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

by Hamilton, Duncan M.

  Erezaf nodded in firm agreement, his relief at the prospect of leaving palpable.

  They walked out of the courtyard and back into the market square proper. Soren continued to walk briskly, dragging Erezaf with him. It was possible that the slave traders would send someone to follow them, though unlikely. Angry relatives turning up looking for their kin was an occupational hazard for slave traders, and from what Soren had heard, it was a problem that was often dealt with very violently. He could not in good conscience send Erezaf off to make his way back to the library on his own.

  He led them on a circuitous route of the city, with no particular direction in mind. He continued until he was sure they were not being followed — and he was well and truly lost. Only then did he tell the thoroughly confused and still frightened Erezaf that he could go back to the library. After paying him and getting directions back to his inn, they parted ways, but Soren very much doubted the young man would be inclined to work for him again.

  There was a commotion at the inn, but Soren had walked through the door before he noticed it and turning around to leave would have drawn too much attention. He stopped in his tracks and the men causing the noise turned to look at him. The men regarded him for a moment before returning their attention to the innkeeper. They were not the slave traders, but they were also not Shandahari.

  There were three of them, all soldiers judging by their bearing and clothing, and from the north. They wore loose crimson trousers and shirts, cinched tight by black enamelled armour plates. Seeing so many men from the north made him think of the night that he had been attacked on the streets of Auracia. But they had turned their back on him and were questioning the innkeeper intently. Soren heard an Ostian accent, which he found oddly unsettling.

  These men must have been members of the mercenary force that Soren had heard mentioned. He had no idea what they were looking for, and really didn’t care, so long as it didn’t involve him. All he wanted was to get to his room without any hassle so he could think.

  He flopped down on his bed and began to search his mind for any idea of what to do next. He thought about the mercenaries below, and the fear in the innkeeper’s voice as he talked with them. If the Khagan was recruiting foreign mercenaries, becoming one might be of use. He had already decided to use that route to get into the palace and attempt to rescue the Rala, but he had not intended to do that until he found Alessandra. He was beginning to think doing so sooner rather than later was a better option. Perhaps the authority that the mercenary uniform would give him would help with his inquiries about Alessandra.

  As sleep began to descend on him, it occurred to him that if the Khagan had seized the Rala, could others on the ship with her have been taken too?

  Chapter 50

  The Northern Guard

  The sun was still low in the sky, and the air was cool and fresh when Soren set off for the palace. It had an entrance arch of plain white stone with none of the magnificent adornments of the palace in Kirek. It had clearly seen better days, but had once been opulent. Where a palace was normally an expression of wealth and power, this one spoke of financial difficulty.

  Soren was challenged in Shandahari when he got to the gate, but the guard issuing it was not a native.

  When Soren answered in Imperial, the guard reverted to his mother tongue and directed him to the barracks where he was told that foreign soldiers were eagerly sought after for employment. He was told to ask for Captain dal Vaprio. When there, he was directed to a small office off the entrance archway.

  ‘Captain dal Vaprio?’

  ‘The very same,’ the man said. He was sitting behind a messy desk but did not look particularly busy. His black hair was cropped, but he had a neat moustache and short, pointed beard in the Ostian fashion on a deeply tanned face. ‘The “dal” part is very much a thing of the past, however. You are?’

  ‘Banneret Soren. I was told you’re the officer to speak to about getting work.’

  ‘You were told correctly,’ Captain Vaprio said. ‘Please, take a seat.’ He gestured to a rickety looking wooden chair beside Soren.

  ‘Tell me a little bit about yourself,’ he said. ‘You’re Ostian. Ostenheim?’

  ‘Yes, Captain. Born and bred,’ Soren said.

  ‘Excellent. We’re a bit of a mish-mash here, Ostians, Ruripathians, anyone who the Tyrant has tried to kill or dispossessed. It doesn’t matter much down here, we’re all foreigners — Imperials as they still call us — but it’s always nice to meet someone from home. What year did you graduate from the Academy?’

  ‘Forty-six,’ Soren said. ‘I had started at the Collegium, but unfortunately wasn’t able to finish.’ It was not entirely true, he had left prematurely of his own accord, but the statement implied another reason that Vaprio was quick to pick up on.

  ‘Ah yes, bad times. I finished in twenty-five. Didn’t stay on for the Collegium though; too eager to get out and see the world. Am I right in thinking you are not noblesse?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Soren said. They were straying onto potentially dangerous territory for Soren, but at least he was able to anticipate its approach.

  ‘Sponsored?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, by Rikard dal Bragadin,’ Soren said.

  Vaprio raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval. ‘Impressive. I knew him in passing. A fine man. Tragic the way he died. I believe his son Pierro escaped Ostenheim before the Tyrant managed to get his hands on him. To Venter, I believe.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t know that he managed to get out. But Lord dal Bragadin’s only son’s name is Ranph,’ Soren said. He recognised it for the test that it was. He didn’t want anyone to know, least of all Ostian exiles, that he had any past association with Amero.

  ‘Yes, of course, Ranph. As I said I only knew the family in passing.’ It was obviously a lie; Vaprio had been sounding him out. ‘Do you have any combat experience?’

  ‘I was with the Legion of the Eastern Marches during the barbarian incursions,’ Soren said.

  ‘Sharnhome?’

  ‘No, I was in the city when that happened.’

  ‘An ugly day. I was with dal Dura’s Horse. I don’t think more than a few dozen of us made it back to the city. Still, that’s a story best left in the past. We’ve plenty of soldiers coming south for work. I’ve been here two months now myself. Not many officers though, so your arrival is very welcome.

  ‘It’s a cushy job that exists more out of paranoia than anything, as best I can tell, but the Khagan is hiring every northerner that can tell which end of a spear is the dangerous one. The pay is good, one hundred tremissi a month, around fifty crowns if you haven’t gotten your head around the local coin yet, the food is excellent and the work isn’t difficult. For the sake of propriety, I can only offer you a probationary commission to begin with, but assuming everything goes smoothly I’ll be able to confirm it in a couple of weeks. If you make your mark here,’ he said, sliding a ledger across the desk toward Soren, ‘you’ll be the newest Lieutenant in the Khagan’s Northern Guard.’

  Soren scanned the column of names, a mix of Ostian and Ruripathian with one or two others that were not so easy to pin down, before adding his own at the bottom of the list.

  ‘Excellent. If you leave this office and turn left it will take you to the guardhouse. There you should find Lieutenant Veyt. Otherwise he’ll be in one of the city’s many whorehouses, but I would suggest the easiest thing for you to do would be to wait for him. He’ll show you to your quarters, run you through your duties, and see that you have all your necessaries provided for. If there’s nothing else, I will see you at mess this evening.’

  Soren stood and saluted, which earned him a nod of approval. He followed Vaprio’s instructions and was pleased to find Lieutenant Veyt where he was supposed to be. He was tall with fair hair and skin, the redness of the latter indicating it didn’t agree with the strong Shandahari sun.

  ‘Banneret Soren,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘Just signed on as L
ieutenant.’

  ‘Welcome. Banneret Veyt at your service,’ Veyt said, jumping up from the seat he had been slouched in and shaking Soren’s hand. The guardroom was more like the common room at Soren’s house of residence in the Academy than the command centre for a military unit. Veyt was the only one there, lounging in the relaxed surroundings. ‘You sound like an Ostian. When did you arrive in Galat?’

  ‘Just yesterday, but it was late so I only came up here this morning. And yes, I’m Ostian.’

  ‘Well, I think you’ll enjoy it here. All of the rubbish from home gets left at the border, so it’s a fresh start. I’ll need to run through your duties with you first, then we can get you a uniform and supplies and show you to your quarters. You might as well sit; this’ll take a few minutes.

  ‘There are one hundred and eleven of us — twelve with you — not including Captain Vaprio who leads our little band. With your arrival, there are five Lieutenants and one hundred and seven guardsmen. Mainly Ruripathian and Ostian, but there are some strays that have blown in from elsewhere and the number grows every day.’

  There might have been a lot of men in the Northern Guard, but there was little activity, and even less sign of discipline. There was a relaxed atmosphere, and Veyt’s demeanour fit perfectly with it. A slack approach would suit Soren nicely as he attended to his own affairs.

  ‘You’ve arrived in slightly more interesting times than normal. There was a bit of a shit storm here a few months back, and since then things around the Khagan’s court have been a little tense. Some big-name pirate landed his booty here, which livened things up. Don’t think anything will come of it, but the Khagan’s been hiring every foreigner that says they’ve done any soldiering. Doesn’t seem to trust the local troops anymore.’

  The mention of a pirate caught Soren’s full attention. ‘What happened?’ Soren said.

  ‘A ship full of important sorts was attacked by pirates. They unloaded their plunder here, which included a Shandahari princess — they call them “Ralas” here — and her whole household. The Khagan took the lot of them into his custody and he seems to have been using her as leverage to bargain with her father, the Khagan of Serash, which is on the next river to the north.’

  Could that have included Alessandra? Was it possible she had been included in the household, or mistaken for being part of it when they were unloaded? Soren tried not to let his hopes inflate, but it was difficult.

  ‘Things aren’t as straightforward as they are back home,’ Veyt said, ‘or as they were back home. The Khagan has a lot of nobles in his court, called “Baydas”, who you’ll come across soon enough. They’re a pretty powerful bunch and there’s more than a few that fancy replacing the Khagan. Him taking the Rala into custody stirred things up with them, but nobody’s made a move against him until they see what he does with her. His negotiations don’t seem to have been going the way he wants though, and the Baydas are starting to act up again. That’s what we’re here for, to make sure they mind their manners.’

  There was more tension than Captain Vaprio had led Soren to believe. He wondered how it would affect his plans, knowing they could either be a help or a hindrance, but would certainly impact them one way or the other.

  ‘It’s a complicated mess, but from what I’ve been told the Khagan on the next river south has an interest in the Rala as well, and he’s been causing trouble. He’s tried to kidnap her a couple of times now. We dealt with the most recent attempt a week or two ago, so we’re the favourite child right now. As a result, keeping a look out over the Rala has been added to our duties. That’s brought its own problems. The local troops, the Bluecloaks, fucking hate us now even more than they did to begin with.’

  Soren raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s complicated all right.’

  ‘Try not to think too much about the politics,’ Veyt said. ‘I promise you, it’ll drive you mad quicker than the bloody sun. Just follow orders, smile whenever one of the locals insults you and you’ll do fine. Anyway, now you know why we’re here. Our standing orders are to patrol the palace, to guard the Khagan and also the Rala. Not much to it. Those duties are rotated around and having you here now means it will be a bit easier for the officers.

  ‘Keep an eye out for the Bluecloaks. There’ve been a few fights, just fists and no serious damage done, but best be aware of it and avoid them if you can. Smiling at them when they insult you seems to piss them off more than a punch.’

  That was a complication that Soren could have done without. With the relaxed attitude the Northern Guard seemed to have, Soren had thought for a moment that he would have free run of the palace. Why couldn’t things go easily for him, just once?

  ‘The real prize duty is watching over the Rala. You’ll never see a more beautiful woman, and most of her ladies are pretty easy on the eye too. You need to be careful though. The Bluecloaks’ll have your head if you show too much interest, and they’re just dying for the chance to kill one of us. I’ll walk you through the three main duties that you’ll be supervising as an officer, mainly from here, after lunch.’

  Chapter 51

  The Seraglio of Galat

  Captain Vaprio had not been exaggerating when he listed excellent food as being one of the perks of Shandahar. Soren suspected that might be the case after having been pleasantly surprised by the bowl of food he ate the previous day, but it seemed that either Shandahari hospitality was superb or the Khagan was not afraid to show how highly he valued his foreign mercenaries. Either way, Soren loved his food and was never shy about looking for seconds.

  All of the officers ate together and Soren was introduced to the other two Lieutenants, one of whom was also Ostian. Afterward, as promised, Veyt walked Soren around the palace. They went to the audience hall where the Khagan conducted his daily business. It was empty when they went in, leaving Veyt free to outline the required duties with candour, which for an officer amounted to little more than ensuring the appropriate number of men were present in the hall during their watch.

  The next stop was the seraglio. It was centred around an idyllic courtyard garden surrounded by two stories of galleried buildings. It was the first example of true luxury and wealth that Soren had seen since arriving in Galat. Unlike the rest of the palace, it was well maintained and as luxurious as anything Soren saw at the palace in Kirek.

  ‘Guards are restricted to this gallery when on duty here,’ Veyt said, gesturing around him at the first floor gallery. ‘I promise you, going down into the garden is a very bad idea. The punishment for being caught in the seraglio is death, and the Bluecloaks are chomping at the bit to kill a few of us. Do us both a favour and don’t give them reason to.’

  Soren nodded absently as he peered down into the courtyard to see if the women were as beautiful as Veyt had suggested. He almost didn’t want to admit to himself that he was looking down to see if Alessandra was there, afraid of the disappointment he would feel if he did not spot her.

  ‘I wouldn’t even stare too long if I were you,’ Veyt said. ‘Some poor bastard, just an ordinary fellow off the street, sneaked in there a few weeks ago. The Bluecloaks got their hands on him. You could hear his screams for the rest of the day. At least they finished it before night; no one would have gotten any sleep otherwise.’

  Soren nodded but continued to look down into the courtyard as surreptitiously as he could. There were a number of women moving about or sitting in the shade of the trees and bushes. It was difficult to make out anything more than their general shapes as they were too far away. There was no way for him to work out which of them might be the Rala and there was no one that resembled Alessandra. It had been so long that sometimes he struggled to remember what she looked like, unsure if the image he had in his mind’s eye was a creation of his own, or an accurate memory. It terrified him to think he might see her and not realise who she was.

  They left the seraglio and Veyt took Soren for the final part of his orientation, which was a tour of all the halls and corridors of the palace. He
would have to make random patrols of them during his general guard duty hours. They were a web of corridors, passages and rooms underneath the current palace, which seemed to have been built on top of at least one of its previous iterations.

  It was tedious walking through one nondescript corridor after another and Soren was certain there was no way he would remember it all. He breathed a sigh of relief when Veyt finally told him that the tour was over and brought him to the quartermaster to pick up the things he would need. He was fitted for a crimson uniform and the various pieces of armour plating that would go on over it.

  The crimson cloth looked coarse, but was light, soft and extremely comfortable. The loose trousers and jersey were far more practical for the Shandahari climate than Soren’s northern style britches, shirt and doublet, even if the latter had been purchased similarly far south. The armour was interesting, and far more complex than he had first thought when seeing it on other men. Instead of being two solid pieces that were strapped together, the breastplate was made up of a number of horizontal panels that moved smoothly over one another, allowing a greater deal of movement and articulation. The pauldrons and bracers were constructed in similar fashion, and each metal plate was enamelled in black.

  The armour didn’t cover nearly as much of the body as some of the heavy armours he had seen in the north, but it was broadly similar to the type worn by infantrymen on the battlefield.

  He had the option to pick whatever weapons he wanted from the armoury, but he was content with what he had. All he wanted was to get out and recommence his search.

  As Soren walked back to the guardroom with his new equipment, he began to think through the possibilities. There was a good chance Alessandra was at the palace; the facts as he knew them suggested that much. If so, there was one place that was much more likely than any other. The seraglio. Part of him was uplifted by the thought that he might be so close to her, but his enthusiasm was dampened by the nauseating thought of what she may have experienced. And he might be deluding himself with misplaced hope.