Jodivig, following in his wake, smashed a battle axe into the back of the creature’s neck, completely severing the head which sailed into the air, eyes still staring out in a look of surprise.
More Krykkers came behind them, short weapons for close work at the ready, and Rabigar led them into the Drobax. The battle mist came over him then, the unthinking part of his brain taking over, reacting to threats by raising his shield arm, lusting for blood with his sword arm. Bolivar’s Sword hummed like a death machine, dripping red with Drobax blood.
The stink of battle rose as the body count grew, the ground treacherous with piss and shit and gore. The Drobax had brought the numbers, but the Krykkers were better armed and better trained. Finally, the Drobax gave ground under the onslaught.
The Krykkers punched through, retracing their steps down into the valley, aiming to come back out the other side. But although the Drobax had fallen back, they had not retreated. Their leaders, the large ones who spoke, ordered them to harry, as they marched along the path that led through the valley.
Rabigar stayed at the front, leading the army forwards. He began to ascend back up to the other side. The battle fury was beginning to leave him now and he felt aches and pains. His legs felt heavy, his lungs burned. Behind him his comrades were struggling with exhaustion, some walking wounded, others supporting those too injured to walk by themselves. He looked back across to the other side of the valley and saw half a dozen small figures—the Caladri mediums—holding back a force of Drobax ready to descend the valley towards them.
Up they marched, desperate to escape the trap that the Drobax had laid for them. Rabigar allowed his mind to briefly consider this. Until now the Drobax had been a mindless enemy, reliant on orders and firm control from their Ishari masters. But this new breed of Drobax seemed to change that. They could communicate, give orders, prepare an ambush and ensure that it was carried out. All of which made the threat from the Drobax even more grave.
The creatures continued to hound their movement, while staying clear of Krykker steel. But eventually Rabigar crested the top of the valley. The front ranks dragged themselves onto the flat terrain above, just as the Drobax at the other end of the valley were released and threw themselves down, howling for blood.
Rabigar looked about him, wondering where the most defensible location in these parts would be. He found Jodivig and Wracken. The Binideq leader had taken a blow to the side of his head, his hair matted with blood. Sevald joined them too. Below, Rabigar could see Gunnhild bringing up the rear of their forces as the Drobax closed in on three sides, her shield deflecting blows, her giant hammer forcing the creatures to keep their distance or else risk being flattened.
‘Can we get to a fort or defensive structure?’ Rabigar asked Sevald.
Sevald raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s too many of them,’ he said simply. ‘We could struggle to a hill or some such, but all that would do is prolong the slaughter.’
‘We need to fight our way back to the Drang,’ Wracken added. ‘That’s our only hope of survival.’ He spat a mix of saliva and blood onto the ground. ‘And that’s a faint hope.’
Rabigar shook his head. ‘I need to get the Spear.’
‘Are you mad?’ Wracken demanded angrily. ‘Look where that nonsense has got us!’
Rabigar pointed down at the horde of Drobax coming towards them. ‘Look what will happen if we don’t. You think the Drang is going to keep them out forever? This is a taste of what awaits.’
Ignac appeared. ‘We can transport a small number away a short distance. I don’t know the area, but perhaps past the valley,’ he said, pointing vaguely to the north-west, beyond the Drobax enclosure.
Sevald shrugged. ‘It may work, if there are no Drobax waiting for you there. The terrain is gentle enough.’
‘Then that’s what we do,’ said Rabigar. ‘Myself and Gunnhild are the two who need to go. If Ignac can send more, whoever else that wants to and could be of use.’
‘I’ll die with my men,’ stated Wracken flatly.
Sevald and Jodivig echoed his sentiments.
‘Could you come with us?’ Rabigar asked Ignac. ‘A medium may be useful to us.’
Ignac nodded. ‘Coming with you would make the teleportation easier. That leaves three of our enchanters left who can stay with the army.’
Rabigar saw Stenk waiting a few feet away. He wanted his young friend to live. But were his odds better with the army, retreating to the Drang, or heading west through the treacherous lands of Halvia with him? It was impossible to know.
‘Do I have permission to take Stenk if he will come?’ Rabigar asked Jodivig.
‘Of course. Good luck.’
They all shook hands there and then, for there was no more time to waste. As soon as Gunnhild arrived, she was guided over to the waiting group. Without argument, she took Rabigar’s hand in one massive palm and Stenk’s in the other. The Caladri mediums made their magic and Rabigar felt himself moving, just like he had done before when Ignac had found Rabigar and his friends wandering lost in the forests of the Grand Caladri. Most of his senses were taken from him, leaving the sensation of movement. It stopped almost as soon as it had begun, leaving a sick feeling in his stomach.
He opened his eye and focused on his surroundings.
They stood in a meadow, a few feet from a stream in one direction and a wood of birch in the other. It would have been possible to believe that they were miles away from the bloody confrontation they had just been a part of, if it wasn’t for the sound of howling Drobax carried to them on the air.
Rabigar looked at his companions: young Stenk, giant Gunnhild and the Caladri magic user, Ignac. This was all that was left of the army that had intended to march to the Nasvarl. They had fatally underestimated the strength of the Drobax.
‘It was as if they were waiting for us right from the beginning,’ he said.
‘It was the same with my family,’ said Gunnhild. ‘They have leaders now.’
‘Will the others manage to get back home?’ Stenk asked.
‘No problem,’ said Rabigar quickly.
Maybe Stenk believed him. He could see from the expressions of the other two that they didn’t.
‘Thanks for bringing me,’ Stenk said quietly.
‘Glad you’re here,’ said Gunnhild. ‘You can keep an eye on that one,’ she said, pointing at Rabigar. ‘I swear, all he does is stare at me tits!’
Stenk’s eyes bulged as his gaze was drawn, irresistibly, to the chest area of the giant Vismarian.
Gunnhild slapped her thigh and gave a rambunctious, uninhibited laugh, loud enough to alert every Drobax in the region to their precise location.
20
The Gift
FARRED LEFT ESSENBERG behind, taking the Great Road to the north.
It wasn’t long before he began to pass groups of people coming the other way. These weren’t merchants laden with supplies for the capital. These were family groups, taking with them all the possessions they could carry.
When he asked why, he got the same answer. An army of Drobax was heading for the Empire.
The people were mainly from Rotelegen; some from Grienna. They had learned from what had happened last year. Rotelegen wasn’t safe. The imperial army wouldn’t defend it. The best option was to abandon the duchy, find refuge in Essenberg, and hope that the Drobax would leave again. Hope that Burkhard Castle could hold against the enemy a second time.
Farred rode on, apprehensive about what he would find when he reached the fortress.
He never made it.
Riders appeared on the road ahead. Scouts of the imperial army.
One of them recognised Farred and stopped to speak with him. Walter, Marshall of the Empire and Duke of Barissia, was returning to Essenberg with urgent news.
Farred waited. Soon, Walter’s small force of riders appeared. Walter was at the front and next to him was Gustav, Archmage of the Empire. The duke hailed Farred with a smile and asked him to ride with them. He
didn’t have time to stop.
‘I wasn’t expecting to find you on this road, Farred,’ Walter said. ‘Last I heard, from Prince Edgar, you were sailing north with the Caladri fleet.’
Farred briefly explained to the duke, and to the archmage who listened in, that the invasion of the Krykker lands had led him to warn the human realms of the threat. Walter and Gustav shared a dark look at the mention of the dragon.
‘How are we supposed to defend against that?’ demanded Walter wearily.
Gustav shook his head, seemingly bereft of answers. He looked at Farred. They had developed a close relationship of sorts in Burkhard Castle. Walter had persuaded Farred to support Gustav when he made his transformations into a hawk. It had been an experience Farred had never really got used to, and didn’t talk about.
‘The Isharite sorcerers have been more active recently. Defending their borders, preventing me from crossing into Persala. The appearance of their army wasn’t a total surprise, therefore—though I only saw it once it had crossed into Trevenza. In most respects it is the same as the force that came at us last year. Thousands upon thousands of Drobax. Isharites, Haskans and other forces in support.’
‘Jeremias and Adalheid are evacuating Rotelegen,’ Walter added. ‘We defend Burkhard, just like last time.’ He gave Farred a grave look. ‘You and I knew they would return.’
Farred nodded. This was all well and good, but he had a concern he couldn’t shake off. He resolved to tell them both.
‘You may have a problem,’ he began. ‘Baldwin and Inge. It began last summer, at Burkhard. Maybe I should have told you then. But when I was in Essenberg, they were in bed together. Baldwin didn’t seem himself—’
He stopped, not knowing what else to say.
Walter and Gustav shared another look.
‘We know,’ said Walter quietly, clearly finding the topic awkward. ‘My brother has a lot of pressure. Everyone, inside and outside the Empire, looks to him to deal with the Isharite threat. But we all learned something last year. He can’t deal with it. We can’t. That’s a difficult position to be in. Deep down, he knew this day would come again. So, this affair, it has been a diversion for him. A distraction for his mind until the time comes to fight again. And, after all, emperors and kings with mistresses isn’t exactly uncommon.’
‘I understand that,’ said Farred, unconvinced. ‘But Inge isn’t a simple mistress,’ he said, glancing briefly at Gustav. ‘She has powers. I fear she has some control over him.’
Gustav twitched his mouth. It was now his turn to look uncomfortable. ‘Inge has power, yes. Is she using her magic on Baldwin? Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘But women have ever sought to beguile men, whether they are magic users or not. And men—’ the archmage paused, struggling for the right words. ‘Sometimes they want to be beguiled. That is what I believe is happening between Baldwin and Inge.’
‘If your concerns remain,’ said Walter, studying Farred’s reaction, ‘know two things. I have already sent messengers out to all the dukes of Brasingia, warning them that they will soon receive imperial orders to raise an army and take it to Burkhard Castle. And now, Gustav and I ride straight for Essenberg, where we intend to persuade Baldwin to send out such an order. Have faith in my brother. He has always done what is right.’
Belwynn and Lyssa left their room for the other side of the castle, where the chapel was located.
You have it? she asked Soren, desperate for some good news.
Sort of, he replied. The Jalakh priests have made it. They need to finish it before we’re allowed to take it.
Alright. Come as quick as you can. We need you here.
We will.
Right. Now it was time for her news.
Soren, there’s something else.
Yes?
I can sort of speak like this to someone else now. Since Elana died. I can speak with Madria.
Silence. Soren probably thought she had lost her mind. Had she?
You’re speaking telepathically to Madria?
Yes. It’s more feelings, and ideas, than words. Maybe this was what Elana experienced, why she thought she knew what to do but was vague on the details.
Are you sure? What I mean to say is, are you sure it is her and not someone else in your mind? Remember, in Samir Durg, Siavash was able to enter my mind and talk to me.
Yes, it’s her. I’m positive. Well—I’m pretty sure it’s her.
Belwynn, just be careful. Don’t do anything hasty. I’m going to come back as fast as I can.
Alright Soren. Bye.
See you soon Belwynn.
Don’t be hasty. That was easier said than done. A monster was on the loose in Kalinth. It had already killed the two most important people in Heractus. Now Prince Straton and Galenos, the former Grand Master of the Knights, were busy raising an army for it. Doing nothing just wasn’t an option.
They walked into the chapel, usually reserved for the royal family. Today it was needed by the Knights, for a ceremony that would normally have been conducted at the High Tower. It was meant to be a celebration, though Belwynn had mixed feelings about it.
Pages guided them to their seats near the stage. Belwynn found herself next to Philon, the young sandy haired knight who had first approached her for a blessing last summer. He had been rising up the ranks quickly since that day.
‘My lady,’ he said politely. The nervous knight from last summer had been replaced by a man of quiet confidence, Belwynn noticed. It had been less than a year, but they had all changed since then.
Belwynn peered to the front where a group of six young men—children, some of them—were kneeling on the floor.
‘There he is, Lyssa,’ she said, pointing out Evander, his broad back and neck length dark hair allowing her to identify him.
Lyssa stood up and looked over. She sucked in a breath.
‘We don’t call out to him, remember,’ Belwynn said quickly, causing the girl to sit back down with a grumpy expression.
‘Theron says these squires owe much to your efforts on the training ground,’ Belwynn said to Philon.
‘Some,’ he agreed modestly, ‘though it varies. Certainly, young Evander has been well trained by Grand Master Theron himself. I could add very little to what Evander already knew.’
Grand Master Theron was a title Belwynn struggled to get used to, for many reasons. It was a title she thought she would always associate with Sebastian, and it sounded strange attached to anyone else—even Theron, who surely deserved it. Then, of course, it represented the end of their brief affair. The Grand Master devoted himself to the Order. Like all knights, he could have no wife. Belwynn’s little dream, that Theron would leave the Order for her, was over.
As she was thinking of him, Theron appeared on the stage, with King Jonas. The king looked older than when she had first met him—face puffy, muscled torso now partly turned to fat. She wondered what Jonas thought of recent events. His two sons escaped from the capital, raising an army against his captors. Had he heard the rumours that his youngest, Dorian, was no longer Dorian at all? That he was a monster? She felt a pang of grief for Dorian, almost forgotten amidst her deeper pain at the loss of Elana. He had seemed a gentle, benign soul. He hadn’t deserved such a fate.
The chapel quietened, and Theron spoke a few words of introduction to the knighting ceremony. The congregation hung on his every word. There had been no dissent whatsoever to Theron’s elevation to the head of the Order from the men who had worked and fought with him over the last few months. He was the obvious choice—in truth, he had been the driving force behind their achievements, albeit too willing to take on the unpopular tasks to spare his uncle from them. But out in the country, opinion was more divided. He wasn’t as universally respected as Sebastian had been. And he had a formidable rival in the former Grand Master, Galenos. That made the choice of who to give loyalty to more difficult. It made the option of avoiding making a choice at all, the easiest course to follow.
This ceremony was all
about addressing that problem. With the loyalty of some in the Order in doubt, Theron was making new knights. Belwynn didn’t like it. Evander was far too young and inexperienced to be knighted, to go into battle with Theron and Tycho. But she knew that Theron was desperate, that he needed all the manpower he could get.
And so, Evander and five other youths well short of the usual age, were called up one at a time to the stage, where they knelt in front of their grand master and their king. First, Theron delivered the blow, a cuff on the side of the head, landing from ear to neck. Then, Jonas lifted his sword and tapped the flat of the blade once on each shoulder. The Order had lost six squires and gained six knights.
After the ceremony, Belwynn and Lyssa joined a circle of people congratulating Evander and the other boys. Theron and Tycho were there, beaming with pride; Tycho punching each boy on the arm several times in pleasure.
Bemus approached her, his long face as serious as ever.
‘We are ready when you are,’ he said, as if passing down a death sentence.
Theron grabbed her elbow. ‘Good luck.’
‘Evander says he will look after me,’ said Lyssa, in a blatant attempt to avoid being taken down to the temple, where she would doubtless be made to do chores.
Belwynn was about to tell her no, when she caught Theron’s stern gaze. She stopped herself. Evander was a knight now: it would be disrespectful to imply that he wasn’t capable of protecting Lyssa.
‘Of course,’ she said. She made her excuses and followed Bemus out of the room.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 93
