Talarren ingratiated himself with locals, eating enormous quantities of food and buying drinks. Tongues wagged. After an hour he returned to their corner table where Razel had inched so far into the wall she appeared half buried inside it. Her face revealed her disgust. The huge frame of Onesimus crowded unreasonably close to her, taking liberties with her shoulder and hair. He turned when Talarren approached.
“Get ye hence, manservant,” he ordered gruffly voice, reeking from too much beer.
Talarren caught Razel’s eye and motioned for her to leave. “Got to go,” she said, relieved and irritated. “Nice knowing you.”
“Not so fast, me pretty little rose,” he said gruffly. “No manservant of yours gives Lord Hathorne’s man-at-arms orders.” He roughly stroked Razel’s chin. She gritted her teeth. Talarren twirled his finger, a signal that she needed to extricate herself from the situation. He moved away so as not to antagonise this increasingly inebriated and enamoured man-at-arms.
Talarren stood casually at one end of the bar. He could see Razel mouthing an incantation, then her lips mouthing: “Sleep!” Onesimus immediately began to close his eyes, then struggle to open them. Within seconds his eyelids fell. He dozed noisily. Razel heaved herself out from under his heavy arm.
“Don’t you ever do that again!” Razel fumed as they prepared beds in their Winter Windmill chamber. “You could have simply asked if you wanted me out of your way.”
Talarren nodded apologetically. “Pray forgive me. Interestingly, I discovered that even here they know about Mugar troops preparing to invade Raysal-El-Hin.” Talarren frowned. “Intriguing. A town official I spoke to believes he saw a cleric of Baal passing through only one day ago. Noticed his insignia, apparently.”
Razel sat on her bed. “Maybe so, but your apology was far from convincing. How dare you leave me alone for over an hour with that oaf?”
He opened his hands in apology, placing his scabbard beside his bed, keeping his knife by his side as he threw a blanket over himself. “Did you learn anything?”
She stared at him, still seated on her bed. “Yes, he had bad breath. And bad manners. And bragged about being chosen as a man-at-arms to the steps of something.”
“Steps?” Talarren asked.
“Egad, Talarren, stop being so infuriatingly preoccupied with that oaf. Couldn’t we have enjoyed a simple evening meal after another entire day on the back of your stupid hippogriff? Do you always have to be gathering information and hunting evil lurking under every rock?”
Talarren leaned upon his elbow while stretched out in bed. He studied Razel, then laughed, not unkindly. “Good night,” he said simply, and extinguished the candle.
“That’s it? You’re simply dismissing me?”
“Shh,” he whispered. “We rise early.” With a smile on his face, the last sounds he heard before dropping to sleep were the muted but endearing huffings and puffings of his spellcaster companion.
After breakfast they bought a lamb from a poor farmer shepherding his flock on his way into town. “Thank ye, sir,” the farmer gasped, as Talarren dropped five silver coins into his hand. “Thank ye most kindly good sir.”
“You’re quite a philanthropist, aren’t you? At this rate we’ll have no money left,” shot none-too-happy Razel.
“I hardly think so. Put on your hood, please.”
“I won’t! Why should I?” Razel demanded petulantly, stamping her staff.
“It’s best we’re not seen,” was all Talarren said.
They fed Gladron their newly purchased fresh lamb where it had devoured the sheep, with nothing but skull and bones to show for it. Esmay cried before landing on her master’s extended arm.
Once again they mounted Gladron keeping their southbound path. Talarren guided her high, high upwards, making recognition from below increasingly difficult. Glistening waters of Atlantis Ocean sparkled to their right. Endless patterns of square and rectangle farms coloured various shades of green, purple, brown and yellow passed below, with roads linking hamlets to villages, villages to towns and towns to cities, with castles and fortresses, woodlands, rivers, hills and meadows washing underneath them like a slow-moving river.
At mid morning they stopped by a stream to wash. Talarren unsaddled Gladron, unstrapping her harnesses, bags, shield and weapons. They ate bread and salted meat and drank deeply from the stream. At lunchtime Talarren risked being seen by guiding Gladron to a herd of grazing deer at the base of a large buttressed castle. This time Razel knew what to expect. Gladron’s hooves crashed into a doe, killing it instantly.
“How much do these things eat?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“She’s getting tired. We’ve been flying for two days now. She needs her strength.” Talarren opened a pouch and placed it beside the quickly disappearing doe. “We’ll need to rest in Xaveria for at least a full day. After that we head into Mugar territory.”
Aided by Razel’s Speed! Gust of Wind! Dispel Exhaustion! spells, Gladron raced away. But their flight times reduced. Rest times became longer. They had made prolific progress but it was taking its toll.
“When we arrive in Xaveria, Caspar should be there,” Talarren shouted through a roar of wings. “We will meet with King Xertes and discover what the Central Alliance has decided about Raysal-El-Hin.”
Razel gazed at a tiny caravan way below. “Should I care?”
Talarren did not answer.
With a descending sun, Gladron disappeared into wooded wilderness terrain. Talarren shot a wild boar. Esmay brought half a dozen quail to Talarren who cooked them on an open fire by a freshwater stream. He gave some to Razel who gratefully ate. “Don’t you need to find yourself a familiar if you want to advance as a spellcaster?” Talarren asked Razel over dinner.
“Not necessarily,” she said. “In any event, they’re meant to come to me.”
“I suppose that’s hard, given we’ve been travelling so much.”
“No, Ori Dreamweaver says your familiar finds you no matter where you go.”
“What does it mean that you haven’t found one?” Talarren asked.
“My magic is not as potent, I’m told,” Razel replied, almost disinterestedly.
“You don’t seem concerned about it.”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
Talarren studied her, but said no more. They finished their roasted quail in silence, except for Gladron tearing and ripping apart his boar. Razel appeared to enjoy the moment, though she said nothing more.
After a short breakfast, Talarren loaded up Gladron again. “We’ll reach Angelus around midday. We’ll be in Xaveria some time after we cross Redharvest River.”
They flew at a rapid pace southeast toward Fernland, crossing the mighty Redharvest River as it forged its way confidently toward the glistening ocean. Further ahead another large body of water stretched out before them, sparkling in the morning sun. “Sunset Bay. On its far side lies Lūn-Khadun, northernmost state of the Mugar empire. From there Tāhūbād has launched strikes against Xaveria in his quest to expand into the Central Kingdoms.” Razel guessed Talarren was pondering when Tāhūbād the Cruel was planning his next invasion.
Fortified walls encircled every town and city in these less safe parts. Mighty fortresses built on hilltops dotted the landscape at strategic points. Constructed around every castle were ramparts, barbicans and moat, inner and outer walls. Everything took on a different feel. Even from high above, one noted the defensive quality of the countryside.
As Talarren explained to Razel, citizens of the massive port city of Tessor were accustomed to exotic creatures. Trading ships from all shores of Atlantis Ocean passed through, importing goods, strange peoples and all manner of exotic creatures. Untold quantities of goods entered Tessor via the Silk Road from north and south, including from Mugar traders more interested in profit than war. Pelts and skins, wines and beer, tobacco, precious gems, salt and innumerable commodities were imported and exported into this mighty city every day.
�
�King Xertes is a wise ruler,” Talarren went on. “He has negotiated healthy terms of trade with Lafarrhine, Central Kingdoms and other realms as far as Iceland Sea. Within his borders, soldiers provide safe passage along Silk Road for Mugar and other caravans. He maintains a powerful army and navy capable of deterring Tāhūbād and his bloodthirsty admirals from thoughts of imperial expansion. King Xertes was voted leader of the Central Alliance for his wisdom, bravery and political experience, an alliance inspired by the visionary Guardians of Rohalgamoth in Samson-Ramon’s era. With their support Xertes has preserved a system of law and order within his realm, in spite of a general grumbling about excessive taxes, a perennial complaint endured by heads of state everywhere.
“King Xertes is also a member of the Companions of Aelred. He will provide us lodging in his castle as long as we need it. I am keen to learn why he did not attend Aelred’s council at Queen Zenobia’s Citadel. We will soon learn why. Come, we are nearly there.”
Chapter Thirty
Arrival in Tessor
AS THEY APPROACHED TESSOR’S massive walls, Razel marvelled. The city stretched out from its vast harbour in all directions. An enormous battlemented wall, complete with towers and other defensive structures surrounded the entire city, fortified by a secondary wall reinforced with gates, portcullis and towers located at regular intervals. People spilled into and out of it like crawling ants. It bustled with frenetic activity. Dock workers loaded onto ships barrels, chests, baskets, packages, sacks, furniture, livestock, cages of this, that and other, cartloads of apples, oranges and pomegranates from southern climes and untold types of fruit and preserved foods.
Piles, bales, tubs and stacks of common, rare and unusual merchandise sat on the docks, being unloaded and carried off by all manner of carts and barrows drawn by horses, oxen or donkeys. Guards loitered around city gates. They paced up and down banks and important government buildings. Patrols walked streets. Some mounted, others on foot. Horses and riders rode along paved lanes. Lords and ladies sped along in exotic carriages pulled by teams of white horses and liveried drivers. Smiths, tanners and other craftsmen plied their trade in tiny alleys and laneways. Market squares rang out with vendor cries selling everyday merchandise. Traders of more exotic goods haggled fiercely, profiting from the rarity of their wares.
Taverns and inns in a city like Tessor were everywhere, sometimes two or three in a street, especially near the harbour. Temples and ziggurats rose high into the sky, bludgeoning Tessor’s skyscape with towers, bells and exotic structures, honouring the weird and wonderful deities of the worshippers who built them. Some contained large gardens, walled off from prying eyes. Others lay within fortified premises, defended by temple guards.
Tree-lined streets and manicured gardens enhanced the mansions of rich and famous residents. Luxurious quarters spread far across city borroughs. Tessor resembled Alonçane in many respects but lacked its organisational efficiency. Contrasting these were poorer areas, absent in Alonçane, where crime and a dirty underbelly hidden from respectable society carried out nefarious businesses of extortion, prostitution and crime. Chimney sweeps and street sweepers worked alongside office clerks and dignitaries earning Tessor its reputation as one of the Central Kingdom’s great port cities, competing with the likes of Rationnes and New Tyre.
Towers and workshops of magic users were built and assembled close to city libraries and the main temple precinct. Some were open to an enquiring public, others were secretive and scary, intimidating inquisitive visitors through forbidding tunnels or threatening notices or an absence of any apparent entrance.
Public gardens punctuated cramped quarters where terraces, flats, boarding houses and apartments clumped together like beehives. A massive circular stadium towered over buildings near the city centre. Inside, a circus of festivals, performances, chariot races, gladiatorial fights and executions took place on a regular basis, providing entertainment for city dwellers, townsfolk and villagers across Xaveria. Nearby, theatres of all sorts, around which lived celebrated and hopeful thesbians, promised escapist drama to hard-working citizens.
People and races from all parts of the Central Continent came to trade, study, travel, exchange goods and ideas or to make their fortune; elves, dwarves, halflings, half-elves, half-orcs, even watermen. Mages, sages, magicians and priests, monks and clerics, rangers, fighters, knights, druids, illusionists and paladins all made their home in Tessor, rubbing shoulders with sorcerers, warlocks, assassins, thieves and pickpockets. Outside city walls grew crops of various sorts in farms stretching as far as the eye could see, punctuated by farmhouses, country manors and quaint, pictoresque hamlets.
In this melting pot of human endeavour, Talarren directed Gladron into a neat grassy lawn outside King Xertes enormous fortified palace boasting five proud towers, situated on top of a large plateau surrounded by a moat.
Men-at-arms approached Gladron and her riders, their pikestaffs pointed menacingly forward. Esmay landed on Talarren’s shoulder.
“Halt!” Captain Toolong ordered.
Talarren dismounted. He did not recognise the man-at-arms. “I am Talarren the Ranger. This is Razel. We wish to see King Xertes.”
“Our King is not well,” Captain Toolong replied. “All visitors must report to His Excellency Lord Wellington, regent of Xaveria. What is your business?”
“It concerns urgent matters,” Talarren stated.
“Our king is not well,” Captain Toolong repeated. “As I said, you must consult Lord Wellington for all matters of state.”
“This is not state business. I am a friend of His Majesty.”
“Why did you not say so sooner? Please wait.” Captain Toolong signalled. Guards turned a winch lifting a heavy portcullis. Men-at-arms opened a second gate. Captain Toolong walked briskly through a narrow stretch of grass to large iron doors opening into a splendid keep. Guards saluted as their captain approached.
“This is not good news,” Talarren said, striding forward. “King Xertes has been mildly unwell, but it was kept secret. It has become public knowledge. This must have happened very recently. Who will replace him as Central Alliance leader?”
“Maybe this Lord Wellington?” Razel asked.
“No, such a role must be voted upon.”
Captain Toolong returned with two more guards who escorted Talarren and Razel to the king’s antechamber. A third guard reluctantly led Gladron to the royal stables. “Keep him away from your horses,” Talarren said. “She’s a bit temperamental after her long flight.”
“Please hand over your weapons and staff,” the King’s steward instructed them.
They did so, then followed him down a corridor.
King Xertes lay in his bed, propped up against large white pillows. Around him sat his wife, eyes red with tears, brow creased with worry. His daughter sat beside her. His son paced by a far wall. Several braziers exhaled an aromatic fragrance of healing essence which rose serenely upwards to a high, frescoed ceiling. On Xertes’ other side sat the High Priest of Alcarin, his long flowing beard laced with brown and red pigment. His priestly staff lay beside him, his belt filled with pouches and gourds. He cupped King Xertes’ right hand in his own.
“Welcome, Talarren,” whispered King Xertes feebly, “you come in good time.”
Talarren nodded greetings to all present, then introduced Razel who promptly stepped into the background, as instructed.
“Talarren!” cried a hooded cleric. His impeccable robes and fashionable hood covered his face.
Not another obsessive, fashion-conscious cleric, Razel thought to herself. Caspar was enough.
“Caspar,” Talarren said, his voice filled with warmth as the cleric removed his hood with not a hair out of place. “Well met, my friend.” They embraced. Razel nearly fainted. How could Caspar possibly be here? What’s more, Talarren was not at all surprised. It took them two and a half days of hard travel. Did Caspar come by Pegasus or some other flying creature?
Talarren approached. He to
ok the bed-ridden monarch’s calloused hand, a hand that had slain many orcs and other vile creatures. Talarren felt repulsed by a horrifying chill. He kissed the hand, holding down an inexplicable desire to retch. “Your Grace, it pains me to see you like this. Are you well enough to hear about developments down south?”
High Priest of Alcarin stood. “Our king is weak, noble Ranger. He has handed all state affairs to Lord Wellington, who is now Regent of Xaviera. It is best to deal with him about such matters.”
Talarren desperately desired to discuss matters with Xertes directly, yet Alcarin held too much authority for Talarren to argue. As residing High Priest in Tessor, he was not to be questioned.
“Come,” Caspar suggested to Talarren. “With your leave, Your Majesty, I will take Talarren to Lord Wellington immediately.”
The king, normally so robust and commanding, feebly nodded, his half-closed eyes straining with effort simply to stay open. The Chief Steward led Talarren, Caspar and Razel downstairs to Royal State Chambers where Tessor’s newly-appointed Regent had taken up office. After a quick knock, the Chief Steward opened and announced them to Lord Wellington, after which he retired.
Guards dressed royal livery clasping gleaming pikestaves stood outside.
“Excellency,” Caspar said and bowed. “Allow me to introduce my old friend, Talarren. He is a Ranger from Lafarrhine. And his companion.”
“What does his companion mean?” Razel whispered fiercely to no-one in particular. Besides, she thought indignantly, I have a name.
Duke Wellington greeted Talarren warmly. “Your reputation precedes you.” Wellington introduced two advisors appointed to assist him during King Xertes’ illness.
“I’ve come about the rumoured Mugar invasion of Raysal-El-Hin,” Talarren said. “Scouts have witnessed a deployment of naval forces in Octopus Bay and another force twenty leagues south of Sandboot Peninsula. Moses Al-Shaddai has received intelligence Tāhūbād is once again planning to wipe Raysal-El-Hin off the map.”
Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet Page 35