‘Please, there is no need to apologise. What is it you have come for?’
‘Well, we all listened to your song...your singing, in the Great Hall, and we all got talking about how inspiring it was for each of us. All of us have said it was a very moving experience, each in our own way...’
Philon’s voice drifted off, unable to continue the sentence any further. He turned around to his friends and flapped his hands a little, as if to appeal for help.
The nearest knight cleared his throat and stepped forwards. He suddenly went down on one knee.
‘Lady Belwynn,’ he began—large brown eyes framed in long, wavy brown hair looked up at her, ‘we are all going to war for our first time, and we have a request that—would it be possible for you to bless our swords?’
Belwynn was taken aback and looked at Elana for help. The priestess nodded. She could hardly refuse such a request.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, without having any idea what was involved in blessing a sword.
The other five knights, including Philon, adopted the same position as the brown eyed knight. They all drew their swords and, gripping the hilt in both hands, placed the sharp end into the ground. When this was done, they bowed their heads, seemingly ready to receive the blessing.
Belwynn turned to look at Elana again, who to her surprise had put one hand to her mouth, and seemed to be trying not to giggle out loud.
She approached the first knight.
‘May I ask your name?’
‘Leontios.’
‘And where are you from, Leontios?’
‘From Fyllo, my lady.’
‘Leontios of Fyllo, I bless your sword, may it serve its master well in battle.’
She quickly looked at the downturned faces of the knights to see their reaction, but there was no sign that they were disappointed with the choice of words. So, Belwynn moved from Leontios to Philon, and on to the rest of the knights, giving the same blessing to each of them.
Half way through Theron came striding over, the initial look of concern on his face quickly turning to bemusement as he took in the spectacle. Once Belwynn had finished, the knights returned to their feet, evidently pleased with what had passed. They offered their thanks and, giving a final bow, made their way back to the road.
Theron’s eyes followed the knights and then turned back to Belwynn, as if studying her closely.
‘What, Theron? Was I wrong to do that?’
‘No, not at all. I think it was good,’ he said, his voice light and breezy.
But he continued to look at Belwynn, as if in some way he were now truly seeing her for the first time.
Moneva was finally out of Arioc’s apartments. After two more nights with the King of Haskany she was now allowed the freedom of the fortress. He had held her chin in one hand, and agreed to her request as if he were an indulgent father. The memory of it made her stomach twist, but Moneva ruthlessly pushed it aside. She had to learn to banish those memories. She had to use the little time she had to achieve something.
Moneva knew that this meant that Arioc had started to trust her, but that if she did anything to lose his trust there would be no second chances. So, she couldn’t stay out for too long. Neither could she ask him about the whereabouts of her friends. This left the chances of her finding out anything of use dismally low, but at least she could get her bearings.
Babak had given her a brooch with Arioc’s sigil on it: a serpent, coiled around into a circle and eating its own tail. This allowed her free passage around his tower.
Since virtually all the people she came across in the tower also displayed the same sigil somewhere about their person, on uniforms, or necklaces, or brooches just like hers, Moneva concluded that the whole tower was Arioc’s domain in some way, and everyone in it a follower of his. She therefore acted on the assumption that since Gyrmund and the others had been captured by Arioc, they would most likely be here too. But after a couple of hours of fruitless searching, she started to give up on that idea. Presumably, most of the other towers of the fortress were occupied by great Lords of Ishari, just like Arioc. But there was likely to be other areas where prisoners were kept, and it was these she had to locate.
Knowing that she had little time left before raising suspicions, Moneva made her way to the eastern exit of the tower. Two guards stood on duty at the door, mean looking men like the ones who had held her captive on the way here.
Moneva approached them, making sure that the brooch was visible. The guards saw her coming. One of them said a few words to the other and they both laughed in her direction, lips curling in contempt. Steeling herself, Moneva approached the exit, trying to make her expression and body language look as confident as possible.
One of the guards put out an arm, his hand grasping a spear that blocked her from leaving.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, speaking Dalriyan in a much more heavily accented voice than Arioc did.
Belwynn nodded ahead of her. ‘Out there,’ she said.
‘No, not allowed.’
‘Arioc says I am allowed.’
Belwynn sensed some doubt in them now. These men didn’t want to make a mistake and displease their master. Arioc’s last lover, Shira, was now on the Council of Seven after all. It wouldn’t be wise to insult Moneva if she was going to become his new favourite.
‘You can tell him where I went,’ she said, looking impassively at both guards.
The guard with the spear looked at his partner who gave a small nod. The arm was withdrawn. The second guard opened the wooden door for Moneva, who wasted no time in passing through it.
The corridor she entered was just the same as the one she had left, tough stone walls on either side, and a wooden ceiling above her, which served as a walkway for the castle defenders above. Torches in the wall made just enough light to see ahead.
But the feeling of this corridor was totally different. Everywhere she had been on the other side of the door, every inch of every room, had resonated with Arioc’s presence, as if he were aware of everything that happened there. But once Moneva had passed through the door, beyond his part of the fortress, the feeling vanished. It was powerful magic, admitted Moneva, but even Arioc’s magic had boundaries. That thought gave her hope.
Passing through an unguarded door at the end of the new corridor, Moneva found herself in a small courtyard. The wooden walkway above her continued its route around the fortress wall. As she passed under it, she found the courtyard was open to the elements, and she was able to breathe fresh air for the first time in days. The yard narrowed quite sharply ahead of her, making it a wedge shape. The left of the courtyard was being used as a dumping ground for materials: a pile of stones, neatly stacked lengths of timber, and several large canvas sacks tied with rope.
Servants were carrying more of these sacks into the courtyard, and dumping them against the wall with a clatter. A couple of soldiers entered the courtyard from an opening in this wall, and passed through to a similar opening on the other side. Servants and soldiers alike gave Moneva a brief look, but were too busy, or perhaps too disinterested, to do more than that.
A stone bench ran along the far end of the courtyard, the thin end of the wedge. A lone figure, seated on the bench, gestured to Moneva to come over. Moneva looked around uncertainly but no-one else was watching. She moved over warily. The figure gestured with his arm again, as if she should hurry up. He was wearing a cowl that partially hid his face, but as Moneva moved a step closer she could see a pair of red eyes staring out at her. She stopped with a start. It was Pentas.
Pentas beckoned a third time, looking frustrated. Moneva moved over more quickly, taking a seat next to the sorcerer and trying not to look suspicious.
‘Moneva,’ he began, turning towards her, his red eyes drawing her in. ‘We don’t have long. Don’t draw attention to our conversation. We don’t want anyone to remember us. I am under surveillance and so will you be.’
Moneva nodded. ‘How did you find me he
re?’
‘I’ve known where you were all along. I’ve been waiting for you to get out of Arioc’s Tower.’
Moneva felt anger flare to the surface. ‘You knew what was happening to me, and you did nothing?’ she let out, trying to stop her whisper from becoming a scream. She felt tears in her eyes.
Pentas stared straight back at her. ‘Yes. I hoped you would survive it.’
‘You hoped?’ said Moneva incredulously, and lashed out, aiming to slap Pentas in the face; but his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.
‘I told you not to draw attention,’ he said sternly, pushing her arm down before letting go. He looked around the courtyard before continuing.
‘I am sorry for what has happened to you, Moneva. But there are many lives at stake right now.’
It was said with some feeling, but hardly made Moneva feel better. She tried to control her emotions, surprised at how quickly they had come flooding out.
‘I have to be very careful,’ continued Pentas. ‘You are strong, and you have survived. But now I need you to help me. I know where your friends have been taken.’
‘Where?’ demanded Moneva.
‘I will give you full directions. Gyrmund, Herin and Clarin have been sent to a slave mine attached to the fortress, and Soren is being held in one of the towers here. There is only so much help I can give you all. Soon Herin and the others must be ready, somehow, to escape the mines. I want you to find them and give them warning of this. You, too, will have to be ready. But I can’t risk seeing you again, Moneva, unless there’s a real emergency. I won’t be here in the fortress all the time, either. I must give you all your instructions now. Do you understand?’
Moneva understood that she was putting herself completely in the hands of this sorcerer, whom she had no reason to trust. But at least he was offering her a plan and giving her purpose, when she had been hopelessly lost before.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. And there’s one other thing you can do. You don’t like it I know, but you are now in a position to influence Arioc. That makes you powerful. There are certain things I would like you to talk about with him. But I need to know now whether you agree to all of it? You will be risking your life if you do.’
Moneva sighed. Did she have any choice?
‘I agree, sorcerer. Now tell me where my friends are.’
From where they stood, Burkhard Castle looked like the model castle her Uncle Koren owned back home and had, on special occasions, let her play with. The Drobax, on the other hand, didn’t resemble the toy soldiers that went with it: Koren just owned brave knights and men at arms, not deformed creatures like these. Shira was only too aware of the irony that the brave soldiers she had imagined in her childhood games were the ones defending the castle from her army.
Shira’s own people, the Haskans, were stationed two miles away, and weren’t being used in the attack. Joined by Koren and Mehrab, she had located a rocky outcrop from where they could observe the attack. But she had no real role to play herself. It was Roshanak and his team of Isharite wizards who were in charge, driving the Drobax forwards and giving them their instructions.
The drums pounded out the beat for an all-out attack, and the creatures charged at the castle like rabid animals. As much as Shira and Koren despised the Drobax for not being true soldiers— and Mehrab despised Roshanak and his associates for not being true magi—the reality was that this army of Drobax was the most powerful force in the land.
As she looked on, they swarmed towards the two outcrops of rock which represented one of the best natural defensive positions in Dalriya. On the left of the scene stood the larger of the two crags with the Emperor’s Keep on top. The Drobax approached it from all sides and began to climb. No path had ever been constructed by the Brasingians on this crag, and the Drobax had to negotiate their way up the steep rock surface. They used roughly made wooden ladders, propping them up against the side, but the going was slow.
The crag on the right was the obvious target for the Drobax, and was heavily defended by the castle’s soldiers, who had stationed a force right at the bottom where the path began. The narrow path neutralised the numerical superiority of the Drobax, and gave the defenders a height advantage. The Drobax launched their attack at this part of the castle but the defenders held firm. Although she was too far away to see the individual weapons, Shira knew that there would be a wall of shields bristling with spears and pikes waiting for the Drobax. As she watched, a pile of dead bodies began to grow at the bottom of the path.
‘Whose banner is that?’ asked Mehrab, pointing at the device of the green tree which was being flown over the heads of the defenders who were engaging the Drobax.
‘The duchy of Luderia,’ replied Shira. ‘Arne is their leader; the Emperor’s father-in-law. A fat waste of space, so I am told.’
‘Well, his men are doing alright,’ said Koren sharply. ‘I’m going for a piss,’ he added, heading off back down the outcrop.
‘Your uncle isn’t enjoying this?’ asked Mehrab when Koren was out of earshot.
‘Not his idea of how wars should be fought,’ said Shira. ‘Nor mine, but I guess I’m more philosophical about it.’
‘You mean that you understand that this is the last war humans will ever fight.’
Shira shrugged. She didn’t like the comment. But then she didn’t like Mehrab.
The hours went by and little changed. Koren never reappeared, and Shira didn’t blame him.
The Luderians retreated up the path. Not far, but it represented some progress. They moved behind a gate which blocked the path up the crag. The Drobax attacked, hacking and ripping at the gate. From a ledge above them, the defenders threw missiles down. It was hard to make out what, but there would be rocks, spears, arrows. Maybe hot oil, which was commonly used by castle defenders in Haskany. It would be carnage, and the Drobax retreated under the onslaught.
At the same time the Drobax on the other crag were finally encountering the defenders. About half way up a small wall had been built which encircled the whole crag. The Brasingians manned this wall so that they had a common point of defence, and as the Drobax struggled up towards it, the imperial soldiers could thrust with their spears or fire missiles down, with the wall to protect them. It was easy work for the defenders. The Drobax arrived at the wall in small, irregular numbers rather than all at once, and could be picked off at will. Shira had no faith that any of them would get through.
The attack continued for the rest of the day. Towards the end, the Drobax on the path managed to rip down the gate, but were then counter-attacked by the Luderians who had been able to conserve their strength. The Drobax were driven right down to the bottom of the path. Finally, the drums ordered a retreat, and the Drobax made their way back to the pathetic camps that encircled the castle. Thousands of them were dead, and Shira knew that some of the bodies would be collected and cannibalised tonight.
She sighed. ‘We’re not getting anywhere like this.’
Mehrab nodded. ‘We might as well not bother, and just starve them into surrender. Can’t your Haskans do a better job?’
‘I’m not sending them into this death trap! No, it’s time for you to contribute something now. Arioc sent you Isharites to overcome problems like this.’
Mehrab grunted. But he didn’t disagree. ‘Like what? There’s no point getting ourselves killed in the fighting. We’re not expendable like the Drobax.’
Shira thought about it. ‘The leaders,’ she said finally. ‘The soldiers up there fight for their leaders. If we can kill Baldwin and the others, their morale will collapse. But Baldwin most of all.’
‘That’s easier said than done, Shira.’
Shira stared at him. ‘You don’t address a member of the Council of the Seven by their first name.’
Mehrab looked a little disconcerted. ‘Apologies, Lord,’ he muttered.
‘I didn’t say it would be easy, but that’s your job. I want the Emperor dead, Mehrab. Find a way. Find a way, and
then we can smash Burkhard and finish off the Empire.’
13
A Great Moot
RABIGAR URGED HIS HORSE ON, guiding it along the uphill track. They were now entering the impenetrable mountainous terrain that was the heartland of the Krykker realm. He had made good time since leaving Belwynn behind in Kalinth four days ago, and it had been good to spend a few days on his own, travelling in the open air. Since his exile from his homeland, when he had still been a young man, he had been forced to spend a lot of time in his own company. He had settled in various places and made acquaintances, but had always moved on eventually. Whereas in his youth he had been surrounded by family and friends, Rabigar had now grown used to being alone.
The few days of light travelling had done his health good. It had given him time to think, too, especially about the injury he had received in the dungeons of Coldeberg Castle. With only one eye left, he knew his sight would never again be what it was. But he also had reason to be thankful that it hadn’t been worse: that Moneva and the others had rescued him before more damage was done. He had survived his exile with no kin to support him, and he had lived to an age that most people never saw.
As he had crossed from the borderlands of Kalinth into the lands of his people, a sense of peace had fallen on Rabigar. He was coming home. His life had come full circle. If his homecoming wasn’t accepted and he was to die—well, then so be it.
Rabigar decided it was time to dismount and walk the rest of the way. He gave the mare a pat and some food and water. Sebastian had given him a good mount. When she was ready, he led the beast along, studying the rocky terrain closely with his one good eye for familiar features.
After a while Rabigar found what he was looking for. To his left was a cave entrance, mostly hidden by scrub, a few metres away from the path. Gently encouraging the horse, he got it to climb up the rocks and into the darkness of the cave. The roof of the cave was only a foot higher than the horse. It wasn’t very deep either, but there was enough space for Rabigar to walk in his mount. He tied it up on a hook carved into the cave. He unloaded his carrying bag, took off the saddle, and laid out the remainder of the fodder and water.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 50
