Belwynn sang, playing the lute to support her voice. She used her voice to throw out patterns, to entice and entrance the listener and dominate their senses. She pulled them into the song so that all they were aware of was the music, the story, and her.
It did not take long for Emeric to lose himself in her voice. She could tell the signs by now. The eyes were the best guide. Emeric’s became transfixed, focusing on some object in the distance, looking at her but through her at the same time. Frowns of concentration on his forehead eased away and his facial muscles relaxed. A light smile appeared on his lips.
Others soon followed: the two soldiers, Urval, even stern Lord Orlin.
But one man did not lose himself in Belwynn’s song. The man from Ishari was indeed looking at her, but in a very different way from the others. His strange, violet eyes were staring into hers, as if he could see through into her mind and her soul. He made no facial gesture other than the stare, and once Belwynn noticed that, it became difficult to concentrate on anything else.
As Belwynn sang and strummed the closing notes of the song, the Isharite began clapping, making stilted, discordant noises.
‘Very good,’ he pronounced as he clapped, though his sneer said otherwise. This had the effect of waking the others from their reverie. Emeric flashed his companion a look of anger for making the sound, but it passed quickly. He shook his head, as if waking up from sleep. The other listeners did the same.
‘Ariella, come here,’ beckoned the King.
Belwynn placed the lute on the floor and stood up from her chair. She walked over to him. Emeric remained seated. The Isharite still stood beside him, watching her, his sneer not far from his lips.
‘That was wonderful, Ariella,’ Emeric declared in a quiet voice. He offered Belwynn the palm of his hand. She placed her own in it. Emeric raised her hand and gave it a kiss, lingering just a touch longer than politeness allowed. He gave her it back reluctantly. Emeric’s eyes glanced over towards Soren. ‘This conjurer,’ he began, keeping his voice to little over a whisper, ‘he is your brother, yes?’
‘That is right, Your Majesty,’ replied Belwynn.
‘Ah…’ Emeric looked pleased. ‘You must stay at court for a while. Both of you, of course.’ Emeric’s eyes moved from hers to appraise her body, looking at her breasts, her hips, and her legs. There was no doubt why he wanted Belwynn to stay around.
Belwynn forced herself to continue with the routine. She had to hope that this would soon end. ‘You are most generous, Your Majesty.’
From the corner of her eye Belwynn saw the Isharite smirking.
Emeric followed her gaze. ‘Don’t mind Tirano. He can be tiresome, but he has his uses.’
Emeric indicated that Belwynn should step to the side as he turned his attention to the small gathering in the chamber. ‘I am well pleased with this performance. Ariella will be invited to sing more of her songs at supper tonight. Her brother will also perform,’ he added. ‘This song of Celandine has much to teach us. This Bringar of Vismar was not born a king, but he made himself one. Those men who cannot defend their people, men such as this Hector, will have their titles stripped away. Soon there will be many changes in Dalriya. We in Barissia are the ones who will rise to glory.’
Everybody in the chamber politely applauded Emeric’s speech, including the Isharite, Tirano. Belwynn noted that he even nodded in agreement with the king’s words.
Then the door opened. One of the soldiers from the antechamber outside had pushed it open, and he now leaned into the chamber.
‘Kaved the Krykker,’ he announced.
Before Belwynn could take in what was happening Kaved sauntered into the room. He took a few steps and then stopped dead. For a moment he stared at Belwynn, then at Soren and Clarin standing by the wall.
‘What the fuck is happening here?’ he demanded.
Then everything happened very fast.
Belwynn’s head started swimming. Kaved was the traitor, and he was about to blow their cover.
‘How dare you burst in here and speak to the King like that?’ Orlin was demanding of the Krykker.
At the same time Kaved was speaking. ‘That’s them, you idiots! They’re the ones with the dagger!’
Now it was time for Emeric and the others to look around in bewilderment.
Belwynn grabbed the opportunity. She leant down and grabbed the knife she had been concealing in her boot. Before he had time to react, she grabbed Emeric off his chair and put the knife to his throat. Tirano grabbed at the arm of the king as if to pull him away.
‘Let go or he’s dead!’ screamed Belwynn, more hysterically than she had intended.
Tirano let go and backed off. The two soldiers along the wall had drawn their swords and now faced her. Meanwhile, Kaved and the two guards from the chamber were closing in as well.
Belwynn pressed the knife edge into the king’s neck, drawing blood. ‘Tell them to stop or I’ll do it!’
‘Stop! She’s got a knife,’ shouted Emeric hoarsely.
‘Do as the king says. No closer,’ Tirano commanded Kaved and the soldiers.
The soldiers, even Kaved, did as they were asked, but still held their swords. Belwynn had bought them some time but they were outnumbered and the longer the face-off went on, the more likely the rest of the castle would hear. Her knife hand had begun to shake, causing Emeric to utter a fearful careful as it scratched against his throat.
What are we going to do? she asked Soren.
‘Give it up, Belwynn,’ shouted Kaved. ‘They won’t hurt you. They just want the dagger.’
‘Shut up, traitor,’ Clarin shouted back at him. ‘Where’s my brother?’
‘Here I am,’ came a shout from the door.
Belwynn peered over to the doorway. Standing in the entrance, sword in each hand, stood Herin. Don’t say he’s betrayed us as well, she thought.
He raised one sword so that it was pointing at Kaved’s head. ‘And now you pay for your treachery.’
Herin rushed into the room, throwing one sword to Clarin while lunging at the Krykker with the other. Kaved met his sword stroke and the clash of steel rang out in the room. Then, behind Herin, Belwynn saw Moneva enter the room.
‘This way,’ Moneva shouted over to them.
Belwynn tried to pull Emeric in the direction of the doors at the far end of the chamber. Her knife hand, however, was now shaking violently; she could no longer control it. She looked over at Tirano and saw him staring intently at her. He was using magic. Her hand began to jerk away from Emeric’s neck, so that the knife was no longer pressed against him. The king took his chance. With one hand he grabbed Belwynn’s wrist, pushing it away, and then smashed backwards with his other elbow. Emeric caught Belwynn in the face and she fell backwards, dropping the knife.
Belwynn landed sharply on her backside. Her nose throbbed and she felt dazed. She could hear shouting all around her and the clash of swords. Then arms grabbed at her, half dragging, half lifting her to her feet.
It was Soren. He was pulling her over to the doors. Herin was slashing wildly at Kaved and had pushed him backwards into the room, but the Krykker was resisting. Closer to the doors, Moneva was clashing swords with one of the guards; another lay on the floor, clutching his chest.
‘This way,’ came a shout, and there was Dirk, beckoning them out of the room. Belwynn and Soren passed through the doors and turned around to look for Clarin. The big warrior was walking backwards in their direction, fighting against Orlin’s soldiers. Belwynn could see a body lying on the floor and thought at first that it was Emeric, but she could see him by his throne, along with Tirano and Orlin. She realised that the body must be that of Urval.
Then Emeric, Tirano and Orlin began moving towards Clarin, and Belwynn could see swords in their hands. ‘Clarin, watch out!’ she ca
lled. Dirk responded by running over to stand by Clarin, but they were too heavily outnumbered.
‘Herin!’ shouted Soren. ‘We’ve got to go!’
Herin had pressed Kaved back and back but had not found an opening in his defence. He took a step back and looked around at the room. After a brief respite he pressed on at Kaved once more, but after three strokes he suddenly pulled backwards. In a fluid movement he spun around and moved on the soldier who was fighting Moneva, swinging at him from behind. The soldier never saw the blow coming as Herin’s sword sliced into his neck. Moneva stepped over the body and, together with Herin, moved in to help out Clarin and Dirk.
Belwynn looked behind her, through the next set of doors towards the stairs. There was no-one there, but it was only a matter of time. ‘Hurry up!’ she shouted back into the room. They were moving towards the door but still facing outwards to defend against the Barissians.
‘I’ll come back for you,’ Herin snarled at Kaved.
‘You’ll finish it now, unless you’re craven,’ Kaved barked back.
Moneva turned around and skipped through the door, past Belwynn and Soren. ‘Follow me,’ she called without stopping. Belwynn and Soren ran after her, and soon made it to the stairs. Moneva was already halfway down. Belwynn began descending the thin and winding steps, Soren close behind, and Dirk behind him. At the bottom Belwynn arrived in the castle hallway where the fine tapestries hung, with the fire still blazing. Thankfully, nobody was standing around it any more. She wondered why and turned around to ask Moneva.
‘We’ve dumped the bodies down the stairs,’ she answered, before Belwynn got her words out.
‘This way,’ said Dirk.
Rather than attempt to leave via the bailey and through the gatehouse, Dirk took them through another door, roughly beneath the door to Emeric’s chambers on the floor above. They ran behind him, down a long corridor with rooms on either side. The corridor ended in an opening into a room from where Belwynn could hear clanging noises and the occasional shout. Dirk ran straight in and she followed.
The room turned out to be the castle kitchens. There were a dozen people working there: kneading bread, filleting meat, boiling stew, washing and carrying pots, pans and utensils. When Dirk entered, there were shouts and challenges. After he had waved a sword at them and Belwynn and the others entered the room, they fell silent.
Dirk took a second to get his bearings and then moved to the far end of the room. He dropped his sword and began moving a huge set of shelves containing pots and pans, crockery, tubs of sauces and bags of flour and salt. A couple of plates fell off and smashed onto the floor. Soren rushed over to give him a hand and they shifted it out of the way. They had revealed an iron gate, which Belwynn hadn’t even noticed behind the shelves. Soren pushed and pulled at the gate, but it was secured with a lock. They didn’t have a key.
Dirk fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a slim piece of metal which ended in a short curvature. He inserted it into the lock and then wriggled it about inside. Meanwhile, Clarin and Herin had entered the kitchens, looking behind them for any potential pursuers. After a few moments Dirk gave it a full twist and pushed open the gate, which moved with a rusty screech. He rushed through and Soren followed behind him.
Belwynn went through after her twin into a small, round stone room. She briefly glanced up, and realised that she was in one of the castle towers. Two feet above them was a grate, forming a murder hole through which burning oil could be poured down onto attackers. It was more than likely that there were some guards in that room now. Dirk moved directly to a postern gate in the opposite wall and jiggled his skeleton key in the lock before it clicked. They burst through the door and found themselves outside the city walls, on a long grassy slope leading downwards. Beyond they could see meadows and fields.
‘Keep moving,’ said Herin, ‘get away from the walls!’
They ran down the slope, Belwynn’s legs going so fast that she thought she would fall over. She turned back to see some guards lining the walls looking at them, but there didn’t seem much they could do from up there. Then, a file of soldiers emptied out of the gate they had used and called out a challenge before pursuing them down the hill.
‘Where are we going?’ shouted Soren, his breath ragged already.
‘Just keep going,’ Moneva shouted back. ‘With some luck Gyrmund will meet up with us. If not, this could be the briefest escape in history.’
They kept running away from the city. Belwynn’s lungs were beginning to burn. She could see that, up ahead, there was farmland, and to the right a track led off in the direction of Kelland.
Then she heard the horses coming. How could they have got a mounted force here so quickly? She had to turn around to look.
A group of half a dozen horsemen were coming towards them from the west side of the city. She could see the lead soldier wore the livery of the dukes of Barissia.
Moneva turned around, too, and stopped running.
Belwynn took a second look. Rather than six horsemen, there were in fact only three of them, each one riding a mount and bringing a spare with them.
The man in the lead, wearing the soldier’s uniform, was Gyrmund.
He drew up, gritting his teeth as if he was in pain, as Belwynn and Moneva ran towards him. Moneva climbed up onto the spare horse and held out a hand for Belwynn to climb on with her, since there weren’t enough horses for one each.
Behind Gyrmund came Elana, not finding the task of riding and holding the reins of another horse quite so easy. Rabigar was even further back, and there was something over his eye...no. On closer inspection, she saw that he had no eye any more, just a bloody socket where it had once been.
‘What happened to Rabigar?’ Belwynn blurted out.
Gyrmund screwed up his face, as if he was about to cry. ‘They took his eye,’ he said, almost choking on the words.
Belwynn physically flinched at the news. Clarin swore out loud. ‘How is he?’ Soren asked Elana.
‘His eye is gone. I have done what I can for him.’
‘Can’t you fix it?’ asked Belwynn.
‘I can’t grow back an eye,’ responded Elana. ‘He needs rest for his body to cope with the shock.’
‘We can’t give him rest,’ said Soren. ‘Not now.’
As Rabigar pulled up, Herin quickly clambered on in front of him and took the reins. Rabigar put his arms around Herin’s waist and slumped forwards. Clarin and Soren took the remaining spares. The soldiers were only a couple of hundred yards behind them but it looked like they had already given up on the chase.
‘Come on,’ said Herin, ‘we have to assume that they’ll be sending a force after us. We can talk later.’
Moneva kicked their horse on and Belwynn was forced to hold on to her waist. Belwynn realised that they were on her own horse, the one that they had bought back in Vitugia. Gyrmund and the others had somehow gone back to the Boot and Saddle to collect them. There was a lot of explaining to be done at some point, but for now Belwynn was content to look back as Emeric’s soldiers and castle receded into the distance.
They were still in danger, she knew, but nonetheless she felt a sense of relief at leaving the place behind. Belwynn thought that she would be quite happy if she never saw Coldeberg again.
XVI
The Imps
Gyrmund took them across the open land north of Coldeberg onto a track that headed in a north-easterly direction and would take them to the Kellish border. It was certainly the shortest route out of Barissia. The track was narrow and uneven, not nearly as fast as travelling on the Barissian Road; but if they tried to cut east they would almost certainly run into Emeric’s soldiers. Meanwhile, they had to assume that a force would be coming after them, and at a faster pace, given that many of them were sharing horses. Rabigar had his arms around Herin, his one eye closed and his face
deathly pale, with a pained expression. He obviously needed to rest, but they simply couldn’t afford to.
They passed through Barissian farming land, gently rolling terrain with fields of grass, crops and grazing animals, not unlike the Magnian lands Belwynn had grown up in. They were rich lands, but she knew all too well how much work the farming folk who lived here had to put in to keep them that way. She wondered what they thought about their duke spending all their taxes on mercenaries and threatening war with their neighbours. She knew from her own bitter experience what civil wars did to places like this.
‘Look there!’ shouted Clarin, pointing behind them. Belwynn could see that the land they had travelled across gradually declined and, on the horizon, from the direction of Coldeberg, was a large group of riders, perhaps two score in all.
‘Can we get to the border in time?’ Belwynn asked.
Gyrmund pulled a face. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Herin and I could hold them up for a bit,’ suggested Clarin. But even he sounded doubtful.
‘We’ll carry on for now,’ said Soren. ‘Let’s not do anything reckless until we know we have to.’
They moved on again, but that sick feeling had returned to Belwynn’s stomach. The others were probably hoping that Soren could help get them out of the situation again. She knew he couldn’t.
Toric's Dagger: Book One of The Weapon Takers Saga Page 20
