Caspar shrugged his shoulders. “And look - the original Charter of Reswald. It states the House of Harrad will be monarchs of Reswald in perpetuity. How were these documents not destroyed or taken?”
“They must have been hidden in that secret room all these years. Being worthless bits of paper, adventurers probably left them to rot. It must have been Leroy Boadstool who found them and decided to keep them.”
Talarren continued. “These underground Temple drawings show exactly what sort of wicked sacrifices these druids were planning. I wonder if Dagan is aware of their intentions?”
“I don’t know,” Caspar replied, “but something here disturbs me. Why has Leroy and his Grove of Purple Ivy not destroyed this evidence? Title Deeds, ransom letters, Charter of Reswald. These druids have no use for these documents whatsoever. It’s almost as if they’re keeping them as insurance against Dagan, to hold him to ransom just in case.”
“You may be right, Caspar,” Talarren said. “Sadly, all this will no longer help Alex. We will leave them in Lord Cuthbert’s care, just in case others in his family...”
“Even so, it will be too late for them,” Caspar said, shaking his head. “Come, let us eat. We have a long journey ahead.”
“And a dangerous one,” Talarren added. “Evil forces are quickening. More than ever I feel a connection between our Highlands quest, the Amulet of Power and the Age of Demons. They share a common link. I am convinced of it.”
Caspar nodded faintly. Was it true, he asked himself, what people said about Talarren? That as mighty a hero as he was, he read too much evil, disaster and prophecy into every minor event? Time would tell. In any case, he had a hunch Talarren was right.
That evening Caspar arranged a burial for Alex. Lord and Lady Cuthbert gathered with Alex’s newfound companions in the small castle cemetery. Caspar recited prayers and followed the burial rites of his Order. Perry and Elfindi slowly lowered the coffin into the grave. Though they had known him only a short time, their hearts went out to the unfortunate lad who never knew his family and never knew what it would be like to sit on his father’s throne.
Chapter Sixteen
En Route to Highlands
NEXT DAY TALARREN RETURNED from the stables with Gladron, his legendary hippogriff, the flying steed that was as closely associated with the legendary Ranger as his eagle and hound. It was said no rider in the history of men could ride such a steed like Talarren. Talarren had asked Lord Cuthbert to keep his servants, stewards and retainers unaware of the hippogriff’s arrival. He did not want her whereabouts to end up in the wrong ears. When she finally saw the creature Razel could not contain her amazement at the sheer size and ferocity of the beast, with its incredible wings, vast as the sail of a small fishing vessel. Its frightening beak inspired fear in any not accustomed to seeing it. Its powerful hindquarters and the claws on its forelegs sent shivers down Razel’s spine. How on earth could anyone tame such a beast, she wondered?
At the sound of the morning bell, Lord Cuthbert’s entire household met in the castle’s gathering hall. The coast was momentarily clear. Mounting six horses loaded with supplies, and Gladron, the six unlikely adventurers, led by Talarren, chartered their three hundred league north-bound route for the Highlands. Kron chose the smallest horse. He had paid an exorbitant amount for a specially-made saddle from a local saddler. “If you were not there, Talarren,” he swore, “my fist would have collided very heavily with that saddler’s face. Four silver pieces for a saddle! Its highway robbery.”
Talarren laughed. “Specially made, don’t forget. Dwarves your size don’t come knocking too often. He threw in saddlebags and rope to sweeten our deal.” Kron only intensified his dark scowl.
Esmay sat perched on Gladron’s back saddle. “How much did your saddle cost, if you don’t mind me asking?” Kron asked Talarren.
“Nothing. I know a druid who’s an expert leather worker. He fashions items for me gratis.”
Kron shook his head. “Nothing’s gratis. What service did you render him?”
Gladron’s steady gait relaxed Talarren. Sunshine covered the picturesque, wooded landscape. Larks chirped happily in the trees. He breathed deeply. He enjoyed this interchange with his newfound dwarven companion. “None!”
“Come clean, by the beard of Odin,” the dwarf demanded. “No-one does something for nothing.”
Perry decided to weigh in. “I agree. No artisan would make a saddle like that, a very expensive one, mind, and specially made to accommodate your eagle, for nothing.”
Elfindi threw in his two copper’s worth. “I’m with Perry and the dwarf. You must have rendered him some service.”
“No.”
“You must have aided him at some point and this is his way of repaying you,” Elfindi suggested.
“No.”
“Put us out of our misery,” the dwarf said. “How could that saddle cost you nothing? Just tell us what you did. And my name is Kron, by the way,” he told Elfindi gruffly.
Talarren turned to Razel, who shifted irritably in her saddle. She had struggled to get comfortable since they left the town of Roscow outside Reswaldtown, where the leatherworker who skinned Kron plied his trade. “What about you Razel? Where do you sit on this issue?”
“On the fence,” she said curtly, in no mood for such nonsensical discussions. She jumped off her horse and pulled it by the reins behind her. The others erupted in laughter.
“Elfindi, how long will she last?” Perry goaded loudly, though his half-elf friend rode closely alongside him.
“Less than half an hour,” Elfindi replied equally loudly.
“Have you no faith in our feisty spellcaster?” Perry lamented theatrically. “I’ll wager a silver she lasts longer than half an hour.”
“I see I have fellow gamblers in our party,” Kron bellowed. “If you dare, I’ll wager two silvers our hardy lass will last over an hour.”
“If you’re quite finished,” Razel huffed.
Talarren smiled at Caspar. This will be no boring travelling party, their eyes told each other.
Hunter strode by Gladron’s side, their familiarity evident after years together serving their master.
“No druid, Talarren?” Caspar asked. “You always bring druids on long journeys.”
“I didn’t have time.”
“We may meet one en route,” Caspar suggested, undaunted by their three hundred leagues to the Highlands, despite his age. “Will we take Frostibrook River at Rainbow Sea?”
“Yes, there’s a seaport due east in a coastal fiefdom belonging to Lord Rumpel, a friend of King Toscannic. Alonçane Council sent word when we undertook this commission. A boat is waiting. Costs will be covered by Thane Landreth of the Highlands.”
“Er, will we be going by boat?” Elfindi asked nervously.
“You’ve taken a commission involving Norse pirates,” Caspar said. “Er, that involves boats.”
Elfindi was not sure he liked the cleric’s tone.
Perry laughed, gee-upped his horse and sidled up to Razel. He sprung off his horse like an acrobat, landing deftly on his feet. “Let me take your horse,” he suggested, displaying his finest dimpled smile.
Razel pushed him away. “Let’s be clear,” she told Perry. “Come to me not with your swashbuckling charm. I am consecrated to the Alpha Circle of Wizards. I am not interested in marrying. Least of all a scoffer such as you.” Perry bowed, donning his cap decorated with two peacock feathers. “I think peacock feathers suit you,” she added.
Was she calling him vain, or did she mean they suited his complexion? “Well, now that that’s sorted, does this mean I shan’t treat you like a lady?”
“Of course you can.”
“Well then?” He extended his arm. She handed him her reins.
After a half hour, Perry suggested Razel try his horse. She shook her head and continued walking, falling further behind. Talarren called back. “We need to keep a move on, Razel.” She mounted, then sauntered forward. Talarren n
oticed a monetary transaction taking place on horseback between human, half-elf and dwarf.
“I’ll wager much silver will change hands ere we arrive in Highland country,” Talarren predicted, out of earshot of Razel who had now moved on ahead of them.
“How much will you wager?” Perry asked. Talarren simply smiled. As did Caspar. “Whatever I win here will be nothing compared to our Norse treasure trove.”
Thus began a long discussion about treasures, precious gems, exotic jewellery and the variations in shape and pattern of gold coins from different realms. They anticipated family heirlooms, invaluable antiques, amulets, necklaces and brooches, possibly even powerful magical items, not to mention a thousand random treasures each worth a small fortune in big city markets. Countless gold pieces. Sacks upon sacks. Chests upon chests. Coffers filled with rare jewels.
A lough clearing of his throat from Perry ended discussion. “At this point, I deem it appropriate for Elfindi and myself to recite a poem we jointly composed.” Elfindi moved alongside Perry. Together they recited their poem:
“Gemstones galore - we don’t wish to be poor; we covet them more than a dragon
Pearls that shine are yours and mine; they inebriate just like a flagon
Emeralds green are a delight to be seen; we’ll go to great lengths to attain them
But diamonds that glitter send us a-flitter; there’s not much we won’t do just to gain them.
Rubies that glow put on a show; their brightness and hue doth excite us
Sapphires blue are perpetually new; their purity and colour doth invite us
Amethyst, O romantic tryst, and jade your glistening lime
With peridot, forget it not; your value’s for all time.
Opals so coloured beguile the dullard; colours of rainbows and glean
Sparkle and blaze nightime and days; dazzle and stun with their sheen
Lapis lazuli, friends of yours truly; we cherish you like our sweet loves
Garnets, dreams, radiant beams; purity brilliant like doves.
The lemon citrine, this too is mine; brown or orange or yellow
Of aquamarine, we’re also much keen; these fit to a lady or fellow
Oh, that’s right, o alexandrite; we hunger for you like a feast
Beautifully made is glorious jade, last but certainly not least.”
They bowed, as if delivering some great masterpiece of rhyme.
“Well?” Perry asked, clearly proud of their rendition.
“Best not give up your swords for poetry recitals,” Razel answered. “You’ll end up paupers.”
“These people do not appreciate superior verse,” Elfindi said.
Conversation inevitably turned to the Norse pirates and their fighting tactics. They discussed Norse shields and axes, spears and clubs and methods of boarding sea vessels. This pleased Talarren. These discussions constituted a type of battle preparation for scenarios they would inevitably encounter.
Talarren nodded when he saw Razel working on her spells.
Finally, discussion arose over yeti, also known in some parts as metoh-kangmi. Kron took delight in describing them, boasting of being in combat with yetis and minotaurs. “They’re both fierce, but I’d wager a minotaur over a yeti.”
“You didn’t say you fought against a minotaur,” Razel said.
“I have fought against many beasts,” Kron answered cryptically.
“I hear yetis run like bears, swim like seals and climb like monkeys,” Elfindi observed.
“Let’s give them a round of applause, shall we?” Kron goaded. “If we cross a yeti, half-elf, it won’t be preparing for a running, swimming or climbing competition. We’ll be fighting the bleeding thing.”
“That’s an interesting question,” Caspar contemplated, half to himself. “Minotaur or yeti? Talarren, you’ve fought both. What think you?”
Talarren considered Caspar’s question. All ears tuned in attentively, including Razel who stopped reading from her spell book. “I would favour a minotaur. In conditions of heavy snow, a yeti’s preferred habitat, either could win. Minotaurs are ruthless but intelligent, therefore open to negotiation. Yetis follow instinct and generally fight to the death.”
Silence descended once more. Red-breasted wrens chirped in nearby trees. Deer raced through thickets. Hares darted down burrows. Distant wolf howls reached their ears. A frosty chill nipped the mid-afternoon air.
They hugged Rainbow Sea’s shoreline, bound for Frostibank River where a seaport awaited them before the final stage of their journey.
Elfindi’s horse slowly hung back til it levelled with Gladron. “Er, Talarren?” Elfindi stole a look at Caspar who was staring back at him suspiciously. Caspar had not one hair out of place. His robes and cloak looked impeccable. “Er, Talarren, about sailing downstream along Frostibank River? What if those pirates intercepted us? We’d stand little chance.”
Elfindi baulked. He could have sworn Caspar pictured him as a frightened urchin instead of a brave adventurer embarking on a quest hunting a horde of Norse pirates. Then again, maybe Caspar always looked at half-elves that way.
“Fret not, Elfindi,” Talarren replied. “Pirates don’t operate along the Frostibank River. It would leave them too vulnerable if mounted troops chanced upon them. Secondly, they would not bother with us unless we antagonised them. We’re not traders laden with gold or goods. They’d see we can put up a good fight. Thirdly, I don’t agree with what you said about us not standing a chance.”
Caspar laughed. “There you go,” he reassured the half-elf. “How convincing is that for an answer?”
Perry turned, surprised to see Elfindi had already sidled away from him to ask Talarren more about the Frostibank River. He shouldn’t be surprised, he told himself. Elfindi had always harboured a strange fear of water ever since he’d known him, a surprising fear in someone with elven blood.
Staring at Razel riding ahead practicing her incantations drew Perry entirely into her orbit. He yelled at Talarren. “Whatever cock and bull story Elfindi is spinning, truth is, he’s afraid of water. He’d face a hundred yeti before sailing any deep blue sea. Well, maybe not a hundred.”
Razel responded sharply. “Stop teasing him. What’s Perry afraid of, Elfindi?”
Perry turned to his friend, shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands. Elfindi’s silence was eloquent. “Don’t give me that!” Razel snapped at Elfindi. “Pretending Perry isn’t afraid of anything will only inflate his pride. We all know he fears something. Everybody does.”
“I fear your beauty, Mistress Razel,” Perry called back with a grin.
“Does Talarren fear anything?” Kron asked.
“He fears many things,” Talarren admitted.
“Such as?” the dwarf persisted.
But Talarren whispered something to Esmay who immediately took wing and flew ahead. Talarren asked Elfindi to observe trees in that direction. Elfindi’s sharp eyes examined the distant line of trees, peering into dark shadows beyond. He shook his head. Esmay landed, issuing short clucking sounds. Talarren continued as if nothing had happened.
They stopped for a brief lunch, then continued at a brisk pace until nearly sundown.
“Do you remember our journey to Hu Wen?” Perry asked Elfindi. “Remember that fighter called Chung Foo Tung Woo?”
“It was Ming Mung Fung Chung.”
“And his friend Ching Ming Fing Mung?”
“No, it was Rung Hung Chung Ming.”
“What about his wife, Fing Pung Ching Mung?”
Caspar spat from his horse. “If you two don’t stop, it’ll be Chop Too Tung.”
“We all know you’re playing some silly game,” Razel accused them. “I’ll join in: Tup Chup Ching.”
“No, Razel,” Perry chuckled. “Caspar’s not playing. He said ‘Chop Too Tung’. Don’t you get it?”
“Yes, he’s going down to three names using alliteration on his two final words.”
Elfindi chuckled. Perry turned to Raz
el. “No, he’s making word plays and threatening us at the same time. Don’t you get it? Chop Too Tung? In other words, if we don’t stop, he’ll chop our two tongues off.”
Razel thought for a moment, then the copper piece dropped.
“You two are idiots,” she said under her breath. She knew she was not skilled in wordplay and once more felt embarrassed at her naivete. Her fellow novices in the Alpha Circle always advised her to hold her tongue if she felt out of her depth and let her more than pretty face speak for her. She felt annoyed at herself. She transferred her annoyance onto Perry and Elfindi. They had no right to be taking advantage of her inexperience if they were as noble as they pretended to be.
“Jesters,” Elfindi corrected her.
They veered off the main path along a winding track leading up to a small village huddled on a hill. Hearth fires flickered through windows as long shadows stretched across a darkening ground. A farmer hoeing his field informed them their village had no inn, but butcher Keswick occasionally offered his barn, meat and mead to travellers. For a price. A very high price.
“Great,” drawled Kron. “Ripped off by a saddler. Now a butcher. His grub better be good.”
“Can we not use the word “grub”? Razel asked, screwing up her beautiful face.
Perry leaned across and whispered to Elfindi. “Doesn’t matter what that maiden does, her face is exquisite.”
“I can’t say I agree with you in this instance,” Elfindi returned, shocked at Razel’s contorted features.
Grub was good. Butcher and wife served up six recently trapped hares to Gladron and Hunter. They treated their guests to blood sausages and eggs with bread and butter followed by cabbage stew and boiled beef. His portly, red face and bulbous nose was a mirror image of his wife, who only lacked his wild beard. They lapped up every scrap of news their exciting travellers told them, which involved nothing about their current commission, under Talarren’s strict instructions. Perry kept them entranced with humorous stories of his and Elfindi’s adventures. Perry drank ale after ale. His punctured his tales with wild gestures and stomping of feet, much to everyone’s delight, including Razel, albeit reluctantly.
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