The Huntsman's Amulet (16 page)

Chapter 23

Isles of Spice

I
nterruption to their monotonous
routine finally came when the rolling and plunging motion of a moving ship ceased and was replaced by the gentle rocking of a stationary one at anchor. Soren heard the sounds of cargo being hauled around and smaller boats banging against the side of
Bayda’s Tear
. When the time came for their short daily release from the brig, instead of being bundled back in when their necessaries were completed, the pirates lined them up by the mainmast and their hands were bound.

Another man joined Captain Rui and the two of them surveyed the prisoners. The two weakest of the group, who to Soren’s surprise had clung onto life, attracted the most attention. They were barely able to stand and wavered unsteadily as Rui studied them with the appearance of a man choosing between two pieces of fruit. The other man looked at them grimly and shook his head. Rui nodded to a crewman who cut their throats without hesitation and began to haul their corpses to the side to bundle them overboard. Even having already witnessed how Rui operated, the unflinching brutality shocked Soren.

While the barbaric act had been committed, Rui had watched him intently. He smiled when he saw the anger flare behind Soren’s eyes.

‘This one has spirit, Salicar,’ he said to his companion. ‘I saw it when I first took them and killed his captain. Every time he looks at me, I know that he wishes to kill me. I can’t decide whether I should kill him first. But then again, what has Sancho Rui to fear from a slave?’

‘He’s the only one of them that will fetch a decent price,’ the man called Salicar said. ‘You might as well have killed them all when you captured them and saved yourself the bother of feeding them. The others will need a few weeks feeding and exercise before it will be worth bringing them to market. Even then, there won’t be much profit to be had after the expenses.’

‘There never is, Salicar. There never is.’ Rui stared at his companion with a wry smile. ‘They were in terrible condition when we took them. Take them ashore and do as you please with them. I know you will get me the best price that can be had. If you don’t…’ He gestured to the sailor bundling the corpses over the side.

Soren and the others were manhandled into a longboat and rowed ashore, where they were put sitting beside an ever-growing pile of plunder on the beach. Salicar’s slaves had considerately erected an awning of palm fronds for them to sit under which Soren was grateful for, as the sun was very strong and the day very hot. He suspected that they would have been put to work like the other slaves were it not for the fact that they were so weak, and their new captor was motivated to achieve the highest price possible.

In spite of everything, it was a lovely day and a beautiful, exotic place, and Soren revelled in the change in circumstances from the dark, stuffy brig. The white, sandy beach was u-shaped and surrounded the cove that the
Tear
had anchored in. The land rose steeply up toward the main shoreline, creating cliffs at the cove’s mouth. Once in the little bay, a ship would be hidden from view from anywhere other than the mouth. It was a perfect spot for a pirate to hide while unloading a cargo, or even to weather out a storm. Behind the beach there was a thick jungle of palm trees and lush vegetation. Doubtless there was a trail to be found that would allow the transit of the plundered loot, but from where he sat, Soren couldn’t see it.

There was a rich scent in the air — Soren had noticed it as soon as he came out of the brig — that he initially thought was the relief of being back out in fresh air. It was still there though, and made him wonder where they actually were. There was no way to know if they were in Shandahar, or anywhere else; he had lost all track of time while in the brig. The smell in the air made him think it might be the Spice Isles, and their reputation as a pirate haunt bolstered his opinion. The Spice Isles were a chain of islands that stretched across the neck of the Middle Sea in the south, and marked the boundary between it and the Southern Ocean. The name came from the fragrant and exotic goods — spices, tobaccos and teas — that were produced there. The Isles were little more than a name to him before that day, so it was impossible to know if he was right.

He watched the ship as it tugged gently at its anchor line. He could see Sancho Rui moving about the ship and Soren did his best to burn the man’s face into his mind. Rui had Soren’s sword, and he wanted it back.

At first none of the men spoke as they sat on the beach, hands bound, waiting for the
Bayda’s Tear
to be unloaded. They had seen the brutal way Rui treated anyone who drew his attention, and no one wanted to be on the receiving end. On the beach though, they were ignored. Soren was sure that any attempt at escape would be noticed, but otherwise they were left to their own devices.

‘Where d’you reckon we are?’ he whispered to one of the other sailors, seeking confirmation of his theory.

The sailor looked about nervously before answering. ‘One of the Spice Isles. No doubt about it. No idea which one though.’

Soren was strangely pleased with himself for having come to the same answer. He leaned back on his elbows and started to experiment with the Fount.

It was far stronger here and at first it felt frightening, having become so used to it being very weak. With the thick jungle only a few yards away, not to mention the dozen or so slaves, countless insects, birds and unseen animals, it was as strong as Soren imagined it could be.

Each time he looked for it, everything around him became blanketed with a vivid, deep blue glow. With such strength, each time he connected Soren could feel the energy of the Fount pressing against him. He had to keep telling himself that one day the whole process would become second nature, as effortless as breathing, but for now it was intimidating and frustrating. He had not been able to draw on the Fount while on board the ship, either through lack of skill or because it was too weak. Now he was too afraid to do so, lest it flood in and kill him.

The pirate vessel was fully unloaded by the time the sun set. The slaves started loading the boxes onto a cart that had been hidden in the tree line during the day, while they put the smaller, lighter items into hempen nets that were carried by two slaves with a pole. Soren and the other remaining crewmen from the
Honest Christophe
, as well as several other unfortunates who must have been taken from other ships and held elsewhere on the
Bayda’s Tear
, were herded on into the jungle like cattle.

In addition to the slaves who were enduring the backbreaking work of hauling plunder through the warm and humid night air, there were four armed men to help Salicar to maintain order. The slaves seemed to be thoroughly cowed and posed no threat. Those destined for slavery, Soren included, had their hands bound and were linked together by rope. It was hard for Soren to tell if the guards were old soldiers or pirates, but they had the look of men accustomed to enduring and inflicting hardship. Each of them had a sword strapped to their waist and carried small crossbows, but they did not pay much attention to the captives, only occasionally chiding the slaves to increase their pace.

Soren tried to work out what opportunity there was for escape should he be able to get free, but despite his best efforts he wasn’t able to loosen his bonds. Being lost in a strange jungle in the middle of the night didn’t fill him with enthusiasm, so he settled on waiting until they got to wherever they were going.

They trudged for some time through the jungle, tied in single file behind the cart that had been loaded to capacity and beyond. Each time the cart hit a rut in the trail Soren expected the boxes and crates to come tumbling off, but they never did. The trail had been slowly working its way uphill through thick tropical vegetation. After so long in the cramped confines of the brig, it was extremely tiring. It was not long before Soren’s calves, thighs and feet ached. To make matters worse, each time the cart lurched into a rut, the rope that attached the captives to the back pulled taut and then went slack. It was a constant struggle to stay on his feet and he found himself wishing that wherever it was they were going was not too far away.

It was a great relief when Salicar called their motley little column to a halt in a small clearing. Even the guards looked pleased to have the rest. They at least had water skins to drink from. Soren and his fellow soon-to-be-slaves had no such luxury, but he was grateful for even just a few moments of sitting down. They hadn’t been sitting for long when the background noise of nocturnal insects was broken by a clear, confident voice.

‘Salicar Pah! As I live and breathe. Fancy meeting you here.’

Chapter 24

The Jungle Clearing

S
oren couldn’t see the
source of the voice, but Salicar’s reaction was clear to all. That he recognised the voice was beyond doubt. That Salicar was terrified of it was equally as obvious. He had been sitting mopping his brow, but as soon as he heard it, he jumped to his feet and began looking around anxiously for its source.

‘Moving loot for Sancho Rui again, are you?’ said the voice. The speaker appeared from the undergrowth, a tall man with a deep tan and dark hair. He had a thick moustache and a neatly trimmed beard, and stood with a soldier’s bearing.

‘That’s none of your business, Ramiro,’ Salicar said. ‘Where I buy my merchandise is no concern of yours. I’m not party to the Accords; I have as much right to trade here as you do.’ He spoke with the confidence of someone with four crossbowmen waiting on his orders, but he didn’t manage to conceal his fear.

‘Oh, but it is my business, Salicar, when you buy it from anyone who is not me, as the Accords state. As well you know.’ Ramiro still appeared to be alone, but his confident manner said otherwise. He looked at Salicar’s guards, who had all reached for their crossbows, and smiled. ‘Well, it matters not. You and your men have five minutes to disappear. Without any of your contraband merchandise. Anyone that I can see after that is dead.’

‘You’ve brass balls calling this contraband. Or have you bought letters of warrant from the Governor? Gone legit?’ Salicar laughed, but Ramiro remained silent. ‘I didn’t think so. Brought friends then? I’ve brought mine.’

Salicar gestured to his four guards. He seemed to be emboldened by the fact that Ramiro hadn’t done anything yet, other than make threats.

‘Of course I brought my friends. Would you like to meet one?’ Ramiro said.

On cue, a crossbow bolt shot out of the jungle and punched into the chest of one of Salicar’s guards. He gurgled as he collapsed to the ground. Soren dropped flat to the jungle floor, curious as to how this was going to play out, but concerned by the prospect of being hit by a stray crossbow bolt. There was no way to know how many men the newcomer, Ramiro, had with him. He remained standing where he was, confident to the point of arrogance.

The whole situation could still be a well-played bluff, but Soren was not so sure that Salicar was the type of man to take that chance. He didn’t have the carefree attitude that Sancho Rui or Ramiro had. He came across as a man of detail and money rather than action, and his decision would be made on the balance of risk and reward rather than the reckless pursuit of excitement.

Salicar licked his lips, his eyes flicking along the edge of the clearing into the dark jungle beyond. ‘Well, Ramiro, I’m thinking that if you had enough men to take what you want, you’d have taken it by now. Why don’t you and your friend fuck off.’

He showed more courage than Soren would have credited him with. Maybe Salicar was more afraid of Sancho Rui than he was of Ramiro. Still, from the expression on his face, Soren could see that Salicar was calculating everything, weighing up all of the information he had before saying or doing anything. Whichever it was, it took a certain amount of grit and Soren fully expected that more men were about to die.

Salicar and Ramiro stood in silence, staring at one another. Everyone else remained deathly still.

‘Shoot him,’ Salicar shouted, breaking the silence as he dived for the cover of the cart.

His guards made to fire, but a half dozen crossbow bolts flitted out of the jungle, none striking the guards, who dived for cover as soon as they realised what was happening. The cart bore the brunt of the crossbow attack, shuddering each time one of the bolts hit it. A number of the slaves fled into the jungle as soon as the volley was fired. It was probably the best chance any of them would have for freedom.

Soren had never been in a fight where he was not one of the combatants, and it felt odd sitting there while matters unfolded without his involvement. His hands were still bound, and there was a sense of helplessness that he found discomfiting. Nevertheless it was curious to be merely a spectator. He would have tried to escape there and then were it not for the fear of being mistaken for one of Salicar’s men and attracting a crossbow bolt. His best chance to remain unscathed was to appear as slave-like as he could.

Salicar’s men may have been used to fighting, but they had obviously not done any soldiering. Rather than work as a unit and fire at coordinated targets, they were shooting as individuals and Soren knew this spelled disaster. The attackers had been coordinated so far and if that continued they would kill off the guards and most likely Salicar.

Ramiro had drawn a sword and closed the distance to Salicar, who had also drawn his but he didn’t look as though he was familiar with using it — nor did he look eager to do so.

Three men emerged from the jungle with swords drawn and moved quickly toward the cart where the guards had taken cover. Any of the slaves that had not already taken the opportunity to flee now did, leaving only Salicar’s men and Soren and his unfortunate companions tied to the back of the cart.

With everyone distracted, Soren began to work furiously at the ropes binding his hands together. As the sounds of fighting filled the clearing, the knots started to loosen. He pulled his hands free of the rope but remained crouched down behind the cart with the other captives so as to continue unnoticed.

‘Ramiro Qai! Did you really think I would be that foolish? That Sancho Rui would send his plunder through the jungle in contravention of the agreements signed by us in the presence of the Conclave?’ a voice that was familiar to Soren said.

Sancho Rui appeared on the trail behind them with ten men at his side. Ramiro smiled broadly and lowered his sword; a grateful looking Salicar stepped back out of striking range.

‘So that’s what this is about. I should have known better.’

Sancho Rui nodded with a satisfied smile on his face.

‘You couldn’t swallow the fact that you didn’t get it all your own way in the Accords,’ Ramiro said. ‘And of course you knew that you couldn’t hope to best me at sea, so you created this little deception. Always your way, deception and cowardice when skill and bravery are found wanting.’

Sancho Rui’s smile faded.

‘I trust there will be no quarter?’ Ramiro said.

‘Sancho Rui offers no quarter, and expects none,’ Rui said, his bravado clearly a contrived effort to refute the slight on his courage.

Soren was becoming irritated with the way Rui constantly referred to himself in the third person. The reasons for killing him seemed to keep mounting up. Soren also noticed that his stolen sword was strapped to Rui’s waist. He had taste at least.

‘Well then,’ Ramiro said, ‘I don’t see any reason to wait around.’ He pounced forward and slashed out quickly with his sword, a slightly curving single edged weapon. The attack took Salicar by surprise and was lethal. He dropped to the ground with little more than a grunt and Rui shouted for his men to attack. While Soren had been confident that Ramiro would kill Salicar and his men before, Ramiro was now heavily outnumbered. He was showing great bravado in facing likely death.

Soren’s plan had been to wait until Ramiro killed Salicar and his guards before either making his escape, or killing whoever tried to stand in his way. With Sancho’s arrival, Soren knew he had to play a more active role or end up tied to the back of the cart again.

Ramiro’s men fired a final volley with their hand crossbows. Two bolts found their mark and the targets dropped. Sancho Rui’s men charged forward, and the men that had been with Salicar made their move from the flank. It seemed as good a time as any for Soren to get involved. Soren grabbed one of Salicar’s guards as he passed and smashed his head against the back of the cart. His body went limp and he dropped his sword.

Soren picked it up as the sounds of clashing steel rang in his ears. Ramiro and his men were backing up toward the tree line from which they had come, but things were not going to go well for them.

As Soren moved forward, crouched in as pathetic a fashion as he could so as not to draw any attention, he opened his mind to the Fount. The blue glow appeared, covering everything. He waited for a second, hoping that something would happen, but nothing did. The blue glow remained, coruscating benignly all around him, but he felt no different.

‘What are you waiting for? Free us,’ one of the other prisoners said.

Soren nodded, and putting aside his frustration, he cut each man free of the rope securing them to the cart.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ one of the crew from the
Honest Christophe
said, as the other captives all scrabbled furiously to undo the knots that bound their hands together.

Soren made to follow but stopped. If he ran off now, he might not have another opportunity to get his sword back. He focussed his mind on the glow that he still saw, concentrating on it to the exclusion of all else, his old and distractingly dangerous method of drawing on the Fount. It hit him like a bucket of icy water, stronger than he expected, and he swore under his breath at the fact that the new method would still not let him draw on the Fount.

With the other captives gone there was nowhere for Soren to hide. Two of the pirates standing back from the fighting with Sancho Rui spotted him with sword in hand. They left their captain and rushed at Soren, striking at him from both sides, but Soren was able to parry their attacks and cut them down in one circular, sweeping movement.

Sancho Rui obviously spotted the speed and efficiency with which Soren had dispatched two of his men and backed away behind those jostling for the chance to get at Ramiro. Soren charged at him, intent on getting his sword back. Sancho pulled two of his men out in front of him and shoved them forward. It took them a second to spot Soren, but their orders were clear and they ran toward him. Soren cut through them like a scythe through dry grass. Sancho retreated further and screamed at his men, who broke away from Ramiro. They charged at Soren, who dealt with them in similar fashion to the previous pair.

Ramiro and his men stood where they were, visibly awestruck by the speed with which Soren was tearing their attackers apart. One moment they had been fighting for their lives, and the next a grotty looking captive was standing over the bloodied bodies of their foes.

The fight was intense but brief, but it had been long enough for Soren to exhaust the energy he had drawn from the Fount. Now that the effect was waning, fatigue would not be long in replacing it.

He looked around for Sancho, but not seeing him looked to the bodies at his feet, hoping that Rui had stepped back into the melee with the others and fallen to Soren’s blade without him noticing. He wasn’t there, and neither was Soren’s sword.

Soren’s disappointment was tempered with anger. He wasn’t going to let Rui get away with his sword and he was equally keen to avenge Joris and his crew. He looked back down the road and along the edge of the jungle trying to decide which way Sancho had gone when the fatigue hit him. He felt dizzy and swayed on his feet as his arms felt too heavy to lift.

He heard the confident, assertive voice of Ramiro Qai say something, but he could not make out what. Strong hands gripped Soren and lifted him off his feet. Somewhere in his muddled mind it registered with him that he was being placed on the plunder cart, which trundled off a moment later.