The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  The other Dog-men backed him up. One of them stared straight at Gyrmund, as if he was challenging him to their own, separate fight.

  Herin moved forwards. Gyrmund did the same.

  ‘This is between the two of them,’ Herin demanded, indicating Clarin and Vamak. ‘You four can back off,’ he added.

  ‘Is that right?’ asked Vamak.

  ‘Yes,’ said Zared, moving towards the confrontation with Cyprian and about another dozen Persaleians. Rudy and Jurgen were there too, the cousins from Rotelegen who had fought with Ellard. They began to form a circle around Clarin and Vamak. Gyrmund and Herin joined it, Herin pointing to the Dog-men, to indicate that they should do the same.

  They looked to Vamak for leadership, who angrily shoved a clawed hand in their direction, directing them to join the circle. He clearly wasn’t happy at this show of strength against him, but he was trying to look in control.

  Now that the circle was complete, Vamak and Clarin paced around it, eyeing each other up. Vamak’s dark eyes glittered in the half-light of the pit, and his muscles rippled as he moved. Some of the others in the pit scurried over to watch.

  Vamak came for Clarin, clawed hands going for his neck. Clarin met him, grabbing Vamak’s arms around the biceps. The dog-man snapped his jaws but Clarin kept him at arm’s length. Vamak lifted one leg and aimed a kick, but Clarin blocked it with his knee. Each now had a firm grip on the other’s arms and they pushed and pulled at each other, twisting one way and then another. Neither gained an advantage. Gyrmund could see blood where the dog-man’s claws gripped Clarin arms. Clarin let go, banged Vamak’s arms away and punched him hard in the stomach. Vamak let out a bark of pain and jumped backwards.

  ‘Finish him!’ shouted Herin in a bloodthirsty voice.

  The Dog-men barked across the circle, baring their fangs.

  Clarin moved towards Vamak but the Dog-man sprang out of the way, then unleashed a vicious swing, his claws scraping down Clarin’s forearm, drawing more blood. Clarin grabbed his arm in pain and Vamak was on him, claws flashing. Clarin tried to move out of the way, but Vamak launched himself at him, sinking his teeth into Clarin’s shoulder. Now Clarin cried out in pain, smashing his elbow onto Vamak’s head to dislodge him. Vamak kicked out, and sent Clarin sprawling backwards towards Gyrmund.

  Gyrmund quickly reached down and picked the big man up before Vamak could do more damage. Clarin fumbled around with one hand behind him. Gyrmund looked down just in time to see Herin passing something into his hand. He caught a glimpse of something glinting in the darkness before Clarin staggered off to the side.

  His movements looked tired and clumsy. A cruel smile spread over Vamak’s face as the Dog-man took his time to move in for the kill.

  Gyrmund looked to Herin in concern. Herin winked at him.

  Vamak leapt towards his prey. Clarin sidestepped the attack and brought one hand down on top of Vamak’s head, holding him still in an iron grip. With the other hand, he punched hard into Vamak’s neck. From his place in the circle Gyrmund could see a piece of crystal, with a strip of leather wrapped around it to make a grip, poking out of Clarin’s fist as he punctured a blood vessel.

  Clarin punched again, tearing into Vamak’s neck. Blood gushed out, soaking Clarin, and spilling onto the floor of the pit. Clarin let Vamak drop to the floor, blood still pumping out of the lifeless body.

  A cheer rose around the circle.

  ‘We’re in charge now!’ shouted Herin, striding into the circle to stand with his brother. He pointed at the Dog-men. ‘Either you accept that or you die.’

  Gyrmund looked at the men of Persala, blood lust showing on their faces. They seemed more than ready to finish the job, and the Dog-men saw it too. They scurried over to Clarin and Herin, heads down in submission, tails tucked between their legs.

  ‘You do what we tell you, now,’ Herin informed them.

  The Dog-man on the far end was grabbed by a couple of Persaleians and dragged away. One of them punched him to the floor, the creature yelping in pain. Others then joined in, punching and kicking at their victim. Gyrmund moved to intervene but Herin put an arm to his chest, shaking his head. They made short work of it, leaving a bloody corpse. Emboldened, a group of them came back for another one. It whined in fear.

  ‘No,’ said Herin, holding out an arm. ‘They might be useful.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Zared, coming over to add his authority. ‘Back to your places.’

  The men shuffled off, obedient enough.

  ‘You do what we tell you or die,’ said Herin to the remaining Dog-men. Their eyes already filled with terror, they nodded at him.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ one of them said.

  ‘Go to your old places for now,’ said Herin. ‘It’s the safest place for you.’

  They backed away to the far end of the pit.

  ‘Well done,’ said Zared, shaking Clarin by the hand. ‘Are you badly hurt?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Clarin with a little grin. ‘I was faking the injury. He gave me a good bite on the shoulder, mind.’

  Herin took a look. ‘I don’t think it’s too bad. I’ll do my best to clean it.’

  ‘What now?’ asked Zared.

  ‘We need to be ready to escape any night from now,’ said Herin. ‘But we can’t give anything away to the guards. What do you think they’ll make of them?’ he asked Zared, nodding at the two corpses.

  ‘They’re not going to care about two dead prisoners. Fights happen all the time in this place. So long as there are enough of us for the mines, they don’t give a shit about anything else. My concern is over them,’ he said, gesturing at the Dog-men who had been spared.

  ‘Let us deal with that,’ said Herin. ‘They don’t know anything about the escape plan, after all. But when it comes to it, they might just be useful. We’re going to the need all the fighters we can get if we’re going to break out of here.’

  Zared nodded, conceding the point. ‘I can’t believe we’re going to do it.’

  ‘It won’t be easy,’ warned Gyrmund.

  Zared looked at him. ‘We’re all ready to get out of this hell or die trying. Don’t worry about that.’

  Rabigar looked about him as thousands of Krykkers began to shout at each other in the fields outside Heractus.

  There was already a camp owned by the Knights of Kalinth outside the city—Heractus itself was too full to house all the Knights, never mind being able to find room for the biggest Krykker army that had been raised in generations. It looked like a logistical nightmare. But it wasn’t Rabigar’s problem. Three clan chiefs—Torinac, Maragin, and Guremar, had joint control of the army. No. Rabigar was quite happy to leave things to them, and wandered over towards the Kalinthian camp, leaving the noise and aggravation behind him.

  He wasn’t used to being with so many people for so long. Torinac had allowed him to serve with the soldiers of clan Dramsen—it wouldn’t be possible to fight with his old clan, the Grendals. To many of them, he would always be a chieftain killer. Rabigar was extremely grateful to the Dramsens for accepting him, and was keen to pull his weight. But as the days passed, his patience wore thin. Long days marching in the heat of summer; inane conversations and pointless banter; shouting, snoring and farting; boasting, posturing and bullying. It all got too much after a while. His younger self would have loved the experience. But Din the exile was too used to his own company. In other words, he had become a miserable, old git.

  ‘Rabigar!’ called a voice.

  Looking up he saw Belwynn, half running towards him from the direction of the Kalinthian camp. Rabigar smiled. He had missed the girl; he hadn’t realised how much until now. She looked as beautiful as ever—though there was sadness in her eyes too.

  ‘I can’t believe it was that easy!’ she said in greeting, slightly out of breath. ‘I thought I was going to have to search through the whole army to find you.’

  They gave each other a hug.

  ‘Well, it’s good to see you,’ sa
id Rabigar. ‘How is everyone else?’

  ‘That’s why I came to find you. Dirk is dying.’

  They didn’t talk much on the way to Elana’s house. Belwynn spoke a little of her decision to become Elana’s disciple, a move that surprised Rabigar. But it didn’t feel right to discuss other things before seeing Dirk.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Belwynn.

  The front door of the house was open, and she led Rabigar in, then up the stairs to Dirk’s room. He was sitting up in bed, but his eyes were closed. Rabigar had only once seen him look so ill, in the immediate aftermath of the attack by Nexodore in the lands of the Blood Caladri. At that time, they had all assumed he would die, but Elana had somehow kept him alive all this time. He was emaciated, his skin thin and translucent looking, his bones more pronounced. Elana sat in a chair by his bed. She rose to greet Rabigar. He gave her a hug.

  ‘How is the patient?’ he asked.

  Dirk opened his eyes.

  ‘Rabigar?’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  ‘You too, my friend,’ said Rabigar, gripping his hand.

  ‘And you’ve brought an army with you?’

  ‘Yes. The Krykkers and the Knights of Kalinth fighting together. Things should get interesting over the next few days.’

  Rabigar took a couple of paces back to stand next to Belwynn.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ll miss it,’ Dirk said quietly.

  ‘Me too. Is there nothing Elana can do?’

  ‘Yes. She could keep me alive a while longer, I’m sure. But I don’t want that any more, Rabigar. I’m at peace with it.’

  Dirk turned awkwardly in the bed. ‘Belwynn has become Elana’s disciple. I won’t be leaving her alone, now.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rabigar. ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re all here,’ Dirk continued. ‘Elana?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the priestess. She opened a chest located in the corner of the room, taking out Toric’s Dagger. She silently passed it on to him. They had obviously discussed the weapon between themselves before.

  ‘I will no longer be the keeper of Toric’s Dagger,’ said Dirk. ‘I used it once, to kill Nexodore. Now someone else may have need of it. I think it should be you, Belwynn. In this also, you are my successor.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Belwynn, hesitant to accept the weapon. ‘I already look after Onella’s Staff.’

  ‘True,’ replied Dirk. ‘But the staff will be Soren’s eventually.’

  Belwynn smiled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I hope you are right.’

  ‘I have a sense that he will take ownership of the Staff. As for the Dagger, I feel it still has more work to do. Will you accept it, Belwynn?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Belwynn moved to Dirk’s bed. He handed her the weapon, and they held hands for a while.

  Dirk closed his eyes and leaned back in the bed. It looked like he had been freed of the responsibility and could finally rest. They stayed with him for his last moments until he passed away. Rabigar and Belwynn left the room so that Elana could have some time alone. Wordlessly, they both headed downstairs, keen to get outside and take some fresh air.

  ‘So, in the end Nexodore did kill him,’ commented Rabigar, unable to avoid a feeling of bitterness.

  ‘He died at peace, Rabigar,’ said Belwynn. ‘Most people don’t get that.’

  ‘True. And I can understand the timing.’

  ‘You mean my becoming a disciple? It makes me feel a little like I killed him.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about that, though I expect it helped him to make his decision. I mean the war ahead of us. Elana’s powers will be needed when the fighting starts. Who knows how much it cost her to keep Dirk alive all this time?’

  ‘I hadn’t considered that,’ said Belwynn. ‘I’m not even sure that Elana’s powers work like that—in the same way as Soren’s magic.’

  ‘It’s exactly the same,’ said Rabigar.

  He seemed so sure that Belwynn didn’t see the point of discussing it further.

  ‘Have you heard from Soren?’ Rabigar asked.

  ‘No, not in the whole time since you left. I fear for him, and for Clarin and the others too, of course. But I sense that he still lives. Maybe you don’t understand, Rabigar, but finding my faith in Madria has helped me to deal with it. I feel like their fate is in Her hands. It’s a comfort.’

  ‘I understand well,’ replied Rabigar. After all, I know much about loss. ‘I take Elana’s message from Madria seriously. I mentioned to you before, after we left Edeleny, that the Krykkers have one of Madria’s weapons. Bolivar’s Great Sword, that he used to defeat the Isharites at the Battle of Alta. It is here. We have brought it with us. So, we now have three of the seven weapons in the same place. Maybe that is enough to destroy Ishari.’

  ‘Elana believes that we need all seven to do that.’

  The Krykker legends implied that Bolivar won his victory single-handed. But Rabigar had learned enough of the world to think that Elana’s version was probably correct.

  ‘Then maybe it is enough for us to win a victory. A victory big enough to see your brother go free.’

  ‘I pray that it will be.’

  19

  Siege

  THE WALLS OF COLDEBERG LOOMED large. Edgar could see the southern wall ahead of him, but also the far northern wall which rose much higher. The city was situated on a hill, on the summit of which the dukes of Barissia had built their mighty castle. Nothing in Magnia comes close to being so well defended, Edgar reflected. None of this deterred Duke Coen, however, who along with his troops had carted huge siege engines to the capital city of his enemy, Emeric.

  Inside somewhere was Emeric and the remnants of his army. It had been defeated at the Battle of Lindhafen, but not destroyed. Frayne’s Middian cavalry force had given chase to the Barissians, but a substantial part of Emeric’s army had been on horseback, and they had successfully fought a rearguard action, allowing his soldiers to make an orderly retreat, and thereby avoiding a massacre.

  Edgar’s Magnians had seen the worst of the fighting on the left wing of the army. Many had died. Many more had serious injuries, and Coen had ensured that this group were sent with haste to his capital, Lindhafen, for treatment. The rest of the Magnians, who could be described as the walking wounded, had travelled on to Coldeberg to see the campaign to the end.

  Edgar put himself firmly in the camp of the walking wounded. After the battle was over, he noticed injuries that he hadn’t even known he’d sustained. They had celebrated with barrels of Thessian wine which did a good job of keeping the pain at bay. But it came back with a vengeance the next morning. He felt like he had been thrown off a castle’s battlements onto the ground below. His shoulders, arms and legs were a constant dull ache, muscles too stiff to move after his exertions the day before. His back and neck were agony, the slightest movement flaring sharp jolts of pain up and down his spine. He had a headache that wouldn’t go away, and a ringing in his ears.

  Leofwin and Brictwin had picked him up and forced him to walk around while they supported him on each side. They insisted it did him good to loosen up his muscles, though all they received from him for their help was a string of curse words. Edgar was by no means the only one in such bad shape, and Coen had gone out of his way to ensure that all Magnians had avoided any physical duties since the battle. Edgar still had aches and pains today. He was quite happy to take an observer’s role in the siege, while the Thessians prepared camp defences, and began the task of constructing siege equipment.

  Edgar had one job to do, though. Coen insisted on the formality of offering the besieged army terms. To Edgar’s mind, Emeric’s association with Erkindrix of Ishari made such an approach unnecessary and dangerous. But Coen saw it as important, and Edgar had agreed to go with him as the representative of the Southern Alliance. He had insisted that Ealdnoth accompany them, though. Emeric had his own wizard within the walls, and Edgar had no doubt that he would love to see Edgar
and Coen dead.

  Edgar and Ealdnoth rode ahead to meet Coen, who had come with only one man, holding up a white flag of parley. They made their way to the main gate of the city.

  It was a still summer’s day, and the flags on the battlements hung limply. The Boar of Barissia could be seen, along with Emeric’s newest banner, the Golden Crown. Emeric’s decision to claim a crown for himself was starting to cost him dear. Edgar had no sympathy.

  The walls were heavily manned by soldiers, confirming their intelligence that Emeric retained a large portion of his army within the city. Coen looked over at Ealdnoth with poorly concealed distaste.

  ‘This wizard of Emeric’s. He was at the battle, then?’ Coen asked.

  ‘He was, Your Grace,’ replied Ealdnoth. ‘He was working against the Magnian division and targeted Prince Edgar.’

  ‘Hmm. Is he likely to pose us problems during the siege?’

  ‘He is a powerful wizard. He could pose several threats. Setting fire to siege weapons, targeting individuals on our side. I will need to be vigilant.’

  Coen nodded, seemingly willing to let Ealdnoth deal with that issue. He held a hand up indicating that they should stop. They were still some distance from the walls, and Edgar noted that some of his own suspicions about Barissian honour had rubbed off a little on the duke.

  They waited a while for someone in authority to arrive. Eventually, a man’s head appeared atop the main gate.

  ‘You are safe to approach,’ he shouted at them, noting the distance at which they had stopped.

  Coen looked at Edgar, who nodded his acceptance. They moved a few feet closer.

  ‘This is Coen of Thesse, and Edgar of Magnia. With whom do we speak?’

  ‘I am Curtis, an officer in the king’s army. I recognise a truce for parley and will take your words direct to the king.’

  ‘Nobly said, Curtis. Our message is simple. After our victory at Lindhafen, and with a superior force, we intend to take this city and to arrest the traitor, Emeric. If Duke Emeric surrenders his person to us and the city is opened to us, everyone else here will be free to leave with their possessions and will be unharmed. If there is no surrender, we will take the city by siege, and the lives of those inside will be forfeit. Is that message clear, Curtis?’