The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘Greetings,’ he began. This Caladri was not dressed as a soldier, but wore leather leggings and top. ‘My name is Gyuri. I will now transport you to the camp of Prince Lorant. You are most welcome in the lands of the Caladri. I may apologise if, so far, you have not been treated as honourable guests.’ Gyuri waved in the direction of the departing soldiers. ‘They are soldiers, yes? Not diplomats.’

  Gyuri smiled.

  ‘We will load up this carriage and then depart. If there is anything you want, please ask us. We have toilets inside, if you wish.’

  As Gyuri finished speaking, six more Caladri arrived by the carriage: three men and three women. Belwynn was approached by one of the women and ushered over to the second carriage.

  ‘Hello, my name is Marika. The ladies will be travelling in this coach.’

  Moneva and Elana had joined Belwynn, each of them gathered by the other two female Caladri.

  ‘Toilet?’ asked one of the women.

  Moneva rolled her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said bluntly.

  Moneva and Elana were taken towards the timber building, while Belwynn and Marika stood outside the carriage. Belwynn looked over to the second carriage, where the men were being organised in the same manner. She turned her attention to the gaur. Gyuri was patting their heads and talking to them, seemingly in preparation for the journey.

  ‘You like?’ asked Marika, smiling sweetly. ‘Come.’

  Marika took Belwynn’s hand in hers and walked her over to them. Belwynn was taken aback by the physical contact, especially since the Caladri soldiers had been so aloof. She allowed herself to be led, however. Marika stroked the neck of the nearest gaur, on the rear right side, whispering into its ear. They had big, strong shoulders and curved horns on their heads, and Belwynn approached with care. Their tails whipped constantly, and they breathed heavily. Encouraged by Marika, she stroked the neck of the same animal. It turned its head to look at her and she felt its breath. As she made eye contact Belwynn felt that she sensed a greater intelligence there than in human-bred cattle.

  Once everyone was ready, they entered the two carriages—men in the front and women in the rear. The six Caladri accompanied them, while Gyuri clambered up into the driver’s seat and led them off.

  The wooden interior of the carriage was painted in a floral design. It was designed to hold perhaps ten or twelve passengers and was therefore very roomy, allowing everyone to relax on the upholstered benches and cushions. It had been perfumed with an exotic smell that Belwynn had never come across before. Belwynn sat with Moneva and Elana on one bench, facing the three Caladri women.

  The Caladri introduced themselves. Beside Marika sat Dora and Emese. They explained that they were all young women who worked on the transport system. This involved looking after the animals, supplies, and the needs of travellers.

  ‘How old you are?’ asked Moneva in her direct manner.

  ‘We are all in our thirties,’ answered Dora.

  ‘But,’ added Marika, ‘Caladri live longer lives than humans, don’t they?’

  Her two friends nodded.

  ‘How long?’ demanded Moneva.

  ‘On average, perhaps one hundred and fifty years,’ replied Dora.

  Belwynn took a sharp breath. ‘That’s more than twice as long as humans,’ she said.

  The three Caladri looked sad for the human women. Marika leaned over and stroked Belwynn’s hair, seemingly to make her feel better. It was the second time the Caladri had been a bit overly familiar. Belwynn looked over at Moneva and Elana, who held the same quizzical expressions on their faces as she did.

  ‘It may be that Caladri mature more slowly than humans?’ suggested Elana.

  ‘Then you are the equivalent of human teenagers?’ Belwynn asked Marika.

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps so.’

  The Caladri provided them with drinks and food. There was water and fruit juice, which the Caladri mixed together. To eat there was more fruit, as well as nuts and seeds. As the carriage gathered pace they ate and drank and grew more comfortable with each other, the conversation becoming more relaxed and wide ranging. Unlike the male soldiers, Belwynn saw that these women were at least as curious about Belwynn and the others as she was about them. They asked about their families, about the human cities and kingdoms and their way of life. They were curious about their looks and not shy about it. More than once one of the Caladri would reach across and touch someone’s hand, hair, or face with an almost childlike curiosity. They giggled a lot, confirming Elana’s perception that they were in some ways younger than their thirty years.

  Marika asked which of the men were theirs. It was an interesting question. In the event, Moneva answered that none of the men were ‘theirs’ in the sense of being a partner. The Caladri were confused by this, wondering aloud why three women were travelling with five men who were not their spouses or relations. Belwynn confirmed that this was unusual in human society as well. It became clear that the three Caladri men in the next carriage were the partners of the three Caladri women, but not yet, they made clear, married husbands. They would wait awhile for that ceremony which, as with humans, meant that they were committed to that person for life and would have children.

  Belwynn wondered idly, to herself, about Marika’s question. The answer to it was more complicated than Moneva’s answer had admitted. If she were to pick a partner for Moneva, she would have immediately answered Gyrmund, for it was clear to Belwynn and to most of the others that the two had formed a special friendship of some kind. For Elana, perhaps it would be Dirk, since he was an attentive follower of hers and, Belwynn sometimes wondered, perhaps had deeper feelings for the priestess. And her man? It could be Clarin. He had made it clear, in his own way, that he was interested in her. He had not, though, done anything in particular about it. Belwynn, she admitted to herself, was confused about what she wanted. Their relationship, therefore, was one of perpetual, albeit buried, tension.

  As the conversation in the carriage died down, and Belwynn found herself getting drowsier, she was content to gaze at the three Caladri women. All three were beautiful creatures, slim and delicate in body and features, and she wondered if they would be attractive to most human men. The clawed feet were surely a bit of a turn off. The Caladri men certainly held no appeal to her. Their thin yet powerful bodies, their pronounced features, while arresting, could hardly be considered physically attractive. She wondered what the Caladri made of them.

  It was in this cosy and contented frame of mind that the last part of the day’s journey passed. Before Belwynn knew it, they had stopped, and Marika was helping her down from the carriage.

  Outside the light was fading. They found themselves in a part of the forest which, to Belwynn, looked exactly the same as that which they had left. In the distance they could see triangular tents, presumably the camp of Prince Lorant. Marika and the others said goodbye, but promised that they would try to visit with them again tomorrow. They, and their three men, stayed behind to sort out the carriage and gaur. Gyuri led them off towards the camp.

  Belwynn fell in stride next to Soren.

  ‘Did you have a good journey?’ she asked.

  Soren smiled. ‘Yes, thanks, very comfortable.’

  ‘And your hosts?’ Belwynn asked.

  Soren’s mouth twisted to one side. ‘They were very friendly, just…maybe a bit too friendly.’

  Herin, walking in front, turned around. ‘One of them tried to give my legs a massage!’ he exclaimed, his face a mixture of anger and concern as he recalled the encounter.

  Soren and the others chuckled at the incident.

  Belwynn smiled. It sounded like the men had enjoyed a similar experience to theirs.

  They approached the Caladri tents. They consisted of long strips of timber formed into a circular shape at the base. At the top they leaned into each other to form a roof and were tied off with rope to keep secure. Finally, a large strip of canvas had been placed over the top, with a hole which fitted over the pointe
d roof. Each was individual, being a different height, width and colour from its neighbour. Many of the Caladri were sitting outside their tents in small numbers, with individual fires burning. They talked quietly or listened as others played music and sang.

  Gyuri passed without comment, leading them towards the centre of the camp. Many of the Caladri stopped what they were doing as they passed, staring at the Krykker and the humans and whispering to one another.

  They approached a large tent, guarded by soldiers. Gyuri and one of the soldiers went into the tent, presumably to fetch the prince.

  Instead, he returned with a female Caladri. She approached the group.

  ‘Greetings, visitors,’ she said. ‘My name is Hajna. I am the wife of Prince Lorant.’

  She was blonde and blue-eyed, older, and carrying more authority than Marika and the others. Belwynn found it difficult to guess her age, but felt sure that she was the most captivating looking woman she had ever seen. Hajna smiled and nodded politely as she waited for Belwynn and the others to introduce themselves in turn. Finally, she said:

  ‘Prince Lorant is not here tonight. He is further west, on the borders of our lands. He will be here tomorrow morning, when he will devote himself to speaking with you. Is there anything you need to tell me about immediately?’

  Belwynn and the others looked at each other, tired and sleepy after their journey. Soren responded for them.

  ‘We can wait until tomorrow, Your Highness,’ he assured the princess.

  Hajna smiled again. ‘Very well. Night is falling,’ she said, gesturing towards the sky. Everyone followed her gesture and looked upwards, as if it was the first time they had realised this was the case. ‘We will find food and shelter for you here tonight.’

  Hajna busied herself in organising the appropriate accommodation for her guests. This was achieved in a matter of minutes. As before, Belwynn, Moneva and Elana were accommodated together, separate from the men, in a small tent. Belwynn quite liked the arrangement—having some time away from the men. They spent a few minutes chatting idly about the Caladri, laughing at the thought of the tactile Caladri men in the carriage with Herin and the others, wondering together at the beauty of Princess Hajna of the Blood Caladri.

  Very soon, though, they became too tired to speak. The food provided by the Princess lay largely untouched in the corner, and they went to sleep.

  21

  A History Lesson

  SOREN WOKE AS THE EARLY MORNING light filtered into the tent he was sharing with Clarin and Herin. He was wet with sweat. He knew that his dreams had been troubled.

  One had been about his mother. She was being attacked by vossi-like creatures, and when he had gone to help her with his magic, he had been powerless. The whole tent was damp from the three of them sharing such a confined space, and as the other two men slumbered on, Soren clambered out of the cloth doorway.

  Outside, a sea of Caladri tents dominated the view. The early morning forest air was chilly on his damp skin and he rubbed himself before stretching out his back and legs. Today, thought Soren. Maybe today. He hoped so. It had been about ten days since he had woken in Vitugia without his powers. But it felt like a lifetime. If, somehow, the Blood Caladri could restore them, it would feel like a new start. Like a rebirth. Soren looked out over the forest, eager for what the new day would bring.

  He had to wait a while until Joska, one of the carriage attendants from yesterday, came to collect them.

  ‘Prince Lorant is ready to meet with you,’ he said simply, and led them back to the large tent in the centre of the camp.

  On the way they met up with Belwynn, Elana and Moneva, who were being led in the same direction. Once there, Joska held open a flap in the tent and gestured for them to enter. Soren ducked his head and walked in.

  Rabigar, Gyrmund and Dirk were already seated in the middle of the tent on one side of a small fire. Opposite them sat Princess Hajna and two other men, one seemingly much older than the other. Soren found a space by the fire and sat down. As he waited for the others to sit, he pushed his hands to the fire, rubbing them together. The smoke drifted upwards towards the hole in the roof.

  ‘Hello again, friends,’ welcomed Princess Hajna, once everyone was settled.

  ‘Greetings,’ said the younger man. ‘I am Prince Lorant, son of King Tibor of the Blood Caladri. You have all met my wife,’ he gestured to his right. ‘This is my chief adviser, Szabolcs,’ Lorant continued, now gesturing to his left. ‘He is a learned man, much wiser than I. I trust these two to hear all that you have to say. You may trust me to tell my father your news. He is currently in the north of our country, waging war against the Shadow Caladri.’

  Everyone began to introduce themselves. Prince Lorant had a more formal manner compared to his wife, but Soren supposed that he was naturally wary of them. He had blonde hair, tightly plaited to his head, sea blue eyes and an athletic build.

  ‘How long have you been at war with the Shadow Caladri?’ asked Soren.

  ‘This war began two years ago and has been fought with varying intensity ever since. Recently, King Dorjan has increased the severity of his raids. It feels like a preparation for an invasion. He is working closely with Erkindrix of Ishari. We had feared that the army of Haskany which has invaded Grienna and Trevenza might turn against us. That is why my forces are currently based in this region. It seems, however, that the army is meant for the Empire.’

  ‘That does seem to be the case,’ agreed Soren. ‘And that is one of the reasons we are here.’

  ‘I see. Now that the humans are under threat, they want our help, when they have given us none for two years?’

  Soren let the question hang in the air for a while. He could not afford to offend the Prince. The Blood Caladri may well have just cause to be bitter if they had been fighting alone for two years.

  Elana spoke up. ‘The peoples of Dalriya must unite to stop Ishari. Some have been slow to see this, but we must look forward not behind us.’

  Lorant made a motion with one arm towards Elana, which Soren read as an acceptance of the point she had made.

  ‘Very well,’ replied the Prince. ‘I do not intend to blame any of you directly for diplomatic failures. Let me hear what Baldwin of Brasingia and Edgar of Magnia have to say.’

  ‘Well,’ said Soren, warily re-joining the conversation. ‘I think it best for us to start with the events of two weeks ago. This way you will better understand who we are and what we have to ask.’

  Soren explained the events surrounding Toric’s Dagger and recounted their experiences in Coldeberg and Essenberg. Half way through, Szabolcs, the old Caladri, stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room, where he began rummaging through some books. Picking up three, he returned to the fire and began flicking through the pages while Soren spoke. Soren finished by passing Lorant the insignia that Gustav had given him.

  ‘Gustav is a friend of the Blood Caladri,’ said Lorant. ‘I understand that Baldwin needs allies. He cannot stand up to Ishari and Haskany alone. The truth is, however, that the Blood Caladri make poor allies now. Erkindrix has made sure that we are tied down in war with the Shadow Caladri. We cannot spare troops to help him; he cannot spare troops to help us. We must work together in some other way.’

  ‘Can we see the weapon?’ asked Hajna.

  Dirk produced the dagger from inside his cloak. The princess examined it.

  ‘Beautiful,’ she commented, before passing it over to Szabolcs.

  The old man studied it intently for a long time, saying nothing.

  If Caladri live to a hundred and fifty, Belwynn said to Soren, he must be nearly there.

  Szabolcs did indeed seem to be a man of great age. His skin was wrinkled; the hands that held the stone were gnarled and gently shook. Soren, however, could tell that this was a wizard of significant power. Despite the current topic of conversation, he could not help thinking of his own magical powers and holding onto hope that this man could restore them.

  ‘I thi
nk I know what this is,’ Szabolcs said slowly.

  He looked up at the others, as if waking from a dream and readjusting to the waking world.

  ‘This is an old story. I don’t know it all. But it goes back to the Cracking of the World. This occurred hundreds of years ago when the Isharites first arrived in Dalriya. They came from another world, sent by a dread demon to take ours.

  Our Lady Onella created seven weapons with which to defend the land. To the Caladri she gave a staff with magical properties. Each other race of Dalriya was given a weapon. I believe that this is one of them. But the demon did the same, and poured his own magical power into seven weapons, granting them to his servants. The war culminated in a great battle. The two sides met in the middle of Dalriya. The champions of the gods met in combat, armed with the weapons. A great magical energy was released when the two sides clashed. The continent collapsed into two. The soldiers of each army were drowned in the flood.’

  ‘Who is this Lady Onella you talk about?’ asked Elana quietly.

  ‘Onella is Dalriya’s goddess, who protects all of us,’ answered Hajna simply.

  ‘I…,’ Elana started, and Soren detected emotion in her voice, which was usually so controlled. ‘I believe I serve this Onella, though she calls herself Madria to me.’

  ‘Our Lady is known by many names,’ said Hajna. ‘In the Brasingian lands she is known as the Lady Alexia.’

  ‘And these seven weapons are hers?’ Elana asked Szabolcs.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Madria wants us to find all of them,’ said Elana firmly. ‘We need them to defend against Ishari.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’ asked Herin sceptically.

  ‘I cannot speak to Madria in a normal conversation,’ Elana answered him. ‘I cannot ask her every question I have and get an answer. But she guides me. These weapons are vitally important; I am sure of it.’