The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set

by Jamie Edmundson

  Soren? She replied immediately, her voice full of concern.

  I’m safe, he said. I fell ill. But I’m alright now. We’ve made it. We’re with the Jalakhs.

  10

  In Shadow

  WHEN BOLORMAA HAD EXPLAINED that all of the Jalakhs were travelling to Tosongat, Gyrmund had assumed that she was exaggerating. It appeared not.

  The Oligud tribe who had picked them up and taken the feverish Soren in their wagon had merged with other tribes heading east, becoming a horde on the move. And when they had arrived, Gyrmund could see that other hordes had arrived from every direction on the Steppe. No longer a tribe or a single horde, a nation had decided to come together in this one place.

  Surely, this was the most likely location for the Jalakh Bow. But he had to be careful about revealing their intentions.

  ‘Moneva and I would like to look around Tosongat,’ he said to Bolormaa.

  She looked at him appraisingly. She was wily, still handsome and strong, even though she was now a grandmother. She knew they were up to something, and yet she was the one who had decided to take them with the tribe, a decision that had probably saved Soren’s life. Gyrmund couldn’t help thinking that she was up to something too.

  ‘Now I see,’ she said, ‘you are here to witness the Great Contest.’

  Gyrmund raised an eyebrow.

  ‘We come here at this time every year that the Jalakhs need a new khan. The Great Contest decides which man will be khan.’

  ‘The greatest fighter becomes khan?’ he asked.

  Bolormaa pursed her lips. ‘That is the idea. The Contest began this morning. You and Moneva should go and watch it. But if you want to watch, you will need to dress appropriately. I will also send Gansukh with you.’

  Bolormaa had Gyrmund and Moneva dressed in the traditional deels of her tribe. She advised them that each tribe had a distinctive cut or pattern of deel, so that the other Jalakhs could see which tribe Gyrmund and Moneva belonged with, affording them some protection.

  Bolormaa’s eldest son, Gansukh, led them through the camps of the various tribes, a maze of yurts that they would have got lost in themselves. Roaming freely about the place, in greater numbers than the Jalakhs themselves, were their horses. A totally different beast to the great warhorses bred by the Kalinthians, the Jalakh horse wasn’t much larger than a pony, with shaggy hair. They were allowed to graze wherever they wished, but Gyrmund saw that when their owners whistled they came back, like obedient hounds.

  Unlike his mother, Gansukh said little, grunting at them if he wanted their attention. He walked in a young man’s swagger, letting all who looked his way know how highly he thought of himself. Gyrmund wondered whether Gansukh considered himself a candidate for the Great Contest.

  Gansukh grunted and drew their attention to a large roped off area of short grass, around which many Jalakhs sat or stood.

  ‘This is our Contest,’ he said. ‘You can watch with me.’

  Gansukh led them to a space where they could see. The space inside the ropes was empty, but before long a section of rope was untied. First one rider entered the area, then a second. They were introduced one at a time, their name and tribe called out, after which their supporters, who had gathered to watch, cheered and banged kettle drums. Both men wore scale armour and helmets, and were armed with scimitars, curved swords made for slashing.

  Moneva turned to Gansukh. ‘It’s a fight to the death?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But that’s so wasteful.’

  ‘Only those who truly believe they can win will fight. Otherwise, any man could enter the ropes and the Contest would never end.’

  The two adversaries moved to either end of the ropes. There was a shout and the fight began. Both men hurtled forward at incredible speed, their mounts strong and agile. Once they got within distance of each other, their horses sidestepped and they leant in, trying to land a strike while defending themselves and their mounts. The speed of their blade-work was impressive, doubly so when one considered they were using one hand to hold the reins, while constantly nudging their horses back and forth or to the sides, trying to manoeuvre an advantage for themselves, or lead their opponent into making a mistake.

  The ring of steel on steel filled the air. Both men landed blows, but they hit the armour of their opponent, skidding off the scales to no apparent harm. They broke apart briefly then moved back in, their swords a blur of frenetic slashes and blocks. Then one man scored a hit. He slashed at his opponent’s hand and lower arm and his blade came back with a spurt of blood, the blow somehow penetrating armour. The fight continued, the injured man not done yet, even though Gyrmund could see a steady trickle of blood coming from his hand. Depending where the wound was exactly, it could begin to make his grip more slippery.

  Perhaps it was the injury driving him to take more risks, but the warrior drove in close, aiming a blow at his opponent’s head. The second warrior’s horse skipped aside at the last second, and he then found the space to land a strike on his opponent’s mount. The poor creature collapsed, sending its rider skidding to the ground. Ruthlessly, the mounted warrior wasted no time. He rode in close, leaned over and cut down, twice then three times, until the floored man was dead.

  Staying on his mount, he raised his arm in the air, receiving the adulation of his tribe, who made a cacophonous noise. He left the roped area, before the members of the other tribe moved in to recover the body of their fallen champion.

  ‘Both were good fighters,’ commented Gansukh. ‘But their riding was not so good.’

  ‘What happens next?’ Gyrmund asked.

  ‘Next, a champion from another tribe will challenge the winner.’

  ‘Would that be you?’ Gyrmund asked with a smile.

  ‘I will enter the ropes,’ said Gansukh proudly. ‘But Bolormaa will tell me when.’

  ‘When does it end?’ asked Moneva.

  ‘It ends when there are no more challengers.’

  Gyrmund and Moneva shared a brief look. No doubt this was a tradition that went back many generations, and had its uses, in binding the tribes together. Nonetheless, Gyrmund thought it a flawed system for choosing a leader.

  ‘Is there anything else to see in Tosongat?’ Moneva asked Gansukh. ‘Except more yurts?’

  Gansukh frowned, as if wishing to see anything further was greedy. ‘Just our temple.’

  ‘Temple?’ asked Gyrmund.

  ‘It is only for priests and royalty to visit.’

  ‘Can we see where it is?’

  Gansukh shrugged. ‘Follow.’

  He took them away from the ropes and away from the yurts. Here, in an area which the tribes had left empty, was the only permanent structure Gyrmund had seen. A large rectangular area was surrounded by wooden walls, only reaching the height of a man. Peering over, Gyrmund could see that inside was mostly open to the elements. On his side of the wall was a ceremonial garden, with developed trees, plants and a pond. He could see walkways had been constructed around the garden. Elsewhere within the walls he could see one story wooden buildings. He could hear rather than see animals: sheep, probably goats, were kept somewhere behind the walls. At the far end, its protruding eaves visible in between the branches of the trees, was a pagoda. It was elaborately designed, with five small towers emerging at the top of the building.

  Moneva peered over the wall too.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘Only priests and royalty are allowed in there,’ Gansukh repeated.

  Gyrmund and Moneva shared another look. Surely this was where the Jalakhs would choose to keep their Bow.

  They found Soren, awake and alert, sitting up in the yurt belonging to Bolormaa. He listened, leaning back on his cushions and sipping at the drink he called kumis. Moneva remembered giving him the same drink in Samir Durg, when they had rescued him from the Tower of Diis. It had revived him then and it looked to be doing so again—his face less pale, his eyes sharp and inquisitive. />
  ‘The question, then,’ said the sorcerer, having digested their description of the Tosongat Temple, ‘is whether we explain our need for the Bow, and ask the Jalakhs to give it to us. Or try to take it without their knowledge. Both approaches have their dangers.’

  ‘Take it,’ said Moneva instinctively. ‘They’re not going to hand over a precious relic to a group of outsiders. The Temple is barely defended. I can find the bow, take it without them realising it has gone.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ said Gyrmund. ‘I would favour talking to Bolormaa. She may be able to help us.’

  ‘Why would she?’ countered Moneva.

  They both looked at Soren, who seemed to have the deciding vote.

  ‘If the Jalakhs had a leader, a khan with the authority to grant us the Bow, then I would take that option,’ Soren said. ‘But they don’t. Who would we ask for it? Bolormaa is an impressive woman, but even if she decided to help us, how would she persuade all the other tribes to agree? I think, if we can take it undetected and leave, that is the better option. I could come and help, I’m feeling much better.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Moneva, pleased at his decision. ‘I just need Gyrmund to help me over the wall. There’s no benefit to more than one of us moving about in there. It just raises the chances of getting caught.’

  ‘Alright,’ said Gyrmund, conceding defeat. ‘When do we go?’

  ‘Tonight,’ said Moneva.

  Moneva and Gyrmund crept through the fields of yurts, matching each other in the silence of their movements. The Jalakhs slept on, and if there were any still awake who heard a movement they would put it down to a grazing horse, since each tribe had hundreds if not thousands of the animals moving freely in the area around their camp.

  It was the first time they had been completely alone together in a long time. Her mind should have been completely focused on the job at hand, but once they moved out of earshot of the last group of yurts, Moneva stopped.

  ‘Gyrmund,’ she whispered.

  He stopped immediately, looking about in case she had spotted trouble.

  ‘I need to talk to you. About Samir Durg.’ She took in a breath. She had to make herself keep going or she would never get it out. ‘I had to sleep with Arioc. I’m sorry.’ Why was she apologising? That wasn’t what she meant to say. ‘I mean, it affected me afterwards. When we got back to Heractus. I didn’t deal with it very well.’

  She paused. She had been thinking about what exactly to say to Gyrmund for a number of days now, and it had all come out a jumbled mess anyway. She looked at him, but it was too dark to read his expression.

  ‘I understand,’ he said quietly. ‘Moneva, I can never repay you for what you did in Samir Durg. You got all of us out of there, when we all thought we were dead. You’re an amazing woman. Truly amazing. I’m sorry if I didn’t support you properly.’

  She heard his voice catch and a lump came to her throat. Part of her said this conversation was stupid. But another part knew that it was important, and that they should have had it a long time ago.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to let anyone in. I wanted to deal with it myself. That’s just what I’m used to.’

  Gods, how pathetic, she told herself. Since her father had died—no, probably since her mother had died before that, she had been alone. She had learned to deal with things herself. It was better, safer, to be like that. But now, when she heard herself speak, she sounded like a bloody mess.

  ‘I had a lot of time to think in Samir Durg,’ Gyrmund said. ‘I lost all my family when I was young. An illness—I was the only one who survived. I lived with Farred’s family after that. I never spoke about it, no-one ever asked me about it. I got on with things, but I couldn’t wait to leave. As soon as I was old enough I went wandering around Dalriya, telling myself how free I was, what an exciting life of adventure I had. But part of that, a big part, was me running away from what happened. Being by myself, not having to care about anyone else, moving on before I put down roots anywhere, before I got close to anyone. In the mines I realised that was wrong. I did want to be with someone, and that someone is you, Moneva. I promised myself I wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t take the easy option and walk away any more. So I’m always going to be here if you want me.’

  Moneva moved into him, put her arms around him and he did the same. She felt a tear rolling down her cheek. A simple hug—it felt so good, made her feel so much better. She needed to allow herself this. Be a bit kinder to herself. If she had done this six months ago she would have felt a lot better a lot sooner.

  There, she was doing it again, telling herself off. Gyrmund said she was an amazing woman. Maybe it was about time she believed that and let someone else care about her.

  They stood that way for a while before, reluctantly, she pulled away.

  ‘That’s enough of that nonsense,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a job to do.’

  They made their way to the Temple, peering over the outer wall. There wasn’t much to see—no lights, no sounds of activity either.

  ‘Alright,’ she whispered.

  Gyrmund bent at the knees and linked his hands together, forming a step. Moneva put one foot in. He stood up and she pushed up with her foot, placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She touched the top of the wooden wall. It was rough and sharp, so she removed a blanket she had tied around her waist and placed it on top of the wall. She placed her hands on the blanket. Fine. She looked over the top of the wall to the ground directly beneath it. Just grass. Confident, she took all her weight on her arms and vaulted over, landing securely inside the Temple.

  If the Bow was stored here, it was almost certainly in the pagoda, on the other side of the complex. She walked through the garden, using the paths and being careful where she placed her feet. It was quiet, the only sound she could detect was animals moving about in the wooden sheds that lined the walls to her left and right. She found herself in the centre of the garden. All the paths seemed to meet here, though they clearly took their own, individual, meandering routes. Here, one huge tree stood, dominating the other vegetation in height. The larger branches that radiated out were themselves the size of trees. Moneva had the sense that it was very old, probably predating the Temple itself, but beyond that she could discern nothing more, not even the species.

  Moneva walked through to the end of the garden, approaching the pagoda. Here, it became clear that few, if any, people actually resided in the Temple. Outside the pagoda there were some small cells, nothing more than wooden shacks, so thin and tiny, each with a little individual door, that they could only fit in a bed for one person, with no room to stand. They didn’t seem to be permanent living quarters, more like places to sleep while on a vigil of some kind. Jalakhs who were visiting for other reasons, Moneva considered, would almost always bring a yurt with them and have no need for accommodation.

  She crept up to some of the cells, listening intently. She could detect breathing in at least two, but the idea that someone was sleeping in one of them next to the Jalakh Bow was a ridiculous one, so she moved on to the last and best option. The pagoda.

  It was a pretty little building, full of fanciful curves where each tier of the building met the one above.

  Moneva circled around the pagoda, checking for entry points. On the other side to the one she started from was a grand opening. Four pillars supported a roof, and this structure faced a gate in the outer wall, the main entrance into the complex. Moneva walked up a small set of steps and passed between the two middle pillars, moving under the roof. Two double doors faced her, the wood heavily decorated in geometric patterns. She approached the doors and, ever so carefully, pushed at one of them. The door gave, barely making a noise, and she slipped inside.

  She hesitated briefly but decided in the end to leave the door open. It was riskier, but allowed some moonlight into the ground floor of the pagoda. Nonetheless, it was still dark, and Moneva allowed her eyes to adjust for a little while. Around the wall were st
airs with a railing, circling all the way to the top. A central pillar climbed all the way to the top. She could just make out thin planks of wood radiating out from the pillar above her, with lattice style flooring on top, making a second floor. She walked a full circle around the pillar, returning to where she entered. Four statues had been placed around the pillar. Looking closer, she could see they were identical representations of the same man. Flowers, presumably cut from the garden, had been placed next to each statue. It was hard to understand what she was looking at. She went down on her knees, touching the statue, feeling to the sides. But there were no other offerings but the flowers, and no sign of a bow or a place where a weapon might be kept or displayed.

  Deciding not to waste any more time, Moneva took the stairs. She walked up to the next level. Tentatively, she placed a foot on the latticed wooden floor. It held her weight no problem. She moved over to the central pillar. Nothing, and the cobwebs she found told her all she needed to know. No-one ever came up here, except perhaps when the structure needed maintenance work on it.

  Knowing she was wasting her time, but just to eliminate the chance, she explored all the way to the top of the pagoda. It was the same story. She had found nothing of any use, and if she stayed any longer she was taking unnecessary risks. She moved quickly now: descending the stairs, then out of the pagoda, closing the door softly behind her. She retraced her steps, back into the garden, and through it to the outer wall she had climbed over. The blanket was still there.

  ‘Gyrmund?’ she hissed.

  ‘Still here,’ came his voice. ‘I’ve got the blanket.’

  Moneva reached up to grab the end of the blanket that hung over her side of the wall. With Gyrmund holding the other end, she used it to pull herself up, feet jammed against the wall until she could reach the top. She clambered over and landed on the other side, pulling the blanket with her.

  ‘Well?’ asked Gyrmund.