Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet

by David Lawrence

  “After a year mobilising his army of giant scorpions and warriors, Tāhūbād wrote a letter to neighbouring nations, demanding they submit to his rule or face invasion and enslavement. They refused. Tāhūbād’s diabolical strategy then showed its full horror. His first victim lay south east, a fertile land from Amphibis River to Cape Dread known as Ludhūt. Tāhūbād’s army invaded Ludhūt, mercilessly slaying every man and boy whose pubic hair had begun to grow. Every woman, girl and young boy was enslaved by Tāhūbād and his perverted men, or sold in slave markets to finance his expansion.

  “One by one neighbouring Mugar states, countries and tribes surrendered to Tāhūbād, horrified that what happened to Ludhūt would happen to them. He installed his shamans, generals and viziers to rule these neighbouring countries, and gave clerics of Baal important positions in government. These fighter clerics carried on where Tāhūbād left off, taking huge harems, raiding free regions east of the Red Desert bringing back captives to the bludgeoning slave markets in Zanzibar and Carakas-Khalim.

  “To Tāhūbād’s tribe alone did he reveal his secrets of giant scorpion handling. Shamans and clerics invested much effort and gold researching magic to further Tāhūbād’s expansionist aims. It wasn’t long before most of the southern continent fell under his sword, from the western shore of Atlantis Ocean to Lake Kinsasha in the east. His ships ruled the entire southern shore, from Coral Sea to Sunset Bay.

  “Northward, savage armies of the Steppes buried their tribal differences and united under the Great Warrior, Raja Shrikanth and his guru, Yogi Banu, the famed Wizard of the Steppe, reputed to be the greatest magician of his age, even more powerful in magical arts, so they said, than the then First Wizard of Alpha Circle. Overwhelming desire for preservation allowed Shrikanth to unite Steppes horsemen and archers to resist Tāhūbād’s armies. Thankfully they did, but not without great loss of life. Plains of the Steppes flowed with the blood of Mugars and Steppesmen alike. Giant scorpions were neutralised by Yogi Banu’s trained war-elephants and griffons. Both armies engaged monsters of various sorts, including giants, minotaurs and bugbears. Even dreaded rastamals had been coerced into fighting for Tāhūbād. A large battalion of orcs was also enlisted by Tāhūbād, which shows you the sort of influential lunatic he was to be able to convince, coerce, encourage, threaten or bribe an army of orcs to fight his battles for him. We’ll never know what he promised because Tāhūbād was defeated and most orcs slain. Shrikanth wasted no time wondering what to do with surviving orcs. No-one wants an orc slave.

  “For the first time in his life, Tāhūbād suffered defeat. It was utterly humiliating for him. His original intention was to destroy Raja Shrikanth and his Steppesmen, then take Xaveria by storm, driving northward to take as many Central Kingdoms as he could. His defeat left him retreating with his tail between his legs. He settled down, giving his attention to kingdoms already in his domain.

  “There had always been one small inaccessible nation at the southern tip of Sandboot Peninsula that gave lip service to Tāhūbād-worship - but nothing else. Raysal-El-Hin. Their tributes were tiny, brought by poorly dressed and seemingly ignorant farmers on aging donkeys. This clever charade worked a treat. Tāhūbād’s councillors, tax collectors, clerics and administrators were fooled into thinking Raysal-El-Hin was a poor, inaccessible country not worth worrying about.

  How wrong they were. Hundreds of years earlier Raysal’s clerics had predicted the rise of an evil power foretold in their holy books. From earliest days, their traders travelled along Silk Road and traded ordinary goods with other Mugar kingdoms. They used roc, trained by great druid-prophets of yore, to fly over desert lands and bypass Mugar tribes, way before Tāhūbād’s accursed birth. Roc took pearls, exotic corals, tin, copper and gold from its plentiful mines and linked up with Steppe traders and other lucrative markets further north, as far as Lafarrhine. They shunned usual ship trading routes along the Western shore. Instead, they used a slower but more discreet route established by Norsemen along the east coast. As their goods were non-perishable, it mattered little how long they took from Raysal-El-Hin to Norse cities and from there south along Frostibank River or Galapagos Gulf to join the Silk Road south to Lafarrhine or Central Kingdoms. It was a perfect arrangement, apart from pirate raids around Galapagos Sea, which were infrequent.

  “To avoid suspicion, especially when Tāhūbād’s armies swept across that region, Moses Al-Shaddai used the Silk Road to barter ordinary goods such as olive oil and wine for silk, exotic fruit and other items from Mugar kingdoms, Lafarrhine and Central Kingdoms. A deadly coral reef on Raysal-El-Hin’s southern coast and the mountain range along its western coast made accessibility impossible from those directions. Massive giant octopus and squid colonies in Octopus Bay provided sufficient disincentive for Mugar ships to be bothered about this tiny country, especially as giant squid and octopus enjoyed playing with Tāhūbād’s large floating toys, only to find out those toys carried deadly harpoons and nets. These giant sea creatures retaliated, as giant sea creatures do. One does not want to anger a giant octopus. They sunk Mugar ship after Mugar ship. Helpless survivors tread water when their ships sunk, only to face angry octopi sporting tentacles weighing half a ton each, armed with a beak-like mouth that could snap a ship’s mast in two. Needless to say, there were no survivors. Mugar naval commanders learnt their lesson. They avoided Octopus Bay like the plague.

  “Mighty water druids of Raysal, conversely, had been building harmonious relationships with these creatures since the Second Age. No Raysal ship has ever been attacked. They sail in and out of Octopus Bay unmolested.”

  While Talarren was speaking, Gladron crunched on large and small bones with her powerful beak. Esmay protested loudly, having to scrounge and fight for her share. Eventually she took off to find a quail or rabbit for herself.

  The sun had fallen far from its noonday position before Talarren realised how long they’d been talking. Razel had remained immobile. She gazed up at him, mesmerised by his tale. Her hand somehow had made its way to his knife, lying closely by his side. She wanted to be close to him, it seemed, and feel attached to him by holding some part of him, while at the same time keeping a respectful distance.

  “We need to press on.”

  They mounted Gladron and continued south. More homesteads, hamlets and towns dotted the landscape. Castles, fortresses and country manors with farmyards, cultivated fields, vineyards, herds of sheep, goats and cattle came and went. Main roads linked towns and cities. They followed the Silk Road with its frequent traffic of traders, soldiers and outposts. From time to time long caravans passed underneath, comprised of wagons, carts, horses, donkeys or camels loaded with barrels, sacks and chests containing every type of merchandise imaginable.

  That evening, after more spells and stops, Talarren unstrapped Gladron and left her tethered inside a copse of trees on a hill beside a town. He let Esmay loose and set off with Razel. They entered an inn full of people dining and drinking. Décor and customers were typical of such a town. They ordered a hearty meal with local ale and a room for the night.

  “Is that appropriate?” Razel whispered as the innkeeper unhooked keys to room number four. Talarren ignored her question.

  Amid clamour and bustle they settled down to eat in a secluded booth. Talarren completed his story. “Tāhūbād’s spies eventually discovered Raysal-El-Hin’s wealth. He realised how different this tiny country was to how it had been presented to him by Moses and his followers. Even more so, Tāhūbād learnt how its inhabitants reviled and insulted his name. Moses and his clerics worshipped their own gods, heaping ridicule upon Tāhūbād’s shamans and clerics.

  “When Tāhūbād discovered this deception, he fell into an unholy rage. You see, he cannot bear to be insulted. Across his entire empire, anyone who dares criticise him, let alone insult him, is subjected to prolonged and hideous tortures.

  “In his fury, Tāhūbād gathered a large force of giant scorpions, archers, cavalry and infantrymen. A
pack of dreaded rastamals flew ahead to scout Raysal-El-Hin’s defenses before doing battle. Tāhūbād intended to plunder, rape and loot before wiping out every man, woman and child, with instructions to keep Moses alive. He reserved special treatment for this prophet-warrior who dared defy him. Strangely enough, he decided not to employ his hippogriff force during this invasion. Many believe he kept them in reserve in Zanzibar in the event of an uprising elsewhere in his kingdom.

  “On Raysal-El-Hin’s northern border, the Silk Road passes through a mighty fortress named Bethendel, practically impossible to invade. Inaccessible slopes with rocky cliffs line the northern border from coast to coast. The entire northern entry point, on both sides of this impregnable fortress, is blocked by this inaccessible mountain range. As long as the defenders hold their positions, no regular army can pass. To make matters worse for invaders, mountains also run along its eastern coast, right along the ragged coastline filled with boulders and rocks so that no galley can approach the shore with safety.

  “Its eastern coast is protected from sea invasion by giant octopus populations. So Tāhūbād’s strategy was to concentrate his entire army on the northern fortress. He brought in trebuchets, siege engines and sappers and miners to lay waste to its foundations. For this his shamans, with help of druids from Grove of Purple Ivy, trained a bunch of purple worms.”

  “What are they?” Razel asked.

  “Gigantic worms long as a whale. They’re bright purple and live in gigantic caves deep underground, deeper than caverns of any goblin. They prefer darkness to sunlight. Their maws open wide as a city gate, filled with a dozen layers of pyramid-shaped teeth long as my sword. The rate they make tunnels is staggering. How these druids managed to command them is a mystery, even to our own druids, as purple worms, as far as we know, have no reasoning capacity whatsoever, and so do not come under natural sway of druids. Nor are they magical. Their size renders most spells from ordinary spellcasters obsolete.

  “Giant scorpions gave Tāhūbād confidence his men would triumph, especially with non-stop barrages from siege engines supported by aerial attacks from rastamals. His purple worms were directed to dig under the ramparts, bulwarks, barbicans and other fortifications so as to destroy the foundations under the fortress, collapsing walls from below. Then his cavalry would advance in such numbers it appeared to defenders a locust swarm was engulfing them.

  “Other purple worms created a long tunnel underground, beneath the impregnable walls and mountains. His men could then come out on the other side and attack the defenders from inside the fortress.”

  Razel had finished her meal. Her ale remained untouched. Talarren’s meal was getting cold. He hadn’t taken a single bite. “What exactly is a rastamal?” she asked. “You never really explained when it attacked us that night coming back from the Highlands.”

  Once more a terrible shadow crossed Talarren’s rugged face. His eyes met Razel’s. He was struck again by her beauty, a perfect contrast to rastamal ugliness. Her innocent allure reminded him of how disarming beauty could be. Gentle smoke veiled her in mild haze, catching her sharp features in soft lantern light, creating shadows and accentuating her contours of youthful loveliness.

  “A rastamal,” he explained, “is a creature of singular horror. It stands tall as a minotaur, and almost as strong. It has a long, prehensile tail ending in a poisonous spike capable of piercing platemail. If its spike doesn’t kill you, its poison will. Only powerful clerics or druids can reverse such poison, and then only if treated immediately. Its wings resemble a gigantic bat’s - they are black, made of a tough leather-like membrane, allowing rastamals to fly in any conditions. Underwater, their wings are used as gigantic fins propelling them forward. It has a reptilian body covered in thick scales, yet stands upright like a man. Its feet and hands have claws that can tear a man to shreds, yet are prehensile enough to wield weapons if it so chooses. Its large head most closely resembles a ferocious wolf, but many times larger, and many times more powerful and many times uglier. Its jaws can bite through thick wood; its teeth are longer than a lion’s. It has two large horns on its head, like a devil. The very sight of it causes fear in a normal man. Its roar can cause mass confusion. It can stun its hearers. It is strongly resistant to magic.”

  “Yes, but could a rastamal defeat you in combat?” Razel asked cheekily.

  “Do not jest, Razel. Yes, it can defeat a hundred like me.”

  A scuffling commotion erupted between three men directly in front of them. Amid shouts, pushing and shoving a man fell across their table, colliding with Razel. He quickly got up, excusing himself profusely. A speedy glance at Talarren told him not to hang around. He scampered toward the exit.

  Like a pouncing cat, Talarren grabbed the retreating man’s cloak moments before he slipped outside.

  Razel resented Talarren playing the valiant hero on her account. “Please,” she snapped, irritated by men who felt they needed to guard her honour. “No harm done.”

  His dismissive eyes felt like a slap across her face.

  Talarren pulled the man to him, flicking out his savage hunting knife.

  “Please, Talarren,” his spellcaster insisted, “I’m all right. No harm done.”

  “Quiet!” Talarren roared. By now tavern patrons beheld this enormous man, most likely a soldier on leave, holding a very sharp knife in one hand and a very large fist, full of the smaller man’s cloak, in the other.

  “I’m sorry, sir. It were an accident, I swear it, on your honour. I swear it on my mother’s grave. Let me go. I shan’t trouble you no more, sir, nor your lady.”

  Talarren stared down his “lady”. It both frightened and excited her.

  In the same moment as sheathing his knife with a zing as it slotted back in his belt, his hand reached inside the terrified man’s tunic, who for a second time attempted to run. “Unhand me, you thief!” he yelled. By now, everyone watched on with fascination.

  The chubby, balding, middle-aged, ruddy-faced innkeeper bowled up to them wearing his wife’s grubby apron. “Please, sir, we want no trouble here. I won’t call the guard if you leave in peace.”

  Ignoring him, Talarren addressed his audience gawping with interest, welcoming this thrilling break from their ordinary lives. “Check your purses,” he ordered. His grip on the man’s cloak tightened.

  One patron after another reached for his purse.

  “It’s gone!”

  “It ain’t on me no more.”

  “It’s stolen!”

  “Thief!”

  “Thief indeed,” Talarren bellowed. “This cutpurse has been working this tavern as if patronised by a gaggle of simpletons.”

  Talarren grabbed one purse, then another, then a third, fourth and fifth. Finally he procured a magic wand. Razel stood up, shocked. Her hand thrust into the folds of her robe. She gasped. Not there. Before Talarren could stop her, she punched the thief’s jaw with all her force, knocking him cold. Applause erupted from every soul in the tavern. Talarren handed back each stolen purse with cheers of gratitude.

  “Let us buy you an ale.”

  “We’ll pay for your supper.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Who is your fair lady?”

  Talarren waved his hand. “Good night, all. In future, beware.”

  He led Razel down a dark corridor and into room four, but not before his grateful innkeeper slapped his back with a promise of free breakfast of bacon, eggs, corn and a fresh loaf of bread for him and his beautiful lady.

  Razel involuntarily slammed the door behind her. “That was incredible,” she marvelled, her eyes dangerously moved with emotion.

  “You were foolish,” Talarren returned matter-of-factly. “A spellcaster needs exhibit much more care. Of being pickpocketed. Of using my name. Of punching strange men. I’m going for a walk. Wash up. Keep this door locked. Don’t wait for me.” With that, he slipped outside. Razel did not see him again til morning.

  Bef
ore their promised breakfast, Talarren planned to resume his story. But word got around, no doubt from their beaming inn-keeper whose business wouldn’t suffer to have it known that a rugged Ranger and his beautiful mistress - neither wore a ring - were eating breakfast in his tavern that morning.

  People thronged inside. Standing room only. Talarren stood on his chair to address them: “Order your breakfast. When done, we will answer your questions. Innkeeper, bring ours out first please, large helpings with a knapsack to go. We’ll pay for our knapsack, as you promised a free breakfast.”

  A happy innkeeper’s ruddy cheeks brightened as he burrowed his way through his largest ever crowd of paying customers. He yelled across to Talarren in loud voice: “I’ll be rolled in a black pigsty before I let you pay one copper, good sire. Breakfast coming up. Hurry there, young scallywag,” he roared to a serving boy, “go fetch your three lazy brothers to my kitchens. And you, young Sonia, get your aunt here at once for a few extra coins to cope with this crowd.”

  A hellish din made conversation impossible. Patrons stared unashamedly at this handsome couple, surely king and queen of a neighbouring country travelling incognito? Or possibly a Lord and his Lady fallen on hard times? Perhaps a mighty warrior from distant land with his spellcasting mistress? No, some scoffed, dismissing this last theory out of hand. How outlandish can some people get, they asked?

  “Can you do an Invisibility! spell?” Talarren asked.

  “Nearly,” she replied, disappointment in her voice. “I’ve been working on it. Do you want to get us out of here without anyone knowing?”

  He nodded. “First we must get our bags and return the key.”

  “Follow my lead.” She discreetly held her wand under the table and made an incantation. Suddenly a continuous tearing sound ripped against the tavern wall, as though a massive dog was scratching impatiently to get in. Everyone turned their heads to see what was making that unusual sound. Razel waved her wand. “Replicate.” A double of both of them appeared in their place. “Put your hood on and follow me.” An illusion of the Ranger and spellcaster sat chatting at the table while the actual pair crept through the crowd and into the passageway, opening the door and leaving the key in its keyhole. They gathered their belongings and squeezed through a bedroom window.