The Jalakh Bow

  The Jalakh Bow

  Book Three of The Weapon Takers Saga

  Jamie Edmundson

  The Jalakh Bow

  Book Three of The Weapon Takers Saga

  Copyright © 2019 by Jamie Edmundson.

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: 2019

  Author website jamieedmundson.com

  Cover: Streetlight Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Dramatis Personae

  Map

  Prologue

  1. Cold Comfort

  2. The Handmaid, The Duchess and The Queen

  3. Coldeberg

  4. It Takes an Assassin

  5. The Battle of Simalek

  6. Broken Vows

  7. Red Serpent

  8. Manoeuvres

  9. The Grass Sea

  10. In Shadow

  11. Halvia

  12. Joined

  13. To The Rock

  14. Consummatum Est

  15. Betrayal

  16. Exodus

  17. Comeback Kings

  18. The Jalakh Bow

  19. Beyond the Drang

  20. The Gift

  21. Revenge

  22. Reappearance

  23. Rescue

  About

  The Giants’ Spear

  Prologue

  Also by Jamie Edmundson

  Dramatis Personae

  South Magnians

  Soren, a wizard

  Belwynn, Soren’s sister

  Herin, a mercenary

  Clarin, Herin’s brother

  Farred, a nobleman of Middian descent

  Gyrmund, Farred’s friend, an explorer

  Edgar, Prince of South Magnia

  Brictwin, Edgar’s bodyguard

  Morlin, Edgar’s bodyguard

  Wilchard, Edgar’s chief steward

  Wulfgar, high-priest of Toric

  Otha of Rystham, magnate, Wulfgar’s brother

  Aescmar, a magnate

  Ulf, a smith

  North Magnians

  Elana, a priestess of Madria

  Cerdda, Prince of North Magnia

  Mette, Cerdda’s mother

  Elfled, Cerdda’s sister

  Irmgard, Cerdda’s wife

  Middians

  Brock, a tribal chief

  Frayne, a tribal chief

  Kellish

  Moneva, a mercenary

  Baldwin, Duke of Kelland, Emperor of Brasingia

  Hannelore, Empress of Brasingia

  Walter, Baldwin’s younger brother, Marshal of the Empire

  Rainer, Baldwin’s chamberlain

  Decker, Archbishop of Kelland

  Ancel, Bishop of Coldeberg

  Gustav the Hawk, Archmage of the Empire

  Inge, Gustav’s apprentice

  Rotelegen

  Jeremias, Duke of Rotelegen

  Adalheid, Duchess of Rotelegen, his mother

  Rudy, an escaped prisoner from Samir Durg

  Jurgen, his cousin

  Other Brasingians

  Arne, Duke of Luderia

  Tobias, his son

  Godfrey, Archbishop of Gotbeck

  Coen, Duke of Thesse

  Werner, a steward

  Heike, a servant

  Gervase Salvinus, a mercenary leader

  Guivergnais

  Nicolas, King of Guivergne

  Bastien, Duke of Morbaine

  Russell, Bastien’s man

  Kalinthians

  Theron, Count of Erisina, Knight of Kalinth

  Evander, Theron’s squire

  Sebastian, Count of Melion, Grand Master of the Knights of Kalinth

  Alpin, Sebastian’s squire

  Galenos, former Grand Master of the Knights of Kalinth

  Tycho, Knight of Kalinth, Theron’s friend

  Remigius, Knight of Kalinth, Sebastian’s friend

  Euthymius, Knight of Kalinth

  Philon, Knight of Kalinth

  Leontios, Knight of Kalinth

  Coronos, Knight of Kalinth

  Proteus, Knight of Kalinth

  Jonas, King of Kalinth

  Irina, Queen of Kalinth

  Straton, eldest son of Jonas

  Dorian, second son of Jonas

  Diodorus, Count of Korenandi

  Bemus, a disciple of Elana

  Lyssa, a girl from Korkis

  Jalakhs

  Bolormaa, a Jalakh woman, elder of the Oligud tribe

  Gansukh, warrior, Bolormaa’s son

  Qadan, warrior

  Haskans

  Shira, Queen of Haskany, member of the Council of Seven

  Koren, Shira’s uncle

  Rimmon, a mage

  Persaleians

  Pentas, a wizard

  Cyprian, an escaped prisoner from Samir Durg

  Zared, an escaped prisoner from Samir Durg

  Mark, deposed King of Persala

  Duilio, soldier

  Aulus, flamen of Ludovis

  Ennius, flamen of Ludovis

  Krykkers

  Kaved, a mercenary

  Rabigar, an exile

  Maragin, chieftain of the Grendal clan

  Guremar, chieftain of the Plengas

  Hakonin, chieftain of the Swarten

  Jodivig, chieftain of the Dramsen

  Stenk, a young warrior

  Crombec, chieftain of the Pecineg clan

  Wracken, chieftain of the Binideq

  Caladri

  Dorjan, King of the Shadow Caladri

  Lorant, King of the Blood Caladri

  Hajna, Queen of the Blood Caladri

  Szabolcs, a wise man

  Gyuri, a carriage driver

  Marika, a carriage attendant

  Dora, a carriage attendant

  Vida, a carriage attendant

  Joska, a carriage attendant

  Kelemen, a leader of the Grand Caladri

  Ignac, a wizard

  Sebo, a Sea Caladri captain

  Darda, a Sea Caladri soldier

  Isharites

  Arioc, King of Haskany, member of the Council of Seven

  Siavash, High Priest of Ishari, member of the Council of Seven

  Ardashir, a wizard, member of the Council of Seven

  Rostam, lieutenant of Arioc, member of the Council of Seven

  Harith, servant of Diis

  Peroz, servant of Diis

  Other

  Tamir, a Barbarian chieftain

  Sevald, a Vismarian leader

  Gunnhild, a Vismarian

  Kull, a Drobax

  Prologue

  ERKINDRIX IS DEAD,’ Shira said, keeping her voice steady. ‘Arioc and the other members of the Council are at each other’s throats. Now is the perfect time.’

  The men in the hall didn’t look convinced. Many of the most powerful noblemen in Haskany had made the journey to Shira’s estate. She had fed them all and plied them with arak to drink. But evidently, none of that meant that they were going to commit to her cause.

  These were hard looking men. Wrapped in furs that made them look twice as big as they were, they had agreed to come despite a cold snap that signalled late autumn was turning to winter.

  They had served Arioc since he had become king. They would continue to serve him if necessary. But Shira knew, at the same time, that their country’s servitude to Ishari chafed at each and every one of them. They were proud Haskans, who would see their country become independent. But they wer
e careful. A failed rebellion could see them and their families destroyed.

  ‘Together we could raise a reasonably strong and well provisioned army,’ suggested Etan, a widely respected figure. ‘I have no doubts over your leadership of it, or that of your uncle,’ he said, nodding at Koren, who was standing to one side of Shira, arms folded. ‘But Ishari have magi. They have the Drobax. While that remains the case, we are not in a position to act against them.’

  ‘They are not in a position to act against us,’ she retorted, not willing to give in. ‘Arioc, Ardashir and Siavash all fight each other to succeed Erkindrix. Not one of them has the resources to take on a united Haskany, and who knows how long their conflict may take? Even if one of them should emerge victorious, how likely is it that they will have the same power and reach as Erkindrix did? Would you cower in your halls, year after year, waiting until the Isharites return to claim our throne?’

  There was anger at that—murmurs and whispers filled the hall. Maybe she had pushed them too far. But she knew that she needed to win these men over now. Should they drift aimlessly into the spring and summer months, divided and purposeless, a year would go by and they would have done nothing.

  She looked at the faces in front of her. As many were against her as with her. And most weren’t in either camp, unpersuaded and reluctant to commit to any path.

  A knock at the door to the hall. Koren walked over to investigate. A whispered conversation followed. The attention of Shira’s guests shifted in that direction. Uncertain, Shira turned to look.

  Koren pulled the door wide open.

  ‘Lord Pentas,’ he announced in a strong voice, that gripped the attention of those in the hall.

  Pentas sauntered in. It was the first time that Shira had ever been pleased to see him. He surveyed the hall, his red eyes fixing on the key figures in the room, making eye contact, a half-smile playing on his lips.

  The atmosphere in the hall switched instantly. Pentas possessed powers that none of these men could understand or measure. Shira was their Queen, a member of the Council of Seven, yet Pentas exuded an authority she could never possess. It galled her, and yet she knew it might make the difference between success and failure.

  ‘So,’ Pentas said, drawing out the syllable, and raising his arms to encompass everyone who had gathered in the hall. ‘Here are the new rulers of Haskany.’

  And that, Shira said to herself, as she observed her countrymen, is that.

  Cold Comfort

  I

  WINTER HAD SMOTHERED THE NORTH of Dalriya.

  Belwynn, raised in the temperate south, had never seen anything like it.

  She thought that the city of Heractus, capital of Kalinth, was made for winter. Here the snow that fell in the streets turned to a dirty slush, complementing the grey walls of the city and its castle. The citizens of Heractus stoically endured the freezing conditions.

  These people love being miserable, Belwynn told her brother. Cold days and winter rations make them happy as pigs in shit.

  It was a slow time of the year. The Kalinthians had worked hard from spring to autumn, brought in their harvest, and most people had full enough larders to see them through comfortably enough. They flocked to the inns of the city, drank strong beer, told tall stories and sang old songs. For all she tried to resist it, Belwynn found herself liking the people here a little bit more each day.

  Travel seemed to be virtually non-existent. On the occasions she ventured out beyond the city limits, accompanied by Theron, or sometimes Gyrmund, she never tired of the spectacle of a land blanketed in white. Thick snow crunched underfoot. Streams and lakes were frozen, some hard enough to walk across, others dangerous, with quick flowing, icy water beneath a thin top layer.

  Otherwise, she spent her time in Heractus. She helped Elana with her work. She slept; she ate; she drank. She talked with her brother and her friends. It was a slow time of the year, and that was exactly what they all needed.

  Belwynn and Gyrmund stood before Dirk’s grave.

  It was easy to find, since it was the only plot in a brand-new cemetery in Heractus. It was connected to the new Church of Madria, where Elana performed her healing. The land had been paid for by Elana’s many supporters. The rich and powerful men of Heractus had contributed: Theron and Sebastian, and many other Knights of Kalinth—even Prince Dorian, second son of King Jonas, had supported the project. But so too had the ordinary men and women of the city. Elana’s reputation had followed her from the High Tower, the seat of the Knights of Kalinth, where her earliest miracles had been witnessed. She had accompanied the Kalinthian army into Haskany, and there, word of her powers grew further.

  Now everyone knew about her. She was visited daily, with ailments from the most serious to the most petty, to the purely imaginary. The Church of Madria had become the most visited in the city, and a source of envy from the other temples who had seen their congregations diminish. But with powerful protectors like Sebastian, the new Grand Master of the Knights, whose army still occupied Heractus, there was little they could do.

  ‘I am sorry I wasn’t able to speak with him before he died,’ Gyrmund murmured, staring down at the tombstone. ‘He helped to rescue me from Coldeberg prison. I never thanked him properly for that.’

  ‘He died at peace, Gyrmund,’ Belwynn said. ‘With no regrets. You should have none too.’

  Gyrmund nodded, looking up at her. ‘And how are you and Soren?’

  Both twins had been in a bad way for a while, not that Belwynn herself had known much about it. The wizard, Pentas, had spirited them out of Samir Durg, all the way to the Kalinthian army and Elana. Belwynn had been knocked unconscious by Rostam in the Throne Room of Samir Durg, shortly before the assassination of Erkindrix and their miraculous escape. She had remained in and out of consciousness for some time.

  ‘I’m fully recovered,’ she assured him. ‘Soren isn’t, though.’

  Her brother had been tortured in Samir Durg, in ways she did not fully understand. Moreover, the Isharites had kept him in a box, never letting him out until Gyrmund and Moneva had found him. Never physically strong, his body seemed irreparably damaged from the ordeal.

  ‘His back still troubles him, and he tires easily from physical exertion. His eyesight hasn’t recovered, either. Elana thinks it never will. He clutches that staff all the time now, it’s the only way he can see properly—he’s virtually blind without it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, don’t be too sorry. I thought I would never see him again. And you and Moneva rescued him. So, for the thousandth time, thank you. And I remind myself of how desperate I was to see him again, every time he moans at me, which is at least half a dozen times a day.’

  Gyrmund smiled at that, something he rarely did these days.

  ‘How is Moneva?’ she asked, already knowing the answer, but knowing that it was a subject that Gyrmund needed to talk about. Moneva had been remote and uncommunicative ever since their return from Samir Durg, and it was Gyrmund who suffered the most from it.

  ‘No change,’ he said. ‘She won’t speak to me properly. I know that she suffers, but she won’t share it with me. I was wondering if you could try talking with her?’

  Yet again? thought Belwynn. She and Moneva had built a friendship during their weeks together. But since Moneva, Soren and the others had been captured in Edeleny, and taken to Samir Durg, while Belwynn had escaped to Kalinth, their paths had been very different. There didn’t seem to be much of that friendship left.

  ‘Yes. I’ll try,’ Belwynn found herself saying. She knew that she should.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Gyrmund said, ‘of what I should do once this snow melts. I’ve been treated well here, and I get on with Theron. He has asked me to stay for a while, help to train new soldiers, that kind of thing. But I don’t think that’s me. I can’t stop thinking of Herin and Clarin. I bear a huge guilt that I left them to their fate. I feel like I should go back.’

  Belwynn nodded. She h
ad spoken with Gyrmund a number of times about the two brothers. Once they had broken out of the slave pits in Samir Durg, Gyrmund and Moneva had gone to find Soren, while Herin and Clarin had remained behind, occupying a tower of the fortress along with a ragtag band of escaped prisoners. Anything could have happened. Clearly, the most likely outcome was that they had all been slaughtered. But the chaos engendered by Erkindrix’s assassination may have given them a chance of escape. And she knew that the two of them weren’t easy to kill and there was a chance, however slim, that they lived.

  ‘I will talk with Soren about Herin and Clarin. Though I’m not sure what we can achieve without Pentas. And I will talk with Moneva, too.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Gyrmund, and he smiled ruefully. ‘I’m sorry I’ve passed on all my problems to you.’

  Eudora’s Tavern was a small place, centrally located in Heractus; not too rough and not too expensive, either. It was where Moneva had chosen to spend her time.

  The brief hours of daylight were already disappearing, and the inside of the establishment was dim, meaning Belwynn had to search before she saw her, sitting at a table by herself. A plate of food sat in the middle of the table, seemingly untouched, while Moneva had clearly begun drinking. As Belwynn sat down next to her, Moneva gripped both handles of her cup and tipped it back, guzzling it down.