Crydee had proven an interesting and entertaining diversion for a while. Gulamendis had easily avoided the noisy and ill-organized Town Watch that marched the perimeter of the town with little attention to detail. It was clear this place had been left untroubled for some years now. He had passed quietly through a dark street past one or two buildings with lights on, but attracted no attention to himself.
The harbour possessed a tidy waterfront, and a long neck of land stretching to the north boundary, a stone tower that appeared to be more of a watchtower than a lighthouse. There was a light, but it was little more than a single brazier that gave off only a faint illumination. Gulamendis assumed that ships didn’t arrive after dark, and that any unexpected visitors would rest at anchor off the coast to wait for dawn rather than risk entering the harbour under that weak beam.
He turned his mount northeast, away from the harbour mouth and skirted the town along its northern boundary. He was curious about the castle on a steep rise high above the town, but knew that soldiers more professional than the Town Watch whom he had easily avoided would guard it. He knew little about these humans, but he possessed keen observation and sharp wits.
Their social organization showed them to be well in command of the region. Neighbours who might have troubled them in the past - elves, dwarves, goblins, or trolls - had been driven out or disposed of; a fact that made the humans dangerous.
His race had not encountered any humans for centuries, and the old encounters had always ended in bloody war. While some human tribes had been relatively peaceful, a large number had proven relentlessly warlike and aggressive, and after several failed treaties, the stance of the taredhel shifted from peaceful negotiation to pre-emptive obliteration.
The dwarves had proven more troublesome in some ways, less in others. They were much tougher and difficult to root out of their underground communities, but they were also far less aggressive and willing to stay within their own territories without problems. Only twice had warfare erupted with dwarven clans, but both had been protracted bloody wars.
Gulamendis realized with a sigh that those histories were now academic, for the Demon Legion had now overrun those worlds. With a sinking sensation, the Demon Master wondered if he was on a fool’s errand. Even if he could find potential allies among the other races on Midkemia, would his own people welcome their aid?
Turning his mount round, he walked past the local inn, which seemed lively. A steady stream of voices, laughter and music, could be heard from the road. If indeed that could be called music. Taredhel musicians typically played soft, lyrical arrangements that were supposed to mimic the lofty emotional experience of a magician, in order to share that bliss with those who had no magic. As Gulamendis’s magic contained no lyrical emotion, he had always been as moved by their compositions as the soldiers, farmers, and labourers must have been listening to the great performers on festival days; not that there had been many occasions to celebrate since the coming of the Demon Legion.
The priests also kept traditional songs of prayer and welcoming, as well as other, more primitive music and instruments, as a way to preserve the original culture of the edhel. It was seen as more devout, or academic, depending on one’s view of faith, and rarely heard outside the Temple.
The music coming out of the inn was boisterous, loud and dissonant, and it sounded like fun. The singers seemed to be enjoying themselves greatly. He could not understand a word as he spoke little of the human tongue. His brother had possessed several spells that allowed him to understand any language, but there was never the time nor the circumstance for him to teach Gulamendis. Had he not learned the spell of disguise years before, Gulamendis would have had to ride through the forest the entire way.
Leaving Crydee town behind, Gulamendis wondered how his brother fared, and then, more bleakly, if he still lived.
*
Laromendis pointed his wand at a demon climbing the wall and unleashed a bolt of energy into the creature’s face. Clawing at its eyes, the demon fell backwards. A magician named Sufalendel had given him the wand, for which Laromendis would be eternally grateful; his own more subtle magic was next to useless.
He stood on the northernmost wall of Tarendamar, shoulder to shoulder with soldiers, priests and magicians, all attempting to repulse the fourth demon attack this day, as the creatures swarmed the defences, seeking access to the last bastion of the taredhel on Andcardia.