To his relief, she spoke up.
‘My defence is that this kingdom, and every other in the land, are under threat from Ishari, and that in order to fight this threat I need the dagger of the Lippers. This man—’ Elana gestured to Wulfgar—‘doesn’t want me to have it, because he thinks he owns it. Meanwhile, Ishari’s power grows stronger, while I stay locked up in his dungeon. The weapon isn’t even yours to give. It was stolen from the Lippers, who were chosen as its guardians, and who would have relinquished it to me.’
Although Elana was now putting forward her case, the bizarre nature of the argument did not help. Wulfgar put a forefinger to the side of his head and twisted it. Edgar tried to continue.
‘It is true that Toric’s Dagger was won from the Lippers by King Osbert of Magnia some generations ago, but it has been well preserved and honoured ever since, and as its guardians, neither Wulfgar nor I are prepared to hand it over to just anyone who claims it.’
Wulfgar nodded in solemn agreement, but Elana disagreed.
‘The powers which have been granted to me by Madria, the true Goddess of Dalriya, are a sign from her that what I say is true and that the weapon should be entrusted into my keeping.’
‘Blasphemy!’ fumed Wulfgar. ‘You would take Toric’s holy weapon and use it for the evil designs of your false god!’
Edgar heard raised voices from outside the hall. It sounded like they were about to be interrupted, and if he didn’t steer this his way now, the chance would be lost.
‘Some of what you say may be true,’ he began, holding up a hand for silence as Wulfgar started to object.
‘I have heard that you do possess healing powers, and it is possible that they do derive from your goddess. That is why I have decided that your claims should be investigated. If my kingdom is under threat, then I am duty bound to defend it. Meanwhile, the Dagger remains here.’
At Edgar’s last sentence, Wulfgar swung around to confront him as it slowly dawned on him what the prince was saying.
‘This woman is not leaving my temple. She has been condemned to death and I will not withdraw my sentence.’
‘The sentence stands. I have already told you that I support your decision. However, this woman may well be aware of a threat to my kingdom, and may even be able to help in its defence. In these circumstances the sentence must be postponed. As soon as I am satisfied that there is no threat, I will personally return her to you.’
The High-Priest did not have a ready response to this, and Edgar felt a little self-satisfied with his argument. Of course, Wulfgar knew that if he allowed Elana to slip out of his control the chances of her being returned were slim, but he could hardly accuse his prince of bad faith.
‘Prince Edgar, I recognise that you are acting to protect our kingdom—your motives I can only commend—but I fear that this witch has somehow used her magic on you and is leading you astray. She has broken into one of our kingdom’s temples to steal our most precious treasure. She is devious and dangerous and I fear that I cannot in good conscience allow her to escape when Toric himself has instructed that she should be killed as soon as possible.’
Before Edgar had time to respond, the doors of the hall were thrown open, and the noise outside, of which he had been vaguely aware, burst into the room.
Several of Wulfgar’s priests, weapons drawn, burst into the hall and towards the table where he was sitting. Leofwin and Brictwin moved over to the same area, but the priests had come to find the hall’s owner.
As he drew closer, the man in the lead began shouting at Wulfgar. ‘My lord, intruders have broken through the main gate, and now they’re in the temple. At first we thought they were the Prince’s men, but—’
‘How many?’ cut in Wulfgar harshly. He didn’t wait for a response, but grabbed an axe from someone and led the priests back towards the doors. Everyone in the hall followed the high-priest’s cue, arming themselves and streaming out of the hall.
Edgar and his two bodyguards followed them out.
The Prince quickly surveyed the scene in the courtyard. Several bodies lay by the eastern gate, where the defenders must have put up some resistance. The conflict had then moved to the temple, from which they could now hear shouting. The speed of the initial attack seemed to have taken the defenders by surprise.
‘There are about a score of them, all on horseback,’ one of the priests was informing Wulfgar.
‘Follow me,’ ordered the High-Priest. ‘We’ll trap them in the Temple.’
Leofwin grabbed Edgar’s wrist. ‘My lord, I don’t think you should put yourself in danger here.’
Edgar stopped and looked at Wulfgar’s followers, who were earnestly listening to his barked instructions. There were barely a dozen of them, and though they might find reinforcements at the temple, they were in a weak position.
No-one seemed to know who the enemy were, but the fact that they were all on horseback indicated that they were probably well-trained and well-armed warriors, as did the ease with which they had breached Wulfgar’s defences.
The Prince turned back to his bodyguard. ‘They need our help.’
Leofwin looked at Edgar for a moment then simply nodded, though his disapproval was evident. ‘Look to the Prince at all times,’ he instructed his nephew, as the three men jogged over to catch up with Wulfgar’s band.
The High-Priest turned around to look at his Prince, but said nothing.
‘Is this all the fighters you have?’ Edgar hissed at him, gesturing at the armed priests with him.
Wulfgar seemed taken aback by the question. ‘Yes…there are some in the Temple, but we’ve lost those men at the gates,’ he said, indicating the men who had already fallen.
Twenty fighters. That was all Wulfgar had to protect the Temple. He had spent too much on tapestries and feasting, and not enough on soldiers. But now was not the time to get into that argument.
They had barely walked a few more yards when Wulfgar’s plan to catch the enemy in the Temple fell through. At first a handful, then all of the raiders emerged. Upon seeing Wulfgar’s force, they quickly mounted their horses. All of them wore armour and carried weapons.
The High-Priest’s march came to a halt as his men realized that they were faced by an enemy that was superior in every way.
The horsemen slowly trotted forwards. Edgar exchanged glances with Leofwin: Wulfgar’s priests looked nervous and were liable to run if the enemy charged them. If they did run, they would be cut down and dispersed by the horsemen with ease.
The Prince pushed his way to the front. ‘Form a semicircle behind me,’ he ordered.
The priests looked to their leader, who looked relieved that someone else was taking charge of a situation that was getting more desperate by the second.
‘Do as your Prince commands,’ Wulfgar growled, and took a position by Edgar’s left side. Leofwin and Brictwin stood on Edgar’s right side, while the priests took up position behind and to the flanks. They seemed a little more confident now that their prince had arranged them into a formation and that they were no longer at the front. Some of the more belligerent ones even shouted insults and curses at the approaching cavalry.
One of the attackers rode some yards ahead of the others, and Edgar assumed that this was the leader. He didn’t wear any identifying symbols to betray who he was or where he was from. As he gradually drew closer, the prince could make out a moustache, and he could tell that he rode his horse naturally. The animal was powerful and expensive-looking.
He stopped some fifty yards from the defenders, and Edgar could see that he was being examined by his opponent in the same way that he was analysing him. He held the man’s stare and hoped that he was at least making his foe think twice about attacking. In truth, the numbers and manoeuvrability of the enemy made Edgar’s position pretty hopeless.
At first, the Prince had almost subconsciously assumed that these invaders were from North Magnia, the breakaway kingdom to the north with which his own kingdom had been at war for over a generation. Although there had been an official peace for some years now, small raids were not unheard of.
But as the rest of the riders drew up next to their leader and listened to his instructions, Edgar began to doubt this origin. For a start, he had lieutenants on the Northern border who should have intercepted a force like this before it had travelled so far south. The location suggested that these attackers came from the east, and this seemed to be confirmed by an examination of the enemy. Many wore moustaches with a shaved chin, a fashion in the Empire. Magnians tended either to be clean-shaven, like Edgar himself, or full-bearded, like Wulfgar.
Edgar’s thoughts were interrupted by decisive action from the enemy. The horsemen trotted towards them and gradually picked up speed until they were charging at them, weapons drawn and ready.
‘Brace yourselves,’ ordered the Prince as his subjects prepared to face the onslaught.
The horsemen were advancing at a rapid rate and it looked as if they were planning to smash into Edgar’s line without stopping. He felt sure that the horses would refuse to do so, but they kept coming. Then, in a perfectly executed manoeuvre, just as the Prince prepared for contact, the horsemen at the front pulled away to the sides and continued harmlessly past the Magnians. The rest of the horsemen followed, swerving either to the left or the right in the same way as their comrades.
Just as the last of the riders galloped past, Brictwin ran out from his position next to Leofwin to challenge the enemy. Acting with great speed, he took a swing at the last of the riders passing by.
This warrior did not look as experienced a rider as some of the others; he seemed to panic at Brictwin’s approach and made a wild swing at Edgar’s bodyguard, which failed to connect and left him off balance. Brictwin, meanwhile, managed to land a blow on the rider’s leg. For a moment it looked as if the rider might regain his balance, but the speed at which he was travelling was too fast, and he tumbled off his mount onto the ground, while the horse galloped on.
Edgar did not join his bodyguard but turned around, fearing that the horsemen would themselves swing around and come at his position from the rear. He was surprised to see them keep the same course towards the eastern gate. Some of the horsemen closest to the fallen rider did stop once they noticed that he was missing, and spied Brictwin, who was standing apart from the rest of the Magnians in a vulnerable position.
‘Ho!’ went the shout, and those at the front of the cavalry force, already out of the gate, stopped and turned around. Space was made for the leader to trot back to the front. It looked like they were readying to attack, to either avenge or to rescue their fallen comrade.
There was a bit of time to act as the enemy pulled their horses around, trying to get back into formation.
‘Into the temple?’ asked Edgar, thinking they might be better able to hold off a cavalry force there.
‘Aye,’ said Leofwin, sounding unhappy with the idea, but there was nothing else.
‘Wait!’ said the bodyguard, pointing to the north side of the complex.
Two men, each armed with bows, had taken up position on the inside of the northern complex wall and had already loosed an arrow each. The dark skin and long hair of the archers indicated that they were Middians.
Pulling back their strings, they aimed a second time at the mounted attackers. One arrow missed its target, but the other hit home, tearing into the flesh of one of the horses. The horse bucked up in pain, dislodging its rider, who managed to twist away and to the side as he fell, with a great thump, onto the floor.
Edgar studied their leader again; he was flanked now by two hostile groups, Edgar’s force and the two archers. And the two archers were busy nocking another arrow to their bows.
The downed rider picked himself up, and, linking arms with one of his comrades, managed to clamber up behind him on his horse.
‘We go!’ Edgar clearly heard the leader shout as he wheeled his horse back towards the gates and moved off at pace.
The accent confirmed Edgar’s suspicions: he was from the Empire.
The two archers tracked the departing riders with their bows, but didn’t loose any more arrows.
When they were sure that they had gone, they unstringed their weapons and walked over. As they approached, Edgar thought he recognised one of them.
‘It’s...Farred, isn’t it?’ he asked, frowning at the man. He knew him as a nobleman from the plains to the east of the kingdom, but he couldn’t understand what he was doing here.
‘That’s right, Your Highness,’ said the man, going to one knee.
‘Up, up,’ insisted Edgar and gave the man a hug. ‘You have my thanks.’
‘They came here through my lands,’ explained Farred. ‘We happened to be out hunting and saw them cutting through Plunder Wood. We followed them here.’
‘I’m grateful that you did,’ said Edgar, looking at the second man, who he didn’t recognise.
‘This is my friend, Gyrmund,’ said Farred. ‘He’s the one who hit the horse.’
This one didn’t bend the knee, but offered his hand instead. Edgar was happy to take it.
‘That was a fine shot.’
They all stood around for a while, letting their heart rates get back to something like normal.
‘I guess they’re gone,’ said Edgar.
‘They’ve got what they came for,’ muttered Wulfgar darkly.
Relief began to flood over Edgar as the immediate threat disappeared. He felt like he hadn’t taken a breath since he’d first seen the enemy. The priests, too, were beginning to feel the euphoria of surviving a battle, shouting out praise to Toric.
Leofwin, meanwhile, was marching over to his nephew. He was not happy. He looked down at the body of the fallen rider over whom Brictwin was standing and, kneeling, felt for a pulse.
‘Alive, but unconscious,’ he called over to Edgar. He stood and glared at the young bodyguard.
‘You’ve let me down today, Brictwin. You deserted your Prince, whom you are sworn to protect. I even told you to look to the Prince before the fight. Even these priests managed to hold their position,’ he said, waving his sword at Wulfgar’s followers in a dismissive way. He spat on the floor. ‘You nearly brought the enemy back upon us.’
Edgar had heard enough of the conversation and walked over to join Wulfgar, who was making his way to the Temple. Farred and Gyrmund came with them. He felt sorry for Brictwin, who had shown bravery and skill in his first real armed encounter; but, ultimately, Leofwin was right. Edgar needed his bodyguards to stay close at all times. Brictwin’s youthful rush of blood to the head might have got them all killed.
By the time that Edgar and Wulfgar had reached the Temple, the two bodyguards had re-joined their prince. The six men entered the building.
Unlike the priests at the main gates of the temple complex, the priests inside the temple itself seemed to have failed to put up a united resistance against the intruders. A few bodies lay in random places, neither moving nor making a sound, while their blood leaked onto the floor of their holy temple.
The sight was a gruesome one: the floor and walls were red and sticky in places, and it seemed as if every piece of furniture in the entrance chamber had been smashed or shoved over. Edgar told Brictwin to go back outside and prevent any of the other priests from entering the temple for now. Wulfgar and Leofwin checked the bodies of Toric’s priests for life signs, but all of them had passed away within their god’s temple.
Wulfgar, looking sombre, led them into the circular central chamber, the most sacred area of the Temple. Toric’s Dagger was always kept in a chest on a table near the far wall, only removed for religious ceremonies.
Wulfga
r and Edgar shared the same expression. They dreaded what they would find, and at the same time knew that their fears would be realised.
As they got closer, they saw a body slumped against the table.
‘Anrik!’ called Wulfgar as he recognised the priest. He knelt down beside the body.
Leofwin walked over and studied the body, feeling for the pulse.
‘He’s dead,’ said Edgar’s bodyguard. He held up an arm by the wrist. The hand was a bloody mess of flesh. The fingers and the thumb had been chopped off in a clumsy fashion, leaving stubs of differing lengths.
Wulfgar gasped in horror.
‘They tortured him,’ said Leofwin, ‘then ran him through with a sword.’
‘Why would they torture him?’ asked Gyrmund.
‘I don’t know,’ said Wulfgar, looking up, distress on his face. ‘The dagger is always kept in the chest. It isn’t hard to find.’
Edgar marched over to the chest. The lid was up, the dagger gone.
‘Maybe they killed him in case he could identify them?’
Wulfgar shrugged, but said nothing. It was a tired, hopeless movement.
The six men left the devastation of the Temple and returned to the main courtyard, where the priests and other inhabitants had congregated in the aftermath of the attack. They all talked for a short while, making guesses about the origins of the perpetrators.
Eventually Wulfgar ordered one of his men to begin the grisly clean-up operation in the Temple.
Edgar noticed Elana kneeling on the ground, apart from the main crowd. She was tending to an injured priest, who had presumably been stationed at the gate. She was cleaning his wound and talking in a reassuring voice.
Toric's Dagger: Book One of The Weapon Takers Saga Page 5
