The Jalakh Bow Read online

  Before that, Belwynn insisted on putting Lyssa to bed, whose eyes had glazed over, despite her best attempts to stay awake. Gyrmund ended up carrying her to her bed, where she was too tired to resist and went straight to sleep. When they returned to the kitchen, they had a glass of wine waiting for them. Heike had cleared the table.

  ‘Please, Heike, there’s no need to stay up,’ said Belwynn. ‘We can sort ourselves out.’

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ replied the young woman, ‘I asked if I could stay and hear your story.’

  Soren and the others gave a smile, and so Belwynn took a seat and helped her brother and the others relate their adventures since leaving Edgar’s court at Bidcote in Magnia. It was less than a year ago, but seemed so much longer, and at times during the telling it felt like the events had happened to someone else and not to her at all. The chase through the Wilderness; Kaved’s betrayal in Coldeberg; Arioc’s invasion of the Grand Caladri; Belwynn’s escape to Kalinth; Soren and Gyrmund’s imprisonment in Samir Durg. When Gyrmund finally told how Erkindrix had died, betrayed by Arioc in his own throne room, the hour had grown late, the wine had been finished, and everyone looked eager for sleep.

  At the end, Belwynn produced Toric’s Dagger and handed it to her cousin, who drew it from its new scabbard and studied it carefully.

  ‘So this blade killed Erkindrix?’ he asked wonderingly.

  ‘We brought it back,’ said Belwynn. ‘It just took a little longer than expected.’

  ‘I had total faith,’ said Edgar, grinning. ‘But what to do with it now? From what you say, returning it to Toric’s Temple isn’t the wisest move.’

  ‘I hope we will gain some answers tomorrow,’ said Soren. ‘Szabolcs has been researching the history of the weapons. He tells me he has more substantial information than he did in the summer.’

  Edgar nodded, returning the weapon into Belwynn’s keeping.

  ‘Then I for one am looking forward to what tomorrow brings, a day that was already threatening to be very busy. But now my bed is calling me.’

  The early morning event of the day was a service celebrating Walter’s elevation to the duchy. After a quick breakfast, they left the house to walk the short distance to the cathedral, leaving Evander and Lyssa behind.

  Mingling outside Coldeberg Cathedral was a veritable who’s who of the Brasingian aristocracy, not to mention representatives of states beyond the Empire’s borders. Between Edgar and Farred, there were few individuals their group were not familiar with, and they found themselves greeted by a bewildering array of powerful figures, Theron struggling to keep up with so many new faces.

  Baldwin himself was there, accompanied by his queen, Hannelore. It was the first time Belwynn had ever seen Hannelore. She was tall and full-figured, her brunette hair elaborately piled on top of her head, making her appear even taller. Their children accompanied them: two daughters about to enter adolescence and a younger boy. The children seemed somewhat shy and stood to one side of the gathering, until someone familiar approached them and engaged them in conversation.

  Hannelore’s father was Arne, Duke of Luderia, and his son and heir was Tobias. The whole family had the same, large framed look to them, but whereas the men, Belwynn felt, ended up looking corpulent, Hannelore looked shapely, turning the heads of those present. Arne had been a defender at Burkhard Castle, and came over to talk with Farred and to introduce himself and his son to everyone else. He was friendly, down to earth, and proud of his family.

  Most of the other great men of the Empire were also here with their entourages. Duke Coen of Thesse, energetic and bald headed, spoke at length with Edgar. Archbishop Godfrey, ruler of Gotbeck, had the kind of voice that could be heard wherever he happened to be standing. And, of course, Walter himself came over to see them, enquiring about the house he had chosen for them. There was a touch of humour in his eyes as he asked, all of them recalling the first time when they had met, on the road from Coldeberg to Essenberg, when he and his soldiers had intervened at the last minute and saved them from Gervase Salvinus.

  ‘Any news of him?’ asked Edgar, a hungry look in his eyes, as if he could not wait to hear that the man was dead.

  ‘Possibly in Cordence, last I heard,’ said Walter. His humour had disappeared. ‘Unfortunately, men like him can always find new work.’

  From beyond the Empire had come a collection of chieftains from the Midder Steppe. They strolled around in their flowing kaftans, with their distinctive long hair tied behind them. There was a delegation from Guivergnais, and one from Cordence. Queen Hajna was there, along with Szabolcs, talking quietly with Gustav, the Archmage of the Empire. They, of course, attracted the most stares. For the vast majority of guests, this was the first time they had lain eyes on a Caladri, and their clawed feet, bird-like head swivels, and delicate frames marked them out as something alien and other.

  The last group of guests to emerge onto the cathedral precincts, guided by Rainer the chamberlain, were three Krykkers. Once Belwynn’s group had been seen they came striding over in their direction, swords strapped to their belts, as if they were marching to war rather than attending a church service.

  Belwynn smiled, for the Krykker in the middle wore an eye patch: Rabigar. He smiled too, giving her a rough hug when he reached them. Flanking him were Maragin, chief of Rabigar’s clan, the Grendals, and Guremar, the stern faced chief of clan Plengas. They made a bee line for Theron, each clasping his arm in greeting, a mark of their respect for him as a warrior who had fought by their side. Belwynn could tell that he was pleased: finally, Theron was the one with connections. Meanwhile, many of the other guests were staring at the Krykkers as a curiosity. With the armour-like skin covering their torsos; Rabigar’s eye patch; the fact that Maragin was carrying a sword as large as the men’s; and the confident, bordering on superior way in which the Krykkers stared back at the humans, there was something slightly menacing about them.

  Now that everyone had assembled in one place, Rainer was keen to press on with the programme, and began politely coercing people into the cathedral. Belwynn’s group filed through two sets of doors into the nave, which stretched before them, a huge space both length-ways and in height. The vaulted ceiling of the cathedral must have been thirty metres high, and the myriad conversations taking place echoed around the vast space.

  Wooden pews filled out the space, with a clear path down the centre. Ushers were on hand to take the guests to their seats. The Magnians were allocated to one of the pews in the middle of the nave. Belwynn looked about, watching as the seats quickly filled. She didn’t envy Rainer the headache of organising such an event. Not only did he have to decide who made the guest list in the first place, but then where they should sit. Not everyone would end up where they felt they deserved to be. Did a count from Kalinth outrank a chief from the Midder Steppe, for example? There was surely no definitive answer, but somehow everyone was seated without incident and the ceremony could begin.

  The bishop of Coldeberg ascended his podium and began to welcome his unusual congregation. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it.

  Do we know him? she asked Soren.

  Soren already had the bored expression he used in churches, but perked up when he heard the question. He placed one hand onto the staff that had become his sight aid and focused on the man who, though young looking, was talking in a rich, smooth voice.

  Ancel, he said definitively. The priest who found us in Essenberg and took us to see Decker.

  He was right. They had been caught in two minds about where to go, fearing that Emeric’s agents in the city were waiting for them. Ancel had led them to a side door in Essenberg Cathedral, and Decker had then taken them underground, via the Crypt of the Dukes of Kelland, to Baldwin’s Castle.

  You’re right, she agreed. But how is it that he is now the Bishop of Coldeberg?

  I don’t fully know the politics of it, Soren said. But presumably, the previous Bishop of Coldeber
g was the one who crowned Emeric as a king. Baldwin will have wasted no time in ejecting him and needed a replacement. No doubt Decker recommended Ancel, who I suppose is someone they can trust.

  Yes, said Belwynn. But that means they have replaced both duke and bishop with Kellishmen. That surely can’t be popular.

  Well, they defeated the Barissian rebels in battle. I think Baldwin is more concerned with asserting his authority than being popular.

  That said, and with Ancel moving from his introduction to his sermon, Soren placed his staff on the floor in front of him, adjusted his position to get more comfortable, and closed his eyes.

  Since the Brasingian Church worshipped many gods, Ancel’s sermon was theologically vague and, Belwynn believed, had nothing in it to offend the ears of most of the guests, be they Middians, Cordentines, or even Caladri. Compared to Elana’s ideas it lacked a singleness of purpose. Belwynn was interested in the references to Lady Alexia, however, who provided protection to the people. She remembered something Hajna had said once, that she had taken little notice of at the time. Hajna had equated her goddess, Onella, with Elana’s Madria, and also with Alexia. Were they one and the same, worshipped by different peoples under different names?

  After expounding on the duties that Walter owed to the Barissian people, and on the obligations they had to him in return, Ancel and his audience seemed satisfied with the ceremony and stood up, before filing out of the building.

  Their next destination was Coldeberg Castle, as the guests of Walter and Baldwin. It was a short walk to the castle, where Walter’s hall was already set up with tables of food and drink. The Magnians sat around a table with the three Krykkers. Belwynn took something but it was so soon after breakfast that she wasn’t hungry, and anyway, she hadn’t come all this way to eat, drink and be merry. She wasn’t the only one who felt this way and within a few minutes the tension in the hall grew, conversations became muted or stopped altogether, and the gathering waited for someone to speak.

  Into the void came a bang from the top table, and everyone turned to face Walter, who had read the mood.

  ‘Thank you all for being here. I am not a man for ceremony, so I would like to turn our collective attention away from myself and my new responsibilities, and to the real reason why most of you have been invited here. Everyone attending today, in different ways, to a larger or smaller degree, has experienced the threat posed by Ishari. Only recently have we started to unite together to face it. Late, but I hope not too late. There is much we can do here. There are individual alliances to be made. If I know my brother at all, I know the Emperor is itching to speak with the leaders, or their representatives, of the other nations who have graciously agreed to his invitation.’

  Heads turned to Baldwin, seated next to the new duke. He looked older than Belwynn remembered, more grey in his hair now, but he was still a formidable presence in the room. He held his hands in the air, ‘he knows me,’ he conceded grudgingly, with a smile, before gesturing to his brother to continue.

  ‘But,’ continued Walter, ‘we have agreed that first, we must address the most difficult issue, or at least the issue that the Emperor and I find the most difficult. Magic. Whatever anyone’s personal feelings on this issue, it cannot be ignored. Last year Ishari used magic to destroy the Grand Caladri, they used magic to aid their invasion of the Empire, and it has been used in many other ways. In turn, magic had a role to play in the death of Erkindrix, the event that arguably spared many of us from further disaster. Anyone who is not comfortable with the topic is not required to stay and hear this. But the truth is, magic will play a role in the future, too, and if we pretend otherwise, we are giving the enemy an advantage.’

  There was a pause, then, between Walter taking his seat and Gustav getting to his feet. It allowed some to leave the room. Queen Hannelore quietly vacated her seat, along with her children. Archbishop Godfrey left much more loudly, not able to resist uttering dire warnings about the use of magic. But most people stayed.

  ‘Amid the battles, sieges and other acts of war,’ Gustav started, calmly and clearly, ‘a second conflict raged last summer. It revolved around weapons, and this conflict was started by none other than Duke Emeric, in alliance with Erkindrix. Emeric’s servants attempted to steal a holy weapon, Toric’s Dagger, from Magnia. Not only was this attempt foiled by the Magnians, but a small group of them went further, to Edeleny itself, where they took a second weapon, Onella’s Staff, before Arioc could get his hands on it. The Krykkers, sensing the threat, raised an army and took their own weapon, Bolivar’s Sword, deep into Haskany, where together with the Kalinthians they inflicted a defeat on the Isharites. Finally, this group of Magnians went one step further, getting into Samir Durg itself, where the staff and dagger were used to kill Erkindrix himself.’

  Gustav then gestured at their table. Not everyone in the room knew of these events, and many turned to look at Belwynn and the others with curiosity. Rabigar did not hesitate, getting to his feet and drawing Bolivar’s Sword from its scabbard, before holding it in the air for all to see. Somewhat more self-consciously, Belwynn and Soren also rose, revealing the weapons they carried.

  ‘So,’ continued Gustav, ‘events would have turned out rather worse without these weapons. It turns out, however, that there may be seven of them altogether. As I have said, the Isharites were keen to get their hands on these weapons for themselves, or at least to prevent us from using them. It would be logical to presume, therefore, that it would be in our interests to find the remaining four. To do so, we need to know two things. What they are, and where they are. Master Szabolcs of the Blood Caladri has spent the winter consulting the ancient texts of his people, and has found that these histories will help us in this respect. So, I invite him now to address us.’

  The aged Szabolcs stood up and turned to address the room.

  ‘I have been instructed by my Queen to keep this simple,’ he said with a self-deprecating smile. ‘She believes there may be little general interest in the sources I have used to ascertain my information. So here it is. Many years ago, when the Isharites first invaded Dalriya, they were resisted by the peoples of our world, who fought together. Lady Onella, known in the Empire as Lady Alexia, provided us with the seven weapons that Gustav has mentioned. These weapons were used to fight a war with the Isharites, a war that ended with an event known as the Cracking of the World. The texts say that this is when the continents of Dalriya and Halvia split apart.’

  Murmurs greeted this assertion, but Szabolcs continued.

  ‘Each of the seven weapons was then taken home by a champion, to be kept safe should it be needed again. Time has passed and much of this story has since been forgotten, or corrupted into stories and songs.’

  ‘Not by us,’ Belwynn heard Guremar say under his breath.

  ‘And so, to the weapons themselves. The Caladri took away the staff. The Krykkers, the sword. The Lippers had the dagger, later taken from them by the Magnians.’

  Belwynn knew all this. Now, it was going to get very interesting.

  ‘The humans took back a shield. It was not easy to find where they took it. Our texts gave them a different name them, but I am now sure that they were referring to the Persaleians.’

  Mutterings of dissension could be heard in the room, at the idea that the great enemy and conqueror of Brasingia, the Persaleians, were the heroes of this story.

  The Empire grows arrogant, said Soren darkly as he observed the response from the Brasingian nobility.

  ‘To the north,’ Szabolcs continued, ‘the Jalakh people took a bow. To the west, in Halvia, a people known to the Caladri as the Orias, but commonly known as the Giants, took a spear.’

  Now the mutterings in the hall got louder, and there was laughter at the idea of Giants.

  Giants? Belwynn asked Soren.

  I have read of their existence, her brother replied. But they must have died out years ago.

  Szabolcs persevered, though his voice now struggled to be heard.
‘Finally, a people referred to as the Asrai. They are the most obscure by far. The weapon is referred to as a cloak, or coat. The location given appears to be somewhere in the Lantinen Sea. I could speculate that their lands were submerged when the Cracking caused a great flood, but—I can’t be sure.’

  Belwynn could see that this had not gone well. There were those—the Caladri, the Krykkers—who believed everything Szabolcs had said. There were others—the Cordentines, Guivergnais, the majority of the Brasingians—who now thought the entire subject ridiculous.

  Baldwin stood. Walter angrily banged a cup on the table for silence.

  ‘At this point I will pass this matter on to my Archmage, who will discuss it further with those who wish to make a contribution.’

  He’s washing his hands of it, said Belwynn.

  Don’t be surprised, Soren replied. His head is full of supply requests, military affairs. He has no understanding of this. We should feel lucky he agreed to raise it in the first place.

  ‘As my brother said, I am now holding talks with the other leaders of Dalriya or their representatives. I will not bring advisers—no Dukes of Brasingia, not even my brother. I hope the other leaders can do the same, to keep the numbers small and the meeting efficient. Please, step this way to my apartments.’

  The Krykkers looked at one another.

  ‘He’s not coming,’ said Guremar, jabbing a thumb at Rabigar.