The Seven Talismans

By Ray McCarthy

Jorath is hardly adult but hopes to find the Talismans of the High Lords. They must do something to fight the people that want to eradicate their tribe.
Set in a mediaeval style fantasy world, with no ship's clocks or black powder, this story is based on a novelization completed in 1992. The sequel was nearly completed in 1996 and now is called ‘The White Fire Stones’. Both stories can be read on their own. There are now outlines for two more stories in the series.
The cover is based on ‘Pauvre Fauvette’ (1881) by Jules Bastien-Lepage.
About 55,240 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ray McCarthy
• Release date: Dec 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463190715

Ray McCarthy

Ray McCarthy has lived in the Mid West of Ireland since 1983. He has a life long interest in SF & F, electronics, computers, science and space. Writing since 1991.His engineering and security systems background gives the SF and adventures a solid scientific background.

Book preview

Chapter 1: A Warning

A great evil had arisen in the Land. The High Lords, the Just Judges of Old had passed from the Earth. For many lifetimes of men, each man, each chief did as was right in his own eyes, but nature abhors a vacuum, so some chiefs stronger than others seized lands and enslaved many. The most famous was Baron Borannon the Bold who before his death over 150 years ago had made many other Barons pay tribute to him, and for a while, is it not written by the Sages, he ruled justly and the Land prospered. But many said the rule of his latter days was weak, so those that followed closed the courts to the public, and few knew of the truth of Baron Borannon the Bold, much less the Old Laws of High Lords, said by many to be the fables of children and the tales of old wives.

Jorath lived in the village of Engarth about two days ride from the city, the seat of the Baron Kedrick. His family, like most Traveller Folk and many others, in secret believed in the Old Laws, the Laws of the High Lords, so though not yet of age he saw the poor, the beggars, the sick, the slaves in his own village and his heart was bruised—

Oh stop, Jorath, urged Joranna. No-one writes or talks like that.

I read a famous book that was like that, he insisted. You shouldn’t be reading over my shoulder.

You can’t do the old fashioned style properly anyway, said Joranna. Tell our story naturally, start with Uncle Anglist telling us the taxes are now impossible and failure to pay is seizure of everything and execution of the entire family.

I need to explain though that it didn’t apply to everyone.

Everyone knows anyway that most of the nasty laws only applied to our people, insisted Joranna. I’ll make some coffee, you scrap all that, it’s only a few pages.

Right, said Jorath. I’ll do it ordinary then.

You do write neat though! She grabbed the pages and ran off.

* * *

They were just getting ready for the evening meal, supper, when Uncle Anglist arrived in a great panic.

I must see your father urgently, Jorath, said Anglist. Sort out the horse, I’ve ridden hard.

Jorath walked him around till he cooled and rubbed him down in the stable. His dad was looking very glum and mum was setting out the meal with Joranna’s help when got in. Uncle Anglist leapt up from the table when he saw Jorath.

You must flee to the hills and join the outlaws! exclaimed Anglist.

Yes, you said that already, insisted his brother Fergorth, Jorath’s father.

I have just come from Maran across the Great River beyond Arinopa City, Anglist continued. This year they have been enslaving or executing those that fall short on tax and seizing the property for the Baron. But worse, the tax is five times for our people and reduced to half for anyone identifying us. He sat and drank from the cup of ale. Fergorth, you are too well known and a dissident too. I must flee too. I’ll risk taking a ship with my merchant papers. Some are even saying openly that the men who wear the silver wolf head insignia are actually daemons in the guise of men.

Wait, brother, sit and eat with us and we will talk of this after, Jorath’s father Fergorth replied. He lowered his voice. The children.

Jorath’s younger brother and two sisters were sent to bed after the debris of the meal was cleared. Jorath was allowed to remain sitting by the fire. Joranna reappeared.

I’m only a bit over year younger and look older, Joranna argued. Can’t I stay up too?

No, insisted Fergorth, even Jorath is barely old enough. Get a good sleep as we may be travelling tomorrow.

Slowly she returned to bed.

It’s true, Anglist, that the Silver Wolves are but few and the common soldier or his officer dislikes them, said Fergorth, but they watch everywhere, they have a very tight rein on the Military. We cannot rely on the Military turning against the Barons.

They are hated and feared by all the soldiers as much as by us! retorted Anglist.

Yes, but what shall we do? Fergorth retorted. Shall we try to call a Council of the Wise?

Impossible, said Anglist angrily, we can’t resist this, we have to run. Very many have. Integration didn’t work. There is little intermarriage, as people think there won’t be children. We standout literally, mostly being taller, apart from not being as pale skinned. Also green, blue and grey eyes are rare among others here. Most have brown eyes.

Yet I do not speak of our Traveller past to the children, said Fergorth, in truth I know little. We have lost touch with other groups and our lore in an effort to not stand apart and gained nothing.

But I do not use Traveller Folk script, or speech, indeed I know little of either, though your wife knows them well, Anglist replied. I have none of the traditional clothes or ornaments. I act just like any other Arinopean! Yet can a man change his stature or skin? I’m ruined just because of an accident of birth."

Exactly my point, said Fergorth. The Wise of the last Council were fools. We cannot hide by changing our speech or dress. We should have stood up and resisted!

To be cut down all the sooner.

It has come to that anyhow, said Fergorth.

They sat drinking cider and looking at the fire. It was made from their own apples. Fergorth thought gloomily it might be the last.

Jorath’s mother Sorranna formally addressed Anglist, My Esteemed Brother of my Lord.

What, Sorranna? said Anglist. We are all about to die and you are reviving archaic two hundred old protocols? Just Anglist.

I do not follow the new ways of Chaos, but prefer the ways of our fathers, but is nothing to be done? May good men be only forced to flee and live as outlaws? I will not easily name the Wise as fools, but we can not hide here. We must act now, leave the country or our ancient line will be lost forever.

I see no alternatives, no action to take, a reed may bend before this storm, but even a sapling may break, much more a mature tree, Anglist paused and finished his cider. Perhaps this evil on the land, this storm will pass. We must be patient and bow before it, again I say you must all flee to the forest in the hills first light morning, or even now. Head for the border, get the outlaws to help. I can take one with me on the ship. I need to leave soon, tonight.

There was silence apart from the crackle of the logs.

But is it not written in the books of the Great Sages that the Lords of Old had seven great talismans, said Sorranna, one for each High Lord, and the truth of this kept evil from men’s hearts and the Shadow of the Despiser from the Land?

Nursery stories for children, scoffed Anglist. What were they anyway?

The Talismans are not some child’s fable as the Baron would have us all believe. They are the Belt of Suna, the Breastplate of Araglor the Great, the Boots of Elkand, the Helmet of Ansalon, the Shield of Murkewe, the Sword of Turquil and the odd one out is a copy of the Scroll of Law. The High Lord’s laws.

I’ve heard of the laws, all known copies were destroyed. How do you know this, Sorranna? asked Anglist.

My great-great-great-grandmother was a lady at the last High Lord’s Court, The Lady Ruath. She laid a great charge from mother to daughter from that day to this.

I think you left out a great if she was an adult as that was 150 years ago, said Anglist.

No, she has the right of it, said Fergorth. I’ve seen the family tree and the dates.

Outside a dog barked in answer to a distant wolf howl. The logs spat in the fire and a shower of sparks shot up the chimney.

The Baron Borannon the Bold came to power as the High Lords fell, explained Sorranna. Someone hid the Talismans. Lady Ruath got a map showing an Isle on the Inner Sea. The Talismans are hidden there. This great secret has been passed mother to daughter. Perhaps the time has come to use it.

How can a child’s fable save us! Uncle Anglist laughed. I suppose it must be the Isle of Amrat. The port was closed fifty years ago and it has a large garrison occupying it. It used to be a free-port as it’s convenient for ships from the major sea trading countries.

But it’s true, I have the parchment, and letter from my great-great-great-grandmother, the Lady Ruath. She went to the kitchen and returned with a package of oiled silk.

Jorath, said Fergorth, you open it carefully, your young eyes and fingers are better than ours in this light, but carefully as the parchment is likely delicate. Besides you have a light touch.

Jorath carefully untied and peeled off the waterproof outer wrapping. Inside under many layers of silk was a thin glass vial, almost like a tube with one end closed with a stopper cased in pitch. Jorath got out his penknife and slowly pared off the pitch. He wiggled out the stopper, and tipped out the scroll. Some strange purple crystals fell unto the table. He undid the ribbon tie and unwound the scroll. In fact there were two parchments, in differing hands, one the coarse letters of mercantile script with a sketch and star chart was obviously the map. The other was in beautiful, flowing, spidery script, the letters of the High Lords, clear and laid out like poetry but signed Ruath in the runes of men.

Jorath studied the map and the letter. The letter appeared to bother him.

Well? uncle Anglist impatiently interjected.

The map shows directions and the Isle and the letter explains that seven great Talismans from the priests of Arariatus, who served the memory of the lords, were hidden there safe till the Doom of Time or the Weird of the World be come, but there is no description of the talismans or where they might be on the Isle, save that each has a trap or guardian, it’s an old word, that mean either. I’d agree it’s likely Amrat. I suspect that they were hidden from Borannon and he never had them or the map wouldn’t mention Arariatus.

But what about the letter? asked Jorath’s father.

It is signed Ruath, and written in a clear hand, but who in knows the High Script that the Travellers used in the days of the High Lords?

I do, whispered Jorath’s Mother, and you can admit that you and Joranna learned it too. Your dad or uncle won’t betray you to the Silver Wolves!

Jorath looked around. don’t be cross with mum, she has taught all us of as much as she knows of the High Language and all the lore.

It seems it was pointless anyway to try and forget, said Fergorth, read it.

Jorath read it slowly and carefully.

In the Year 5471, month of Eloth,

Greetings my Children,

I fear a great Evil has befallen the Land. If the Evil grows one must search out and restore the Seven Talismans, then confront the Evil and imprison or destroy it. If you cannot take this charge return all to the vial. Reseal it with the finest pitch. Be sure to pass this to your daughter and instruct her to guard it with her life. The map was won at great cost. May the rule of the High Ones be established and you prosper in the Land and in the age that is to come,

Ruath

Jorath’s uncle Anglist turned and looked into the fire. It seems that only 150 years ago the Talismans were not fables for children and I have been a fool all these years. But who were the High Lords then, if not a fable?

They were themselves, Sorranna answered. I don’t really know who they were.

Yes, I know the phrase from the old tales, Anglist countered, but what does it mean? Were they just some powerful high minded Travellers or other Arinopeans or some other race or species? Some of the tales of their exploits, well, sound unlikely to say the least!

Yes, I wondered about that too! Jorath chipped in.

No, the High Lords were not as us, said Fergorth, or perhaps not like any other men at all, if only a fraction of what is told is true. Sorranna is right, we must be idle no longer. Someone should go and recover the Talismans. I’m not sure then what, perhaps become exiles in Ferimot. We don’t hear anything from Travellers anywhere else?

There used to be some in Erimoss, said Anglist. There are some in the Quell Empire. Probably some on Amrat if anyone other than soldiers lives there now. Ferimot is likely the last safe haven.

I will, I must go! exclaimed Jorath.

You cannot, Jorath! commanded Fergorth, his father. It is rather my responsibility, you are yet a child.

Yet who would suspect a youth? Sorranna asked. "He’d be of age before he’d get there. His birthday is only a few days away.

But why do the Barons, that is the Silver Wolves, hate us so? exclaimed Jorath.

I do not truly know, Sorranna glanced at her husband and continued hesitantly. It was the High Lords that bade us settle in Arinopa, long ago, yet though so many generations people have not forgotten. Others call us the Travelling Folk because we were such. For many years we too, have named ourselves such. But we had our own name, though I don’t know it.

That suggests the High Lords were already here and not of our people, said Fergorth.

Perhaps the Silver Wolves hate us so much because the High Lords showed special favour to us, Sorranna looked around. You know how they hate every work, every Law of the High Lords!

All the more reason why I should go, Fergorth eyed Jorath. You are part of my future. You must go to the Forest!

It doesn’t matter, Anglist smiled at Fergorth. You have a growing family to care for. I have none save you and your own. I will go, you and Jorath will need all your energy to save the rest of the family. I can get an exit visa for Erimoss.

Anglist, said Fergorth, you are older than I and being a merchant, you are not exactly fit.

You mean I’m getting fat, and I’ve no experience of the countryside, said Anglist. My papers can cover an assistant or apprentice, not a mature adult, so it’s either me or Jorath.

Finally Fergorth and Sorranna agreed. Anglist was determined to make up for his years of compromise and disbelief. He would take Jorath as an able and strong companion to seek the seven talismans. They trusted that the nature of the Talismans would show what needed to be done to re-establish their power in the Land. Anglist and Jorath would leave later in the night and catch a mail coach to Arinopa City, then travel by barge to the port city of Cerithima. The rest would flee at dawn.

Come, Jorath, there are few hours now till you leave, Fergorth turned to Sorranna. You too, Sorranna must be fatigued. We will not start as soon as Anglist and Jorath, but you should try and sleep some. Brother, come over to the fire and we will finalize our planning and packing while the others get a little sleep.

Jorath didn’t feel wearied. However on the way back to his chamber shared with his brother Ardnafee a door opened a crack. It was the chamber shared by Joranna and Silenas, his sisters. The crack widened.

Well? Joranna asked.

Well what? countered Jorath. Why aren’t you asleep?

I was listening, go on go back and ask father if I can go too.

You ask him, Jorath shook his head. Anyway you can’t, the papers are only for one.

He won’t listen to me, Joranna complained.

I don’t wonder! anticipating a hot reply Jorath quickly continued. Listen, I know you are big for your age and not much younger, but he barely let me go. I presume you spied on all the conversation?

It wasn’t spying! Joranna hotly rejoined before banging her door closed.

It seemed moments later when Jorath shaken awake by Anglist.

Sleepy head, Anglist whispered, we leave now. No time for any goodbyes. We are going across country to catch the early express mail coach. Your father thinks the later transit coach through the village is too public and time may be more important than we think.

* * *

Since Anglist and Jorath had been travelling since just before dawn with only short breaks for the mail to change horses they welcomed the sight of the tavern lights ahead. Even lunch was eaten on the mail carriage! The carriage slowed and drove into the courtyard. Servants came and lifted their baggage as they wearily climbed down. In the past the mail coach would just have changed horses here, but