‘Pick up her knife!’ she shouted at Bemus, indicating the dropped weapon. But where he was slow to respond, Elana was fast, darting forwards to grab it.
Moneva saw no more as she gave chase. She approached the alleyway with some care, in case he tried something, but when she looked around he was already at the far end, running at top speed. She sprinted down the alleyway, looked in both directions, and saw that he had turned right and was running down one of the main city streets.
‘Stop him!’ she shouted, before saving the rest of her energy for the chase. The bystanders in the street backed away from both of them, avoiding the blades they both carried.
A few months ago, she might have lost him—spending her time sitting and drinking in the taverns of Heractus had left her slow and weak. But she had stopped all that nonsense now, had made herself stick to a rigorous training schedule, easy enough to follow when she had nothing else to do. So it was that she began to run him down, sticking to an even pace that she could keep up for half an hour if necessary. The man she was following, however, had been very fast at first but was now slowing, looking more and more ragged.
She was gaining on him, and he must have known he couldn’t outrun her, because he turned around, red in the face, holding out a long knife of the same type his accomplices had. Moneva wasn’t sure, but she may have killed both of the other assailants, and so she wanted this one taken alive. She didn’t make a rash move, but stood opposite him, controlling her breathing, taking her time.
‘I would advise you to drop that,’ she told him.
He said nothing, his breathing still heavy from his exertion.
Footsteps came from the left. Two men were running over. Young knights, she was fairly sure she recognised their faces from somewhere or other, but had made a conscious decision not to bother learning any of their names. There were so many of them, and they all acted the same.
‘Moneva?’ said one of them, obviously perfectly aware of who she was. ‘What’s happening here?’
‘This man tried to kill Elana,’ she said.
The eyes of the knights grew wide and they both drew swords, turning to the accused.
Now facing three opponents, he knew he had no chance, and threw his knife to the ground.
As it happened, Moneva had only killed one of them. As well as the man she had chased, the woman was alive, and they were both now in the process of being interrogated. Two adjoining cells had been found for them in the castle dungeon, so that when one screamed, the other could hear.
Moneva had to admit that this Sebastian, Grand Master of the Order of Who Cares, had a much more robust approach than she had imagined he would take. She had been worried that it might all be polite requests, but he was quite willing to use threats and violence, attested to by the row of sharp instruments he had deployed. Yes, much of it was for show; they had barely used them. No, it wasn’t anything close to the savagery inflicted on Rabigar by the jailers at Coldeberg. But it was getting quick results, and that was what Moneva was concerned with. The people who wanted Elana dead were still out there, after all.
They had ascertained from the woman, the more talkative of the pair, that they had been hired by a representative of the temples of Heractus. When they had put this to her colleague he had confirmed it. These were the people whose flock, and funding, had largely been taken from them by the success of the Church of Madria, and their motive was clear. Neither was Moneva surprised; she had picked up on this source of animosity herself. But neither she nor Sebastian were convinced that this was the full story, and so the questions continued.
‘You know that I will happily use this,’ Moneva said to the woman, holding a scalpel just close enough to her face to be uncomfortable. Arms and legs bound, and strapped to her chair, there was little the woman could do to avoid it. ‘These knights wouldn’t do it to a woman, but you know I would. As a fair punishment for trying to kill my friend. It would require a lot of work, however. You’re so ugly in the first place I’d have to make quite a few changes so that people would really notice. Cut the ears off for a start,’ she said, walking slowly around to the side and then behind the woman, so that she couldn’t see her any more. ‘Give you a big sad smile,’ she continued, walking back around to the front and miming cutting either side of the woman’s mouth.
‘Gods, what do you want?’ said the woman.
‘Your accomplice has told us who else was involved,’ came in Sebastian, voice hard. ‘Confirm it and we’re done.’
‘He wasn’t involved with us, with our orders. But I saw him speaking with my elders.’
‘Him? Who?’
‘Straton.’
Even Moneva knew who Straton was, the king’s oldest son. Sebastian’s expression went cold. He jerked open the door of the cell. Moneva saw him speak with one of the young knights who had helped her to apprehend the man. When he was done, the young man turned and ran off down the corridor.
Sebastian gestured to her. She left the woman in the cell and shut the door.
‘Let’s check with him,’ said Sebastian quietly.
He opened the door to the second cell and they entered, staring at the man. He had said little, even when under torture, but it had been enough.
Moneva smiled at him.
‘We know,’ she crowed. ‘Straton.’
‘What about him?’
‘We know he’s a part of this.’
‘He wasn’t involved.’
‘But?’ asked Sebastian, his voice loud, full of authority.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what his role is. But he wasn’t involved with us. I never spoke with him.’
But you’re not denying he was there, in the background, Moneva said to herself.
‘We’ll find out if you’re holding something back,’ she said.
‘That’s it. They don’t tell me anything.’
Sebastian nodded, and they left the cell, waiting in the corridor.
It wasn’t long before the young knight returned, his face flushed.
‘Well, Philon?’
‘Straton’s not in his chambers, he’s not been seen by anyone since yesterday evening. He may have left the castle last night.’
Sebastian banged his hand into the wall.
‘Damn it. If he’s out there recruiting an army we could be in serious trouble.’
Farred clasped hands with Edgar.
‘I hope to see you before too long,’ said the Prince.
Farred smiled, a little nervous about his new mission.
‘I hope so.’
Edgar said his farewells to the others, giving his cousin Belwynn a hug, before climbing onto his horse. Brictwin was waiting for him, and without further ado they trotted away to meet up with the Middians. They would travel with them through the Steppe before returning to Magnia.
They left behind a sombre looking group. The decisions taken at Baldwin’s meeting had not been to the liking of Gyrmund and his new friends.
‘What now for you?’ Gyrmund asked him.
‘Rainer says he will bring the Queen here, then we will set off.’
Gyrmund nodded, unhappy about it. He had hoped that Farred would accompany him back north, but that wasn’t to be.
‘Visiting with the Sea Caladri may be very helpful,’ said Soren, the wizard, a tone of complaint in his voice. ‘But we’re leaving with too many things unresolved. Most of all, no-one is taking responsibility for the shield, in Persala. I’m in two minds about what we should do.’
‘Well, Edgar is doing his part, don’t blame him,’ Belwynn reprimanded her brother.
‘I don’t enjoy saying so about your cousin, but he was on Baldwin’s side in everything,’ said Theron, the Kalinthian knight, nodding in the direction Edgar had departed to. ‘All he could say was how much sacrifice his people had already made.’
Farred bridled at the arrogance of the knight, who had won a single victory with the help of the Krykkers and thought himself superior to everyone else. Magnians
had spilt blood fighting the Isharites and the Barissians—fighting other people’s wars.
‘And what would you have Edgar do?’ he demanded. ‘Send an army across the Lantinen to go looking for giants?’
‘It’s the Brasingians,’ said Theron. ‘They have the resources of an Empire at their disposal, the largest army of all of us, and what was decided yesterday? That they would do nothing. My people are surrounded by enemies and all we have received from anyone is good luck wishes. Why call this meeting in the first place? It has been a waste of time.’
‘The last time they sent an army north,’ countered Farred, ‘it was destroyed to a man, leaving the whole of Rotelegen defenceless. The only reason the Empire still stands is because they threw everything into defending Burkhard Castle. It’s unreasonable to expect them to change that strategy.’
‘Unreasonable?’ repeated Theron.
‘Stop it!’ said Belwynn. ‘This isn’t helping. Look, the Caladri are here.’
Farred turned to look. The Caladri carriage, pulled by the strange horned creatures, was ambling down one side of the street. On the other, Queen Hajna and two of her companions were riding horses, accompanied by Rainer. They seemed ready to go. It was time to leave. Gyrmund was already offering his hand.
‘I wish we could have had longer,’ said Farred.
‘The times won’t allow it, it seems. I wish you all the luck in your mission.’
‘Thank you. I wish the same for you, whatever you decide to do.’
The squire, Evander, was already leading his mount over. They had these boys well trained, the Kalinthians.
‘Thank you, young man,’ he said as he climbed into the saddle.
‘I appreciate your offer to ride with the carriage,’ Hajna said.
‘You’re welcome,’ Belwynn replied for her party.
‘Take care of Onella’s Staff,’ she said to Soren. ‘My husband, Lorant, asked me to bring it home with me. It does, after all, belong to the Caladri. But you will be putting yourselves in danger if you are heading for the Jalakh Steppe. I will explain to him that you need to keep it a while longer.’
‘You should perhaps explain to him,’ Soren replied, ‘that I will be keeping it permanently. I have suffered for this weapon, and it is now mine, whatever its history.’
It was an unnecessarily rude response and, to Farred, seemed typical of Gyrmund’s new acquaintances. But in the end, that was his friend’s lookout, not his.
‘I will pass on your words,’ said Hajna. ‘I do not keep anything from him.’
She nodded at the rest of them and turned her horse around. Rainer followed her lead and led them off, heading for the eastern gate.
Farred followed on before turning around and took one last look at Gyrmund, wondering as he always did whether he would ever see him again, and then turned back to his present task. He had a job to do, and it was important. Control of the Lantinen Sea had been lost to the Kharovians. The Sea Caladri were apparently the only people with a strong enough fleet to take them on. If Hajna could persuade them to act, the harbours of South Magnia would be the ideal location for them to base their fleet, and that was the reason Farred was getting involved with the mission.
Rainer, as organised as ever, led them to the east gate where Archbishop Godfrey’s small entourage was waiting for them. Baldwin had asked Godfrey to ensure they had safe passage through his duchy of Gotbeck. The Archbishop approached them. His horse was lively, and he had to give it a good slap on the neck to calm the beast down. Farred couldn’t help thinking that the forthright churchman and the enigmatic queen had very little in common, but the Archbishop was meticulously polite.
‘Your Highness,’ he greeted her. ‘The weather looks set fair for our journey.’
‘Good. I am most grateful to you for offering to escort me.’
‘Not at all. We certainly can’t have you navigating the swamps of South Gotbeck by yourselves. It’s not just the risk of getting lost. Lizardmen still inhabit the marshland. I have done much to cull their numbers in recent years, especially since the death of the evil witch who protected them. But it’s nigh on impossible to completely eradicate them, especially since the Caladri won’t lift a finger to help.’
Extraordinary, Farred thought to himself. In one little speech he has insulted magic users, the Caladri, and expressed his regret at not being able to commit genocide.
‘Well, I will leave you to it,’ said Rainer. ‘I wish you all the best of luck.’
The chamberlain gave Farred a brief look, suggesting that he might need a good share of luck, before leaving them for the castle.
‘Lord Farred,’ said Godfrey, acknowledging him. They had got to know each other pretty well, having spent the summer stuck in Burkhard Castle together.
‘Your Grace.’
‘I think we may have an interesting few days ahead of us,’ muttered the Archbishop.
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself, Your Grace.’
5
The Battle of Simalek
SHIRA STUDIED THE ARMY arrayed before them.
Pentas had been right. The forces facing them were deadly, yes. Isharites with their crystal swords, no doubt laced in poison, that left you paralysed when it entered the bloodstream. She heard the barks of the Dog-men rather than saw them: kept in reserve, perhaps, as a weapon to shatter her own lines. But no Drobax. And as for numbers, Arioc had raised no more than they had. Maybe less. Arioc hadn’t won complete control in Ishari, then. He was taking a risk bringing this army into Haskany. That gave her Haskans a chance. And that was all she had asked for.
The plain on which the two armies met was flat, with a tree-line to the rear of Arioc’s position, from which his force had arrived, hoping to surprise them. But Pentas had given them good warning of the enemy’s approach. The flat terrain meant that the cavalry contest would be decisive, and so Shira had chosen to lead the Haskan cavalry herself. The infantry divisions were under the command of her uncle, Koren. As she thought of him, she heard the Haskan trumpets blaring, and ahead of her cavalry position the infantry started to march. This was a battle she wanted, and so she couldn’t wait for the Isharites to attack. If she did, Arioc might choose to stay where he was and slink away in the night to fight some other time.
Behind her lines lay the watchtower of Simalek. That was where Pentas would observe the battle and help when needed. He had the task of neutralising Arioc and any other magi her husband had brought with him. Could he hold them off long enough for her to win a victory? She knew nothing of magic, and so had to put her faith in the red-eyed magus. He had his role and she had hers.
The waiting before a battle was the worst part. The battle itself was horrible, but at least then time rushed by, as the mind and body were fully occupied. But as Shira’s infantry slowly marched forwards, she experienced the gut-wrenching anticipation with none of the physical release.
The Haskan infantry marched farther and farther away, individuals disappearing into units, units disappearing into a line on the horizon. The Isharites didn’t move, waiting for the Haskans to come to their position. But Shira and her generals had expected as much.
Eventually, the sound of trumpets blared; the clash of wood on wood and steel on steel; the shouts and the screams of men killing and men dying; all the noises of war came to them on the air. Moneva’s cavalry waited. They were too far away to see which side had the advantage, except that there was little movement, and the fact that the sounds continued unabated indicated that the fighting was fierce.
Shira’s stallion raised its head and she patted his neck as gently as she could with steel gauntlets.
‘Easy, Shadow,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘not our turn yet.’
He relaxed, putting his head back down. She loved this one. He was black as night, muscled, and savage in combat.
And then, the infantry sent them the signal. First one, then two riders could be seen, detaching themselves from the infantry units, riding hard in their direct
ion, and waving red flags as they did.
Her force readied themselves to go. Shira stood up in her stirrups and twisted around, to look at her main cavalry force, and the smaller reserve force who would stay put for now. She pulled her visor down, limiting her vision to a narrow strip. She raised one arm.
‘For Haskany!’ she shouted, and her soldiers repeated the war cry.
Shira turned back, picking up the lance she had skewered into the ground. She leaned forward, saying ‘Now, my friend.’ He didn’t need much encouragement, springing ahead, leading the other horses who followed him, as she led her subjects.
‘You can be my new king,’ she told him, exulting in her freedom, in the moment. ‘We don’t need the old one anymore.’
The signallers waved their flags to the right, and so they swung around in that direction. When they straightened out, on the flank of the infantry battle, they could see the Isharites up ahead. The enemy didn’t carry lances, instead they already had their swords drawn. The Haskans would have the initial advantage on impact, but would then have to be wary of the Isharite weapons. Shira and Koren, knowing full well the threat of poison, had insisted on covering all their soldiers head to toe in metal armour, to give them the best protection possible.
As they gained speed, the distance between the two forces rapidly diminished. Shira could now see the individual riders who were coming at her, identifying one with a bluish coloured sword as her target. The clash of cavalry could be terrifying, but she knew that neither she nor her mount would pull up.
She levelled her lance at her target, and then the two lines crashed together. As the Isharites tried to avoid the lances aimed at them, they crashed into one another. Shira’s target was buffeted to the side at the last second and her lance missed, but connected with someone else; she couldn’t see who. Her mount was kicking and biting, turning around in a circle, and it was hard for Shira to get her bearings. She drew her sword and pulled on the reins, wresting control back over the beast.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 75
