Tarabeetha:The Talisman

Chapter One

Scene 1 – At Lady Megaera’s

Lady Megaera paced, head down and hands clasped behind her, her face in shadows, out of the bright light of the chandelier hanging over the table. Every step she took clicked on the smooth floor and echoed off the gray stone walls of the dining hall. She stopped pacing and looked at the dark-haired man standing patiently behind a chair. She motioned him to sit and took a seat opposite him.

“I’ll come straight to the point, Rinc,” Lady Megaera said. A frown pulled at the corners of her crimson lips and creased her forehead. “Someone has stolen The Talisman.”

Unable to contain his amazement, his fork paused between the plate and his mouth. “What?” Rinc Aldar asked.

Rinc, wearing his best black tunic and trousers, sat across from Lady Megaera in one of the ornate chairs surrounding the polished, large table in the luxurious dining room.

“Aakon stole The Talisman last week, and since I have been able to learn, gave it to the Wizard’s Council in Trennore.”

“Why would he do a thing like that? And what will the council do with it?”

“I don’t know why he took it. And the gods only know what the council will do with it. If Lord Luken finds out it is no longer in my possession, we will be in for a war, and Luken’s army far outnumbers our own.”

“And what does My Lady desire of me?”

“I want you to steal it from the wizards and return it,” she said, her voice calm, despite her anxiety.

“I’m not a thief, My Lady,” Rinc said and sipped his wine.

Lady Megaera’s thin-lipped smile showed little humor. “You’re an agent of the court, and you are a scoundrel. But you are a good sort of scoundrel,” she said with a wry grin. “We must have The Talisman. If it falls into the hands of Lord Luken, we are finished.” Lady Megaera folded her hands in front of her and continued. “You have certain ... skills required for this job.”

“I believe My Lady’s faith in my skills is stronger than my own,” Rinc replied.

“My faith in you is stronger than your own,” she said. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I have my heart set on a crown, Rinc. I plan to unify all Tarabeetha and be its queen. But only if I have The Talisman.”

Rinc felt a twinge of uneasiness. He frowned.

Lady Megaera sat back and wiped her mouth. “Rinc, you are an honorable man. Don’t let your personal views of morality interfere with your duties to this court.”



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Scene 2 – Trennore

Rinc stole quietly through the darkened streets of Trennore with The Talisman tucked securely in a leather pouch under his tunic. The city was quiet as most people slept, only the sounds of insects buzzing around the sputtering street lights scattered along the high street burning the last of their oil, the banging of a door, muffled voices from shuttered houses, and the distant footfalls of patrolling sheriff’s men on the cobbled streets.

Rinc made his way along a narrow side street, using his left hand to feel his way along a rough stone wall, and doing his best to avoid tripping over anything, or anyone, lying there. The wall of the building ended at the protective barrier of the city, and he threw his grappling hook over the top. Rinc could hear the hooks scraping on the other side as he pulled the rope, making more noise than he wanted, but he had no choice. The claws clinked into place, and he tested them, taking a strain on the rope with his weight.

Rinc dropped onto the uneven terrain bordering the city. As he turned to retrieve his mount, four men pounced from the shadows. They were on him before he could draw his sword, their cudgels pummeling him. Spooked by the noise of the fray, his horse bolted into the trees, reins trailing behind like streamers. Rinc covered his head with his arms and doubled over to protect himself from the hail of blows, and through the fog of semi-consciousness, he recognized two of his attackers. Two of Lady Megaera’s men. A blow caught him above the right ear and darkness enveloped him.



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Scene 3 – Left for dead

Countless needles pricked his cheek and flashes of light burst behind tightly shut eyes. Something repeatedly brushed against the tip of his nose. Through slitted eyes, he could see a tuft of grass moving rhythmically in sync with his labored breathing. He studied the swaying blades, mesmerized. Sleep.

Rinc awoke, struggling to turn over and free the arm trapped under him. He raised his throbbing head a few inches before it thumped back down. A bead of sweat rolled down his nose, dangled for a moment, and fell onto a swaying blade of grass.

Voices, far away and unintelligible caught his attention. He could not turn his head to see who it was. Were they coming back to finish the job? Rinc heard his labored breath quicken as the sound of feet drew near. Something jabbed him in the side.

“He’s alive, Captain.” Rinc heard someone say.

“Roll him over and let’s have a look.”

Someone grabbed him, and he surrendered to the blackness.



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Scene 4 - Recovery

When he woke up, Rinc was lying on a bed of smelly straw and covered with an equally malodorous, thin blanket. A damp chill hung in the air and the room he was dark, dim light seeping in through cracks around an ill-fitting door. He shifted in the bed, his muscles stiff and painful. The act of taking a deep breath sent pain shooting through his ribs, and his head ached. Even the dim light hurt his eyes. Keeping them closed eased the pain, but also encouraged sleep, which he needed. Sleep was light and restless with images of club-wielding men. Sometime during his state of semi-consciousness, he thought he heard the door open.

It was still dark when he awoke again, and the urge to sleep was strong. He lay in the darkness trying to recall how he got here. Memories returned, fragmented and disjointed. He remembered The Talisman, in the leather bag hanging by a thong around his neck. He recalled someone was beating him. And then, waking up here, The Talisman no longer in his possession.



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Scene 5 – Meeting Tagarsh

Rinc was sitting up eating soup when a tall, dark-haired man entered his room. He wore a gray uniform, and a sword hung from his belt.

“I’m Luthais Tagarsh, sheriff of the Kordish,” The man said, his tone emotionless.

Rinc set the bowl on a side table and wiped his mouth on a sleeve, wincing as he moved. “I am Auden Wode, from Trennore. That is where I was going when highwaymen ambushed me. They took my bag, my horse, and left me for dead.”

“We found you only a few leagues from here. Where did you come from?”

Rinc feigned anger. “What business is that of yours?”

“When I find a half-dead stranger near my home and so far from his...,” The captain said, and raised an eyebrow. “Let’s just say it piqued my curiosity.”

Rinc sighed. “I was coming from Olareth, on business for my father. He’s a merchant.”

“And you are also a merchant?”

“No, my father is a merchant.”

“And what are you?”

Rinc looked amused. “I haven’t yet decided.”

“I see. And how do I know that you are not a spy?”

“You have only my word,” Rinc replied.

“Hmph. I don’t know you well enough to take you at your word. How long do you plan to stay in Kordish?”

“I will leave as soon as I am able to travel, and find the means to buy a horse.” Rinc shifted in the bed, wincing again. “Is there is a caravan going to Trennore I could ride with?”

Tagarsh thought for a moment. “When you are well enough to travel I will loan you a horse.”

“Could you also make a loan of a few coins, and a sword and buckler? I seem to have misplaced mine. I will, of course, return or pay for them when I get home,” Rinc said.



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Scene 6 – Escape from Kordish

Rinc’s recovery was slow, and he grew impatient to find the men who beat him. He limped around the narrow dirt streets of Kordish out of boredom. The buildings leaned in on each other so close someone could cross the town by jumping from roof to roof. A guard barracks stood near the east gate with a stable behind it. There was only one hostel, and Luthais arranged a room and meals for Rinc. He gave Rinc a bag with 20 silver coins on Rinc’s promise of repayment.

Rinc shared a large space at the inn with other travelers too poor to afford private rooms. Beds were simple cots of wood with no padding, jammed together, making it difficult to walk between them. An overflowing communal chamber pot stood in one corner of the room. Meals consisted of a meatless stew and hard bread.

Rinc wandered through the small market in the town center where artisans hawked their wares and farmers sold fruits, vegetables, and meat. He was studying a table laden with wooden bowls and carved utensils when a feeling of danger came over him. Using the sight left him with a headache, but circumstances left him little choice. He strained to concentrate and felt the mind of Luthais open to him. He was looking for Rinc, intent on capturing him. He broke contact and looked around for an escape route. An alley opened off the high street.

Rinc found the narrow alley cloaked in shadow. A jumble of crates and barrels littered the ground along the walls of the buildings. Rinc stacked the crates, and tossing his sword and buckler onto the roof, climbed up the rickety pile, using them as a makeshift ladder. Once on the roof, he reached out and kicked the pile over. Pulling on the sword, he looked around. From his vantage, Rinc spotted a circuitous route that would take him to the city walls. Once there, he would jump over and head into the dense forest.

A guard spotted him leaping across the roofs and raised the alarm. Rinc limped as fast as he could and gained the wall. He dropped to the ground on the other side, landing badly, and reinjured his right leg. The sound of hoof beats and shouts echoed off the buildings. Rinc knew he didn’t have much time and hobbled into the thicket. The guards would be looking for a man on the ground. They wouldn’t expect him to take to the trees. He found a tree with low branches and climbed to a point where he would not be seen from the ground and waited, his back against the trunk as he straddled a thick limb.

Six men dismounted and fanned out to search the woods. Rinc heard them calling to each other as they crashed through the underbrush. He waited for them to abandon the search and move on.

For nearly an hour, the guards thrashed about, and twice men walked directly below Rinc. Finally, one of the men suggested they move their search elsewhere. Rinc didn’t immediately climb down, deciding to wait until he could move under cover of darkness. Once clear of Kordish, he would need a mount and provisions. A farm would supply part of his needs, but finding a horse could prove difficult. Plow horses tended to be big and slow and didn’t want to stray far from home.

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Scene 7 – The farmhouse

Twilight came, and Rinc climbed down from his perch. Staying in the tree line, he headed for Olareth. After walking for close to an hour, Rinc located a farm. Smoke curled from the chimney of the farmhouse, light seeped from the closed shutters, and he saw no one outside. A stacked stone fence marked the boundaries of the farm. Rinc stepped over, paying attention to his injured leg, and spotted the tiny smokehouse about fifty feet of the main house. He cautiously made his way to it and unhooked the leather strap securing the door.

Smoked meat hung from rafters, and Rinc helped himself to a mutton leg. He wrapped it in leather and tied it with a thong. Exiting the smokehouse, he located the well. A full waterskin hung from a hook on the arch, and Rinc slung it over his shoulder and left.



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Scene 8 – Caught by the farmers – some humor

“There’s your mutton thief, Da.”

Rinc woke to the sound of voices below him. The sun was already high overhead, and he’d slept longer than he had intended. One was young, around sixteen and the other looked to be in his late thirties. Both wore stained and patched tunics, hose, and leather shoes. They carried pitchforks.

“Aye, I see the joint hanging there beside him. What’s he doing up there?”

“Come down from there and give us back that joint,” said the boy.

“And wind up on the end of your forks?” Rinc said. “I think I’ll remain here.”

“I could send for the sheriff,” the older one said.

“Please do. And while one of you is away fetching the sheriff, I’ll overpower the other and make my getaway,” Rinc replied. “So, who’s the lucky fellow that’ll taste my steel this good day?”

The farmers looked at each other. Rinc could almost hear the wheels turning in their heads as they decided what to do next. He grew impatient.

“I could just come down and kill the both of you.” Rinc reached for his sword.

The younger one looked up, eyes wide with fear. The man said something to him in a whisper, and the boy nodded, keeping his eyes on Rinc.

“What if we promise not to harm you?” the father said.

“I have your word on that?”

“I swear it, sire.”

“Then make some space, and I’ll come down.”

The farmers backed up a few feet and watched Rinc slowly come down from the tree.

“He’s dressed like a Kordish guard.” The boy said.

“They are borrowed,” Rinc said. “The good captain there was kind enough to loan them to me after highway left me for dead on the Olareth road.”

“Highwaymen? Rascals every one of them,” the farmer said. He spat on the ground.

“I can offer you payment for the mutton,” Rinc said and reached for his bag.

The farmer’s face lit up with the promise of coins. He grinned at Rinc.

“Well, for a few coins, all will be forgiven, sire.”

Rinc opened the bag and fished out three pieces of silver.

“Silver, Da! Them’s silver coin,” the boy exclaimed.

“I was expecting only a few coppers, sire.”

“That should be payment enough for the mutton and waterskin.”

The farmer nodded.

“Would you happen to have a horse, good farmer?”

“I fear not, sire. Me missus and the boy take turn and turn a pulling the plow for me.”

“Then, it looks like I am afoot. Can I offer you another piece of silver?”

“For what, sire? You’ve been most generous of late.”

“For your silence,” Rinc said.

“Our silence, sire?”

“Yes. Tell no one you’ve seen me.”

The farmer looked at his son with a wry grin and winked.

“Must have been a fox that stole our mutton, boy.”

“Huh? But that weren’t a fox that took it, Da.”

“Never you mind, boy. I’ll explain later. Now, let’s go home. We’ve too much to do to be standing around here all day.” He gave Rinc a wave as he turned to leave. “Good day to you, sire.”

Rinc watched them disappear into the trees, the farmer jingling the silver coins in his hand and whistling a merry tune.



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Scene 9 – Arrival at Olareth

Three days travel brought Rinc to the city of Olareth, a prosperous trading center situated on a major crossroad. The gates stood open, and the guard motioned for him to state his name and his business.

“Auden Wode. I’m here to see an old friend. Perhaps you know him?” Rinc smiled.

“Doubt that, sir. This city’s too big to know everyone. Are you a member of the guard?” He looked Rinc up and down.

“No.”

Rinc told the guard how he came to be wearing the uniform, but changed the name of the city where he had recovered from his injuries.

“Enter,” the guard said.

The inn Rinc found was a smallish two-story building made of wood. The upper floor had windows that were open to let in fresh air. Rinc saw no windows on the lower floor facing the street. The interior was dark, oil lamps providing the only light, and Rinc waited for his eyes to adjust. To his left was the stairway to the second floor and to his right, the tavern. The proprietor, a thin hard-faced man, shouted at the barmaid as she hurriedly tried to clear the tables. Rinc waited until the scolding finished before stepping over to the man.

“Sorry, sir. My Odella’s not the brightest girl, but she’s my daughter, so I don’t have to pay her none. Can I help you?” The man said.

“How much for the common room?” Rinc asked.

“Ten coppers a night plus your meals. I have a nice private room upstairs if you’d prefer. Only five pieces of silver. And for another five I could send you someone to keep you warm on these chilly nights,” the proprietor said, winking, and nudging Rinc suggestively. “If you catch my meaning, sir?”

“The common room will be fine,” Rinc said, handing over a piece of silver.

“Right, sir. I’ll fetch your change. Odella! Stop your dawdling and fetch me my bag.”

Odella looked confused, rag in one hand and dirty plates in another. After a moment, she set the plates on a table and dropped the rag on to them. She disappeared into a side door and returned carrying a small leather pouch, her head down.

The innkeeper snatched the bag and shooed his daughter away. He handed Rinc his change and led him to the back to the shared room. It was darker than the tavern, with only a single lamp suspended from the central beam. An overflowing chamber pot stood in one corner, a rivulet of the overflow traced a path to the alley door. Flies buzzed around the pot. The fetid odor of old sweat and human waste assaulted Rinc. He pinched his nose.

“Don’t worry about the smell, sir. Odella will run a swab through here in a bit and open the shutters and the alley door. You’ll find the privy in the alley. Just claim your bed, and you’re all set.”

Rinc chose a bed near the alley door and pulled off his boots to use as a pillow. Unattended footwear often disappeared. He stretched out, thinking about where The Talisman could be. One of the men who had attacked him was an Olarethan, and this was the place to start. Lady Megaera would pay handsomely for it. With his sword by his side, Rinc closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.



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Scene 10 – Searching for Hardeen

It was early evening, and people filled the streets. Olareth was large, with a population of ten thousand that often swelled to twice that number during the summer months. Rinc pulled the hood of the tunic over his head and fell in with a group of people heading toward the city center. Wealthy shopkeepers displayed their goods in semi-transparent windows, the glass panes a symbol of their success. Lamplighters bustled from post to post, refilling and lighting the lamps that lined the streets. A well-dressed man stood outside of a bawdy house enticing “good gentle sires” to “enjoy an evening of feminine warmth and companionship.” Sheriff’s men walked the streets on the lookout for cutpurses and other rogues. Jugglers and mummers performed for crowds on street corners while minstrels sang inside the taverns scattered along the high street.

Rinc came to a dicing house and paused to have a look. Inside, men stood by tables, watching as silver changed hands quickly, most ending up in the groom-porter’s bag. Serving wenches passed between the customers, doled out mugs of strong ale and received an occasional pinch. Rinc spotted a familiar face, stepped inside, and removed his hood. Algar Hardeen was just as Rinc remembered him, broad-shouldered and tall, nearing six feet. He wore the garb of a wealthy merchant and handed over silver as if he owned a bottomless money bag. Hardeen carried a dagger on his buckler, but no sword.

Rinc stepped in behind the big man and slipped the dagger, undetected, from Hardeen’s waist. He placed the point in the small of Hardeen’s back and whispered in his ear.

“Hello, Algar.”

The big man turned and felt the knifepoint in his back.



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Scene 11 - Encounter with Hardeen

“Not so fast, my friend. Turn around slowly and walk outside. There is an alleyway to the left. Go there. And if you value your life, you will not try to draw the attention of the sheriff’s men.”

Hardeen did as Rinc demanded. Outside, Rinc pulled up the tunic hood and stepped beside him, keeping the point of the knife in Hardeen’s ribs.

“Act as though you are having fun. Smile.”

Hardeen smiled nervously, his eyes darting around the crowded street.

“In here,” Rinc ordered, and they stepped into a dimly lit alley. The foul stench of urine and feces hung in the air, crates and small puddles littered the ground.

Rinc stopped as they neared the far end. Still keeping the knife in Hardeen’s side, he pulled his sword and stepped back, blocking the exit.

“Where is The Talisman?” Rinc demanded.

“I don’t know,” Hardeen said. “Duarte took it. We are supposed to meet in a few days.”

“Duarte Tathame? Where is he?”

“Trennore. He was staying there until his messenger returned.”

“And then you were to meet?”

“Yes.”

“And take The Talisman to Lord Luken?”

“Things are not always as they seem. There are ... forces working behind the scenes that you don’t know anything about.”

“What does that mean?” Rinc asked.

“You will have to find the answer on your own.”

“Give me your bag,” Rinc said, indicating Hardeen’s money bag with his sword.

Hardeen handed over the money bag. Rinc hefted it, feeling the weight of the coins.

“So, this is just a robbery? You’ve become cutpurse now, have you?”

“Shut up,” Rinc said. “Sit down, take off your boots and throw them over here.”

“What?”

“Do it!” Rinc gave him a little jab with the sword point, drawing blood and forcing a bark of pain from Hardeen.

Hardeen lowered himself onto the filthy ground, making as little contact with the ground as his situation would allow. He wiped dirty hands on the leg of a trouser and removed his boots. He tossed them to Rinc.

“The hose, hand them over. You’ll think twice about giving chase without any footwear.”

Hardeen shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. Rinc raised his sword tip, and Hardeen muttered under his breath as he peeled off the hose. He rolled them into a ball and threw them to Rinc. Rinc stuffed the hose into a boot and threw the pair onto the roof of the dicing house. He backed a few steps toward the street, put away his sword, and turned to leave. Algar Hardeen suddenly cried out in pain. Rinc wheeled around and saw an arrow shaft protruding from Hardeen’s chest. He jumped behind a crate and peered over the top, trying to determine where the arrow came from. Seeing no one, he duck-walked back to Hardeen and knelt beside him. He heard Hardeen’s raspy breathing.

“Algar! Tell me what you meant about things not being as they seem.”

The wounded man opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he coughed, frothy blood bubbling on his lips. He coughed again, spewing bright red foam, most of it landing on the front of his tunic. He convulsed once and stopped moving, eyes open and head lolled to the side.

Rinc spat a curse and, eyeing the rooftops again, stood to leave the grisly scene. When Rinc reached the street, he looked around and blended in with the crowd.



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Scene 12 – Leaving Olareth



The streets were humming with the story of Hardeen’s murder when the city’s two town criers rang out the news. Rinc paid scant attention as he prepared to leave. He would head to Trennore and seek out Duarte Tathame. Using the money he’d stolen from Hardeen, Rinc purchased new clothes, a horse, and supplies in Olareth. He also put several silver coins in his boots for safekeeping. If someone managed to steal his bag, he would not be without resources. He dropped the guard uniform in a communal privy pit. It would be weeks before the gong fermors emptied the pit, the putrid sludge rendering the uniform unrecognizable.

A handful of the Sheriff’s men gathered at the east gate, interviewing everyone leaving Olareth. Rinc waited in line astride his newly acquired horse.

“Dismount, sir,” the Sheriff’s man said when Rinc reached the front of the line.

“Is there a problem?” Rinc asked as alighted.

“Just a few questions and then on your way. State your name and the nature of your business.”

“Auden Wode. I came to see an old friend. I am on my back to Trennore,” Rinc said, sticking to his fabricated story.

“How long were you in Olareth, Gentle sir?”

“Only for one night. My friend was called away on business.”

“And your friend’s name?”

“Duarte Tathame,” Rinc lied.

“I’ll need to take a look in your knapsack,” the Sheriff’s man said.

Rinc handed it over and put on an air of indifference as another man searched the leather bag. The man found nothing and handed it back.

“Right, off you go.”