The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  Belwynn awoke the next morning feeling little better for the few hours of sleep. Gyrmund and the others had taken shifts keeping watch through the night, but nothing had happened. Everyone was still on edge, however. Just as in the Wilderness, the group felt as if they had now somehow become the hunted rather than the hunters. It was clear that they had become involved with the dark powers of Ishari, yet no-one could put their finger on how or why. They hoped to find answers in Coldeberg, both to the whereabouts of the dagger and to the reasons why it had been stolen. Everyone was aware that, once Ishari took an interest in you, it did not let go.

  Coldeberg was situated in the middle of the duchy of Barissia, and it would take most of the morning for the group to get there, though the Barissian Road took the traveller straight to the city.

  ‘What is the city like? I’ve never been,’ Belwynn asked, to no-one in particular.

  ‘Bigger than anything in Magnia,’ Herin replied, ‘but not the same size as Essenberg.’

  ‘It’s long been the administrative capital of the Dukes of Barissia,’ explained Soren, ‘and it gets substantial local trade and internal trade within the Empire. But it’s not a great trading city, because it’s located away from the Great Road.’

  ‘No real reason for traders to go there rather than Essenberg,’ added Herin. ‘It gets a few from the Steppe, selling cattle; some from Guivergne who come down by river. But a lot of the Middian tribes aren’t that keen on Barissians, not after Emeric’s wars there.’

  ‘Can’t blame them, either,’ added Clarin.

  Belwynn knew that the two brothers had fought for Emeric as mercenaries a few years back, and that they had bitter memories of it.

  ‘Barissia’s farming country,’ said Moneva, sounding dismissive in a way that Belwynn didn’t much appreciate. ‘Wealthy enough, but a bit insular.’

  No-one was really selling the place, and as they approached the city along the Barissian Road, Belwynn picked up on an uneasy atmosphere. They were greeted with stares and whispers more than she had expected—far more than they had received on the Great Road.

  Furthermore, there seemed to be more than the normal amount of soldiers on the road. They all wore the livery of the dukes of Barissia, the charging boar, and the group encountered many bands of soldiers, all on their way somewhere with varying degrees of urgency. They were almost always challenged for their business by these soldiers, and they soon learned that the best answer was that they were on their way to Coldeberg to enlist with the army. Since everyone seemed to be either in the army or on their way to join, they were greeted with much less suspicion.

  Coldeberg was built on a hill, so that the northern part of the city became visible from the road first. As they got closer, the southern half of the city came into view, the whole place enclosed by steep, grey stone walls.

  They arrived at the main gate, where city guards were questioning those who came in or out, meaning that there was something of a wait until they got to the front of the queue. Flags had been positioned, one each side of the gate. One had the charging boar of the dukes of Barissia, the other a large golden crown on a red background.

  When it came to their turn, the guard on their side of the road looked them over, frowning, not quite sure what he had in front of him.

  ‘We’re here to join the army,’ stated Kaved, as if it was a momentous occasion that required a fanfare.

  The guard looked a little underwhelmed. ‘You all together?’ he asked. He was smartly done out, and it looked like he was expected to do a thorough job of monitoring the traffic coming in to the city.

  ‘Not really,’ replied Kaved. ‘Us two are,’ he said, indicating himself and Rabigar, ‘and we hooked up with these poor souls on the road,’ he finished, indicating everyone else.

  ‘I’m not sure that the army has Krykkers.’

  ‘It does now,’ said Kaved, so mean-looking and full of confidence that the guard quickly moved on.

  ‘Are all of you joining the army?’ he asked, looking doubtfully at Belwynn, Elana and Moneva. It wasn’t unusual for women to accompany their menfolk in the army life, whether married or not. Indeed, they were very useful when it came to the myriad jobs that needed doing to keep an army on its feet. It was much less common for women to be employed as soldiers, though it did happen.

  Moneva scowled, fingering the two swords at her hips.

  ‘You saying I can’t?’ she demanded.

  ‘I always travel with my wife,’ explained Herin, grabbing Belwynn by the waist. ‘I can’t leave her behind. We’re too in love.’

  Belwynn silently fumed as Herin pulled her in close, feeling self-conscious and trying not to blush, knowing that inside Herin was laughing his head off.

  ‘Where do we sign up, anyway?’ he asked the guard.

  ‘Up at the castle,’ said the guard, looking at them all with a certain distaste before waving them through into the city.

  ‘You can get your hands off now,’ said Belwynn irritably.

  ‘Of course,’ Herin agreed mildly, with a smirk on his face. ‘Just trying to make us look convincing.’

  Dirk knew the city well and he suggested that they try to find rooms at The Boot and Saddle, a large inn in the north-west quarter of the city that was hospitable to foreigners. He considered it to be one of the best places for keeping a low profile. Once through the gates, the Barissian Road they had arrived on became the main street of the city, running east to west.

  Immediately to their right sat Coldeberg Cathedral, home of the Bishop of Coldeberg, who had the exclusive right to worship all of the Brasingian gods. But on their way they passed a number of other temples to specific gods. Sibylla, goddess of health and prosperity, was popular with townspeople. Gerhold, lord of war and friendship, was favoured by soldiers. There was a smaller temple for followers of Toric, the Magnian sun god. It had perhaps been established by Magnians who had moved to Barissia at some time.

  Many smaller streets ran off the Barissian Road, where specialist traders sold their wares. Tanners, metalworkers, cloth-workers, grocers, bakers, more and more. Dirk informed her that the market was located in the downtown part of Coldeberg, to the south.

  Towering over everything, though, was Coldeberg Castle. Located at the highest point of the city, the northern city walls doubled as the castle’s outer wall, and the structure then sprawled down towards the Barissian Road in an irregular hexagonal shape with six large towers and a massive gatehouse. Its looming presence made it clear that the dukes of Barissia were in charge of the city and made it feel like they were watching everything that was going on.

  The streets were busy. Most of the people here weren’t residents of Coldeberg, but had come in from the surrounding villages to buy goods they couldn’t get at home and perhaps to sell their own. A conspicuous presence on the streets were the groups of mercenaries who had been recruited by Duke Emeric. They hung out in small groups, watching everyone else at work while they lounged around, drinking and playing cards, moving from one inn to the other, arguing with each other or passers-by or shopkeepers. They added an unpleasant ingredient to the city’s atmosphere, and Belwynn was pleased to be with Clarin, Herin and the others, whose physical presence and grim expressions ensured that they were given a wide berth.

  Dirk took them almost as far as the western gate of Coldeberg before turning right and taking them up some twisting, narrow streets. Then they were there, in the courtyard of the Boot and Saddle.

  It was a large, well-maintained building with a sizeable stable where they left their horses.

  ‘The landlord goes by the name of Bernard Hat, on account of his large collection of hats,’ explained Dirk with a straight face as they made their way into the establishment.

  It was busy inside. According to Dirk, this was the most cosmopolitan of the inns in Coldeberg, and Belwynn noticed a few individuals and groups of foreigners, especially Middian tribesmen, whose dark skin and long, tied-back hair made them very distinctive. Mercenaries
and soldiers dominated the clientele, however—drinking early in the day and creating a loud and rowdy atmosphere. They had to squeeze past tables and through knots of drinkers to make it to the bar.

  ‘You must be Bernard,’ said Moneva to a man serving behind the bar. He was wearing a green beret, tastefully decorated with two feathers. ‘I love your hat!’

  Bernard beamed at the compliment, and was an attentive host, getting their orders in quickly and making sure that he found them seats.

  ‘Theodoric!’ he exclaimed to a man occupying a table with only one companion. ‘I’ve brought you some interesting conversation while you have your lunch!’

  ‘Ah! Sit down, grab a chair, that’s right,’ said Theodoric welcomingly. Bernard made sure that his guests were all seated before rushing off back to the bar.

  As they waited, Herin struck up a conversation with Theodoric, a lean man who introduced himself as a linen merchant from the duchy of Thesse.

  ‘I'm waiting on a final sale, and then I'm back home,’ he said, perhaps by way of explanation as to why he was sitting in the inn at midday already a little worse for wear. He was sitting with what Belwynn assumed to be his assistant, a large man about the size of Clarin, who was gawping at a spider in the corner of the inn, apparently oblivious to the conversation going on around him. Belwynn also assumed that Theodoric paid his assistant criminal wages, that his assistant probably did not know or care, and that both were fairly happy with the arrangement, except that Theodoric naturally craved a bit of conversation from time to time.

  ‘Has business been bad?’ enquired Herin.

  ‘Business is never bad if you have a brain in your skull,’ answered Theodoric, and proceeded to flap his forefinger in thin air a few inches from his ear, which everyone understood to be an attempt to tap the part of his anatomy he had been referring to. ‘I'll tell you this, though.’ Theodoric's voice lowered to what he believed to be a conspiratorial whisper, ‘when I come back, I won't be bringing linen.’

  There followed an uncomfortable pause, until Herin realised he was supposed to respond. ‘What will you be bringing?’ he reluctantly asked.

  ‘Weapons. Swords, armour, bows, arrows. They're all cheap in Thesse, nobody wants 'em there, you see. But here in Coldeberg, of course, demand is sky high.’

  Herin made a face at Rabigar, who was listening attentively.

  ‘Why is that?’ Herin asked.

  Theodoric frowned at Herin, made an attempt to focus on him but then gave up. ‘Are you new here or something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, well then, you haven't heard.’

  Another uncomfortable pause. ‘No.’

  ‘It's been going on for a few days now, you know, rumours at first, but then you get the more official announcements, until the day before yesterday there was a formal ceremony in Coldeberg Cathedral. A duke isn't good enough for Barissia anymore, oh no, if us Thessians have a duke, then these Barissians can't possibly settle for a mere duke themselves, can they? So Duke Emeric is now no more—long live King Emeric! Unbelievable! These Barissians.’ Theodoric shook his head at the Barissians. ‘Of course, you know what this means now, don't you?’

  Herin and the others shared astonished looks at the news. Theodoric, however, was still expecting an answer, so Herin shrugged his shoulders at him.

  Theodoric shook his head again, this time at Herin's apparent slowness. ‘It means war! When Emperor Baldwin hears about this he's going to march his army straight at these Barissians. That's why there's all these soldiers around and that's why demand for weapons is so high. These Barissians are preparing for war! Unbelievable!’

  Herin had a foul expression on his face and proceeded to interrogate Theodoric about the best place in the city to pick up a quality sword in order to replace the one he had lost. Everyone else, meanwhile, huddled together to discuss the news.

  ‘I don't like this,’ said Soren. ‘Gervase Salvinus, a Barissian, steals Toric’s Dagger. Emeric of Barissia declares himself king. And behind it all I see Ishari at work. I don't know how yet, but it's all linked together somehow. We need to spend this afternoon gathering information.’ Soren looked at Dirk. ‘What do you know of Emeric?’

  Dirk shrugged. ‘Arrogant, ambitious...but not stupid. He wouldn't attempt anything like this without knowing that he had support from someone else. I guess that Ishari and Haskany are the most likely candidates.’

  ‘Pentas mentioned trouble in Persala,’ Belwynn reminded everyone. ‘This could extend beyond the Empire.’

  Soren nodded. ‘Right. I suggest we go about our business in ones and twos in order to attract as little attention as possible and meet back here this evening. I've got something I need to do on my own.’

  Belwynn felt a little taken aback by the abrupt statement, but chose not to pry. ‘I've got something I need to get as well. Clarin? Will you come with me?’

  ‘Sure,’ replied the huge warrior.

  ‘Well, we need rations getting...Moneva and I will do that,’ volunteered Gyrmund, but if Moneva was surprised by the announcement, she didn't show it.

  ‘I'll go with Herin to get his sword,’ said Kaved.

  ‘Right,’ began Soren, ‘if you three don't need anything, it might be best for you to stay put and look after our gear. The more of us who go out there, the more chance we have of finding trouble.’

  Soren's implied message was that a Krykker and the two founding members of a strange new religious sect might attract more trouble than was average.

  ‘Well, I'd like to get some clothes, and I might be able to get in touch with some contacts in the city,’ replied Dirk. ‘I don't mind picking up anything for anyone else, though.’

  With that agreed, eight of the group made their way into the streets of Coldeberg, leaving Rabigar and Elana behind at The Boot and Saddle.

  12

  Trimming the Fat

  EDGAR SAT ON OSLAC OF Halsham’s bed, awaiting news. A messenger from Cerdda of North Magnia had arrived at the town, and was currently meeting with Wilchard before the news was brought to Edgar.

  Edgar, of course, had been ill since yesterday morning. Officially ill, that is. Unofficially, he was feeling great.

  In order to buy himself and Cerdda time, Edgar had decided to suddenly fall ill. Oslac, at whose house Edgar was staying, rushed to find Ealdnoth. Ealdnoth immediately diagnosed the illness. It was a rare illness that no-one else had heard of before, it had a long and unpronounceable name, and worst of all, it was extremely contagious.

  Rumours flew around the camp, many suggesting foul play on the part of the North Magnians. The campaign was halted in its tracks just as conflict with the old enemy seemed imminent. Edgar was confined to his room; only Ealdnoth and his two bodyguards daring to stay with him. Leofwin and Brictwin took turns in keeping guard outside the room; the other sleeping with their prince in the room. The loyalty of the two men was commended by many, though the commending was carried out at a healthy distance. Edgar's room was given a wide berth. Many sympathised with Oslac over the disruption caused to his house and the fact that Edgar had dined with him and his young family the night prior to the illness taking hold. Many gave Oslac and his family a wide berth, too.

  Ealdnoth let it be known that Edgar had asked for Wilchard to take charge of the army during his illness. For some reason, Wilchard had never been so popular. Many a grand nobleman of South Magnia took time from their busy schedule to speak personally to Wilchard, to praise him on the fine job he had done for his prince over recent years and to remark on how well he handled the onerous duties of managing the army. They even confided to him their own fears for Prince Edgar's health, and what might befall the kingdom should he tragically succumb to his terrible illness. Edgar had no heirs, and there was no obvious successor to the throne. Many a grand nobleman gave Wilchard their own opinions as to who would be best placed to take over the leadership of the kingdom in such a grave situation. Wilchard listened politely and passed on everything he heard
to Edgar. Edgar wondered if he should be ill more often.

  All in all, the ruse had worked very well. Harbyrt the Fat had doubtless heard about the fate of his prince. He and his following had still not joined up with the royal army. Edgar knew that Harbyrt's scheming mind would be working overtime. If Edgar did die now, it would be the perfect opportunity for him to declare his independence. South Magnia would be in chaos and there would be no one to stand in his way.

  Of course, what Harbyrt didn't know was that Edgar was feeling fine and biding his time until he was ready to confront his wayward vassal in person.

  There was a knock at the door. Brictwin stood up from his prone position on the floor, where he had been catching up on some sleep, and Edgar shouted for his visitors to enter. Leofwin opened the door from the outside, let in Wilchard and Ealdnoth, and closed it again.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Edgar, motioning to Oslac's bed, upon which his councillors duly perched.

  ‘Important developments,’ began Wilchard with little preamble. ‘Last night Ashere, Prince Cerdda's younger brother, led a surprise attack on Earl Sherlin. Apparently it came completely out of the blue and was a complete success. Sherlin was captured, and before his men knew anything about it, Ashere had delivered him up to his brother in order to stand trial on charges of treason. Cerdda has raised a small army and is currently located just a few miles north of the border. He sends apologies for not advising you of Ashere's attack, but because it was a risky venture, he preferred to wait on its result and then report to us on the current situation. He advises you to strike at Harbyrt soon. There is probably a fair chance that he knows nothing of these events yet.’

  Edgar had to stand up with excitement. ‘Yes. We move now and we move fast. Wilchard, I'm suddenly feeling a lot better, and feel good enough to resume command of the army. We leave within the hour. If anyone feels that their men cannot be mobilised before then, they will have to stay at Halsham.’

  As it turned out, with a little grumbling aside, all of Edgar's commanders had their troops ready on time. His recovery was seen by many as a sign of Toric's blessing on the campaign. The story was that Edgar wished to link up with Harbyrt in order to share information and combine forces before pushing into North Magnia. More than one lord openly complained about the lack of any action from Harbyrt so far. Edgar agreed that his Marshal had a number of questions to answer, and was happy to see that he was likely to enjoy some support from his nobility in bringing the man to task.