Razel leaned forward, raising her voice above swirling winds. “Are all dwarves like Kron?”
“He’s unusually tall for a dwarf,” Talarren called back. “They’re normally about four and a half feet. Like Kron, they’re incredibly strong and excellent fighters. They employ battle axes, war hammers and crossbows in battle. They’re stubborn and often don’t know what’s good for them. Why would none of their kings want to deal with Aelred?” Razel felt a steaming indignation arise from Talarren’s body. “Who, given a personal invitation from Lord Aelred, would refuse to negotiate with him? Its bloody-minded short-sightedness.”
In uncharacteristic anger, Talarren ranted against the dwarves until Razel slowly placed a soothing hand upon his muscle-packed shoulder as he held the reins. “Please, Talarren. Don’t get so upset.”
A current of something Talarren could not identify coursed through his body at her touch. He calmed down immediately, not wanting her to stop. He leaned back instinctively, allowing Razel to clasp his shoulder longer than necessary, which she seemed willing to do. Finally, she withdrew her hand as Gladron swerved in a bout of turbulence.
“Other creatures inhabit those mountains,” Talarren continued, “but dwarves keep a jealous watch over their territory, you can be sure. Orcs live in its eastern ranges. Word is they’re growing in number. This is bad news. I wouldn’t be surprised if goblin caves lie deep underground. Orcs hate them. Dwarves hate them, too, and tend to use them as forced labourers, which is why their caves need to be very deep, given four dwarven kingdoms call those mountains home.”
Later, they sat in a secluded glade to give Gladron a rest. “To our right is Great Lakes Forest, home of the noble High Elves. The greatest of all elven kings dwells in a majestic palace deep in its heart, within an enormous forest city. We’ll be flying over Great Lakes Forest for fifty leagues before taking shelter. Let’s hope High Elf Lord Ferfendess is in. If we’re lucky we’ll be treated to an elven feast. He and select elf princes know of our involvement in the Companions of Aelred. Otherwise they’ll treat us with suspicion till they see we mean no harm.”
“Are elves sending troops to Raysal-El-Hin?” Razel asked.
Talarren chuckled. “No-one calls elven fighters “troops”. I suppose because it’s so mundane. Elves have great magicians and spellcasters, and their own types of what we’d call druids. They combine fighting with spells more than any other race. They have a special affinity with nature, always living in forests. They have exceptional fighting strategies but you’ll hardly ever see them outside their natural habitat. So no, they won’t be going to Raysal-El-Hin. They are also powerful healers.” Talarren stroked his bow. “Their bows are superior to anything you’ll find anywhere, even horsemen of the Steppes. Their bowmakers use a composite of specially treated woods. All Aelred’s archers possess them. Elves refuse to trade or sell them despite offers of enormous treasure from tyrants like Tāhūbād the Cruel.”
“You have one, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Talarren stroked it lovingly.
Back in flight, they passed above the first mighty oaks of Great Lakes Forest. Razel asked more about elves, dwarves and politics but Talarren’s voice had become hoarse. He took a swig of water and offered some to Razel, who declined. Gladron’s powerful wingstrokes gradually slowed over time till they became feeble flaps. She glided as much as possible. They sat in silence for some time in their saddles, a thick carpet of forest greenery beneath them, before Talarren signalled with a short pull of the reigns to start a steady descent, gliding gracefully toward an enormous stone tower sitting level with the top layer of forest treetops. In every direction thick trees filled their vision.
Though not an elf could be seen in the grey-black, green-shadowy trees darkened by dusk, Talarren knew their spellcasters were there alongside archers whose deadly longbows were trained on them. Talarren guided Gladron to a large circular landing platform, large enough for a giant albatross or even a roc. Another solid circular tower stood further on. A handful of curious elves watched on as this strangely-mounted hippogriff landed unannounced on their tower.
“Greetings,” Talarren shouted. “In Lord Aelred’s name, we come as friends seeking lodging.”
A guard told them Elf Lord Ferfendess was not in residence. They were allowed to stay, but under lock and key in a guest tower high above a densely populated forest floor. Delicious food was brought. Gladron was fed and watered. Talarren advised Razel to accept their host’s hospitality without complaint. They were, after all, trespassers.
After dishes were cleared away three dignitaries entered, draped smartly in elven robes adorned with decorative necklaces of state. “Please accept our apologies for your gilded incarceration. These are evil days. Trust is best earned. Pray tell us who you are.”
“And state your business,” the second elf added.
“And why you dare arrive unannounced at mighty King Ferfendess’s forest palace,” a third elf said, his green face flushed with anger. His colleague shot him an appeal for courtesy.
“We bear no ill will, elf-friend,” Talarren said, rising from his chair. “May I invite you to be seated? We have answered Lord Aelred’s summons to assist Moses Al-Shaddai whose nation we understand is soon to be besieged on all sides by armies of Tāhūbād the Cruel. I am Talarren and this is Razel, my companion. Our first task is to meet with King Xertes of Xaveria.”
Each elf bore himself in a stately manner. They took seats on a bamboo bench opposite. Gladron was devouring a small, freshly-killed forest buck in an adjoining room. Esmay devoured a freshly-chopped forest hare mixed with grains. Their hosts had indeed provided generous fare, Talarren noted.
One elf bowed in acknowledgement. Another watched on impassively.
“What concern is Raysal-El-Hin of yours, may I ask?” the first elf enquired. His straight back, dark green skin, pointed ears, sharp features and bright green eyes cut a striking figure. He oozed agility and grace, betraying a poise and strength despite his slight frame. Talarren guessed he must be a prince incognito.
“We deem it our duty to protect a friend and ally,” Talarren responded simply.
Elves exchanged glances. “I see,” said one. “Raysel-El-Hin lies far south. Are others coming from so far? You go simply to protect a friend and ally?”
Talarren thought he detected a touch of suspicion in his host’s tone. “There are others who hasten to their aid,” Talarren responded, “but as you say, it is a long way, and dangerous. Lord Aelred has summoned any north of Mugar lands to assist in any way. Is it so hard to believe we wish to protect a friend and ally?”
“Perhaps not,” the second elf replied, pausing meaningfully before continuing. “And it has nothing to do with the flow of pearls from Octopus Bay? Or iron, coal and diamonds flowing north along Silk Road? Or uniquely-blended olive oil flowing from plantations across Ar-Aviv’s golden belt? Is it not coincidental that Lord Aelred has asked everyone to aid a country that supplies so many resources desired by Lafarrhine and Central Kingdoms? Is he more concerned that with Raysal-El-Hin under Mugar control, prices of these commodities will shoot skyward?”
By now, Razel understood that if Talarren had a weakness, it was his reaction to insults levelled at his hero, Lord Aelred. Her eyes darted to his rugged face. The elf had all but accused Aelred of defending Raysal-El-Hin for self-interested economic gain. How would Talarren react? Surely he would not do anything stupid? They were, after all, prisoners.
Talarren breathed deeply, filling his massive chest with air. Was this accusation a test, he wondered? He could not afford to fall foul of these elves, who could hold them captive indefinitely. A Ranger and an inexperienced spellcaster proved no match for elves in their woodland fortress.
“Surely you are not so ignorant of Lord Aelred’s character as to suggest he be driven by such base motives?” Talarren asked, a tone of steel running though his voice, his intensely-grey eyes blazing with emotion. “Your king is a good friend of Lord Aelred.�
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“Is he indeed?” the second elf said.
The first elf signalled to his companion. They stood up and began to walk outside.
“Sleep well,” he advised. “You have a long journey ahead of you. Nourishment will be brought at dawn.” Click! They shut the door behind them.
“You did well,” Razel breathed softly.
Talarren nodded. Gladron had fallen asleep. Esmay waited for her customary head stroking. Talarren obliged, then wrapped himself in fleecy-warm elven blankets. He fell asleep before Razel had taken off her shoes.
An orange sun shone brightly upon the treetops next morning. Sparkling dewdrops bestowed on them a fresh beauty. Rest and recuperation, coupled with elven nourishment, buoyed their spirits. Their three dignitaries were nowhere to be seen. Instead, ordinary guards took them to the landing tower and bid them farewell.
As they flew away, Talarren wondered whether Lord Ferfendess himself suspected Aelred’s motivations. He hoped not.
Razel performed a Speed! Spell, followed by a Gust of Wind! spell, propelling Gladron to incredible speeds. So far, winds had blown favourably upon them.
Flying high above ground Talarren explained how he’d never known elves to be so suspicious, even rude, especially High Elves, and most especially High Elves from King Ferfendess’s palace. Razel noted Talarren’s raging indignation, which had not yet dissipated after hearing such inflammatory things said about Aelred, even half a day later.
“I don’t really know Aelred except by reputation,” Razel began, “but do you think commodity prices may factor at all in his plans?”
It was a long time before Talarren spoke. Razel wondered whether he’d heard her. “No,” Talarren answered. “If you knew Aelred like I do, you would not dare say such a thing.” They settled into a deep silence, Gladron’s rhythmical thrusts a solitary sound in an otherwise eerily silent sky. Clouds came and went. Mottled green and brown farmlands, meadows and woodland cut a picturesque sight below. Villages dotted vast landscapes stretching beneath them. Occasionally a town appeared, then they noticed a sprawling city boldly appear in the distance surrounded by a city wall protected by barbicans that looked like barnacles on a wooden pier. Inside, bustling streets and markets came into view, accompanied by the comings and goings of a throng of humanity. Tiny wisps of smoke rose from chimneys and furnaces. Way off to their right horizon appeared the indistinct hazy blue of Atlantis Ocean sparkling like tinsel on azure shores before continuing south as far as the eye could see.
On their descent into open wilderness, Talarren noticed a herd of deer grazing peacefully in a golden meadow of daffodils. Not that danger lurked in Central Kingdom lands, in which they were still well and truly travelling, but he instinctively scanned surrounding landforms for hunters or patrols. Or prowling rastamals. Seeing nothing, he steered Gladron toward the deer.
“Hold tight!”
They glided silently downward, gathering speed. Razel did as she was told, unsure of what to expect. This was not something they had done before. Talarren’s bow rested securely strapped to Gladron’s side. Clearly he wasn’t going to shoot. Would he herd them somewhere? No, they were travelling too fast.
Deer continued to graze unawares. A young stag grazed apart, its ears flicking away irritating flies. In a rapid flash of movement too fast for Razel to register, Gladron straightened her flight path while raising both hind legs. The stag turned its head. Gladron’s rear hooves careered into its neck. A cracking thud smacked eardrums. Its neck broke on horrific impact. It never knew what hit it. Its entire body lifted. It spun violently around like a top. Razel screamed. The sudden jolt threw her off balance. If her feet weren’t tied to the stirrups she would have been thrown out. Instead, she thudded into Talarren’s back. The herd leapt away amid horrified bleats. Gladron’s wings thrashed wildly to slow her down. She quickly came to a stop.
“Razel?” Talarren asked. No reply. He turned. Her body slumped against him. He thrust his legs from their stirrups. Careful not to let her fall, he gently propped her up. His face went white. “Razel!”
She mumbled feebly.
Talarren carefully helped her dismount. Groggy and dazed, she was not able to stand. He lay her down gently then unstrapped a saddle bag and returned with a gourd. “Take a mouthful.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she coughed. “I’m slightly concussed. I’ll be okay. We’ll need that for greater ills before we’re done, I imagine.”
Talarren plugged the gourd and returned it to his pouch, pulling out a rope. He guided Gladron to the motionless stag then tied a noose around its horribly deformed neck. He patted Gladron’s rump. She obediently dragged the stag under a copse of trees.
He returned to Razel and took her effortlessly into his arms. He set her down near where Gladron had already begun devoured its prey, ripping it apart with mighty beak and swallowing chunks of flesh whole. “I noticed a stream nearby. I’ll fill our water bags.”
When he returned Razel was nowhere to be found. Gladron continued to tear away at the half-eaten carcass, crushing bones contentedly.
“Expel knife! Entangle!” ordered a disembodied voice among nearby treetops. Talarren’s knife, by some invisible power, hurled itself away as if thrown by an angry giant. Suddenly rope which lay coiled nearby came alive. It raced toward Talarren who spied Razel suspended above him partly hidden by leaves, a naughty glint in her eyes. He grabbed the rope but it encircled him, eventually binding his arms and legs. He was immobilised.
Talarren roared at his steed now leaping up with a cry of fury to destroy this maiden casting spells on her master. Gladron obeyed instantly, staring with killer intent at Razel, whose face froze with fear.
Razel waved her wand. The rope fell limply off Talarren. She descended slowly till she stood in front of him, her eyes not leaving Gladron. “Sorry. I was only practicing.”
Talrren’s heart pounded in his chest. His stern look told Razel in no uncertain terms how he felt about her little joke. “You are not to do that again, do you understand?” Her shocked and hurt expression darkened her beautiful, flawless face. Talarren could not help appreciate her skin so pure and soft. Her expression immediately dispelled his anger. But he refused to show it. His rugged face held its look of stone, his eyes like smouldering grey lamps.
She turned, dismissing his anger as wounded pride. That a maiden could best a mighty Ranger, slayer of yetis and hill giants, vexed him, she decided. Most men had a vain side, according to gossiping old witches holed up in their private covens. Talarren was probably no different to other men deep down.
“I swear, that’s the look of a chimera before it turns someone to stone,” she said simply.
Her lightness disarmed him. He could not help but chuckle.
“If you really want to know, I was practising,” she said eventually as Talarren hacked off a leg of stag untouched by Galdron’s feasting. “I’ve never cast two such spells while levitating before. I succeeded.”
“Well done. Now fetch stones and wood and conjure up a fire.” They gathered stones and firewood. Razel made a short incantation before saying: “Create fire!” Twigs burst into flame. Fire hissed as blood from their skinned stag leg dripped into it, suspended from a tripod of branches constructed by Talarren. He selected herbs from his pouch, sprinkling them liberally on the sizzling meat. He unpacked Appac’s scones.
“You Rangers are amazing,” she said, admiring Talarren’s efficiency with kill, preparation and cooking. “You do everything well. Killing giants to liberating slaves to cooking with herbs to flying hippogriffs to deciphering riddles to learning folklore to hobnobbing with nobles to…” She trailed off, leaving her last description of what Rangers did unsaid.
“Thank you, Razel, you exaggerate. I think our venison is done. You like it rare, do you not?”
She nodded. “Tell me about Mugar lands.” He washed down a mouthful of freshly cooked meat with a swig of smooth Walden wine. His face grew suddenly hard. She noted a similar look when he
talked about rastamals or this infernal Age of Demons, which she wasn’t quite convinced about.
“Tāhūbād the Cruel is Mugar overlord, a man more demon than human. His evils multiply themselves over time and space, reproducing themselves in his servants. He invades, oppresses, pillages, rapes, tortures, enslaves, murders and dominates everything in his path.
“He was a simple farmer. One day, as the story goes, he went travelling abroad. He returned a different man. Some say he fell under the influence of a cleric of Baal. Others say a powerful sorcerer cursed him. Some say he was possessed by the infamous demon-efreet, a half demon, half efreet from the Elemental Plane of Fire. Some say he somehow imbibed the spirit of Liching Ling but not his magical powers. In any case, when he returned from abroad, he started raiding caravans along the Silk Road with a band of his followers. He became a tribal warlord, one among many in the barren deserts located in arid lands between the Amphibis and Nozites Rivers.
“His brutal raids made him a fortune. Tribe after tribe succumbed to his butchery. Survivors of his raids and battles were sold in the slave markets of Zanzibar and Carakas-Khalim. He aligned himself with Mugar shamans and especially priests of Baal, claiming himself rightful Mugar overlord according to ancient prophecy. Opposition was met with ruthless savagery. He made and broke alliances at will, sucking in tribes one day, betraying them the next. He managed to train deadly giant scorpions, a feat attempted unsuccessfully for centuries. Within a year he’d crushed all opposition. He united warring factions and tribes, this self-proclaimed, undisputed Mugar master. He demanded tribute from all tribes, which he still does, not only in gold, precious gems and goods, but also in women for his harem, which legend states numbers ten thousand virgins alone. Even eunuchs are prevented from making eye contact with his wives or risk beheading.
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