‘He’s well enough. I think. But we haven’t got time now; they’ll be following us.’
‘The treasure?’ asked Moneva.
‘Disaster,’ said Kaved, heading away from the house into the grounds at the back and indicating that they should follow him.
‘We picked up a few coins from one of the chests that I had to throw out of the window. That’s it.’
Belwynn saw Moneva roll her eyes and begin to say something, but she controlled herself, biting her tongue.
‘Over here!’ A shout came from behind them.
‘Get on with it,’ said Kaved, picking up the pace as the grounds sloped gently downhill.
Belwynn could hear the jingle of metal armour and weapons coming from behind them, seemingly on the trail of Herin and the others.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
Kaved didn’t reply, but instead sprinted forwards towards a stream that flowed by quietly and appeared to mark the boundary of Vincente’s house.
Pulling out a small hand-axe, he hacked at the moorings of a large raft that was half hidden behind a tree.
‘Don’t worry, Kaved’s part of the plan will still work,’ said the Krykker in a sarcastic voice. ‘Get on.’
Kaved and Herin held the raft steady as Clarin walked on gingerly, gently lowering Soren onto its deck. Belwynn and Moneva followed on, trying to spread their weight so that it didn’t tip. From somewhere Kaved now had a long pole, which he used to push them away from the bank.
‘Shit,’ said Herin.
A group of about a dozen armed men were running down the slope towards them.
‘Faster!’ said Moneva.
‘I can’t go faster!’ responded Kaved angrily. ‘We’re on a raft, not a racehorse!’
He shoved the pole down onto the bed of the stream and pushed them away a little farther.
When the men reached the bank, Kaved had succeeded in nudging them out into the middle of the stream, too far out to be reached by a sword or spear. Some of the men tentatively put their feet into the stream, seeing if they could follow on foot.
Others arrived and crowded around the bank, shouting insults. One of them held a bow and reached for an arrow, ready to nock it and shoot. If he did, he could aim at virtually point blank range.
‘Archer!’ shouted Belwynn.
As she did so, there was a movement on the other side of the raft, and a knife left Moneva’s outstretched hand, burying itself in the neck of the archer.
Those men in the water froze, suddenly wary of their exposed position.
Meanwhile, Vincente had pushed himself to the bank.
‘Get them!’ he yelled at his men, gesturing angrily. ‘You’ve given yourselves a death sentence for this!’ he yelled towards the raft as it picked up a bit of speed in the middle of the stream and began to float away. ‘You’ve made one hell of a mistake tonight!’
‘Oh, fuck off!’ Kaved shouted back at him. ‘We didn’t get hardly any of your money, anyway!’
Vincente’s men were being herded into the stream, some making more of an effort than others. The eager ones were crossing the stream and threatened to reach the opposite bank before the raft did. Kaved pushed them closer to the bank, and Clarin was able to grab hold of an overhanging tree branch, pulling the raft in and then holding it steady as the others clambered out. Herin grabbed Soren under the arms and dragged him onto the bank. Clarin got himself off and picked up the wizard.
Soren murmured something unintelligible.
‘Looks like he might be waking up,’ the big man commented.
‘I hope so,’ said Belwynn, peering at her brother. There seemed to be a bit more colour in his face. ‘What happened to him, Herin?’
‘He held the door closed while we escaped. Then he jumped out of the window for some reason. But he cast some kind of spell that cushioned his fall. It didn’t look like he hurt anything.’
‘Hit the ground in slow motion, sort of,’ added Kaved, sounding slightly in awe of what he had seen.
‘He probably used too much magic, too quickly,’ explained Belwynn. ‘It’s happened before. It knocks him out for a while.’
‘Well, we better keep moving,’ said Kaved. ‘Just a little way up here.’
They marched up the riverbank, away from Vincente’s town, for a few hundred metres. It was pitch black now, and no-one had a light, but Kaved seemed to know where he was going.
Before Belwynn realised it was there, they had stopped by a cart, complete with two horses attached to it.
‘Wow,’ said Moneva drily, ‘someone’s been busy.’
‘Yes,’ said Kaved, climbing into the driver’s seat, ‘complete with provisions and enough space to hold three chests full of gold. Looks like all we’re taking away is the six of us.’
‘We got some of it,’ said Herin moodily, helping his brother to lift Soren into the back of the cart. ‘It’ll cover our expenses.’
‘Will it cover the loss of my lucrative wages?’ asked Moneva pointedly.
Herin turned towards her. ‘Just get in, will—’
He stopped speaking and wrinkled his nose. He looked at Moneva as if seeing her for the first time, then across at Clarin and Belwynn. He put a hand over his nose.
‘What the fuck happened to you?’
3
Intruders
THE SUN SET THE WORLD alight that morning: brilliant orange shafts touching the sky, spreading along the horizon and driving down to the land.
My land, thought Farred, as he let his mount walk along for a while at its own pace, content to survey the world around him.
To his left, Gyrmund seemed content to ride in companionable silence too. The early morning was surely the best part of the day: everything to look forward to, and it was when the land here looked the most beautiful. The rolling grassland stretched on for miles in every direction, seemingly unending. The mist of the previous night still hung over the grass, as if the gods had decided to sprinkle Dalriya with fairy dust.
‘Do you miss it?’ he asked Gyrmund.
‘What?’
‘Walsted. The land here. The place where you grew up. I would find it hard to leave for as long as you have.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ agreed Gyrmund, looking around. ‘But so are other places. Just in different ways.’
Farred nodded. He would like to see other parts of the world too. But he also appreciated what he had here.
‘Don’t you ever get bored?’ asked Gyrmund.
‘Bored of what?’
‘I don’t know. I know you’ve got responsibilities here. But bored of the same routine. Doing the same things, at the same time...’
‘Maybe. Though in some ways I’ve appreciated having some structure over the last few years, since Father died. But I know what you mean. I think I’m ready for a new challenge now.’
They rode on in silence again. It got Farred to thinking.
They had been inseparable as youths, raised as brothers after the death of Gyrmund’s family. Farred had thought it would stay that way forever. It hadn’t crossed his mind that it wouldn’t. But now he was able to see the differences between them. Farred’s parents had owned the estate here at Walsted. His family had done so for generations, since the Middians of these parts had agreed to bend the knee to the Kings of Magnia and their tribal lands were divided up. Gyrmund’s parents, on the other hand, had rented their land and worked for Farred’s family. That difference hadn’t meant anything to Farred when he was a boy, but maybe it had to Gyrmund. And, of course, the two of them had wanted different things from the friendship at one point. But it still seemed strange that Farred, now, was the only one who called this place home. To Gyrmund, Walsted was still a refuge, a place he could stay if he needed to rest up or get some free lodging and dinners. But it was no longer his home.
‘Time to stretch these boys’ legs a bit?’ asked Gyrmund.
‘Come on then, Gamhard,’ Farred called out to his mount, nudging him into a trot.
They were heading west, away from the sunrise, to where the plains of Farred’s estate ended and became a wood of hills and hollow. Much of Plunder Wood was also owned by Farred, used for hunting game and to fetch timber. Beyond the woods was South Magnia proper, where the soil was deep and they farmed crops more so than animals.
After a while Gyrmund pushed his mount into a gallop and Farred let Gamhard join in. They raced along the open land, troubled neither by lake or stream, the ground dry from days of sunshine.
The woods became visible ahead. They headed for a wooden hunting lodge that Farred’s father had built when they were youngsters. Here they could see to their horses and sort out which supplies they wanted to take into the woods by foot. Deer were the quarry today, and both men carried long hunting bows. Gyrmund had always been the slightly better marksman, taking the skill more seriously. Farred preferred spear and sword.
Once ready, they followed a well-worn track which took them deep into the trees. Midges buzzed around them, and Farred had to wave them away from his face. He was happy to let Gyrmund take the lead, and eventually they moved off the track and into the heart of the woods, where the going was tougher.
‘We’ll try up here,’ said Gyrmund, pointing up a heavily wooded hill, his breathing heavy. ‘We’re more likely to find a buck and less likely to run into does.’
It was the birthing season, when does were avoided. They would either be ready to give birth or already have young fawns with them. Killing the mother would mean the fawns would die, too, and that was wasteful.
They settled in place under a tree which afforded a good view of the surrounding terrain.
After a horse ride and a woodland trek, Farred was hungry. He opened his sack and began to lay out the food they had brought. Bread, cheese and cold chicken had been wrapped up for them by the cook. They had also picked some blackberries on the way up. Gyrmund produced two flasks of ale from his sack, passing one over to Farred.
‘Cheers,’ they said, clinking their flasks together.
‘You look after me well, Farred,’ said Gyrmund, slicing the cheese with a knife and placing a slab on his bread. ‘Thank you.’
‘It does me good to get out like this. If you weren’t here I’d be working all day.’ Farred leaned back against the trunk of the tree and relaxed. ‘I honestly don’t mind if we don’t see a single deer today.’
‘You work hard, Farred. Your estate is in good order. Where do your ambitions lie next, though?’
‘Ambitions? Well, I wanted to establish myself as a landowner after Father died. I think I’ve done that, now. If I want more, I’ll need to make links with the crown.’
‘Prince Edgar? Met him yet?’
‘Yes, a couple of times. He actually passed through Walsted last year, first time he’s crossed Plunder Wood.’
‘And? What did you make of him?’
‘We got on well. He’s our age. Seems like a good man.’
‘A good man? He won’t last, then.’
‘Maybe. But I hear that Cerdda of North Magnia has a similar character. Could be an outbreak of common sense amongst our rulers.’
‘First time in a few generations if there is, but I suppose Magnia is due. No good for you, though, Farred. If you want to get in with the Prince, you’ll need a war to fight in.’
‘What about you?’ asked Farred, changing the subject. ‘No doubt you’ve got some ideas about where you’re going to explore next. You’ve done virtually all of northern Dalriya now, haven’t you?’
Gyrmund’s eyes narrowed and he held up a hand for silence. ‘I hear something.’
He moved onto his front and crawled off to the edge of their hill, peering down. He flattened himself down and turned back to Farred. ‘You’re going to need to see this. Just be careful.’
Farred did as suggested and moved carefully over to Gyrmund’s location, staying low and using his elbows to pull himself along.
Gyrmund pointed down the hill and to the left. Farred had been expecting an animal. Instead, a troop of mounted figures was passing through the woods. His woods.
They were moving through quite difficult terrain and went slowly, so it was easy to take a look at them. There were no real distinguishing items, but they were all well armed. Some wore armour, and others didn’t, though it looked like the latter group were carrying it on their mounts instead, which was understandable on a day like this. They were moving east to west and passed their location on the hill, no more than about two hundred yards away. Farred counted them.
‘Twenty-one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well armed. Lightly provisioned. Anything else?’
‘Pretty sure they’re from the Empire.’
‘The Empire? So they’ve journeyed across the Steppe? And now through my lands, unannounced and on into Magnia? Who are they?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Gyrmund, sitting up as the force moved out of sight. ‘But that’s our hunting trip over, I guess.’
‘Yes. I’ll have to follow them. I don’t like it.’
‘I know. I’m trying to think of a harmless explanation for it, but I can’t.’
‘Should I go back and raise a force?’
Gyrmund smiled. ‘No way. An hour’s ride back to Walsted, an hour at the least to gather people up and kit them out, another hour to get back here. They’ll be long gone. We go back for our horses and follow them. Just you and me.’
‘You’re coming?’
Gyrmund looked offended. ‘Of course!’
Farred smiled, relieved to have Gyrmund with him. He was the best tracker in these lands, and Farred knew he wouldn’t lose his quarry.
‘Come on,’ said Gyrmund, eager to get going.
They packed their things into their sacks, slung them over their shoulders, and set off down the hill, moving with far more urgency than they had on the way up.
‘Tell you one thing though, Farred. This might turn out to be the perfect way to impress your Prince Edgar.’
4
Toric’s Dagger
THE MIDDAY SUN BEAT DOWN as the three riders entered the settlement of Ecgworth. Edgar, riding slightly ahead of his two companions, lifted his hand to shield his eyes as he peered ahead. He could make out the walls of the temple in the distance.
He had been riding for over an hour now, in chain mail. The summer sun had made the journey uncomfortable, and he had long since broken into a sweat.
He travelled along a dirt track, passing neat and orderly fields to his left and right. The wheat and barley already stood tall, shifting gently when a breeze tugged at them. Insects flew in and out, some filling the air with a buzzing or clicking noise. It had been a good summer so far, warm, but with enough rain as well. Ecgworth was a well-run estate, and it looked like the monks would be well supplied for the winter.
The peasants were busy at work in the meadow, hacking down the grass with sickles to make hay. It was a family affair; the children tasked with spreading out the grass so that it could bake dry in the sun. A few of them looked up as Edgar rode past, but they soon returned to their work. Visitors to the temple were not rare. If any of them recognised their prince, they showed no sign of it.
The track arrived from the west and joined on to the main road, heading north, which took Edgar into the centre of Ecgworth. He now rode past the homes of its inhabitants, simple wooden houses, but well-maintained.
The temple complex dominated the rest of the settlement. It was a large, rectangular site with a central location.
As he approached, Edgar could see the modest earthworks, on top of which the walls, made from thick planks of wood, had been driven in and tied together. In time of war, the walls could be manned, and the inhabitants of Ecgworth, and most of their livestock, sheltered behind them.
Edgar had visited the temple a number of times. It was an adequate defence, but could do little to stop a serious force from gaining entry. Edgar had asked for improvements to be made, and he was annoyed to see that nothing had
been done.
The road took Edgar to the southern gate of the walls. Ecgworth was located in a flat plain, and the site of the temple gave little benefit in natural height. The priests had tried to compensate for this by digging a ditch around the site and using the excavated earth to create a raised surface on which to build. Nonetheless, when the prince stood in his stirrups, he could almost peer over the top of the wall.
Edgar’s two bodyguards joined him at the gate. Leofwin had served Edgar for the last four years and had served his father before him. His nephew, Brictwin, was a few years younger than Edgar, and was learning the job from his uncle. Wordlessly, Leofwin drew his sword from its scabbard and banged on the gate three times with the pommel.
Edgar could hear movement on the other side of the gate, but there was no reply. Leofwin rolled his eyes at the delay, and began banging again. After another few seconds, he was rewarded with a voice.
‘Who is there?’
‘Prince Edgar demands entry,’ boomed Leofwin with authority.
‘Oh,’ came the voice, before a head popped up above the wall. The guard was a young man who looked a little nervous at having to talk to Edgar directly. ‘Please wait a moment, Your Highness. I will fetch Lord Wulfgar right away.’
Edgar nodded, and then the head disappeared again. He heard the noise of the gatekeeper jumping down from the wall and scurrying off in the opposite direction.
Wulfgar was High-Priest of the Temple of Toric. Edgar’s father had given him the position, though not entirely out of choice. As well as being the leader of one of the richest religious communities in the kingdom, he came from a very powerful family: his older brother, Otha of Rystham, was one of the wealthiest landholders of South Magnia. Edgar knew both men well, and did not particularly like either of them. They were both arrogant and greedy, but their position of power meant that they had to be tolerated.
It was not long before Wulfgar came marching over to greet them.
‘Get the gates open,’ he demanded, in a voice used to authority.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 4
