The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘Here you go,’ he murmured reassuringly. ‘You’ll be safe here until someone collects you.’

  Rabigar moved over to the wall of the cave, touching the rock for the first time in over twenty years. Tears came to his eyes as he did so. This rock could not be found elsewhere in Dalriya. It belonged only to the Krykker, and the Krykker belonged to it. It would last forever. And so would the Krykker, the first people of Dalriya. Before the Isharites, Humans, Caladri, before even the Lippers had come, the Krykkers had been in Dalriya. They would outlast them all, too.

  He concentrated now, focusing on his hands and on the rock, emptying his mind of any other thoughts. He stood like that for a while, he was not sure for how long, as he entered a trance like state. It had, after all, been a long time since he had last done this. Then, slowly, his hands began to disperse the particles of rock. Pushing forwards, they began to submerge into the rock as if he was sticking them into a vat of butter. As they did so, the rock shifted around him to make room. Rabigar pushed further, using his thighs to force his arms into the rock. The mare whinnied nervously as his limbs began to disappear.

  The critical moment came as Rabigar’s face and shoulders met the wall. The temptation, especially when a Krykker was learning this technique at first, was to panic as the face entered the rock, due to the natural fear of asphyxiation. Krykker rock walkers had to train themselves to ignore this natural reaction, and have faith in their ability. Rabigar pushed head first, holding his breath as if he were diving through water rather than rock. Gathering speed, he pushed until his whole body was inside the rock, and he had left the cave behind. He kept moving, secure in the knowledge that this was a safe area to pass through. Nevertheless, when Rabigar’s head emerged on the other side of the rock, he took a relieved breath of air.

  He had passed into an underground tunnel. It was pitch black. Rabigar knew where he was going, but he gave himself some time to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. Turning right, he began walking towards the nearest Krykker settlement.

  Rabigar’s plan was to keep walking until challenged, arrested, and taken before the local chieftain. The clan in these parts were the Dramsen. Rabigar remembered the local Dramsen chieftain as being young and fair minded. He hoped that he was still alive, and that age hadn’t soured him.

  It didn’t turn out quite as Rabigar had foreseen it. Instead of being challenged while making his way along the tunnel he caught up with a young Dramsen. The youth had a flat, open wheeled cart attached around his shoulders with rope, and was steadily pulling it up the tunnel. It was filled with timber. Rabigar remembered being given the same job many times when he was the same age, no longer a child but not yet an adult warrior. The Krykker blacksmiths had an insatiable appetite for timber, and young men were sent out with these carts and an axe to cut down and strip trees. They would not be allowed to return until their carts were full.

  The rumble of the wheels on the floor of the tunnel meant that the young man didn’t hear Rabigar catching up to him, and so in the end he had to holler out for him to stop. The young man turned and peered at Rabigar, trying to place him; his puzzled expression indicated that he couldn’t.

  Rabigar approached steadily and held out a hand.

  ‘My name is Din.’

  ‘Stenk,’ came the reply.

  The young man was friendly enough and willingly shook hands. However, his puzzled expression returned as he stood looking Rabigar up and down.

  ‘Din?’ he repeated, eyeing Rabigar carefully. ‘But—you’re not—Rabigar Din? Are you?’

  Rabigar held up his hands. ‘Yes, I am. But I’m not here to harm you.’

  Stenk looked back with a strange mix of awe, fear and uncertainty.

  ‘I will surrender to you, and you can take me to your chieftain. Is Torinac still in charge here?’

  ‘Wow—’ said Stenk, ignoring the question. ‘I never thought I would meet Rabigar Din. I thought you would be dead by now. Everyone knows about you,’ he informed Rabigar.

  Rabigar wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘Torinac?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry. I’ll take you to him.’

  ‘You had better take my sword from me,’ said Rabigar.

  ‘Right. Yes.’

  Rabigar unbuckled his sword from his belt and passed it over. Stenk took a good grip and gave it a couple of swishes.

  ‘That’s a good weapon,’ he commented, before carefully placing it into his cart.

  They set off up the tunnel to find Torinac. Rabigar was under arrest. Though the process hadn’t been as formal as he had expected.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ asked Torinac. ‘This is your last chance. I could say you escaped in the night.’

  It was the next day. Rabigar had been treated with great respect by the chieftain of the Dramsen. Stenk had led him up a series of tunnels to the outside, where Torinac had his stone hall. Rabigar had been given pride of place by the fire as if he were a guest, and there was no guard set over him.

  Torinac had sent out messengers to the other chieftains of the Krykker clans, advising them of Rabigar’s presence and calling for a Great Moot, a meeting of the clans. This is what Rabigar had wanted, for it would give him a chance to explain his presence, and warn his people of the threat posed by Ishari.

  ‘No. I need to address the Great Moot about something very important. More important than my life.’

  Torinac shrugged. He looked interested in what Rabigar had said, but didn’t pursue it. He was a powerful looking warrior. His great grey fur coat, made from raccoon, made him look twice as big as he really was. He turned around to the score of other fur clad warriors who had gathered in the hall.

  ‘On!’ he bellowed, in a booming voice which was used to being obeyed. ‘Clan Dramsen has called a Great Moot!’

  A cheer rose up, and before Rabigar knew it, the group was barging its way to the doors of the hall. He readied himself to follow, when he caught sight of Stenk watching on from the side.

  ‘Torinac?’ he said.

  ‘What is it, Rabigar Din?’

  ‘You may think it highly presumptuous. I would request your man Stenk to be my man for the duration of the moot.’

  ‘Stenk!’ bellowed Torinac.

  Stenk sidled over.

  ‘You will serve Rabigar Din.’

  ‘Yes, lord!’ replied Stenk, nodding excitedly. He hurried off in the opposite direction.

  ‘Stenk! Where are you going?’

  ‘To get a weapon, lord.’

  ‘Hurry up!’

  Rabigar waited for Stenk to fetch an axe, and then they hurried after the Dramsen warriors. It all felt rather madcap and disorganised to Rabigar. He sighed. He had been away from his homeland for so long that his people seemed strange to him. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

  Torinac’s men scrambled down the mountainside at pace. What would be considered a dangerous climb down to most humans was a daily journey for them. Rabigar and Stenk caught up with them half way down, where the group had stopped in front of a sheer drop to a rocky area below. Two of the warriors were pulling on a rope which seemed to be operating a pulley system below. Rabigar peered over the edge. He could see two sets of metal rails running down a smooth slope into the shadows. It wasn’t possible to see how far they went.

  Torinac came over, grinning.

  ‘You’re about to see that times have moved on since you were last here, Rabigar Din.’

  His grin became rather manic looking, and Rabigar looked down the slope again with alarm. He could hear a scraping sound of metal on metal, which didn’t make him feel any better.

  Eventually the item which the two warriors were pulling up the slope came into view. It was a very large, open, rectangular shaped metal box. The scraping sound was the metal wheels at the bottom of the box which were passing between the two sets of metal rails on the floor.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Torinac, as the closest edge of the box was attached to the rock face with a giant metal h
ook. ‘I call it a rail way.’

  One of the warriors clambered into the box.

  ‘You don’t expect me to get in that?’ asked Rabigar, as the other warriors began jumping in.

  ‘I’m ordering you to get into it. You’re my prisoner, remember?’ said Torinac, pleasantly enough.

  ‘We’ll all die.’

  Torinac seemed very disappointed. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve tested it plenty of times.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Just get in.’

  Rabigar got in, heading for one of the sides of the box which he gripped tightly.

  Torinac and Stenk followed him in. It was now a very tight squeeze inside the box. The final warrior joined them. Using the handle of his axe, the warrior knocked the hook out of the rock. Rabigar watched him, aghast. One moment they were being held in place, next, over twenty Krykkers inside a giant metal box began rolling down a mountain slope.

  As the box gathered pace the warriors began screaming and whooping in delight. The noise nearly masked the scraping of the metal wheels on the rails. Rabigar closed his eyes. He could hear Torinac laughing hysterically. He felt the box getting faster and faster. The shouting got louder and then, suddenly, with no warning or reduction of speed, the box hit the bottom. Rabigar fell onto his back from the impact, and some of the Krykkers fell on top of him. The box had become a mass of flailing arms and legs. The box lurched forwards back up the rails a few feet, causing everyone to roll over to the other end of the box. It then slid back down to the bottom again, causing further mayhem as elbows and knees struck people in the face, where at last it came to a rest.

  Dizzily, Rabigar made his way to the end of the box and hauled himself out, moving away a few feet. His head was spinning and he sank down to his knees. Torinac appeared.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked the chieftain.

  Rabigar felt like he was going to vomit.

  ‘Very good. I guess that’s saved us a lot of time.’

  ‘Certainly has. It’s a very popular invention. A lot of the other clans are starting to build their own. We haven’t quite perfected the landing yet, though.’

  Thousands of years ago, the Great Meeting Chamber of the Krykkers was carved out of the mountain Kerejus. Only accessible via underground tunnels, it represented neutral ground, where all the clans could meet on equal terms.

  It was a dramatic setting. Great pillars, made of the original mountain rock, had been left in place, supporting the rough ceiling of the cavern. They had been intricately carved, some in arresting patterns, others depicting the collective stories and heroes of the Krykkers’ past. These heroes were also depicted in over-sized statues that lined the walls of the hall. Warriors abounded, but also justice givers, like Chief Huderam the Righteous, who dispensed justice on behalf of the oppressed against the mighty.

  In the middle of the chamber stood the circular arena. Tiered stone seats looked down on the central stage, where the chief speakers of a Great Moot would address their audience. The representatives of each clan could be seated and heard, and the circular shape meant that no clan was given more status than another.

  It was here that Rabigar had been tried and sentenced to exile. He had been a different man, then. Young and arrogant, he had revelled in his status as one of the best warriors of the Grendal clan, and as a rock walker. Popular and respected amongst his peers, he was talked of as a future clan leader.

  But that had all ended one night. Rabigar and his friends had drunk far too much, feasting in the hall of their chieftain, Lidimas. Rabigar had long held a fancy for the chieftain’s daughter, Maragin. He couldn’t remember exactly what he had done to upset Lidimas that night. It was more than the usual flirting, certainly. He had not behaved with respect. Lidimas had come storming over, demanding an apology. Ordinarily, Rabigar would have backed down, understanding the rules that governed clan life, and recognising the danger of the situation. But the drink made him behave differently. Maybe the presence of his friends, or of Maragin, affected his behaviour too. But in failing to back away from Lidimas he was challenging his chieftain’s authority.

  Before Rabigar knew what was happening, both men had weapons in their hands. It was over quickly. Narrowly avoiding a swing from Lidimas, Rabigar had lashed out violently, all of his angry, beer-fuelled strength in the strike. His sword connected with the side of Lidimas’s neck. His chieftain collapsed to the floor. He didn’t die immediately; but in the last few days of his life, he never regained consciousness.

  Rabigar had suddenly sobered up. Then came the screams. It was the screams that stayed with Rabigar, visiting him even now when he slept. Maragin’s screams as she knelt by Lidimas, looking accusingly up at Rabigar, and back to her father.

  Rabigar’s memory of the trial was hazy, as if he had been asleep at key moments. Many favoured death, but some, like Torinac, had accepted that Rabigar struck in self-defence. Still, he had killed his own chieftain. The sentence was reduced to exile for life. Many Krykkers in Rabigar’s position would have preferred death to such a punishment. But, guilt ridden, he accepted the verdict as his penance. One final judgement was made. Rabigar was a noble, warrior’s name among the Krykker. He was no longer entitled to it. He would thereafter be referred to as Din, a low born name. Rabigar who was, now no longer existed.

  Torinac and his men filed into the chamber, quietly taking their places. Rabigar sat next to the Dramsen chieftain on the front row of seats. Some of the other clans had already arrived, and taken their seats in the arena. Their chieftains also took positions at the front, so that if needed they could enter the circle and speak for their clan. There were murmurs from some of the other clans, but they respected the rules of the Great Moot, and did not challenge Torinac or Rabigar before proceedings had formally started. They had to wait for the remaining clans to arrive first. Rabigar kept his eyes fixed to the floor, not talking, aware that he was the centre of attention. Time went slowly. Stenk had to go and empty his bladder against the far wall of the chamber. Finally, the last clan to arrive settled into position.

  Torinac stood. He walked slowly into the centre of the space in the middle of the arena, turning around in a full circle so that he was addressing everyone gathered. Rabigar lifted his head up, looking out at the faces, his eyes naturally searching out his own clan, the Grendals. When he found them, he got a shock that twisted his insides. Staring back at him was Maragin, seated as the chieftain of the Grendals. They made eye contact briefly. Her face was expressionless and composed. It was Rabigar who turned away, unable to hold the gaze. As Torinac began to speak, Rabigar could barely concentrate on what he was saying. A feeling of desperation came over him. Things had gone well to this point. But with the daughter of the murdered Lidimas speaking for the Grendals, it would surely be impossible to persuade the Moot of his case.

  ‘I am Torinac, chieftain of the Dramsen and I have called this Moot,’ began Torinac in a booming voice. ‘Yesterday, unknown to me and uninvited, the exile, Din, came into the lands of the Dramsen clan. It is fair to say, I believe, that we all know who Din is, and that we all know the penalty for breaking his exile is death?’

  Shouts of ‘agreed’, ‘yes’, and other affirmatives met this question.

  ‘Din explained to me that he had come back to warn our people of a dire threat, to the peoples of Dalriya including our own. He argued that instead of killing him, I should allow him to pass on this warning. This is what I bring before the Great Moot today.’

  Torinac fell silent, waiting for a response. After a pause one of the chieftains, Guremar of clan Plengas, raised an arm.

  ‘Guremar,’ said Torinac, indicating that he gave way to the chieftain.

  Torinac returned to his seat, and Guremar made his way to the central stage. He was one of the oldest chieftains, stern-faced, with grey, bushy eyebrows, that seemed to be set in a permanent frown.

  ‘I understand why Torinac has brought this matter before the Moot. But my verdict is clear. When Din murdered his o
wn chieftain over twenty years ago, my clan demanded the death penalty, but others, such as Torinac, disagreed. Now that Din has returned; I propose that the sentence be carried out.’

  Guremar now fell silent. Rabigar sneaked a look over towards Maragin but she remained still. Instead another chieftain, of clan Swarten, had raised an arm.

  ‘Hakonin.’

  Rabigar did not recognise the name Hakonin, and so didn’t know what to expect from the next speaker. When he walked to the centre of the stage, Rabigar saw why. He was a young man, and must have been a child on the day of Rabigar’s exile.

  ‘No one can disagree that our laws say that Din’s punishment should be death. But I propose that first we hear what he has to say. It would be foolish of us not to listen to him in case his warning is genuine. I would add that Din has not attempted to return since his exile, and so something serious may have motivated his arrival now.’

  Two more chieftains stood to agree that Rabigar should be heard. Heads turned towards Maragin, wondering what she had to say, but still she sat unmoved, stony faced.

  ‘Din.’

  He had been called. This had been his objective, to speak to the Moot. He had prepared himself to accept whatever came afterwards. Rabigar stood and walked to the circle. He took a final glance at his old clan. He detected a mixture of expressions. Some, naturally, were hostile. Others, those who had been his close friends, nodded solemnly; some even smiled. At the front Maragin remained expressionless; unreadable.

  ‘I, Din, have spent these last years living as an exile in the lands of men. I accepted my punishment, but I have returned to speak these words, and I swear they are true. In the service of Prince Edgar of Magnia I was ordered, with other warriors, to retrieve a dagger that had been stolen from his lands by agents of Ishari. Here,’ he said, indicating the patch that covered the hole where his eye had been, ‘is where the agents of Ishari took my eye.’