The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  It was only a few miles from Halsham to Harbyrt's castle at Granstow, the largest of half a dozen strongholds in the northern marches which were in his keeping.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time it came into view, however. Well-positioned on a hill overlooking the surrounding territory, Granstow was one of the largest border castles which had been built during the years of civil war. Nonetheless, it was designed to be effective rather than grand-looking. The regular garrison would only be about fifty strong, though that in itself was a considerable expense on food and wages. It could hold considerably more people when necessary. The central keep, perched high on an earth mound, was stone-built, but the rest of the fortifications were constructed from wood from the local area. It couldn’t hold out against a determined army forever, but that wasn’t the point. Granstow was part of a network of fortifications along the border to deter raiders from North Magnia. Should they be faced with a full-scale invasion, the garrisons’ job was to disrupt the enemy and hold out until relieved.

  Edgar decided to pitch his army’s camp a mile away from the castle. It left something of a no-man’s land between the two forces. The prince wanted Harbyrt to be the one to cross it.

  It was some time before a messenger from Harbyrt arrived. The messenger turned out to be Kenward, officially royal sheriff of the region, but in reality securely in Harbyrt's pocket. He was a man about the age Edgar’s father would have been: bushy, grey hair topping a large-featured, flat face that Edgar didn’t like very much. Kenward was taken to Edgar's tent to talk with the Prince.

  ‘Greetings, Your Highness,’ began Kenward, ‘we did not expect your visit, I am afraid, but arrangements have been made at the castle for your entourage to stay.’

  ‘You did not expect my visit, Kenward?’ enquired Edgar in a quiet voice, yet it's tone hinted of anger and contempt. ‘In time of war with the Northerners I would hope my marshal and sheriff would expect to be involved a little.’

  Kenward inclined his head at the prince's response but offered no apology. ‘Of course, both Marshal Harbyrt and myself have been busy, stockpiling and garrisoning our strongholds and raising our soldiers. I am merely explaining that we did not receive notice of your plans to march the army here...in fact, the last message we received was that Your Highness was gravely ill.’

  Edgar didn’t like the sheriff’s words, demeanour, or his tone of voice, and felt like smashing a gauntleted fist into his face, but he controlled his emotions. After all, this man wasn’t the target today. ‘Yes, well, I thank you for asking after my health, Sheriff. I am in fact fully recovered and feel no need to impose on Harbyrt at Granstow when I can spend the night here amongst my soldiers. I would, however, very much like to speak with Harbyrt regarding the forthcoming campaign, and would be grateful if you could fetch him for me.’

  ‘Of course, Your Highness,’ replied Kenward, doing his best to hide his discomfort. ‘Do you intend to strike at the enemy tomorrow, sire?’

  ‘You will understand, Kenward, if I keep my plans to myself and my trusted councillors for the time being. It would be a blow if they were to find their way into enemy hands.’

  ‘Of course, Your Highness,’ repeated the sheriff, before bowing and leaving the tent.

  Satisfied with his strategy, Edgar called a meeting of the Royal Council. The Council was a vague body of advisers to the Prince, selected by Edgar himself from those in attendance on him. Since many of the most powerful men in the kingdom were present with their retinues in the army, it was difficult for Edgar to keep the council manageable in size without putting people's noses out of joint. Thus, along with loyal supporters like Wilchard, Ealdnoth and Farred, this meeting also involved men whom Edgar had been obliged to invite. Otha of Rystham, probably Edgar's wealthiest vassal, was there along with his brother Wulfgar, High Priest of Toric. Aescmar, the bulk of whose lands were held by the Magnian coast in order that he co-ordinate the kingdom's naval defences, was also present. He was a man who kept himself to himself, happy not to interfere with Edgar's plans if Edgar did not interfere with his. He seemed to take his responsibilities seriously, though, and Edgar had no quarrel with him.

  Harbyrt took his time to get from his castle to the camp. No doubt his lack of haste was a reminder to his Prince that he would not be treated like a wayward lackey. The facts of the matter were, however, that the Marshal could offer little resistance to Edgar when he had the kingdom's army with him, and wasting time now just served to irritate his peers, who were also waiting for him to arrive before the Council started.

  When Harbyrt eventually did arrive with a small entourage, he was immediately taken to the royal tent. Edgar had ordered that no refreshments were to be offered beforehand in the hope that Harbyrt would arrive in a foul mood. The man was no fool, however, and when Leofwin and Brictwin stepped aside to let him manoeuvre his bulk inside, he immediately bowed to his Prince and clasped hands with the others present, as if nothing was amiss. Farred's face was the only one he did not recognise, and when introduced, he made a jest about Steppe tribesmen attending Royal Council in an obvious attempt to reduce the standing of someone he correctly guessed to be a royal loyalist. The dangers of councils, as Edgar and his father before him had found out, was the tendency of the nobility to stick together as a group in order to defend their own rights and privileges, and to see the prince as something of a threat to these.

  ‘I have called this meeting,’ began Edgar, ‘in order that we discuss our plans for the next phase of this campaign.’

  Wilchard, on cue, was the first to respond to this announcement. ‘First I feel I must speak my mind on some aspects of the campaign so far. It is my opinion that, in the grave situation in which we find ourselves, the support of Harbyrt as Marshal of the North has been totally inadequate.’

  ‘How dare you pass judgement on me?’ Harbyrt stared around the tent in incredulity, looking for support, his face and neck mottled with red blotches as his anger boiled over. ‘You're nothing but an upstart royal boot polisher, you piece of fungus!’ Harbyrt roared at the chief steward, spittle shooting in Wilchard's direction.

  Edgar surveyed the assembly. Normally, Harbyrt's bluster would have been enough to see off the attack from Wilchard. Wilchard was not from a great noble family, and many of those present did resent the power he wielded in the kingdom, whereas Harbyrt was one of them, and therefore should be defended at all costs. These were not normal times, however. This was time of war, and self-survival was of vital importance. Wilchard had shown himself to be an able commander; he was in charge of the army logistics and had made sure it was fed and well supplied. He had kept the peace in an army which seemed to have as many officers as soldiers with a mixture of discipline and diplomacy. Harbyrt, on the other hand, a man who was supposed to be a key leader in times of war, had not figured at all, and was resented for this. Edgar's Council, therefore, was not sure who to side with and looked to their Prince for a decision.

  ‘I think we should hear Wilchard out, Harbyrt, and then you may defend yourself.’

  Harbyrt looked around the tent again, but found that he had no overwhelming support as he had hoped. On all previous occasions when Edgar had tried to corner his marshal like this, Harbyrt had simply walked away, retreating to his northern power base and daring Edgar to do something about it—which, of course, he couldn't. Now, however, as much as he no doubt wanted to walk out, Edgar had an army with him. That changed the dynamics more than a little.

  Wilchard, then, was allowed to continue. ‘Four days ago Prince Edgar sent out orders that every magnate should raise his quota of troops because the kingdom's most precious treasure, the Dagger of Toric, had been stolen, and it was feared that an invasion would follow,’ began Wilchard slyly, making sure that he mentioned the dagger in order to get Wulfgar on side. ‘Since that time, we have heard nothing from Harbyrt, despite two further attempts at communication. We have all done our best to keep this army going, and when we approached the Magnian border the least I expec
ted was information on the situation in the borderlands and confirmation that your forces and strongholds were ready. I would have expected you to join up with the royal army long before now.’

  Wilchard's words were greeted with the odd murmur of approval from around the Council, but Harbyrt was ready with his comeback.

  ‘Your words display a totally unjustified lack of faith in me, steward. My soldiers have been working for days on preparing the kingdom's northern defences for sieges, a task which may prove to be vitally important. I have sent scouts across the border to keep an eye on enemy activity to make sure that the royal army could approach in complete safety. Why would I join up with you when we need a force here on the border, ready to react to the enemy should they make an incursion before the royal army approaches? While you have been camped out in Halsham, it is my forces who have been working tirelessly for the kingdom. I didn’t expect gratitude, but all I have found is accusation!’

  ‘Nobody is accusing you of anything less than total commitment to the kingdom, Harbyrt,’ began Otha of Rystham, slithering into the argument. ‘We are all grateful to have you working so tirelessly for us all. Perhaps all this really boils down to is the lack of...communication on your part, simply to reassure us that all was well in the north.’

  ‘Well, perhaps I could have spared some time to keep you better informed,’ Harbyrt conceded gruffly. ‘If you all feel that I have failed in that regard, please accept my apologies.’

  Otha had succeeded in taking the fire out of a confrontation which Edgar had hoped to stoke up. He was not going to let his chance slip away, however.

  ‘Apologies are all very well, Harbyrt, but I need to be totally confident that the administration of my northern provinces is being handled correctly. Your recent conduct has only added to feelings of unease which I already held. It is my opinion that authority in the northern marches needs to be re-organised.’

  ‘What do you mean, re-organised?’ barked Harbyrt, as the red blotches returned to ruin his complexion.

  ‘Since my father's time, responsibilities in the north have been shouldered by just one man. I think that after this campaign is over it will be the perfect opportunity for me to take a fresh look at arrangements here and share out some of this responsibility.’

  Harbyrt's temper boiled over again. ‘You can't get rid of me, Edgar. I have rights in this kingdom. My lands aren't yours to give away.’

  Edgar quickly responded before Otha of Rystham gave a sermon on the laws of the kingdom. ‘Harbyrt, I do not intend to take any of your own lands from you, and I still intend for you to be one of my leading magnates in the region. I simply require other leaders as well. Yesterday I was gravely ill, and that led me to think about what the consequences would be if you were to take ill in a similar way. If I had other lieutenants in the region, my peace of mind would be far greater. As for lands, a large proportion of those which you control are royal lands, given to you by virtue of your title as marshal. I intend to redistribute some of those...perhaps amongst some of your fellow councillors here.’

  That was the clincher. A number of Edgar's magnates had looked slightly unhappy about this public curtailment of Harbyrt the Fat's power, even though it was generally understood to be in the kingdom's interests, simply because, if he could do it to Harbyrt, what was to stop him from doing it to them? The possibility of some of the lands being shared out now meant that many in the room seemed to be on board with the idea of re-organising things in the north. Of course, they muttered to one another, you had to feel a bit for Harbyrt, but really he did have it coming, and it was in the interests of the kingdom. The kingdom had to be put first.

  Harbyrt was ordered to stay with the army. The Council agreed that the army's current position, just a few miles from the border, was basically sound. The camp was now tobe fortified with a ditch and wall of stakes.

  Edgar took personal control over Granstow Castle. Ealdnoth's suggestion that they should send a messenger to Cerdda of North Magnia was unanimously agreed with. After all, if they could get to the bottom of this conflict and end it without going to war, it really would be much better. Edgar knew that the thought of all those lucrative northern estates being pillaged by North Magnians had nothing whatsoever to do with this sudden desire for peace. A messenger was sent immediately, and Edgar's army entrenched its position while it waited for a reply.

  The South Magnian request for peace talks was answered promptly. Ten North Magnians, including Prince Cerdda himself, were making their way to the giant ash tree in Adingley, a well-known meeting place for the people of the area for generations, and now conveniently located near the Magnian border. Edgar decided that he too would travel there himself. As well as Leofwin and Brictwin, he chose as his companions Ealdnoth, as Chancellor; Farred, who had already met with Cerdda, though that meeting was always to be kept a secret; Wulfgar, as the leading prelate of the kingdom, and the high-ranking noblemen Otha of Rystham and Aescmar. Finally, Edgar thought it might be wise to take Harbyrt the Fat and Kenward his sheriff, just to make sure that no mischief was caused while he was away.

  Wilchard was left in charge of the army and Edgar's party made their way to the prearranged spot.

  Harbyrt seemed to have been struck dumb by the sudden turn of events he had experienced this day, but Edgar hoped that he wasn't plotting his revenge. It seemed that the Marshal had not yet heard about the arrest of Earl Sherlin in North Magnia, and Edgar had chosen not to mention it. If revenge was on his mind, he would soon find out that he no longer had the resources at his disposal to mount a challenge to Edgar's authority.

  They arrived at Adingley in good time and Edgar was relieved to see that Cerdda was already there with nine companions, waiting by the ash tree. While the hostilities between the two kingdoms had been a pretence, meetings such as these were always dangerous, since it was the perfect opportunity to isolate an enemy with a few followers and ambush them.

  Cerdda, however, had come in good faith. This was the first time that the two princes had met. Cerdda, unlike most Magnians, was dark-haired with amber-coloured skin. Edgar remembered his father telling him that all of Bradda’s three children had got their dark looks from their mother, Mette, whom Edric used to say was the most beautiful woman of her generation.

  The two clasped hands and introduced each other to their companions. Cerdda's brother Ashere had come as well. He was almost a mirror image of his older brother, except for his more youthful looks, and the fact that he smiled a lot less.

  Edgar suggested that the two of them talk alone for a while, leaving their followers to enjoy a few bottles of wine which Otha of Rystham had provided.

  ‘I see you've brought Harbyrt with you,’ began Cerdda once they were out of earshot.

  ‘Yes. I have reduced his power in the north, but he will still have a significant estate. I did not want to totally humiliate him and force him into a rebellion.’

  Cerdda pursed his lips. ‘Edgar...yesterday Ashere intercepted a letter which was intended to reach Earl Sherlin.’ Cerdda produced a piece of parchment from inside his tunic and handed it over to Edgar. ‘The bearer of the letter was captured: one of Harbyrt's men, named Torlin.’

  Edgar shrugged to indicate that he did not know the man.

  ‘Sherlin admitted to the conspiracy, admittedly under some duress.’

  Edgar scanned the few lines of scrawled writing.

  'Greetings, brother. The time may be at hand to bring our plans to fruition. The fox cub has fallen seriously ill. Prepare and wait for further news. Patience now may soon be rewarded.'

  Edgar had no doubt that he was the fox cub referred to, a choice of words which galled him. Harbyrt's seal was not on the letter, so there was no definite proof that it was his. It was quite possible that Cerdda's zealous brother, Ashere, had composed it himself. Edgar, however, had no doubts that Harbyrt and Sherlin had conspired along those lines, and he was quite prepared to use the letter as evidence.

  ‘Where is Sherlin now?
’ he asked the Prince of North Magnia.

  ‘Dead. He was executed this morning. The man was too dangerous to leave alive. It is difficult to say how many people in my kingdom were embroiled in his treacheries. Suffice to say that my enquiries have suggested more names than I had expected.’

  Cerdda spoke with some bitterness, for which Edgar did not blame him. ‘You had no choice, Cerdda, and from this letter it seems that I have none either. Know that you have my support should anyone try to avenge Sherlin's death.’

  Cerdda nodded in thanks. ‘I do not pretend that I have received no positives from these events—an important one being your friendship, Edgar. I had a grin on my face for hours after Farred left. I have enjoyed our little intrigue. Your father was always honourable towards me, and you have been, too. Magnia has spent a generation embroiled in internal jealousies...it is high time we took steps to retrieve our standing in Dalriya.’

  Edgar smiled. ‘Your feelings match with my own, Cerdda. On the subject of Dalriya, Farred told you of the theft of Toric's Dagger?’

  Cerdda nodded gravely. ‘He did. Is there any more news?’

  Edgar shrugged. ‘I sent a group to follow the Brasingian robbers. At the least I hope they will be able to tell me where it is and who has it. I have heard nothing so far, however.’

  Cerdda gestured towards Ealdnoth. ‘Is that man your wizard?’

  Edgar nodded. He knew that Cerdda did not have a wizard himself; many rulers of Dalriya considered them to be a dangerous, untrustworthy sect, and had anyone who possessed such skills killed. ‘He is one of my most trusted advisers, Cerdda. And very useful. You should get yourself one.’