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

by Jamie Edmundson

  They waited by the bank as the group of men continued past. They could have been innocent men going back to their homes but they were heading in the direction of the main entrance to the Imps.

  ‘We can’t wait here all night,’ hissed Herin.

  ‘I’ll take a look,’ said Moneva.

  She set off, moving along in a crouched position towards the bridge. Belwynn watched her peering around before she made her way onto the bridge. She disappeared from view.

  The seconds passed like hours. Had those men found the dead body of the spy, or found him missing? Had they gone to their hut and found them missing? Belwynn looked back the way they had come, worried that they might be followed to the river.

  Eventually Moneva returned and waved them forwards. They shuffled over towards the bridge, Belwynn looking nervously around in all directions.

  ‘It’s clear,’ whispered Moneva.

  Belwynn hoped she was right. They walked along the wooden First Bridge, which was only the width of two people. In the daytime, users of the bridge had to go single file so they could pass people coming the other way. Moneva set a fast pace so that they weren’t out in the open for too long. She moved like a cat, making no noise, but the same couldn’t be said for everyone else. Despite his efforts, Clarin clunked along like a giant learning to play the drums. Still, the sound of the Cousel flowing beneath them was surely loud enough to drown out the noise of their movement.

  Then, they were off the bridge, onto the soil of Margaret Island.

  Moneva didn’t hesitate, taking them left into the trees that covered the north side of the island. Belwynn hoped she wasn’t going to take them too far, since she was sure that at any moment she would walk into a hole or a tree.

  Something ran off to her left.

  ‘There are creatures here!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Rabbits,’ said Moneva.

  ‘How did rabbits get here?’ she whispered to Clarin.

  ‘Hopped across the bridge?’ he suggested.

  Finally, they stopped at a grassy ridge with a decent view back to the bridge, but far enough away not to be seen.

  ‘Is this it?’ asked Herin.

  ‘Yes,’ said Moneva, ‘I hope you like it,’ she added sarcastically.

  ‘Do you think those men we saw were Barissians?’ asked Belwynn.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Moneva. ‘Almost certainly sent to kill us. Sweet dreams.’

  Belwynn took a long time to get any sleep. It felt strange on the island at night time and her mind refused to relax. Rabigar slept badly, and she heard him cry out more than once.

  It seemed that as soon as she nodded off, everyone else had woken up and was ready to go. A sparkling white sunrise was blasting its way in between the trees on Margaret Island, and if she didn’t have such a pounding headache, Belwynn thought she might have found it a beautiful sight.

  The plan this morning was simple enough: head straight for Essenberg Castle and ask for admittance. The unknown was whether or not the Barissians would be waiting for them. Soren made it clear that if they couldn’t get there safely they would have to leave the city without seeing the Emperor.

  They left Margaret Island via the other bridge, arriving on the north bank of the Cousel. The bridge fed into a street which ran straight to the Witmar Gate and became the Witmar Road, taking travellers to the capital of Luderia. They were now in the Cathedral Quarter of Essenberg. Up ahead and slightly to their left, they could see the spire of the cathedral, the tallest building in the city. Not far to the left of the cathedral stood Essenberg Castle, which dominated the Castle Quarter of the city.

  It was towards the castle that Moneva led the group. This was the part of the city where most of the more established shops were located, but the city was still waking up and the streets were nearly empty. As they got nearer to the castle they began to pass the houses of the wealthier citizens of Essenberg, keen to get locations close to the seat of power. Several of them were in the process of being rebuilt or extended, testament to the period of prosperity they were enjoying.

  They turned a corner and opposite them was the central square that held the castle. The building was an impressive piece of construction, and that was perhaps its main purpose. Whereas Coldeberg was stronger defensively, Essenberg Castle was more graceful. A square structure with four square towers on each corner, from whichever angle you looked at it, you saw clear geometric lines. Its walls were whitewashed so that it gleamed amid the dirt and muck of city life. The crenellations along the top looked almost too perfect, as if they had been made to make the castle look pretty rather than to be used for the dirty business of war. The eagle flag of Kelland fluttered in the breeze on the roof, but so too did the stag, symbol of the Brasingian Empire. Its seven antler tips represented each of the seven duchies and emphasised their unity. The emperor’s castle spoke of truth and justice, ideas that, in their own way, were just as potent as the mercenaries Emeric had bought and the new crown he had on his head.

  Belwynn felt an urge to get to the castle and meet with the Emperor. Moneva, however, didn’t look so keen. She was peering into the square.

  ‘There’s a group of men sitting in the corner,’ she said. ‘Armed. Hard to say whose men they are, but they’re not wearing uniforms.’

  ‘How many?’ asked Herin.

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘We could fight our way through them if necessary,’ he suggested.

  Moneva screwed up her face. ‘Maybe, but there could be more of them in the streets off the square...’

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ interjected Gyrmund sharply.

  They turned to face the threat, what weapons they had appearing in hands.

  A lone figure had detached itself from the shadows of a house and edged towards them. It was a young man, wearing the vestments of a priest. He stopped, eyeing up the group and their weapons. He seemed to be a bit unsure as to how to proceed.

  ‘Hello. My name is Ancel,’ he began. When he spoke he had a smooth, confident voice. ‘I work for Archbishop Decker. He sent me to find you,’ he said, glancing towards the square. ‘He asked me to take you to the cathedral. It’s not safe for you here.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Soren. ‘Doesn’t the Emperor have control outside his own castle?’

  ‘Orlin, Duke Emeric’s chamberlain, is here in Essenberg. He arrived yesterday and went straight to the Emperor, asking him to apprehend a group of your description if you should arrive. There are other men from Barissia here as well. I don’t know how many—some in groups, some alone.’

  ‘What is your interest in this?’ Soren responded.

  ‘His Grace spoke with Marshal Walter about you. He wants to keep you safe.’

  ‘Walter said we could trust the Archbishop, remember?’ said Belwynn.

  ‘But can we trust Walter?’ asked Herin.

  ‘The longer we stand around discussing it, the more conspicuous we get,’ said Moneva impatiently.

  ‘Alright,’ said Herin irritably, ‘back to the cathedral, then. I’m tired of all this skulking around.’

  Ancel turned around and led them down a narrow street. If he was planning an ambush, this would be a perfect place, thought Belwynn. Instead, he turned right, and they could see the spire of the cathedral ahead of them.

  ‘Don’t turn around,’ Moneva whispered harshly from the back. ‘We’re being followed. Two of them. They’ve probably watched the whole thing.’

  ‘Two isn’t enough,’ said Clarin.

  ‘It’s enough to find out where we’re going and get others,’ replied Gyrmund.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Ancel, turning behind him. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  They picked up their pace but didn’t run, moving along a street with residential housing on each side. They were now approaching the tall
walls of the cathedral from its west side. Then, Belwynn noticed a small wooden door in the cathedral’s west wall. Ancel made straight for the door. He rapped on it four times.

  ‘It’s Ancel.’

  Glancing behind, Belwynn could see two men halfway up the street, looking in their direction.

  The noise of sliding bolts came from behind the door, and it opened inwards. They dived through; the men had to bend down to get under the lintel. They found themselves in a small antechamber, just off the main nave of the cathedral. Another young priest waited until they were all through and then shut the door, slamming home a series of bolts.

  Belwynn and the others wandered into the nave. The ceiling stretched high above them, decorated with holy images of the various gods worshipped in the city.

  Belwynn looked around the main space of the cathedral, so much larger than any church or temple in Magnia. Great pillars separated the open space into areas where each god was isolated and could be worshipped by their followers. Lars the Creator held the world and the planets in the palms of his hands. Lady Alexia, the Protector, could be asked for help from those in need. Justus, God of Death and Justice, held a sword and scales, and could deliver his verdict on a supplicant’s enemies. Sibylla, goddess of Health and Prosperity, might be called on by a young wife hoping to conceive, or an old man with money problems. Some visitors came to see one of the gods; some came to see several. But all visitors were equal, and all gods were equal. All prayed under one roof. Religious service was carried out under the watchful eye of the Brasingian Church, which had won a measure of control over the different sects in the Empire by establishing these united cathedrals in the major cities.

  Ancel had not stopped to look around, but had marched on, into the nave and towards the rear of the cathedral. He turned around to wait for the others to catch up.

  ‘The private chambers of the cathedral are behind here,’ he said, pointing up at a large, red set of curtains. ‘His Grace will be waiting for us,’ he added.

  Pulling aside a section of curtain, Ancel walked through, holding it up for the others to follow. Within a few yards the wide expanse of floor narrowed into something more like a corridor, with stone walls on either side where separate rooms had been built. As Ancel entered the corridor he was challenged by an older priest.

  ‘Archbishop Decker asked me to bring these people to him as a matter of urgency,’ explained Ancel.

  The older priest frowned at Belwynn’s group. ‘You’re not going in with those weapons,’ he stated.

  ‘We’re not dropping our weapons,’ retorted Herin. ‘We don’t even know why we’ve been brought here.’

  The older priest’s face looked aghast. ‘You can’t barge into the Archbishop’s chamber armed like a bunch of killers!’ he exclaimed.

  A door further up the corridor on the right slowly opened. Everyone turned around. A third man, even older, now appeared, moving with small steps into the corridor. Belwynn noted he was at least seventy if he was a day.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he said, his voice shaky with age. ‘They are welcome to come in. Well done, Ancel.’

  Archbishop Decker had a large, well-furnished chamber in the cathedral, as befit his rank. His official residence was by the river. Like most powerful men, suspected Belwynn, Decker knew he was better off closer to the centre of power. Here he was a short walk away from the court of the emperor.

  Decker sat his guests down. He nodded over to Clarin.

  ‘I was a soldier once,’ he said in his reedy voice. ‘A long time ago now. You might find that hard to believe.’

  ‘A little,’ said Herin, looking him up and down.

  Decker smiled at that, showing what was left of his teeth.

  ‘Ha, no doubt! I made the right decision, though. Here I am, three score and ten; another war is coming, and I’m set to outlive another generation of young men.’

  ‘Fair enough, if your goal is simply to live as long as possible,’ said Gyrmund.

  Decker widened his arms, encompassing the cathedral. ‘I’ve done a bit better than just live, wouldn’t you say?’

  Belwynn was regretting their decision to come here to bandy words with a half-dead archbishop.

  Emeric’s spies are probably bringing a troop of soldiers this way right now, she said to Soren. If we had gone straight to the castle we could have got in there by now.

  ‘Anyway,’ Decker continued, ‘young men with swords don’t listen to old bishops; there it is. I spoke with Walter about you and thought you might have something important to tell us all. But when he got back to the Imps, you had gone. Meanwhile, Master Orlin arrived straight from Barissia with who knows how many underlings, wanting you caught and handed over. At that point I knew that you were of importance and needed to be found. If you weren’t already dead. And, here you are.’

  The Archbishop stood up, taking the manoeuvre slow and steady.

  ‘I think it’s now time to show you all something,’ he smiled, almost mischievously.

  What now? A tour of the cathedral? Belwynn fretted.

  Decker exited the chamber and turned right, taking the group further down the corridor. It ended in a circular shaped expanse of floor with a metal pole in the middle, which the archbishop headed for. Decker looked at his guests and beckoned Clarin over.

  ‘Could you do the honours?’ he asked, pointing at the stone floor.

  Clarin frowned, but obligingly took a look at the floor. The big man’s frown deepened and he knelt by the pole. Finding a gap in the stone floor, he placed both hands in and pulled upwards, bringing a stone slab with him. He manoeuvred the slab away and carefully laid it down.

  Belwynn couldn’t help moving closer to see for herself. The slab concealed a set of stone steps, which wound their way down into a cellar.

  ‘The crypt of the Dukes of Kelland,’ announced the Archbishop.

  Picking on Clarin again, he gestured to the wall where a lighted torch was hanging.

  ‘You may lead on, sir,’ he said.

  Clarin picked up the torch and began the descent, holding on to the pole as he twisted around the thin steps. As he disappeared from view, Decker followed behind. The archbishop went incredibly slowly, leaving Belwynn and the others standing around at the top.

  Eventually, they made it down into the crypt. Clarin had used the torch to light a number of lanterns before hanging it up. Decker asked Herin to place the slab back over the top of the stairs. The lanterns cast an eerie, flickering light in the cold, humid crypt, picking out recesses in the rock and creating dark shadows. As Belwynn’s eyes adjusted she saw that along the walls, to the left and right, were the rectangular stone coffins of the three previous Dukes of Kelland.

  Each one had a carved likeness of the duke on the lid, looking sternly out from their rest, still grasping their favoured weapons in different poses with which to defend their territory. Their names had also been carved into the stone beneath their feet, so that Belwynn could read along: Manfred the Great gripped a great sword with both hands, laid along his chest and legs; Duke Bernard, Baldwin’s father, held sword and shield in battle-readiness; Duke Albert had his sword buckled at his waist and his palms pressed together on his chest in prayer.

  Belwynn brought her attention back to Archbishop Decker, still wondering why he had brought them down here. He was at the far end of the crypt with Clarin. He pointed to another gap in the wall, again big enough for Clarin to place both hands in. Clarin pulled, then pushed. Nothing happened.

  ‘This way,’ said Decker, using his hands to make a circular motion towards the right.

  Instead of pushing away or pulling towards him, Clarin used his grip to push upwards on the wall. He briefly strained with the effort, and then the mechanism kicked in, a section of stone wall rolling away to the right like a wheel.

  When the
stone disc stopped moving, there was a gap in the wall big enough to walk through. It was dark, but Belwynn could make out a passageway.

  ‘The underground route into the castle,’ announced Archbishop Decker. ‘Very useful over the years for the dukes to have a secret way in and out. And today, very useful for us.’

  XVIII

  An Audience with the Emperor

  Belwynn looked at the mirror again. She was about to meet the Emperor of Brasingia, and no amount of cosmetics or changes of hairstyle altered the fact that she looked a tired, haggard mess.

  It had taken him a while, but Archbishop Decker had led them through the short tunnel from the crypt under Essenberg Cathedral to the wine cellar of Essenberg Castle.

  He had immediately taken them to meet Baldwin’s chamberlain, Rainer. The Emperor’s most senior official had all the assured self-confidence Belwynn expected of someone in his position. He was very tall, all limbs, his thin frame supporting a huge head with deep set eyes that seemed to appraise each of them in turn. Belwynn fancied that she could hear his mind working, assessing them all and cataloguing the information somewhere for immediate retrieval.

  ‘The Emperor is due to meet with Orlin for a second time this morning. Before you start to worry, we already know, in a general way, the state of affairs in Barissia. So, the Emperor meets with Orlin, agrees to hand you over if you are found, and Orlin leaves.’ Rainer waved his hand, as if Orlin were a mere fly he was swatting away.

  Rainer wanted to know the details of their time in Barissia. Soren gave him the bare bones, but demanded an audience with Baldwin himself. Rainer politely nodded.

  ‘Yes, yes, the Emperor will want to speak to you today. He is also meeting with a Haskan envoy from King Arioc this morning. As I’m sure you’ll be aware,’ Rainer continued, forcing a smile, ‘there is much to talk about there. So, I propose a meeting this afternoon. In the meantime, I can arrange a suite of apartments here in the castle for you to rest in. Not as spacious as would ordinarily be the case, but we have a lot of visitors in the castle at the moment.’