‘I’m Soren.’ He handed over fifty tremissi, before he and Alessandra went to the building that Shirma had pointed out. Inside there was a trader sitting amongst a number of crates and sacks. Soren didn’t bother trying to speak to the man, he had frustrated himself enough for one day. He peered into several of the open containers and decided on what he wanted. Alessandra took care of the negotiations. She made a good job of haggling on the price, and they paid less than Soren expected, it being the last place to get supplies on the route south.
Chapter 57
The Last Banneret?
Being another two days away from Galat helped Soren relax. While they still had a long way to go to get to Kirek, each day put them closer to its territory, and ever greater safety. Soren wouldn’t be able to completely relax until he was within Kirek’s walls though.
The next oasis was very much like the first, albeit much smaller. They were resting there for the hottest part of the day and would continue on once it began to cool in the evening. The desert had become sandier as they continued south and it now looked much as Soren had envisioned it would. The going got tougher as the ground underfoot grew softer, but Alessandra and the Rala didn’t slow or complain.
They were the only ones at this oasis, which hammered home the sense of isolation of being out in the desert. When they first left the previous oasis, they had been part of a steady stream of traffic; a long line of camels loping through the desert, nuzzing and groaning as they bore their passengers and cargoes south. One by one the various trains began to peel away toward wherever it was they were headed leaving the caravan that Soren was travelling with all but alone. Some way behind them was another party, barely visible in the distance, but other than that they were as isolated as if they were in the middle of the sea.
While travelling, there was always something to occupy the mind even if it was just as simple as concentrating on remaining on the camel’s back. Now that they were resting in the oasis, there was little to do but talk and Soren found himself wondering what to say to Alessandra. She and the Rala talked, but he had been feigning tiredness to avoid being drawn in.
He desperately wanted to talk to her, but when the opportunity came he could never think of anything to say. It seemed that so much time had passed since they were last together. Their relationship had been troubled and despite a reconciliation shortly before they were forced to flee the city, there still remained much that they would have to talk about, sooner rather than later.
Eventually she broke the silence.
‘What happened after I left you at the Duke’s camp?’ she said.
‘They shredded my banner and I was arrested. I was thrown into the castle dungeons until they got around to deciding what to do with me. During that time, Amero took over. I expect I would’ve been exiled or as good as for not stopping the Duke’s assassination, but I was too close to the heart of Amero’s plot to be allowed to live. I was to be executed once he took power. He came down to the dungeon to tell me himself. Gloating bastard. If it wasn’t for Ranph, that’s the way it would have ended. He brought me out of the dungeons and put me on a ship to join you in Auracia.’
‘I never managed to get there,’ she said.
‘No. I realised that, eventually.’
They both laughed and Soren relaxed a little more.
‘And you? How did you end up getting captured by Rui?’ he said.
She nodded. ‘The captain of the ship I was on was trying to avoid a storm. Sailed us right into Rui’s path. He took us captive before sinking our vessel. He took the ship that the Rala was on a few days later. She’s a good woman. When we got to Galat, she disguised me as part of her retinue. If it wasn’t for that, gods only know where I’d be now.’
The thought made them both pause.
‘How did you end up meeting Rui?’ she said.
Soren explained part of his story, leaving out the part about the Shrouded Isles. It was easier not to mention it than have to construct lies. He might tell her one day, but there was no need then.
‘You killed him?’ she said.
Soren nodded.
‘Good.’
‘We stopped in Kirek on the way to Galat, where I was asked to see what I could do about freeing the Rala.’
‘That’s why you were asking for her?’
Soren nodded. ‘I said I’d see what I could do, but that I’d other priorities.’
She smiled and reached forward, taking his hand.
Shirma had a policy of two rest periods a day. One was for an hour in the middle of the night, the other was for a few hours covering midday, the hottest time. At first Soren had difficulty sleeping when they stopped, but as the distance between them and Galat increased and he relaxed more, the fatigue of the past few days began to catch up on him.
He sat and closed his eyes for a moment, intending to get something to eat after a moment’s respite, but when he opened them again, the sun was in a different position overhead. There was a commotion on the other side of the oasis, but not so much that he was bothered to look at first. He was able to disregard it as another caravan having arrived while he slept. They were most likely the group he had seen in the distance behind them when they had left the first oasis. As the dullness of sleep dropped away, his caution returned. He propped himself up on his elbows to see who had arrived.
They were not a trade caravan. Each of the camels bore saddles and personal equipment rather than the large bundles of merchandise that Shirma’s were carrying. The men were going about the business of watering their camels and securing them, but there was something about the way they were doing things that put Soren ill at ease. They didn’t have the practised efficiency that Shirma had when doing the same with his own animals. The way they behaved around their camels was familiar to Soren. It was similar to the way he behaved around them; wary and unsure.
There was no hiding the fact that they were at the oasis; Shirma’s camels were far too large and noisy. Soren didn’t want to alert them to the fact that he was suspicious of them. They could easily have been men fleeing the city after the coup, possibly other Northern Guardsmen in disguise, which would explain their unease around the camels. Moving as quietly as he could, he freed his blades from their scabbards. He gently shook Alessandra awake and shushed her as she began to question him.
‘Men have arrived at the oasis,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know if they’re going to cause us any trouble, but I’m not going to take any chances. I need you to wake the Rala as quietly as you can. Both of you hide over there. I want you to make sure I’m between you and those men at all times. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
She still sounded groggy, but he was satisfied that his instructions had registered. Once she was moving to carry them out, he went to Shirma and relayed the same information to him. Unlike Alessandra, he protested a little, as did his sons. Instead of the fearsome Shandahari warriors that their father had intimated them to be, they were little more than boys and Soren was not willing to put them at risk. Soren’s suggestion that they hide seemed to be an affront to their pride, but they agreed readily enough when he reworded it into a request to watch over Alessandra and the Rala.
The camels provided a screen between him and the new arrivals to the oasis and he intended to take advantage of that. He could be the best swordsman in the world and in possession of a gift not seen for a thousand years, but a crossbow bolt in the back would have the same effect on him as it would any man. Additionally, the men had not yet shown any outwardly hostile intent; all Soren had was suspicion and fear.
Two of them started to walk over. Soren kept his weapons concealed, not wanting to provoke a situation that could be otherwise avoided. They weren’t wearing blue uniforms, which came as a relief, but they could as easily be bandits, and as much of a threat.
The simplest explanation was that they were ordinary travellers. That didn’t provide a reason for their awkwardness around camels though.
�
��Ho there, friend!’ shouted one of the men as he drew closer.
Imperial. It confirmed part of his suspicion. He didn’t recognise the man, but he hadn’t been in the Northern Guard long enough to get to know all of the men. The man’s comrades, there were three of them, watched from twenty or so paces behind, giving Soren reason to fear that there would be a hail of crossbow bolts coming in his directions at any moment.
‘Ho there!’ Soren said, with as much friendliness as he could muster.
‘You’re name wouldn’t be Soren by any chance?’ the man said.
‘Afraid not. My name’s Henn,’ Soren said. ‘Will you join me for some tea? It’s Shandahari, but it’s not all that bad!’
The man didn’t respond, but continued to smile, scrutinising Soren. His gaze dwelled on Soren’s sword for just a moment too long and Soren knew that there would be violence.
‘My name’s Macchio Ferrata,’ he said, standing arms akimbo. ‘Am I right in thinking the bunch of Shandahari soldiers we killed were after you?’
Soren said nothing.
He smiled. ‘Reckoned they were. Couldn’t have them getting in the way you see. I’ve been tracking you too bloody long to let someone else get to you first!’ He gestured to his three comrades.
They rushed forward, while the man named Ferrata remained behind, watching.
Although dressed in loose fitting Shandahari clothes, the men all carried rapiers. Two of them came at Soren right away, one from either side, while the third tried to flank around and get behind him.
They were good, almost excellent, and Soren was out of practice. He allowed them push him back with each attack, parrying until he found his rhythm and also to try to prevent the third man from getting past him. The blades flashed blindingly bright in the noonday sun, as he continued to defend himself. He hardly noticed the blue tinge that everything had taken on, nor the way the men slowed. One second, everything was happening quickly, and the next he had all the time he needed.
Parry and riposte sent the first man into a gurgling heap on the ground. In the same movement he drew his dagger to parry the blade of the second, and then cut him down with ease. The third man hesitated. Soren threw his dagger, which found its mark in the centre of his chest.
Soren took a deep breath and turned to look at Ferrata. He hadn’t moved, still standing with his arms akimbo and an ironic smile on his face. The blue glow still flickered, over the trees, over Ferrata, over Soren’s own limbs.
‘His Grace said you were good, but I knew that from the size of the bounty.’ As though irritated by the thought of having to get his own hands dirty, he shrugged his cloak back from his shoulders and drew his own sword and dagger.
With speed that Soren had never seen from another person before, Ferrata came at him, blades flashing through the air. Soren instantly regretted having thrown his dagger as he parried and retreated, but there was no way to know that this man would be such a threat. They exchanged blows for a little longer before Soren felt himself draw on the Fount again. He felt all of the sensations that went with it, the slight dreaminess, the indestructible feeling of energy and strength, but still Ferrata did not slow.
Soren parried and shoved Ferrata back, taking two paces himself to increase the distance between them. What was different about this man? Then it dawned on him.
‘You have it too, don’t you?’ Soren said, breathing heavily and still not able to believe the only answer he could come up with to explain Ferrata’s speed.
‘Have what?’ Ferrata said, as he crouched low and prepared to attack again.
‘The Gift.’
‘No idea what you’re talking about.’
He lunged forward but Soren parried and leaped to the side. Soren countered, hoping to take the initiative, but no matter what he did, or how fast he thought he was, his blade couldn’t find a way through Ferrata’s defence. He backed away for space to catch his breath, gasping for air after the previous exchange. His left hand felt wet, as though it was dripping with sweat. He looked down at it and was shocked to see it glistening with bright red blood. He tried to lift his arm but he couldn’t; it wouldn’t respond. There was a gaping rent in the sleeve of his tunic, but he couldn’t feel any pain, and he hadn’t even noticed being wounded.
Ferrata looked at Soren’s wound and shock at its discovery with relish. ‘You’re good. The best I’ve fought, but it’s not good enough. Not for what I’m getting paid to do for you. There’s another ten crowns on top if I get the whore as well.’ He gestured with his head. ‘I presume she’s one of those two hiding behind the trees.’
He had been edging forward as he spoke, and by the time he finished speaking, he was within striking distance.
Soren’s concern for Alessandra was such that he was almost caught off guard. He gathered his wits in time to fend off the attack, and realised that the gamesmanship betrayed the fact that Ferrata was not as confident of victory as he was trying to make out. As reassuring as this was, Soren wasn’t confident either. No matter what he did, he couldn’t find a way through.
He launched his own barrage of attacks, a mixture of cuts and thrusts, trying to find any opening, but failing each time. Despite his frustration, he found it oddly fascinating to fight someone so good, so fast. Possibly his equal. Possibly his superior.
Now there was a numbness spreading through his left arm and into his body. He might be able to continue fighting at the height of his ability until the end, but blood was streaming from his fingertips, and he knew that once he had lost too much, he would drop.
And then Alessandra would be left to Ferrata. He breathed in deeply and allowed the Fount rush in with the force of a breaking wave. He felt refreshed and uninjured, his skin tingled and his senses were sharp. His sword felt like an extension of his arm as he stepped toward Ferrata, as though his sense of touch continued along its metal edge. He saw a look of unexpected concern on Ferrata’s face and realised how things must seem to him, Soren injured one minute, fine the next. Ferrata’s movements slowed so much it seemed he was almost frozen.
Soren attacked with such grace and speed it felt as though he was in a dream, completely detached from his body. It acted almost without command and it was difficult to give any attention to Ferrata, so intoxicating and fascinating was the sensation rushing through him. He could feel his blade contact with steel, flesh, bone and viscera as though it was the edge of his hand doing the cleaving. He could feel the pulse of Ferrata’s heart slow as the blood coursed from his body. He felt more alive, more powerful than he ever had before. Then he felt nothing.
Chapter 58
Hope
The first thing that he became aware of was a rolling sensation, and at first he thought that he was on board a ship. As his eyes took in his surroundings, he realised that he was still in the desert, and he began to recall what had gone before.
He was sitting on the back of a camel, strapped into position. The rolling sensation was caused by its unusual, loping stride. He looked around him. There was another camel in front of him and another behind. His sight was still heavily blurred, but the rider behind looked up at him and began to move forward.
He heard a woman’s voice, and then a man’s. The camel lurched to a stop and then crouched down on its knees. He felt more than one pair of hands hauling him off the camel.
‘Soren, can you hear me?’ said a woman’s voice.
‘Alessandra?’ He recognised the voice, but there were so many thoughts and memories that he couldn’t sort one from the other.
‘I’m here, Soren,’ said the voice.
Alessandra’s. Definitely Alessandra’s.
‘Where are we?’ he said.
‘We’re safe. Don’t worry, just rest.’
He felt some water splashing against his lips and drank it down, its coolness soothing his throat. His heart raced when he remembered Ferrata, but he realised that if both he and Alessandra were alive, Ferrata must be dead. Darkness embraced him once again.
The gentle movement beneath Soren when he woke was familiar and had become more of a comfort than a dislike in recent days. He stretched his legs but his feet hit the wooden bulkhead at the base of the bed he was lying in, stopping him from going far enough for the stretch to have been of any use. He hopped out of bed and wobbled slightly. Soren instinctively moved to put his left arm out to steady himself but it didn’t respond. He was still not used to the fact and regularly forgot; something that caused problems on board a moving ship. The day before he had felt pins and needles in his left fingers and this made him hopeful that feeling and the ability to use the arm would return. Alessandra told him to be patient, and he was trying, but it was difficult.
He pulled on some clothes and went out on deck. Alessandra was standing in the spot that she had made her own since coming on board several days before, staring out across the sea.
‘Good morning, my love,’ he said, embracing her with his right arm and kissing her on the neck.
She took his hand and pressed back into him with her shoulders. He loved the way her hair smelled. They both looked out to the horizon in silence for a moment.
‘Do you think he’ll send anyone else?’ she asked, voicing the concern that blighted them both.
It was the first time she had mentioned it, the first time she had considered him recovered enough to cast his mind to things other than rest.
‘I don’t know, but we can go anywhere we want now. And anywhere’s fine with me, so long as it’s with you.’
Duncan is a writer of fantasy fiction novels and short stories that are set in a world influenced by Renaissance Europe. He has a Master’s Degree in History, and is particularly interested in the medieval and renaissance periods.
He doesn’t live anywhere particularly exotic, and when not writing he enjoys cycling, skiing and windsurfing.
The Huntsman's Amulet (Society of the Sword Volume 2) Page 30