Toric's Dagger: Book One of The Weapon Takers Saga

by Jamie Edmundson

  It seemed like an age had passed since they had been arguing with Wulfgar in the High-Priest’s hall, but it must have been no more than half an hour ago. It occurred to Edgar that, in the confusion, it would have been quite easy for Elana to have escaped from her captors—but, as before, she seemed oblivious to any danger.

  ‘Are you well?’ asked Edgar. It was a stupid question, but the adrenaline still racing around his body made him speak before thinking.

  Elana turned and smiled in his direction. She pressed down on the forearm of the priest she was attending to with both hands. Was Edgar witnessing a healing miracle? It was difficult to say, since the arm was already bandaged. Elana wiped her hands on a scrap of cloth and stood up.

  ‘I think we should be leaving, Your Highness,’ interjected Leofwin.

  Edgar nodded, recognising that they were all still in immediate danger. He marched over to Wulfgar. The High-Priest was surrounded by his followers, all asking him for direction in the wake of this disaster. Edgar noted that he was not quite so full of himself any more.

  ‘Wulfgar,’ he began, putting as much authority into his voice as possible. ‘I need to return to my household now in order to deal with this invasion. I no longer have the time to argue with you. Both you and Elana will accompany me.’

  Wulfgar stared blankly at his prince for a moment and then nodded his head in acceptance.

  V

  Leaving

  Belwynn was now itching to get moving. For every extra minute they wasted in discussion, the Brasingians were getting farther and farther away.

  It wasn’t Edgar’s fault. He had responsibilities to keep everyone happy, and Belwynn felt lucky that she was not tied down in such a way. Still, the Prince had not been without luck himself today.

  The rider had arrived at Edgar’s estate of Bidcote about midday, informing his household that a small band of soldiers from the Empire had entered Magnia. Everyone who could use a weapon had set out for Ecgworth, fearing that Edgar had been killed or captured. But they had met the Prince and his small entourage about halfway to the Temple of Toric and accompanied him back to the relative safety of Bidcote. He was fortunate that the raiders at the Temple had not recognised him, or they would doubtless have taken the time to capture him as well as the damned knife, earning themselves a prince’s ransom.

  When he got back, Edgar immediately sent out messengers to raise troops as quickly as possible. There were never more than about forty men in the royal household at any one time, and, with news from the east still patchy, it was possible that the raid on the Temple was a precursor to a large-scale invasion.

  In these circumstances, the Prince’s priority was to raise an army to defend his kingdom. At the same time, he was making plans to retrieve the dagger, and it was here that Edgar was encountering problems.

  He had been fortunate that Belwynn and Soren had arrived back in Magnia at this very time, since they, along with Herin and Clarin, were the obvious choice for this kind of operation.

  She and Soren were cousins of Edgar’s on his mother’s side, and, while they were welcome at his court, their presence was a rare occurrence these days. They had experience of the Empire, they would not be required to stay with Edgar and the army, and they had a couple of acquaintances who could prove to be very useful. Most importantly for Edgar, they were family, and could be trusted.

  The same could not be said for most other people in the room.

  The Prince had decided to hold the meeting in his bedroom at the back of his hall to lend some privacy to the discussion. Although it was a big room, it was still packed. Loyal officers like Wilchard were here, but so were half a dozen noblemen plus other court hangers-on, all of whom expected to have a say. Some were perched on the bed with the Prince; others had been found chairs; still others stood.

  Belwynn looked over to Clarin, who was slouched against the wall, no longer attempting to feign his boredom at the interminable proceedings. As soon as it had become clear that their group of four would form the backbone of the party sent to retrieve the dagger, Herin had ridden off to recruit his friends Kaved and Moneva and to pick up any vital provisions from the town. The question was, who else would be dumped on them?

  Belwynn forced herself to turn back to the conversation. Wulfgar, the High-Priest, seemed to have brought all of his brethren who had not been slaughtered that morning with him. The man’s colossal arrogance may have been dented on his arrival, but when he realized that his brother, Otha of Rystham, was in attendance as well, it had made a full recovery. The two men were trying to muscle in on the mission by turning it into some kind of religious pilgrimage. Edgar was dead set against their involvement. Yet he seemed to be supportive of another priest—the mystic named Elana—who was insisting that she come along.

  Amongst the others present who were trying to get a word in edgeways was a nobleman named Farred. Belwynn had never met him before; he had apparently only recently inherited his father’s estate, which lay on the border with the Midder Steppe. It was through these estates that the robbers had passed on their way to the Temple. He and his friend Gyrmund had made a crucial intervention in the confrontation at the Temple. They seemed to be sure that the robbers would be heading south-east, giving them the option of slipping back into the Empire via Cordence or the Wilderness.

  Farred had suggested that his peers on the border would have been alerted by now and raised their forces, whereas news of the invasion was unlikely to have reached the south. It was a longer route back to the Empire, but probably the safest for the Brasingians.

  Otha of Rystham, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to such concerns, but very intent on pressing his brother’s claims for religious leadership on the issue.

  ‘What I do not understand, Your Highness, is why you seem to give so much credence to what this heretic says—’ Otha waved a hand in Elana’s direction—‘yet you would deny the Church of Toric any say in our plans to restore His Holy Dagger.’

  Otha was living dangerously, almost accusing his prince of heresy. Belwynn could tell that Edgar was reaching the end of his tether, but he had to tread carefully; he could not be seen to support a convicted criminal over the Church of Toric. Otha was skilled and experienced in high politics, and he usually got what he wanted. He had almost caught the young Prince in his trap— so the interruption of the conversation by the arrival of Soren and Ealdnoth was an obvious disappointment.

  Belwynn’s brother and Edgar’s court wizard had been interrogating the Brasingian prisoner who had been knocked from his horse by Brictwin. Many in the hall greeted their return with clumsily concealed distaste. Most people connected to Edgar’s household had, by now, come to terms with his patronage of wizards, but they still had difficulty with certain innovations they had ushered in. One of these was the use of their powers in questioning prisoners. Otha and his like favoured the traditional methods, which usually involved an assortment of sharp instruments and clamps, perhaps the use of fire, but always a lot of screaming and mess. The fact that Ealdnoth and Soren were able to get better results in less time, and with less unpleasantness, left them feeling dissatisfied, and even a little cheated.

  ‘Well?’ asked Edgar.

  ‘We have a name,’ answered Ealdnoth. ‘Their leader is called Gervase Salvinus.’

  Ealdnoth was interrupted by a whistle from Clarin.

  ‘You know this man, Clarin?’ enquired the Prince.

  ‘Know him? Sure. Not really personal, you understand, but Herin and me fought under him a few years back now, and he was making a name for himself even then.’

  ‘Making himself a name as what?’

  ‘As a mercenary leader.’

  Clarin began to regale the room with one of his war stories. It amused Belwynn to watch. No-one really wanted to hear it, but Clarin was such an intimidating figure that most people nodded along enthusiastica
lly whenever his eyes met theirs.

  Has anything been decided? asked Soren.

  Not really. Wulfgar and Otha are still arguing with Edgar. It looks like we’re going to be bringing some bloody priests with us. Are you alright after dealing with that prisoner?

  Soren looked back to full health after the damage he had sustained from his fall from the window of Vincente’s house. He had recovered consciousness on the journey back to Magnia in the back of Kaved’s cart, though had remained groggy and weak the whole time. Belwynn hadn’t wanted him to use his magic again so soon afterwards. There had been many times when Soren had pushed the use of his powers too far and blacked out as a result. Most of the time it had fallen to Belwynn to look after him until he recovered. But it hadn’t happened for a long time now, since he had improved his mastery of his powers and understood his limits.

  I’m fine, he said, no lasting effects. Ealdnoth did most of it anyway.

  Ealdnoth had been Soren’s first tutor in wizard-craft, and they still had something of a father-son relationship. Belwynn could well imagine Ealdnoth taking charge, even though her brother had now surpassed him in power.

  Soren turned his attention back to the Prince as the conversation in the centre of the hall began to come back to the matter in hand.

  ‘So who do you think he could be working for?’ Edgar was asking Clarin.

  Clarin shrugged his shoulders. ‘It could be anyone—anyone with enough money, that is. Salvinus’s services won’t come cheap.’

  ‘Did the prisoner know who was paying?’ the Prince asked Ealdnoth.

  The wizard shook his head. ‘He’s a new recruit; he doesn’t know anything about the operation. He seemed pretty sure that they were going to head back to the Empire, though.’

  ‘Right. I think we have wasted enough time already,’ said Edgar, rising from his seat on the bed to emphasise the point. ‘I’ve decided that Soren will lead the attempt to recover the dagger. Belwynn and Clarin are going with him, and hopefully Clarin’s brother Herin will be able to join up with them later with some extra help.’

  Edgar paused, and then turned to face Wulfgar and Otha.

  ‘I have also decided that a representative from Toric’s community should accompany them, that He may bless the enterprise. Wulfgar, I give you the choice as to whom.’

  Wulfgar screwed up his face as he thought about Edgar’s offer. Belwynn doubted whether the High-Priest really wanted many of his brethren to go on this expedition; he had already lost a good number of his priests today, and there was every chance that whoever accompanied them would not come back. He needed all the help he could get to rebuild his ravaged community.

  Eventually, he nodded his consent. ‘I have a volunteer, Your Highness, an initiate named Dirk who recently came to us from the Empire. He is healthy and able to defend himself. He may be of help to your cousins.’

  Wulfgar pointed to the priest he had nominated. Belwynn looked him over: he was unremarkable, thin and shorter than average height.

  I can’t see him being much help, she informed her brother.

  Soren grinned at the comment. Who knows?

  The Prince was speaking again. ‘I have come to an agreement with Elana. I feel that her powers will be of help to you, Soren, and she is as desperate as anyone here to recover the dagger from the Brasingians. I have therefore agreed that she will accompany you, on the condition that, when the mission is over, whether it be a success or a failure, she returns to the custody of the Church of Toric in order that her sentence be carried out.’

  Otha and Wulfgar cried out in protest, but Edgar was in no mood for further debate.

  ‘I want you to leave right now,’ he told the twins.

  Once the decisions had been made, things moved quickly, and it was only minutes later that they found themselves in the courtyard of Edgar’s hall, horses saddled and provisions prepared.

  ‘If you recover the dagger there will be handsome individual rewards for everyone who took part,’ Edgar announced. ‘In the meantime, I am giving Soren enough money to cover any expenses which may occur.’

  Edgar led Belwynn and Soren over to one side and handed the wizard a bag of money.

  ‘There’s Imperial thalers there as well. Use it all if you have to. It is the dagger that is important. Losing the dagger is not going to help my situation here in Magnia, and I have had to cross Rystham today. There may even be an army headed this way, though I doubt it. It looks like this Gervase Salvinus had a specific mission here.’

  ‘Your Highness, I am sorry to intrude.’

  It was Farred, who had company.

  ‘What is it, Farred?’ asked Edgar.

  ‘You will recall my friend, Gyrmund. He is well travelled around Dalriya and would like to offer his skills to help your cousins. I can vouch for his honesty.’

  ‘Well,’ said Edgar, ‘that’s very good of you, Gyrmund. I thank you. Soren, what do you think?’

  ‘What can you do?’ Belwynn asked the man bluntly.

  ‘I know my way through the Wilderness, which is where I would guess the Brasingians are heading. I tracked them here, and I can pick up their trail again with no difficulty. I am an expert with the longbow,’ he said, patting the weapon which was slung across his back, ‘and I can fight.’

  Well? Belwynn asked her brother.

  I don’t see why not, he replied.

  ‘It sounds like you might be useful,’ Belwynn told the man. ‘We could do with your help.’ She turned back to Edgar. ‘We should make a move now.’

  The Prince nodded and pulled Farred aside to speak with Ealdnoth.

  Gyrmund and the twins mounted their horses and trotted over to where the other members of the party waited. Clarin was having a conversation with the monk, Dirk, though Toric only knew about what. Elana waited to one side, in silence.

  As Soren and Clarin led the party of six out of the courtyard, Gyrmund said a quick farewell to Farred.

  Belwynn drew up with the two priests.

  ‘I want you two to know,’ she told them, ‘if you fall behind, we leave you. I’m not going to let either of you put the rest of us in danger.’

  Horseshoes. Hammer and nails. Pokers. Plough blades. Locks and keys. Cartwheels. Files and chisels. All very good. All very well and good, and Ulf could do a wonderful job of making all of those. But armour? Spears and war-axes? No. Swords? Really fine swords, works of art that could be passed down the generations? No-one was ordering those anymore, and Rabigar had had enough.

  Peace had come to Magnia at last. It was an idea that was disputed, of course. He still heard dire warnings about the North Magnians. Prince Cerdda and his brother were plotting this or that attack. People needed an enemy to talk about, to scare each other about. But blade-smiths were always the first to know when peace had come. People stopped buying weapons.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Ulf was working hard as usual, powerful shoulders hammering away at the anvil.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Rabigar shouted.

  Ulf stopped. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you need a hand? Quite a few orders in, I see.’

  ‘Nah, nothing that would interest you, master. You have a rest.’

  ‘Oh. Right then.’

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  He was a good boy, Ulf. Or young man now. Hard worker. Respectful. Grateful. But by the gods, did he piss Rabigar off when he treated him like a hoary relic. He headed for the exit from the forge.

  ‘Master Rabigar?’

  Bareva, Ulf’s wife. She came waddling into the forge, her pregnant belly now much more of a hindrance than it had been a few weeks ago. She was a big woman, not that much smaller than Ulf, and it had taken a while for the baby in her belly to show.

  ‘There you are. Customer asking for you.’

  �
��Right you are. Thank you, Bareva. You can tell ‘em to come in.’

  Asking for me, thought Rabigar. Dare I hope?

  A tall, powerfully-built man strode into the forge as if he owned the place.

  ‘Herin? Good to see you.’

  ‘Rabigar,’ said Herin, clasping hands and shouting over the noise of Ulf’s hammering. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Boy, she’s looking big now, isn’t she?’ he asked, nodding in the direction of Bareva, who had left the forge.

  ‘Aye. Parents like that, baby’s gonna be a monster, isn’t it? Well, I’m hoping you’ve got a job for me.’

  ‘Business slow?’

  ‘Nah. Business isn’t slow. Our lad,’ he said, indicating Ulf over at the anvil, ‘is very busy. Just nothing in the way of blade-work.’

  ‘Good. Well, I had a very special favour to ask, and sounds like you might be willing to help me out.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You won’t have heard what’s gone on at Toric’s Temple?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Attacked this morning by twenty-odd soldiers, from the Empire. Broke in and took Toric’s Dagger. Worst part about it, I guess, is that Edgar was there when it happened. He’s alright, though.’

  Rabigar whistled at the news. ‘Wait a minute. You’re not asking me to make a new Dagger, are you? I mean, I know I’m good, but...’

  Herin laughed.

  ‘No. I’m leading the rescue mission for it, though. I need to set off as soon as possible and we need some emergency supplies.’

  ‘Weapons?’

  ‘Yes; only two. One, for a friend—a knife with a sharp point. She likes to throw it.’

  ‘Does she now? Got a nice balanced one she can have.’

  ‘Thought you might. Two, for me. I lost my seax.’