Cerdda smiled. ‘Maybe.’
‘Well...perhaps we should join the rest of them...we have agreed to peace, haven't we?’
Cerdda grinned. ‘I suppose so. I must admit, however, that the first war of my reign has not been quite how I imagined it would be.’
‘Mmm... you expected more fighting, perhaps?’
‘A bit more, yes.’
The two princes strolled over to their followers and announced that peace had indeed been agreed. Both sides showed genuine relief and felt able to relax into some more unrestrained drinking.
Edgar took an opportunity to pull Otha of Rystham to one side.
‘What do you make of the peace, Otha?’
‘Good news, of course. It would appear that the North Magnians were not involved in the theft of Toric’s Dagger, then?’ enquired the magnate pointedly. Otha wasn’t stupid. No doubt he had suspicions about the game Edgar had been playing. But Edgar was still one step ahead.
‘Not entirely. We may never know, but it is quite possible that Earl Sherlin of North Magnia was involved.’
‘Sherlin? Really?’
‘Yes. I'm sure it won't have escaped your attention, Otha, that Harbyrt and Sherlin have grown close recently.’
‘Well...Harbyrt's son married Sherlin's daughter...’
‘Without my permission. I have long had suspicions, Otha, and it seems that Prince Cerdda has, too. Sherlin was executed this morning.’
‘What!?’ gasped Otha.
Edgar put a finger to his lips. ‘For treason,’ he murmured. Now Edgar produced the piece of parchment from his tunic. ‘This was picked up by the North Magnians, apparently in the possession of one of Harbyrt's men, on the way to be delivered to Sherlin.’
Otha perused the document. His expression was grim. ‘There's no evidence that Harbyrt issued this.’ The words were Otha's, but they lacked his usual conviction.
‘No conclusive evidence, perhaps. I cannot claim to be surprised by its contents, however. Harbyrt has shown a total absence of loyalty since I came to the throne. I cannot tolerate the situation any longer. I need your support, Otha. Emotions will run high if I execute my own marshal. I need you and Wulfgar to publicly support my decision, and, united, we can stifle any opposition.’
Otha looked as if he were in physical pain. ‘This is a difficult situation, Edgar. We cannot legally deprive Harbyrt of life or land without a fair trial. I cannot be seen to endorse the denial of a lord his rights.’
‘He cannot be allowed to live, Otha. As for his lands, however, there is no evidence of his son's participation in the plot, and I intend to let him inherit his father's estate when he comes of age. In the meantime, the estate must be administered on his behalf, and I see you as the perfect choice for this. You can fill the vacuum of power in the north caused by Harbyrt's removal and lend some stability to the region. What do you say?’
Otha was being offered a fortune. For the next few years he would have control of the resources, revenues and men from Harbyrt's lands. With this addition to the lands he already held, it would make him unquestionably the greatest noble of Magnia.
Otha looked over to where Harbyrt was standing uncomfortably with Kenward, the sheriff. ‘He has to go. I will support you, Edgar.’
Edgar had judged correctly. Harbyrt's fate was now sealed. He was just about to offer Otha his thanks when the sound of a horse riding at full gallop caught his attention.
It was a single rider, who pulled up by the ash tree where everyone was congregating. Edgar and Otha walked over to see what was happening.
The rider jumped off his horse and bowed to Cerdda. ‘Your Highness, I bring news from the north. Her Royal Highness your mother instructed that I should find you and relay it immediately.’
‘Of course. You can tell us all unless it is of a private nature.’
‘My lords, there are early reports of an invasion of Persala by King Arioc of Haskany. It took place yesterday and it would appear that the capital, Baserno, has fallen to him.’
There were gasps all round and Cerdda let out a whistle. ‘If Baserno has fallen then the whole kingdom may be lost. What of Mark?’
‘It is unclear whether the king is dead or alive, captured or escaped. I believe there have been conflicting reports.’
Edgar felt like he was in shock. Persala was the great founding state of mankind; history had begun with its rise to greatness. Magnians defined themselves in relation to Persala, being the only people of Dalriya to successfully resist the Empire at its height. In more recent times, Persala had lost its dominance to Brasingia, and was not even the strongest power in the north any more, as province after province had been torn away. But for it to be conquered in one day? It was difficult to come to terms with.
Cerdda caught Edgar's eye and interrupted his thinking.
‘Well, my friend, it looks like we may have a busy time ahead of us.’
Edgar could only nod in agreement.
13
The Boar Strikes
‘TWO THALERS PER ARROW!’ exclaimed Gyrmund, genuinely shocked at the charge.
The fletcher, on the other hand, maintained his disturbingly cool composure and smiled back. Gyrmund was sure that he could even detect a hint of pity in the man's face. He turned around to Moneva for support, but his companion did not seem particularly interested in the price of arrows.
‘Seventy-five marks for forty,’ stated Gyrmund, in a voice that suggested he would not take no for an answer.
The fletcher let out a puff of air and then screwed up his nose as he considered the offer. Eventually, he nodded his consent, and Gyrmund left the man having spent twice as much as he had planned.
‘This is ridiculous!’ began Gyrmund as he and Moneva made their way back to The Boot and Saddle. ‘Duke Emeric's army seems to be swallowing everything up. Arrows I can just about understand, but how much did we have to pay out for a bit of bread and cheese?’ Gyrmund could feel himself getting hot.
‘What's the matter with you, Gyrmund? I haven't seen you get this stressed before, and I think we've been through some worse experiences recently than getting overcharged! There's nothing we can do about it, so just forget it.’
‘Well, it's this city. There's too many people milling around. I'll be glad when we get out of here.’
Moneva laughed. Gyrmund couldn’t remember hearing her laugh before.
‘What's so funny?’
‘We're like chalk and cheese, you and I. I spent three miserable days in the Wilderness, sleeping on the forest floor, being permanently uncomfortable, getting chased by those creatures, seeing nothing but trees all day...while you seemed to be having a great time. Now, I’m back in Coldeberg, looking at the stores, looking at all the people and what they're up to, enjoying a bit of city life, and you're moaning about it and can't wait to leave!’
Gyrmund smiled. ‘I didn't realise you had such a bad time back there.’
The conversation paused as they briefly separated to either side of the road to allow a horse and cart to pass by.
‘So, you've been to Coldeberg before?’
‘Yes. I spent some time here a few years ago. How about you?’
‘I've passed through a few times.’
Moneva laughed again. Gyrmund didn't think he was being particularly funny and decided that Moneva must be genuinely happy to be here. ‘So, you've got fond memories? What did you do here?’
‘I worked for a merchant who was based here; in fact, he probably still is. He had interests all over the Empire and in Guivergne, so I travelled about a bit.’
What did you do?’
Moneva sighed. ‘Well, I spied on his rivals, I spied on his business partners. I sabotaged his rivals' plans, I sabotaged his partners’ plans. It was good money, but in the end it got a bit boring. A bit too easy. In the end I was charging so much for the tiniest little things that even he decided I was too expensive.’
‘So why did you take up this little assignment?’ asked Gyrmund.
‘Well, there's the money, of course. But really, I thought it would be interesting. I suppose I can’t complain on that score.’
‘Good answer,’ said Gyrmund approvingly.
Moneva raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
‘So, how long have you known Herin?’
‘Why do you ask?’
Gyrmund shrugged. ‘Just asking.’
‘I met Herin and Clarin while I was working here, as a matter of fact. They were fighting as mercenaries for Emeric in his war with the Black Horse tribe. He already had a sizeable army back then and the merchant I was working for managed to squeeze a tidy profit out of the whole affair. Herin and I made sure we did alright as well; the army structure was totally disorganised, and so it was quite easy for him to get his hands on provisions, which I could sell on. Since then I've bumped into them a couple of times. Last time was when I was working in Cordence. For another greedy merchant, as it happens. I’m wondering now whether I wish I hadn’t bumped into them again.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. I wasn't quite expecting things to turn out as they have.’
Gyrmund and Moneva fell silent. They rounded a corner and found themselves back at the Boot and Saddle.
‘Pretty quiet,’ commented Moneva as they walked in.
Gyrmund looked around. There were no customers in the bar area and even the owner, Bernard Hat, was absent.
‘Well, I'm going to put this food away and see if Rabigar is about. I expect they’ve booked rooms upstairs.’
Moneva nodded. ‘I hope so; a bit of rest would do me the world of good. Be careful, though. It’s eerily quiet around here.’
Gyrmund made his way behind the bar and into the kitchen at the back. There was no sign of any staff here, either. What was more, the room had been left in a mess, pots unwashed and food lying about. He looked around for somewhere to store the provisions he had bought. He heard footsteps behind him and turned, half expecting that Moneva had come to look for herself.
She hadn’t.
Three soldiers had followed him around the bar and into the kitchen, weapons drawn. Gyrmund dropped his stuff and grabbed his sword. He made a move for the exit at the back of the kitchen. But as he approached the door, it burst open from outside, and three more soldiers entered the kitchen, trapping him.
‘Drop it!’ shouted one of them at Gyrmund, but he was not eager to part with his weapon so easily. He looked around the room: there was a window, but he had no chance of escaping through it in time. He was caught between the two groups of soldiers, and six blades were pointing towards him. They were all dressed in the uniform of Barissian soldiers.
‘You are under arrest by royal order,’ explained the man at the front of the first group. ‘If you do not drop your weapon we will take you by force. I advise you not to take that option.’
The man spoke with confidence, and Gyrmund realised that he was in a no-win situation. It was better to submit to the soldiers than die pointlessly in the kitchen of this inn. If they wanted him dead, he would be. Gyrmund knew that Herin, Soren and the rest were now his best hope of staying alive. He dropped his sword and allowed the soldiers to take him.
Once his sword clattered to the floor the soldiers pounced, beating him to the floor and pulling his hands behind his back so that they could tie them together with rope.
‘It would have been better for you if you'd died with some honour here,’ whispered one of his assailants in his ear, and Gyrmund felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He berated himself for walking into a trap, for entering this damned city in the first place.
He thought of Moneva, which made him feel even worse. If it was better for Gyrmund to die now, then it was doubly true for her. He had no illusions about the standard treatment of female prisoners by soldiers in this part of the world.
Gyrmund was led out into the rear courtyard of the inn, where he was surprised to see another two dozen soldiers waiting. It was obvious that these soldiers had been lying in wait for them to arrive. His captors shoved him in front of the man who must be their leader. He wore no distinctive clothing but he was sat astride a powerful looking warhorse, emanating a sense of authority over the proceedings. Gyrmund noticed a scar running down the left side of his face, from ear to chin.
‘Here's the man, General Salvinus,’ said Gyrmund's captor with pride.
Salvinus? Gyrmund could hardly believe that the man they had been chasing was now sitting opposite him. His look of surprise was picked up by the rider, who smiled maliciously at him.
‘Go and help them get the woman, then,’ Salvinus shouted at his officer, and the men quickly hurried back to the inn. ‘And be quiet! More of them could be coming at any minute!’
Salvinus turned his attention back to Gyrmund.
‘You recognise my name, then?’ he grinned.
Before Gyrmund had time to reply Salvinus had kicked out at him, his boot smashing into Gyrmund's chin and sending him crashing to the floor. Gyrmund landed badly on his back because of his tied hands, pain shooting up and down his spine. He turned back to his attacker, who was sliding off his horse to the cheers of his soldiers. He turned around at his men with a look of anger and put a gloved finger to his moustache, silencing the noise immediately.
Salvinus moved over to Gyrmund and crouched down next to him, so that they could talk quietly.
‘So, you're the one who managed to track me through the Wilderness, eh?’
‘Yes. You make it sound more difficult than it was, though.’
Salvinus smiled and produced a knife, which he proceeded to push against Gyrmund's throat, drawing blood.
‘Do you have the dagger?’
Gyrmund looked up blankly, not comprehending the question. Surely Salvinus had the dagger—wasn’t that the whole point? The question reminded him, though, of the sorcerer Nexodore, who had demanded the dagger from them on the Great Road. Something wasn’t right, but he was at a loss to know what.
Gyrmund could see Salvinus's eyes studying his reaction, and he brought the knife away from Gyrmund with a look of half-hearted disappointment, as if he had been expecting Gyrmund would be unable to help.
Salvinus was interrupted by the return of his soldiers. Gyrmund turned around to look for Moneva but she wasn't with them. About a dozen soldiers were now reporting back to him, and he felt foolish for not noticing their presence in the inn. Hopefully Moneva had.
‘What's the matter?’
‘She's not there, general,’ Salvinus was informed.
‘What do you mean? I saw her go in with my own eyes, you idiot.’
Salvinus turned back to Gyrmund and replaced the knife at his throat. ‘Where is she? I'll slit you open if you don't tell me. King Emeric wants you alive, but if you put up a struggle...what can I do?’
‘I don't know where she went...we split up when we got inside.’ Gyrmund felt some shame for blurting it out, but the man already knew that Moneva had gone inside the inn.
Salvinus waited a moment and then withdrew the knife a second time. ‘I'm bored of talking to you,’ he told Gyrmund. ‘Curtis, search him, mount him up, and take him to the castle. We'll teach these foreign bastards not to interfere with the Kingdom of Barissia.’
Curtis stepped forwards and lifted Gyrmund onto a horse, shifting him around until he could sit upright. Salvinus, meanwhile, had returned his attention to the search for Moneva.
‘I'm going in there myself and you lot are coming with me. She went in, she hasn't come out, so she's still bloody in there!’ He turned round one last time to look at Gyrmund. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Just to get you in the mood for your stay in the castle dungeons, you should take a look at the landlord of this inn. When I arrived he decided that he would rather take sides with you than help me carry out the king's business. I loosened his tongue eventually, but I was still not satisfied with his loyalty.’
Curtis grabbed Gyrmund's reins and led him out of the yard entrance, escorted by three more soldiers.
Ther
e the Barissians had erected a stake, and when Gyrmund took a look, he saw that placed on top of it was the decapitated head of Bernard Hat, still adorned with his green beret.
Belwynn had been enjoying her afternoon in Coldeberg. Clarin was easy company and she began to relax after the stresses and strains of recent days. As far as information gathering had gone, they had achieved little except to find that the name Gervase Salvinus was familiar to many in the city: he had been chosen by Emeric as the general of the army which was being raised in Barissia. While people in the city were overwhelmingly loyal to their new king, there did not seem to be much genuine enthusiasm for war. Like Belwynn herself, the citizens of Coldeberg did not seem to fully understand why Emeric had chosen to declare his duchy independent of the Empire.
Having asked a number of questions of the tight lipped citizens, Belwynn and Clarin decided to head back to the Boot and Saddle. She was still worried about Soren. He seemed to have recovered physically from his ordeal in the Wilderness, but he was not himself, and had been eager to leave the inn on his own. Belwynn wanted to communicate with him but sensed that he wanted time alone.
She was slightly surprised, then, when he contacted her.
Belwynn, where are you? The tone seemed urgent.
We're just on our way back now.
Stop.
Belwynn sensed fear in her brother's thoughts and came to an abrupt halt. She grabbed Clarin's arm to make him stop as well.
‘What is it?’ asked the big warrior.
‘It's Soren. Something's wrong.’
Clarin looked around them and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, but seemed content to let Belwynn continue her private conversation.
Emeric's troops are swarming all over the Boot and Saddle. It's not safe there. I'm in an alleyway off Orchard Lane, two streets before the inn. Meet me there.
The instruction was simple enough, and Belwynn relayed it to Clarin, who grimaced but nodded his consent. Orchard Lane happened to be the next street on their right, and they entered it warily, on the lookout for soldiers. Belwynn spied Soren signalling from his alleyway and they quickly met up with him.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 17
