Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet

by David Lawrence

  Caspar frowned. “Talarren, should we not forge ahead?”

  “Yes, but there is no immediate cause for alarm.”

  They decided to set a watch. Each felt badly shaken. Captain Rowbottom shivered by his fire, covered in every fur lying in his wardrobe. Despite all his efforts, his shivering continued. He offered Razel a hot broth when he noticed her head for the bow every few minutes.

  “She’s not seasick, Captain. She’s nauseated by that spell.” Razel did not know whether to wrap herself in furs or keep a watch. Her teeth chattered as she hugged herself.

  “Our beautiful maiden is not coping well,” Elfindi whispered to Perry.

  Outside, still under the glow of Caspar’s spell, Caspar and Talarren discussed in hushed tones what this attack could mean. A Dark Arts Death Ray! spell such as one cast upon them was not performed by an ordinary wizard. Worse, a rastamal accompanied the spellcaster. This fact alone was horrifying. Rastamals only associated with tremendously malevolent powers. Why had they been attacked? How could anyone possibly have known about the Amulet? It was too much of a co-incidence to be targeted, just like that, in the middle of nowhere, by such a devilish being so soon after recovering the Amulet. To Talarren it was a clear indication evil forces were on the move. What remained a mystery is how they knew.

  Such were the unpleasant thoughts that burrowed their way into Talarren’s mind, opening up possibilities he dared not contemplate. All the more reason to make haste for the Warrior Queen’s Citadel. Counsel from Companions of Aelred grew in urgency. Such events confirmed ever more strongly Talarren’s fears. The Age of Demons was becoming a concrete reality. Why else would such an artefact suddenly find its way into their possession? It was as if supernatural powers worked to place this invaluable defence against evil into their hands. But the Sword? It was no closer to being recovered. It could be anywhere.

  When their barge entered Rainbow Sea, Talarren instructed Captain Rowbottom to change plans. He directed they sail east to the Warrior Queen rather than west for the seaport from which they originally disembarked. A small pouch of silver made the Captain’s decision an easy one.

  After two day’s rowing eastwards, aided by spells from Caspar and Razel, they eventually came within sight of the Citadel of Rin. Only then did their tense muscles slowly begin to relax. Surely not even a rastamal or Dark Arts sorcerer would dare approach so close to Queen Zenobia’s domain.

  High above, Esmay squawked when she spotted Talarren’s barge. She swooped like an arrow for her master, who extended his arm. She alighted amid the furious flapping of wings. Talarren kissed her, his heart glowing with warmth at her touch. He stroked her head, clucking in his eagle tongue. Gladron neighed impatiently, waiting for Esmay to touch beaks in the manner of eagles. Oarsmen sat amazed at this emotional reunion. Razel smiled kindly, yet also with a touch of jealousy. She thought of her new horse, named Heidi, donated by Thane Landreth. She pledged to bond with Heidi like Talarren had with Gladron. Hunter barked enthusiastically till Esmay flew down beside her. She gently nuzzled her nose into Esmay’s wing in greeting. Esmay rubbed her bead on Hunter’s belly.

  “What a homecoming,” Perry exclaimed. “Let’s hope Queen Zenobia treats us in similar fashion.”

  Razel placed her hands on her hips, having forsaken mitts and furs. “Must you constantly demean yourself?” she accused him.

  “I’ll wager Perry can’t keep his tongue free of mischief or double talk from now to her Citadel,” Kron declared.

  Hands still placed firmly on hips, Razel turned to Kron, who stepped backwards at her furious criticism. “What is this obsession you have with wagering, Kron? Can you not speak without making some sort of wager?”

  Perry threw up his hands, his deep dimples creating shadowy craters on his flushed cheeks, knowing his statement would certainly be interpreted as throwing the gauntlet down at Razel’s feet. “I’ll wager Kron won’t make it to the Citadel without making a wager.”

  “Two gold pieces,” Kron agreed.

  “There,” Perry cried jubilantly, “hand over your coins, and all bets you’ve lost since we began our journey. You’ve just lost your bet again.”

  “That last one doesn’t count,” Kron growled. “And you know it.”

  “I know no such thing…” and on they went.

  Such entertainment was lapped up by Captain Rowbottom’s oarsmen. They laughed along with Talarren and Caspar. Razel waved her hand impatiently at Perry and Kron like they were two irksome mosquitos fit to be squashed against a wall.

  Later that day, to everyone’s relief, their barge put in at Citadel Rin’s dock, aided by harbour workers and watched over by guards dressed in Rin’s elaborate crest, a maiden clothed with rays of the sun, standing on the moon with a crown of purple stars around her head.

  Falcons circled overhead. On a platform surrounding a massive tower with turrets soaring so high it seemed to pierce the clouds, a squad of hippogriffs and soldiers guarded the Citadel. Underwater, never seen by human eyes, vigilant schools of armed watermen protected Citadel Rin. It was more impregnable than Sorensen’s stronghold, many claimed.

  Caspar noticed Talarren’s palpable relief. He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “We can sleep easy tonight,” Caspar said soothingly. “None deserve it more than you.” He brushed away a tiny spore of something or other from his sleeve, not unnoticed by Perry, whose eyes darted to Kron who also noticed it. This did not escape Talarren’s keen eyes, who also observed money surreptitiously changing hands between them. Razel had also spotted it. Her eyes met Talarren’s, who smiled good-naturedly. He found no such good humour in her beautiful eyes. She turned to Perry and Kron with contempt and irritation.

  Statue-like, Kron waited on board as Talarren led Gladron and Hunter along a precarious gangway, followed by Perry, Elfindi and Razel, their horses laden with treasure chests covered by tattered blankets.

  “Talarren,” Kron said deliberately, his wooden chest at his feet, upon which his battle axe lay like a sentinel, “here we must bid farewell. I take my share of the treasure and depart.”

  “What?” Perry cried, as though stricken. He turned back to face Kron.

  “I must leave,” was all Kron said in reply.

  Perry threw up his hands in astonishment. “I thought we could form a party. Maybe hunt a Black Dragon together. Why did you not say so sooner? This is madness.”

  Kron smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I must leave.”

  Talarren studied Kron. “You do your race proud, Kron. I see you have some unfinished quest burning in your heart. Where can I find you if I should so wish?”

  Kron shook his head, a more pronounced heaviness weighing upon him. “Sadly, I do not know. But I hope to meet again. Never have I fought with, nor followed, a leader such as you. I shall not forget.” Kron extended his hand. Water lapped beneath them. Talarren shook. “Farewell, Ranger. May our paths cross soon!”

  Talarren smiled. “We shall meet again, Kron,” he said prophetically, “mark my words, we shall meet again.”

  “To all of you,” Kron said, “I extend my thanks and admiration. This journey has proved a providential boon. I shall not forget you. It is not a dwarven custom to moisten cheeks with emotional farewells. But I hold you in my heart, and earnestly desire to meet again in happier circumstances.”

  They wondered what he meant, but Captain Rowbottom was keen to have his men load provisions and return home. They pushed out to sea. Kron stood watching his friends as they made their slow journey westwards across Rainbow Sea. They waved. Kron stood without moving.

  “Strange,” Caspar noted. “Something heavy weighs upon that dwarf.”

  “His treasure,” Perry rejoined. “His enormous load of treasure.”

  Razel punched his arm. “Ouch!” he cried.

  “Stop cheapening everything, you boor,” she snapped.

  “Pray lighten up!” Perry retorted.

  “Please,” Caspar begged. �
�For all our sakes, while in Queen Zenobia’s Citadel, cease this incessant sparring.”

  “She started it,” Perry complained.

  “He did,” Razel countered. “He needs to start acting his age.”

  “Is that so?” Perry said, raising his voice. “Well…”

  Caspar put up his hand. “Stop!” he ordered. “I command you both to desist this behaviour while residing herein. If not, I shall have no option but force you to.”

  Neither Perry nor Razel knew how Caspar proposed to do that. Neither did they wish to find out.

  Elfindi laughed. “Finally. Caspar, why on earth did you not make this threat sooner?”

  Perry, Elfindi and Razel agreed to stay in Citadel Rin while Talarren and Caspar met Queen Zenobia on private business. They made their way onto the porch of a small eatery in a tiny lane running off one of the streets in Citadel Rin’s main thoroughfare.

  “This place is like a small town,” Razel gasped as she looked around at the streets, buildings, markets and bustling activity. The eatery was fairly quiet, with only two families enjoying dinner.

  Perry nodded. “They say that if an army besieged Citadel Rin it could hold out for years.”

  “It has never been taken by its enemies,” Elfindi said. “Hey, I wonder if they do tours?”

  “Great idea, Elfindi,” Perry said. “Why don’t you go and find out while I keep Razel safe.”

  “We can see straight through you, Perry,” Razel said. “As if anyone wouldn’t feel safe in Queen Zenobia’s Citadel. And this eatery doesn’t strike me as a place to be afraid of.”

  “You never know,” Perry warned her, his voice serious. “You can’t afford to take chances in strange places.” He cast a suspicious eye on one of the small children struggling to get a beef skewer into its mouth. “Tell you what.” Perry whipped out a Lafarrhine copper. “Let’s toss. Loser goes to find out if they do tours.”

  Elfindi agreed. Perry tossed. “Unicorn head or donkey’s backside?”

  “Unicorn head,” Elfindi called.

  “Mummy, that man said backside,” one of the children said loudly to his mother.

  “He’s not a man, Erron dear, he’s a half-elf,” the mother replied, casting a reprimanding gaze at Elfindi. “Quiet now and eat your beef.”

  The coin struck the wooden table, spun, then stopped. It showed the donkey’s proverbial backside.

  “Take your time,” Perry smiled to his friend. “Don’t come back til you’ve got all details.”

  Razel rolled her eyes.

  Presently a chubby young lass wearing a pink apron approached. “You must be Her Majesty’s guests,” she said, her eyes looking over Perry and ignoring Razel. “Them ones evruns talkin’ ‘bout.”

  After five minutes of non-stop questioning, her eyes not leaving Perry for one moment, she then asked what meat and mead took their fancy. Perry snuck a look at Razel who seemed to be enjoying the interaction and Perry’s irritation.

  “Look, please bring us fresh bread and cheese with a mug of pomegranate juice, if you have any.”

  “We don’t, but McViney do. I’ll send for it.”

  “No,” Perry commanded her. “I want you to get it yourself. I trust you, you see. We’ll wait.”

  “But McViney’s all the way over…”

  “That’s quite all right,” Perry said. “You go right now. We’ll wait.”

  She looked Perry up and down once more before waddling away.

  “Looks like you’ve made an impression on someone,” Razel teased.

  “You?”

  “No, that waitress. If she takes too long, I don’t care what you do, but I’ll go someplace else to sup.”

  Perry nodded.

  “Where will you and Elfindi go after this?” she asked.

  “Probably Tessor.”

  “Tessor? What for? I thought you were going back to Alonçane?”

  “We were, but Elfindi and I decided to see if we’re needed on ships bound for Raysal-El-Hin. We hear rumblings of Mugar armies planning another invasion.”

  “But you’ve made so much gold. Aren’t you going to live it up in Alonçane?”

  “What do you take us for?” Perry asked defensively. “You may think we’re nothing but adventurers and mercenaries, but we’re more than that. I’ve got Aelred’s blood in me, and I, too, have been influenced by Ignatius. I’ve mentioned him before. He’s Aelred and Talarren’s mentor. Elfindi and I are, in our own way, knight errants.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  Razel thought a hurt look crossed Perry’s face. Instead he made a joke about a goblin, a dwarf and an orc which she found in extremely bad taste.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The Warrior Queen’s Citadel

  SCENTED CANDLES FABRICATED IN Alonçane Temple workshops casually evaporated the toxins, dust and worries of the day. Such candles were not cheap. They had the added advantage of replenishing dry skin, which is why Queen Zenobia took such pleasure in them and ordered such quantities from the great city.

  She had summoned her guests to her upper audience chambers. The pungent, swell-smelling aromas of the scented candles mixed with burning incense issuing from arcane silverware writ with ancient runes. Together they produced a mildly intoxicating effect. Purple-green smoke swirled into naturally occurring spells of protection and detection, exuding an air of gentle serenity. Ornately-decorated pillars matched her décor - expensive furnishings harmonising with homey comfort inspired by polished timber floorboards from Lafarrhine’s best haberdashers and polishers. Zenobia’s large chamber opened onto a broad balcony, tiled and balustraded with glorious views of Rainbow Sea and other northern vistas. As the setting sun cast bright orange hues along serene surface of the water, swans honked with satisfaction at their diet of marsh grass and molluscs. A delicate breeze tinkled jade wind-chimes hanging gracefully from ornate eaves. In winter, servants would roll out Mugar carpets laced with treated yak fur fashioned by Alonçane’s southbank weavers. Unique among citadels of Central Earth, the room, as with every curve of Warrior Queen’s mighty citadel, combined style, defence and a heady intoxication of powerful, arcane magic, as befitted a descendant of the bloodline of Rin.

  The mighty citadel stood five hundred feet high. Over ten thousand heavily-armed veterans lived within, guarding their queen. In addition, a garrison of knight standard warriors bolstered its defences. Furnished with towers upon towers, turrets upon turrets and bastions of reinforced walls, a massive drawbridge with an equally massive portcullis stood ready to defend the honour of Rin. Spellcasters, captains and a special order of fighter-clerics added to its formidable - many claimed, impregnable - defence. There was also a deep, extensive moat and guarded by unseen denizens. During the Norse Devastation her Citadel remained one of the few pockets of resistance.

  Eight Companions of Aelred gathered together under Queen Zenobia’s banner in her heavily scented upper audience chamber. In a disorderly fashion, some Companions stood, others sat. One paced up and down to the private irritation of the age’s mightiest hero. Such haphazard seating arrangements irked Aelred. But he decided once again to overlook his compulsive urges, figuring his irritations insignificant when compared to more important concerns, particularly their current predicament. He knew his achilles heel and strove mightily to overcome it. Would he ever rid himself of the nickname he secretly hated, Lord Four Pea?

  A more powerful gathering could not be found. Aelred’s fighting prowess, leadership and bravery matched his vision, organisational ability and inspiration. No other individual could unite such a diverse group of races, interests and classes, not even Talarren. Foremost of the leaders were two stratospheric personages, both Guardians of Rohalgamoth – the High Priest of Ehud and First Wizard of the Alpha Circle.

  Before a silver-encircled glass of fine red wine grown in vineyards of Lafarrhine’s Loren Region was where King Xertes normally sat, monarch of the southernmost of the Central Kingdoms. He had not arrived.


  Beside King Xertes’ empty chair sat the majestic and formidable elven King of Great Lakes Forest, Lord Ferfendess, most highly respected of elves across all elven kingdoms. Light elven armour hung around him in stately comfort, covered with a purple-green cloak of intricately woven thread laced with fine silver patterns. His rich, green-hued skin absorbed soft amber light emanating from a golden starfish attached to a high, decorated ceiling, one of many coloured starfish gathered from the teeming floor of Rainbow Sea and imbued with a gentle, glowing magic. His silk-like hair glistened in golden light as he listened intently to developments outside his forest domain.

  Behind him paced a venerable old man with a long white beard and barrel chest. His rough, sunburnt skin contrasted with eyes blue and wise as the ocean. He carried a long staff, as he often did, breathing deeply and then seemingly not breathing again for some time. His long, white hair was held in a neat ponytail by a supple band of rubbery seaweed. His robe changed colour, like shifting waves, giving him an almost chameleon-like camouflage. Creases around his blue eyes and mouth revealed a man with a warm face and lively sense of humour, but also a man who could not be tamed. He exuded blue serenity and aquatic mystique. He was none other than Oceanwave, the water druid of ancient renown, commander of oceanic creatures and master of the seas.

  Opposite Aelred sat a man who turned heads. Dressed in simple flowing garments with bulging muscles, his weathered, almond-coloured skin betrayed his southern origins. He was ruler of the only country to successfully resist Tāhūbād the Cruel’s relentless advances. His name was Moses Al-Shaddai, high priest-warrior of Raysal-El-Hin, forever leading his men valiantly in defence of his realm.

  Nestled in the southernmost tip of the Peninsula, Raysal-El-Hin’s warriors under Moses Al-Shaddai had ever intimidated their enemies, who vastly outnumbered them and who surrounded them on all sides. Yet they lived free. Cut off from mainland trade routes, their clever forging of alliances and allies, valour and great magic enabled them to trade with the outside world via alternative trade routes. Tāhūbād’s everpresent threat, though, hung constantly over their heads. They were under no illusions about being besieged, at some point soon, by yet another Mugar onslaught. Not two years earlier Tāhūbād had launched an invasion on a grand scale, only to be repelled, with the help from many of those seated around that very table, with a joint Central Kingdoms naval contingent commanded by King Xertes of Xaveria. Talarren had distinguished himself yet again in Raysal-El-Hin’s defence by commanding a large ground force with great success.