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

by Jamie Edmundson

  Belwynn didn’t know what to say. Her mind was already in bits, and now this? Everything she and her brother had worked for, vanished? And now when they needed his magic the most, they were about to march into Coldeberg Castle without it? She tried to collect her thoughts and make a reply, but as she did they turned the corner and came upon the gatehouse.

  This stone building controlled access into the rest of the castle. If it was under siege, the drawbridge would be up and the portcullis down. Now, however, two guards stood on the drawbridge to deny entry. As they approached the two young soldiers, Soren moved to the front. They held out their spears in warning.

  ‘What business do you have here?’ one of them called out.

  Soren approached with an air of friendly confidence. ‘Hello there! Well met, good soldiers of Barissia. I am Tivian the Magnificent, a conjurer of the very highest quality. And this,’ he said, gesturing extravagantly towards Belwynn, ‘this is the Lady Ariella, a minstrel with the sweetest voice in all of Dalriya. We have come here…’

  ‘Sir!’ interrupted one of the guardsmen, calling into the gatehouse.

  After a few moments a portly, older man emerged from his quarters in the gatehouse. He looked the four of them up and down.

  ‘Well met!’ began Soren, and repeated his introductions, word for word, with the same enthusiasm. ‘We have come here to help celebrate King Emeric’s consecration as King of Barissia.’

  The old soldier didn’t seem as impressed as he should have been. He stroked at his moustache. ‘Who are these two?’ he demanded gruffly, gesturing at Clarin and Dirk.

  ‘The big man is our bodyguard. It will not surprise a man of your experience to know that some of the roads we travel could be very dangerous if travelled alone. We have long found it necessary to secure the services of a hired man. In truth, it is a very great drain on our resources, but we have been left with little choice,’ Soren explained, with a self-pitying simper.

  ‘What about the other one?’ pressed the soldier.

  ‘Oh, he is nothing, nothing but our simple-minded servant.’

  The old soldier stroked at his moustache again. ‘Well, they have more than enough servants in the castle, and there is no need for a bodyguard here either.’

  Soren put on a troubled expression. ‘Oh no, we must have our men with us, we must!’ He skipped forward towards the soldier and grabbed his hands. Belwynn could just make out a glint of metal as he pressed something into the hands of the soldier. ‘Please allow them as well, sir!’

  The old soldier pulled his hands away from Soren, but seemed to have a contented expression on his face. ‘Well, alright then, but he’ll have to hand in his weapon,’ he said gesturing towards Clarin.

  Clarin unbuckled his sword and handed it to the soldier.

  ‘Dom!’ shouted the captain into the gatehouse. Another soldier came hurrying out. He was young looking, with big, bushy eyebrows. ‘Take these four to see Master Orlin. If he doesn’t want them, escort them back out of the castle again.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ exclaimed Dom. He waved them all to follow him and began marching across the drawbridge.

  Belwynn and the others followed behind. The two soldiers on the drawbridge moved aside to let them pass.

  They were in.

  Dom led them into the outer bailey of the castle. They were now within the walls of Coldeberg Castle. As well as the gatehouse, the castle had six towers, between which ran the high walls. Since the castle was situated in the far northern corner of the city, half of the castle walls doubled up as the city walls as well. The bailey was open to the elements, with a few wooden buildings. Belwynn noticed a stable to their left and a training yard in the distance. The other half of the site was taken up by a large stone building, two storeys high. This would be where the residents lived and where Emeric had his hall.

  Dom led them towards the entrance to the living quarters. A huge wooden door was open, guarded by a further two soldiers, wearing the livery of the Duke, now King, of Barissia.

  ‘Are you really a conjurer?’ asked the young soldier as they continued to make their way.

  Soren raised an eyebrow, but stopped and grabbed a coin from inside his robe. He placed it on his thumb and then flicked it high into the air. As it came spinning down he clapped his hands. The coin had vanished. He took a step towards Dom and placed his hand behind the soldier’s ear. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding the coin.

  ‘That’s amazing!’ said the soldier, his thick eyebrows raised in wonder.

  Soren took a small bow. ‘Onwards?’ he suggested.

  Dom nodded and took them to the door. ‘I’m taking them to see Master Orlin,’ he told the two guards. They stepped aside.

  Dom ushered the group through the door and into the stone structure. They entered a sizeable hallway. Candles set in finely-worked sconces and intricate tapestries lined the stone walls. On the wall to their left, a fire blazed. A number of people were warming themselves there. On the right hand and opposite walls were doors, leading to other parts of the castle.

  ‘Orlin’s chambers are upstairs,’ Dom informed them, and led them to the corner of the hall where a set of stone steps led upwards. Next to them, steps led down, beneath the castle. These steps were guarded by another couple of soldiers. Belwynn exchanged glances with the others. The significance of that was lost on none of them.

  They continued up the steps, which were thin and steep and circled upwards at a tight angle.

  ‘Is Orlin the king’s steward?’ Belwynn asked the soldier as they reached the top of the stairs.

  ‘He’s the royal chamberlain. He runs the castle for the King. He is in charge of the entertainment for the court. He’ll probably want to use you for the evening meal, when King Emeric feasts his lords.’

  Once they reached the second-floor hallway, Dom led them through a door on the right and onto a corridor. They began to pass doors to rooms on the left and right, but the soldier led them on until they reached the last door at the end of the corridor. He banged on the heavy wooden door and it was promptly opened. A smallish, balding man with a hooked nose poked his head into the corridor.

  ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

  Dom did not seem taken aback by the rather unwelcoming response. ‘I have escorted these travelling entertainers here who would like to perform for the King.’

  ‘Hello there! Do I have the pleasure of addressing Master Orlin…’ began Soren, but he was interrupted.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ said the man at the door. ‘I work for him, he’s busy right now. But it’s my job to sort out the riff-raff. What do you do?’ he demanded.

  ‘He does really great magic tricks!’ Dom answered for Soren in an excited manner.

  Orlin’s man did not look impressed. ‘Show me.’

  Soren produced two coins. He showed the man that both hands were empty apart from the coins. With both coins in his left hand, he put the hand into a fist. He then used his right hand to take one of the coins from the fist and gave it to the man. Soren then opened up his left hand again. The two coins were still there on his palm.

  Dom gave a little clap. Orlin’s man grunted, pocketing the coin. ‘What about the others?’ he asked, waving a hand at Belwynn, Clarin and Dirk.

  ‘Well,’ began Soren ‘these two are mere servants, but this is my sister, Ariella. She has the sweetest singing voice in all of Dalriya!’

  ‘Let’s hear it, then.’

  Belwynn cleared her throat. She decided to sing a well-known song from the Empire, which she thought would suit the audience. The Fight for Freedom was a song celebrating the end of Persaleian rule over the Brasingians.

  Even after the first few words, Belwynn’s singing began to have its usual effect. A gift, many people had told her. A singing voice she had been given, capable of melti
ng the hearts of the coldest men of the land. The first line was enough to bring tears to Dom’s eyes. After the first verse the other man had succumbed. His face had a look of wonderment on it, as if he was experiencing emotions he didn’t think he had. Belwynn stopped after the first verse and chorus, but that was enough.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll do just fine,’ mumbled Orlin’s man, and fully opened the door to let them enter.

  As they entered the room Dom called out a goodbye and, brushing a tear from his eye, made his way back down the corridor.

  Belwynn and the others had entered an antechamber. It was a well-furnished room which led on to two further rooms, but their host gestured that they should sit and wait here. Belwynn sank down into a comfortable seat and the others did likewise.

  ‘My name is Tivian the Magnificent,’ said Soren. ‘May I have the pleasure of your name?’

  ‘Urval.’

  There followed an uncomfortable silence, during which it seemed that even Tivian the Magnificent was lost for words. However, Urval eventually decided to break it.

  ‘I will tell Master Orlin that you’re here, but don’t expect him to be hurried, he’s a busy man.’ Urval glanced over at Belwynn with a pained expression, as if he didn’t want to be reminded of any emotions he might have felt from her song. ‘I’ll get you some drinks first,’ he said.

  ‘That is very gracious, sir,’ responded Soren. ‘However, there is no need to get this one a drink,’ he said pointing at Dirk. ‘While we like to have our bodyguard with us at all times—for my sister’s protection, you understand—this one is little use to tell the truth. If you have a servant’s quarters he would be best off there.’

  ‘Yes, it’s downstairs. He just has to say that I sent him. He’ll be looked after alright down there.’

  ‘Off you go, Skerit.’

  Dirk got up and left the room.

  Rabigar was lying face down on a table, his hands and ankles bound. He was vaguely aware of his torturers working on his back with a cutting instrument, as if they were trying to remove the scales from his flesh. They were talking, to each other or to him, he wasn’t sure. The pain in his head was dominating all of his senses. It left him feeling nauseous.

  The attack in the cell had left him blind and, he thought, dying. He couldn’t scream or shout out. Herman and Greg could have done anything to him now; it would not register above the pain caused by his eye wound. Every now and again he would get a woozy sensation, as if he was about to faint. He fought against it, fearing that he would never regain consciousness if he lost it now.

  He only dimly heard the knock on the door. His torturers exchanged words. The cutting of his back stopped. It went silent. He heard the door being opened. There was muffled shouting from behind him and then a sharp, piercing scream to his right. It went silent again. Rabigar concentrated on his hearing, trying to block out the pain so that he could try to understand what was going on.

  Then someone spoke to him, a soft voice. ‘Rabigar? Can you hear me?’

  He hadn’t been expecting a woman’s voice.

  He worked up some spit so that he could reply.

  ‘Moneva?’

  XV

  A Song for a King

  Belwynn, Soren and Clarin were sitting in Orlin’s chambers, waiting.

  Belwynn plucked nervously at the strings of the lute. She re-tuned the instrument until it sounded perfect, then adjusted it some more. Every few seconds one of them would look anxiously at the door. They hoped for the return of Dirk, that he had not betrayed them and that he had located their friends. They feared the return of Urval, that their subterfuge would have to continue and put them in greater danger.

  Eventually they heard footsteps and the sound of voices approaching the door. Clarin stood up. The door swung open. It was Urval. He entered the room with another man.

  ‘This is Master Orlin, chamberlain to King Emeric,’ he announced gruffly.

  Two more men hovered in the doorway. They had swords strapped to their waists. Clarin looked at Soren. Belwynn knew that, with a nod, Clarin would set on all four. But with no weapon himself, that would be a desperate move. Soren hesitated briefly but decided against it and stood up himself.

  ‘Ah, Lord Orlin, a great pleasure to finally meet you,’ he began, bowing his head towards the floor. ‘I am Tivian the Magnificent. My sister, the Lady Ariella, and I have travelled a long way to entertain this great court.’

  Orlin snorted. He was an older man, draped in expensive clothes. He had a long face, accentuated by a thin grey beard which ended in a slick point. His eyes were piercing blue and he studied each of them with the attitude of someone who was continually disappointed with the stupidity of those he encountered.

  ‘I sincerely doubt that your sister is a lady, in which case you should not use the title.’

  Tivian the Magnificent laughed nervously.

  ‘It is not my habit to meet and greet every entertainer that passes through this castle. But when informing me of your arrival, my servant advised me that your sister was a very good singer. In the twenty or so years that he has worked for me, Urval has never been so fulsome in his praise. As a consequence, both myself and the King are interested to hear this voice.’

  Orlin turned his gaze to Belwynn again.

  ‘If the voice is as pretty as the vessel, it must be special indeed.’

  Belwynn blushed and muttered a demure thank you.

  ‘You will perform at this evening’s banquet, in about two hours. But first, King Emeric has requested a private audience. This is a great honour I have arranged for you. Do not disappoint.’

  No. Belwynn’s heart dropped into her stomach. The plan had gone wrong already. They were going to be taken to see the very man who was hunting them down.

  ‘Of course not,’ enthused Soren, ‘my heart is beating wildly with excitement.’

  Orlin frowned at him. ‘Most importantly, do not make the mistake of addressing him as a duke. It must be king. That would be more than your life is worth.’

  Orlin turned around and left the room. The four men headed back down the corridor. Belwynn, Soren and Clarin followed behind.

  At the end of the corridor they came to the stairs. Belwynn looked around, wishing that Dirk, or Herin, or anyone would rush up to intervene. But no-one did. They continued towards their destination, Belwynn’s sense of dread growing with each unavoidable footstep.

  Instead of going down the stairs they went through a second door. This opened into an antechamber. Two armed soldiers watched them walk straight past. Urval opened a large wooden door and ushered everybody through.

  Emeric’s chamber was not large; his main hall would be downstairs somewhere. Belwynn had been expecting more people, but only two were waiting for them.

  Sitting on a large chair at the end of the room, facing them, had to be Emeric. Belwynn had to admit that he carried himself like a king. He was not tall, but well-built, had mid-length jet black hair, which he pushed back, and a pale complexion. He was wearing leather and looked like he had just come back from, or was about to go, hunting.

  Standing next to him was an unusual looking man. That was, he looked unusual at first sight, but on second sight Belwynn found it difficult to decide why. Certainly he did not dress like a Brasingian nobleman. He wore a long fur cloak with inscriptions sewn into it around the edges. He did not carry a weapon. He was clean shaven with very closely-cropped dark hair. It was his eyes, maybe. They were a dark, strange colour, close to violet, she thought. When Belwynn looked at his eyes they gave nothing away, no expression, no emotion.

  Watch out for Emeric’s friend, advised Soren. I think he’s an Isharite. He could be a wizard.

  ‘Your Majesty, the songstress Ariella, at your request,’ introduced Orlin.

  Belwynn curtseyed, and Soren gave a
deep bow.

  Emeric looked Belwynn over. ‘Very nice. Who are these?’ he asked, waving a hand at Soren and Clarin.

  ‘Greetings…’ began Soren, but he was cut off by Orlin.

  ‘This is the brother, the conjurer. This is their guard.’

  ‘Did I ask to see them?’ The question was put innocently enough, but Belwynn could sense the steel underneath.

  ‘No sire, you did not. My apologies. I will ask them to leave,’ replied Orlin.

  ‘No. They’re here now. They may stay,’ announced the king magnanimously.

  At a prompt from Orlin, Urval moved over to the side of the chamber and grabbed a stool, which he carried towards Emeric. He deposited it about twelve feet away from the king. Orlin and Urval then moved over to stand by the wall on one side of the room. The king gestured for Belwynn to sit on the stool. Belwynn, carrying her lute with her, did so. She sat down, facing only Emeric and his friend. Meanwhile Soren, Clarin and the two soldiers were left to find standing positions along the second wall.

  Choose a long one, advised Soren. Try to keep it going until the others get here.

  If they get here, thought Belwynn. It did not seem as though Dirk had betrayed them and warned the Barissians of their presence, but that did not mean that he would or could locate and free the others. Unfortunately, that prospect appeared to be all they had. Emeric inclined his head towards her, indicating that she should begin.

  With his dubious position as a newly crowned king in mind, Belwynn decided that it was best to steer clear of any songs connected to the Empire. She settled on the neutral song of Celandine the Slave Queen.

  Celandine was a girl from the coast of Kalinth during the time of the Vismarian Onslaught. The local knight, Hector, had failed to defend his people and instead paid tribute to the Vismarians to stop their attacks. He took Celandine from her home and sold her into slavery to the rovers of Vismar. She became the slave of Bringar, a fierce warrior, who took her back to his home. Over time, however, Bringar fell in love with Celandine, and made her his wife. To honour her, he returned to the shores of Kalinth with his war band. There he won a great victory over the Knights of Kalinth. Hector and many of his allies lay dead, and Bringar established a Vismarian kingdom there. Celandine returned to her homeland to be crowned queen.