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

by Jamie Edmundson

  Belwynn knew that her accent was unmistakably Magnian, but she had travelled enough to know that Pentas’s was not strong enough to place, and so she reserved judgement on whether he was Persaleian or not.

  ‘And where are you headed, friends?’ Pentas asked.

  It was an awkward question, since they didn’t want to tell this stranger exactly what they were up to. Herin looked about to tell the wizard to stuff his questions, but instead turned to Soren.

  ‘Coldeberg,’ replied Soren.

  Herin frowned, unable to understand why Soren was deferring to this man, but he kept his mouth shut.

  ‘Interesting,’ replied Pentas. ‘I thought you would be heading south, back to Magnia.’

  He looked at Dirk as he said this, red eyes fixed on the priest. Dirk looked troubled under that glare and turned to Elana for support.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘We are heading north.’

  Pentas now turned his gaze on Elana, but the priestess looked straight back at him without wavering. He nodded.

  ‘Very well. It is very kind to let me ride with you as far as Coldeberg.’

  What was that about? Belwynn asked Soren.

  Not sure, he replied.

  Soren still looked tired from his exertions in the Wilderness, and Belwynn suspected he was hiding the extent of the damage done. She had to ask another question of her brother, however.

  Why did you let him ride with us?

  I don’t think we had much of a choice in the matter, Soren replied.

  You mean he’s a more powerful wizard than you?

  You could say that.

  Soren sounded down, almost bitter; Belwynn decided to leave it at that.

  The group continued their journey north, and Pentas did not hinder the speed of their progress, but rode along comfortably in the middle of the group, as if he were out on a ride with friends. He behaved as if he were blissfully unaware of the nervous looks that some of the others gave him, but Belwynn knew it was an act and kept her eyes on him.

  It was early evening when Gyrmund turned around to advise the group that they would shortly be turning off the Great Road onto the Barissian Road, which led directly to the capital, Coldeberg. He was quickly advised to face ahead again, however, by a hissed whisper from Rabigar.

  In front of them was the second lone mounted figure they had come across that day. Belwynn was unsure where he had come from; suddenly, he was sitting there, ahead of them, in the middle of the road. Pentas had been an arresting sight, but this newcomer managed to trump it. His mount and his clothes were just as expensive, but instead of the red eyes, he wore a mask which covered his whole face.

  It was a death mask, a human skull stripped of flesh and skin, seemingly frozen in a contorted howl of pain.

  It sent shivers down Belwynn’s spine, and she could sense from behind the empty eye sockets the malevolent presence of the wearer, studying them.

  The figure nudged his horse and trotted slowly towards them. Belwynn felt the saliva in her mouth dry up as Herin, Clarin and Kaved once more moved from the back of the group to the front to face the danger.

  ‘Give me the dagger,’ demanded the skull in a rasping voice, as if the figure behind the mask was indeed a corpse, raised from the dead and given the power of speech.

  In response Herin and the others drew their weapons and spread across the road in a fan shape, readying themselves for an attack. The mask stopped his advance and waited, as if daring them to try anything.

  ‘Be careful,’ warned Soren in a tense voice.

  Belwynn could see a scabbarded sword at the right thigh of the figure, but it had not made any attempt to reach for it. As she had with Pentas, Belwynn could sense the power emanating from the creature in the mask.

  Just as she thought of the red-eyed wizard, he trotted his horse past her and towards the confrontation. Clarin and Gyrmund turned around in surprise but allowed him to move between them and out onto the road to face the waiting threat.

  Belwynn’s mind was racing. She wanted to shout out that they didn’t have the dagger, but no-one else had offered that information, so she decided that it was best to keep her mouth shut.

  ‘You,’ said the masked figure as Pentas approached, in a voice filled with hostility and disdain. ‘You would do best to stay out of my way, Pentas.’

  ‘I got here first, Nexodore. You’re too late. The dagger is now my responsibility.’

  Nexodore cackled at Pentas’s front, but there was no humour in the laugh. ‘These matters will never be your responsibility, Pentas. I will not think twice about casting you down if you stand between me and my duties.’

  ‘Then there is nothing left to say,’ answered Pentas.

  His voice was firm and betrayed no emotion. For a moment Belwynn wondered whether anyone in this world would dare do anything even to displease this red-eyed man, whose presence was so powerful. She half expected this Nexodore to turn around and ride back from where he came, but both men sat still, facing each other across a few feet of road. Belwynn felt a buzzing sensation in her head which grew and grew by the second as the hairs on her body began to stand on edge.

  They’re testing each other out, trying to find a gap in each other’s defences, said Soren.

  What can you do? asked Belwynn.

  Nothing.

  Belwynn looked around at her companions and saw that they, too, were feeling the side effects of this magical duel. Even the horses whinnied nervously.

  Then, suddenly, wave upon wave of power surged from the two figures. Belwynn turned back to look at the two wizards and nearly wretched with the effort as the magical forces at work surged into her body. They were still sitting perfectly still, in the same position, but for some reason Belwynn felt that it was Nexodore doing the attacking.

  Then, from the corner of her eye, Belwynn noticed a flash of metal. Herin’s drawn sword seemed to be sucked from his grasp, and the weapon flew straight towards a point between Pentas’s shoulder blades. Just as the blade was about to sink into the wizard’s back, its flight was halted in mid-air, and it clattered harmlessly to the ground.

  Pentas had stopped an attack, but his concentration, it seemed, had been affected. Almost as soon as Herin’s sword hit the ground Pentas’s horse collapsed. It seemed to Belwynn as if the stallion suffered some kind of internal haemorrhage. With a sudden jolt, it spasmed and then its legs gave way, causing Pentas to topple forward off his mount. Nexodore held his hand above his head, ready to finish off his defenceless opponent, when an arrow whistled past his head.

  Instead of sending the spell to Pentas, he quickly adjusted, and the power was instead directed at Herin, who had tried to make up for the embarrassment of losing his sword by taking out the wizard himself. Herin was hurled from his mount by the power of the blast, shooting into the air for a few feet before crashing to earth.

  Pentas had been given the precious recovery time he needed, however, and he slammed his palms onto the Great Road. There was a deafening, tearing sound of rock on rock, and then the ground between the two wizards opened up. Pentas had created a crack along the road, allowing hot steam to billow forth from the fissure. Now it was the turn of Nexodore’s mount to lose its footing, and both horse and rider tumbled into the widening hole which Pentas had rent in the earth.

  Pentas had no time to gloat, however, as the ground beneath him also gave way, and he was dragged into his own trap, followed by the carcass of his horse. Clarin, who had moved forward after his brother had been attacked, was now forced to quickly backtrack to avoid joining the two wizards. The whole group quickly moved away to safety, Gyrmund grabbing the reins of Herin’s horse to pull it away as well.

  The cracking of the ground ceased, though it continued to smoulder.

  As the others went over to check on Herin, Soren and
Belwynn went to take a look at the hole. Soren gingerly peered down, but shook his head. Belwynn looked for herself, but could see no trace of any of the bodies which had been sucked in, surely to their deaths. The fissure stank of rotten eggs, and they reluctantly walked away.

  Herin was a little dazed, but had no serious injuries. He did, however, get upset when Clarin ruefully informed him that his sword had joined the two wizards in their deep grave.

  ‘Don’t tell me I’ve lost another one!’ he groaned.

  ‘Well, what was all that about?’ asked Kaved, and everyone looked to Soren for an answer.

  The wizard, however, shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t tell you much. Nexodore is a name I know, a man of great power who serves Erkindrix of Ishari. I don’t know the name Pentas...but what I do know is that we’ve just been involved with two of the most powerful wizards of Dalriya. For both of them to come looking for us, personally...I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. But any wizard of real power in Dalriya will have heard what went on here; the expenditure of magical power was incredible, and if these two came looking for us, then anyone else will now know exactly where we are as well. I suggest we get as far away from here as possible, as quickly as we can.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to argue with that,’ said Gyrmund. ‘We might not make it to Coldeberg before nightfall, but I’m all for giving it a try.’

  XI

  A Crown and a Hat

  They didn’t make it to Coldeberg, instead spending the night outdoors. Everyone agreed that it was safest to keep a low profile and avoid possible detection.

  Belwynn was tired, but couldn’t get to sleep. Night noises sounded like they could be people out in the dark, looking for them. When she did finally drift off, she dreamed of being chased by a man with red eyes. When he caught her, he turned into a skeleton and dragged her underground, to the land of the dead.

  Belwynn awoke the next morning feeling little better for the few hours of sleep. Gyrmund and the others had taken shifts keeping watch through the night, but nothing had happened. Everyone was still on edge, however. Just as in the Wilderness, the group felt as if they had now somehow become the hunted rather than the hunters. It was clear that they had become involved with the dark powers of Ishari, yet no-one could put their finger on how or why. They hoped to find answers in Coldeberg, both to the whereabouts of the dagger and to the reasons why it had been stolen. Everyone was aware that, once Ishari took an interest in you, it did not let go.

  Coldeberg was situated in the middle of the duchy of Barissia, and it would take most of the morning for the group to get there, though the Barissian Road took the traveller straight to the city.

  ‘What is the city like? I’ve never been,’ Belwynn asked, to no-one in particular.

  ‘Bigger than anything in Magnia,’ Herin replied, ‘but not the same size as Essenberg.’

  ‘It’s long been the administrative capital of the Dukes of Barissia,’ explained Soren, ‘and it gets substantial local trade and internal trade within the Empire. But it’s not a great trading city, because it’s located away from the Great Road.’

  ‘No real reason for traders to go there rather than Essenberg,’ added Herin. ‘It gets a few from the Steppe, selling cattle; some from Guivergne who come down by river. But a lot of the Middian tribes aren’t that keen on Barissians, not after Emeric’s wars there.’

  ‘Can’t blame them, either,’ added Clarin.

  Belwynn knew that the two brothers had fought for Emeric as mercenaries a few years back, and that they had bitter memories of it.

  ‘Barissia’s farming country,’ said Moneva, sounding dismissive in a way that Belwynn didn’t much appreciate. ‘Wealthy enough, but a bit insular.’

  No-one was really selling the place, and as they approached the city along the Barissian Road, Belwynn picked up on an uneasy atmosphere. They were greeted with stares and whispers more than she had expected—far more than they had received on the Great Road.

  Furthermore, there seemed to be more than the usual number of soldiers on the road. They all wore the livery of the dukes of Barissia, the charging boar, and the group encountered many bands of soldiers, all on their way somewhere with varying degrees of urgency. They were almost always challenged for their business by these soldiers, and they soon learned that the best answer was that they were on their way to Coldeberg to enlist with the army. Since everyone seemed to be either in the army or on their way to join, they were greeted with much less suspicion.

  Coldeberg was built on a hill, so that the northern part of the city became visible from the road first. As they got closer, the southern half of the city came into view, the whole place enclosed by steep, grey stone walls.

  They arrived at the main gate, where city guards were questioning those who came in or out, meaning that there was something of a wait until they got to the front of the queue. Flags had been positioned, one each side of the gate. One had the charging boar of the dukes of Barissia, the other a large golden crown on a red background.

  When it came to their turn, the guard on their side of the road looked them over, frowning, not quite sure what he had in front of him.

  ‘We’re here to join the army,’ stated Kaved, as if it was a momentous occasion that required a fanfare.

  The guard looked a little underwhelmed. ‘You all together?’ he asked. He was smartly done out, and it looked like he was expected to do a thorough job of monitoring the traffic coming in to the city.

  ‘Not really,’ replied Kaved. ‘Us two are,’ he said, indicating himself and Rabigar, ‘and we hooked up with these poor souls on the road,’ he finished, indicating everyone else.

  ‘I’m not sure that the army has Krykkers.’

  ‘It does now,’ said Kaved, so mean-looking and full of confidence that the guard quickly moved on.

  ‘Are all of you joining the army?’ he asked, looking doubtfully at Belwynn, Elana and Moneva. It wasn’t unusual for women to accompany their menfolk in the army life, whether married or not. Indeed, they were very useful when it came to the myriad jobs that needed doing to keep an army on its feet. It was much less common for women to be employed as soldiers, though it did happen.

  Moneva scowled, fingering the two swords at her hips.

  ‘You saying I can’t?’ she demanded.

  ‘I always travel with my wife,’ explained Herin, grabbing Belwynn by the waist. ‘I can’t leave her behind. We’re too in love.’

  Belwynn silently fumed as Herin pulled her in close, feeling self-conscious and trying not to blush, knowing that Herin would be finding her discomfort amusing.

  ‘Where do we sign up, anyway?’ he asked the guard.

  ‘Up at the castle,’ said the guard, looking at them all with a certain distaste before waving them through into the city.

  ‘You can get your hands off now,’ said Belwynn irritably.

  ‘Of course,’ Herin agreed mildly, with a smirk on his face. ‘Just trying to make us look convincing.’

  Dirk knew the city well and he suggested that they try to find rooms at The Boot and Saddle, a large inn in the north-west quarter of the city that was hospitable to foreigners. He considered it to be one of the best places for keeping a low profile. Once through the gates, the Barissian Road they had arrived on became the main street of the city, running east to west.

  Immediately to their right sat Coldeberg Cathedral, home of the Bishop of Coldeberg, who had the exclusive right to worship all of the Brasingian gods. But on their way they passed a number of other temples to specific gods. Sibylla, goddess of health and prosperity, was popular with townspeople. Gerhold, lord of war and friendship, was favoured by soldiers. There was a smaller temple for followers of Toric, the Magnian sun god. It had perhaps been established by Magnians who had moved to Barissia at some time.

  Many sm
aller streets ran off the Barissian Road, where specialist traders sold their wares. Tanners, metalworkers, cloth-workers, grocers, bakers, more and more. Dirk informed her that the market was located in the downtown part of Coldeberg, to the south.

  Towering over everything, though, was Coldeberg Castle. Located at the highest point of the city, the northern city walls doubled as the castle’s outer wall, and the structure then sprawled down towards the Barissian Road in an irregular hexagonal shape with six large towers and a massive gatehouse. Its looming presence made it clear that the dukes of Barissia were in charge of the city and made it feel like they were watching everything that was going on.

  The streets were busy. Most of the people here weren’t residents of Coldeberg, but had come in from the surrounding villages to buy goods they couldn’t get at home and perhaps to sell their own. A conspicuous presence on the streets were the groups of mercenaries who had been recruited by Duke Emeric. They hung out in small groups, watching everyone else at work while they lounged around, drinking and playing cards, moving from one inn to the other, arguing with each other or passers-by or shopkeepers. They added an unpleasant ingredient to the city’s atmosphere, and Belwynn was pleased to be with Clarin, Herin and the others, whose physical presence and grim expressions ensured that they were given a wide berth.

  Dirk took them almost as far as the western gate of Coldeberg before turning right and taking them up some twisting, narrow streets. Then they were there, in the courtyard of the Boot and Saddle.

  It was a large, well-maintained building with a sizeable stable where they left their horses.

  ‘The landlord goes by the name of Bernard Hat, on account of his large collection of hats,’ explained Dirk with a straight face as they made their way into the establishment.

  It was busy inside. According to Dirk, this was the most cosmopolitan of the inns in Coldeberg, and Belwynn noticed a few individuals and groups of foreigners, especially Middian tribesmen, whose dark skin and long, tied-back hair made them very distinctive. Mercenaries and soldiers dominated the clientele, however—drinking early in the day and creating a loud and rowdy atmosphere. They had to squeeze past tables and through knots of drinkers to make it to the bar.