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

by Hamilton, Duncan M.

  Soren silently cursed Varrisher. It seemed that old habits die hard and Varrisher still tended toward courting attention wherever he could get it. ‘Our goals are the same for the time being, and I wasn’t lying to you when I said that Rui has something that belongs to me. Varrisher’s reasons are his own, mine are as I’ve told you.’

  Qai looked thoughtfully at his glass of whiskey for a moment. He swirled the contents and took a sip. ‘If I furnish information about a member of the Conclave to one outside of it, I breach my accords. Enemy or not, if I were to do this, the other members of the Conclave would view me with the same disfavour that they currently have for Sancho Rui. He’s our problem and we will deal with him in our own way. That is the rule of the Conclave, one of the tenets of the Accords that we all signed.

  ‘There’s something else that I can tell you though, which can be considered common knowledge, but may not be known to you and Captain Varrisher as newcomers. It’s no secret that the Conclave has divided the Isles up into territories, where each member of the Conclave has the exclusive right to operate. Rui is not happy that he cannot land in Valkdorf.’

  ‘I know that it’s considered the best place to unload plunder in the Isles,’ Soren said.

  ‘More so, with the war. The Ostians have always policed the coast as far as the border with Shandahar to protect their merchants. Now though, all of those warships are in the North, and the mainland coast is fertile ground much farther north than it ever was before. Rui was the first of us to realise it. Sailing back and forth between his territory in the western isles and the east coast takes time; time that could be spent plundering merchant ships.’ Ramiro paused and smiled, not continuing until he was sure that Soren had heard what he had just said.

  Soren realised what Qai was doing. The western isles. He hoped it would mean more to Varrisher than it did him. It was a circuitous way of doing things, but would allow Qai deny having informed on Rui. He nodded and smiled.

  ‘If Rui had managed to kill me with his ambush, this island would have been free for all to use, at least until the Conclave could meet again and reassess the territories, when he would undoubtedly have claimed it. He’s already done well cruising the Auracian coast but when he took a Shandahari ship recently, he put all of that to shame. With that much wealth he’s a threat to everyone in the Conclave. For now though, I expect he will return to his own waters to plan his next move.’ Ramiro paused again for a moment and smiled.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help to you, Banneret. While I’m in your debt for the assistance you gave me, my hands are tied on this issue. I will demand my rights under the Accords from the Conclave, and we’ll soon be seeking him out also. He’s broken our accords and we’ll kill him for it. I’ll use all of my not inconsiderable influence to ensure this happens. If you get in our way, you will be shown no quarter.’

  ‘I think I understand you, Captain Qai,’ Soren said. ‘Thank you for taking the time to see me.’ He drained the last of the whiskey and left.

  Varrisher was much in the same position, standing uncomfortably under the hostile gaze of the pirates, who regarded him with something akin to hungry intent.

  ‘Well?’ said Varrisher.

  ‘Nothing, I’m afraid,’ Soren said, as they started back toward the tavern but while they were still within earshot of the guards around Qai’s house.

  Varrisher cursed, but as soon as they were far enough away not to be overheard, Soren continued.

  ‘He’s headed for his base in the western isles. Ramiro as much as told me, but couldn’t say it outright.’

  ‘Well, that’s better than nothing. West it is. There are still a lot of islands, and a lot of sea to cover, but at least we know what direction to go. Pirates tend to stick near the main shipping channels where there’s plenty of prey, and men like Sancho Rui draw quite a bit of attention to themselves wherever they go,’ Varrisher said.

  Soren reflected that they weren’t the only ones.

  ‘I have to call in on Governor dal Sifridt — or the Bayda as I’m sure he’ll be calling himself before too much longer. I haven’t sailed much farther west in the Isles than we are now, so I’m hoping he may be able to help with some rutters — navigators’ notes — and perhaps some warrants. Technically he’s still an agent of the Ruripathian crown, whatever that may be now, and he might give me letters of marque, which’ll come in useful if we encounter any of the western navies. Seeing as you’re an Ostian, it might be better if you wait at the tavern and I see the Governor on my own.’

  Chapter 28

  The Clothes Make the Man

  Soren spent the rest of the morning wandering about the town. After having spent so much time locked in the cramped filth and stench of the brig on the Bayda’s Tear, there was a great pleasure to be taken from the sunlight and fresh air, and the endless view across the turquoise and ultramarine sea.

  The sounds of the port faded into the background as he sat by the wharf. He leaned back against a thick, coiled anchor cable and closed his eyes. It seemed that only a few seconds had passed when he heard Varrisher’s voice. He was carrying a bulging leather folder.

  ‘I was right, it’s Bayda dal Sifridt now. He was very helpful though. He’s as eager as anyone to keep the pirates under control. Doesn’t want anything to threaten his new title I expect. I’ve letters of marque under his seal as crown representative of Ruripathia and under his own seal as Bayda of Valkdorf as well as some rutters that were confiscated from pirates. I don’t know how reliable they’ll be, but they’re better than nothing.’

  Soren felt a building excitement at the prospect of this new adventure. He was not fond of ships, but the idea of being a pirate hunter — of getting rich and visiting exotic places — was winning him over and pushing the darker thoughts from his mind. They were not forgotten, but they could wait.

  ‘He also told me that a ship has just arrived with some Ruripathian refugees. I’m going to head out to it to see if anyone wants to sign on with the Typhon, but it shouldn’t take long. Other than that there’s no reason to dally here any longer. Each hour we remain lets Rui get farther away and harder to find. The Typhon should be fully provisioned by now. Is there anything else that you need to do before we leave?’ Varrisher said.

  ‘Well, I’ve nothing but the clothes on my back; it would be nice to have some more options in that regard. And I’ll need a new sword. This… thing,’ he held up the crude cutlass that Ramiro’s bo’sun had returned to him after he left, ‘isn’t much better than scrap.’

  Varrisher looked at the cutlass. ‘Yes,’ he said as he pulled a small coin purse from his pocket. ‘The sword I can provide you with from the weapon store on the Typhon. There’re plenty of decent Ruripathian blades there, I expect you’ll find one that suits you. The clothes I can’t help you with, beyond giving you some money and pointing you in the direction of the general store beside the inn. Make sure to get something suitable for life on board a ship though; fine city fashions don’t tend to last long on a man-o’-war. The jolly boat will be waiting at the jetty in thirty minutes. Get what you need and come straight out to the Typhon.’

  Soren left Varrisher and made his way to the general store. Varrisher had given him far more than he thought he would need, given his expectations of what a store in a small town would have available. What greeted him came as a surprise; a shop stuffed with what Soren believed to be the latest fashions, and cluttered with crates likely to be containing more of the same.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a voice from the back of the shop said. A tired looking man came into view and made his way forward.

  ‘I need some new clothes,’ Soren said.

  The man looked him up and down. ‘Yes, you do. Did you have anything in mind?’

  ‘I need some sea-going clothes. I thought two sets, and one set of shore clothes. Nothing too fancy.’

  ‘Come this way, I’ll show you what I have,’ the man said.

  He led Soren toward the back of the shop, w
hich was a single story wooden building that was longer than it was wide.

  ‘I have to say, the amount of stock you have comes as something of a surprise,’ Soren said.

  ‘A few months ago there was hardly anything at all. Things are changing fast here though and I intend to keep up.’ He walked along the shelves, picking up things as he went. ‘These should fit,’ he said, handing the lot to Soren. ‘You’ll want to try them for size. You can go back there.’ He gestured to a wooden partition that jutted out from the wall and had a curtain hanging from a rail at its front.

  ‘So why all the stock?’ Soren said, as he stripped out of the rags that he was wearing.

  ‘Lots of refugees coming into Valkdorf. This is the only bit of Ruripathia left. The population has trebled in the last few months. I expect there’ll be even more coming the way things are. Aristocrats are starting to arrive too. With plenty of money. If I don’t meet the increased demand, someone else will.’

  He stuffed a jacket past the curtain, which Soren took.

  ‘Of course that fool Governor will have some questions to answer when there are enough of them here to take him to task. He’s just taken to calling himself Bayda! Thinks this is his own personal kingdom. Gods help him if any of the royal family turn up here. Although I expect they’ll go somewhere more civilised, Venter or Humberland maybe, if they managed to get out of Ruripathia that is. How do they fit?’

  Soren walked out of the changing cubicle. ‘Fine. I’ll wear this set now if that’s all right.’

  ‘Thought you might say that,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘It’s not a problem.’

  He managed to get everything he needed well within his budget and made it down to the dock with time to spare. Varrisher was waiting for him in the jolly boat, along with two sailors who were sitting at the oars. Soren walked down the wharf and threw his bag of clothes into the boat ahead of him.

  ‘Well, a few more days in the sun and you’ll certainly look the part.’ Varrisher shouted. ‘Jump aboard.’

  Soren stepped down into the boat. It rocked under his weight, putting him further off balance. He sat on the wooden bench beside Varrisher in as graceful a fashion as he could manage. The two oarsmen wasted little time in casting off and pulling away toward the ships at anchor in the bay.

  Soren handed the coin purse with the remaining money to Varrisher, who weighed it as discreetly as he could before tucking it away. Soren turned his attention to the ships at anchor, wondering which was Varrisher’s.

  Chapter 29

  The Typhon

  The Typhon was a medium sized vessel of noticeably sleeker lines than the others at anchor. Varrisher told Soren that it had been a fast cargo ship before he’d decided to become a pirate hunter. It had been used for high value cargoes and a premium had been placed on speed and manoeuvrability rather than capacity. These were two qualities that made it perfect for Varrisher’s new career path.

  Soren was glad the sea was still relatively calm as they bumped alongside the Typhon’s hull. Getting from boat to ship and vice-versa was a skill he had not yet acquired and he risked a swim each time he did it. Not a good first impression to make with a crew.

  The oarsmen had shipped their oars and were busy stowing them when the crew on the deck above dropped a rope ladder down. Varrisher scaled it nimbly with a sure-footedness that Soren knew he wouldn’t be able to match. He lunged for the ladder, hoping to keep the forward momentum going long enough to get a firm hold on the top of the bulwark above. All his sudden movement did however was push the jolly boat away from the side of the Typhon and it was a lucky grab of the ladder that stopped him plunging into the water.

  He dangled from the ladder for a moment until his body stopped swinging, then started climbing. As he neared the top two pairs of hands reached over the top and took a firm hold of his arms, then hoisted him over the side.

  The experience was embarrassing, although nobody seemed to take any notice. Nonetheless, Soren felt it would take a little effort to earn the respect of his fellow Typhons after it.

  Soren took a good look about to get a sense of his new surroundings. Typhon’s transformation from fast cargo carrier to man-o’-war was clear from the rows of ballistae that lined the bulwarks of her upper deck. They were fierce, heavy looking constructions of wood, firmly bolted down to the deck. The bow arms were sprung with steel and the thick cords that would propel the missiles were covered with leather sheaths to protect them from the elements.

  Varrisher spoke briefly with one of the other sailors, a squat, muscular man in a grey jacket of a similar cut to the one that Soren had just purchased. The squat man barked orders to several other sailors and a block and tackle system was quickly rigged up to haul the jolly boat on board.

  Soren carried his newly purchased clothing in a burlap sack that, to his surprise, was dry despite his awkward boarding. Varrisher beckoned for Soren to follow him as sailors climbed into the rigging and dropped the sails from the yards. He could feel the ship come to life under his feet as the anchor broke free from the bottom, and the first of the lowered sails filled with breeze. The process had been fast and seemed effortless; Soren hadn’t expected that they would get underway so quickly.

  The Typhon was far more akin to a thoroughbred horse than the carthorse-like Honest Christophe. There was something exhilarating about the way it responded to the wind and for the first time he could understand the appeal of being a sailor. Varrisher had taken the wheel and Soren could see the pleasure that he took in pressing the Typhon against the wind to drive her forward.

  As they stretched away from the shore, the previously flat sea took on a more rolling nature and the Typhon raced down the waves and clawed her way back up the other side as it pushed on across the water as fast as a horse at a canter. There was an immense sense of power in the vessel as it surged forward, its rigging taut and its sails full. Everyone aboard had a job to do but Soren, and he very quickly felt the odd man out as he stood on the deck concentrating on keeping his balance.

  Varrisher had slipped into another world, and was all consumed by the marriage of wind, wood and sea. Soren felt uncomfortable interrupting him from his reverie so he tried to find an out of the way place close to a firm handhold and remained there.

  The breeze grew stronger as the day went on and the Typhon felt as though she was beginning to fly at times. Eventually Varrisher relinquished the wheel to the squat sailor. He spotted Soren with the expression of a man who realises he has forgotten something important.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was so eager to get going I forgot about you. There are more than enough experienced hands on board to manage the ship. I want you along for when the fighting starts, so I don’t want you risking broken bones while you’re learning to be a sailor. You’re welcome to rest in my stateroom, or stay here and enjoy the sailing if you prefer. I’d also like you to do some weapons drills with the crew, but we can discuss that a little later.’

  Soren realised that his knuckles were white on the tarred rigging he was gripping onto for dear life, despite enjoying the experience of the lively ship. He gratefully took Varrisher up on his offer and went below.

  Soren awoke to the gentle rolling motion of the Typhon. He was sprawled out on the couch by the gallery window at the back of Varrisher’s stateroom, where he had sat down intending to remain for only a few minutes. It was getting dark outside, so he had slept for several hours. He was still groggy, but he made his way out onto the deck, which was still a hive of activity. Soren felt guilty for sleeping while they all worked. When the time came to train them, he would have to prove his worth and ensure he had their confidence and trust before they went into a fight together.

  He walked up the few steps onto the quarterdeck where Varrisher stood next to the sailor at the wheel.

  ‘Ah, Soren, this is Sailing Master Rodin, my first mate,’ Varrisher said.

  Rodin nodded politely but didn’t take his hands off the wheel.

  Varrisher looked t
o the horizon and Soren followed his gaze. There was a sail that seemed to be heading in their direction.

  ‘We spotted her about ten minutes ago,’ Varrisher said. ‘It’s not Rui, I’m afraid. Judging by her rigging, she’s a merchant through and through. Still, if we can get within hailing distance she might have useful information.’

  ‘How long till we’re close enough?’ Soren said.

  ‘Less than half an hour. If her master’s worth his salt, he’ll recognise us as a man-o’-war. What he won’t know is if we’re a pirate or otherwise. He might try to run, but if he knows what he’s about he’ll realise that’d be a waste of time. Pirates tend to go easier on those that don’t cause them too much difficulty. Either way, I don’t plan on chasing him.’

  Varrisher’s estimate proved to be accurate. As they came closer to one another, Varrisher had a number of signal flags hoisted. They seemed to have the desired effect as the merchant ship began to take in its sails and slow accordingly. Varrisher did likewise and the two ships coasted to within shouting distance of one another. Varrisher went to the bulwark with a speaking trumpet.

  ‘Typhon, out of Valkdorf,’ he shouted.

  ‘Fair Kateryn, out of Callham,’ a voice from the other ship shouted back.

  ‘You’re a long way south,’ Varrisher shouted.

  Soren vaguely recalled Callham being a port in Humberland, many miles to the northwest.

  ‘First run of the season. Thought we’d try to get an early start.’ He was being canny with the information he was giving out, obviously wary of the Typhon’s intentions.

  ‘We’re on the lookout for a ship that may have sailed past you. Corvette rigged, captained by a pirate called Sancho Rui,’ Varrisher shouted.