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

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘Thank you,’ said Belwynn. ‘So the Shadow Caladri and Blood Caladri have been at war ever since?’

  ‘No,’ answered Lorant. ‘Initially we fought long and hard, but neither side won, and meanwhile we had weakened ourselves against outside enemies. So, many years of truce followed—necessary to ensure our own existence. But there can never be true peace when each side opposes every principle the other stands for. The current war is a very recent reopening of ancient hostilities.’

  Szabolcs cleared his throat. ‘It may take me some time to find the information I am looking for.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Lorant, ‘there is no point in us all sitting here wasting time.’

  ‘I suggest we meet up here again at midday,’ added Hajna. ‘There are a number of things we can offer our guests in that time. However, if Rabigar would agree, I would like to spend some time with him. I have experience in helping soldiers recover from injuries. I know certain exercises that help to improve strength and coordination after the loss of an eye. I could teach them to you this morning, for you to use in the future.’

  ‘I would be much obliged of such help,’ answered Rabigar.

  Hajna then began assigning activities to the other members of the group. Soren decided to get in his request early.

  ‘I should like to stay with you, Szabolcs, unless you feel I would disturb your concentration. I have some questions I would like to ask of you…’ Soren found his sentence trailing off.

  Szabolcs nodded his agreement, hiding any curiosity or irritation he might have felt, and continued to flick through his book.

  Everyone began to leave the tent in twos and threes, as Princess Hajna allocated them to a Caladri guide who would see to their needs.

  Eventually, Soren and Szabolcs were left alone.

  Belwynn emerged from the tent and drew a deep breath of the forest air, gazing up to the canopy of trees, where sunlight dappled down through the gaps to reach the floor. She turned around to find out what was in store for her this morning.

  Soren had stayed behind in the tent with Szabolcs, and Belwynn knew that he would be asking the old wizard about his own magic powers. Elana stood talking to Prince Lorant, with faithful Dirk a couple of yards apart from them, seemingly content to stand close by rather than join in the conversation. Princess Hajna was talking to a group of Caladri, whom Belwynn recognised as Marika and the other attendants who had travelled with them on the carriage. Hajna sent them over in the direction of Belwynn and the others, while the Princess herself walked over to Rabigar and, with a quick word and gesture, led him away from the tent. Meanwhile, Lorant, Elana and Dirk began strolling away in the opposite direction.

  The six Caladri attendants approached the entrance to the tent where Belwynn and the others stood, waiting.

  ‘Princess Hajna has asked us to show you something of our home,’ said Marika, a pleasant smile on her face. ‘Do any of you have any requests?’

  ‘The Blood Caladri are known for their archery,’ Herin said. ‘Do any of you use a bow?’

  ‘Elek is the best archer here,’ said one of the men.

  ‘I will teach you what I know,’ agreed Elek. ‘You come too, Joska.’

  ‘Since our men are leaving us,’ said one of the girls, whom Belwynn remembered from the carriage ride as Dora, ‘Emese and I shall show you two a lovely walk.’ Dora reached out and took Moneva’s hand. Emese then linked elbows with Gyrmund and began to walk off.

  Belwynn found herself left with Clarin. Remaining with them were Marika and another male Caladri.

  Marika introduced herself to Clarin.

  ‘I am Vida,’ said the man to Belwynn.

  Clarin and Belwynn, looking at each other a little uncertainly, exchanged introductions.

  ‘I can think of a nice walk, too, if you would like to come?’ asked Marika.

  Belwynn and Clarin accepted the invitation. Marika led the way and Belwynn stepped in next to her. She explained that to the east of the camp Prince Lorant had established a temporary exercise camp, for physical training. That is where Rabigar and Herin had been taken. To the west was a garden, which the local inhabitants had created and maintained. It seemed that Gyrmund and Moneva had been taken in that direction.

  ‘We are going south, though,’ said Marika, an ever-present twinkle in her eye. ‘This is a beautiful walk, but made by nature, not ourselves.’

  They walked past the tents of Lorant’s people; occasional stares and whisperings directed at Belwynn and Clarin by those who were working there. Some cooked food; others mended tools or weapons.

  ‘Is this an army?’ Belwynn asked Marika.

  ‘Yes. Not everyone is a fighter — some people are here to support, looking after food or animals. But most of them will do battle if Prince Lorant orders it.’

  ‘There are a lot of women.’

  ‘Human women do not fight?’

  ‘Some do, but not many.’

  ‘Hmm,’ considered Marika. ‘Perhaps that is because there are fewer Caladri than humans, and the women need to fight. A number of these people fight with magic.’

  ‘How many Caladri have magic in them?’

  Marika breathed out heavily as she thought about this question. ‘Perhaps…one in every few hundred are born with the gift. For humans, this is much less?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Belwynn.

  Behind them, Clarin had struck up a conversation with Vida about military tactics. It was not a subject that particularly interested Belwynn, but she heard the Caladri man explaining the value of every soldier being armed with a bow and arrows. Clarin, meanwhile, defended the human custom to fight in heavy, metal armour.

  They left the camp behind them and entered the thick forest. A footpath carried them in a winding, uphill direction. The conversation petered out as Belwynn looked about her and used her breath to help her legs make the climb.

  After an hour’s walk, the path emerged at the top of a ridge.

  Belwynn gasped as she looked out over the ridge. The position gave her a 180-degree view down over miles of the Caladri lands. Most of it was forest—what Belwynn knew to be great trees looking like tiny little models of the real thing. But she could see that the forest was occasionally broken up by areas of grassland or scrub. Rocky outcrops dotted the ground, rising and falling in gentle waves. Belwynn could also make out tiny settlements. She could see half a dozen of them, the wooden buildings clinging to the edges of the tree line.

  Clarin arrived to take in the view.

  ‘Those are your villages?’ Belwynn asked Marika, pointing below her.

  ‘Yes. Most are very small, with only a few families. At times of war like this, the youngest and oldest are left behind in the safety of the forest. Our settlements are safe from invaders. They are very difficult to find.’

  Vida joined Marika and they walked on ahead, hand in hand. The path continued along the ridge, enabling walkers to keep the view below to their right. After a while, Belwynn and Clarin followed after them, some distance behind.

  ‘I never imagined that I would ever visit the lands of the Caladri,’ Belwynn said as they idly walked along.

  Clarin smiled ruefully. ‘This is turning into our biggest adventure yet. Magic weapons, meetings with kings and emperors…’

  ‘It’s the most serious, Clarin. If Ishari wins, then this place will be destroyed. Magnia will fall eventually. Our whole way of life…it will all be gone.’

  Clarin shrugged and then patted the sword strapped to his waist. ‘We won’t let that happen.’

  Sometimes Belwynn found Clarin’s confidence and unlimited, misplaced optimism infuriating. Now, though, she found it reassuring.

  She reached for his hand. He looked down in surprise, but then smiled, and took her hand in his. They walked on in silence.

&nbs
p; Gyrmund could not help himself smiling foolishly at the young Caladri women, Dora and Emese. They had brought Moneva and himself to a garden, about a mile to the west of the camp. A stony path snaked its way through plants, lined by trees and flowers on either side. Further on, cut stone steps took them higher, until they reached a small, trickling waterfall, which emptied into a large pool full of fish. Dora and Emese began to dip their hands over the side of the wall into the pool and splash water at each other, cackling and giggling as they did so.

  A month ago, Gyrmund thought to himself, he would have found such a sight alluring. He had been a single man for a long time, but he had never found it difficult to make women like him. The two young Caladri women were attractive, in their own way. But now he had eyes for only one woman.

  She was next to him. Sitting on the wall at the edge of the pool, Moneva had placed her hands palm down either side of her and looked out over the gardens. Gyrmund liked the fact that they could now relax in each other’s company. After an eventful two weeks, they were both content to be still and silent.

  The wind gently lifted Moneva’s dark hair, which was usually kept rigidly straight to her neck. Gyrmund found himself looking into her dark eyes as she turned her head to look back at him; her raised eyebrow was her only comment on finding him gazing at her. Gyrmund felt like a teenager caught staring too long at the source of his infatuation, but he enjoyed the feeling.

  The moment was then broken as Gyrmund received a splash of cold water on the back of his neck. He stared at Moneva for a moment, who shook her head in mock despair, as if indicating there was nothing she could do about the situation.

  Gyrmund turned to his attacker, Dora, and began to launch handfuls of water in her direction. Overwhelmed by the volume of water Gyrmund was splashing at her, she screamed, turned, and ran away. Gyrmund gave chase, as she darted away from the pool and behind the rise of rocks from which the waterfall coursed. Gyrmund followed and quickly caught her, which only made the screams grow louder.

  Eventually, Dora controlled herself. Gyrmund let her lead him further round the corner. An archway had been created in the stone, so that Dora and Gyrmund could walk underneath the waterfall. The drumming sound of the water could be heard above.

  ‘Under here,’ began Dora, ‘all questions have to be answered truthfully.’

  Gyrmund nodded cautiously, deciding to go along with the premise, though he considered it highly likely that the girl had just made it up.

  ‘Do you love Moneva?’ she asked, her face a sudden picture of seriousness.

  Gyrmund felt his face growing hot at the personal nature of the question. Whether it was the location, or the apparent innocence of the questioner, he was not sure, but he found himself answering honestly.

  ‘Yes, I…have fallen in love with her.’

  Dora nodded encouragingly before her next question. ‘Are you going to make her yours?’

  Gyrmund was not entirely sure what was meant by the question. He decided on a vague answer.

  ‘We cannot marry…we are very busy. We are both independent. We have not known each other long.’

  Dora nodded slowly, as if digesting each word. She crooked a finger at Gyrmund to follow. They walked through to the other side of the arch. Dora then abruptly stopped.

  By the rocks was a patch of plants Gyrmund did not recognise. The plants were thin, ending in small white flowers, and the tallest reached as high as his knee. They had bright green leaves with a shiny texture. Dora crouched down and, one by one, carefully picked about a dozen leaves from the plants. She stood up and offered them to Gyrmund, who dubiously accepted them.

  ‘Joska and I cannot yet join together as husband and wife. This means that we are not yet ready to bring children into the world,’ Dora paused, to make sure that Gyrmund was following what she was getting at. ‘We still wish to be together as man and woman, though.’

  Gyrmund felt even more embarrassed at the turn of the conversation, but allowed her to continue.

  ‘You must take two of these leaves and crush them. Then add hot water to it and make it into a drink. When a woman drinks this, she cannot produce children.’

  Gyrmund understood what she was saying. ‘Thank you, Dora,’ he said, stuffing the leaves into a pocket.

  ‘You are welcome.’

  Dora led Gyrmund back round to the pool, where Moneva and Emese were talking quietly. As they approached, Moneva looked up at Gyrmund and blushed. He had more than a suspicion about what they had been talking about.

  For some time, Soren and Szabolcs sat in silence, the Caladri wizard intent on finding any relevant information he could. While he spent most time on Zoltan’s History, he would occasionally cross-reference something from one of the other books. Soren would have offered to read something, but while he might have been able to decipher the characters, he would have been slow and unsure, little real help.

  After a while, Szabolcs looked up at him.

  ‘I have found a relevant passage. Not as complete as I would have hoped, but it tells us something. Before that,’ he continued, focusing more intently on Soren, ‘you have a question?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Soren. ‘I’ll get straight to it. On our journey through the Wilderness, we were attacked by vossi. I used too much magic in the encounter and overextended. I haven’t been able to do anything since, not the slightest thing,’ Soren took a breath as he heard the despair in his own voice.

  ‘I spoke to Gustav. He said that wizards amongst the Caladri might be able to help me. He said that he had heard of powerful users being able to channel their power into another, in order to repair the broken bonds.’

  ‘I see,’ said Szabolcs, a look of pity slowly crossing his face. ‘I believe that I have spoken to Gustav about such a practice myself. I have to tell you; I have only known one such case in my lifetime. This is because it is rare for enchanters to survive overextension. About thirty years ago, a young male enchanter, while warring with the Shadow Caladri, overextended, and somehow survived. No one knew how to treat him. In the end, he travelled to the lands of the Grand Caladri. An enchanter there knew how to perform the healing you describe. It worked, and he returned. This enchanter is still alive; he is part of King Tibor’s retinue. That does not mean he could perform the task himself—I doubt whether he could. No other enchanter amongst the Blood Caladri has been involved in such a healing to my knowledge.’

  Szabolcs paused.

  ‘I know what it is to be blessed with magic. I also know that it can be a curse. The desire for knowledge can become all consuming. I have lived a long—some would say useful—life. But I have never had a wife, or a family.’

  Soren knew that Szabolcs’ words were true. If not for the determination of his sister, and the link they shared as twins, he would likely be a very lonely man already. Szabolcs looked him in the eye.

  ‘As I say, I know what it is to have the hunger for magic. If you are desperate to regain your powers, I suggest travelling to the Grand Caladri. If there is an enchanter who has the skill, you will likely find them there.’

  Soren’s stomach lurched. He had hoped to find a cure in these lands. Indeed, he had hoped that Szabolcs might be his saviour. Now he had to make another journey, with little certainty that he would find anyone to help at the end of it. It was a desperate move, but one he knew he would take.

  Soren had done worse for his magic. When Soren had requested to study with Delyth, the marsh witch, it was to develop his skills after his apprenticeship with Ealdnoth had come to its natural end. Her magic was totally different to Ealdnoth’s, and he was quickly learning new things. But Belwynn had come with him. Soren had begun to realise that Delyth resented his sister’s presence. She wanted Soren all to herself. She was a dark and dangerous character, totally different to Ealdnoth. Soren had been naive to think otherwise. Belwynn hadn’t seen the
threat at all.

  Soren had told Belwynn to leave, for her own safety. It had hurt her, he knew, but she couldn’t have stayed any longer. When Belwynn left, Soren gave Delyth what she wanted, and they had become lovers. The sex had repulsed him, yet he knew he was learning more about his craft, faster than he ever had. All the time he knew that Delyth would never let him leave, that she wanted him to stay with her forever. He went along with it. When it became clear that she had nothing left to teach him, he only had one option.

  She was taken by complete surprise. He turned on her before she had a chance to defend herself. Under the cover of night, he had dumped her body in a bog and fled, returning to Magnia.