Wellington nodded, his strong face and kindly eyes turning to a large map spread out over a huge mahogany table. Mapmakers had used cloth fashioned by High Elves, Talarren noticed, not Alonçane parchment, famous for its durability.
“Yes Talarren, you are correct. But I see you have not heard last-minute news passed on to the king by Del Sayyid.” Caspar turned his eyes to Talarren whose brow furrowed with surprise. Talarren’s weathered face and trim beard projected a fierce determination. Even now, his striking storm-grey eyes were etched with kindliness. Wellington removed his eyes from Talarren and continued. “A sizable army of orcs has gathered in Albatross Mountains. Bounty hunters from Switz who were hunting in the mountains say orc armies are merely days away. They are being assisted by priests of Baal.”
Talarren and Caspar exchanged looks, their faces aghast. How could such a thing be, Talarren asked himself?
Every eye studied Wellington’s map. Apart from a handful of fortresses built in ancient times against marauding mountain orcs, nothing stood between orcs and Switz’s towns, cities and rural populations.
“There have been no wars or hint of war in that region for many years,” Talarren remarked. “Switz is not well defended. Internal bickering has left it weak. These orcs will plunder without mercy.”
“Curse those stubborn dwarves,” Wellington growled. “King Xertes has been attempting to enlist their help for years to prevent just such an outrage occurring.”
“They’re too concerned with their own interests,” Councillor Yin agreed. His head darted from side to side like a nervous sparrow. “They refuse to join our Central Alliance, claiming it provides no benefit to them. They have continually declined our requests.”
Talarren clenched his teeth. “So short-sighted! Of course it is in their interests to defend Switz. If Switz falls, orcs will plunder other northern kingdoms such as Tarz, Appel and Kozondorf. Dwarven kingdoms will be hemmed in east and south. They will have no safe passage within their own mountain range. Surely this is not what they want.”
Wellington nodded. “Of course. I have once again sent envoys to each dwarven kingdom for assistance.”
“A fat lot of good that will do us,” Councillor Yan spat, his pupils dilating dangerously before shrinking again.
Talarren’s brow furrowed. “How is it possible that Baal priests are marching with orcs? They have no historic ties. Baal priests hate orcs. They always have. Are you sure Del Sayyid, your Mugar informer, is not mistaken?”
“We were all as shocked as you,” replied Lord Wellington. “Del Sayyid is not mistaken. Even so, I have already sent a sizable army north to defend Switz. I have also commanded Pharlop and Miris, our two neighbouring kingdoms, to send armies north.”
“We must convoke a Central Alliance council,” Talarren urged him, “to meet here at Tessor. Sending troops to assist a member state requires convocation of a council.” As Regent of Xaveria, Talarren knew Lord Wellington did not have the authority to unilaterally send other kingdoms to war. Not even King Xertes had this authority as Central Alliance leader.
“It will take days, perhaps a week, for delegates to arrive,” Wellington said. “Action must be taken now.”
“Before any large deployment of armies, surely Central Alliance states need to consider their options,” Talarren advised him, his voice laced with alarm.
“There is no time.”
“Envoys and carrier pigeons can be despatched immediately,” Talarren pressed. “Soldiers and mercenaries sent without delay. Such an action may prove too hasty. Why are we sending so many troops north when Raysal-El-Hin is about to be invaded?”
“It is already done, Talarren,” Wellington said, bringing his hand to his chin. “All Central Alliance members, including Lafarrhine and Scandorlands are sending troops to Albatross Mountains. Aelred has sent a small mounted army. He will fly directly to Switz to lead their defence.”
“Should we not consult other members of the Central Alliance first?” Talarren insisted.
Razel noticed a hint of desperation appear in Talarren’s usually implacable face.
“We have no time,” Councillor Yin replied.
“But this breaks convention,” Talarren insisted. We…”
Wellington slammed his palm on the map. “Talarren,” he repeated, frustration causing his temple veins to bulge, “we have no time.” He gazed out the window, watching a pair of doves, jealous of their freedom as he, in his newly appointed role of Regent, was forced to bear the terrible burden of his predicament. “Curse this sickness of Xertes. Curse these orcs. We must act, or Switz will be overrun.”
Caspar turned to Talarren. “How can an orc army of such size form without us being aware? Since when have orcs been so good at disguising their movements?”
Talarren pointed to a spot on the map. “The Sorceress of Llularven is said to be at large. Orc bands have been have travelling south, by land and through the Straights of Gibraltar. Could she be behind this?”
“You think the Sorceress is dealing with orcs?” Caspar asked, turning to Talarren.
“I do not know,” Talarren answered.
“For what purpose?” queried Councillor Yin. “What does she stand to gain? And how does this concern us right now?”
Lord Wellington paced up and down upon the rich tapestries imported from Mugar weavers and traders. “Either way, we need to defend Switz. Being overrun by an army of marauding mountain orcs does not bear thinking about. King Xertes has appointed me his Regent. I will discharge my duties as best I can. Xaveria has to lead by example. I sent much of our army to Switz as soon as I heard.”
“But Central Alliance kingdoms have not agreed to this,” Talarren told Wellington. “It makes more sense to rally those nations closer to Switz. It it they need to send their armies.”
Razel winced. Should a lowly Ranger, without rank or position, argue with a Regent? Caspar flinched. Both councillors glared at Talarren.
Wellington smiled calmly. He turned to Talarren. “There is no time to vote. We are in desperate straits. Orcs march for war to our north in league with Baal clerics. Mugars are preparing to invade Raysal-El-Hin to our south. Decisions must be made. I stand in for our King who is also the Central Alliance leader. It falls upon me to take up his mantle.”
“The King has great confidence in our Regent,” Counsillor Yin told Talarren. “You know that. You have been his advisor for many years.”
“Of course,” Talarren said. “But I feel we need to reconsider our options.”
“Let me be clear,” Lord Wellington snapped. “I have taken on Central Alliance leadership. I have summoned Central Alliance kingdoms to gather in their largest possible numbers in defence of Switz, providing an example by sending much of our own army. I have also requested Lafarrhine and Scandorlands to send military assistance as they have more power and resources than most other kingdoms. I also call upon dwarves. It is in our common interest to crush this orcish threat so convincingly that they dare not show their ugly faces anywhere near civilised society again.”
“What about Raysal-El-Hin?” Caspar asked.
Wellington pointed to the map. “Mugars have mustered a large naval force here and here.” He pointed to locations in Octopus and Coral Bays. “Two days earlier a roc from Moses Al-Shaddai informed us Tāhūbād’s army has already begun its offensive. Yesterday I sent an armada to engage them outside Rayham Fortress.”
All eyes surveyed the map. Caspar frowned. “It’s an ill-timed wind that sees an orc army advance to the north at the very same time as Tāhūbād advances down south.”
Each pondered Caspar’s observations. Different theories presented themselves. King Xertes possessed experience in times of war yet he was ill in bed. Lord Wellington was an able politician and the king’s trustworthy deputy, yet did he have sufficient experience to make wise decisions in such circumstances? Talarren thought not. Were other options worth considering? Surely such momentous events could not be co-incidence? Was Tāhūbād b
ehind such events? Did he command this army of orcs from many hundreds of leagues away?
Wellington spoke. “Talarren, you and Caspar will sail upon the tide with our second fleet of warships bound for Raysal-El-Hin. A Lafarrhine fleet is sailing at full speed behind you. Unlike last time, we can expect to be intercepted by Mugar warships as we sail past Cape Dread…” His fingers indicated locations on the map. “Our commander has led Xavieran ships for two decades. He is a veteran of the Mugar wars. Talarren, you will assist him. He is making final preparations as we speak. And now, gentlemen, I wish you gods speed. We have internal affairs to attend to before sending more troops north to battle these despicable orcs.”
“I pray leave to speak, Your Excellency,” Talarren requested. “If we send most of our warships south and a large army north, are we not leaving Tessor exposed in this uncertain time?”
Wellington breathed in, almost, it seemed, with irritation. “I do not appreciate being questioned by a common Ranger.” He placed his outstretched hand on the map. “If you have concerns about my leadership, I suggest you take that up with King Xertes.” Caspar stole a look at Talarren. Razel dared not raise her eyes, associated as she was with this insubordinate Ranger. “But to put your mind at rest, my dear Ranger, we have sufficient warships, troops and spellcasters in Xaveria to defend ourselves against...” He turned to his two councillors. “Remind me who we are defending ourselves against?”
“Your fears are well-intentioned, Talarren,” Counsillor Yan observed, “but groundless.”
“We are not under attack,” Counsillor Yin agreed. “Switz and Raysal-El-Hin are. They need defending, not us.” He paused. They turned to one another, as if nothing more need be said. “And now,” Counsillor Yin continued, not without a hint of condescension, “we have important affairs of state to contend with. You may leave.”
“Your Excellency,” Talarren insisted, despite the growing hostility from Wellington and his councillors. Razel desperately wanted to tell Talarren to leave. “I pray we wait for Central Alliance…”
Lord Wellington terminated any discussion by raising his hand. He and both counsillors glared at Talarren.
Talarren turned on his heels. A tempest raged in his smouldering grey eyes as he swept past Razel. She and Caspar followed him. A guard closed the door behind them.
“Your belongings, sir,” a guard said, indicating Talarren’s sword and Razel’s staff. He accompanied them to the palace’s magnificent double doors of iron-bound oak. A guard opened it and led them along the gravel road past iron gates and portcullis and over the moat. Another guard brought Gladron to Talarren, shutting the gate behind them.
Talarren took Gladron’s reins. They slowly made their way into the large square adjoining the King’s palace filled with people going about their business.
“So much for King Xertes’ warm hospitality,” Razel found herself taunting Talarren, “where we’ll be able to rest and recuperate in kingly comfort.”
“I beg your pardon?” Caspar asked, shocked at Razel’s sarcasm. He looked upon with fierce eyes. Talarren was very much aware Caspar’s generation found such behaviour unbecoming, particularly in a lass of such singular physical beauty. Caspar’s loyalty made him particularly defensive when maidens took liberties with Talarren’s good nature.
“Forebearance, Caspar,” Talarren said kindly. “We’ve been travelling two and a half days practically non-stop on Gladron. I promised her we’d get red carpet treatment when we arrived in Tessor. So much for that,” he added bitterly.
“Even so, that’s no way to talk to your betters,” Caspar admonished her. “I’ll thank you to mind your manners.”
A temptation to respond almost overpowered Razel. Does Talarren need a croaky old cleric to fight his battles for him, does he, against an unseasoned maiden? She didn’t say it. Instead she apologised. “I’m tired and hungry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Apology accepted,” Talarren smiled.
Caspar nodded unconvincingly, looking down his nose at her while straightening his tunic.
“I feel ill at ease.” Talarren toyed with his steed’s reigns. “I must think. How I wish Aelred were here. I need a safe place for Gladron and Esmay. I usually stay in King Xertes’ palace.”
“Ehud Temple will be your succour for now, Talarren. You will stay with us,” Caspar said. “Come, you must be famished.”
“More important concerns weigh upon me,” Talarren said. His uneasiness became more and more obvious. “We must take stock of everything. Yes, Ehud Temple will be a good place to think.”
“With all due respect to Caspar,” Razel gently protested, “must we stay with a bunch of boring old clerics in this amazing city? Can’t we explore its sights? Taste its exotic food? There’s so much to see.”
Caspar’s blue eyes blazed.
Talarren stopped short, a fierce look etching his rugged, handsome countenance. “Razel, what has gotten into you? Do you not understand the gravity of our situation? You’re behaving like a spoilt child.”
“Aye, and much worse,” Caspar said. “Stand over there now, please!” He pointed to an empty seat by a fountain where a handful of boys were playing with a ball. His sudden anger frightened her. When she reached the fountain, Caspar grabbed Talarren. “What is this? I stand astounded. Mighty Talarren, greatest Ranger in Lafarrhine and beyond, beguiled by a spellcaster’s beauty? Did you not think to replace her before flying here? Perhaps ask Zenobia or one of her spellcasters?”
“Calm down, Caspar. I did attempt to secure a more experienced magician. No-one was available. Besides, we had no time. And no, I am certainly not beguiled by her beauty.” He laughed, slapping his old friend on the back. “I am glad you are here, a man of sense in the midst of this madness. Come, we need to talk. Though I laugh to see you, I am far from happy.”
Ehud priests made up for Wellington’s cold inhospitality. Gladron was taken to clean stables and Esmay supplied with a cosy roost, both watered and fed. Talarren and Razel were given fresh clothes and their own room. Bathtubs filled with warm water and jasmine and oils were run for them. Aromatic candles lit walls; perfumed braziers scented their room. Soothing pawpaw lotions were massaged into their weary skin. Nightingales in their respective rooms chirped cheerily. Warm scented towels and body lotions were left on beds. Like his time in Queen Zenobia’s Citadel, Talarren fully gave himself to relaxation and replenishment.
After washing, Caspar took them to an expansive dining hall. Polished floorboards, white walls and clear windows revealed cleanliness and a rule of order. Long tables and comfortable wooden chairs topped with flat llama fleece cushions completed the picture. A large lecturn sitting on a raised platform spoke to them of ancient lore and sacred prophecies during solemn meal times.
“Mealtime is over, but they’re preparing something for us now,” Caspar explained.
“Not a hair out of place, like its owner,” Razel said, meaning it as a friendly jibe.
It was not taken as such. With a straight face, Caspar replied: “I do not own this temple, but I can come and go as I please, which is a very different thing. All clerics of Ehud jointly own our properties, our High Priest being chief steward of all. We owe him fealty and obedience following a strict hierarchy. Our High Priest is a Guardian of Rohalgamoth. Under him are six Chief Priests of Ehud who form Ehud’s Clerical Council. Beneath them are twelve Clerical Administrators who rule regions. Each temple in a particular region reports to Clerical Administrators. Temples are overseen by Temple Ministers, served by a team of acolytes. For your information, clerics of Baal are a mirror image of Ehud, except they practice Dark Arts. Like everything diabolical, they lack originality and creativity; instead they twist what already exists into something evil.”
Talarren hid his smile. It would do well for Razel to mind her manners. There she stood with head bowed in humility as Caspar allowed his anger to reign, assuming the role of a parent or guardian by whipping this impertinent maiden, beauti
ful as she was, into line. Perhaps he had allowed her cheek and temper too much reign.
Presently Temple Minister Garth joined them. Like Caspar, his tunic and cloak were pressed as if by fairies. His light brown hair was combed carefully into a fashionable, contemporary style. Two acolytes spread an impressive feast before them, then disappeared.
“My name is Garth. I’m Temple Minister here in Tessor. Welcome.” Caspar introduced his friends. Razel was about to place a forkful of beans into her mouth before a dragon stare from Caspar stopped her short. Garth blessed their meal, then invited them to eat. Chastened, Razel waited. What else could she inadvertently do to put Caspar’s sensitive nose out of joint, she wondered?
Talarren did not eat. He preferred to talk. “Garth, tell me, what is King Xertes’ sickness that not even the High Priest of Alcarin, Tessor’s leading order, can heal?”
He shook his head. “You suspect foul play? I think you are right. However, Alcarin’s High Priest has mighty powers. He has placed many healing spells upon the king. As has Caspar and other clerics. King Xertes has been given healing potions every day. Every day new healing spells from powerful and trusted clerics of different Orders are performed. The High Priest, great mages and magicians of Tessor have detected evil and magic around him, and have performed Dispel Magic! and Dispel Evil! spells. The king’s condition improves, but afterwards his sickness returns, baffing everyone. It is as if some great curse has befallen him.”
“Do we know how this happened?” Talarren asked.
Garth shook his head. “Alcarin and his clerics have investigated. They have questioned His Majesty’s family, councillors, men-at-arms, captains and servants. We have discovered nothing. All we know is that he has been feeling unwell for months without telling anyone. He has been gradually getting worse. When Xaveria’s physicians could not cure him they called High Priest Alcarin. We cannot know for sure, but suspect Dark Arts are involved.”
Talarren frowned, shaking his head. He still refused to eat. “If that is true, then who is behind it and why? Priests of Baal? Purple Ivy Grove? Sorceress of Llularven? Some other sinister power? Another point that troubles me is the timing of two apparently unrelated events. Surely it is no co-incidence that orcs are amassing north while Tāhūbād gathers his armies south. Some evil is upon us, I feel certain.”
Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet Page 36