The Jalakh Bow Page 2

  ‘Hello, Belwynn,’ she said when she was done, her breath strong with alcohol.

  ‘Hello. How are you?’

  Belwynn refused to play the role of mother, asking Moneva how much she had drunk, or similar interrogation. That was her business.

  ‘Fairly bored. But there will be music later.’

  Moneva gestured over a serving girl.

  ‘Same again for both of us,’ she said, indicating herself and Belwynn. Turning to her side, she said, ‘I’m still sober if it’s something important you’ve come to discuss. It’s taking me longer to get drunk now I’m doing it regularly.’

  ‘Why are you doing it so regularly?’

  Moneva shrugged. ‘It’s fun. And what else is there to do around here?’

  Belwynn studied her friend, the woman who had killed the dread Lord Erkindrix. She knew if it had been someone like Theron he would have become a legend by now. It would have been all too easy for him to capitalise on it, turn himself into a hero. And to be fair, everyone had been perfectly ready to treat Moneva in the same way at first. The Knights; the citizens of Heractus; even the royal family had acclaimed her in their own ways. When they first got back from Haskany, Moneva couldn’t walk the streets without people buying her drinks, asking her about the events in Samir Durg. But she wasn’t interested in that. She was tight-lipped, suspicious—almost contemptuous of the accolades. And so, people had backed off. Moneva had built a wall around herself that no-one, not even Gyrmund, was allowed to get through.

  The serving girl brought them their drinks. Belwynn took a sip. The wine was watered down. Someone had put some food on Moneva’s table. Maybe people hadn’t completely backed off after all.

  ‘Gyrmund asked me to talk to you,’ Belwynn said tentatively.

  Moneva sighed. ‘Can’t he just leave me alone?’

  ‘No. He cares about you too much to do that.’

  Moneva sneered at that, taking a swig of drink, before looking Belwynn in the eye.

  ‘Do you know what happened to me in Samir Durg, Belwynn?’

  Belwynn didn’t know, not for sure. But she could guess.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He raped me. Not just once. Over and over again.’

  Belwynn knew that he was Arioc, King of Haskany—the man who had captured Moneva and Soren, in Edeleny. Their escape from Samir Durg felt miraculous and had depended on the intervention of the wizard, Pentas. What would have become of them if they hadn’t been rescued, she wondered? As it was, Soren and Moneva were still suffering.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Have you told anyone else?’

  ‘No. And I don’t want you to tell anyone. Especially not Gyrmund.’

  ‘Whatever you say. Though I would suggest that you speak with Elana about it.’

  ‘Why? What’s she going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know, but you won’t know either until you talk to her.’

  Moneva shrugged. She turned her attention back to her drink, knocking it back, her need for it all too clear.

  Belwynn knew about that well enough. She had watched her father descend into the same kind of addiction after the death of her mother. The alcohol had taken the edge off the raw emotions. But it had made him less of a man in the end. She didn’t want to see Moneva do the same thing to herself.

  ‘You know we’re all here for you,’ she persevered. ‘We all care for you. Gyrmund most of all.’

  Moneva curled her lips into a cruel smile.

  ‘He cares about getting into my pants.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  Moneva turned to her, face red, eyes red. ‘I know, Belwynn,’ she said, her voice raised, struggling to keep her emotions in check. ‘I know I’m not being fair. That’s why I don’t want to see him.’

  Belwynn nodded. She actually felt pleased. She had got more out of Moneva than their previous conversations.

  ‘I have something for you,’ she said, producing an intricately made leather scabbard and belt, the cross-guard and hilt of a dagger exposed.

  Moneva took the weapon, pulling it free from the scabbard.

  ‘Toric’s Dagger?’

  ‘When Dirk died he entrusted it to me. I think you should have it.’

  ‘I thought we were supposed to return it to Magnia?’

  ‘I think things have changed since then. Theron had the scabbard and belt made for you.’

  Moneva twisted the weapon around in her hand, staring into the blade, seemingly lost in thought.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said at last, as if awakening from a stupor. She reached for her drink, hesitated, then pushed it away, before grabbing her plate of food.

  Belwynn left the tavern and took the street that led up to Heractus Castle. Evening had arrived. The sun had departed the scene and the temperature had dropped, Belwynn’s breath hanging mistily in the air. Most people out and about were heading in the opposite direction to her, small groups going down to the taverns and inns in the city centre, where there would be a welcoming fire, plenty of ale and wine, and the stories and songs would continue deep into the night.

  For a city that seemed so peaceful and happy, there were still plenty of soldiers on duty at the gatehouse and on the walls. That was Theron’s doing, since he always insisted on strict routines and discipline. But Belwynn also knew that beneath the surface all was not so calm in Heractus. Sebastian and Theron had occupied the capital with their army in the summer, drawn from those Knights of Kalinth who had switched their loyalty to Sebastian as the new Grand Master of the Order. But King Jonas of Kalinth also resided here, not imprisoned by Sebastian, but kept under close watch. His wife, the Queen Irina, and his sons Straton and Dorian, were here also. All of them, except perhaps Dorian, wanted the Knights gone and their freedom to rule restored. In the city and out in the wider kingdom, their supporters would be plotting just such a restoration. This winter, with its harmony and its merriment, would not last forever.

  Not that Belwynn had any trouble with gaining access to the castle.

  The Lady of the Knights they called her. Since her performance at the High Tower, she had become a figurehead of sorts for the movement, much to her own embarrassment. All of them now believed that she brought luck, confirmed by their victory in the Battle of Masada, the culmination of the Kalinthian invasion of Haskany. Outnumbered by the Drobax, Haskans and other forces of Ishari, she had blessed the swords of each knight before the battle. And, with no small help from their Krykker allies, they had won a seemingly miraculous victory. If any had doubts before, they had now evaporated. And so it was that if Moneva had become the mysterious, enigmatic killer of Erkindrix, Belwynn had become the angelic saviour of the Knights of Kalinth. It was bullshit, but nonetheless, it was a role that now felt impossible to escape.

  The guards waved Belwynn through into the castle, and she took the winding steps up to her tower room, that she now shared with Soren. Inside, she found her brother lying face down on the floor, with Elana knelt by his side. She had her hands on his back, doing her best to heal his twisted spine and torn muscles.

  ‘How is it going?’ she asked them.

  ‘His muscles are getting more relaxed,’ commented Elana, a look of concentration on her face. Belwynn had some small experience of receiving Elana’s healing powers, the warm sensation that repaired damaged tissue. It didn’t always completely heal an injury, but she had already noticed Soren’s movement improving.

  ‘They tense up again by morning,’ Soren complained, his voice muffled by the floor.

  ‘You need rest,’ reprimanded Elana, in the authoritarian voice she had developed to use with her patients. ‘You can’t expect an immediate recovery, even with my powers. And you must continue to exercise during the day.’

  ‘I can’t be bothered with all that,’ he grumbled.

  You really should listen to her, said Belwynn to her brother, using the telepathic link they shared.

  ‘He just sits around and reads,’ she added out loud, keen to tell
tales on her brother.

  ‘Too much sitting will tighten your back,’ said Elana strictly. ‘You should be stretching out on the hard floor and going for short walks.’

  An indecipherable noise emerged from the floor where Soren lay, while Elana got to her feet.

  ‘I should go,’ she said to Belwynn, ‘it grows dark. How are you?’

  ‘Good. I had a productive talk with Moneva just now. I suggested she speak with you about something.’

  ‘Of course. Well, I shall see you tomorrow.’

  Elana left them to it.

  ‘Well? Are you going to take her advice, or end up a cripple?’ Belwynn demanded of her brother.

  ‘I know. Still, I’m getting better. If I don’t move from this position it doesn’t really hurt that much.’

  ‘Well, at least Elana’s treatment is working. She has truly been blessed by Madria.’

  ‘Please,’ said Soren. ‘Don’t start with that nonsense.’

  The words were so rude, Belwynn was taken aback, even if the fact that they came from someone lying prone on the floor lessened their impact somewhat.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said at last. ‘Have some respect for my choices.’

  ‘I can’t respect it,’ countered Soren. ‘You were vulnerable when I was in Samir Durg. That’s how they take advantage of you. There’s no doubting Elana’s powers, but all this religious hogwash that she’s sucked you into is ridiculous.’

  Soren’s arrogance galled her, and it was getting worse. It wasn’t just that he had to be right and therefore she was wrong. It wasn’t simply that her decision to follow Madria was, in his estimation, all about his absence from her side. It was also the disrespect he showed to Elana, who had just gone out of her way to come here and treat him. Yes, she knew that Soren was in pain, and was short tempered as a result. But her patience with him was wearing thin.

  She was just formulating an appropriate response when there was a knock on their door.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  It was Theron.

  ‘Yes,’ she said automatically, before thinking Soren might prefer to be on his feet before Theron entered the room.

  ‘Hi Soren,’ Theron said, cheerfully enough. ‘Everything alright?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Soren gruffly. ‘Are you two going to help me up?’

  Theron grabbed Soren around the chest and Belwynn took his hands, and the three of them somehow got him to his feet, Soren grimacing the whole time and letting out a cry of pain as he straightened up. Belwynn passed him Onella’s Staff and he instantly looked better: his eyes focused on them, the grimace and frown disappeared.

  ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ Theron said, ‘and he’s asking after you both, you especially Soren. A mage, by the name of Gustav.’

  Theron led them to Sebastian’s private room in the castle. It wasn’t any bigger than the room she shared with Soren, which was typical of Sebastian. He had attained the highest position in the Order of the Knights of Kalinth, was now de facto ruler of the kingdom, but would always be frugal in his tastes.

  It was clearly meant to be a small, private gathering, since only Sebastian and Gustav the Hawk were there. As she took a seat offered to her by Theron, she looked at their visitor. He was pale and tired looking. He had been given a woollen blanket, which he clutched around him, but she could see that he still shivered from time to time. Next to him on a table was a cup of spiced milk, still steaming, which he would occasionally blow on before taking a sip.

  ‘Well,’ Sebastian began, ‘thank you for coming. You have both met Gustav before, at the Brasingian Court. We both felt it only right that you should be included in this conversation. His visit here should remain a secret, so please think carefully about to whom you repeat what you hear here.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Soren. ‘It is good to see you again, Gustav.’

  ‘Likewise,’ said the Archmage of the Empire, his voice deep and confident, but Belwynn could hear the exhaustion in it too. ‘We parted as you and your friends undertook what seemed like an important quest, to the lands of the Blood Caladri. I have heard nothing substantial of you since, so it is good to see you both alive. I have heard rumours of significant events in the north, however, and based on these my master, Emperor Baldwin, has had me travel here to find out the truth of them.’

  Soren smiled. ‘It has been so eventful that it is hard to know where to start. Our visit to the Blood Caladri was brief and led us to journey into the lands of the Grand Caladri. There I was lucky enough to resolve the—,’ he paused, ‘personal issue that we discussed.’

  This, Belwynn knew, was the loss of magic that Soren had suffered, only restored when he had formed a connection with the broken Caladri wizard, Agoston.

  ‘Our time in the lands of the Caladri confirmed the importance of Toric’s Dagger to us, and revealed that it is one of seven weapons that can be used to protect us from the Isharites. In Edeleny, we found a second such weapon, the Staff of Onella which I now hold.’

  ‘Truly?’ asked Gustav, leaning forward in his seat and reaching out a hand for the staff.

  Soren hesitated. No doubt, Belwynn supposed, Onella’s Staff would be a great boon to Gustav’s considerable powers. If her brother handed it over, would he get it back?

  Soren decided to give up the staff, and as soon as he did so, he slumped back in his chair, weakened.

  Gustav, meanwhile, intently studied it, looking along its length from all angles, touching it in various ways and whispering under his breath. Eventually, and with a similar look of reluctance to Soren’s, the Archmage returned it.

  ‘That was where our luck ended,’ said Soren, restored. ‘Half of our number, including myself, were then captured, when Arioc’s forces invaded the lands of the Grand Caladri.’

  ‘I heard of this event,’ said Gustav, ‘Such an utter calamity. It is hard to put into words the loss to the world of magic that Ishari inflicted in that one episode. The Empire has carried out various reconnaissance missions in the region recently. So far they all suggest that Ishari has abandoned the area.’

  Soren nodded. ‘My sister escaped with both the dagger and the staff,’ indicating that Belwynn could take up the story.

  ‘How?’ asked Gustav.

  ‘Through the intervention of the wizard, Pentas,’ she replied.

  Gustav raised his eyebrows in recognition of the name but chose to say nothing.

  ‘He sent us here, to Kalinth, where we were lucky enough to be taken in by Sebastian.’

  ‘And Kalinth has seen its own share of excitement?’ Gustav asked, looking from Theron to Sebastian.

  ‘Indeed,’ Sebastian replied, ‘much of it necessary but regrettable. Our former Grand Master, Galenos, has been deposed, and I have taken over the position. Acting in what I believe to be the interests of the kingdom, Theron and I have secured control over the government here in Heractus. Acting in alliance with the Krykkers, we led an army into Haskany last summer.’

  ‘Incredible,’ said Gustav, impressed. ‘Kalinth has been asleep for a long time. Thank you for waking your nation, just in time.’

  ‘That’s not the half of it,’ said Theron. ‘While we scored a victory over Ishari, the wizard, Pentas, and Belwynn here, broke into Samir Durg itself, rescuing Soren—and one of their friends, Moneva, killed Erkindrix himself.’

  As Theron told the climax of their story, he looked at Belwynn, and his words were said with such pride that she found tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat, which she swallowed away.

  ‘Then the rumours I had heard are true? I hadn’t dared to believe them. Erkindrix dead? Then, let me tell you all of the news from the Empire. A great army of Drobax and Haskans was sent to the Empire. They first struck in Rotelegen, killing its duke, Ellard, and taking over the whole duchy. We were forced to evacuate the entire area.’

  Gustav paused, noting the reactions of Belwynn and Soren, who had shared shocked looks.

  ‘Of course, I forget, you left Essenberg with Ell
ard. I am sorry to bring you these tidings. Emperor Baldwin then decided to defend our greatest fortress, Burkhard Castle. It became a scene of great slaughter, but we were able to hold out until this great army departed. We didn’t understand why they left at the time, but I presume that the death of Erkindrix left Ishari without clear leadership and the army was recalled. I should add that we were aided by a force of Magnians, led by Prince Ashere of the North, who was killed by the enemy, and a man from the South by the name of Farred.’

  ‘Did Farred survive?’ Belwynn asked quickly.

  ‘He did.’

  ‘His friend is here in Heractus. He will be pleased to know.’

  ‘There is more regarding your home kingdom. I won’t need to remind you of the treachery of Duke Emeric of Barissia.’

  The name struck Belwynn cold. She was immediately transported back in time to Coldeberg, where she had given a private performance in front of the duke, distracting him while they attempted a rescue of their friends. She remembered Kaved, who had betrayed them to Emeric’s forces, wandering in while she played, and the desperate struggle and escape that ensued. Most of all, she remembered Rabigar, blinded in one eye by the savage jailers of the castle.

  Soren glanced her way, checking on her reaction.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  While we were besieged in Burkhard, Emeric was attacked by Duke Coen of Thesse, fighting alongside a Southern force led by your own ruler, Prince Edgar.

  ‘Our cousin,’ said Belwynn, wonderingly. ‘Really? Edgar fighting in the Empire? It doesn’t seem real.’

  ‘It happened,’ said Gustav, ‘and by all accounts Edgar and the South Magnians played a crucial role in the Battle of Witmar. Emeric escaped, but was killed by his own men.’

  Belwynn laughed, covering her mouth as she did. It felt inappropriate, but the thought of Emeric defeated, by Edgar no less, had made her feel incredibly happy. It had been such a dark year. That it had all ended like this was truly the work of Madria.