The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  Herin and the others had caught up and heard the last half of Gyrmund’s message, but there was no time for questions as he turned back and headed north-west at running pace.

  Belwynn let out a whimper as she forced herself to start running again. Clarin must have overheard, as he gripped her under the arm and ran next to her, taking some of the weight off her ankle. ‘I’m in the wars too,’ he confided, and nodded down at his right leg, where a vossi dart was protruding from his thigh.

  Belwynn would have asked after his injury, but she no longer had the breath for speech. Gyrmund’s route was now leading them into the chasing vossi, who were already dispatching their missiles at him. Soren’s magic was working, however, as the missiles which came into contact with his invisible barrier bounced off it. Belwynn knew how much concentration and effort was required to keep the barrier effective and was relieved to see that Moneva had guessed as much and was leading her brother through the maze of trees and other obstacles.

  Gyrmund reached the waiting vossi, and he and Rabigar began slicing into the creatures. The vossi were unable to break through the barrier, but they seemed quite able to send their weapons the other way. When Kaved moved up and joined in with the free hacking, the uneven nature of the contest forced the vossi to retreat out of the way, and Gyrmund was able to lead them on.

  Belwynn sighed with relief as they were able to begin moving again. They were now surrounded by the vossi on every side, pressing in on them, trying to find a weakness in Soren’s defences. She could see their faces quite clearly, painted with red dye, all scarred brown skin and dark eyes staring at her. They were sending killing blows straight for her, and only Soren’s magic was stopping them from connecting. She felt panic rise within her and looked over at her brother, knowing that soon his powers would fade and they would be doomed, chopped to pieces here in the middle of this horrible forest. She wanted to communicate with him and ask how long he could carry on, but knew that it would just be a distraction for him.

  When would they get to this damned bridge? The only thing keeping Belwynn sane was Clarin’s tight grip on her, guiding her along and lending her his strength and confidence.

  Then, suddenly, they were upon the bridge. It was a rickety looking thing, made of rope and wood, and Belwynn seriously wondered whether it was safe to cross. She did not for a moment, however, think of not attempting it—such was her desperation to leave their pursuers behind. Some of the vossi tried to prevent their passage, but Herin moved forward to attack along with the two Krykkers, and they were soon dispersed. The vossi were now totally disorganised—their quarry had turned back in on them and they had lost their shape, along with a number of their warriors. They continued to scream at each other, but none of them seemed able to take charge of the situation.

  Meanwhile, Gyrmund began to lead the party across the river. Elana balked at stepping onto the bridge and stared down at the fast-moving current of the river below. Dirk, however, grabbed her by the wrists with a look of wild panic on his face and dragged her onto the structure. Clarin shoved Belwynn forward behind the priestess as he and his brother brought up the rear.

  By the time Belwynn reached the other side of the bridge, Kaved and Rabigar were already cutting the rope and chopping the planks of wood which kept the bridge secured to their side of the riverbank. She leapt off the end of the bridge without looking back and ran to where the others had taken cover behind a copse of trees a few yards away.

  The vossi were still shooting at them across the river, and Soren maintained his spell, the strain evident on his face. Belwynn peeked through the trees to see the two brothers and the two Krykkers sprinting away from the riverside in their direction. The bridge which had saved their lives was now floating on top of the water, and on the other side of the river the vossi screamed in frustration as those who had tried to follow the group across the bridge pulled themselves out of the water.

  Belwynn pulled back and, letting out a sigh of relief, leaned over to speak to her twin. ‘You can stop now Soren. We’re safe.’

  8

  The Stand

  As the group stopped to catch their breath and their bearings, Elana began to tend to the injured parties. She slid the dart out from Clarin’s thigh and inspected the wound.

  ‘It’s poisoned,’ she informed the warrior matter-of-factly.

  Clarin frowned, the closest he came to showing any signs of concern. ‘Will it be alright?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the priestess confidently, and forced a finger into the hole made by the dart, wiggling it around inside. She then held her hand over the wound for some time, letting her healing powers flow into Clarin’s leg.

  ‘I wish I’d been hit by a dart,’ leered Herin, leaning over to inspect Elana’s handiwork.

  ‘And not in the leg, either,’ joined in Kaved.

  Belwynn couldn’t appreciate their banter so soon after their near-death experience. Her body was still shaking uncontrollably, and she just hoped that no-one else would notice.

  Elana left Herin to bandage up his brother’s thigh and walked over to where Belwynn was sitting next to Soren.

  She distrusted the priestess. Soren was tired after his exertions, but he would recover, and Belwynn knew best how to look after him. After all, she had been looking after him since before she could remember. It wouldn’t hurt to have Elana look at her own ankle, however, and she would be able to examine the priestess’s claims of healing powers at the same time.

  ‘Soren is fine,’ Belwynn informed her, ‘he just needs to rest.’

  Elana nodded in acceptance. ‘Shall I take a look at your ankle, then? I noticed you hobbling.’

  ‘Yes, please, Elana.’

  The priestess knelt down in front of Belwynn and took hold of her left foot, resting it in her lap. The ankle was throbbing. Belwynn doubted whether she would be able to walk on it for some time, and feared holding back the rest of the group.

  Elana began to massage the ankle. At first, Belwynn had to grit her teeth in pain, but gradually she felt her muscles relaxing and the ankle becoming more flexible. As Elana’s hands pressed into the ankle, she could feel a sensation of warmth entering into ligament and muscle, restoring the damaged tissue. When she was satisfied that her work was done, Elana bandaged up the ankle, giving it support without putting too much pressure on the injury.

  Belwynn had to admit, to herself, that the priestess had done a good job.

  ‘Are you able to walk?’ asked Gyrmund, putting the question to Soren and Belwynn.

  ‘They need to rest,’ Elana answered for them.

  ‘We’ve got to move,’ he replied. ‘Those vossi are of the red-face tribe. It wouldn’t surprise me if they have made some kind of deal with Salvinus—and even if they haven’t, they’ll still be after us, and they know exactly where we are. We’ve got to put some distance in now or it will be too late.’

  Belwynn was well aware of the situation they were in. ‘I can walk,’ she said. She looked over at her brother, who gave her a nod, apparently too tired to speak. ‘Soren can, too, but he’ll need some help.’

  Help was forthcoming, as Clarin and Herin put Soren’s arms over their shoulders and grabbed him around the waist. He barely had to carry any of his own weight—just concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Gyrmund and Rabigar led the party off, while Kaved guarded the rear. Belwynn stayed close to her brother, anxious for him, yet relieved that both of them were now able to keep up with the hard pace that was being set.

  Gyrmund tried to put as much distance between the group and the broken bridge as possible, but it wasn’t long before the vossi reappeared. They were moving in small clusters of two or three, spreading out across the Wilderness, renewing their hunt. One call would soon bring the red-face tribe back on their trail. Whenever Gyrmund heard them approaching—for it always seemed to be Gyrmund who heard them first—he directed everyone to the nearest hiding place to the side of the track. He would then slither off to investi
gate and return when the vossi had moved on.

  As time went by, the vossi came more and more regularly, halting the group’s progress. Gyrmund began to leave the others in a secure place for a few minutes while he scouted the area up ahead.

  On one such occasion, while Belwynn was taking the opportunity to make Soren and herself eat something, Herin spotted a group of three vossi heading their way. A whispered warning spread through the group and swords and knives were drawn in anticipation of conflict. The three vossi were threading their way through the thick foliage of the forest, apparently talking to each other in their high-pitched language. It looked like they had found their tracks.

  The vossi continued to move towards them. Herin and the others were confident enough of dealing with them should the group be spotted, but the real danger was that the calls of these three scouts would bring the whole red-face tribe down on them again. Herin began swearing at the absent Gyrmund, but he was not going to save them from this situation.

  Moneva interrupted the warrior’s list of hissed expletives. ‘We’re going to have to deal with them before they spot us.’

  Herin seemed to be musing over their options, but eventually nodded his agreement.

  ‘The rest of you stay here for the time being. Moneva, you swing round to their right and I’ll take the left.’

  Herin drew his seax and began crawling off in the direction of the vossi. Moneva reached down to her right calf where she had a knife of her own attached to her leather trousers. As she unsheathed it, Belwynn noticed it was an unusually thin weapon which ended in an extremely sharp point.

  Herin and Moneva soon slid out of sight. As Belwynn concentrated on their movements, she noted that neither was quite as quiet or mobile as Gyrmund in these conditions.

  As the seconds went by, Belwynn and the others found themselves straining their eyes and ears, trying to fathom out where the two of them were. The three vossi continued to make their way towards them in a roundabout direction, and Belwynn almost found herself feeling sorry for the enemy that had almost scared her witless earlier in the day, knowing that they were totally oblivious to the fact that two trained killers were at this very minute stalking them in the undergrowth.

  It happened so suddenly that Belwynn almost shouted out loud with shock. As the vossi continued to make their search of the area, two black blurs of movement erupted upwards from the undergrowth on either side and darted towards them. Moneva attacked a split second before Herin did. From Belwynn’s point of view, it looked as if she didn’t even make contact with her first victim. Before the corpse began to tumble to the floor, she reversed the swing of her first strike and drove the sharp point of the blade into the throat of the second vossi, who had not been able to react to the speed of the attack. Herin, meanwhile, had approached from the opposite angle and grabbed the mouth of the third vossi from behind, ensuring that no noises escaped from his victim as he deliberately and carefully slit its throat. As the bodies of the vossi fell to the ground, so too did those of the killers. Within a matter of seconds, it was over, and the forest returned to peace, as if the deadly spectacle had never happened, but had been some figment of Belwynn’s imagination.

  It was some time before Gyrmund returned, and his extended absences always worried Belwynn, knowing as she did that it would be much easier for him to slip away alone than with nine other people. Thoughts of escape seemed to be far from his mind, however. ‘I’ve found the trail,’ he whispered, perhaps by way of explaining his long absence.

  Belwynn had pushed Salvinus to the back of her mind since the flight from the vossi, almost giving up on them rediscovering the trail. Gyrmund, on the other hand, had obviously kept his mind firmly on his quarry, leading them all not only away from the chasing vossi but back towards the Brasingians. Belwynn noted that surprise registered across the faces of many of the others, an involuntary admission that, like her, they had little idea of which part of the Wilderness they were in now, and were reliant on his expertise.

  Herin, on the other hand, was not the kind of person to admit such a weakness. ‘How far behind are we now?’, he demanded.

  If Gyrmund detected any hostility in Herin’s voice, he chose to ignore it. ‘We’re about four hours behind.’ He paused for a moment. ‘If we want to follow them we’re going to lay ourselves open to the vossi again. I’m sure that they know that we’re after Salvinus and they’re taking special care to look in this area.’

  Although spoken as a statement, Gyrmund was really asking them a question: were they prepared to risk the vossi again in order to catch up with the Brasingians?

  Belwynn wasn’t sure if she was prepared to risk the vossi again, and turned to look at her brother.

  Soren stared straight ahead. ‘Take us to the trail, Gyrmund.’

  As Gyrmund once again led the group through the forest, their spirits began to rise. Belwynn was no exception and was sure that, like her, the others felt glad to have regained a measure of control over the situation they were in. They were no longer simply running away from the vossi but were taking steps to recover the ground they had lost.

  The person they had to thank was a rather enigmatic man. He had joined the group almost as an afterthought, but was now one of its most important members. The challenge of catching up with Salvinus seemed to have evolved into something of a personal test of Gyrmund's abilities, and he accepted the addition of the vossi into the melting pot with grim fortitude.

  Belwynn moved up to the front of the line, where Gyrmund was keeping the group some feet away from the main track in an effort to hide them from the vossi scouts. "How are we doing?" she enquired.

  Belwynn studied Gyrmund's face as his eyes glanced towards her to acknowledge the question and then quickly returned to the forest scene, looking to the side, up in the trees and then ahead as he tried to make out forms in the shadows of a rocky outcrop. The man was in a constant state of vigilance, but it wasn't a strained or worried state; it seemed to be his natural way of doing things.

  His eyes returned to Belwynn's. ‘Not too bad.’ He smiled grimly. ‘It seems as though I underestimated this Salvinus. He's managed to stay pretty much the same distance ahead of me since we left Bidcote.’

  Bidcote, thought Belwynn. It seemed like an age since they had parted company with Edgar, but it had only been two days. ‘Why did you decide to come with us, Gyrmund? Did Farred ask you to?’

  ‘No. I make my own decisions. Farred is just a friend of mine.’

  ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘We grew up together.’

  ‘So, why did you decide to go on this expedition?’ Belwynn persisted.

  ‘Toric's balls, you like your questions, don't you?’ Gyrmund admonished with a frown. He shrugged. ‘I'm the best tracker around. I was the best person for the job, and the way things turned out, you wouldn't have had a chance without me.’

  Belwynn decided to let his arrogance pass, given that what he had said seemed to be the truth. ‘But you knew more than everyone how dangerous it would be. It's hardly worth the risk of a bit of coinage or favour from Edgar to you.’

  Gyrmund looked at her, as if it was for the first time. ‘I’m not interested in Edgar’s favour. As for the risk—look, you may be a cousin of Edgar's, but that doesn't mean that you, a woman, have to go charging into the Wilderness after twenty-odd soldiers, does it? The risk is why most of us are here, and why we decided to keep up the chase with the Brasingians. To test ourselves. If we just cared about the money, I’m sure there are easier and safer ways to earn it.’

  There was something in Gyrmund's words that disappointed her, though they were perhaps true enough. As they waited to get moving again, Belwynn thought about it, looking around at her companions. The risk, the challenge, the adventure. This was why Gyrmund was here, why Herin was here, even why Clarin and no doubt most of the others were, too. There were far easier and less life-threatening ways to earn money for people with their skill set than this chase through the Wilder
ness, that was for sure. Herin and Clarin could be highly rewarded by any number of ambitious noblemen or wealthy merchants for doing very little from one week to the next but drink their host's wine and abuse his servants. Instead, they chose to put themselves in danger, to test themselves and hone their skills.

  For Soren and herself, though, the danger had never been the attraction. It was the chance to put things right in a world where most things seemed to be wrong. Toric’s Dagger didn’t mean that much to her personally. But it was a symbol to their people, an ancient relic, which had been plundered by a bunch of mercenaries. It hadn't been stolen on a whim, either; it had been taken in a carefully-conceived operation. The whole business felt threatening, even sinister.

  Maybe she was just naive. Maybe right and wrong didn’t come into it that much. And then there had been the attempted robbery of Vincente a few days ago. Sure, he probably wasn’t a very nice man. Yes, they needed the money. Badly. But since when had her brother use his powers simply to rob people? It seemed like, without her noticing, they had got a bit lost; aimless. Belwynn was beginning to think she had had enough of putting herself in these situations.

  Gyrmund made a flapping motion with his hand, trying to get everyone to crouch down in the undergrowth, but it was already too late. To their left, on the other side of the track they were following, he had spotted a couple of vossi. Unfortunately, the vossi had spotted them as well. Hardly surprising, thought Belwynn, with all ten of them trudging through the forest. At first the two vossi looked shocked and a little afraid at coming upon the enemy, but soon began screaming their find so that the noise carried through the Wilderness.

  Gyrmund swore under his breath. He replaced his bow over his left shoulder, which he had presumably unfastened in order to silence their discoverers. Sure enough, the calls of the two vossi were being answered by the others of their tribe, and the forest around them erupted into high-pitched noise, which seemed to Belwynn to come from all directions.