The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  The problem had become more sinister in the last year; Harbyrt had married his son to the daughter of Earl Sherlin of North Magnia, who held similar powers to Harbyrt. These men, who were supposed to be enemies, had developed a powerful alliance and were now strong enough to ignore their notional superiors. Harbyrt had sent no soldiers for Edgar's army, despite being one of the richest barons in the land. While men like Otha of Rystham might frustrate Edgar, Harbyrt the Fat had come close to rejecting his authority, and Edgar had long resolved to deal with him. With an army at his disposal, Edgar saw an opportunity to put Harbyrt in his place. He had sent Farred to Cerdda to explain the army's proximity to the border and gain his support for the plan. What Edgar didn't want was for the North Magnians to react aggressively to the move and set back the already-difficult relations he had with them. Since Farred was descended from Middian tribesmen, with no history of enmity with North Magnia, Edgar had chosen him to act as something of a neutral go-between.

  ‘How did they react?’ asked Edgar as they sat down to eat.

  Farred grinned. ‘Positively, Your Highness. However, Prince Cerdda did insist on changing your plans slightly.’

  Edgar raised his eyebrows, but allowed Farred to tell his story.

  ‘As you had hoped, Cerdda is equally as frustrated with Earl Sherlin as you are with Harbyrt. The alliance between the two has made Sherlin a rival power to Cerdda within the country—some men apparently give their loyalty to the Earl above the Prince. There are even rumours within North Magnia that the two magnates intend to formally unite their lands and declare themselves independent of both South and North Magnia, effectively creating a separate state.’

  ‘They wouldn't do that,’ interjected Wilchard. ‘They are in a perfect situation now. Subjects in theory, independent in practice. If they tried to go their own way, they would have to fight for what they already own.’

  Farred shrugged. ‘No doubt that is true, but arrogant men such as these soon tire of even the pretence of subordination. Either way, this is the background on which Cerdda reacted to my visit, and he was eager to join in the fun. As we speak, he is now raising his own army, and intends to enter the lands of Earl Sherlin whilst we move north to meet Harbyrt. He is using the presence of our army as his reason for the action. He intends to deal with Sherlin, and says he would be only too happy to offer any assistance with cutting Harbyrt the Fat down to size.’

  Edgar smiled. His plan seemed to be working. Ealdnoth, however, did not look so pleased.

  ‘Do we know that we can trust Cerdda?’ asked the wizard. ‘And even if his intentions are the same as ours, the presence of two armies, both of which are under the impression that they are there to fight each other, is asking for trouble. Events can soon spiral out of our control.’

  ‘I believe we can trust Cerdda.’ answered Farred. ‘One problem, however, might be his younger brother, Ashere. He seemed hostile to any agreement with South Magnia.’

  Edgar nodded. ‘By all accounts Ashere has never forgiven his brother for failing to attack me when I was at my most vulnerable, just after my father died. He may try to sabotage the plans; it would be all too easy to lead an attack on our troops and provoke a retaliation. However, I must trust that Cerdda can keep his brother in check. The opportunity we have here is too great to pass up. My magnates would never allow me to move against one of them: it would be an infringement on their power. This way, before they know it they will have taken part in a show of strength against Harbyrt the Fat that will weaken his position severely. If Cerdda does the same with Sherlin, we will have stopped a potential threat to my sovereignty in its tracks and improved relations with our neighbours. There are risks involved in this, but the potential benefits are worth it. I don't intend to spend the rest of my reign circumscribed by men like Harbyrt the Fat.’

  When Wilchard advised Edgar's generals that Cerdda was raising an army in North Magnia their support for the campaign was renewed, and the whole army began to prepare itself for battle. Edgar took the opportunity to visit with the mayor of Halsham, a landowner and trader named Oslac, at his impressive town-house. Oslac had recently been elected mayor by the council of Halsham for the third year running, and Edgar had worked with him in the past. Halsham was a proud town which resisted the influence of Harbyrt the Fat in its affairs, and Edgar had done his best in the past to give Oslac sufficient powers to continue this resistance. When the Prince confided to the mayor his plans for Harbyrt, Oslac was only too pleased to offer whatever help he could.

  Edgar's problem was that Prince Cerdda had asked for two days to raise a sufficient force to carry out their plan. Edgar's own nobility wanted to press on now, before the North Magnians could prepare for their arrival. In addition to this, Edgar did not want to arouse the suspicions of Harbyrt the Fat, who had not sent any message to his prince, despite Edgar's proximity to the northern border. As Marshal of the North, Harbyrt was expected to be a leader of any northern campaign, but so far he had not been involved in any way. Edgar wanted to keep it this way. It would be more difficult to suddenly turn on Harbyrt if the Marshal and his soldiers had been part of the royal army for a few days.

  Edgar had hoped that he would be able to march his army straight to the heartlands of Harbyrt's estate and punish him before anyone had realised what was happening, but while Cerdda's involvement might result in a more complete victory, it also complicated the picture. What Edgar needed to do was freeze time in South Magnia for a day or two, so that his troops and Harbyrt's stayed apart, while in North Magnia Cerdda got his own force together. He had decided that Oslac and his town residence might be able to help him do just that.

  10

  Under the Influence

  BELWYNN STOOD, EXHAUSTED, taking in the town of Vitugia. It was a small border-trading town, situated in Cordence but close to the Empire and the Midder Steppe. Goods bought and sold here might be sent north up the Great Road or taken south to the long Cordentine coast, where they could be transported by ship.

  Back in Cordence, then. It was a week now since their brief trip to Vincente’s town, and Vitugia had a similar feel to it. A few big houses for the rich, and lots of very poor ones. A rather mean-looking inn, where Herin was negotiating their accommodation. Although Magnia and Cordence shared a border, they were very different countries. Belwynn knew that history had played its part in this. Magnians were proud that they represented the only humans of Dalriya to have resisted the Persaleian Empire at its height. Cordence, on the other hand, and despite the distance between them, had been the most loyal of Persaleian provinces. Whereas the Brasingians had fought bitter wars to overthrow Persaleian rule, Cordence had never rebelled—just drifted into independence when it found itself geographically cut off from its mother. The Great Road still connected Cordence and Persala in a very real way, and the Cordentines were a nation of traders, always keen to get the best deal and get one over on their neighbours. Magnians, on the other hand, were a nation of farmers, and, to Belwynn’s mind, had more of a sense of community. That was why Magnian inns were friendly and welcoming, and Cordentine inns were mean and penny-pinching.

  Herin poked his head around the door and made a small signal with his forefinger that everyone could come in. Belwynn hobbled after him, eager to get inside The Grape and Goat and spend the night under a roof for the first time in days.

  It had been a long day, dragging Soren and Dirk through the undergrowth of the Wilderness, but they had not been troubled by the vossi, and eventually Gyrmund had led them out of the forest and into Cordence. Everyone's spirits were raised by leaving the place, especially Moneva's. She became positively gregarious, speaking in full sentences again, rather than the series of grunts and swear words she had deployed over the last few days. While Belwynn was glad to have left the Wilderness, she was not in the mood for chat, and it had fallen to Gyrmund to entertain Moneva, which he didn’t seem to object to.

  He had established that Gervase Salvinus and his mercenaries had passed this w
ay in order to connect with the Great Road, and by offering the chance of sleeping at an inn this night he had persuaded everyone to keep going at a fair pace. Dirk made a speedy recovery from what had seemed, yesterday, to be a fatal wound, and they had been able to discard one of the stretchers. Soren, however, remained unconscious, though sometimes he could be heard to mutter some incoherent speech out loud before returning to silence.

  Herin had organised rooms for everyone, and Belwynn was grateful that he had arranged for her to share with Soren. Elana came in to check on him before retiring to her own room, but the priestess seemed unable to help. Belwynn knew that Soren had exhausted his powers back in the Wilderness, and she knew, too, that her brother might not recover from the expenditure.

  Belwynn heard a knock on the door and realised that she must have fallen asleep. After checking on Soren, she opened the door to Moneva.

  ‘We've arranged for us all to have some supper,’ she said. ‘The landlord is putting it out now. No change?’ she enquired, nodding over to where Soren lay.

  Belwynn shook her head in response. Moneva waited as Belwynn splashed some water on her face to wake herself up. They had only known each other for a few days, but they already had the easy familiarity that comes with travelling together and sharing danger.

  Belwynn felt guilty for having gone to sleep and allowing everyone else to organise the food and accommodation. She went over to Soren and took the money which Prince Edgar had given them for their expenses from her brother's inside pocket. With Soren unconscious, she had to take charge of the situation. Edgar had entrusted the retrieval of the dagger to them, and so far they had failed him.

  Belwynn and Moneva went down to the main part of the inn and joined the others in a welcome hot meal. Belwynn immediately noticed that most of her companions had begun drinking, and they continued to do so throughout the meal. She could understand their desire to celebrate escaping with their lives. The inn was very busy with the arrival of the group of ten from the Wilderness, and the landlord apologised that he didn't have as much food available as he wished. The soup was watery, and the inn lived up to half of its name by providing goat as part of the main meal. It was stringy and tough to eat, and Belwynn haggled down the price of the nine meals because of it. The fact that Clarin, Herin, and the others all wore their weapons to the meal no doubt helped, and the landlord seemed very keen not to upset his guests. Belwynn was happy that he seemed to be a man who asked very few questions as long as he was paid promptly, which she made sure he was.

  The food and drink lifted the mood of the nine companions even further, and Belwynn was persuaded by Clarin to try some of the wines available. Everyone was keen to indulge themselves after the threats they had all faced in the Wilderness, and Belwynn was surprised to see Dirk knocking back his fair share of drink, especially so soon after his injury. Elana, too, seemed to want to make the effort to join in with the group, though she drank only a little watered-down wine and took it in turns with Belwynn to check on Soren. Soon Belwynn found herself laughing at the antics of Herin and Kaved despite herself, and also found herself warming to her new companions. Their time in the Wilderness had brought them closer together.

  After a while Herin and Kaved seemed eager to leave the inn to find amusement elsewhere. ‘When you get a close brush with death like that—’ Kaved seemed to be addressing everyone in the inn—‘you realise what's really important in life...and that's why I intend to couple with as many women as possible tonight.’

  ‘And my investigations this afternoon—’ if anything Herin was louder—‘established that Vitugia is not quite as dull as first meets the eye.’

  Belwynn realised that the two of them had spent their free time looking for prostitutes and had obviously struck lucky. ‘Why is it that after any crisis men find the need to sow their seeds? Believe me, if you two had perished in the Wilderness, mankind and... Krykkerkind... would have managed quite well without you.’

  ‘Perhaps someone's feeling a little bit jealous?’ leered Kaved.

  ‘No human woman is going to sleep with you, Kaved,’ Moneva joined in. ‘You should stick to your own species.’

  ‘I think they will,’ answered the Krykker, producing a few gold coins from his pockets and waving them at Moneva. ‘And I've found that one must take companionship wherever one finds it.’

  ‘Who else is coming?’ asked Herin. ‘Clarin?’

  Clarin glanced sideways at Belwynn, stared into his drink and shook his head.

  ‘Looks like he's got other plans for tonight,’ Kaved smirked.

  Belwynn felt her cheeks flush red with embarrassment and stood up sharply. The speed with which she got up made her feel dizzy and made her realise how much she had been drinking.

  ‘I'm going to check on Soren,’ she declared, and left the table without looking at anyone. As she made her way to her room she berated herself for going red, and berated Clarin for looking in her direction that way. She had known for a long time that Clarin was interested in her, but he didn't need to make it so obvious to everyone else. She was sure that he had slept with plenty of whores in the past and didn't see why he had to stop himself tonight on her account.

  Belwynn entered the room and went straight for the window, which she opened, and then gulped in some night air to cool herself down. She then went over to where Soren lay and took his hands in hers.

  Oh, Soren, hurry up and get better. I need you, Belwynn said.

  Belwynn.

  Belwynn heard her brother's reply, but there was no movement from Soren's body.

  Soren, are you awake? Soren!

  There was no reply this time, but Belwynn had heard her brother's voice, and to her that meant he was getting better. She lay next to him for a while in the hope he might wake, but he didn’t stir again.

  Belwynn knew that Soren wouldn’t have approved of the drinking downstairs. She remembered the fights he used to have with their father. Father would sit alone until late into the night, drinking and brooding. ‘There was nothing I could have done,’ he would always say, sometimes repeating the words over and over. Belwynn would agree with him. She hated that he blamed himself. He seemed to be asking for forgiveness from someone. From his children or from himself? From his dead wife? Soren would shout at him, and their father would shout back, calling Soren sinful and wicked for his dabbling in magic.

  ‘There was nothing I could have done,’ their father would say, until one night Soren shouted back, ‘I will become so powerful that I can stop it! I’ll be able to stop things like that ever happening again!’

  ‘Get out!’ her father had roared at him. Soren had gone and never come back.

  Belwynn returned downstairs to tell everyone that Soren had spoken to her. It was now a lot quieter after the departure of Herin and Kaved. Gyrmund and Moneva were talking to each other, slightly apart from the rest of the group. From the corner of her vision Belwynn saw Dirk stumbling over from the bar in their direction. As he approached them he sank down on his knees in front of the priestess.

  Dirk pulled up his shirt and showed Elana the scar where the vossi blade had punctured his body.

  ‘You have saved my life by a miracle of healing,’ he solemnly pronounced to the priestess. Despite being obviously under the influence of alcohol, Dirk was speaking quite clearly.

  ‘I didn't save your life, Dirk. It was Madria, Goddess of this land, who healed your wound.’

  Dirk nodded at this statement in acknowledgement, his head bent slightly forward, in deference to Elana, or Madria, or both. ‘Yes. Madria has blessed me in a way I have never felt before. By saving my life she has asked that I now devote it to her. This is why I have decided to renounce my allegiance to Toric and turn to the one true goddess. Elana, I submit my soul to Madria's keeping, and ask that I become your disciple.’

  ‘This is what Madria wishes,’ replied Elana. ‘Dirk of Magen, you shall be my first disciple.’

  Elana touched Dirk's forehead and then raised him to hi
s feet.

  Belwynn caught eyes with Clarin, who looked as surprised about the episode as she felt. She felt that something significant had just happened, and was reminded that Elana had led an attack on the Temple of Toric to get the dagger for herself.

  This softly-spoken priestess had an agenda all her own with regards to its recapture. Now she seemed to have converted a priest of Toric to her own cause.

  Belwynn resolved to keep an eye on the life-giving priestess of Madria.

  Belwynn's morning was filled with joy because, when she woke, Soren was already awake and sitting up in bed. He was still weak, but strong enough to resume the journey north. In fact, Soren looked in better shape than some of his companions that morning—many of whom were now paying for the excesses of the night before. Herin, Clarin and Kaved had spent the early hours of the morning finding ten suitable horses for the journey along the Great Road into the Empire. They had been forced to pay above the odds, but Belwynn and Soren were grateful for their efforts and only too happy to pay over a large portion of Edgar's money in order that they renew their chase of Salvinus' mercenaries on horseback. When Belwynn tried to express her thanks, however, her companions responded with a strange series of grunts, which was apparently the only form of communication they were capable of for the rest of the morning.

  Dirk, too, seemed to be suffering from a hangover, as he rode next to Elana with slit eyes and a pale, slightly grey complexion. Sometimes keeping the horse in the right direction would prove too much, and he would veer off the track into the grassy verge by the side before awkwardly returning to the group. The whole episode between them from the previous night seemed even stranger this morning, as if it had been a dream.

  Elana was involved in a running argument with Kaved. ‘Well, surely,’ the Krykker was saying, ‘if your great goddess ‘Madigar’ can heal up this man's wound—’ Kaved gestured in Dirk's direction—‘she can cure me of a bloody hangover!’