The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘That’s why I brought you both up here,’ he said, allowing himself a small smile.

  Farred looked out over the battlements into the distance. At first, he saw nothing. Then, as his eyes focused on the monotonous terrain, he saw movement. The Great Road was moving.

  ‘An army,’ he said.

  Brock moved over to the wall and peered over.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked the Middian.

  ‘The army of Gotbeck,’ replied Walter. ‘Archbishop Godfrey is leading them himself. There’s at least another ten thousand men on top of what we’ve already got.’

  ‘That’s more Drobax we’ll kill then,’ remarked Brock with a serious expression.

  ‘I think we’ll hold out for a while longer now,’ added Farred, keeping a straight face.

  ‘Well, you two are delightful company,’ responded Walter, frowning balefully. ‘We’ll have to do this again sometime. I can’t wait to tell my brother the good news.’

  Walter invited Farred and Brock to Baldwin’s war council. In the Emperor’s Hall, a table had been laid out with food. To either side of Baldwin, who was positioned at the head of the table, sat the dukes, the men who controlled one of the seven duchies of the Empire: Arne, Duke of Luderia; Godfrey, Archbishop of Gotbeck; Jeremias, the new Duke of Rotelegen, who was accompanied by his mother, Adalheid, the widow of Duke Ellard. Prince Ashere and Walter were positioned after them. Farred and Brock were at the opposite end of the table to Baldwin, seated with his advisers, Rainer and Gustav the Hawk.

  ‘The spread of these foul ideas has been like a fire in dry woods,’ intoned Godfrey, his voice deep and compelling. ‘A contagion of the soul which will not lose hold. Even when I arrived with my forces to restore order, men and women, often of the labouring class, whom I have always felt to have been the most sensible and level headed of our peoples, chose to die in futile resistance; leaving their children orphaned, rather than submit to my authority. And I have been far more forgiving, far more ready to accept false recantations and weak compromises, than I would ordinarily have done, because I was only too aware of my duties here, to defend the Empire from another, far greater threat. I hope you understand, Baldwin, that for me to have left Gotbeck in such a chaotic state, taking my forces with me, would have done far more harm than this delay in reaching Burkhard.’

  Farred was just about following the Archbishop’s story, which centred on a religious revolt he had felt forced to put down before leaving his duchy. However, he had a tendency not only to speak in long sentences, but also to deliver them in what Farred supposed to be his sermon voice; loud, booming, and talking to his audience as if they were stupid. Most of the others at the table had polite faces on, but Farred also detected a certain amount of discomfort with the subject matter under the surface.

  ‘I quite understand the predicament you have been in, Godfrey,’ began Baldwin. ‘Do you have any suspicions on the origins of these teachings?’

  ‘More than suspicions, Your Majesty. It is quite clear that preachers from the Confederacy have been behind it. What is more, they have clearly been allowed to come and go across the border without the authorities there interfering. In my opinion they have even encouraged it. They have certainly been as difficult and unhelpful as they could have been, when they know very well about the great enemy that threatens Brasingia. I understand in present circumstances there is little that we can do, but if the situation were different, I would be advocating an aggressive response against them.’

  ‘I see. Well, the Confederacy has ever been a thorn in our side. I don’t need to remind you of the endless problems they caused my late father, the Gods rest his soul. But, as you say, that will have to wait for another time. I am keen to hear everything you know about our southern duchies. Emeric in Barissia is in open revolt. Coen in Thesse claims that he is unable to spare any troops because of this.’

  ‘Well, Your Majesty,’ began Godfrey, ‘all my sources, which of course are principally from trusted men in the Church, indicate that everything Coen is telling us is the truth. Emeric seems to have access to huge wealth, presumably via Ishari, and has used it to amass a large army. Coen’s forces are significantly smaller, but are able to shadow his movements, and so far, the Barissians seem unwilling to make a move. Of course, now that my own army has left Gotbeck, the situation in the south has changed. The Barissians don’t have to worry about a second front any longer. I would think it only a matter of time until Emeric moves against Coen. He will plan to neutralise Thesse, and then turn against our sparsely defended duchies.’

  Although Godfrey liked the sound of his own voice, his face looked suitably grim, and he did not appear to be enjoying what he said. ‘In truth, Baldwin, he must surely be intending to move on Essenberg when he can, and claim your imperial throne for himself.’

  ‘Well, Godfrey,’ said Duke Arne, ‘no doubt you’re right, but the man is a fool. Surely he must see that it will only be at the whim of Ishari that he holds it.’

  ‘Ambition can easily cloud a man’s judgement,’ interjected Duchess Adalheid. ‘When Baldwin was elected Emperor, my husband accepted the decision and gave him his full support.’

  Baldwin bent his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘But most men can’t do that,’ Adalheid continued. ‘Emeric will have been festering over it ever since, believe me.’

  ‘Well,’ said Baldwin, ‘I have as much to fear as any man from Emeric, since I have left my family in Essenberg. That said, we cannot afford to worry about it now. A threat of far greater proportions will be with us soon. Prince Ashere, what was your estimate of the arrival of the Isharite army?’

  ‘Your Majesty, the full army will arrive in three to four days’ time. It is slow moving due to the Drobax. It is possible that they will send Haskan units faster than that.’

  ‘Who leads it?’ asked Godfrey.

  ‘Gustav?’ asked Baldwin, indicating that the mage should field the question.

  ‘Shira, Queen of Haskany,’ began the wizard.

  ‘Arioc’s slut?’ interrupted the Archbishop.

  Gustav inclined his head towards the Archbishop, presumably in confirmation of the statement. ‘She has with her an uncle,’ he continued, ‘who is an experienced general, and a coterie of Isharite sorcerers. So, although she herself lacks experience, and Arioc is not with them, I think we need to expect strong leadership.’

  ‘Walter,’ said Baldwin, ‘what needs to be done?’

  ‘The defences are almost ready. Now that Your Grace’s soldiers have arrived,’ continued the Marshal, indicating Archbishop Godfrey, ‘they will need to be accommodated in the castle, along with all the other fighting men still outside. We also need to ensure that any non-combatants leave for the South.’

  ‘We can lead one more sortie out,’ said Ashere. It was half statement but also half question, since he turned to Farred and Brock for confirmation. Farred and Brock looked at each other and then nodded their consent.

  ‘I don’t expect you to do that,’ replied Baldwin. ‘You and your soldiers have already done us a great service. Now that you are here I intend to keep you in reserve. It is time for others to risk their lives. My own men can go if you need more time, Walter.’

  ‘I would request one final sortie, Your Majesty,’ said Ashere. ‘Then I would feel that I have done my job to the best of my ability. After that, I would be happy to be deployed as you see fit.’

  Baldwin looked at the Prince and nodded. ‘Very well. If you put it like that I must grant you your request. Please ask my brother to provide you with whatever resources you need, Prince Ashere.’

  Farred felt a shudder go down his spine at the exchange. For some reason, he wished Ashere had not volunteered them. But it was done.

  6

  Two Towers

  THE HIGH TOWER OF THE KNIGHTS of Kalinth was not what Belwynn had expected. The knights seemed to her to be a sober, disciplined group of men. They dedicated themselves to a military life, forgoing a family. They lived in
a tough landscape of hills and moorland. So, to find that their Tower was an elegant folly, with its thin walls and slim, tall spires, totally useless as a defensive structure, was a surprise.

  ‘It’s very pretty,’ said Belwynn as they crested a hill and she got her first full look at it.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Theron, smiling sweetly at it like you might smile at your favourite aunt or uncle.

  ‘It’s not very formidable looking, though. It’s not going to intimidate your enemies.’

  Theron kept smiling. ‘True enough, but we have the Fortress of Chalios as our defensive bastion, should the need arise. The High Tower is a much more pleasant place for the Order to meet. Most everywhere else in Kalinth is bleak and imposing,’ he said and looked Belwynn in the eyes. ‘So when you have something delicate and beautiful, you treasure it all the more.’

  Belwynn looked away and they rode on in silence, eating up the distance to the Tower, until they were dismounting and organising the stabling of the horses. Theron boasted that the stables at the High Tower were the largest in Dalriya, and a number of grooms descended on them, ensuring that all the horses were marked up with Sebastian’s coat of arms, a simple blue shield with one red chevron, before leading them off to what looked like a maze of buildings.

  The importance of the High Tower to the knights had led to the growth of a town around it, with shops and guest houses providing services to the knights and their entourages. Apart from the horses, accommodation for humans in the Tower was confined to knights only, so Evander was sent off to book lodgings for himself, Belwynn and the others, while Sebastian’s retainers and servants organised themselves separately.

  ‘Come, now the boring arrangements have been made, let me show you the Tower,’ said Theron, gesturing all four of them to the grand entrance.

  Again, no real effort had been made to make the entrance defensible. It was approached by a set of polished, grey marble steps, with a six-pillared portico above it. The entrance itself was wide enough for the five of them to walk through side by side. Ahead of them was a wall, dominated by a huge embroidery depicting a battle scene, where knights on horseback were charging at an army of Drobax. Theron took them to the right, then a right angle turn to the left brought them into a large hallway. Various people were milling about here, while others leaned against walls chatting. Some were dressed in all their knightly finery; others were servants who worked in the Tower.

  ‘In there,’ said Theron, pointing to the room on the right, ‘is the chapel. Only knights may enter; that is where we are inducted into the Order. Opposite,’ he said, waving to the left, ‘are the kitchens and stairs leading up to the sleeping quarters. But I wanted to show you the Great Hall.’

  Theron led them ahead to the formidable oak doors of the hall. Each was flanked by a giant marble statue. On the right, a white mounted knight, his horse risen on its hind legs, was thrusting his lance ahead of him. On the left a fearsome green dragon, on its hind legs in a similar pose to the horse, reached out with its clawed and scaled front legs.

  Theron pushed at one of the doors which was already slightly ajar, and with a bit of a creak it opened wide enough for them to slip through. Belwynn was first struck by the height of the room; the ceiling was a good twenty feet high, and was decorated with painted murals. Servants were coming and going through a door which connected into the kitchens, preparing for the evening meal. At the other end of the room was a raised dais.

  The rest of the room was taken up with round tables. In front of the dais was the largest and grandest, and the other tables radiated out from it, like the spokes of a wheel. Belwynn had never seen a set up like it. The halls she had been in were almost always set up in a horseshoe shape, with most people sitting on benches. The nearer you were to the top of the horseshoe, the more honoured you were by the host.

  ‘The round tables denote equality?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Theron, ‘of a sort. The idea is that all the knights are brothers, and in that sense, are equals. But everyone wants to be seated as near to the main table as possible. You can’t avoid human nature.’

  On their way out, heading down the hallway, a huge shout rang out and another knight came bounding over towards them. Theron let out a similar cry and the two men embraced in a big bear hug.

  Theron turned to the others.

  ‘This is Tycho, my best friend. Tycho, these are new friends I have made. It’s rather a long story. Belwynn, Elana, Rabigar and Dirk.’

  Tycho was of a similar age to Theron, but of a darker complexion. Even standing next to Theron, Belwynn could see that he was heavily muscled, with a broad chest, huge shoulders, and a thick neck. He had a friendly, open face and he shook each of them by the hand, Belwynn’s hand disappearing into his when it was her turn.

  ‘Well, sometime soon you’ll have to tell me the story. Is it true that your cousin is here?’

  ‘Yes...’ Theron began, but his attention was diverted. ‘Evander! Over here!’ he shouted, interrupting himself.

  The young squire, who was making his way over to them anyway, hurried a bit faster.

  ‘Lord Tycho,’ he said in greeting to the other knight.

  Tycho gave him a whack on the shoulder which sent a shudder down the young man’s body, but he seemed to be expecting it, and continued unfazed.

  ‘I have secured our accommodation, my lord,’ he said to Theron. ‘Good rooms at the Green Dragon.’

  ‘Excellent. Well done, `Vander,’ Theron replied.

  ‘Well, I think we should go there now,’ said Belwynn, sensing that Theron needed to get away and discuss politics with his friend. ‘Thank you for showing us the Tower, Lord Theron.’

  They said their goodbyes, and followed Evander away from the Tower and into the town. The town had clearly grown up next to the Tower in a completely disorganised fashion, and Belwynn found herself concentrating hard on remembering the route, as Evander navigated the twists and turns. Solid stone buildings stood next to temporary shacks built of untreated wood, and the paths narrowed and widened at random, so that at one minute they would all be walking side by side, the next in single file, as they squeezed their way past people coming in the opposite direction.

  As well as grocers feeding the knights and their entourages, they walked past farriers and blacksmiths, who seemed to be making a good living.

  A bellow of pain erupted from one of the smithies, followed by a scream. They hurried over. Outside they found a smith on his knees with a splinter of metal sticking out of his neck. Blood was pouring from the wound. A small crowd had already gathered around him.

  ‘Careful!’ cautioned one of them, as the smith fumbled at his neck with big, grimy fingers. ‘You might make it worse!’

  ‘Let me deal with this!’ demanded Elana, making her way over to the man.

  Belwynn and the others followed her.

  ‘It might have hit his jugular,’ murmured Rabigar as they took a closer look.

  Belwynn looked around at the crowd for resistance, but they seemed willing enough for Elana to tend to the man.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded the smith, wild eyed with fear.

  ‘Calm down and let me have a look,’ replied Elana, going down onto her knees so that she was at the same height as her patient. She had a look at the injury, and then used one finger to put some light pressure on the neck below the wound, which reduced the flow of blood.

  ‘My name’s Elana,’ she said, calmly. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Nestor. Can you get it out? I was hammering iron and a bit flew off. Is it bad?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it out.’

  Elana placed the fingers of her other hand around the injury and closed her eyes in concentration. Nothing seemed to happen at first, but the blood flow started to reduce further. Then, she carefully placed a thumb and forefinger on Nestor’s neck where the piece of metal had entered. She gripped the end of the metal with her other hand and slowly pulled it out. The crowd, which was growin
g in size, gasped as she removed it and placed it onto the ground beside her. She kept her hand over his neck for a while longer and then removed it. The injury was still visible but it had stopped bleeding, as if the internal damage had been healed.

  ‘There,’ Elana said. ‘It should be fine now, but you need to take the rest of the day off and rest—no physical activity. Protect the wound from any damage.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the smith, getting gingerly to his feet and then pulling up Elana with him. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated, enfolding her in a hug. ‘You saved my life. Please, let me pay you.’

  ‘No,’ responded Elana, frowning, ‘I don’t need payment.’

  ‘Then take something from my store, please, anything you want.’

  But other members of the crowd were now moving in, asking Elana what she had done, and how. Rabigar approached Nestor and took him to one side, no doubt discussing their shared trade, if not the accident itself. Belwynn shared a look with the young Evander, who was staring open mouthed at what he had just witnessed. She gave him a brief smile and shrugged. Something told her that this story was going to get retold. A lot.

  It had been a hellish journey since they had been captured in the lands of the Grand Caladri. Moneva had been kept away from the others. She had her hands tied the whole time, and had to ride on the same horse as an Isharite. They had taken it in turns to ride with her, their arms wrapped around her from behind as they held the reins of the horse, squeezing her more than necessary, gripping her with their knees. Their breath was heavy on the back of her neck. Sometimes they would hold the reins one handed and rest the other on her thigh. It was all Moneva could do to stop herself screaming out and fighting. But she knew that was what they wanted. So instead she kept quiet, didn’t react, and gave them as little pleasure as she could.

  The treatment handed out to Herin, Clarin and Gyrmund was no better. They would get kicked and slapped about regularly. Some days they would eat, others not. They sat on a cart most of the time, but at other times the Isharites might decide that one of them should walk. They would tie their hands to a rope connected to the cart. If they tripped they would get dragged along until they regained their feet. Their captors laughed a little when this happened, but most of the time showed no interest in them.