The Huntsman's Amulet (Society of the Sword Volume 2)

by Hamilton, Duncan M.

  THE HUNTSMAN’S AMULET

  Also by Duncan M. Hamilton

  Society of the Sword Trilogy

  The Tattered Banner

  Copyright © Duncan M. Hamilton 2013

  All Rights Reserved

  The right of Duncan M. Hamilton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  THE HUNTSMAN’S AMULET

  Society of the Sword, Volume II

  Duncan M. Hamilton

  Chapter 1

  The Watching Assassin

  Macchio Ferrata stood atop a building that provided an unobstructed view of the street below. There was only one person visible, walking slowly as though he had nowhere in particular to go, but Ferrata knew there were two others concealed. He stroked his thin moustache.

  Of the man in the street, Ferrata knew only two things for certain. The first was his name and the second was that he had made some very powerful enemies. How or why, Ferrata did not know. The price he was being paid to kill this man did make him curious though. For a man with no titles or fame to warrant the bounty of a duke or a prince was a very unusual thing. Ferrata had killed a duke, but he had not been paid nearly so much for that.

  All of the evidence suggested that one way or another, this man was very dangerous. Ferrata had not lived this long by being reckless, so his first act — which saw him standing atop the building — was to see for himself just how dangerous.

  He gestured with his hand and one of the two concealed men moved out of his hiding place and aimed a crossbow. The thrum of its string was barely audible in the evening air as Ferrata crouched to watch the little show he had arranged for himself. If it resulted in the man’s death, Ferrata would have made himself a great deal of money for very little work. If it didn’t, he would know exactly what he was dealing with.

  Soren had called a halt to his search long after darkness had descended, as he had each evening since he arrived in Auracia. The optimism with which he had initially approached his task, telling himself each day that this was the day that he would find her, had long since waned. Now he forced himself from his cot each morning, progressively later, and made his way out into the city expecting to find exactly what he had the previous day: nothing.

  He had spent every waking hour walking the streets, hoping to catch sight of Alessandra or find some clue as to where she might be. He had been inside every tavern, inn, whorehouse and religious house in the city, but it was as though she had never been there.

  As he made his way through the streets back toward his inn, he began to wonder how much city remained to be searched. He was already beginning to fear a reality he did not want to accept.

  A clatter behind him tugged at his attention. He didn’t pay it much thought at first, but its source invaded his mental lethargy. It had been the sound of the metal tip of a crossbow bolt striking the brick wall of the building behind him.

  With the connection finally made he dashed toward the entrance to an alley a few paces further down the street. Once in he pressed himself against the building’s wall. It was several stories high, and he hoped it would put him out of sight of whoever had fired. There was only one person who had any reason to want to kill him, but Soren had hoped that he had gone far enough to be free of that danger.

  He strained his ears for any sound of movement, but whoever was attacking him seemed to be content to wait for him to come out. At least it meant that, wherever they were, they couldn’t get at him.

  ‘We can wait all night,’ a voice called out.

  It was an Ostian accent, a lilt that Soren had not heard in many weeks.

  ‘Don’t see why I can’t do the same,’ Soren shouted back. He cursed himself. It would have been better to have said nothing. Unless they had both ends of the alley watched, they wouldn’t have known if he was still in there. The only question that remained was if they genuinely were prepared to play a waiting game. If they were hired assassins, he doubted that.

  Soren glanced down the alley. A few paces further along, it turned sharply to the right. Any bowman would have to turn it to get a clear shot at him, which would put them within reach of an energetic lunge. The same was the case for the end Soren had entered through. Short of firing down on him, they would have to come in and face him down with steel.

  He tried to still his breathing as much as possible to listen for any movement. There was still silence and he began to wonder if the assassin — or assassins — were content to sit and try to wait him out.

  Finally he heard movement, the sound of feet hitting the ground, then footsteps. Soren drew both sword and dagger and pressed his back against the wall, silent and motionless.

  A figure appeared at the end Soren had entered, holding blades rather than a bow. Another appeared around the corner opposite, with blades also.

  ‘He said you’d be best taken out from a distance,’ the one at the entrance said.

  ‘Who’s “he”?’ Soren said.

  The figure was silhouetted against the light of the mage lamps on the street. The alley itself was dark. Soren could not see if the man was smiling, but he imagined him to be doing so.

  ‘Guess we’re going to find out if he’s right,’ the man said.

  No sooner had he spoken than his partner pounced. Soren felt the tension that had been building snap like a branch.

  He parried the first strike with his dagger but kept his sword ready: an attack on the other side would not be long in coming. The other man came at him, forcing Soren to fight in two directions at once.

  It had been some time since he had been in a fight, and longer since he had considered using the Gift. He’d been reluctant to try since proving to himself that he couldn’t control it. However, control was not an issue now; if he didn’t kill, he would be killed. He tried to focus on the blue glow, imagining it everywhere as he knew it was — even if normally he couldn’t see it and it was permanently invisible to the vast majority of people.

  It was difficult to imagine it right now. His concentration was needed just to fend off the attacks, which left little to be desired in terms of the skill of their execution. They were not hired thugs, and the only thing that stood in Soren’s favour was that they were being careful. As the talker had indicated, they knew he was dangerous at close quarters and were doing little more than sounding him out, hopeful that the dual assault would be enough to overwhelm him.

  Soren was not able to concentrate enough to see the energy that fed his Gift. There was nowhere for him to retreat, to get the momentary respite that he needed to focus. With tentative, probing attacks against him Soren was holding his own, but as soon as they began their assault in earnest he could be in trouble.

  The man at the entrance took a step back and straightened. ‘Not so dangerous, I don’t think,’ he said. ‘Time to finish this up.’

  Soren parried the strike from the man behind him with his dagger and took advantage of the few seconds that had been given to him. He forced all other thoughts out of his mind and the world flashed with a benign blue glow. It wasn’t particularly strong, but it was enough. As soon as he released the thought everything returned to normal. The man at the entrance attacked again, committing his full body, not just his arm. Despite moving far faster, he appeared slower. Soren turned his body square to the attack, not worried about anything coming at him from behind: there would be plenty of time to deal with that. He parried the attacker’s sword to his left and thrust. The sword blade punched through the man’s chest, a fatal
strike. His eyes were just beginning to widen with surprise as Soren pulled his sword free and turned to face the second attacker.

  He was in the process of striking at Soren’s back, but in the grip of the Gift he appeared to be moving at less than half pace. Soren parried with sword, thrust his dagger into the man’s chest and finished it with a slash of his sword that cut the man’s neck almost to the backbone.

  Soren sheathed his weapons. He thought of inspecting the bodies, but he was certain he knew who had sent them, and while any coin they were carrying would have been useful he didn’t want it. He jogged out onto the street and returned to walking pace when he got there. Auracia was a violent city and the discovery of two well-armed men’s bodies would not cause any great fuss. Nonetheless, it would be better for Soren if he were nowhere near them when that discovery was made.

  Aside from that, once the effects of the Gift faded he would be exhausted. Not having called upon it for so long he had no idea how debilitating it would be, but he did not want to be in the open street when he found out. He was already beginning to feel a little nauseated, not something he had felt since his early days experimenting with the Gift. It was not a good sign.

  The man walked out of the alley shortly after the sound of clashing metal stopped. He looked none the worse for the episode, and Ferrata sighed. The men he had hired came well recommended. They had not lasted long, but he’d never expected that they would. Nevertheless he had allowed himself to get his hopes up for an easy job and a large payday.

  There were more pleasant ways to spend one’s time than chasing a man across the world and killing him, but it seemed that he would have to continue for a little time yet. Despite the inconvenience, there was something about this one that fascinated Ferrata. He wondered what it would be like to fight him one to one.

  Chapter 2

  The City of Auracia

  Niccolo’s inn was quiet; none of the groups of sailors that often congregated by the bar were there. Soren slumped down on a bar stool in relief and waited for the waves of fatigue to wash over him. By the time the innkeeper had put a mug of ale in front of him, Soren was barely able to lift it.

  Niccolo’s was usually quiet; one of the reasons Soren chose it. The waterfront district of the city had seen better days but had never been the most desirable of places to stay, and Niccolo’s was right in its centre. It was a solid brick building, but old, and Soren doubted if anyone living would be able to recall when it was last decorated. The furniture was old and worn but functional, and there was a damp, musty smell about the place.

  There was never anyone to bother him, apart from the innkeeper, but even he ignored Soren most of the time. On a typical day, perhaps a dozen people would pass through the inn, sometimes more in the evenings, but they tended to keep to themselves.

  ‘You gonna pay for that?’ the innkeeper said. He stood on the other side of the bar wiping a glass, looking out the corner of his eye at Soren. It was clear that he would not stop without an answer.

  ‘I’ve coin. I’ll pay when the rest of my bill is due at the end of the week,’ Soren said. His coin was close to running out, and he was still no closer to his reason for coming to Auracia than he had been when he arrived.

  He stood and picked up his mug before shuffling over to a table at the other side of the large room that made up the lower level of the inn. It was as much distance as he could put between him and the innkeeper without going outside, and about as much as he thought he could manage without further rest. Even that short distance caused his legs to burn and his mind to swim in dizziness. He hoped the signal that he wished to be left in peace was clear.

  Some men came into the bar. Soren sighed. Men meant noise, and more often than not they would be looking for conversation. Perhaps they would not see him in the dim taproom, but it was unlikely. He could always hope though, he thought.

  ‘A round of drinks please, innkeeper; whatever you have on tap!’ one of the men said. ‘Ho there, friend! Can we get you a drink?’ the man shouted in Soren’s direction.

  Soren held up his still half full mug and sloshed it for them to see, forcing a smile as he did, not wanting to appear completely ungrateful.

  ‘Perhaps later then, my friend.’ He turned back to the bar, and his companions.

  Soren felt a little churlish. They were just trying to be friendly. He could tell that they were not Auracian, but he could not place the accent.

  ‘We’ve been at sea for two weeks, and not in this city for more than three months. What’s been happening in this part of the world?’ the generous man said to the innkeeper.

  ‘Not much of anything — usually the case these days. Your news of the north is probably fresher than our own. There’s more fighting between the other cities of the Principalities in the south, but there’s nothing new in that.’

  Soren let the chatter of the men drift into the background as he fell back into his thoughts, a place he spent much of his waking time these days. He had been in Auracia for nearly two weeks. His initial elation at having escaped a prison cell and the headsman’s block in Ostenheim had flagged as his days melded into what felt like a purposeless existence. He’d come to the city expecting to find Alessandra, naively it seemed.

  When he thought of it he realised his recent actions sounded like a ridiculous romance story; the brave and heroic swordsman finally reunited with his great love. The main difference was that Soren didn’t feel brave, and he certainly wasn’t heroic. Of the two factions in Ostia, he was disgraced with one and it now seemed the target for assassination by the other; the one that was currently, and for the foreseeable future, in power. It could only have been Amero who sent those men to kill him.

  Auracia wasn’t a large city. Smaller than Ostenheim, so he had thought it would be easy to find her. His expectations proved sorely misplaced. He was rapidly running out of places to search, but what looked to be his best and possibly last hope of finding her would come the next day. Despite the fatigue, the nausea and the headache left behind by the Gift — as much a sign of his neglect of it as of its recent use — the thought made him feel better than he had in some time.

  The Harbour Master of Auracia, who professed himself too busy to answer Soren’s questions whenever he had called unannounced, had finally agreed to meet him. The other workers around the harbour had been of little help, but he hoped that the Harbour Master would be different. They were always hazy on the coming and goings of ships more than a week or two previously. The titbits of information they offered up rarely agreed and were often contradictory. The only thing of use they had been able to tell him was that the Harbour Master kept extensive records and knew each and every ship that was a regular visitor to the harbour as though they were old friends.

  Soren stood next to the counter in the Harbour Master’s office, doing his best to contain his impatience.

  ‘From Ostenheim, y’say?’ the Harbour Master said. He was lounging in a captain’s chair behind the counter, and it did not look as though he got out of it very often.

  Soren nodded. ‘Ostenheim.’

  ‘Sailed five weeks ago, y’say?’

  ‘Five weeks.’ The conversation was grindingly slow, but he needed this man’s help and had to remain polite.

  ‘Your wife?’

  Soren nodded again.

  ‘Sure she wants to be found?’

  Soren smiled, but it was difficult to conceal just how desperate he was for this information.

  The man scratched his chin and thought for a moment. ‘A ship that takes female passengers travelling alone between Ostenheim and Auracia. Not every ship will take passengers, fewer still lady folk. Won’t have the facilities to see to a lady’s… needs. Some captains won’t even have women on board at sea. Sailors’ superstitions. They bring bad luck. So that narrows things down a bit. You’re sure you can’t remember the name of the ship?’

  ‘No. I had to get her out of the city fast. The way things are in Ostenheim now…’

&nb
sp; ‘Aye, more and more people coming through here every day from Ostenheim, Ruripathia an’ all parts between. I just hope that bastard Duke doesn’t set his sights on the south. They say he might when he’s done with the northerners.’

  ‘The ship?’ Soren said, hoping to keep the Harbour Master on track. He had been waiting too long to allow the conversation to go off in another direction.

  ‘Yes, right, the ship. Sailed from Ostenheim ‘bout five weeks ago, so shoulda been here ‘bout a week, ten days after that.’ He took a black ledger book from a shelf behind the counter and began flipping through the pages.

  ‘Four weeks ago,’ he muttered. ‘Right, here we are. Three pages for that week.’ He ran his finger down each page. ‘A few of ‘em were out of Ostenheim.’ He started listing off names and dismissing them. Then he frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ Soren said.

  ‘There was bad weather that week. I’ve three local ships listed as overdue here. I can tell you off the top of my head that none of ‘em have arrived since. By now it’s safe to say they’re lost.’

  ‘And they’re the only ones likely to have been carrying a passenger?’ Soren felt a wave of nausea pass over him. After all that had happened, to think that she might be lost at sea seemed like a cruel joke, and was too difficult to believe.

  The Harbour Master nodded. ‘Reckon the Wind Sprite was the ship we’re lookin’ for. She’s the only one doin’ a regular passenger run up and down the coast that’s likely to take a lady on board. Twelve sailors on her, not counting any passengers.’ He grimaced.

  ‘What if she wasn’t on a local ship, if she came south on an Ostian one? How would I find out about that?’ Soren said, trying to grasp onto any hope. He had convinced himself that he would find what he was looking for here. It had never occurred to him that he would discover something like this.