‘That’s why we’re here,’ said Sebastian.
‘You said,’ began Theron, ‘that, militarily, we had a chance. Can you tell us anything about the forces this Rostam will have? What kind of man is he?’
The two Knights and the three Krykkers began to talk tactics with Pentas. Elana put a reassuring arm around Belwynn.
‘Are you alright?’ asked the priestess.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It is the best news I could have expected.’
‘We can do this, you know,’ said Elana, with the easy confidence that had become familiar to Belwynn—the confidence she had come to rely on.
‘Yes,’ Belwynn replied. ‘I believe we can.’
The funeral pyres for Ealdnoth and Leofwin were still smoking when the gates of Coldeberg were opened.
The men of Thesse, Magnia, and of the Midder Steppe, were armed, just in case. Edgar, standing at the head of his men, looked across as the Barissian army filed out of the city. Next to him were Wilchard, his steward, and his surviving bodyguard, Brictwin. Few men jeered, or even talked much. The Barissians were largely met with silence as they approached the besieging army.
Most of the Barissians left on foot, but a group at the front were on horseback. Edgar recognised Gervase Salvinus, leading his mercenaries. He had a smirk on his face as he approached the waiting army.
‘It’s him,’ Edgar hissed.
‘Control yourself,’ said Wilchard. ‘Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you hurt. That goes for you too, Brictwin,’ he added, trying to dissuade the young warrior from doing anything rash in revenge for the death of his uncle.
Salvinus’s troop passed them and stopped in front of Duke Coen. Salvinus reached into a cloth sack that was tied to his saddle. Holding it by the hair, he pulled out a decapitated head. Emeric. No doubt Salvinus had ordered the killing himself, so that he and the rest of his men could escape unharmed. It was no more than Emeric deserved. But it made Edgar sick to his stomach that Salvinus would get away completely free. Free to sell his services to some other lord.
Coen nodded. ‘You have met the terms I offered,’ he shouted, loud enough to carry to most of the men present outside Coldeberg. ‘You are therefore free to go. But I warn you against raising a sword against the Emperor ever again. He would not be as lenient as I.’
Salvinus gave Emeric’s hair a swing and let go, so that the head landed on the floor a few feet from Coen. He then led his men away. The rest followed, many probably ordinary Barissians recruited into a false king’s army, and glad to be going home alive.
‘No sign of the Krykker you fought with, Brictwin?’ Edgar asked.
‘No, Your Highness. I can’t see him.’
‘He’s no doubt found his way out of the city by now,’ Edgar said. ‘By Toric, how I want those two dead.’
‘We defeated Emeric,’ said Wilchard, trying to lift Edgar’s spirits. ‘The Empire can be united again. We achieved what we set out to do.’
‘Yes. I know. At too high a price, though.’
‘You’ve heard,’ said Wilchard, ‘that Coen is talking about taking his army to Essenberg next? Baldwin had to leave it virtually undefended when he took the Kellish army north.’
‘I’ve heard,’ Edgar replied. ‘But we’ve shed enough blood here. It’s time to go home.’
The prisoners in the pits started to wake up. Men shared whispers in the darkness. There it was again. A scrabbling sound on the metal grates above them.
Dare I believe, thought Gyrmund. Dare I believe that Moneva has come to rescue us all?
Then, one of the grates swung open. Gyrmund stood up, and peered out to see the night sky above them. A figure loomed above the pit opening.
‘Well? Let’s get a move on, then!’
Moneva’s voice drifted down, incongruous sounding in the circumstances. Some of the prisoners rushed to the opening.
‘Wait!’ demanded Herin.
It seemed strangely cruel to Gyrmund, to make these desperate prisoners wait a moment longer. He felt his own desperation to escape so keenly. But Herin wanted to assert his authority, and Gyrmund understood why. If any of them were going to make it out alive, they had to work together, not go charging off in all directions.
Herin ushered Clarin, the hero of the pit fight with Vamak, over to the opening. He was to be the first to leave. Clarin reached up to the edge of the pit with one hand, while Moneva grasped the other. Between them, they pulled his body up and over the edge. Herin was next, then Gyrmund. He gave Moneva a brief embrace, holding her tight, because he had thought he would never get to hold her again.
Then, it was back to work. Working in pairs, they began to haul the rest of the prisoners out of the pit, keeping as quiet as they could. First out were the Persaleians: Zared helped up by his men; Cyprian so light and wiry that Gyrmund hardly felt any weight. Once out, the Persaleians took over, giving Gyrmund and the others a rest. Out came Rudy and Jurgen, the two cousins from Rotelegen; Tamir and his Barbarians, the biggest group, were next. Zared looked to Clarin when it was the turn of the three Dog-men; but when Clarin gave the nod, he told his men to lift them out as well. Finally, the great Bear-man staggered over to the pit entrance, sniffing the air. Clarin and Herin took a huge clawed hand each and, bracing themselves, heaved backwards, dragging it up and out.
Moneva took Gyrmund, Cyprian, and a few other Persaleians to a small pile of bodies she had dumped to one side; the guards she had killed to get inside the camp. The pile was invisible in the darkness, but would be all too revealing when the sun came up. Gyrmund and the others took a body each, holding them under the armpits. They dragged them over to the pit opening and dropped them inside. Rudy and Jurgen took great pleasure in closing the metal grate with a soft clang.
For a few moments, everyone stood around, looking at each other. Gyrmund studied the faces. Some had looks of exhilaration, some fear. Many looked tired and bemused. He disliked the way some of the men stared at Moneva, but at the same time understood it. These were men who had not seen a woman in months, and perhaps never expected to again.
‘Well?’ asked Herin, as the four of them stood to one side. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘I’ve been told where they are keeping Soren,’ Moneva replied. ‘It will involve getting into the fortress.’
‘Told by whom?’
Moneva made a face. ‘By Pentas.’
‘The wizard?’ exclaimed Gyrmund. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘I don’t know exactly. He told me where to find you three. I have to assume he’s telling me the truth about Soren.’ She looked at them. ‘So, what do we do?’
Gyrmund understood the question well enough. Moneva was asking whether, having rescued them, they really wanted her to lead them back into danger. A big part of Gyrmund wanted very much to turn around and get as far away from Samir Durg, as quickly as possible.
‘We go and get him,’ said Clarin decisively.
Gyrmund accepted the decision. Soren had helped to rescue him from Coldeberg prison—he owed the wizard.
‘What about them?’ Herin asked, indicating the thirty or so men waiting to one side. There was no doubt that some of them would be very useful if it came to a fight.
‘Would they come with us?’ asked Moneva.
‘Yes; some of them will.’
‘Then I think we should take them.’
Clarin moved back to speak to the prisoners, who gathered round.
‘We are going to the fortress to rescue our friend,’ he said plainly. ‘We will have most success if we all stay together.’
Some, such as Rudy and Jurgen, nodded along enthusiastically. Others looked less convinced.
‘Breaking into that fortress is virtual suicide,’ said Zared, the leader of the Persaleian group.
Gyrmund could see that he was mentally weighing up the options for himself and his men. Going it alone might be safer for them. But although they had escaped their prison, they were still behind the massive walls of Sami
r Durg, with no obvious way of escape. Gyrmund knew that the Persaleians saw something special in Clarin and Herin. Trying to get out of Ishari territory by themselves wasn’t going to be easy. Despite his youth, Zared was a shrewd man, and would follow the option with the best chance of success.
‘Our friend is a wizard,’ said Herin. ‘He’s going to be our best chance of getting out of here alive.’
That seemed to be enough to swing it, and Zared nodded his acceptance.
‘I will come with you,’ said Tamir, the tall leader of the Barbarians. ‘But some of my people want to stay, to free the men kept in the other pits here. They have family.’
‘That is understandable,’ conceded Clarin.
‘How many?’ asked Herin.
The Barbarians briefly talked amongst themselves.
‘Five to stay,’ said Tamir.
‘If they do,’ said Gyrmund, keeping his voice quiet, ‘it could be a useful distraction for us.’
Herin nodded. ‘Agreed. But ask them to wait for one hour to give us time to get to the fortress.’
Tamir relayed the order.
‘What about him?’ Gyrmund asked, indicating the Bear-man.
The Bear-man stood, looking around as if somehow confused by what he saw. Down in the pit he had been a sad looking creature, kept in the corner. But out here, as he stretched his limbs, it was possible to see the sheer physical strength he possessed.
‘I think he will come with us,’ said Tamir.
‘As will you,’ said Clarin, addressing the three Dog-men.
‘Yes, master,’ one of them agreed, bowing its head. The other two copied the motion.
Everyone looked about again, until all eyes fell on Moneva.
‘Follow me.’
She had managed to collect a small pile of weapons from the guards she had killed, mainly short spears and knives. Gyrmund grabbed a knife and shoved it in his belt. There weren’t enough weapons to go around yet, and they would have to rectify that as soon as possible.
Moneva led them away from the pits and out through the fence gates, which she had already contrived to open. The path to the crystal mine led off to the right, and Gyrmund felt a powerful sense of relief that he would not have to travel that way ever again. He promised himself that he would not be captured this time. If he was to die in the next few hours, then so be it.
Instead, Moneva took them in the opposite direction, through a no-man’s land that led to the eastern walls of the main fortress. Huge towers had been built at regular intervals along its length, and Moneva made for one of these, before stopping a few hundred feet away.
‘That’s where I came out,’ she explained, indicating a wooden door. ‘I had to kill some of the guards to make sure that I wasn’t seen. I think a few of us need to go first to make sure that it’s still safe.’
Clarin told the other prisoners to wait, while the four of them crept over to the tower. It was an unnerving feeling for Gyrmund, knowing that soldiers patrolled the wall walks above them, with only the darkness of night to hide their approach. He wondered at Moneva’s ability to do all this on her own.
They reached the door, weapons at the ready. With one hand Moneva slowly reached out to it.
Behind her Gyrmund tensed, ready to fight or run depending on what waited for them. It was so quiet that he could hear the others breathing.
Slowly, slowly, she pulled on the door with her fingertips, peering inside for any signs of movement. The door opened wider and wider, giving her a full look inside.
Then she was in. Gyrmund moved to the door, holding it open as he looked inside. It was dark, and it took a moment for his eyes to take in the main features. The ground floor room of the tower was a rough, semi-circular shape. There were no other exits except for a set of winding steps to the right that led up to the next floor. To the left was a table and chairs but other than that it was bare. It reminded Gyrmund of the room that he, Herin and Clarin had been kept in on their first night at Samir Durg.
Moneva was already creeping up the steps to look at the next floor. Gyrmund entered the room, followed in by Herin and Clarin. He spotted something in the shadows under the stairs. Three bodies had been dumped there, no doubt by Moneva.
‘Good,’ whispered Herin next to him, peering at them. ‘More weapons.’
Moneva had now gone out of sight, but Gyrmund didn’t think it was wise to follow her up, in case she had to quickly retreat down the narrow steps.
‘How come,’ Herin whispered, ‘she has been given the run of the fortress?’
It was a question that had also been in the back of Gyrmund’s mind. She seemed able to move around Samir Durg at will: two visits to the pits; a conversation with Pentas. Clearly, there was something she wasn’t telling them. He sensed that now wasn’t the right time to ask, however.
Moneva returned down the steps, fast yet silent.
‘We’re fine for now,’ she whispered. ‘The tower’s empty.’
‘I’ll get the others,’ said Clarin, exiting via the door they had come in through.
‘What next?’ asked Herin.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Moneva. ‘I wasn’t convinced that we’d get this far,’ she added, a tense half-smile playing on her lips.
Gyrmund could see her hands shaking. She looked pale and drawn. No doubt he looked worse; but she had doubtless been through a lot since Arioc’s Isharite soldiers had separated them.
‘Pentas told you where Soren is being held?’ asked Herin.
Moneva nodded. ‘The Tower of Diis. It’s on the north side of the fortress.’
‘To my mind,’ Herin began, casting a quick glance outside to where his brother was rounding up the rest of the escaped prisoners, ‘we have two objectives. One, get Soren. Two, get the hell out of here. Objective one requires as few people as possible. We don’t want all thirty of us wandering about this fortress, we won’t last five minutes. Objective two is where the numbers are needed, to break out. Any idea how we do that?’
‘When it’s time to leave,’ said Moneva, ‘we need to head south to the external towers. The wall walk links every tower. We’ll reach another tower just like this one to the south,’ she said, indicating the direction with a hand. ‘Keep going, and the next tower along is an external one: a corner tower much bigger and better defended than this one. But it has a southern exit. That’s our best hope of getting out.’
‘So,’ replied Herin. ‘I think it’s best if you two go for Soren. Clarin and I will control things here. We’ll hold on until you get back.’
An idea occurred to Gyrmund. ‘I could put on a guard’s uniform, and act as if I’m taking Moneva to this Tower of Diis. It worked for us back in Coldeberg Castle.’
Moneva nodded. She didn’t look enthusiastic. The truth was, there was little hope of success. Moneva and Gyrmund were more than likely to get stopped. The force here was bound to be discovered soon—when new guards arrived, or the dead ones were noticed missing.
‘Look,’ said Gyrmund, speaking to Herin. ‘We need to be honest. We’re not likely to get back. You can’t wait here for us forever. What if you give us two hours before you go?’
Gyrmund looked at Moneva for agreement. She shrugged her acceptance.
‘I understand what you’re saying,’ said Herin. ‘But I think we’d be better playing it by ear than fixing a time. If we’re going to be brutally honest, the chances are that we’ll get discovered here well before two hours are up. We’ll wait for you for as long as we can. Who knows, if there is a disturbance here, maybe it will help you three to escape.’
Gyrmund nodded. He and Herin had never got along. But he admired the man’s courage. He offered his hand and Herin took it. Gyrmund got a strange feeling—some would call it a premonition—that they would not meet again.
22
Bolivar’s Sword
CLARIN INSISTED ON ACCOMPANYING GYRMUND and Moneva to the third floor of the tower, where they would exit onto Samir Durg’s battlements. He had helped G
yrmund put on the armour of one of the dead tower guards. It wasn’t going to bear close scrutiny, but it might work at a distance.
Moneva opened the northern door and they peered out. A walkway led along the walls to the next tower along. Clarin took a look down into the inner courtyard. A maze of further walls led off towards a central structure with a domed roof. Everything seemed still in the dark of the night, but it was clear that the fortress, with its walls that stretched off as far as the eye could see, and its many towers, would barrack hundreds of soldiers. It was perhaps best not to dwell too long on that.
He said his farewells, and watched as the two figures crept off into the night. Both were quiet and agile—they were the right people for the task. He hoped that they could get Soren out of here and back to Belwynn. He hoped that he would see them again.
Clarin looked out to the east, where the mine and the pits lay. It had been a place of horror and hardship, of course. But it was also a place where he had stayed strong, and become a leader. He felt different. Responsible. More clear-minded.
On the horizon, he detected the first light of sunrise. A new morning. That, probably, would mean a change of guard, as those on night watch would be relieved by a new set of soldiers. There wasn’t much time left. They had to be ready.
Belwynn wore the cloth of gold, and played her role as Lady of the Knights. Her outfit caught the light of dawn, and drew all men to her. Knight after knight came for their weapons to be blessed before the battle. The younger knights: Philon, Leontios, and their friends came first. But so too did the older knights—so too did knights she had never met before. The biggest surprise came at the end of the queue, when Theron appeared with his friend Tycho.
‘Are you serious?’ she demanded, raising an eyebrow.
‘I would receive your blessing before the fight, my lady,’ said Tycho plainly.
Belwynn understood a soldier’s need for magic charms before they went into battle, and didn’t argue further. She gave her blessing to Tycho, and then turned to Theron. She felt a lump in her throat but said the words despite it.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 63
