This warrior did not look as experienced a rider as some of the others; he seemed to panic at Brictwin’s approach and made a wild swing at Edgar’s bodyguard, which failed to connect and left him off balance. Brictwin, meanwhile, managed to land a blow on the rider’s leg. For a moment it looked as if the rider might regain his balance, but the speed at which he was travelling was too fast, and he tumbled off his mount onto the ground, while the horse galloped on.
Edgar did not join his bodyguard but turned around, fearing that the horsemen would themselves swing around and come at his position from the rear. He was surprised to see them keep the same course towards the eastern gate. Some of the horsemen closest to the fallen rider did stop once they noticed that he was missing, and spied Brictwin, who was standing apart from the rest of the Magnians in a vulnerable position.
‘Ho!’ went the shout, and those at the front of the cavalry force, already out of the gate, stopped and turned around. Space was made for the leader to trot back to the front. It looked like they were readying to attack, to either avenge or to rescue their fallen comrade.
There was a bit of time to act as the enemy pulled their horses around, trying to get back into formation.
‘Into the temple?’ asked Edgar, thinking they might be better able to hold off a cavalry force there.
‘Aye,’ said Leofwin, sounding unhappy with the idea, but there was nothing else.
‘Wait!’ said the bodyguard, pointing to the north side of the complex.
Two men, each armed with bows, had taken up position on the inside of the northern complex wall and had already loosed an arrow each. The dark skin and long hair of the archers indicated that they were Middians.
Pulling back their strings, they aimed a second time at the mounted attackers. One arrow missed its target, but the other hit home, tearing into the flesh of one of the horses. The horse bucked up in pain, dislodging its rider, who managed to twist away and to the side as he fell, with a great thump, onto the floor.
Edgar studied their leader again; he was flanked now by two hostile groups, Edgar’s force and the two archers. And the two archers were busy nocking another arrow to their bows.
The downed rider picked himself up, and, linking arms with one of his comrades, managed to clamber up behind him on his horse.
‘We go!’ Edgar clearly heard the leader shout as he wheeled his horse back towards the gates and moved off at pace.
The accent confirmed Edgar’s suspicions: he was from the Empire.
The two archers tracked the departing riders with their bows, but didn’t loose any more arrows.
When they were sure that they had gone, they unstrung their weapons and walked over. As they approached, Edgar thought he recognised one of them.
‘It’s...Farred, isn’t it?’ he asked, frowning at the man. He knew him as a nobleman from the plains to the east of the kingdom, but he couldn’t understand what he was doing here.
‘That’s right, Your Highness,’ said the man, going to one knee.
‘Up, up,’ insisted Edgar and gave the man a hug. ‘You have my thanks.’
‘They came here through my lands,’ explained Farred. ‘We happened to be out hunting and saw them cutting through Plunder Wood. We followed them here.’
‘I’m grateful that you did,’ said Edgar, looking at the second man, who he didn’t recognise.
‘This is my friend, Gyrmund,’ said Farred. ‘He’s the one who hit the horse.’
This one didn’t bend the knee, but offered his hand instead. Edgar was happy to take it.
‘That was a fine shot.’
They all stood around for a while, letting their heart rates get back to something like normal.
‘I guess they’re gone,’ said Edgar.
‘They’ve got what they came for,’ muttered Wulfgar darkly.
Relief began to flood over Edgar as the immediate threat disappeared. He felt like he hadn’t taken a breath since he’d first seen the enemy. The priests, too, were beginning to feel the euphoria of surviving a battle, shouting out praise to Toric.
Leofwin, meanwhile, was marching over to his nephew. He was not happy. He looked down at the body of the fallen rider over whom Brictwin was standing and, kneeling, felt for a pulse.
‘Alive, but unconscious,’ he called over to Edgar. He stood and glared at the young bodyguard.
‘You’ve let me down today, Brictwin. You deserted your prince, whom you are sworn to protect. I even told you to look to the Prince before the fight. Even these priests managed to hold their position,’ he said, waving his sword at Wulfgar’s followers in a dismissive way. He spat on the floor. ‘You nearly brought the enemy back upon us.’
Edgar had heard enough of the conversation and walked over to join Wulfgar, who was making his way to the Temple. Farred and Gyrmund came with them. He felt sorry for Brictwin, who had shown bravery and skill in his first real armed encounter; but, ultimately, Leofwin was right. Edgar needed his bodyguards to stay close at all times. Brictwin’s youthful rush of blood to the head might have got them all killed.
By the time that Edgar and Wulfgar had reached the Temple, the two bodyguards had re-joined their prince. The six men entered the building.
Unlike the priests at the main gates of the temple complex, the priests inside the temple itself seemed to have failed to put up a united resistance against the intruders. A few bodies lay in random places, neither moving nor making a sound, while their blood leaked onto the floor of their holy temple.
The sight was a gruesome one: the floor and walls were red and sticky in places, and it seemed as if every piece of furniture in the sparsely-decorated entrance chamber had been smashed or shoved over. Edgar told Brictwin to go back outside and prevent any of the other priests from entering the temple for now. Wulfgar and Leofwin checked the bodies of Toric’s priests for life signs, but all of them had passed away within their god’s temple.
Wulfgar, looking sombre, led them into the circular central chamber, the most sacred area of the Temple. Toric’s Dagger was always kept in a chest on a table near the far wall, only removed for religious ceremonies.
Wulfgar and Edgar shared the same expression. They dreaded what they would find, and at the same time knew that their fears would be realised.
As they got closer, they saw a body slumped against the table.
‘Anrik!’ called Wulfgar as he recognised the priest. He knelt down beside the body.
Leofwin walked over and studied the body, feeling for the pulse.
‘He’s dead,’ said Edgar’s bodyguard. He held up an arm by the wrist. The hand was a bloody mess of flesh. The fingers and the thumb had been chopped off in a clumsy fashion, leaving stubs of differing lengths.
Wulfgar gasped in horror.
‘They tortured him,’ said Leofwin, ‘then ran him through with a sword.’
‘Why would they torture him?’ asked Gyrmund.
‘I don’t know,’ said Wulfgar, looking up, distress on his face. ‘The dagger is always kept in the chest. It isn’t hard to find.’
Edgar marched over to the chest. The lid was up, the dagger gone.
‘Maybe they killed him in case he could identify them?’
Wulfgar shrugged, but said nothing. It was a tired, hopeless movement.
The six men left the devastation of the Temple and returned to the main courtyard, where the priests and other inhabitants had congregated in the aftermath of the attack. They all talked for a short while, making guesses about the origins of the perpetrators.
Eventually Wulfgar ordered one of his men to begin the grisly clean-up operation in the Temple.
Edgar noticed Elana kneeling on the ground, apart from the main crowd. She was tending to an injured priest, who had presumably been stationed at the gate. She was cleaning his wound and talking in a reassuring voice.
It seemed like an age had passed since they had been arguing with Wulfgar in the High-Priest’s hall, but it must have been no more than half an hour ago.
It occurred to Edgar that, in the confusion, it would have been quite easy for Elana to have escaped from her captors—but, as before, she seemed oblivious to any danger.
‘Are you well?’ asked Edgar. It was a stupid question, but the adrenaline still racing around his body made him speak before thinking.
Elana turned and smiled in his direction. She pressed down on the forearm of the priest she was attending to with both hands. Was Edgar witnessing a healing miracle? It was difficult to say, since the arm was already bandaged. Elana wiped her hands on a scrap of cloth and stood up.
‘I think we should be leaving, Your Highness,’ interjected Leofwin.
Edgar nodded, recognising that they were all still in immediate danger. He marched over to Wulfgar. The High-Priest was surrounded by his followers, all asking him for direction in the wake of this disaster. Edgar noted that he was not quite so full of himself any more.
‘Wulfgar,’ he began, putting as much authority into his voice as possible. ‘I need to return to my household now in order to deal with this invasion. I no longer have the time to argue with you. Both you and Elana will accompany me.’
Wulfgar stared blankly at his prince for a moment and then nodded his head in acceptance.
5
Leaving
BELWYNN WAS ITCHING to get moving. For every extra minute they wasted in discussion, the Brasingians were getting farther and farther away.
It wasn’t Edgar’s fault. He had responsibilities to keep everyone happy, and Belwynn felt lucky that she was not tied down in such a way. Still, the Prince had not been without luck himself today.
The rider had arrived at Edgar’s estate of Bidcote about midday, informing his household that a small band of soldiers from the Empire had entered Magnia. Everyone who could use a weapon had set out for Ecgworth, fearing that Edgar had been killed or captured. But they had met the Prince and his small entourage about halfway to the Temple of Toric and accompanied him back to the relative safety of Bidcote. He was fortunate that the raiders at the Temple had not recognised him, or they would doubtless have taken the time to capture him as well as the damned knife, earning themselves a prince’s ransom.
When he got back, Edgar immediately sent out messengers to raise troops as quickly as possible. There were never more than about forty men in the royal household at any one time, and, with news from the east still patchy, it was possible that the raid on the Temple was a precursor to a large scale invasion.
In these circumstances, the prince’s first priority was to raise an army to defend his kingdom. At the same time, he was making plans to retrieve the dagger, and it was here that Edgar was encountering problems.
He had been fortunate that Belwynn and Soren had arrived back in Magnia at this very time, since they, along with Herin and Clarin, were the obvious choice for this kind of operation.
She and Soren were cousins of Edgar’s on his mother’s side, and, while they were welcome at his court, their presence was a rare occurrence these days. They had experience of the Empire, they would not be required to stay with Edgar and the army, and they had a couple of acquaintances who could prove to be very useful. Most importantly for Edgar, they were family, and could be trusted.
The same could not be said for most other people in the room.
The Prince had decided to hold the meeting in his bedroom at the back of his hall to lend some privacy to the discussion. Although it was a big room, it was still packed. Loyal officers like Wilchard were here, but so were half a dozen noblemen plus other court hangers-on, all of whom expected to have a say. Some were perched on the bed with the Prince; others had been found chairs; still others stood.
Belwynn looked over to Clarin, who was slouched against the wall, no longer attempting to feign his boredom at the interminable proceedings. As soon as it had become clear that their group of four would form the backbone of the party sent to retrieve the dagger, Herin had ridden off to recruit his friends Kaved and Moneva and to pick up any vital provisions from the town. The question was, who else would be dumped on them?
Belwynn forced herself to turn back to the conversation. Wulfgar, the High-Priest, seemed to have brought all of his brethren who had not been slaughtered that morning with him. The man’s colossal arrogance may have been dented on his arrival, but when he realized that his brother, Otha of Rystham, was in attendance as well, it had made a full recovery. The two men were trying to muscle in on the mission by turning it into some kind of religious pilgrimage. Edgar was dead set against their involvement. Yet he seemed to be supportive of another priest—the mystic named Elana—who was insisting that she come along.
Amongst the others present who were trying to get a word in edgeways was a nobleman named Farred. Belwynn had never met him before; he had apparently only recently inherited his father’s estate, which lay on the border with the Midder Steppe. It was through these estates that the robbers had passed on their way to the Temple. He and his friend Gyrmund had made a crucial intervention in the confrontation at the Temple. They seemed to be sure that the robbers would be heading south-east, giving them the option of slipping back into the Empire via Cordence or the Wilderness.
Farred had suggested that his peers on the border would have been alerted by now and raised their forces, whereas news of the invasion was unlikely to have reached the south. It was a longer route back to the Empire, but probably the safest for the Brasingians.
Otha of Rystham, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to such concerns, but very intent on pressing his brother’s claims for religious leadership on the issue.
‘What I do not understand, Your Highness, is why you seem to give so much credence to what this heretic says—’ Otha waved a hand in Elana’s direction—‘yet you would deny the Church of Toric any say in our plans to restore His Holy Dagger.’
Otha was living dangerously, almost accusing his prince of heresy. Belwynn could tell that Edgar was reaching the end of his tether, but he had to tread carefully; he could not be seen to support a convicted criminal over the Church of Toric. Otha was skilled and experienced in high politics, and he usually got what he wanted. He had almost caught the young Prince in his trap— so the interruption of the conversation by the arrival of Soren and Ealdnoth was an obvious disappointment.
Belwynn’s brother and Edgar’s court wizard had been interrogating the Brasingian prisoner who had been knocked from his horse by Brictwin. Many in the hall greeted their return with clumsily concealed distaste. Most people connected to Edgar’s household had, by now, come to terms with his patronage of wizards, but they still had difficulty with certain innovations they had ushered in. One of these was the use of their powers in questioning prisoners. Otha and his like favoured the traditional methods, which usually involved an assortment of sharp instruments and clamps, perhaps the use of fire, but always a lot of screaming and mess. The fact that Ealdnoth and Soren were able to get better results in less time, and with less unpleasantness, left them feeling dissatisfied, and even a little cheated.
‘Well?’ asked Edgar.
‘We have a name,’ answered Ealdnoth. ‘Their leader is called Gervase Salvinus.’
Ealdnoth was interrupted by a whistle from Clarin.
‘You know this man, Clarin?’ enquired the Prince.
‘Know him? Sure. Not really personal, you understand, but Herin and me fought under him a few years back now, and he was making a name for himself even then.’
‘Making himself a name as what?’
‘As a mercenary leader.’
Clarin began to regale the room with one of his war stories. It amused Belwynn to watch. No-one really wanted to hear it, but Clarin was such an intimidating figure that most people nodded along enthusiastically whenever his eyes met theirs.
Has anything been decided? asked Soren.
Not really. Wulfgar and Otha are still arguing with Edgar. It looks like we’re going to be bringing some bloody priests with us. Are you alright after dealing with that prisoner?
; Soren looked back to full health after the damage he had sustained from his fall from the window of Vincente’s house. He had recovered consciousness on the journey back to Magnia in the back of Kaved’s cart, though had remained groggy and weak the whole time. Belwynn hadn’t wanted him to use his magic again so soon afterwards. There had been many times when Soren had pushed the use of his powers too far and blacked out as a result. Most of the time it had fallen to Belwynn to look after him until he recovered. But it hadn’t happened for a long time now, since he had improved his mastery of his powers and understood his limits.
I’m fine, he said, no lasting effects. Ealdnoth did most of it anyway.
Ealdnoth had been Soren’s first tutor in wizard-craft, and they still had something of a father-son relationship. Belwynn could well imagine Ealdnoth taking charge, even though her brother had now surpassed him in power.
Soren turned his attention back to the Prince as the conversation in the centre of the hall began to come back to the matter in hand.
‘So who do you think he could be working for?’ Edgar was asking Clarin.
Clarin shrugged his shoulders. ‘It could be anyone—anyone with enough money, that is. Salvinus’s services won’t come cheap.’
‘Did the prisoner know who was paying?’ the Prince asked Ealdnoth.
The wizard shook his head. ‘He’s a new recruit; he doesn’t know anything about the operation. He seemed pretty sure that they were going to head back to the Empire, though.’
‘Right. I think we have wasted enough time already,’ said Edgar, rising from his seat on the bed to emphasise the point. ‘I’ve decided that Soren will lead the attempt to recover the dagger. Belwynn and Clarin are going with him, and hopefully Clarin’s brother Herin will be able to join up with them later with some extra help.’
Edgar paused, and then turned to face Wulfgar and Otha.
‘I have also decided that a representative from Toric’s community should accompany them, that He may bless the enterprise. Wulfgar, I give you the choice as to whom.’
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 6
