The Jalakh Bow

by Jamie Edmundson

  The Duke of Martras, whose province bordered the Lantinen Sea, was quick to understand the stakes. He had accompanied Farred to the capital, Valennes, to speak with the king, Nicolas. Farred had found Nicolas to be withdrawn and suspicious. He had looked sceptical at Farred’s talk of dragons. Well, so be it. Farred had done his part. It was now up to the Guivergnais to defend themselves as best they could.

  Eventually, the walls of mighty Essenberg came into view. Baldwin’s Bridge towered above them, spanning the Cousel. Two catapults were trained on the river, ready to sink any craft deemed hostile. Emperor Baldwin had built the defences when Guivergne was considered to be Brasingia’s greatest threat. To Farred it seemed that such petty rivalries now belonged to an age long gone. But a mere two years ago everyone here would have agreed that the Guivergnais were the national enemy. Time was playing tricks on them all.

  The bargemen shouted up to the soldiers, who waved them under the bridge and allowed them to dock inside the city walls. Passengers were allowed off first, and soon Farred was standing on the harbour of the Market Quarter, saying his farewells. He wasted no time in joining the Valennes Road, passing the market stalls, stacked with greens and other vegetables. The food purveyors were roasting lamb with mint and his mouth drooled at the smell of it. He forced himself to walk on, taking the Albert Bridge, the main thoroughfare across the Cousel.

  From the north bank he could see the whitewashed, square towers of Essenberg Castle. He made straight for it, walking down streets lined with the opulent town houses of the merchant and noble classes. The central square opened up before him, and his gaze was drawn to the fluttering flag of the Empire atop the castle. A stag, with seven antler tips, each representing a duchy of the Empire. Only four of those duchies had fought for the Empire at Burkhard Castle last summer. But the sickness at the heart of the Empire had been cut out, thanks to the intervention of Farred’s prince, Edgar. Emeric was dead and his duchy of Barissia was now in the hands of the Emperor’s brother, Walter.

  One of the more welcome things that had come from Farred’s role in the defence of Burkhard Castle was that he was on close terms with many of the most powerful men in the Empire. So that when he presented himself at the castle, it didn’t take long for the chain of command to respond to his arrival.

  Rainer, Baldwin’s chamberlain, came to meet him personally. He was a reassuring figure: tall, intelligent, with a firm grasp on facts and figures. He wasn’t entirely surprised to hear Farred’s news.

  ‘We know that Siavash has won control over Ishari. Gustav has warned us of great armies marching south. He is travelling back and forth to the northern realms, so that we have some warning of an invasion. We are expecting it soon. Duke Walter has already based himself at Burkhard, readying its defences.’

  Farred remembered watching the Drobax leave Burkhard Castle. He had known then that they would return, but the thought of having to go back there so soon, and face it all over again, made him feel sick.

  Rainer read his expression. ‘It’s not an easy path we have. To my shame, part of me feels glad that the Drobax have hit our allies first, because it buys us a bit more time. The Emperor—he carries the biggest burden of all of us. It is no surprise that he has been suffering with the responsibility. I think it will do him good to hear your news from you, Farred, rather than listening to the same old voices. He has begun to blank us out rather.’

  Farred wasn’t sure what Rainer meant by that.

  ‘Would you be willing to wait here while I fetch him?’ the chamberlain asked.

  Farred agreed, somewhat unsettled by the exchange.

  Some time passed before Rainer returned, alone.

  ‘The Emperor has asked that you come to his rooms,’ said Rainer, looking uneasy.

  Farred gave his consent and followed the chamberlain along corridors and up stairs, keeping pace with the lanky official, who no doubt made such journeys several times a day.

  Arriving on a quiet corridor, Rainer rapped on a wooden door. A murmur came from behind the door, and the chamberlain opened it, gesturing Farred inside.

  ‘His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Baldwin,’ Rainer said, looking red-faced. ‘Lord Farred is here.’

  As Farred stepped into the room he saw that the emperor was lounging on a bed, wearing shorts and with a bare torso. A fire was going in one wall, making the room unusually hot, and smoky. Sharing the bed was Inge, the young apprentice to Gustav. She wore a silk dress and they each held a wine glass, a bottle and nibbles in front of them on a wooden tray.

  He recalled a similar scene last summer in Burkhard Castle, where they had shared a room. Baldwin had been asleep, and Inge had seemed to enjoy intimating to Farred that they were sleeping together. But that had been at Burkhard Castle, during a siege when Baldwin had every reason to believe he had days to live. This was in the royal castle, when presumably his wife and children were in the same building.

  ‘Farred!’ exclaimed Inge, ‘it’s so good to see you again!’ Her mocking tone put him on edge, but Baldwin didn’t seem to hear it.

  ‘Indeed!’ Baldwin agreed. ‘I will never forget the debt I owe you, Lord Farred. Rainer barely had to twist my arm at all to persuade me to see you. Even though I understand your news is sure to sour my mood.’

  ‘I am afraid so, Your Majesty,’ said Farred, bowing slightly.

  Baldwin waved a hand at his chamberlain. ‘You are dismissed, Rainer.’

  Rainer exited the room, gently closing the door behind him.

  Farred proceeded to tell Baldwin of his journey with the fleet of the Sea Caladri, of Rabigar’s expedition to Halvia. He finished with the invasion of the Grand Caladri and Krykker lands by the Drobax, and a fire-breathing dragon.

  As he did so, Inge crunched on a handful of nuts from the tray, washing them down with her wine, before refilling her own glass and Baldwin’s.

  ‘What adventures you have had!’ she said when he was done.

  Farred would have liked nothing better than to give the girl a slap. But he realised that she was dangerous. He was certainly no match for her.

  ‘It’s not all bad news,’ said Baldwin thickly.

  Toric only knows how much wine he has consumed, thought Farred.

  ‘The Krykkers are no pushovers, and then the Drobax will have to get through Guivergne before they reach our borders. It’s about time they got a taste of what we’ve had, anyway.’

  That didn’t sound like the Baldwin Farred knew. Inge gave Farred a little shrug. What did that gesture mean?

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Yes?’ said Baldwin in exasperation, as if tired of constant interruptions.

  It was Rainer.

  ‘Your Majesty, your queen is asking after you. She is in the hall. I thought it prudent to come and warn you.’

  ‘Shit,’ muttered Baldwin.

  ‘Oh, what does that bitch want now?’ sighed Inge.

  Baldwin looked torn. He looked from Rainer, to Inge, to Farred, as if unsure what to do.

  ‘It would be a great honour to meet the queen,’ Farred said into the silence.

  ‘Of course,’ said Baldwin. ‘What, you’ve never met Hannelore? Come, come, Farred, let’s see what she wants.’

  He leaned over to Inge and they kissed, tongues probing each other’s mouths, until Baldwin pulled away, got off the bed, and began to get dressed. It was uncomfortable and odd, Farred not wishing to share a look with anyone else in the room.

  He was relieved when the three men left the room, Inge remaining sprawled on the bed.

  Rainer led them in the direction of the hall.

  ‘Farred, you were in Coldeberg. You saw Hannelore then, no?’

  ‘I saw her, but we were never formally introduced, Your Majesty. It was a busy couple of days.’

  ‘Ah well, we shall correct that.’

  ‘I admired from afar, however. She is a handsome woman.’

  ‘Mmm? Yes. Big chested, if you like that kind of thing.’

  T
he tone Baldwin used made it clear that he didn’t. But it was the words themselves that Farred found so odd; so out of character. Had the strain on the Emperor caused some kind of nervous breakdown? If so, how would that affect the Empire’s ability to defend itself?

  They crossed a courtyard to the hall. When they got inside, it was empty.

  ‘Where is she?’ Baldwin demanded.

  ‘Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty. Perhaps she gave up and returned to her rooms, or went looking for you herself. I will track her down, don’t worry.’

  Rainer gave Farred a look as he left. Had the chamberlain made it all up to get Baldwin out of the room? If so, that was a dangerous game to be playing.

  Baldwin sighed. ‘A dragon, you said?’ he asked Farred.

  Farred nodded. ‘I heard reports of it. It turned its victims to ash.’

  ‘Farred, think for a second what such a beast could do to Burkhard Castle. I wonder, if you are willing Farred. I’m asking you because I trust you, and you’re the best informed. Walter is at Burkhard now, fixing the defences. Could you ride north and tell him? He’s a clever man, my brother. Perhaps, given some time, he could find a way to mitigate this threat. Even if there’s not much he can do, I think he needs to be told. As soon as possible. Rainer will arrange everything, supplies and expenses, for your time and efforts.’

  Suddenly, it was like Baldwin was back—like he had sobered up. And, given what he had witnessed here, Farred didn’t think that saying no to the Emperor was an option.

  Clarin sat cross-legged with the rest of his group at one end of the mound. Armed Persaleians had been set to watch over them. Zared and the rest of his men were nowhere to be seen.

  So, Zared had played him for a fool. No doubt he had made contact with these allies in one of the many towns they had passed through, arranging to meet at this very spot, so that they could take Clarin and the others captive.

  Why he had done it, well—that was less clear. Would he give Clarin and the others up to the Isharites for some advantage? Maybe. After all they had been through together, Clarin hoped not. He couldn’t even find much to reproach himself over. He had trusted Zared to get him to Baserno. Had that been the wrong move? Or the best option, that had turned to shit nonetheless? He couldn’t decide.

  The big man with the spear and shield came over, looking Clarin over. Clarin stared back. He levelled the spear at Clarin.

  ‘Come. We need to talk.’

  Slowly, Clarin got to his feet. He shared a glance with Rudy and Jurgen, with the Barbarians, even the two Dog-men. They gave him steady stares. None was panicking yet. They had all survived Samir Durg, after all.

  The two of them walked to the edge of the mound and made their way down, taking care since the slope was steep and it would have been easy to slip and twist an ankle. At the bottom two men were sitting on the ground, looking up at them. Zared and another, a man Clarin hadn’t seen before.

  Clarin and the spearman walked over, the spearman gesturing that Clarin should sit. Once he did so, the man sat down with them, making it a foursome. Clarin looked at the other two. The man next to Zared was significantly older, with a weathered, soldierly face. But there was a similarity in features that must have been more than coincidence, even down to the loss of hair on top.

  The older man offered his hand.

  ‘Clarin, welcome,’ he said, his voice dry, tired sounding. ‘Zared has just told me much about you and I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I am King Mark of Persala.’

  Initially Clarin was shocked, even dubious, looking at the three faces in front of him. Then, it all clicked, and he found himself laughing, at his own slowness as much as anything else.

  ‘And this is your son,’ he said, indicating Zared.

  Both men smiled then, seemingly pleased with Clarin’s reaction.

  ‘I’m sorry for the deception, truly,’ Zared said. ‘I was captured soon after the invasion of Persala, sent to the mines. The Isharites didn’t know who I was, but the other Persaleians in the mines did. Not one of them gave me away. They kept my secret, many to their graves. If I had told you the truth, and it had gone wrong, then those men’s bravery would have been for nothing. I hope you can understand.’

  Clarin shrugged. ‘If you did what you thought was right, I’ll not judge you. So, what of the rest of us now? Prisoners?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Mark. ‘I needed to see and speak to my son first, to learn exactly what the situation was. How he managed to get back home. He has told me the story, including your mission here. The Shield of Persala, eh?’

  ‘From what I’ve been told,’ said Clarin, ‘by people far cleverer than myself, we need it to defeat the Isharites. Have you heard of it?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mark said, sounding insulted. ‘I was once king in more than name, you know. Privy to all the secrets of the Persaleian Empire. I know it was kept in the Temple of Ludovis, a relic forgotten by most, though not by the priests—they forget nothing.’ He looked at Clarin, a reckless smile coming to his face. ‘I’m minded to help you get it, too. But know this. I barely escaped the invasion alive. I’ve been hunted throughout my country ever since. The Isharites would love to display my head on the walls of the capital, to make it clear to my people that they are in charge. That there is no hope. Like my son,’ he said, slapping Zared’s thigh affectionately, ‘I owe my life to others who have risked theirs for me, some paying the ultimate price. In the last year I’ve hidden up trees; under floorboards; in a hole in the ground no bigger than the size of a coffin. If I’m going to risk my life, and the lives of those who have stuck by me, I need to know that the price is worth paying.’

  Clarin nodded. Mark had a fair few soldiers with him. But if this was all that was left of the once great Persaleian army, that had conquered most of Dalriya once upon a time, it wasn’t so many.

  Mark seemed to be thinking, finalising his plan. Hopefully, committing to the mission.

  ‘Alright. First, we need to ascertain whether the priests of Ludovis still have the Shield. Second, will they hand it over to us? If they do and they won’t, we must be prepared to take it.’

  ‘So, what now?’ Zared asked his father.

  ‘Now we all pack up and move out. We’re going to Baserno.’

  Belwynn wasn’t sure she could get through this. Sebastian’s funeral yesterday had been bad enough. But Elana...

  She was in the Temple of Madria, sitting on a pew, gripping Theron’s hand as tightly as she could, as if that would hold back the tears. It didn’t.

  Bemus was at the front, tall and gangly, his glum voice echoing throughout the building as he recounted stories of how Elana had healed and treated the people of Heractus. How he did it without breaking down, when the room was full of people crying, some even wailing, she couldn’t comprehend. The stories went on and on, but they were stories people knew, had witnessed, and that made them all the more powerful. They emphasised, too, just what a loss Elana was. Bemus addressed this too in his service, forcefully arguing that her mission should be continued, would live on. But how could it, Belwynn wanted to ask. Lives that had been saved would now be lost.

  The image of Elana dying on the floor returned to her mind again, unasked for but irresistible. She had saved so many, and when she needed help there had been no-one. Just Belwynn, kneeling in the blood; useless. She couldn’t shake the thought that it was on her. If she had acted more quickly, to stop the thing that had possessed Sebastian, Elana would still be alive. She was Elana’s second disciple, and when Elana had really needed her, when she could have made a difference, she had failed her.

  As she lay dying, Elana had clutched her hands. Belwynn wasn’t sure what she had wanted, but a strange force had overcome her and she had collapsed, unconscious. When she came around, it was too late. Elana was already dead.

  She wanted to leave the temple, to run away. But the least she could do, the very least, was to sit and listen.

  Outside, Elana’s body was carefully lowered
into the ground. Belwynn stayed awhile, to speak with the community, before Theron led her away from the Temple and up to the castle. They held hands as they went, both of them instinctively needing each other’s company after the losses they had suffered.

  It was hard, but they didn’t have the time to grieve properly.

  Sebastian’s body had been found not long after Elana’s death. Dorian, who had chased him from Elana’s rooms, had left Heractus, with his older brother Straton. Not everyone wanted to believe it. But Belwynn was sure, and she had made Theron understand too. Some creature, some nightmare sent by the Isharites, had killed Remi and taken his body. Despite a thorough search, his body was still missing. As Remi, the monster had killed Sebastian. They only knew this because little Lyssa had been playing in a secret tunnel and witnessed the murder. As Sebastian, it had killed Elana, and almost certainly Dorian. As Dorian, it had killed two more knights, before leaving the city with Straton in tow. The Isharites had taken their revenge for the Kalinthian invasion of Haskany and for the death of Erkindrix. They had killed Madria’s priestess. And the creature was still out there.

  More was to come.

  Belwynn had come close to despair at Elana’s death, had assumed that all hope was lost. But she had talked with Soren and he had turned her around. They still had three of Madria’s seven weapons. He believed he was close to getting a fourth. Clarin had gone to Persala to find the fifth. They had to continue.

  Belwynn and Theron took the familiar route through the gates of the castle and up to his rooms. Tycho was already there waiting, no doubt with a list of tasks for Theron to tackle.

  The Order of the Knights of Kalinth had lost their Grand Master. It wasn’t official yet, but everyone knew that Theron would replace his uncle. His first task would be to hunt down and kill the creature that had torn their world apart. Belwynn hadn’t even dared to voice her fears on the subject. What if it couldn’t be killed?

  Only the weapons can kill it.