The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  Then he realised what the difference was. Baserno was quiet, the streets half empty. He compared it to Essenberg, the great city of the Empire. In Essenberg, there was constant noise, movement, bustle, at any time of day and long into the night. Baserno was sedate; polite. Where had its people gone? Some into the army, some sent to the mines in Samir Durg, others Toric only knew where. Nowhere nice. Visually, Baserno had been left virtually untouched, but the people who actually made it a city had been scattered. They were walking through a diminished version of Baserno—a museum—not the real city at all.

  When they arrived at the Central Square, Clarin’s jaw dropped a second time. He could see Rudy and Jurgen, and the Barbarians, sharing awed expressions. For some reason he had been expecting to see the Imperial Palace, the Temple of Ludovis, and that would be it. Instead, he found himself looking at a huge square filled with buildings that would each be the centre of attention in virtually any other city. There were a dozen temples altogether. Then there were monuments, obelisks, giant statues, theatres, fountains, bathhouses and a large circus with a race track. It made Clarin wonder why one city would need all this for itself. And it made him realise that all the other cities of Persala he had seen were attempts to copy Baserno. Inferior versions of this city had been spawned for miles in every direction, aping the design and layout, unable to come close to matching the grandiosity.

  The population of Baserno was reduced, that much was plain, but nonetheless thousands of citizens were still crammed into the Square. This was where people met to socialise and do business. Vendors hawked their wares, many selling from within the temple precincts which were hubs of noisy activity. Their group of twenty-eight was not so many that it made a difference to the atmosphere. Those that did pay attention to their arrival were the street peddlers who approached them with their goods or shouted out their offers as they walked past.

  They stopped when they reached the huge, rectangular site that was the Temple of Ludovis. Tall pillars stretched to the sky, holding up a substantial peaked roof. Through the gaps between the pillars, Clarin could see a walled building.

  ‘Some of us need to go in,’ Zared said quietly to those around him, ‘ascertain the situation. The rest be ready to move in if they don’t hear anything. No more than an hour afterwards.’

  ‘I’ll lead the second group,’ offered Duilio, one hand clutching his huge spear. ‘Me and my men are more the fighting type than the talking type.’

  Clarin thought he may have found a kindred spirit, but nonetheless he offered to go in with Zared. He wanted to play a full part in finding the Shield.

  So it was that Zared, Clarin and Cyprian took the steps up to the Temple, while Duilio and the rest waited for them outside.

  Up the steps and past the pillars was an area set aside for stallholders, positioned either side of the route into the main building. It was busy, and they found themselves squeezing through a throng of shoppers before they got to the open doors of the main temple building. Zared didn’t pause, marching straight inside and accosting one of the priests.

  Clarin looked around the interior of the building. Smaller pillars ran up the length of the building, with decorative arches between them. They supported a gallery above, from where people looked down over the main space. The floor was made from coloured mosaics, natural scenes with animals and plants decorated the edges of the floor, while in the centre were scenes featuring Persaleian men and women, or perhaps their gods. An altar to Ludovis stood in an open space at the far end of the building. Statues lined the walls, each one given its own alcove with a pair of pillars and a peaked roof. The altar and the statues drew worshippers, but all about the space Baserno citizens mixed with the orange robed priests of Ludovis.

  Zared caught Clarin’s eye and gestured that he should follow. The priest led them towards the far corner of the temple. They approached a second priest, talking quietly with two visitors. He was short, broad-shouldered, with hair turning grey. He glanced their way, continuing his conversation. They waited patiently before he extricated himself from his conversation. The first priest whispered in his ear before leaving them to it.

  ‘Prince Zared,’ he said, tilting his head in a small bow.

  ‘Flamen Aulus,’ Zared replied. ‘Thank you for seeing us.’

  ‘Of course. Any news of your father?’

  ‘He is well. I am representing him today.’

  ‘I see. I am pleased to hear of your father’s health. These are truly difficult times. I understand that you have come looking for the Persaleian Shield?’

  ‘Correct. These are my friends, Cyprian and Clarin. We escaped from Samir Durg last year.’

  Aulus raised his eyebrows at the news.

  ‘We have made contact with other groups outside Persala. There is an alliance to defeat Ishari. To do so, we need the Shield.’

  ‘The Persaleian Shield has been in the hands of Ludovis since time immemorial. During that time some have sought to claim it, but it has never been given up.’

  ‘Now is the time to do so,’ Clarin found himself saying.

  ‘So you say,’ Aulus responded frostily. ‘Only a select few even know of its existence. What has prompted the interest?’

  ‘Other weapons have already been collected,’ Clarin said. ‘The Dagger of the Lippers, the Sword of the Krykkers, the Staff of the Caladri. It is time for the humans to make their contribution.’

  Aulus looked at them, his expression giving nothing away.

  ‘I will give you a chance to claim it,’ he said at last. ‘If what you say is true, and it is the will of Ludovis, it will be yours to wield. Come,’ he said, starting off.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Zared.

  ‘The treasures of the Temple are not kept in the Temple. That would be very foolish. We are not fools, Prince Zared.’

  When they exited the Temple, Aulus was quick to spot the rest of their force lounging about outside.

  ‘I hope there are no plans to take our treasure by force,’ he said sternly. ‘That would not work. The Shield is in a secret location. I don’t know where it is. You could pull all the nails from my hands and feet, pull out all of my teeth, and I wouldn’t tell you, because I don’t know.’

  ‘Please, Flamen Aulus,’ said Zared, visibly taken aback by his words. ‘We are not here to take it by force, I assure you. Those men are here for our protection. This is dangerous work we are about.’

  ‘Very well. Then you will ensure that we are not followed.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Zared’s eyes shifted in his head at the predicament. ‘Cyprian, stay with the others. Impress on them the need to stay exactly where they are.’

  Cyprian nodded and headed over to begin speaking with Duilio and the others.

  Oh shit, Clarin said to himself. We’re on our own.

  Aulus led them north out of the Central Square, up what must be the Great Road. The road stretched from Haskany in the north to Cordence in the south, one of the great legacies of the Empire the Persaleians had created. It made Clarin wonder who else had passed this way, which great emperors and armies had set off from Baserno to conquer the other peoples of Dalriya.

  Soon, though, Aulus took them off the Great Road, right then left, then right again. The streets of Baserno all ran parallel to one another, so while Clarin didn’t feel completely lost, it became hard to spot recognisable features, as one street looked much like the next. They were walking through a residential area. The houses were still built from the same beautiful marble as the rest of the city, but it was eerily quiet, as if most of them were empty.

  Finally, Aulus led them to an unexceptional looking house half way down the street. Clarin had to admit, it was a better place for the priests to hide a treasure than in the temple itself.

  Aulus approached the wooden door and knocked, slowly, five times. They waited. Clarin wanted to ask who lived here, but that would be revealed soon enough. Patience was needed.

  Eventually they heard the noise of
several locks sliding open and the door was opened. An old man appeared before them. He had unkempt hair and a long, straggly beard. His clothes looked like they hadn’t had a wash since last spring.

  ‘Aulus,’ he said in a croaky voice, as if not used to speaking.

  ‘I bring visitors who would speak with you, Ennius. This is Prince Zared, son of King Mark.’

  Ennius stared suspiciously at Zared, then gave a harrumph. ‘Mark was a usurper, traitor to the imperial line. He brought this catastrophe on us!’

  Zared stared wide-eyed at the old man, before recovering somewhat. ‘I am not here to discuss politics,’ he said.

  ‘And who is this lump?’ Ennius asked.

  ‘I am Clarin.’

  ‘Clarin who? Clarin from where?’

  ‘I am from Magnia.’

  ‘A Magnian, by Ludovis!’ Ennius declared, bushy grey eyebrows rising up and down. ‘The only people in all of Dalriya to resist the Persaleian Empire! If they were all as big as you, I can begin to understand why. Come in, then,’ he said, turning around and disappearing inside his house.

  They followed Ennius into his front room. A small fire in the grate gave out smoke and not much heat. There were enough chairs for all to take a seat. Ennius didn’t offer food or drink, instead he sat waiting for someone to start.

  ‘Zared and Clarin have requested the Shield of Persala,’ Aulus explained.

  ‘Very well,’ said Ennius, apparently unimpressed by the news. ‘That’s simple enough. Just give me a name. Tell me who wants it and it’s yours.’

  Clarin thought about it. Was it some kind of riddle? Who wanted it? Well, he did. He had come all this way for the Shield. And what was more, he fancied wielding it, too. Soren had the staff, Moneva the dagger. Why shouldn’t he have the shield?

  ‘Clarin,’ he said.

  Ennius turned to Aulus. ‘He comes all the way from Magnia, dares to ask for our Shield, and then gives me his own name? Why have you brought these fools here?’

  Oh, Clarin said to himself. That’s clearly not what he was looking for.

  ‘King Mark,’ said Zared.

  Ennius gave another harrumph and turned away from them all, staring into the fire.

  Zared looked to Clarin in mute desperation.

  Think, Clarin, he told himself. Who wanted the Shield? Who wanted the weapons?

  ‘Madria,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ Ennius said, still staring furiously into the fire.

  Have to do better than that, Clarin reflected. But he hadn’t sounded quite so cross. Was he getting closer? If not Madria, then who?

  ‘Elana?’ he offered.

  Ennius stopped staring at the fire and turned to look at Clarin. Deep brown eyes stared at him, suddenly magnetic in their intensity.

  ‘Not quite correct, unfortunately,’ Ennius murmured, his voice quite different now—hushed, expectant.

  Clarin felt angry with frustration. What kind of test was this? If Madria was close, and Elana closer, then who?

  Elana was the priestess of Madria. Belwynn was her disciple. But why would Belwynn be correct if Elana wasn’t? He almost said her name, then stopped. Don’t be stupid, Clarin, he told himself. His infatuation with her was muddling his thinking.

  ‘Go on,’ said Ennius, in the same voice.

  I don’t have a name, old man! He wanted to shout. Oh, sod it.

  ‘Belwynn.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ennius said simply.

  ‘What?’ blurted out Aulus and Zared in unison.

  ‘That is the correct answer,’ Ennius said simply. ‘The Shield must be passed into this man’s keeping.’

  ‘How do you know Belwynn?’ Clarin demanded.

  ‘I don’t, you great Magnian muttonhead! Aulus, will you fetch it?’

  ‘I don’t know where the Shield is kept, remember Ennius?’

  ‘Oh yes. I forget myself. It’s just next door.’

  ‘What?’ asked Zared.

  ‘It’s kept in the house next door,’ Ennius repeated. ‘It’s easier that way.’

  The Persaleian Shield was circular, covered in leather that had been painted red, black and yellow. In the middle the head of a bearded man had been painted, with two horns emerging from his forehead.

  ‘Ludovis,’ Ennius explained when he saw Clarin looking at it.

  The sight of the shield had a profound impact on Clarin, while the touch of it caused a shiver to run through the tips of his fingers to the rest of his body. It was clear to him that this was much more than an ordinary shield, yet if he had been asked to explain why, he couldn’t have put the feeling into words.

  They all knew there wasn’t time to waste. Reluctantly, Clarin wrapped the shield in sackcloth and strapped it to his back.

  ‘Farewell Ennius,’ he said, still without understanding what had happened in the old man’s house.

  ‘Use it well.’

  Aulus led them back to the Temple, where the group was still waiting for them.

  Zared nodded curtly to Duilio and the rest of his men. Their eyes widened, but they controlled their reactions. They all knew that their mission was only half complete until they had safely left the city with the weapon.

  ‘Thank you, Aulus,’ said Zared, shaking the flamen’s hand.

  ‘I pray that what we did today takes you a step closer to liberating our country,’ Aulus said. ‘Good luck.’

  With that they left the Temple of Ludovis behind. Clarin gave the Central Square of Baserno one last look. The Shield of Persala had been resting here long enough. It was time to use it.

  Elana’s death had wounded them all. It had never been spoken out loud, but Gyrmund was sure they had all shared a sense that they were doing this for her, collecting the weapons for Madria’s champion. Now she was dead, struck down by some hellish creature that had taken Sebastian’s form. Gyrmund found it hard to take. He had seen a touch of innocence to Elana. A gentle goodness that had been unique to her.

  But if Gyrmund was struggling with his grief, the reaction of the other two was more severe. At least Soren knew that Belwynn was alive and safe. But this didn’t seem to soften him. He wore a hard face now. It reminded Gyrmund of the Soren who had appeared in Edeleny, grabbing the Grand Caladri elder Agoston, taking his magic in order to restore his own powers, before discarding his husk of a body. And Moneva, who had only just come out of her shell, only just begun to start smiling again, was even worse. She barely spoke to anyone, a look of murderous intent fixed on her face.

  The morning after Gansukh’s fourth fight three Jalakh warriors were found dead. Their throats had been slit in the night. Angry recriminations followed, the Oligud tribe accused.

  But Gyrmund knew it was Moneva.

  A challenger still appeared on the fifth day to fight Gansukh. It had been a close contest for a while, Gansukh having to fight with an injured arm. But after five minutes one of the Jalakhs in the crowd started screaming, before a sudden haemorrhage left him sprawled on the ground, blood shooting out from his nose and mouth as if his head had exploded. Soren, face grim, had bent the rules, targeting a Jalakh wizard rather than the fighter in the ropes. The chaos completely distracted the other tribes, while Soren and Bolormaa turned all their power on the fight. Gansukh’s opponent could barely move, held in a web of magic, before Gansukh slew him with a strike to the head.

  The Oligud warrior was livid, railing at his mother and Soren, demanding that she send the three foreigners away. But that was the last thing Bolormaa was going to do.

  The sixth day began with two more murdered warriors. Gansukh entered the ropes, but there were no challengers.

  On the seventh and last day, the Day of Destiny, Gansukh again entered the ropes unchallenged. A sea of Jalakh people, sullen faced, cowed, all bended the knee.

  They had a new khan.

  ‘They can’t come in,’ said Gansukh, gesturing angrily at Gyrmund, Moneva and Soren.

  The new khan was already asserting his authority. But hi
s mother wasn’t so easily put off.

  ‘They got you here,’ she whispered to him fiercely. ‘When they’ve gone you can forget that, take all the credit for yourself. All the Jalakhs will forget it. But while they’re here, no-one will forget. So I suggest you give them what they want soon, then let them go.’

  Gansukh’s face curled into a snarl. He looked at Gyrmund and the others, but what he saw was Soren, the implacable wizard who had given him his victories in the ropes, and Moneva, a killer who worked in the shadows, and he seemed to think better of resisting them. He screwed his face up, thinking.

  ‘Just him,’ he said, pointing at Gyrmund.

  Gyrmund looked at Moneva and Soren, raising his eyebrows.

  They shrugged their acceptance and Gyrmund stepped forwards.

  Gansukh, content that he had been obeyed, turned around and walked through the gate in the outer wall of the Temple.

  A small group followed behind. As well as Bolormaa and Gyrmund there were a few other notables of the Oligud tribe, and a few of Gansukh’s friends, men who would now perhaps become his generals.

  A trio of priests met Gansukh as he entered the Temple grounds. He bowed his head, and they each placed a wreath of flowers around his neck, before leading him on.

  Ahead was the entrance to the pagoda, which Moneva had described to Gyrmund, though this was the first time he saw it for himself. A small set of steps led up to the entrance, while four pillars supported a roof that extended out towards them.

  Bolormaa saw him looking at the pagoda and fell in with him.

  ‘Gansukh will spend the night in there,’ she explained, as the three priests led them past the entrance. ‘Our rituals say he will enter as an Oligud and awake tomorrow as a member of all the tribes—as a khan.’

  She spoke with pride and reverence.

  ‘Your husband would be proud,’ said Gyrmund.