The Huntsman's Amulet (7 page)

Chapter 8

The Surprise

H
e walked out of
the bank, still amused by the fact that he had been in a branch of Austorgas’ Bank in a city that had not seen a living soul in a thousand years. The direct link to something he was so familiar with made him see the city in a different light, less a faceless monument and more a place that was connected to the world he lived in. It was only some instinct of self-preservation that allowed him to drop into a shoulder roll and avoid the sword that whistled through the air toward him when he stepped out of the doorway. The blade clashed against one of the faux pillars of the portico with a clang and crumble of stone, the only sound in the street.

Soren rolled twice more before springing back to his feet and turning. Full of silent menace, a drone hovered a few feet away from him, long blades gripped by each of its four appendages. He was momentarily surprised to see something so well known to him and unexpected.

In the Academy, he had spent more hours training against drones than he could count, but had never faced one armed with sharp blades before. With blunt blades they were menacing, their inanimate character capable of inspiring fear on a primal level. Knowing this one had sharp blades made it truly terrifying.

The drones were one of the creations of magic to escape the purges, as they did little more than they were bid by whoever was controlling them. It made them ideal training tools for student swordsmen. Soren wondered if someone was controlling this one.

There wasn’t time to give that much consideration. The drone came toward Soren, rotating as it moved to reorient its weapons for attack. At the Academy the drones had been armed with whatever swords were being trained against, usually rapiers, but this one was carrying weapons created with far less artistry; they were little more than long metal bars with a sharpened edge. Despite their ugliness, they looked truly wicked and added to the intimidating presence of the tall, soulless leather cylinder.

It hovered above the ground and was a head’s height taller than Soren, who was taller than average himself. It attacked with two blades simultaneously, hacking inward with both as though to slice Soren in two. Had he not seen the attack coming and jumped back, it would have succeeded. It repositioned its blades and started moving toward Soren again.

At the Academy, each drone had six patches, usually more worn and scuffed than the rest of the leather cadaver. These were the contact points that would deactivate it. This drone had no such patches. Their absence was of little consequence, as Soren had spent so much time striking at them he knew where they were. His only hope was that this drone had deactivation points like those he was used to. As soon as the drone was in range he lunged forward, firing the tip of his sword into a spot he thought to be a deactivation point.

He felt his sword pierce the leather and strike something solid on the interior, but the drone appeared unaffected. For the first time Soren felt a kernel of doubt in his gut. Could drones have been built purely for combat? He backed away, down the street in the direction he had come from. He cast a glance over his shoulder and was relieved to see that the street was empty. Was there more than one? Had he simply been unfortunate in having this one stumble upon him?

The drone moved forward again to follow Soren, matching his pace. He could see the neat hole where he had punctured it and wondered if a second strike at the same spot would be worthwhile. The drone moved forward with greater speed and slashed down with its two blades. Soren parried them both with sword and dagger but was pressed to the wall behind him. He hacked at the appendage blocking his way up the street. There was little skill behind the strike; it was intended purely to clear his path. In all the time he had practised against the drones, he had never struck at the arms, only the target points.

His sword made a horrible shrieking sound as it clashed with the metal of the appendage and sent a numbing jolt and vibration into his hand, arm and shoulder. Part of him had hoped his blade, made from the very finest Telastrian steel, would cut through. The blow knocked the arm out of the way and allowed Soren to move back into open space. As he passed, he jammed his dagger into one of the other deactivation spots. He plunged it in until it struck whatever solid framework lay behind, but it did nothing.

As soon as he had struck the arm to spine tingling effect, it occurred to Soren that it might be his blade, Telastrian though it was, that had come off the worse. He sighed with relief when he saw it was intact. He was certain a lesser blade would have shattered with the impact.

The drone responded to his changed position. It moved in his direction and accelerated, slashing high and low with the two arms facing him.

He ducked under the high strike and parried the low with his sword, using the force of the attack to drive him in closer to the drone’s body where he struck again with his dagger, hitting what he hoped was a third deactivation point.

The drones in the Academy had six spots in total where they could be deactivated; the number required to turn it off could be varied, so the fact that hitting them had done nothing did not mean his logic was flawed. He would have to follow it all the way to its conclusion to know one way or the other.

As well as moving faster, the drone increased the intensity of its attacks. They lacked the finesse of the drones he had fought before; these were savage strikes, any of which would cleave him in two should they connect with flesh.

Soren moved back under the barrage of attacks in an effort to maintain some distance. As he parried between sword and dagger, stepping back with each attack, he tried to visualise the blue glow that brought on the Gift. Fighting drones was one of the occasions where the Gift had descended on him most readily in the past; he couldn’t understand why that wasn’t the case now.

Faced with death, Soren was always grateful for small mercies. In between parrying and retreating it occurred to him that the headache that had dogged him since not long after arriving on the island had gone.

Soren was fast naturally, a fact that had served to his advantage even without the aid of the Gift, but he was being pressed to his limits. Already the drone was attacking at a far higher pace than he had ever experienced from a person. If its rate of increase intensified, things would go very badly for him. The attacks were coming in too quickly for him to have any chance to try to bring on the Gift. Unless it descended on him of its own volition, he was going to have to do without it.

Such was the rate of its assault that Soren could not consider a counterattack. It was all that he could do to continue diverting the deadly metal blades from slicing him asunder. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his arms started to feel heavy. It had been some time since he had trained intensely with any regularity, and even when he had he would have been hard pressed to keep up with the drone without the aid of his Gift. When he felt as though he could take no more, the thought and the act came almost in unison; he turned and ran.

He had never run from a drone before and had no idea of how fast they could move. Soren had a good turn of pace, and if he could avoid running into a dead end he might get away. Sticking to the street he had been on seemed the best bet; taking random turns in the hope of shaking the drone off like he would a person seemed futile considering it had found him in the empty city in the first place. The city was simply too big for their meeting to have been a coincidence. It also brought him back to the question of who had given the drone its order, and more pertinently, when.

Soren had gone some way before he dared to look over his shoulder to see where the drone was. His heart sank when he realised that it was keeping pace with him, perhaps even moving slightly faster. There was no way he would be able to maintain his own pace for much longer. Even had he been feeling in peak form, which was not the case, he was subject to limitations that didn’t affect the drone.

His mind raced as he tried to think of a possible means of escape. There must have been rivers running through a city of that size. Perhaps if he could make it to one and dive in, the drone would be unable to follow. The sea was another option, but that would require trying to circle back in the direction he had come, along an unknown route, and run the risk of getting caught in a dead end. He didn’t even know if the drone would be able to hover over water.

It was all moot however. Another drone appeared from an intersection ahead. Approaching drones now blocked both ends of the street. As Soren stopped in his tracks, the original drone slowed to a walking pace, mirrored by the new arrival, and they both closed in on him. In the Academy, the drones would work in harmony when more than one was commanded to attack, rather than getting in each other’s way. It was one of the eerie qualities of the magic that powered them, but in unison they were more coordinated than any two men and far more of a challenge.

Soren looked to the walls on either side of him in desperation, but they were too smooth to allow him to try and climb up. Perhaps the curse of the Isles would claim him after all. He crouched in a low balanced position in preparation. If he were to die, then it would be amidst the finest swordplay that he could muster.

The drones drew closer and Soren tried to control his breathing and maintain his calm. Perhaps there was a chance he could hit all six of the deactivation points on both of them; perhaps that would still work. He thought of Alessandra, and of how his own stupidity and hubris had pulled them apart, of how things could have been so very much different if he had only been a little smarter. He wished he could see her one last time.

Soren watched the drones move toward him, concentrating deeply, trying to decide where to strike first. It took a moment for him to notice that his body felt refreshed and energised. Not one to over-think good fortune, Soren burst into movement. He had already hit three of the points on the original drone, so he made for it first. Its blades moved so slowly now that Soren didn’t need to parry them; he could move between them at leisure. He pierced two points on his first pass, and weaved his way back between the steel blades to strike the final one.

All fear and uncertainty fled as soon as the Gift had begun to take its hold on him. He almost had time to watch the first drone’s appendages drop to its side as its body sank down onto the cobbled street before turning his attention to the second. He repeated his dance of steel around the other drone, revelling in the pleasure of superhuman speed, strength and agility. The relief at having escaped death was such that the consequences when the Gift faded were of no concern.

Chapter 9

Imperial Majesty

S
oren fell to his
hands and knees and retched on the cobbles, before the second drone had even touched back down to the ground. He had been eating little since he arrived at the island and there was not much to bring up. His head swam and it was several minutes before he felt up to standing again. He was tired, more tired than he ought to be; the hangover from the Gift was as strong as he had ever experienced — and stronger than he would have expected from such a short time in it. It had come on so quickly, and left such punishment in its wake that Soren was curious as to why, but that curiosity would have to wait.

Despite his fatigue he was concerned about being caught by another drone, so he forced himself to keep moving. Once he found the College of Mages, he could barricade himself in and rest before he began his search. With luck he would be safe from attack there. All he had to do was find it before he encountered any more. The questions of how they’d found him and if anyone was controlling them would also have to wait until he was safe.

He walked up the street until it levelled off and opened onto a wider road. To the north, the buildings seemed to remain consistent with those he had seen already, similar in size and design with nothing to make any of them stand out. To the south however, they seemed to grow larger. He headed in that direction.

The first building of any significance that he came to was a very large church, perhaps a cathedral. A tall campanile abutted it, which presented a good opportunity to get a better view of the city. He was exhausted and his legs felt like they were made out of lead, but he forced himself up the steps. He had no idea of how many more drones were hovering around the city, or how many might already be heading in his direction, but the longer he spent wandering around the streets the greater the chance of encountering one.

The ascent was torture on his legs, but the vantage point would make it worth the effort. Eventually he reached the top and made his way around the huge bronze bell that was still intact in its fittings. He was careful not to disturb it for fear of bringing all sorts of unknown unpleasantness in his direction. The roof was supported by an arch on each side of the square tower, each archway affording a spectacular view across the city.

He looked out in the direction he had just come from. The city was situated on promontory and had the sea running along its northern, eastern and western sides. In the north eastern corner there was a great bowl harbour with a small outlet into the sea. It was octagonal in shape and bore some resemblance to the inner harbour at Ostenheim, being enveloped by the land rather than having walls jutting out into the sea.

To the north he could just make out the stretch of water that separated Vellin from Ilora, along with the tops of two great towers that stood on either side of the strait. It was a vast city, and if his suppositions proved unfounded it would take far longer to search than he could remain on the island for. That was without even taking Ilora into consideration.

He made his way back around the bell to look to the south. He could see the gate through which he had come in, leading into the lower part of the city along the coast. He was now much higher, and in places the sloping hill looked as though it became sheer faces, often with buildings constructed up against them. Had he continued following that lower road, it would have led him to a castle built at the end of the far harbour wall that he had seen from the quayside. The castle looked far older than the other buildings around it, and considering how old they were it must have been very ancient indeed.

The campanile was on the plateau of a hill that extended to the south, while it sloped gently down to the strait in the north. The area he was looking for was spread out on that plateau. Gone were the tight and twisting streets lined with buildings, replaced by broad avenues, a central square and monuments, surrounded by majestic looking buildings. Imperial was an even more appropriate description.

He moved around the south-facing archway to try and take in as much of that part of the city as he could. The large buildings obscured much, and it was difficult to see anything but walls, roofs and towers. It didn’t matter though; he was certain this was where he needed to go and there was no time to be wasted. He scanned the city quickly as he was about to step back into the trapdoor. His eyes locked onto movement, distant but visible. Another drone.

He swore under his breath and debated what to do. Staying in the campanile and hiding was not an option. The drone was a long way off and moving slowly, so not of any immediate threat, but he had now seen first hand how quickly they could move when necessary. He would just have to go back out onto the street and take his chances. If he had to, he could take refuge in another building until he was more rested. The fact that the Gift had proved so elusive for the start of his fight bothered him. If it failed him again, or at least took as long to descend on him, the result of any confrontation would be far too heavily balanced against him for his taste.

The drones, the way he felt, and the way the Gift had behaved raised more questions. Perhaps the information he sought would answer these ones also.

He tried to summon up a little more will to push himself on faster. The truth of the matter was there were limits to what his body could do, and it desperately needed rest. Usually so long after experiencing the Gift, he would have begun to feel better. He’d still need to rest, but the initial impact and all it brought with it would have faded somewhat. That wasn’t the case this time, and Soren was concerned that he would not be able to keep going for much longer. The headache that had gone when the drone appeared was back with a vengeance. Another question to add to the growing list.

He exited the campanile and broke into a pace that was faster than a walk but not quite a jog. It was as much as he could sustain — and even then not for long. He headed along the street in what he took to be a southerly direction. It had been difficult to tell if the drone had been going anywhere with any purpose, but it was safest to assume that it had detected him and proceed on that basis.

He passed by the large building that had obscured his view from the top of the campanile and found himself in the square that he spotted when straining to peer around the building’s edges. The building was one of several magnificent constructions surrounding the square, each with beautiful and imposing façades of columns, decorated windows and arches.

The road passed beneath it, through an exquisitely decorated arch, before heading toward the strait. The other buildings were large and impressive, statements of power and wealth befitting the capital of an empire. On the far side of the square, behind a low wall topped with iron railings, was what could only have been the Imperial Palace. To see it so perfectly intact after so many years was awe-inspiring. Soren had read histories of the Empire while studying at the Academy, but he had never thought to find himself standing in front of the seat of the emperors, nor to find it in as pristine a condition as it would have been during those times.

Soren couldn’t afford to allow his fascination to delay him, for his heart sped up when his eyes fell upon the building on the right hand side of the square. There were too many familiar features, too many similarities to the Academy in Ostenheim for it to have been anything other than the College of Mages.