The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘Thank Toric that’s over,’ Farred exhaled as they retraced their steps through Guslar back to their new quarters.

  ‘It’s a sorry mess to have a woman and young boy lead this tribe,’ commented Brock.

  ‘It’s a shame,’ said Ashere. ‘Duke Ellard was perhaps the most respected soldier in the Empire. Baldwin needs all the experience he can get.’

  ‘You have to give Adalheid her due, though,’ Farred argued. ‘Who would envy her position?’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Ashere. ‘Well, here we are back at your new abode, Farred. Have a good night.’

  Farred said his farewells and once more found himself alone in the hall of his new house. The same feeling of not knowing what to do with himself came over him. The room was just as bare as before, except someone had been in and left a small pile of firewood by the hearth.

  ‘It could get chilly tonight,’ Farred said out loud, and knelt by the hearth to arrange a fire.

  He stood back to admire his work, but then hesitated before lighting it. There was a knock at the door.

  Upon opening it, he found Ashere waiting there, a half smile playing on the Prince’s lips.

  ‘Come in,’ said Farred.

  ‘Up to much?’

  ‘No. I was debating whether I should light a fire,’ he said, gesturing at the hearth.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ashere, examining it.

  There was a silence. Farred turned to meet his eyes. The Prince held his gaze.

  ‘I could keep you warm tonight,’ said Ashere.

  They led four thousand soldiers north-west from Guslar on their first mission. They had left when it was still dark. After two hours, the sun had risen and they were in position, a few miles to the west of where they expected the Isharite army to be.

  They had acquired the services of Veit, a local man who knew the land well enough to act as a scout. While the main force waited, Veit led Farred, Ashere and Brock eastwards. The general of the Isharite army was Shira, Queen of Haskany. Ashere expected her to send out small war bands from her main army, to raid the surrounding territory and look out for enemy forces. He was hoping to find and intercept one of these bands.

  It did not take them long.

  Veit led them up a hill to a vantage point overlooking the Great Road. It looked like it was alive, a giant worm wriggling across the landscape. The numbers moving south along the road were mind numbing, and they stretched back as far as the eye could see—the soldiers at the front were miles ahead of those at the rear.

  They looked to see if any smaller units were heading in their direction. From their position, they could see three units all heading westward, to separate destinations.

  ‘They move across the land in a brazen manner,’ growled Brock. ‘As if they own it.’

  ‘This army has seen no opposition since it broke through the defences on the northern border,’ said Ashere. ‘And they act as if they don’t expect to see any more. It is time to change that.’

  Farred looked at the nearest unit. He estimated its size at no less than two hundred soldiers.

  ‘Where are they headed?’ he asked Veit, pointing at the group.

  ‘There is a village in that direction,’ he replied.

  ‘How far from here?’

  ‘Three miles.’

  ‘Could we get there before them?’

  Veit considered the question. ‘They’re much closer than our forces. Even though they’re on foot, they’re probably going to get there first.’

  ‘A shame,’ said Farred, frustrated.

  ‘But we won’t be far behind?’ asked Ashere, interested.

  ‘Nope,’ Veit replied. ‘A matter of minutes, I would say.’

  Ashere nodded. ‘Instead of intercepting them on the way, we will have to get to the village as soon as possible.’

  He looked at Farred and Brock for confirmation and they both nodded, a fierce grin emerging on the Middian’s face which spread to the rest of the group.

  ‘I will take the main force,’ Ashere continued, ‘and head directly for the village. Farred, you take your men and circle around, entering from the same direction as the enemy and blocking off a retreat. Brock will hold onto five hundred of his Middians and act as a reserve force, looking out for trouble.’

  On the outskirts of the village, Farred and his men waited in silence, their breath visible in the cold morning air. The anticipation of battle throbbed in Farred’s chest. The sensation moved outward from there to his gut and throat, threatening to make him physically sick. He could see the same kind of tension in the faces of the men around him. They had to wait a while longer yet.

  When they could hear Ashere’s attack, they would move in. Not before, because the enemy force in the village was too large for his men to handle alone.

  Then they heard voices on the wind. Everyone looked at each other, but especially at Farred. Farred waited. More voices. They sounded like shouts. Then the clang of metal on metal.

  ‘We go!’ shouted Farred.

  Farred slowly led his force along the dirt road. At first, they passed open fields on both sides, but then they began to find the odd hut. Each building they passed, and any other cover, had to be inspected carefully. However small, there was the chance of an ambush. The enemy could be armed with bows and arrows. Farred wasn’t going to get caught out on his first military engagement.

  The sound of fighting drew closer, yet they could see nothing. He could see the tension on the faces of his soldiers. Farred knew his troops wanted to release it and go charging in, because that was how he felt.

  ‘Steady,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  They rode on, approaching a row of mud and wood built dwellings on the right-hand side which marked the beginning of the village proper. Then they saw it. Standing outside the door of the second hut, staring back at them. These raiders weren’t Haskan troops. They were Drobax.

  It was like a monster from a children’s story. Half naked with grey skin, spindly limbs, sharp nails and teeth and black, beady eyes. The eyes of the Drobax bulged with fear as it realised how many mounted soldiers were heading its way. It dived back into the house, shouting something unintelligible, presumably in its own language. There were likely more of them inside.

  That was when Farred lost control.

  He shouted something out aloud and then he was riding straight for the house, many of his men with him. Realising that they couldn’t ride inside, Farred and those with him began to dismount. It soon became a disorganised mess, as soldiers handed the reins of their mounts over to comrades to hold.

  Any kind of counter-attack would have caught them out. The Drobax, however, had stayed inside.

  Farred approached. He peered through a crack between the door and the wall and could make out a few figures inside, weapons held at the ready. They favoured their chances inside rather than out.

  One of his soldiers shouted a war cry and ran for the door. Farred and many others followed behind. One of the Drobax thrust out a spear into the doorway, but Farred’s men were half expecting it and blocked the weapon down.

  Then they were in. Farred had to squeeze into the small house as the Magnians crammed in, eager to meet the enemy. It was dark and cramped inside the hut. It was difficult to make out the enemy and all but impossible to swing a sword properly. Shouts and screams filled Farred’s ears. A figure leapt out of the shadows to his left. It struck at the soldier standing next to Farred. The soldier, though surprised, was able to block the attack. Farred used his sword to punch the Drobax, smashing his hilt into its face. The force of the strike sent it over backwards and it was then pounced on as his men jumped in to deliver a death strike.

  Taking a breath, Farred looked around. The fight was over already. About a dozen bodies lay on the floor. Some were Drobax, others dead villagers. None of his men seemed injured.

  ‘Sir!’ said a soldier, part of a group huddled over a body in the far corner.

  Farred walked over and the gro
up parted to let him see.

  It was a woman. She was naked but alive. She stared up at him with wild eyes. Suddenly Farred realised what had happened here. The Drobax had killed the men but stayed in the hut to rape the woman. He felt sick at the thought. He couldn’t begin to think what this woman had gone through. His men were standing around unsure what to do.

  ‘Get some bloody clothes on her!’ shouted Farred. ‘Anulf, Morlin. You’re assigned to protect her until I get back.’

  Farred marched out of the house to see what was happening. His soldiers had started to enter the other houses on the row, but they seemed to be re-emerging without having found anything.

  Farred needed to restore discipline. He began to bark out orders. He left a hundred of his troops at the huts with the horses, then led the rest ahead on foot.

  They half walked and half jogged into the village, the road slowly rising uphill where they could see the church spire, which was located near the centre of the village.

  The noise of fighting got closer. Then the chaos began again.

  More Drobax were found. They were in isolated groups, and they dived into buildings when encountered. Farred sent groups of soldiers to deal with them while he continued to march towards the centre of the village, making sure that each building was fully searched along the way.

  They crested the top of the slope and looked down on the scene below. Ashere’s larger force was mopping up the last of the opposition. The last point of resistance was at the village inn on the left, where a large group of North Magnians were forcing their way in. Despite already having huge numerical superiority, many of Farred’s soldiers couldn’t be prevented from running over to join in.

  As Farred walked down the road, Ashere rode up to meet him. He dismounted and they clasped hands.

  ‘What happened to your horse?’ asked the Prince.

  ‘Oh...we left them behind,’ said Farred, smiling ruefully. ‘We didn’t meet much resistance. What about you?’

  ‘When we got here the villagers had locked themselves inside the church. Most of the Drobax were out in the open trying to force their way in. They fought back viciously, didn’t run away. Once the main group was dealt with we had to start searching everywhere else.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad there are some survivors,’ said Farred, his mind going back to the poor woman they had found.

  Ashere nodded.

  ‘What are we going to do with them?’ Farred asked.

  Ashere shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘But some will be wounded. They should be taken back to Guslar. More Drobax might come—’

  ‘Farred. It’s not our job to take these people to safety. That’s what the Rotelegen soldiers are doing. We’ll tell them what happened here when we get the chance. But our job is to take on this army, to try to buy a little time for Baldwin and Jeremias to get ready. We need to make another strike now. I can’t afford to have part of our forces wandering about escorting civilians all over the place. We need to stay united.’

  Farred could see the sense of what Ashere said from a military perspective. But he still found it difficult. They had just rescued these villagers, and now the Prince proposed to abandon them to their fate again?

  ‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘But I’m sending some of my troops back with a woman we found.’

  Farred could feel his jaw sticking out, daring Ashere to disagree. The Prince of North Magnia grimaced.

  ‘So be it, Farred,’ he said. ‘They’re your soldiers after all. You’re a stubborn man,’ he said, shaking his head.

  Farred couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or amused. Perhaps both.

  ‘Right,’ said Ashere, ‘gather your men. When we’re finished here we need to meet up with Brock. We’re moving out.’

  4

  The Waves at the Shore

  BELWYNN WAS IN A BED. She sat up with a start. Where was she?

  As her muddled brain tried to think, the chase through the woods came back to jolt her. She felt sick at the memory. They had been chased out of the woods, across some fields—she had thought they would all be killed. Then Count Theron had arrived.

  After that it was a bit of a blur, as if a part of Belwynn’s mind had turned off in order to recover from the trauma. Theron and his squire, Evander, had escorted them to the home of his uncle, Sebastian of Melion. Belwynn had felt safe in the company of the knight, a feeling she hadn’t had since their stay with the Blood Caladri. Theron offered his mount for Belwynn to ride, but she knew that though he might protest, Dirk could walk no farther. He was bundled on top of the warhorse and soon fell asleep.

  Theron had asked them why they had been chased from Korkis. Belwynn was able to answer this truthfully, telling him about the encounter with the soldiers and her intervention to help the little girl. The knight seemed to admire Belwynn’s actions and muttered darkly of developments in Korkis and elsewhere in Kalinth. When his questions began to range further, Belwynn’s answers became much vaguer. The fear of revealing too much information, along with her general tiredness, left her virtually monosyllabic.

  Theron had been too polite to press the matter, but Belwynn knew that this morning she would have to give a better performance. Uncle Sebastian would doubtless be present as well, she thought sourly. They had arrived so late and so exhausted last night, that Theron had ensured that they were found rooms immediately—she had yet to meet her host.

  Belwynn pushed away the bed covers, and swung her legs over the side of the bed, where they landed on a soft rug. They had all been given well-appointed rooms in Sebastian’s house, which Theron had called Sernea. It was a fortified structure with strong stone walls that served as the headquarters of the estate. The steward had originally arranged for Elana and Belwynn to share the same room, but the priestess had insisted on looking after Dirk during the night, so Belwynn had been given the luxury of a room to herself.

  Opposite her was an empty bed, where new clothes had been laid out for her. She dressed quickly, since it was chilly without the covers.

  Her room was sparsely decorated and was clearly designed for defence as much as for comfort. The two outside walls each had an arrow loop, where archers could be positioned. These wedge-shaped openings allowed the archer to target a wide angle, while the slit in the wall gave good protection. Belwynn peered out of the loop which faced the front of the house. An archer stationed here could cover the track which led up to the main gate. There was no gatehouse, and the house could not withstand a sustained attack from an armed force. It was designed to afford protection from minor threats, such as anything Korkis might offer. And that was good enough for Belwynn.

  Her thoughts turned to her brother.

  Soren? Can you hear me?

  Belwynn? How are you?

  Soren’s voice sounded unclear once more, as if distorted by some barrier.

  Fine.

  She paused to think. Was it worth the trouble of telling Soren about the events in Korkis when she was now safe? She decided not.

  We’re still in Kalinth. We’re at the home of a knight. How are you?

  No change here. I don’t want to talk for too long. Contact me tomorrow, Belwynn. And stay safe.

  That was it? She desperately wanted to talk to her brother, and had to stop herself from replying. She stood in the room, fighting to control her emotions. An overwhelming sense of feeling lost overcame Belwynn then. Her parents were dead, both taken from her too soon. She had always leaned on her brother for support, for purpose. His goals had become her goals. And now he was gone too. She was in the middle of a strange country. And she didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Deal with it, Belwynn,’ she told herself out loud.

  She gave herself some time, taking some deep breaths. She stretched, forcing her body to wake up.

  What should I do first?, she asked herself.

  She suddenly realised how hungry she was. She felt like she hadn’t eaten in days. She left her tower room and took the stairs down, looking for th
e kitchen where she expected to find breakfast.

  It did not take her long to find it, the smell of hot porridge drawing her to the right place. The kitchen was warm and inviting. A huge pot hung in the fireplace and a number of people were stood around it, chatting quietly while they had their breakfast, no doubt after their early morning chores. Belwynn didn’t recognise anyone and entered a bit hesitantly.

  ‘Porridge, love?’ asked an older woman, perhaps a cook, with an encouraging smile.

  ‘Yes please,’ Belwynn replied, her stomach rumbling.

  She was handed a bowl and spoon and the cook ladled the steaming breakfast into it.

  ‘Honey?’ asked a younger woman, maybe a maid at the house. A pot of honey was being passed around the group and Belwynn took the dipper and let the honey drip into the bowl. Wasting no more time she began to tuck in, blowing on the hot porridge to stop it burning her mouth.

  The staff at the house were pleasant enough, but Belwynn was glad when Rabigar wandered into the kitchen and took a bowl of porridge for himself. They found a corner to stand in out of the way while they ate.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine. I slept well enough and this food should sort me out. Thank you for taking charge back there. I didn’t think we were going to make it—’ she began, getting a lump in her throat and leaving the statement there.

  ‘We weren’t, until the knight showed up. We owe him our lives, but we need to be a bit careful. We don’t know who they are.’

  Belwynn thought that they needed all the help they could get, but she nodded along.

  When they had finished, their bowls were taken and shortly afterwards a familiar face entered the kitchen and approached them.

  ‘Evander, isn’t it?’ asked Belwynn, recognising Theron’s squire.

  The lad smiled, seemingly pleased that she had remembered his name.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. My lords would like to speak with you now. I’ve been asked to fetch you.’