The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  They reached the bottom of the hill and began moving uphill again, slowing to a tired walk. Belwynn used the staff she carried to push herself along. She heard a noise behind her and knew it must be the horseman again. She turned around to see him approach them at a gentle canter. She drew her sword but kept on walking.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he laughed at them cruelly. ‘There’s nowhere to hide here.’

  The only answer he got was the panting of breath as Belwynn and the others tried to push themselves up the hill. Dirk was slowing alarmingly. He stopped to cough. It wracked his body and he gasped for breath which would not come. Belwynn thought he was going to collapse there and then, but Elana supported an elbow and the attack eventually passed. Dirk leaned over and whispered something to Elana, but she angrily refused and dragged him onwards.

  The horseman came in close behind Belwynn, sword drawn. She was forced to stop and hold her sword in front of her to protect herself. A cheer went up from the rest of the soldiers, about two minutes behind them. Rabigar came back to stand next to her.

  ‘Carry on, Belwynn,’ he said, ‘I’ll keep them busy here for a while.’

  ‘I may as well stay with you,’ she answered.

  ‘No,’ said Rabigar, pushing her away.

  Belwynn turned away, tears in her eyes. She looked upwards to where Elana and Dirk were still struggling above them. She saw something strange up above. Belwynn wiped the tears away from her eyes on her sleeve so that she could see more clearly. At the top of the hill sat two men. One was clearly a knight of Kalinth. He wore gleaming armour which sparkled in the sun and was dressed lavishly, in sea blue with a gold trim. He rode a huge warhorse, decorated in the same colours. Next to him sat what must be his squire, riding a palfrey and dressed in simple brown leather. He was carrying two huge lances. Their presence somehow didn’t seem real, like an out of place and bizarre addition to a nightmare, that lets you know you are dreaming.

  Belwynn gathered her senses. ‘Help!’ she cried up towards the knight in desperation, stumbling up towards him as she called out. ‘We are being attacked! Please help us!’

  The knight turned to his companion and said something, holding out his hand. The squire passed him one of the lances. It had a blue and gold flag attached which snapped in the breeze. The knight kneaded his mount forwards, down the hill. He reached Elana and Dirk.

  ‘Move on up, there,’ Belwynn heard him say in a clear voice. ‘My squire will look after you.’

  The knight reached Belwynn. He wore no helmet, and looked at her with dark brown eyes, framed with mid-length, chestnut brown hair.

  ‘Please help us!’ implored Belwynn. He nodded to her. ‘Please carry on up the hill, My Lady,’ he said.

  The knight rode on. Belwynn turned around. The horseman from Korkis sat open mouthed as the knight descended the hill, stopping next to Rabigar. But the soldiers from Korkis now arrived on the spot. They looked at the new intruder fiercely, in no mood to let him interrupt their sport.

  ‘My name is Theron, Count of Erisina. What business goes on here?’

  ‘These men are trying to kill us!’ shouted Belwynn down the hill, knowing that she sounded hysterical, but unable to control herself.

  ‘These four killed a man yesterday in Korkis,’ one of the soldiers spoke up. ‘We’re placing them under arrest.’

  ‘I killed a man in self-defence,’ stated Rabigar calmly. ‘There is no law or justice in Korkis,’ he added.

  ‘Liar! You’re gonna pay, Krykker! And this dandy ain’t gonna help you.’

  The soldiers laughed roughly at the comment and began to edge forward.

  ‘These are the lands of my uncle, Sebastian of Melion,’ said Theron, his voice rising in anger. ‘Not the lands of Korkis. He directs the law here. These four will face justice at his court. I am prepared to escort some of you there to put forward your case.’

  ‘Put forward our case?’ said a soldier in disbelief. ‘We’ve tracked these for a day. They’re gonna get their justice now. I suggest you get out of our fucking way!’

  Theron wheeled his horse around. ‘So be it,’ he said over his shoulder and pushed his horse back up the hill.

  Belwynn felt as if she had been physically struck. This knight had given her hope of an escape and had then ridden away. Rabigar backed up the hill towards her as the soldiers began to move forwards, spreading out in a row with grins splitting their faces. There was less than a hundred meters between the group of soldiers and Rabigar and Belwynn, who were now standing side by side again.

  The soldiers approached but then stopped and looked past Belwynn and Rabigar up the hill. Belwynn heard a rumbling noise and turned to look behind her. Count Theron had not departed the scene, but had moved back up the hill in order to charge back down it at the enemy. He had gathered considerable pace and was heading directly for them, with one hand on the reins and the other gripping his lance, held up at ear level.

  The soldiers from Korkis were unsure what to do. If Theron and his horse struck one of them it would most likely be deadly, but surely then the rest of them could finish the knight off. They waved their weapons ahead of them, hoping to ward off the charging knight. Theron rode past Belwynn and Rabigar, now at some speed. His horse thundered forwards and he locked onto an enemy, the end of the lance targeting one of the soldiers. His aim was accurate and the lance went straight for the chest of one of the soldiers. The target saw it coming but was unable to get away in time. He twisted his body to one side but the lance struck just below the armpit and embedded deep into his body. The momentum of the charge delivered a huge amount of power into the strike and sent the soldier spinning into the air as Theron let go of the lance.

  Theron veered his mount to the right, avoiding the line of soldiers. He drew his sword and headed toward the mounted soldier who had followed and tormented Belwynn and the others. He was sitting positioned slightly apart from the rest of his comrades. Theron’s mount sidestepped around the young soldier, who had gone pale with fear. Theron made several quick feints towards the soldier with his sword. He eventually got a response when the soldier swung his own sword out to block one of the feints. Theron pulled out of the way and then swung his sword back again, smacking the flat of the blade across the soldier’s chest. The shock and impact of Theron’s strike caused the soldier to lose his balance and he toppled backwards off the horse, which bolted away.

  By this time the other soldiers of Korkis had caught up with the combat. Theron dug his heels in and pushed his mount away with seconds to spare. A couple of the soldiers tried to chase after him but they soon looked absurd as Theron’s horse pranced away from them, seemingly able to move in any direction. Theron moved back up towards the top of the slope. The soldiers looked unsure about how they should cope with the manoeuvrability of this new enemy. Belwynn could hear them discussing what they should do about the knight. They had all but ignored Rabigar and herself, who started to back away up the slope to join Elana and Dirk.

  Theron claimed the second lance from his squire. Meanwhile, the Korkis soldiers had decided on their approach. They began to march up towards Theron in a closely packed line. The two soldiers who had been attacked by the knight remained sprawled on the ground behind them. As they drew closer, the dog handler released his two hounds, which both headed straight for Theron. They soon reached the knight and his mount. One of them kept a safe distance and barked at them but the other moved in closer, trying to nip at the horse. Theron’s mount leapt up on its hind legs and kicked out in front of it. The kick connected soundly with the hound, which went flying up in the air and landed in a heap. The second dog continued to bark but did not seem willing to get any closer.

  Theron made a second charge down the slope, his lance tucked under his right armpit. He charged straight at the centre of the group of soldiers, who stopped their march to defend themselves. Theron veered away at the last minute, to the left. He passed by the line of soldiers and buried his lance into the midriff of the soldi
er at the end of the line. There was a loud cracking sound at the moment of impact, and Theron rode on, leaving a lance buried in yet another soldier.

  Dirk appeared at Belwynn’s shoulder, accompanied by Theron’s squire. He was just a boy, perhaps fifteen years old. But he had his sword drawn. The young squire motioned down the hill with his weapon.

  ‘Let’s give them something else to think about,’ he suggested.

  Belwynn turned her head to look at Rabigar. He shrugged his shoulders, and began to march towards the enemy. The other three marched alongside him. Theron pulled his horse around to Belwynn’s left, threatening to attack from a different angle.

  The odds of the confrontation had been evened up. It was originally ten soldiers and two dogs against four tired runaways, only one of whom was a real fighter. It was now seven versus five, but the five included a deadly horseman and the seven had lost three comrades already. The morale of the soldiers broke. They weren’t prepared to shed more blood.

  ‘I’m out of here,’ one of them was saying.

  One of the soldiers tried to rally the others, arguing that they could still win.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ Theron called over. ‘We won’t pursue you. Enough lives have been taken here.’

  That was it. The soldiers walked away at speed, desperate to get away from the encounter. The horseman had recovered enough from his fall to go with them. With only the occasional look over the shoulder to check they weren’t being followed, the men from Korkis began to disappear from view. Belwynn realised that she had been standing still for some time, as the mixture of physical exhaustion and drop in adrenaline left her in a torpor.

  Elana had joined them and was seeing to Dirk, who was sitting on the floor, looking deathly pale. Theron was seeing to his horse, making sure that the stallion had not received any injuries. He looked up from his inspection.

  ‘’Vander, check the bodies, see if they live. If not, see if they have anything useful on them. Then we’ll have to bury them.’

  Theron’s squire nodded and did as he was told, moving from one body to the next, closely inspecting the items he found but discarding most.

  ‘They’re dead,’ he declared in a steady voice.

  Theron looked up. ‘Right. Better get this over with,’ he sighed.

  This man has killed many times before, Belwynn thought to herself, as she watched the knight and squire work. Still, they were going to give the soldiers from Korkis a proper burial.

  ‘I’ll help,’ she said, walking over to where the corpses lay.

  Theron turned to look at her and frowned.

  ‘This is no job for a lady,’ he said.

  ‘It’s no job for anyone,’ replied Belwynn. ‘But it’s a job that needs to be done.’

  3

  To Protect and Serve

  FARRED LOOKED AROUND THE HALL of his new house, somewhat bewildered. He wondered whose home it had been, just a few days ago. A wealthy family, judging by its size and location. They had taken virtually everything with them, leaving the place bare and sad looking. His weapons, armour and saddle bags lay in a pile next to the hearth—on a warm summer evening such as this there was no need for a fire, though he was tempted to light one just to bring some life to the room. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, so that when the knock came on the door he felt a sense of relief.

  He opened the door to find a prince and a war chief standing outside. The chieftain, Brock, had the rich, brown skin colour of the Middian people, while the prince’s skin was lighter in tone, reflecting his mixed Middian-Magnian parentage. Ashere, styled prince, though in fact the younger brother of Cerdda, the ruler of North Magnia, gave a sly grin.

  ‘What’s your house like?’ he asked.

  Wordlessly, Farred waved them in so they could inspect it for themselves.

  ‘Nice,’ commented the Prince.

  ‘I don’t like them,’ growled Brock, folding his arms.

  Brock was the leader of a tribe on the Midder Steppe, a people whose Farred’s own family were descended from, though they had long ago given their allegiance to the Magnian crown. His family had become settled farmers and landowners, whereas the Middian tribes of the Steppe still followed their traditional nomadic way of life. And they didn’t live in houses.

  ‘What if these houses fall down on top of us in the middle of the night?’ he demanded, staring up at the ceiling suspiciously.

  ‘Do you have this to yourself?’ asked Ashere, avoiding returning to a topic of conversation with Brock that they had already endured several times.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are your men well quartered?’

  ‘I’ve left that to Burstan,’ Farred said.

  Ashere raised an eyebrow.

  Farred smiled. ‘He can be a pain in the arse. But in truth, he’s a good organiser. More suited to barking out orders than me.’

  Ashere nodded. ‘Shall we go?’

  They exited into a street in Guslar, the capital of the northern duchy of Rotelegen. It was a grim city, largely empty of life and full of ghosts since the defeat of Duke Ellard’s army four days prior. Most of the citizens had now fled south, fearing the approach of the Isharite army which had crossed into the Empire.

  The exodus meant that it had not been difficult to find enough space in the city to house the Southern army they had led here. Farred had been given command of two thousand South Magnians by Prince Edgar. Brock led another two thousand from his own tribe, funded by King Glanna of Cordence. Finally, Ashere had brought the same number of North Magnians, and had assumed overall leadership of the combined force.

  The street was full of the sounds of soldiers shouting and carrying on, but as the three men made their way into the centre of Guslar, that noise soon faded and the city became eerily quiet.

  The street they followed ran dead straight, bisected at regular intervals by crossroads.

  ‘I’ve never seen a city built like this before,’ Farred murmured, thinking of the disorganised warrens of streets usually found in the towns of Magnia.

  ‘The Persaleians founded Guslar,’ said Ashere. ‘All their cities are built to the same layout. Which means that if we follow this street we’ll arrive at the central plaza.’

  Brock shook his head and muttered something to himself, making clear his aversion to the urban environment.

  Farred, however, admired the precision. Sure enough, ahead of them the street opened onto a huge open space. Spaced regularly around this plaza were other streets leading off in all directions. Inside the plaza was common land, which Farred supposed was used for markets and public gatherings. A few buildings were located here, the largest in size being a cathedral and castle, the latter of which belonged to the dukes of Rotelegen. It was Brasingian in style, with high stone walls and towers. And it was to the castle they headed.

  Much of the city of Guslar lay abandoned, but its castle was still occupied. As they approached the gates they were waved through, expected guests of the Duchess. Farred met eyes with some of the soldiers on guard duty as he entered the castle bailey. They stared coldly back. Hardly a warm welcome, he considered, for foreigners come to fight on your behalf.

  They were wined and dined at Guslar Castle, given prominent places at the top table.

  Ordinarily, Farred would have relished the role of honoured guest. But the mood was sombre, and the food basic. These were people making ready to leave their home. The new duke, Jeremias, was still a boy. He did his best to play the host, but it was a role he had clearly never attempted before, and he had no conversation. He sat, white-faced and barely eating, clearly wishing he were somewhere else. He had lost his father and brothers only a few days ago, and his new responsibility clearly weighed heavily on his young shoulders.

  His mother, the Duchess Adalheid, still lived, and she was a stern woman. Her hair, dark but greying, was pulled back from a face heavy with lines. Her eyes, small and brown, regarded them without warmth. Farred wondered how stern she had been before he
r husband led an army of men, including her sons, to their destruction. Maybe she had smiled and laughed a lot before that. Now, it looked like she would never smile again.

  Adalheid explained, exhaustively, how she had sent most of the people of Guslar south, along the Great Road to Essenberg. She was keen to give them every detail. It seemed to Farred that it was partly to demonstrate her ability to fill her late husband’s shoes, partly to share the burden of leadership with strangers.

  ‘Those who can fight and ride still serve the duchy,’ she said. ‘I am sending them into the countryside, where the people are often ignorant of the threat which faces them, or too stubborn to leave. The message they carry is stark. Everyone in Rotelegen must evacuate. The duchy has been given up to the enemy. Emperor Baldwin’s point of defence is Burkhard Castle. No help is going to come.’

  The Duchess made only a token effort to hide her bitterness regarding Baldwin’s perceived lack of action, and the other diners clearly agreed with her assessment.

  Prince Ashere made a sympathetic face. In truth, Farred knew full well that Ashere agreed with Baldwin’s decisions. Moreover, the suggestion that no help was forthcoming was offensive. Hadn’t all three of them led thousands of men here? And hadn’t they been asked to fight the Isharite army, to cover the Rotelegen retreat?

  ‘I wanted to ask a favour,’ Farred began after a pause. ‘None of us know the territory here and it would be an immense help if you could assign some local men to us, to act as guides.’

  Adalheid raised an eyebrow at the request, turning her eyes to the men at the table. One of them gave a brief nod.

  ‘I will send a man over to you tonight,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The meal continued, and not once did Adalheid ask after their men, offer them any further aid, or express a single word of gratitude.

  Farred felt a sense of relief when Ashere had excused them soon after the end of the meal, citing the need to supervise their soldiers. In truth, the Rotelegen looked equally relieved to see them go.