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

by Hamilton, Duncan M.

  Soren could not stop himself from hoping that the answers he was looking for would be there. Each day that he lived with the Gift raised more questions and to be faced with the prospect of being so close to having them answered was tantalising. He stepped forward quickly, remembering the drone he had seen from the campanile.

  A short flight of steps beneath the portico led up to the doors, massive and wooden. As with the others, this building was in perfect condition. The door of the College looked as though it was freshly varnished, and it made him wonder. The city gate had been badly weathered; this door was pristine. Why would that be?

  He touched the surface of the door gently at first and then with more confidence. It was smooth and solid, and most certainly not just his eyes playing tricks on him. Could these doors really have gone untouched for nearly a millennium and remained in such perfect condition, despite all those years of wind and rain?

  As he pushed, the door moved as though its hinges had been recently greased. His mind raced. His natural curiosity was piqued to a point of mania, but he was also nervous, afraid, and exhausted. His head pounded and fatigue made it difficult to order his thoughts. He stepped inside and closed the doors, shoving across a large iron latch to secure them. He had never heard of a drone being able to open a door. Smashing them down was an entirely different question, which he preferred not to dwell on.

  From there he passed through a large vestibule, which was painted white. It was austere but there was something serene and beautiful about its simplicity. He continued through another set of doors and into a room that had clearly been designed to overwhelm every person who stepped into it for the first time; perhaps every time.

  It was the central room of the rotunda, one vast open space beneath the dome that bore the mottled greens and blues of verdigris on the exterior, but was highly polished bronze on the inside. Like the vestibule, the walls were white; no trace of colour anywhere. The room was lit by an oculus in the centre of the dome, which allowed enough light in to see, but little more, bestowing a calm and peaceful atmosphere. The majority of the room was occupied by a circular pool of still, clear water that was surrounded by a low stone wall. The light from the oculus made the water appear as though it was glowing.

  He walked around the edge of the pool, his gaze still locked on the dome above and the opening in its centre. He felt an enormous sense of peace, a marked contrast to the way he had felt before entering the building. Even his headache had eased a little.

  Feeling safe for the first time since encountering the drones, Soren sat on the wall surrounding the pool, allowing himself a moment’s rest. The water was utterly still, the surface like glass. He dragged himself away with reluctance when the ache in his legs subsided to a bearable level.

  There were four large and ornately carved archways equally spaced around the room, one of which he had entered through. Each archway contained a pair of chestnut coloured wooden doors. Soren walked toward the nearest pair and pushed them open. He was not sure what to expect, and his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. As the door swung open his heart was in his throat and he wondered what would be on the other side. Would it be another architectural marvel to rival the one he had just been in, or would it be a drone brandishing savage weapons?

  It proved to be neither. There was only a long straight corridor on the other side that ran parallel with the front of the building. One side was lined with windows, each pane of which was intact, while the other side was lined with more modest doors, which one would expect to have offices behind them. The floor was of highly polished wood that also appeared to have received its last buffing only hours before. It made him wonder once again if there were people hiding from him. It seemed unlikely, but no more unlikely than the condition the building was in if it had lain empty for so long.

  The library was what he was looking for and it didn’t seem likely that it was to be found behind any of these doors, so he returned to the domed room. He took the next exit, that opposite the doors he had first entered through. It led outside to a large, cloistered quadrangle, enclosed by four story buildings. A path leading away from the doorway and on to the buildings on the opposite side divided the quadrangle. There were two towers on the opposite side of the square, on either side of the path.

  Soren walked toward the marble monument in the centre of the square. The two towers were the tallest buildings there, half as high again as the surrounding buildings and at least as tall as the campanile he had climbed, perhaps taller. On either side of the path there was the same dead, grey soil that he had noticed as he had neared the walls of the city. It appeared that they had once been lawns or gardens, but now were devoid of life, much like the city and the island.

  The monument proved to be a circular fountain with a statue of a heroically stylised mage at its centre. Any water had long since dried up but there was a stain along the inside showing where it had once been. Walking around the fountain, he made his way toward the opposite side of the quadrangle. The towers did not appear to have any entrance until he had passed them. Covered bridges, two stories up and similar in style to the quadrangle’s arcades, connected each tower to the building closing off the quadrangle’s far side. The bridges curved gracefully through the air and appeared to be the only means of access. Ahead of him, an arch passed underneath the building giving access to another quadrangle on the other side.

  A large hall dominated the centre of the next quadrangle, jutting out from the opposite side. It made the quad seem more like three connected courtyards forming a ‘u’ around the hall. There was a door on the narrow side facing him. In his mind there was only one purpose this building could serve. He approached the doors and pushed them open, to be greeted by a familiar sight.

  Chapter 11

  The Library

  The library of the College of Mages was similar to the libraries in the academies in Ostenheim and Auracia. The only real difference was the scale. The library in Ostenheim where Soren had studied would have easily fit into this one four or five times over. Additionally, where there had been great gaps along the shelves there, the consequences of the purge, here, the shelves were packed to capacity. He felt a shiver run along his spine. So much forgotten knowledge lay on the shelves, and perhaps also the answers to all of his questions.

  There were book-filled shelves everywhere. There was a central block of them splitting the room in two, and they lined the walls on three levels. Metal spiral staircases provided access to the two mezzanine levels, where windows were the only interruption to the rows of books. Shelves also extended out from the walls, creating bays in between, which were filled with desks and chairs. Hundreds could study there at any one time. It was much like the other libraries he had been in, but on a far larger scale.

  The windows filled the room with light, but there were also ornate chandeliers hanging from the vaulted roof, containing hundreds of small mage lamps that would have ensured work could continue there long after sunset.

  As he looked at the shelves on the three levels, packed with an array of different coloured book spines, the enormity of the task struck him and he wondered if the time he had until the Honest Christophe returned would allow him to scratch the surface of the information there.

  He set his pack down on the desk in one of the bays on the central block and began to look around, wondering where to begin. The one thing he could be certain of was that the purge had not reached this library; there were simply too many books. He did not know what value there was on those shelves in monetary terms, but he had no doubt that there were those who would pay handsomely for the secrets contained within.

  There was something about the prospect of that knowledge being out in the world once again that sent a shiver down his spine. All the secrets of the mages, good and malevolent alike. There was no doubting that he could use the money, but some things would never be worth it.

  The legends of a curse over the Isles were clearly successful at keeping treasure hunters
and looters away, but if his presence there led to the sea route between the islands being reopened it would only be a matter of time before greed, desperation or ill luck led to someone making landfall and exploring the city, despite the fear and superstition surrounding it. It would not be long after that before someone managed to avoid the drones, or perhaps even destroy however many were left and all that forbidden knowledge would make its way out of this prison. Perhaps as a banneret, and the only one possessed of the same skills as the original bannerets, it was his responsibility to ensure that this knowledge was destroyed once and for all, as soon as he had found what he was looking for.

  He returned to the desk and began to lay his things out. First was a small mage lamp that he brought to allow him to continue working into the night, although it would clearly be redundant with all of the chandeliers above. Next, his parcels of dried food, a notebook, pen and ink. There seemed to be little reason to look for anywhere else to sleep. He would need to work every moment that he could, so he laid his blanket on the wooden floor beside the desk.

  He was about to begin exploring the shelves when he heard a sound at the far end of the library. He had bolted the doors shut after he had come in. Could a drone have gotten in by some other way? He drew his sword and dagger and peered out of his bay and down the aisle. He felt the slight tingling on his skin that often indicated the presence of large and unnatural concentrations of the energy that seemed to bring on the Gift. More than he would have expected from a single drone. More than he would expect from two. His heart raced as he waited for several drones to hover into view. For the second time that day he found himself in expectation of death.

  He stepped out of the bay as quietly as possible. Did drones respond to noise as they did voice commands? He slowly made his way down the left hand side of the aisle, crouched in a low fighting stance. He cautiously peered around each bookshelf before proceeding past until he finally came to the last bay in the library. There was a sound of a page being flipped over. He took a deep breath and stepped past the shelf and into the bay.

  An old man sat at the desk, which was covered with stacks of books and pieces of paper. He had a neat grey beard and equally grey, swept back hair that receded at his temples. The most striking thing about him was a pair of crystal blue eyes. He held up his index finger, indicating that he was aware of Soren’s presence but too busy to address him. Soren opened his mouth in bemusement. The old man did not lift his head from the book he was reading. There didn’t appear to be any immediate threat, so there was nothing to be gained by killing the man. Still though, Soren did not know how to proceed.

  Eventually the old man spoke. ‘Take a seat. I’ll only be a moment longer,’ he said, with a smooth, rich voice and unaccented Imperial. In the absence of any better ideas, Soren sheathed his weapons, pulled a chair out from the opposite side of the desk and sat.

  The old man continued studying his book for a moment longer before closing it and switched his attention to Soren.

  ‘Well,’ the old man said, ‘I suspected someone had entered the city, but it’s been such a long time; I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘You seem to have the advantage of me, sir,’ Soren said.

  ‘Indeed I do.’ The old man looked at Soren, his blue eyes scrutinising him intensely. ‘My name is Berengarius. While I have an inkling of what you are, I’m afraid I don’t actually know who you are…’

  ‘I’m Banneret Soren.’

  ‘A banneret. As I thought. Are there many of your kind remaining?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Soren said. ‘A great many.’ He wondered how long the old man had been there.

  ‘Really?’ Berengarius said. ‘I had thought that after so long there would not be many of you left. None in fact. Surprising. Very surprising indeed.’

  ‘I think perhaps the title of “Banneret” as you know it, has changed,’ Soren said, suspecting now that the old man had been there for a very long time.

  ‘That might be the case,’ Berengarius said, nodding his head slowly, but not breaking his intense stare. ‘Not with you though, I think.’

  This came as a shock to Soren. He could not fathom how this man knew anything about him, or his gift.

  ‘And just what is it that you think I am?’

  ‘Well, a banneret of course. But a banneret of my meaning,’ Berengarius said. ‘Which I think you understand.’

  Soren was reluctant to reveal anything. This stranger already seemed to know far more about him than he was comfortable with. ‘I’m not sure if I do.’

  ‘Why don’t you explain your understanding of the term to me then and mayhap we will clarify things,’ Berengarius said.

  ‘A banneret is a trained swordsman, who has studied at an academy of swordsmanship and has the right to carry their own banner into battle.’

  ‘Ah. What are these academies? And there are many such men?’

  ‘They’re schools for a martial education. There are many men trained in the sword and entitled to call themselves “Banneret”.’

  ‘I understand. But how many of them are like you?’ Berengarius said, emphasising the last word.

  ‘Again, I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’ Soren felt his grip tighten on his sword.

  ‘Yes, I think you do,’ Berengarius said. ‘I also think a mere treasure seeker would have found his way to the Palace before ever seeking out a dusty old library,’ Berengarius said. He held Soren’s gaze with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. ‘Perhaps you don’t know. Only suspect. Interesting.’

  It was cryptic and tantalising, but Soren wanted to know more about this man before he revealed anything. ‘And you?’ he said. ‘You’re a mage?’

  Berengarius laughed. ‘No, not a mage. Just a librarian; tasked with the custody of this library many years ago and for some reason affected by the same power that keeps this place and everything in it from falling apart, but in my case perhaps not so well as I’d like.’

  It was a reasonable explanation, but Soren was not convinced. Berengarius could be a malevolent old mage, controlling the drones. Equally, they could be rogues and the old man might be prisoner to the safety of the walled college campus. There was no way to know, but Soren would have to keep his guard up.

  ‘Walk with me,’ Berengarius said. ‘I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with another person in a very long time.’

  He stood and walked around the desk, stretching his back as he did so. ‘This way, please,’ he said, gesturing toward the door.

  Soren followed.

  Chapter 12

  A New Friend

  ‘You’re here for answers then?’

  Soren wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. He was already uncomfortable with how much the old man seemed to know, but if he was the librarian, then he would be able to help Soren with his search. He had no reason to trust the old man, but the assistance he could provide was too valuable to dismiss. He’d have to play along.

  ‘Yes,’ Soren said. ‘But I’m not exactly sure to what.’

  ‘Well, it’s the right place for that. Those seeking out an affinity to the science of magic came from all over the world to study here, the College of Mages, to learn how to shape and wield the power that makes magic a possibility.’

  ‘How is it all in such good condition?’ Soren said.

  ‘The library was the centre of the world for the mages. All their knowledge was stored there, so they crafted powerful magics to protect and preserve it. The magic is so strong it has extended across the city, but it weakens as you move away from the library.’

  It explained a lot, including why the city gate had been in poor condition while the door to the college looked new. That the magic was still in effect after so long was impressive. They exited the library and continued on through the archway and into the square on the other side.

  Berengarius stopped and surveyed the grey soil between the paths and sighed. ‘This was once such a beautiful garden. A quiet and restful place for co
ntemplation. Nothing will grow here anymore, despite my best efforts. I struggle to remember what it once looked like,’ Berengarius said. He gestured to the left. ‘We’re headed this way.’

  Soren hesitated. ‘I saw some drones when I was coming through the city. Is it safe here? I mean, can they get into the College?’

  ‘Oh, I’d forgotten about the drones. You were lucky to avoid them. You don’t need to worry about them in here.’

  It didn’t answer the question of whether Berengarius controlled them, and Soren wanted to ask why he needn’t worry, but he feared pressing further would reveal that he had destroyed two of them, and he had no idea what kind of reaction that would provoke.

  They walked in silence for a while before the old man spoke again. ‘When did you first notice that you are different?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure really. It’s just normal for me. It was only when one of my instructors at the Academy commented on my level of ability that I thought there was something unusual about it. He suggested it might have something to do with what he called the “Gift of Grace”,’ Soren said.

  Berengarius nodded. ‘Describe to me how it manifests itself.’

  ‘It’s always there to some degree. I’ve always been fast. I thought that was just the way I was, but the masters at the Academy watch hundreds of young men pass through there, and I was the fastest they had ever seen. Then there were some incidents where the effect became very noticeable, even to me. Everything around me seemed to slow down, but I kept moving at my normal speed,’ Soren said.

  ‘It’s what I thought. What you have experienced is indeed called the “Gift of Grace”. Your master was correct in this. Once there were many men who had this gift. These were the men that I knew as bannerets, and this is where many of them lived and trained,’ he said.