The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  Edgar nodded solemnly. He had to ask, though the answer couldn’t help but sour his mood. The silence after Walter had spoken hung around him, urging him to offer his aid in the coming conflict. But he wasn’t going to do that. Magnians had shed enough blood in the Empire last year. They had helped to defend Burkhard Castle, and they had helped to defeat Emeric. Baldwin now had a united realm with which to withstand the Isharites. This time Walter and Coen could lead the Barissians and Thessians north should the need arise. Surely that would be enough to withstand the new Lord of Ishari?

  Siavash’s shadow, occupying the body of the dead Haskan, had climbed into a wagon, been given a guard of elite mounted Isharite soldiers, and driven south-west towards Kalinth.

  The journey gave Siavash a chance to get used to the experience. When he slept, his shadow lay unmoving—but not asleep, for shadows didn’t know sleep. If a noise or movement alerted it, Siavash would wake, full of confusion until he realised what was happening. When awake, he tried to get used to managing his own affairs, while controlling the shadow’s movements at the same time. Gradually, he became able to control both bodies, so long as neither required too much effort. When a job required his full attention, the shadow was left to slump on the floor of the wagon. After experimenting in such a way, he realised that once the shadow was active in Kalinth, he would be forced to stay in his rooms so that he could properly concentrate on its mission. It was a frustration, but would perhaps be worth it once the shadow got to work.

  The wagon reached Masada, the fortress that the Kalinthians and Krykkers had taken the previous summer. It had been reinforced and was now fully garrisoned by Haskans. A servant of Diis named Harith was also stationed here. He reported to Siavash alone, and his presence helped to ensure the loyalty of the Haskan soldiers. Siavash was delivered to him, with written instructions. The Isharite broke the seal, looking from the words on the parchment to Siavash and back again, until his eyes widened.

  ‘My Lord,’ he stuttered, getting to his knees. ‘It will be an honour to serve you.’

  ‘Your service will be remembered,’ said Siavash, speaking in a stranger’s voice, the voice of the dead man he inhabited. ‘Now, waste no time.’

  None was wasted. Two horses were saddled immediately. They rode south, crossing the border into Kalinth. They had to be careful now, since this area would be patrolled by Kalinthian Knights. Siavash, his real body all the way in Samir Durg, decided it was best to sleep for the rest of the day and move again at night. His Haskan body was left to lie on the hard ground, eyes open and staring. Before sleep took him, he caught Harith glancing at the living corpse in horror.

  That night they moved through the Kalinthian countryside, looking for a victim. Harith argued that the isolated farmsteads were less favourable, since their inhabitants were more alert to danger. The small villages, where many families gathered together, gave them a false sense of security. Siavash accepted this and waited on the outskirts of such a village as Harith approached a house.

  Harith climbed onto the roof, where he pulled out an area of thatch, before dropping inside. Time passed and Siavash heard nothing, waiting patiently.

  Harith emerged from around the corner of the house, obviously having exited from the door. He was walking backwards, dragging a body behind him. When he reached Siavash he let it drop to the ground. Siavash could see that it was a young man, not yet fully grown into his body. As instructed, the wound was in the chest, and could be easily hidden.

  Siavash concentrated, forcing his shadow to leave the body of the Haskan. His shadow resisted. But it had already been detached once before, and this time it left more easily. Willing to find a new home, Siavash was able to insert it into the new body. He stretched, flexed his hands, moved his limbs, before standing up.

  Harith was staring at him, jaw wide open in awe.

  ‘You have done well,’ said Siavash. ‘I will continue alone now. Show me the way.’

  Harith nodded, visibly reasserting control over himself. He pointed in the direction to be taken.

  Siavash wasted no more time and began walking. It would be wise to leave the vicinity of the village as soon as possible.

  He turned at a noise. Harith was riding away, back to Masada, holding the reins of the second horse. Siavash could just make out the dark shadow of the Haskan soldier that had been left on the ground. He turned back, and resumed his journey.

  Siavash walked through the night. As the sun began to rise, he found a secluded spot to lie his new body down in so that he could sleep. He awoke at midday and resumed his journey.

  He came upon a road, which suggested that he was going in the right direction. Making his shadow follow the road was easy. It needed no food or water or rest. He passed some travellers going the other way. They mostly called out a greeting, to which he responded in kind, never stopping to talk further and arouse suspicions.

  In the middle of the afternoon he heard the clip clop sound of a horse and cart from behind. He moved to the side of the road to let it pass. The driver stopped the cart.

  ‘Ayup, young man,’ the driver called out. ‘Where to?’

  ‘I’m going to Heractus,’ Siavash replied. Where else would he be going?

  He could see the driver looking him up and down, especially his lower half. What is he looking at? Siavash wondered.

  He looked down and saw that his shoes and the bottom half of his trousers were caked in mud. He had to be more careful about his appearance if he wanted to avoid attention.

  ‘I was walking during the night,’ he said.

  Perhaps that would satisfy the man’s curiosity. If not, he would kill him.

  The man grinned. ‘Hop in the back.’

  Siavash looked at him blankly, before turning to look at the cart. It had four big wheels with a wooden box made of rough planks of wood.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to the driver. He placed one foot on a spoke of the rear wheel and then clambered over the side into the box. He moved aside some bags of grain and vegetables to make himself a space and sat down, before banging on the side of the box.

  The Kalinthian farmer called out to his horse and the cart began to rumble onwards.

  The farmer was waved in through the gates of Heractus. Siavash, ensconced in the back of the cart, wasn’t asked a single question. It wasn’t just the security that was lax; the walls and defences of the city were ludicrously weak. If the Drobax were sent here, the Kalinthians would be crushed. But Siavash intended to break them without the need to waste an army on the task.

  He familiarised himself with the layout of the city first. He knew much about his targets already. He knew that pliable King Jonas had been replaced with a more stiff-spined regime, who had dared to invade Haskany. He knew all about Soren’s group, of course: his sister; Madria’s priestess; and the others. They had been busy on Madria’s behalf, collecting her weapons, engineering the death of Erkindrix, all the while protected by the treacherous Pentas. They were in league with the Kalinthians and Siavash knew they might still be here.

  He located the castle, and determined that was where the political leadership governed from. He located Madria’s Temple, where her priestess and the rest of her followers worshipped. These, then, were his targets. And in a city where he seemed free to go where he wished, it dawned on him how impossibly easy this was going to be.

  When he saw the woman and the girl a thrill ran through his body. He knew her. She had been in the Throne Room of Samir Durg, with Pentas. He followed them as they walked from the castle down into the city centre. He decided to speed up and walk past them, taking a surreptitious look. He reassured himself that she couldn’t recognise him, because he wore the face of an unknown Kalinthian man.

  There was no doubting the resemblance. This was Soren’s sister, an individual he had wrested from the Magnian’s mind during his imprisonment in the Tower of Diis. He remembered Rostam striking her to the floor in the Throne Room. It was the one victory that worthless man had ever
enjoyed, may Diis take revenge on his pathetic soul.

  She had obviously recovered from that episode. If she was here, then it was more than likely Soren was too. Siavash exulted at the possibilities. He could take her body and kill Soren with it. And what of the girl, presumably her daughter? A small body such as hers could make a very useful assassin, perhaps. No-one would suspect her.

  He stopped walking and then turned, waiting for her to approach. But she had stopped to talk with a man. He was powerfully built, doubtless a warrior, perhaps a leader here. Siavash edged closer to listen.

  ‘It’s a strange logic I admit,’ the man was saying. ‘But with the Isharites having regained complete control of Persala, Zared believes this is the best time to return to his homeland. Their armies will be moving elsewhere. He thinks if I go with him, I have a good chance of finding it.’

  ‘If you trust him, Clarin.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘It’s just, wouldn’t it be better to wait for Soren?’

  So, Soren isn’t here. Where have you gone, Soren, I wonder?

  ‘Zared thinks that he and the other Persaleians will have contacts there who can help me. The Persaleians might trust me when otherwise they wouldn’t. It honestly feels like the best chance to get the Shield now, before it’s too late.’

  I see, Siavash said to himself as realisation dawned. They are after the Shield of Persala. A very useful conversation to have stumbled onto. This soldier will find he won’t be the only one looking for it.

  ‘I just wish we were parting on better terms,’ said the man she had called Clarin. ‘I’m sorry about the way I’ve acted—’

  Suddenly, the man stopped speaking and swung around to look straight at Siavash.

  ‘Can I help you, son?’ he said, an angry frown appearing.

  ‘Er, no. Sorry.’

  Siavash turned away, flustered. So stupid to have been caught out like that! He walked away towards the centre of town, feeling their eyes on his back as he went.

  They know this face now, he berated himself. I can’t let them catch me out a second time. I must get a new one.

  13

  To The Rock

  GYRMUND STOOD OUTSIDE THE WALLS of the Jalakh Temple again, this time waiting for both Moneva and Soren to return. The wizard had insisted on looking inside, in case he could interpret what Moneva had seen differently and find some clues, if not the bow itself. If he didn’t, they were stuck for ideas.

  He heard a whisper from Moneva and moved over to the blanket that hung over the top of the wall. As he did, he saw Soren’s head emerging on the other side of the wall. Soren kept on rising, revealing his shoulders, chest and legs, all the while maintaining a perfectly straight face. He floated right over the wall and then down next to Gyrmund. Gyrmund shook his head, grabbing his side of the blanket and telling Moneva to climb over. He had seen Soren do many things he had not thought possible, and he had never got used to it.

  ‘Well?’ he asked when Moneva had made her own way over the wall.

  ‘Nothing, really,’ said Soren. ‘Moneva is perfectly correct, it’s not there. Which means it may well not be in Tosongat at all. It could be kept by a particular tribe...We need to think carefully about our next move before we do anything else.’

  Next morning Gyrmund awoke early. He left the yurt he shared with Moneva and Soren. He stretched, wondering what to do with himself.

  Some of the Oligud warriors had allowed him to join in with their archery training yesterday, and he was pleased to have demonstrated enough skill that they had invited him back today. The composite bows, the weapon the Jalakhs were famous for, were not much different to his own longbow to use. However, he would never possess the skill of the Jalakhs, who were taught to ride and shoot from a young age. Gyrmund was content with staying on his feet.

  He spied Bolormaa, sat around a fire with a group of Oligud women. He edged over. He knew that Soren and Moneva were not keen on involving her in the search for the Jalakh Bow. But maybe, if he was careful, he could find something out.

  ‘Come!’ she called over to him.

  He sat down next to her. On the fire was a pot of Jalakh tea and without asking him, Bolormaa scooped a cup into it and handed it to Gyrmund. He thanked her, though that was out of politeness. It was very milky, salty rather than sweet, and Gyrmund had not acquired a taste for it. The women were preparing meat, which would be tossed into the tea later on for the midday meal.

  ‘How long until the Great Contest is done?’ he asked her, sipping at his drink.

  ‘No-one knows for sure. A champion must last for seven days to become khan. If there is no champion, the Contest finishes at the end of this month. That’s in twelve days.’

  Gyrmund thought about this. ‘So, a champion wins a bout. He is then challenged the next day, and the day after, and so on, for seven days? He will get tired, pick up injuries, while each day he faces a fresh warrior?’

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘Then it is almost impossible to become khan. That is why you have told Gansukh to wait until late on to enter the Contest? That is his best chance.’

  ‘Yes. But many will adopt such a strategy. It is still virtually impossible to last for seven days. Then, as I say, the tribes return to their lands until next year.’

  Gyrmund thought some more. ‘When was the last time the Jalakhs had a khan?’

  ‘Over sixty years ago.’

  Sixty years since the Jalakhs had a ruler? This was a strange people. ‘Surely people can’t be happy with this system?’

  Bolormaa turned towards him. ‘I am not very happy, Gyrmund, but some people are. With no khan, the tribal leaders have no authority above themselves. With no khan, there are no wars to fight. Many tribes like things exactly the way they are. And if Gansukh were to win two or three bouts, these tribes will send their best warriors in against him, until one of them cuts him down.’

  ‘Then why is he entering the contest?’

  ‘Because,’ she said fiercely, ‘Gansukh wishes to be khan!’

  Clearly, it wasn’t only Gansukh who wished it. His mother did, too. A thought crossed Gyrmund’s mind.

  ‘Did Gansukh’s father enter the Contest?’ he asked.

  ‘He fell on day five.’ She said it in a matter-of-fact way, but he could feel the pride and fury that she tried to hide.

  Gyrmund sipped on his tea, thinking so hard that he didn’t even notice the taste.

  ‘We could help him,’ Gyrmund suggested, quietening his voice so that only she could hear.

  Bolormaa’s eyes locked on to his with an intense look.

  ‘And what,’ she asked slowly, ‘would you want in return?’

  Here it was. Their opportunity to get help, or the moment the Jalakhs turned on them. Gyrmund looked back to the yurt, but Soren and Moneva were still asleep. It was his call.

  ‘We want the Jalakh Bow.’

  She cackled then, a sound of surprise and genuine mirth.

  ‘You don’t want much, then.’

  ‘Is it here? In Tosongat?’

  ‘Is it here?’ she repeated his question, a sly look on her face. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’

  ‘Could you get it for us?’

  Bolormaa’s humour faded away, replaced by a deadly serious look. ‘If you help Gansukh to become khan, he will give you the Jalakh Bow. This is the only chance you will have of getting it, I should add. So. Do we have a deal?’

  Bolormaa offered her hand. Hesitating only briefly, Gyrmund reached out and they shook. She broke out into a big smile. ‘Wonderful!’ she cried. She grabbed his head in both hands, pulling him in. At first Gyrmund thought she was going to land a kiss, but instead she pulled his head down and sniffed the top of it, before letting him go.

  ‘You haven’t asked me why we want the bow,’ he noted.

  ‘The Jalakh Steppe is remote, yes,’ Bolormaa said. ‘But remember, we are neighbours of the Isharites. I am not ignorant of what they are. The Jalakhs need a khan now, more than ever. An
d those who oppose Diis need weapons to do so.’

  Gyrmund nodded. ‘I think I may have underestimated you, Bolormaa.’

  She flashed him a smile. ‘You are very wise, Gyrmund. One thing. You must never speak to Gansukh of our deal. He is a very proud man.’

  Gyrmund nodded. No doubt khans didn’t like it said that their mothers helped them get the job. He looked over at his yurt again. There were a couple of people he should tell about this deal. He just hoped they would understand.

  Soren watched Gansukh ride into the roped off arena. He approached the area where Soren was seated, surrounded by the members of the Oligud tribe, and raised his sword. The Oligud screamed and cheered, banging drums so loudly the noise reverberated around his skull. It hardly made his mood any better, and he stared balefully at Gyrmund, who was clearly responsible for all of this, while Gyrmund studiously avoided making eye contact.

  Gansukh’s opponent was already there, eliciting a similar response from his own supporters, the Yahmet tribe. He had already won two bouts, and was considered to be a tough first opponent for Gansukh.

  The shout went out and the two warriors went for each other, blades whirling at incredible speeds, horses agile and clever, seeming to understand what their riders wanted them to do.

  Soren felt the nudge of power, buffeting Gansukh’s horse, trying to disrupt his sword arm. Soren pressed back, protecting Gansukh from the attacks. The two warriors continued to fight, trying to find an opening in each other’s defences, too focused to be aware of this secondary contest. They were evenly matched. It seemed wrong, somehow, to interfere in this fight. But if this was truly the only way to get the bow, he had to do it.

  Soren went on the offensive, weakening the strength of the other warrior’s blows, reducing their speed. The Yahmet wizard, whoever they were, reacted violently, pushing back with force. But now a third force entered the fray. It began to work with Soren. If Soren defended the Yahmet attack, they went on the offensive. If Soren tried to impair the Yahmet warrior, this third power focused on defending Gansukh.