.

  “Wrap bread, lamb, carrots and parsnips in a napkin to take away,” Talarren demanded a goggle-eyed tavern-keeper. “A generous portion.” Smiling, he turned to Razel as she brought her horse before him. “How on earth did you know where I was? And what did you say to those soldiers?”

  “I’ll tell you as we go.” Razel rode alongside Talarren’s chariot. “I arrived at Appac’s inn soon after you left. I know you were planning to pick me up at Catwinkle’s Wizard Workshop, but I heard terrible rumours. I rode as fast as I could and followed the road here. I figured you’d stop off for lunch at this village.”

  Talarren smiled, impressed. She was learning fast. “What rumours?”

  “Dagan has put a price on your hea
d. Apparently you’ve stolen crown property.”

  “What have I stolen? When was this price put on my head? I only just left Florentino?” Talarren asked.

  “One of Appac’s customers told me.”

  “How did you convince those soldiers to leave?”

  “Suggestion! spell…

  “That’s treason.”

  “We’ll be fugitives together.”

  “Then let’s make haste.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Talarren and Razel Travel South

  THEY ARRIVED AT A small copse of trees outside a village where Talarren’s druid friend, Fernwood, made his leafy home. His name was derived from his love of ferns. His pet finches chirped loudly. Fernwood appeared through a ferny wall. Upon seeing Talarren, he rushed forward to complain loudly about Gladron’s appetite, eating him out of house and home and stamping impatiently at not being let out whenever he wanted. Talarren handed him five gold pieces.

  “This is not why I do it,” Fernwood grumbled, holding out his hand, “but it will soften my pain. In any case, Hunter will be easier to handle by a long shot.”

  Fernwood led them along a woodland path. They chanced upon a young lad, Bubble Ripplewood.

  “This is Bubble, my nephew,” Fernwood said as the boy jumped with delight. “Bubble, this is Talarren and Razel.” He rubbed the boy’s head. “I’m looking after him while his parents are away. I’ve told him all about you. He didn’t sleep last night in anticipation. Did you, Bubble?”

  Bubble’s eyes opened wide in fascination, taking in Talarren’s height, size, sword and storm-grey eyes. He shook his head, completely ignoring Razel.

  “He’s especially excited about meeting your hippogriff.”

  Talarren smiled to himself. He enjoyed their wide-eyed wonder when introducing protégés to his fantastic world. He described Gladron’s powers of flight. Bubbles’ features lit up like a sunburst. “So you can actually fly?” he marvelled. Talarren described his years of rearing his fledgling hippogriff, learning to fly and do battle. It was uncommon, even in magical circles, for humans to have flying steeds except in the case of hippogriff armies such as those found in Tessor or across the Mugar empire.

  Everybody knew of Aelred’s steed, fastest airborne creature known to man, his mighty Pegasus, which possessed not simply amazing powers of speed, endurance and manoeuvrability, but possessed great battle and magical qualities, carrying Aelred into and out of ferocious battles against evil monsters and rampaging armies. Queen Zenobia similarly possessed a pegusus as did rare individuals, usually paladins. Other members of the Companions of Aelred were adept at flying steeds. Legend claimed men of the Steppes were first to gain trust of the hippogriff populations along their eastern borders in sufficient numbers to launch an aerial army. Mugar kingdoms had also mastered this ancient art, followed by other nations. In isolated cases, individuals had been known to train other flying creatures as steeds. Raysal-El-Hin had long since employed roc as warsteeds and messengers.

  Hunter whined loudly. She understood her master’s journey and her own place in it, namely to remain with Fernwood, out of harm’s way. Talarren shook his head, holding Hunter’s head in his large hands. “Forgive me, Hunter. There’s no room for you on Gladron this time. May providence look favourably upon us. I shall be back before long, I hope.”

  Fernwood led them into a series of rooms hidden so expertly within a copse of trees no ordinary person would know of its existence. They came to a stable. Gladron squawked loudly, stamping her mighty hooves and beating her mighty wings, each spanning a good eighteen feet. Talarren deftly avoided his beast’s stomping hooves and wings. He stroked her neck lovingly. “I’m here, old girl. We have company. This is Bubbles.”

  Gladron lowered her massive head. She opened her ferocious beak with frustration at her confinement. It was clearly written on her expressive face. She gave Bubbles a once over. For the lad she looked truly terrifying.

  “Don’t get too close,” Fernwood warned. “An angry hippogriff can rip you to shreds.” Bubbles stood behind his uncle and gripped his leg tightly, peering out at Gladron, not daring to move.

  Talarren laughed. “Don’t listen to him. This is the only druid I know afraid of cicadas.”

  “You don’t tell the full story…” But he was drowned out by Talarren’s laughter.

  Razel had never seen Talarren so doubled over with merriment. It was infectious. She began giggling, then doubled over herself with laughter. It left Fernwood no choice but to join in. Bubbles could do nothing, his eyes glued to Gladron.

  After Talarren secured his specially crafted saddle onto Gladron’s back, he draped saddle-bags over her front and hindquarters. Finally he affixed his shield to her underbelly. “I know, old girl, we’re not travelling light. What’s more, it will be a long trip. I trust our druid friend has kept you to your flying regime, as instructed.”

  “Of course,” Fernwood replied indignantly. “I had to transform myself into a monkey each time. I don’t know how you stay saddled.” Talarren winked at Razel, patting Gladron’s mighty beak. He knew his playful hippogriff would have taken wicked advantage of Fernwood’s awkwardness.

  Razel smiled. Just like their journey from Harvest End to Cuthbert Castle, Razel found herself delighting in Talarren’s company. A sheltered upbringing in her circle of magic somehow led her to believe that magic users held a monopoly on lives of excitement and hidden knowledge. If Talarren was anything to go by, she needed to revise her outlook. Here was a man who embodied courage, knowledge, intelligence and sensitivity. And there was nothing magical about him. She found him intriguing, even alluring, despite being much older than her. She guessed he must be mid-thirties, though he never revealed it and neither did Perry, much to her annoyance.

  Talarren performed his inventory - rope, healing ingredients, potion of healing from Caspar, sword, bow, full quiver, water gourds, blankets, flint, matches, spare clothes, tent and backpack stuffed into a side satchel.

  Razel’s bag contained her spell book, two magic scrolls given to her by Ori Dreamweaver at Catwinkle’s Wizard Workshop, magical ingredients and dagger. She kept her wand strapped onto her body under her robes. Talarren affixed her staff alongside Gladron’s flank for easy access if attacked in flight. Razel, far from being nervous, as Talarren expected, showed unbounded excitement. This was a good sign. Perhaps First Wizard was right. Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye. He could not afford an unwilling companion. It would be a long, hazardous journey to Raysal-El-Hin.

  Talarren mounted Gladron. He held out his hand to pull Razel up onto her cushioned saddle behind him. Fernwood helped strap her feet into the stirrups. Talarren’s sword hung from a belt at his side. His bow and quiver were lodged into a leather holster strapped to Gladron’s side. A light basket hung from Gladron’s neck. This doubled as Esmay’s nest during the flight. Pouches were stacked with food, gourds with water. A compact tent rolled into a tight cylinder clung to Gladron’s flank. Two rings attached to the rear of Talarren’s saddle allowed Razel to hold on during turbulence or sudden changes of direction.

  It was toward four o’clock before Fernwood led them to a clearing. “Enough time to put a good few leagues behind us before nightfall. Much as I love Gladron, these times call for a giant albatross.”

  “True,” Fernwood agreed. “Greatest endurance of all flying beings, surpassing the Pegasus or even a roc. They are amazing.”

  “We’ll cross Rainbow Sea by nightfall,” Talarren said. “Lord Randall’s castle will be our lodgings. We’ll be treated like royalty there. He lives several leagues north of Queen Zenobia’s Citadel. I should like to renew my acquaintance with him.”

  Razel remembered Perry telling her that it was Lord Randall who had commissioned Talarren to kill the swamp dragon in his territory. Razel wondered why Talarren never mentioned it. He had many opportunities during their travels. If Perry had slain the monster, she was sure not a living soul would be ignorant of the fact.


  Talarren paused. “Like many lords of Rin, Randall is sending a band of knights and foot soldiers to Raysal-El-Hin.”

  “I cannot forget that surprise attack on our return from the Highlands,” Talarren said grimly. “For this reason, I want to keep secret our flight to Tessor. This time, we do not have the Amulet.”

  Razel cast from her mind the memory of that terrifying experience. Yet, if Talarren was close by she felt she could combat anything.

  High, high into the sky is where Talarren guided Gladron. Curious onlookers would assume it was a lone goose, or eagle, perhaps. Well-travelled observers may suspect something larger but what could they do about it?

  Low lying clouds whizzed past. Gusts of wind swirled around them, propelling them forward across valleys and plains. Surprisingly, Razel noted, riding a flying hippogriff was easier than riding a horse. Gladron’s undulating movement was smooth and clean, rising with every downward stroke of her wings, and dipping each time she raised them. For long periods the beast glided gracefully along, carried by a strong wind current. Which explained why Gladron ate and drank so much on their breaks. Talarren was careful to avoid human habitation. This was not difficult on their first leg over the southern shores of Rainbow Sea. Later, they landed in wooded areas or isolated, rocky hills.

  A mild sun warmly drenched Razel’s skin, white from her indoor life and their recent sojourn in the chilly climes of the Highlands. Talarren turned to Razel, raising his voice above rushing wind, pointing ahead. “Albatross Mountains. Deep inside that range are giant albatross eyries. They migrate north, then head east, which is why we never see them this side of the range. Also, they fly at much higher altitudes. They’re incredibly graceful.”

  “Don’t dwarves live in those mountains? Isn’t Kron from there?”

  Talarren nodded. “Dwarves aren’t loved right now. They’ve become complacent and greedy. They refuse to join the Central Alliance. They won’t sign treaties. They’re demanding too much gold for their iron, copper and other commodities.” He breathed in. “They’re excellent miners, it must be said. Their engineers have an uncanny ability to find and extract natural resources. They’ve already laid claim to a tin mine at the base of the Albatross Mountains which partly lies within Tarz, King Gorlack’s realm.”