He was relieved when the three men left the room, Inge remaining sprawled on the bed.
Rainer led them in the direction of the hall.
‘Farred, you were in Coldeberg. You saw Hannelore then, no?’
‘I saw her, but we were never formally introduced, Your Majesty. It was a busy couple of days.’
‘Ah well, we shall correct that.’
‘I admired from afar, however. She is a handsome woman.’
‘Mmm? Yes. Big chested, if you like that kind of thing.’
The tone Baldwin used made it clear that he didn’t. But it was the words themselves that Farred found so odd; so out of character. Had the strain on the Emperor caused some kind of nervous breakdown? If so, how would that affect the Empire’s ability to defend itself?
They crossed a courtyard to the hall. When they got inside, it was empty.
‘Where is she?’ Baldwin demanded.
‘Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty. Perhaps she gave up and returned to her rooms, or went looking for you herself. I will track her down, don’t worry.’
Rainer gave Farred a look as he left. Had the chamberlain made it all up to get Baldwin out of the room? If so, that was a dangerous game to be playing.
Baldwin sighed. ‘A dragon, you said?’ he asked Farred.
Farred nodded. ‘I heard reports of it. It turned its victims to ash.’
‘Farred, think for a second what such a beast could do to Burkhard Castle. I wonder, if you are willing Farred. I’m asking you because I trust you, and you’re the best informed. Walter is at Burkhard now, fixing the defences. Could you ride north and tell him? He’s a clever man, my brother. Perhaps, given some time, he could find a way to mitigate this threat. Even if there’s not much he can do, I think he needs to be told. As soon as possible. Rainer will arrange everything, supplies and expenses, for your time and efforts.’
Suddenly, it was like Baldwin was back—like he had sobered up. And, given what he had witnessed here, Farred didn’t think that saying no to the Emperor was an option.
Clarin sat cross-legged with the rest of his group at one end of the mound. Armed Persaleians had been set to watch over them. Zared and the rest of his men were nowhere to be seen.
So, Zared had played him for a fool. No doubt he had made contact with these allies in one of the many towns they had passed through, arranging to meet at this very spot, so that they could take Clarin and the others captive.
Why he had done it, well—that was less clear. Would he give Clarin and the others up to the Isharites for some advantage? Maybe. After all they had been through together, Clarin hoped not. He couldn’t even find much to reproach himself over. He had trusted Zared to get him to Baserno. Had that been the wrong move? Or the best option, that had turned to shit nonetheless? He couldn’t decide.
The big man with the spear and shield came over, looking Clarin over. Clarin stared back. He levelled the spear at Clarin.
‘Come. We need to talk.’
Slowly, Clarin got to his feet. He shared a glance with Rudy and Jurgen, with the Barbarians, even the two Dog-men. They gave him steady stares. None was panicking yet. They had all survived Samir Durg, after all.
The two of them walked to the edge of the mound and made their way down, taking care since the slope was steep and it would have been easy to slip and twist an ankle. At the bottom two men were sitting on the ground, looking up at them. Zared and another, a man Clarin hadn’t seen before.
Clarin and the spearman walked over, the spearman gesturing that Clarin should sit. Once he did so, the man sat down with them, making it a foursome. Clarin looked at the other two. The man next to Zared was significantly older, with a weathered, soldierly face. But there was a similarity in features that must have been more than coincidence, even down to the loss of hair on top.
The older man offered his hand.
‘Clarin, welcome,’ he said, his voice dry, tired sounding. ‘Zared has just told me much about you and I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I am King Mark of Persala.’
Initially Clarin was shocked, even dubious, looking at the three faces in front of him. Then, it all clicked, and he found himself laughing, at his own slowness as much as anything else.
‘And this is your son,’ he said, indicating Zared.
Both men smiled then, seemingly pleased with Clarin’s reaction.
‘I’m sorry for the deception, truly,’ Zared said. ‘I was captured soon after the invasion of Persala, sent to the mines. The Isharites didn’t know who I was, but the other Persaleians in the mines did. Not one of them gave me away. They kept my secret, many to their graves. If I had told you the truth, and it had gone wrong, then those men’s bravery would have been for nothing. I hope you can understand.’
Clarin shrugged. ‘If you did what you thought was right, I’ll not judge you. So, what of the rest of us now? Prisoners?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Mark. ‘I needed to see and speak to my son first, to learn exactly what the situation was. How he managed to get back home. He has told me the story, including your mission here. The Shield of Persala, eh?’
‘From what I’ve been told,’ said Clarin, ‘by people far cleverer than myself, we need it to defeat the Isharites. Have you heard of it?’
‘Of course,’ Mark said, sounding insulted. ‘I was once king in more than name, you know. Privy to all the secrets of the Persaleian Empire. I know it was kept in the Temple of Ludovis, a relic forgotten by most, though not by the priests—they forget nothing.’ He looked at Clarin, a reckless smile coming to his face. ‘I’m minded to help you get it, too. But know this. I barely escaped the invasion alive. I’ve been hunted throughout my country ever since. The Isharites would love to display my head on the walls of the capital, to make it clear to my people that they are in charge. That there is no hope. Like my son,’ he said, slapping Zared’s thigh affectionately, ‘I owe my life to others who have risked theirs for me, some paying the ultimate price. In the last year I’ve hidden up trees; under floorboards; in a hole in the ground no bigger than the size of a coffin. If I’m going to risk my life, and the lives of those who have stuck by me, I need to know that the price is worth paying.’
Clarin nodded. Mark had a fair few soldiers with him. But if this was all that was left of the once great Persaleian army, that had conquered most of Dalriya once upon a time, it wasn’t so many.
Mark seemed to be thinking, finalising his plan. Hopefully, committing to the mission.
‘Alright. First, we need to ascertain whether the priests of Ludovis still have the Shield. Second, will they hand it over to us? If they do and they won’t, we must be prepared to take it.’
‘So, what now?’ Zared asked his father.
‘Now we all pack up and move out. We’re going to Baserno.’
Belwynn wasn’t sure she could get through this. Sebastian’s funeral yesterday had been bad enough. But Elana...
She was in the Temple of Madria, sitting on a pew, gripping Theron’s hand as tightly as she could, as if that would hold back the tears. It didn’t.
Bemus was at the front, tall and gangly, his glum voice echoing throughout the building as he recounted stories of how Elana had healed and treated the people of Heractus. How he did it without breaking down, when the room was full of people crying, some even wailing, she couldn’t comprehend. The stories went on and on, but they were stories people knew, had witnessed, and that made them all the more powerful. They emphasised, too, just what a loss Elana was. Bemus addressed this too in his service, forcefully arguing that her mission should be continued, would live on. But how could it, Belwynn wanted to ask. Lives that had been saved would now be lost.
The image of Elana dying on the floor returned to her mind again, unasked for but irresistible. She had saved so many, and when she needed help there had been no-one. Just Belwynn, kneeling in the blood; useless. She couldn’t shake the thought that it was on her. If she had acted more quickly, to stop the thing that had possessed S
ebastian, Elana would still be alive. She was Elana’s second disciple, and when Elana had really needed her, when she could have made a difference, she had failed her.
As she lay dying, Elana had clutched her hands. Belwynn wasn’t sure what she had wanted, but a strange force had overcome her and she had collapsed, unconscious. When she came around, it was too late. Elana was already dead.
She wanted to leave the temple, to run away. But the least she could do, the very least, was to sit and listen.
Outside, Elana’s body was carefully lowered into the ground. Belwynn stayed awhile, to speak with the community, before Theron led her away from the Temple and up to the castle. They held hands as they went, both of them instinctively needing each other’s company after the losses they had suffered.
It was hard, but they didn’t have the time to grieve properly.
Sebastian’s body had been found not long after Elana’s death. Dorian, who had chased him from Elana’s rooms, had left Heractus, with his older brother Straton. Not everyone wanted to believe it. But Belwynn was sure, and she had made Theron understand too. Some creature, some nightmare sent by the Isharites, had killed Remi and taken his body. Despite a thorough search, his body was still missing. As Remi, the monster had killed Sebastian. They only knew this because little Lyssa had been playing in a secret tunnel and witnessed the murder. As Sebastian, it had killed Elana, and almost certainly Dorian. As Dorian, it had killed two more knights, before leaving the city with Straton in tow. The Isharites had taken their revenge for the Kalinthian invasion of Haskany and for the death of Erkindrix. They had killed Madria’s priestess. And the creature was still out there.
More was to come.
Belwynn had come close to despair at Elana’s death, had assumed that all hope was lost. But she had talked with Soren and he had turned her around. They still had three of Madria’s seven weapons. He believed he was close to getting a fourth. Clarin had gone to Persala to find the fifth. They had to continue.
Belwynn and Theron took the familiar route through the gates of the castle and up to his rooms. Tycho was already there waiting, no doubt with a list of tasks for Theron to tackle.
The Order of the Knights of Kalinth had lost their Grand Master. It wasn’t official yet, but everyone knew that Theron would replace his uncle. His first task would be to hunt down and kill the creature that had torn their world apart. Belwynn hadn’t even dared to voice her fears on the subject. What if it couldn’t be killed?
Only the weapons can kill it.
A voice in her head. But not like Soren’s. Not words, even. More like thoughts, or ideas. Belwynn clasped the sides of her head, sinking to her knees.
Theron and Tycho both stood at once, turning to her with concern.
‘What is it Belwynn?’ Theron asked.
‘A voice! I don’t know-’
Since Elana’s death she felt different. Something had changed. Was she going mad?
You know who I am, Belwynn.
They travelled mostly in silence, Dorian hunched over the reins, staring ahead as if in a trance, the two horses clip-clopping their way along the road south from Heractus. Straton had tried to make conversation, but his younger brother wasn’t interested, seemed to be locked away in his own private world. The back of the cart was empty, save for an item, the same size and shape as a body, wrapped up in canvas.
‘Just ignore it,’ Dorian had told him when he had spotted Straton looking at it.
So Straton didn’t look at the item in the back of the cart, ignored the smell of rancid meat, didn’t interact with his brother. He sat there, and thought. He’d never been much of one for thinking—he’d never pretended otherwise. He was a doer, and that was how he liked it. But in the last few months he’d been forced, with no company but his own, to think. A lot of the time he thought about Theron, of the various punishments he could inflict on him when he was defeated. But instead, he knew he had to think more clearly about how to defeat him. He had thought he had done it, escaping with Ampelios, raising an army together, allying with Euthymius. But Theron had beaten them. That had hurt.
Defeating Theron was his greatest desire. But Euthymius and Ampelios were dead. How was he going to raise an army again, with no support but from his brother, who seemed to be suffering from some kind of brain-sickness?
The cart stopped and Straton’s eyes flew open. He’d drifted off to sleep, lulled by the movement of the cart and the lack of conversation.
‘We’re here,’ Dorian said.
Where was here? Straton looked about, still befuddled from sleep. Then he saw the elegant spires of the High Tower, seat of the Knights of the Kalinth. What was Dorian doing, leaving Heractus just to go to the headquarters of their enemies?
‘Get down,’ Dorian added.
Nervous of his brother, Straton got down and followed him round to the back of the cart. Oh no. He had hoped he would be able to forget about the contents of the canvas sacking, but Dorian reached over and grabbed an edge, sliding it along the cart towards them.
‘Help me with this.’
Straton took the weight on one end, holding what was unmistakably the legs of some victim his mad brother had slaughtered.
They carried the body about a hundred feet into the woods by the side of the road. Straton stood panting with the exertion. His brother seemed unaffected. In fact—
‘Go back to the cart and wait for me. I won’t be long.’
This was now getting too odd to just go along with.
‘Dorian, let’s get out of here. We’ll raise an army together, fight the Knights.’
‘Yes,’ his brother replied. ‘We’ll do all that. I just have one thing to do here first. Wait in the cart for me.’
This was ridiculous. He had a good mind to drive off and leave Dorian here. If it was anyone else but his own flesh and blood he would already have done so by now. As it was, he would give him one last part of the hour to get back, then that was that, brother or no.
A rustling sound from the trees made him turn. At last, Dorian had returned, and he had brought someone.
Straton recognised Galenos, Grand Master of the Knights, or at least that had been his title before he was replaced by Sebastian and imprisoned in the High Tower. Dorian guided the man over to their cart. Straton had met him enough times over the years to know it was Galenos, but he looked different. Thinner and frailer than the man who had enjoyed his position as the second most powerful individual in Kalinth. Well, no doubt Straton had looked better before his captivity.
Dorian indicated that Galenos should get into the back of the cart. The old Grand Master looked anxiously from Dorian to Straton. Straton thrust a thumb towards the back of the cart.
‘Get in,’ he said. If Galenos thought he was going to give up his seat in the front he was sorely mistaken. Straton was just pleased that Dorian had left the dead body in the woods.
They climbed into the cart.
‘Galenos has agreed to help you to become king,’ said Dorian.
Straton turned to Galenos who gave an anxious nod.
‘Many thanks, Grand Master. In return I shall ensure that you are fully returned to your rightful position, and that the traitors, Counts Sebastian and Theron, are hunted down and executed.’
He smiled magnanimously, frowning when Galenos didn’t respond.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ the old man managed at last.
Straton held back a shake of the dead. It seemed like the old man had lost it. Still, not such a bad thing for him to have an enfeebled Grand Master when he took the throne.
‘This will help us to bring many knights to our cause,’ said Dorian. ‘But we will need more soldiers.’
‘Yes, well I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Straton proudly. ‘With Ampelios dead, the biggest landholder in Kalinth is Count Diodorus. He fought against me last time, but maybe he can be persuaded to switch sides.’
‘I’m sure he can be.’
18
The Jalakh B
ow
ZARED WAS GIVEN THE LEADERSHIP of those who would enter Baserno. With him went Clarin and the rest of their group, plus ten of Mark’s soldiers, led by the big spearman, Duilio. It was a big enough number for a fight if it came to that. Mark would wait for them outside Baserno with the rest of his force. If their attempt to get the Shield led to disaster, he would still be around to continue the resistance to the Isharites.
Thick, curved walls greeted them as they approached the capital, interrupted by squat round towers. It looked impregnable, and yet the rumour was that Arioc and Shira of Haskany had taken the city in a day. Clarin would have liked to witness such a feat.
They passed through the West Gate, lodged between two of the round towers, in one large group. Zared claimed that they were a unit of the Isharite army ordered to the capital. They were waved through with little fuss. Clarin didn’t know whether the guards at the gate believed them, or were somehow in on the deception. Recent events had made it clear that he didn’t have much control over what happened in Persala. He had to go with it, hoping that they somehow got their hands on the Shield.
A wide road took them in a straight line from the gate towards Baserno’s Central Square. Clarin gawped at the great city. They passed statues of Persaleian gods and heroes at regular intervals along the route. The buildings they passed were constructed of white marble, with gloriously tall pillars everywhere. Carved creatures appeared on the pillars and walls, leering down at them as they passed. And huge windows, everywhere. Clarin had never seen so many all in one place—indeed, was convinced that nowhere else in Dalriya could rival it.
It was odd. There was no obvious sign that it was a city under occupation. The buildings and statues had not been despoiled. No foreign soldiers patrolled the streets. There was no symbol of Isharite power that Clarin could see. He thought of the walls of Samir Durg, sparkling with diatine crystals, and of the huge towers they had fought through on the walls of the Isharite fortress. The Isharites had made no effort to turn Baserno into an Isharite city. It seemed that once the Persaleians had capitulated, the Isharites had largely ignored them.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 90
