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

by Hamilton, Duncan M.

  He spotted a ship flying a Ventish ensign and approached.

  ‘Ho there,’ Soren called out. ‘Is the captain available?’

  A wiry looking sailor with a deep tan looked him up and down and with a jerk of his head indicated toward the stern of the ship. Soren thanked him and made his way up the gangplank. He didn’t like ships, or the sea. He never had, but now it made him think of Alessandra. The thought of a voyage of any length made his stomach twist in protest. It couldn’t be avoided though. It was a means to an end.

  ‘Might you be the captain?’ he asked a man sitting at a small portable desk poring over a ledger.

  ‘I am,’ the captain said. ‘Captain Gheert. Who’s asking?’

  ‘I’m Banneret of the Duke’s Cross Soren,’ he said. The captain’s demeanour improved slightly. He was dealing with a man of some status and possibly wealth, rather than another out of work landsman seeking work.

  ‘What might I do for you, Banneret?’ His tone was less gruff, but was still far from anything that could be called congenial.

  ‘I’m seeking passage on a ship. I was hoping you take passengers,’ Soren said.

  ‘I’m amenable to the idea. It’s not our usual practice, so the accommodation won’t be anything special, but it should suffice if you’re willing to forego the luxuries of city living a few weeks. Is it just yourself that will be travelling?’

  ‘It is,’ Soren said.

  ‘And it’s to Venter you’re wanting to go? We set sail for Voorn in the morning.’

  ‘Actually, no. I was hoping you could have me rowed ashore on the way. I want to land on the Shrouded Isles.’

  ‘Get the fuck off my ship before I have my lads throw you off.’

  Soren wasn’t looking for trouble. He did as he was ordered. It was a discouraging reaction. He didn’t have the coin to make a large enough offer of payment to tempt a captain, so if they were all of a similar mind, his plan could be over before it started.

  He got much the same reaction from the second captain he tried, and another after that. He was about to wait for some fresh ships to arrive on the next tide when he walked past a ship that he had discounted earlier, the Honest Christophe.

  She was far smaller than the others, and they were not particularly impressive when compared to the enormous oceanmen that sailed from Ostenheim. He had discounted her purely on the basis of her appearance; she was ungainly and not as orderly looking as the other ships. He was unhappy enough with having to take a sea voyage and he certainly had no inclination to take one on a less than well-appointed ship. However, now he was becoming desperate and it was worth talking to the captain to keep his options open.

  ‘Ho there,’ he called. His voice had considerably less enthusiasm in it than it had a few hours earlier. ‘Might I speak with the captain?’

  A man appeared at the bulwark and looked down at Soren standing on the dock. ‘You’re speaking with him. What do you want?’

  Soren squinted to make out what he looked like, but the captain was silhouetted against the sun and he could not.

  ‘I was wondering if you take passengers?’

  ‘That depends,’ the captain called back. ‘On who the passenger is, and if they can pay.’

  ‘The passenger is me,’ Soren said, ‘and I can pay.’

  ‘Come aboard then, and we’ll talk.’

  Soren tottered up yet another gangplank and onto the ship. As befitted its size, it was quite cramped and the disorderly appearance from the dock was carried over onto the deck. It did not make for a promising start. The captain walked forward and offered his hand.

  ‘Captain Christophe, I presume?’ Soren said.

  ‘Nah.’ The captain laughed. ‘That name was on her when I bought her. Bad luck to change it. Don’t think the fella I bought her from was Christophe either. I’m Captain Joris. Pleased to meet you.’

  He offered his hand, thick, coarse and covered with smears of tar. Soren took it and shook it firmly.

  ‘Banneret of the Duke’s Cross Soren. Pleased to meet you,’ he said. He looked around him and noted the absence of any crewmembers.

  The captain spotted his curiosity. ‘I let the lads into town for the night. They’ll be back in the morning, like as not. We didn’t have the easiest trip over; that’s why the deck’s in a bit of a state. This tub doesn’t take too many hands to run though, so they know I’ll leave without ‘em if they’re not back in time. So, you want passage to Venter then?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Soren said. ‘And that’s where the problem may lie. I want to disembark on the way. I want you to drop me off on the Shrouded Isles.’

  The captain barked out a laugh. ‘Did that old prick Gheert put you up to this?’ He continued to chuckle, but when Soren did not react he cut his mirth short.

  ‘Come on now, someone put you up to this. You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Soren said.

  ‘You’re mad then.’

  It was going better than Soren had expected; the other captains had told him where to go by that point. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You do know the Isles are cursed? Anyone who goes there is never seen again. Any ship that strays too close? Never seen again. Even the birds won’t fly over them.’

  ‘Do you actually know anyone who went missing there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Soren raised an eyebrow.

  Joris frowned. ‘No, but there are too many stories. People I have spoken to know people who went missing.’

  ‘I’m not so sure that I believe anything I don’t know first hand. Do you?’

  ‘I believe the stories well enough to stay away. Well away. Only once have I strayed close enough to even lay eyes on them.’ He leaned forward as he continued. ‘You know why they’re called the Shrouded Isles? There’s a thick grey bank of cloud that sits above them, hanging there like a shroud. A mourning shroud for all the poor souls that met their end there.’

  Soren was determined, and wasn’t going to be put off by Joris’s tales of doom. ‘If you were able to make passage through the straits, it would take days, or even weeks off your journey. Let me off just close enough to row ashore. You don’t need to go any closer. I’m taking all the risk. If I make it back to the ship, then you’ll be the only captain who knows the straits are safe to navigate. If not, you’ve only gone a day or two out of your way.’

  ‘You’re best advised to drop this idea. If you’re really serious about it,’ Joris said.

  ‘You haven’t told me to fuck off yet. All the other captains had well before now,’ Soren said, his hopes rising. ‘Perhaps you don’t believe all the stories quite as strongly as you say.’

  Joris sighed and frowned again. ‘You’re right on one thing. Making passage through the straits would cut weeks off my voyage. Take a look around.’ He gestured about the haphazard state of the ship. ‘Business is hard and the time that shortcut would save me would be a gift from the gods. But nobody goes near those isles; it can’t be without good reason.’

  ‘Take me close enough to row your small boat there to the island. Continue on your way, and stop off for me again when you’re on your way back. If I return safely, you’ll know that there’s no danger, that all the stories are baseless superstition, and that you can use the straits between the Isles. Keep it to yourself and you’ll have a big advantage over every other merchant crossing the Middle Sea. If I don’t make it back, it’s no loss to you, but you’ll know that the stories are true once and for all. All the risk is mine.’

  Soren could see the captain was interested, but kept his excitement to himself.

  Joris sighed deeply and stroked the greying stubble on his chin. ‘Your point’s well made. But I just don’t know. We sail on the morning tide, come back then. I’ll have made up my mind by morning, one way or the other. Be ready to depart if I decide to take you.’

  Soren headed back to the inn to pack his things. He knew Joris was on the hook, even if the captain had not quite admitted it
to himself. There were so many stories about the Isles that it was difficult to dismiss them completely, but Soren didn’t care. The potential reward was too great for him to be held back by rumours and old wives’ tales. If the information he needed to master the Gift was there, any risk was worth taking. It was the key to killing Amero.

  Chapter 5

  The Voyage

  There was little that needed doing to prepare Soren for departure from Auracia. He’d arrived there with nothing more than his sword and dagger, a purse of coins and the clothes on his back. In the time since, he’d added little to this; no more than the additional clothing he needed so as not to appear completely down and out.

  He arrived at the docks shortly after dawn. The tide was not due to turn for another couple of hours, but he didn’t want Joris to have an excuse not to take him.

  He was pleased to see there was more activity on the ship than there had been the previous day. It was not quite the hive of activity that the larger merchantmen were, but she showed signs of being ready to go to sea. The deck looked ordered and neat and men moved about with a sense of purpose.

  ‘Captain Joris,’ Soren shouted.

  A moment later Joris appeared at the bulwark. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t show.’

  Soren shrugged.

  ‘You’re insane. You realise that?’

  ‘It’s been said before.’ He knew he had his berth and smiled.

  ‘If I think my crew or ship are in danger at any time, I’ll turn around.’

  ‘All right. I understand,’ Soren said.

  ‘If I think you are a danger to my crew at any time, I’ll throw you overboard.’

  ‘That’s fair,’ Soren said.

  ‘You’d best come aboard and get your kit stowed away then,’ Joris said.

  There was not much enthusiasm in his voice, but he had agreed and that was enough for Soren.

  Ferrata felt his anger threaten to flare as he watched the sails drop and the ship accelerate away from the harbour. A few deep breaths were all he needed to quell the rage, but his displeasure would be harder to shift.

  ‘You.’

  The rough looking dockworker Ferrata directed his call at stopped. He did not appear to take kindly to being spoken to so harshly. One look at Ferrata clearly convinced him that his irritation would be better taken out on someone else.

  ‘That ship.’ Ferrata pointed out at the ship Soren had boarded. ‘Where’s it headed?’

  The dockworker looked out to where Ferrata was pointing. ‘Honest Christophe? Sails between here and Venter,’ he said, before continuing on his way.

  Ferrata looked back at the ship and swore.

  As Captain Joris had promised, there was not much in the way of luxury to be found on board the Honest Christophe. Soren’s berth was a hammock on the lower deck, slung from the wooden beams above. The air had a putrid tang of bilge water and the stench of the rotting remains of whatever loose bits of cargo had ended up in the bilge. The smell, coupled with the rolling of the ship meant that Soren could only spend a couple of moments below before he became nauseated. It wasn’t so bad when he remained up on deck, but there was little or no chance to get any sleep there.

  He had taken a sea voyage several years before and the memory of it still made the bile rise in his throat. This time around he seemed to be coping better, but the sea was far more placid than it was in the north. A gentle and regular swell rolled across from the west, giving the ship a slow pitching gait as she ploughed her way toward Venter. He hoped the conditions would remain similar for the rest of the voyage.

  The ship looked very different under sail than she had tied up at the dock. It reminded Soren of the difference in a tree between winter and summer. The once bare, skeletal masts, sprits and yards were now alive with billowing cream coloured canvas. While she could never be called a thing of beauty, the Honest Christophe was no longer an inanimate hulk tied to a quayside; she felt lively and spirited under a full press of sail.

  They had been at sea for a few days before Soren began to relax into life on a constantly moving surface. He found that his feet began to meet with the deck when he expected them to. To alleviate boredom, he had even taken to pitching in with one of the watches, and although he would not contemplate going up into the rigging, he liked to think that he was useful to have around.

  He stood for a while at the bulwark each evening after supper, looking out to sea in the direction that the Isles lay. Usually he was left in peace, as the few men of his watch went below to rest and those on watch went about their duties. It was not the case on that night however, as Captain Joris made his way over with two mugs of steaming tea.

  ‘Staring won’t make them appear any sooner!’ he said, as he handed Soren one of the mugs.

  Soren nodded in appreciation as he took it. ‘I know.’

  ‘You’ll see the bank of cloud long before the Isles anyway. Still determined to go ashore?’

  Soren nodded, but he felt his certainty was less now; it seemed to ebb ever more the closer they got.

  ‘I want to convince you to stay on board. I’m only going to do it the once. You’re a decent young man. You’ve pitched in when others wouldn’t have and all the lads like you. If you were to stay aboard you’d be a rated seaman by the time we reach Voorn and you’d have no trouble at all finding work if you wanted to move ship. I’ll even offer to keep you on myself if you want it.’

  ‘It’s kind of you,’ Soren said, ‘but I have to go ashore. I’m not going to explain why, but I’m going.’

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ Joris said, ‘but I had to try. I expect we’ll be seeing the cloud by tomorrow.

  ‘Land ho!’

  The call came from one of the top-men, perched at the junction of the yard with the mast far enough off the deck to make Soren feel dizzy every time he looked up.

  As Joris promised, they had been able to see the cloudbank since the previous day, a thick grey blanket sitting above the sea, out of place in the otherwise clear sky. The mood on board had changed as soon as it was spotted. The men’s spirits sank and they all started to treat Soren a little differently, as though he were a condemned man.

  The winds had been fair up until that point, blowing across the side of the ship and allowing them to continue in a straight line, but the next leg of the voyage would not be as easy and part of Soren was glad that he would not be on board to endure it. After doubling back to clear the Shrouded Isles, the crew of the Honest Christophe would have to beat against the wind as they made their way north to reach Venter. This meant zig-zagging back and forth, with every ten miles sailed only getting them four or five miles closer to home. It seemed like a very frustrating way to travel and the value of being able to pass safely through the straits was obvious.

  The Isles were much as Captain Joris had described them. Where the ship sat, out in the open sea, it was a fine, clear day, the late winter sun strong, but not hot. The dark grey blanket of cloud hovering low in the sky over the Isles was ominous and ugly.

  Joris joined him at the bulwark and surveyed the Isles. ‘I wasn’t much more than a child when I saw this place. Hoped I never would again. Gives me a chill just looking at them. They’re just as I remember. Grey, empty, dead. Seems nothin’ has changed.’

  ‘It’s bleak,’ Soren said, feeling a little reluctance to continue.

  ‘You’re still sure you want to go ashore?’ Joris said.

  Soren nodded. ‘You’d best prepare the boat. I’m sure you want to get underway again as quickly as you can. I can tell the men don’t like being this close.’

  ‘They don’t and neither do I. Superstition or not, there’s something not right about that place,’ Joris said. ‘It’ll take us about twenty-five or twenty-six days to get home, if the winds remain fair. We’ll need two days there to unload and take on a new cargo, and to give the lads some time to relax. The trip back’ll be faster, two weeks maybe. When we get back, I’ll hold station off the point where you go ashore.
I’ll wait from dawn to dusk for three days before I continue on to Auracia. Start watching for us forty days from today. If we get back sooner, I’ll only start counting the days from then. It’s up to you to be back on that beach looking out for us. If you don’t signal during those three days, I’ll consider you lost to the curse of the Isles. I won’t be sending anyone ashore to look for you. If we’re late by more than ten days, you may consider us lost to the curse of the seas.’

  He laughed, but Soren could hear the tension in his voice. He felt the same.

  ‘There won’t be any other ships coming this way. I’ve given you my word that I’ll be back for you, which means I’ll be back if it’s in my power to do so, but if the worst happens you’ll be stranded here.’

  Soren felt a twist in his guts, but he trusted Joris. Soren would just have to hope they’d have fair seas and winds until they met again. There was no turning back now. There might not be any answers there, but if there were any to be found at all, this was his best chance.

  The boat was prepared quickly and the crew loaded it with dried meat and biscuits, along with several skins of wine and water. If strictly rationed, it would last the forty days and more. Soren didn’t find the prospect of eating dried rations for that long attractive, but it didn’t look like there would be much opportunity to forage for fresh food on the islands.

  With no reason for further delay, he shook Captain Joris’s hand and made his way down the rickety boarding ladder and into the boat. It pitched unexpectedly as he set foot in it. He caught his breath, balanced and sat down carefully. Eventually it steadied and he was ready to go. As he pushed off he saw the crew lined up at the bulwark watching him. They all shared the same expression: that of watching a man going to his certain death.

  Chapter 6

  The Shrouded Isles

  As Soren pulled on the oars, he was reminded of a day when he and Alessandra had rowed to a small island not far from the shore in Ostenheim bay for a picnic. How different the world had seemed then; so full of hope and opportunity. Now all of his dreams had been cast to the wind.