Tyndal and his men approached quickly, but the thing did not seem to notice them as it thrashed its way across the meadow and toward the road. I watched as they made a close pass to evaluate the thing, pausing a few moments to regard it from a close perspective. Then Tyndal ordered them to withdraw, and a moment later he and his men returned.
“That thing is as ugly as an infected boil,” Tyndal reported, as he brought his mount to a halt. “Dangerous, too. We saw a couple of sheep that got in its way. What was left of them. It chews up the ground where it travels, like some mad plowman. If it reaches the road . . .”
“That could be problematic,” I agreed with a sigh. The way that was moving, the road would be a quick route to destruction in either direction.
“Shall we charge, then?” Tyndal asked, as he and his men began preparing themselves.
“Or we could just shoot it,” Lilastien said, patting the stock of her plasma rifle as we heard hoofbeats coming from up the road from the opposite direction we were traveling. It seemed as if the commotion the creature was causing had alerted some folk from Anferny, who were coming to investigate. “I would imagine we could kill it with these. I suppose that sort of creature is why they stocked plasma rifles here in the first place.”
“I could blow it up,” offered Ormar, glancing back at his wagon.
“I think a cavalry charge will be sufficient,” Tyndal demurred, as his men turned their mounts to face the thing. “We don’t have time to prepare an alchemical charge.”
“Shooting is quick,” reminded Lilastien.
“I could just blow it up,” Ormar repeated, a little more testily.
“A cavalry charge is more fun,” countered Tyndal as the horseman from up the road finally appeared over the crest of the hill. A horsewoman, actually – not the Kasari ranger I expected, but a young woman in a hauberk and mantle. She pulled her mount up in front of the knights, who had already unlimbered their lances and drawn their swords. They were blocked from their charge by the woman, which inspired a frown on Tyndal’s face.
It could not match the expression on her own face, though – the attractive young lady was irate. She was dressed in trousers and tunic and rode her horse straddled, not sidesaddle. There was a cavalry sword at her hip, and a horn on a baldric around her shoulder. A bow and quiver protruded from her saddle. She was very pretty, with dark, almost black hair that hung behind her in two braids.
“What in Duin’s name do you think you’re doing?” she demanded angrily, in heavily accented Narasi.
“We’re about to slay a monster,” Tyndal replied, evenly. “It’s the sort of thing knights errant do. If my lady will continue her ride, we’ll get to it, then.”
“Do you know what happens if you kill that thing?” she demanded, pointing at the creature.
“Fame, fortune and a story that will ensure I never pay for a drink again,” he answered, reasonably.
“No!” the girl said, her eyes narrowing. “That, you idiot, is a biberon! It’s big and stupid and harmless if you don’t get in its way! Most of the year it sits in the bottom of the lake and doesn’t bother anybody. But if you kill a biberon on land, do you see all of those bumps on its back? Each one of those is one of its young – it’s horrible, nasty, carnivorous, vicious young, who will all burrow into the meadow when their mother is dead and then spend the next year attacking everything in sight before they finally go back to the lake!” she related, furiously. “And there are scores of them!”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Tyndal asked, accepting her tale but disliking her attitude. “Believe it or not, we’re not from around here,” he pointed out.
“Really?” the lady said, with an exasperated, sarcastic sneer. “We have ways of contending with such things as the biberon,” she assured, as she drew a horn she wore on a baldric. She blew one loud, steady note followed by three quick ones.
“Yes, that doesn’t appear to have stopped it,” Tyndal said, frowning at the rapidly approaching biberon.
“Just bide, you idiot!” she snorted.
“Wait for what?” he demanded.
“The patrol,” she said, dismissively. “I told you we have ways to contend with the biberon. When one emerges, we summon the patrol to drive it back. Just stand at ease,” she commanded, “sheath your swords and don’t challenge it. People get hurt or killed, that way.”
“It’s getting closer,” Ormar reminded them, anxiously.
“Don’t worry, they’re coming,” she said. “Probably from the northwest. There’s usually one in the area, this time of year.”
Everyone shifted their attention to that direction, curious to see when the mysterious patrol would arrive. There was a rise, there, a grassy hill framed by two stands of trees. To our surprise it did only take a few moments after she’d blown the horn – but the rumble we began to hear was not hoofbeats.
Instead, a line of strange figures suddenly surmounted the hill and began to drive their way toward the biberon. I quickly raised the plasma rifle and peered through its magnified site at the new arrivals, being careful to keep my fingers away from the trigger mechanism.
“Ishi’s tits!” I said, in surprise. For the image that appeared in the scope showed a force of cavalry – perhaps two score – but of a kind that I’d never seen before.
Indeed, they were not horsemen, nor even Fell Hound riders. The mounts were neither equine nor canine. They were llamas. Being ridden by the fiercest looking Tal Alon I’d ever seen.
Their steeds were surprisingly large for the species, which is sometimes favored in poorer areas of the Wilderlands and even in the Riverlands for their utility, their flesh, their milk, and their hair. It serves as the poor peasant’s sheep, cow, and donkey. But these llamas were massive, compared to their southern cousins, their hair uniformly black. The bore saddles of leather like a horseman’s, as well as reins and harness. Some had metal plates strung across their chests.
The riders were just as unusual as the mounts. I’d met a few of the Lakeshire Tal, at Midmarket, and apart from being less hairy, slightly taller, and perhaps just a bit more irreverent as the Wilderlands variety, they seemed like normal Tal Alon. But these fellows were the first Tal I’d ever seen bearing armor and helmets. And shields. And weapons. Nearly all of them had a short sword or an axe on their saddle, each had a bow and quiver, and there were little lances at rest in their saddle scabbards. But each little rider also bore a torch, and it was with flaming brands that they charged the biberon.
I described what I was seeing to the others, as the little cavalry began to surround the beast, waving their torches at its trio of eyes until it halted its progress.
“You have Tal Alon knights,” Tyndal said to the girl, almost accusingly. “Riding . . . war llamas.”
“They’re the Third Lakeshire Patrol by their banner, if I am not mistaken,” the girl sniffed, as she peered at the Tal Alon cavalry, shading her eyes with her hand. “They’ll have that bloody thing turned around and headed back to the lake in no time,” she predicted, confidently. “They’re adept at this sort of thing. Now, Sir Idiot, would you mind telling me who you are and why you feel you have leave to draw sword in my lands?”
“Your lands?” chuckled Tyndal, irreverently. “And who are you to regulate my practice of arms?”
“I am Lady Tandine of Anferny!” she said, arrogantly. “Daughter of Lord Kanlan of Anferny. My rule is law, here,” she added, in case he enjoyed any doubt.
“Well, my lady Tandine of Anferny, I am Viscount Tyndal of Callierd, who was gifted my lands by my liege Count Minalan, of the Magelaw Palatinate. But you may call me Sir Idiot,” he added, with a smirk. “Those lands extend from the Maier River indefinitely to the north . . . to the last human settlement. Right here, in fact,” he said, gesturing around.
“What?” she asked with a disbelieving scoff.
“My lady, I am your lawfully appointed liege lord,” he chuckled. “Indeed, I came here in part to secure the fealty of the lord
of the domain to myself and Count Minalan.”
“You?” Tandine asked, skeptically. “You are my liege?”
“And you are my vassal,” Tyndal agreed. “I have a scroll the size of a blanket to prove it if you require. And if you can read.”
“And just who is this ‘Count Minalan’?” she asked, her nostrils flaring and her eyes flashing.
“A gentleman of impeccable character and uncommon wisdom,” I offered. “As well as a magelord of great repute. I happen to be that gentleman, my lady,” I said, with an informal bow.
“You are Count . . . Minalan?” she asked, even more skeptically. I admit, I didn’t look much like a count at the moment. I was wearing a lightweight linen tunic of faded blue, and my old journeyman’s wizard’s hat that looked like it had journeyed a lot. Except for the plasma rifle, I looked more like a footwizard than Fondaras.
“I am,” I agreed. “And as cheeky as my vassal has been with you, he has not been untruthful. We’ve traveled a very long way to inspect your domain and enjoy your hospitality. Among other errands.”
“A magelord?” If anything, Tandine looked yet more skeptical. She glanced between me and Tyndal. “Is he one, too?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “As is Lord Ormar, an alchemist in the service of Duke Lenguin, himself. And this is Lady Lilastien, of the Alka Alon. The Tera Alon,” I corrected, seeing as how she’d been traveling in her larger form. “They are but a portion of our party. There are other magelords in our company. As well as Fondaras the Wise.”
She looked at all of us with new incredulity. “Magelords. Wizards. Magi. You did realize that magic does not work here before you came?” she pointed out, critically.
“We heard a rumor or two. But there was no denying us. We have come with the sanction of the king, himself,” I promised.
“Now you edge into dishonesty, my lord. There is no king!” Tandine scoffed.
“There is now, my lady,” Tyndal corrected. “His Royal Majesty Rard I, King of Castalshar. We are in the fifth year of his reign. I attended his coronation, myself,” he added, boldly.
“A king? Magelords?” she asked, shaking her head. “And you can prove you are who you say you are?”
“Of course,” I assured her. “My lady, our tale will take long to tell, and we’re eager to keep moving. If you will allow us to inform the rest of our party that it is now safe to travel without you setting your fearsome war llamas upon us, I think we can tell that tale in the comfort of your own keep.”
She paused, thoughtfully, then carefully nodded. “Yes. If what you tell me is true, there has been much that has changed in the south. I think this is a tale my father and brother will want to hear. That will be best done at yon castle. I’ll escort you there, myself,” she added, mistrustfully.
I couldn’t help but notice that Tyndal couldn’t take his eyes off her.
The road to Anferny Town was uphill, as the place had been built on the steep northern slope of the southern ridge.
Indeed, “steep” was an excellent way to describe most of the land in Anghysbel. With notable exceptions, there was very little land that could be considered flat. We were nearly always going up a hill or down one, and the road never ran straight. The long, wide ledge upon which Anferny had been built was easily three or four hundred feet above the road and the fields. The ridge behind it towered over the roof of the highest watchtower by another two thousand feet.
The simple round castle that gave refuge to the people in dangerous times was perched on a hillock at the eastern end with a nearly circular bailey that extended down to the level of the village, interrupted by a stout gatehouse that separated castle from town. There was a domestic range of halls that ringed the keep, inside the bailey, and the curtain wall was punctuated with little turrets.
The pitch of the rooves in both town and castle were almost impossibly steep, a testament to just how much snow this place got in the winter. Most buildings were whitewashed half-timbered lodges with stone foundations. The town, of course, had the temple and shrine in the center, along with a few larger halls.
It was a delightful little place in a beautiful setting. The spires of the temple and the steeply peaked thatched rooves of the stone houses provided a picturesque skyline, with the grand backdrop of the steep slope behind it. As we got closer it only became more charming as details of Anferny’s daily life and unique history emerged.
“There are almost two thousand people, in town,” Lady Tandine boasted, as she rode between Tyndal and I. I’d swapped horses with one of the knights for the remainder of the journey into the town and let him drive the cart with Alya. “It’s the largest human settlement in Anghysbel. There are more than six thousand in the domain. Most of the farms and estates are within a few hours’ ride of Anferny. Lakeshire is but half a day.”
“Do you have a lot of commerce with the Kilnusk?” Tyndal asked, curious.
She shrugged. “Enough. We sell them a lot of grain and get a lot of iron in return. And other things. They’re very helpful, when it comes to the stora,” she said.
“Stora? What are stora?” Tyndal asked.
Tandine shook her head. “I forget you are not familiar with the vale, Sir Idiot. Beyond Grost Kilnuskum – that’s the mountain fortress of the Kilnusk,” she explained, patiently, “there is a large arid plain, almost a desert, betwixt their mountain and Chimney Mountain, where the earth vomits steam and ash. It is filled with natural stone formations that look like large columns – hence we call it the Plain of Pillars. It is also filled with huge beasts known as the stora who thrive there. A single stora is twice as large as the biberon you almost attacked. Large enough to trample a village.”
“So how do the Kilnusk help with them?” I asked, fascinated.
“They fight them,” she grunted. “Especially the young stora, who are about the size of an ox. Indeed, the dwarves see it as great sport. They send their young warriors out to patrol the frontier between the plains and the south, and when they find a stora too close, they attack it. If one of the larger adults wanders south, they form a war party and drive it away. They consider that real sport,” she added, shaking her head. “They usually lose a few warriors, when they do that, but they see it as worthwhile fun.”
“I can see that,” Tyndal shrugged. “I slew a dragon once, and it was quite sporting.”
“My lord, I do not appreciate being lied to,” Tandine frowned. “Empty boasts do not impress me, nor do dishonest knights. Think me not a gullible maiden!”
I cleared my throat. “As unlikely as it is, my lady, I’m afraid my vassal speaks the truth. Or mostly. He had help with the dragon. It attacked Vorone three years ago and gutted the town. We happened to be there for a conference, so the attack was blunted. Many warmagi fought it. But I do admit that Tyndal had the idea to slay it, eventually, and he executed the plan with some assistance. Its skull now sits at the ducal palace in Falas. It was the second we slew,” I added. “The third nearly destroyed my home barony of Sevendor.”
“I hear you have your own dragon around here,” Tyndal added.
“In the northwest,” Lady Tandine nodded, though her face was still skeptical about Tyndal’s claim. “I cannot imagine anything or anyone who could best it. It is a fearsome beast. I’ve seen in bathing in the Hot Lake. And eating a stora,” she added. “A fully grown one. I cannot imagine you killing a dragon,” she said to Tyndal, accusingly.
“With magic, these days, a great many things are possible,” I murmured. “There have been improvements since your ancestors last journeyed south. Slaying dragons is not easy. But with magic and a little ingenuity, it’s possible. If you’re brave and bold enough,” I said, nodding toward my former apprentice.
“We thought them fable, until this one appeared,” she admitted. “For a few years we feared that it might cause mischief. But when my brother was a boy, he was out hunting and met an elf in the forest who assured him that it had settled and had no desire to menace us if we left it in peace.
My father believed him when no one else would. So I beg of you brave, bold magelords: do nothing to disturb the worm,” she pleaded. “Anferny would pay for your failure.”
“I’m actually more interested in this elf than the dragon, at the moment,” I offered. “Where, exactly, was your brother hunting when he saw it?”
“Her, actually,” Tandine corrected. “The elf – he called her a pixie at the time, but I think she was one of the Tree Folk. They rarely come here, Father Brindus tells me. But the elf was a female. He encountered her in the northeast, beyond the Plain of Pillars, in the Gouge. There are a number of wild beasts in that region, and he finds it good hunting.”
Tyndal and I exchanged a meaningful glance. The only Alka Alon known to be in this region was Ameras.
“What?” demanded Lady Tandine as she watched our expressions change. “My lords, what do you know of this elf?”
“She may be someone we’re seeking on our quest,” I explained. “I will tell the tale later – as much as I can. We come to Anghysbel on many errands, my lady.”
“One dealing with one of the Tree Folk?” she asked, incredulously. “Gentlemen, I remind you that I am not some gullible maiden. The Fair Folk do not mix with humanity!”
“No, my lady, your skepticism is quite clear,” I chuckled. “But there have been many changes in the greater world. The Alka Alon have come out of their trees and their hidden refuges to aid humanity in its wars and struggles once again.”
“I cannot believe that! Indeed, gentlemen, I am starting to believe I am being fooled by a clever pack of vagabonds!” she snorted. “I have never— Trygg’s grace, what in five hells is that?” she asked, suddenly shocked and surprised.
For Ithalia and Nattia had flown their birds overhead, on their way to Anferny Town, and the shadow darkened our way for a moment.
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