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

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘Follow me,’ Herman ordered, turning around and retracing his steps down the dark corridor. His accomplice gave Gyrmund one last smile and shuffled along next to Herman. Curtis gave Gyrmund a sharp prod in the back to ensure that he followed after them and walked along behind. Obviously he was going to fulfil his duties by ensuring that he didn’t leave until Gyrmund was locked up in chains.

  Gyrmund’s eyes began to adjust to what little light there was, and he began to make out a door to a cell further up the corridor. It had an iron frame and vertical iron bars so that the jailers could look into the room. As they approached the door, Gyrmund could see a man sitting against the far wall, his arms and legs in manacles.

  It was Herin. Their eyes met. Herin had a look of cold rage in his eyes. When he realised that it was Gyrmund a look of disappointment passed over his face. Gyrmund understood why; he represented one less potential rescuer.

  Herman unlocked the door and Gyrmund was shoved into the cell. Sitting next to Herin was Elana. On the opposite wall was Rabigar. Both of them were in manacles, too.

  Herman pointed to a place next to Rabigar. ‘Over there.’ Curtis violently pushed Gyrmund in that direction, causing him to crash against the wall and land awkwardly. He could not stop himself gasping out loud as his injured shoulder flared in pain.

  ‘Get him ready, Greg,’ ordered Herman.

  The big jailer knelt down, grinned at Gyrmund, and pulled him into position. Curtis moved closer and pointed the tip of his sword towards Gyrmund, to discourage a struggle. Greg put one shackle around Gyrmund’s ankle, clasping it into place and then locking it, before repeating the process with the second ankle. Herin and the others watched on in silence. Greg then pulled out a knife and lumbered behind Gyrmund to cut his bonds. Curtis leaned closer and rested the end of his sword on Gyrmund’s chest. Greg cut through the bonds, but immediately grabbed one wrist and placed it into a manacle. Once he had secured both arms he pulled back to admire his work. Curtis withdrew his sword.

  ‘Have fun,’ he advised Gyrmund, before, with a nod to Herman, he left the cell and made his way out of the dungeon.

  A short period of silence followed. Herman was staring intently at him. Gyrmund felt panic begin to rise within him. He couldn’t stand the idea of rotting away in this place. The threat of violence hung heavy in the air. He looked over to his fellow prisoners. While it felt wrong, he was relieved that he wasn’t on his own. Herin and Rabigar had grim faces, but were not showing any fear; their expressions were more like anger. Elana was a picture of calm. She had no reason to be, but it made him feel a bit better.

  A rasping noise made him turn his attention back to Herman. The jailer had withdrawn a knife of his own, a wicked looking instrument with a serrated edge. Still staring into his eyes, Herman walked slowly towards him and dropped down to rest on his haunches.

  He slowly moved the knife up between Gyrmund’s shackled legs until it rested against his manhood. The jailer still said nothing. Gyrmund didn’t know how to respond, so he kept quiet, his eyes flicking down towards the knife and back up to look at the jailer.

  Herman, eyes still boring into Gyrmund’s, put pressure on the knife. The blade sliced through the leather of his trousers. Herman pushed the cold metal up against the inside of his thigh, then against his member. Terror welled up within him, but he resisted the urge to shout out or struggle. He had to keep control. Silence obviously wasn’t working. He forced himself to swallow, his mouth dry with fear.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  ‘I have been asked, by the King,’ began Herman quietly, ‘to discover the location of a certain weapon. I do not intend to fail him. I now have five prisoners. You and your prick are therefore dispensable to me. Tell me where it is or I cut it off.’

  Gyrmund’s mind raced to find the best answer. He had no doubt that he was dispensable to this man. Would he go through with his threat? Should Gyrmund pretend that he knew something? Pressure down below told him that the jailer wanted an answer now.

  ‘I don’t have it…I’ve never seen it and I don’t know where it is. I didn’t even know that one of us had it…’

  Herman’s expression didn’t change, and the blade remained where it was. Seconds passed; they seemed like hours to Gyrmund.

  Herman’s hand moved. He withdrew the knife and stood up. Gyrmund let out a ragged breath of relief. The jailer looked around the cell.

  ‘Maybe none of you know anything useful. Maybe you do… but I will find out either way. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be telling me how many times you wet the bed as a child.’

  His eyes found Rabigar. ‘I’m going to start with this one,’ he advised Greg. ‘You should have stayed with your own kind, Krykker.’

  Rabigar looked at Herman as if he were something unpleasant found on the bottom of his shoe. Greg lumbered over and detached Rabigar’s chains from the wall. He held onto them as if they were puppet strings. ‘Get up,’ ordered Herman.

  Suddenly, Rabigar sprang to life. Despite the chains weighing him down, he thrust himself towards the big jailer holding his chains. Greg was taken by surprise and was slow to react. As Rabigar dived into him, Gyrmund saw the Krykker snatch the knife which the giant had been using from his belt. Greg grabbed Rabigar by the hair and yanked the Krykker away with an iron grip. Rabigar slashed upwards at his arm and Greg howled in pain, letting go of the Krykker. However, with his other hand, the jailer yanked at Rabigar’s chains, and the Krykker was pulled to the floor. Greg’s booted foot slammed down on Rabigar’s hand, effectively disarming him. Meanwhile, Herman jumped on top of the Krykker’s back, wrapping one arm around his neck in a headlock and placing his own knife at Rabigar’s throat.

  ‘I should kill you now for trying that!’ screamed the jailer hysterically. It was clear that he had got a fright.

  Rabigar was breathing hard, down on all fours with one man on his back and the other holding his chains. Greg moaned in pain.

  Herman smiled. ‘To teach you a lesson for wounding Greg, you should be made to suffer as he has.’

  In a deliberate movement, Herman withdrew the knife from Rabigar’s throat, reversed the blade, and sent it into his eye.

  Rabigar roared out in pain, and Gyrmund cried out in shock. The Krykker reared up and knocked the Barissian off his back. Greg, however, gave the chains another yank, and dragged the Krykker across the floor, towards the door of the cell. Rabigar clutched at his eye as he was dragged off down the corridor. Herman picked himself up. He bent over, wheezing. It looked like he had some kind of injury. Then Gyrmund realised that he wasn’t injured—he was laughing: a silent, breathy noise that made Gyrmund feel sick. He slowly stood up and gave the cell and its prisoners a final look.

  ‘I think the rest of you should reconsider,’ he said, gesturing into the corridor. ‘I’ve only just started with him.’

  Belwynn stared down at Toric’s Dagger.

  She had seen it once before, when she and Soren had visited the Temple with her father. It had a fancy enough hilt, if you liked that kind of thing, but the blade itself didn’t seem that special. There wasn’t much of it—just a thin sliver of metal that ended in a thin point, for stabbing. Tiny runes had been inscribed onto the blade. It wasn’t in a language she understood, and as she stared at them they began to swim and swirl around in front of her eyes. Belwynn drew her eyes away from the dagger and returned to the conversation at hand.

  ‘…from the beginning, all of it, and make it quick,’ her brother was ordering Dirk.

  Dirk nodded his acceptance. ‘I have been living here in Coldeberg for some years now. I am not a priest, I make my living by…well, mainly by thieving.’ He spread his hands, as if to apologise. ‘For a while now Emeric has been building up his power, hiring soldiers—he seems to have unlimited supplies of money from somewhere. A fe
w weeks back the word was spread about to people like me that he wanted Toric’s Dagger. There would be a reward of thirty thousand thalers, a small fortune. I wanted that money.’ He shook his head, seemingly in disappointment at himself.

  ‘I decided that the best way to gain access to the dagger was to become a priest of Toric. It took a while, but I was accepted, just about a week ago. Taking the dagger was easy enough. I was planning my escape when Salvinus and his men broke in. Obviously, he was too late, and he never got the dagger. But everyone assumed that he had. The suspicion was totally off me. If I had left of my own accord, it might have awakened some suspicions. By volunteering to go with you, I could leave freely and get protection on the way back to Coldeberg, where I knew Salvinus would be heading.’

  ‘You had it all the time?’ Clarin blurted out. ‘In the Wilderness, on the Great Road when that sorcerer attacked us—’

  Words failed the big man and he grabbed Dirk by the throat.

  ‘Leave him be,’ snapped Soren.

  Belwynn could tell that her brother was just as angry as she and Clarin were. That he had put them all in unnecessary danger was bad enough, but it was the fact that he had made fools of them all that rankled the most.

  ‘So this afternoon,’ Soren began. ‘Why didn’t you take the dagger straight to Emeric when you had the chance?’

  Dirk had the gall to look affronted by the suggestion. ‘I would never do that, not now. Now I understand why it is so important. Elana has explained it all to me.’

  Something in that comment made Belwynn uneasy.

  ‘Does Elana know that you’ve got the dagger?’ she demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Dirk meekly.

  ‘Gods!’ thundered Soren. ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘Just her and me…and now you three,’ answered Dirk defensively.

  Soren pushed his hand through his hair as he tried to take control of the situation in his mind. Belwynn felt the same way; her head was spinning. The attack on the inn, their friends captured. Dirk and the dagger. What should they do now?

  ‘So what have you been doing today?’ she asked the thief.

  Dirk shifted his pack off his shoulder and opened it up. He shoved his hand inside and pulled out a white cloak. ‘I bought this, so that I can look like a proper disciple of Madria,’ he said, holding it up for Belwynn to see.

  Soren groaned and rolled his eyes up in his head. ‘You do realise that Elana has probably been captured by Emeric?’ he demanded of Dirk.

  The thief-turned-disciple looked shocked. ‘What do you mean?’

  Belwynn realised that they hadn’t told Dirk about the situation. Soren, however, looked impatient to get moving.

  ‘I’ll fill you in as we go along. We need to establish what exactly has happened and, if necessary, think of some way to rescue the others. Meanwhile, I still think we’ve been betrayed, and you,’ he said, pointing at Dirk, ‘are still the most likely candidate, despite what you’ve said.’

  He stared balefully at the Barissian, took a step towards him, and snatched the dagger from his hand.

  ‘And I’m keeping hold of this.’

  XIV

  Ariella & Tivian

  Time had passed, just a few minutes maybe, but it seemed longer. Gyrmund had been sitting in silence with Herin and Elana, none of them knowing what to say after Rabigar had been dragged away.

  Herin shifted his position. ‘So, how did you get caught, Gyrmund?’

  Gyrmund turned his thoughts away from Rabigar and the jailers. ‘Moneva and I arrived back at the inn and they were waiting for us. They cornered me in the kitchen, but they couldn’t find her, and hopefully they won’t. Do you know it was Salvinus?’

  Elana nodded. ‘He came for Rabigar and I at the inn. He wanted to know where the rest of you had gone, but when we wouldn’t tell him he sent us here.’

  ‘What about you?’ Gyrmund asked Herin. ‘He said he had five of us. Is Kaved here?’

  ‘Yes, they got us first. Kaved and I went into town, but then split up while I went to get a sword. I arranged to meet him later, in the town square. When I got there, Salvinus himself was waiting for me, with half a dozen men. I had to give up my sword. I’d only just bought it,’ Herin fumed, as if another lost sword was the worst that had happened. ‘When I got here, Kaved was already in the cell. They took him for questioning. We haven’t heard from him since.’

  The sick feeling in Gyrmund’s stomach returned. He felt like vomiting. Kaved, then Rabigar—who would be next?

  Herin was chewing at his lips, studying him. ‘Listen you two,’ he began, ‘Salvinus knew exactly where to find me. He knew to go to the inn; he knew to wait there for you and the others to come back. Someone’s told him. If Gyrmund was with Moneva the whole time, I suppose that rules her out. It wasn’t Soren or Belwynn or Clarin, I know that for a fact. But how else would he know where we were?’

  Gyrmund thought about it. It did make sense. Salvinus seemed very well informed. ‘Does that mean it was one of us? He may have had an informer at the Boot and Saddle.’

  Herin shook his head. ‘The thing is, only Kaved knew where to find me.’

  Gyrmund had no reply to that. It was the first time he had seen Herin look unsure of himself. Maybe the Krykker had betrayed them. No doubt he would receive a substantial reward from the new king. Something was still troubling Gyrmund.

  ‘What I don’t understand is—why do they think that we have the damned dagger?’

  Belwynn and Clarin turned the corner and hurried back to the alleyway. Time, they knew, was not on their side.

  Clarin held the lute in his big hands, arms out in front of him. This was hardly a sight which made them look less conspicuous, but they had not been delayed in the city streets.

  When they reached the alleyway, Soren and Dirk were waiting for them. Her brother’s face looked grim. ‘We’ve been waiting outside the inn, but no-one has turned up. I think we have to assume that all six have been captured. That means we have to go in after them.’

  Clarin and Dirk nodded in agreement. Belwynn knew that this was a desperate move. At least the two men were committed to it. Clarin wanted to rescue his brother; Dirk was committed to saving Elana. Belwynn dipped into her pack and pulled out the robe she had chosen for Soren, throwing it over. He quickly shrugged it on over his clothes.

  ‘Right, it’s best that everyone leaves the talking to me where possible,’ he began. ‘We are likely to have to rely on Dirk to locate them. Our movements will be limited. Of course, it is more than likely that we will be recognised. We have to be ready to flee if necessary; it will do no good to the others if we are captured as well.’ Soren paused before continuing. ‘None of us knows why yet, but the dagger is important to them.’ He pulled it out from one of the pockets in his cloak. ‘We are going to be bringing it into the castle. I believe that it is better for Dirk to have it for now. He has a higher chance of escaping. If we fail and he escapes, he has agreed to return to Edgar and explain what happened.’ Soren sighed. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Belwynn. ‘How can you trust him like this?’

  ‘I have no other choices, Belwynn. If he was working for them, why would he still have it on him?’

  It was a logical argument; she had come to the same conclusion herself. But that didn’t mean she trusted the thief. Still, what else could they do?

  ‘Alright, let’s get on with it,’ she conceded.

  Belwynn stashed her sword in the shadows of the alleyway, just in case they had the chance to retrieve it.

  Clarin, eager to get going, handed her the lute. He stroked the hilt of his sword and led them out of the alley.

  Belwynn followed on, thinking over Soren’s plan to get them inside Coldeberg Castle. The four of them were to pose as travelling entertainers: Belwynn a singer and
musician, and Soren a conjurer. This was a variation on a routine they had done more than once, and the twins knew their parts. Belwynn had chosen herself a lovely dress and picked out a suitable robe for Soren which had stars embroidered onto it. Clarin was their bodyguard and Dirk a servant. Quality entertainers were usually allowed into the courts of rich noblemen. Since Emeric was now a king, Soren reckoned he would be even more likely to want to celebrate and provide entertainment for the lords and ladies of his new kingdom. Once they got inside, Dirk could peel off and explore the castle.

  Clarin led them on the uphill journey towards the castle. As they crossed a street Belwynn could now see the building looming ahead.

  On the other side a trio of soldiers walked by in the opposite direction. Belwynn’s nerves began to jangle. Coldeberg was crawling with soldiers, and some of them would be out looking for her and her friends. Fortunately, the soldiers were laughing and joking between themselves and did not seem interested in them. It made her wonder, however, about her twin’s rescue plan. There was a fair chance that they would be allowed entry. But once inside it would not be long before they were recognised by someone. They were asking to perform before Emeric himself, for Toric’s sake! She knew that they would have to rely, again, on Soren’s powers.

  How are you, Soren, she asked, concerned about the idea. How well recovered are you?

  I’ll have to be honest with you, Belwynn, he replied, looking ahead rather than at her. Since I woke up after the Wilderness, I’ve had nothing. I’ve lost my powers. I burned them out, or something, by overextending myself that day. I went to seek help this afternoon but found none. I’m sorry.