The Huntsman's Amulet (11 page)

Chapter 16

The Fount

W
hen Soren woke he
felt tired and stiff, as though he had spent the night training rather than in bed. His mind was fresh with memories of his dreams, all centring around Alessandra, of cold, dark water; things he had no desire to think about. It was light outside when he woke, so he pushed the troubled thoughts from his mind and headed to the library. There were still so many questions.

True to form, Berengarius was sitting at his desk, barely visible behind stacks of ancient leather bound books and pages of handwritten notes.

‘You’re finally awake. Good morning,’ he said. ‘Let’s go out into the city again, I find a walk is a nicer way to discuss these things. Shall we?’

Soren nodded in agreement and once more they went out into the city.

There was one pressing issue in particular that Soren wanted an answer to, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask it outright. ‘What happened to the bannerets that were like me?’

‘I can’t say for certain, as I haven’t left the city in a very long time, but I expect that they died out. When the bannerets developed the ability to connect to the Fount, they took on the same burdens that were imposed on the mages. The connection would have made it impossible for them to have children and pass their ability to the next generation. With the mages wiped out, there was no one to give the Gift to new bannerets. By wiping out magic, the bannerets doomed themselves. An interesting irony, don’t you think?’ Berengarius said.

‘That makes it difficult to explain how I’ve come to have these abilities, so long after,’ Soren said.

‘You’re right, it does. I’m fascinated by it, and I’ve been giving considerable thought to it since you arrived. Might I ask what your family name is?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know. I was raised in an orphanage.’

Berengarius nodded with a mixture of condolence and disappointment. ‘That is a shame, but while it would have been nice to know who your ancestors were, my theory isn’t contingent on that knowledge. The best explanation that I can come up with is that your ancestors were bannerets. The quality has remained latent in your family’s blood for all the generations since. Why it has chosen to manifest itself now, with you, is hard to say. Perhaps your mother’s family had a similar history of service in the bannerets, and when the two bloodlines converged, it was enough for the trait to manifest itself. It is impossible to know for certain.

Soren nodded. It really wasn’t important when he thought about it. All that mattered was that it had happened. ‘It means I’ll never be able to have children, doesn’t it.’

‘Ah, yes. I’m afraid it does seem likely that you won’t,’ Berengarius said. ‘I am sorry.’

It was strange. Soren had never given any thought to having children of his own before. For most of his life just surviving from day to day had taken up all of his consideration. However, now that he was presented with the fact that he would probably not ever be able to, he was filled with the most profound sense of loss and regret.

‘Those towers you can see,’ Berengarius said, breaking the silence, ‘on either side of the strait are the houses for the Chain of Saludor. It could be raised or lowered to control the passage of ships through the strait.’

They reached the nearest tower. It sat atop a walled quay overlooking the narrowest point of the strait and he could see the chain dropping away into the water from its far side. Each link was at least as large as his body and as Berengarius had said, there was no trace of rust; each link looked as though it was freshly forged.

‘How does this all work? How do I tap into the Fount?’ Soren said.

‘That’s probably the only question that I cannot answer with any certainty,’ Berengarius said. ‘Even among the mages, everyone’s method differed slightly. I know little about how it worked for bannerets born with an affinity, so can only tell you of how it worked for those we created and for the mages.

‘The Fount is everywhere, an ambient energy that is stronger in some places, weaker in others. When you connect to the Fount, you can draw on that energy to use it as you choose. It’s given off by all life, much like how a flame gives off warmth, and how that heat is strongest closest to the flame. The Fount is also inside us, like a reservoir, which can be used and replenished. The most important thing to know in this regard is that it can be drained completely. Doing so is always fatal. It’s difficult to do though. You’ll use ambient energy before you draw from your reservoir.’

More danger, Soren thought. For something that was referred to as a gift, it brought a great many ways to kill its beneficiary.

‘In the ordinary course of things you’ll be very aware of when your own reservoir is being depleted; exhaustion, headaches, physical pain the like of which you would not have thought possible. The Moment may mask those warnings, which is another one of its dangers. Sleep will allow your body to replenish its reservoir most quickly by passively drawing on the Fount. The more drained you are, or the weaker the Fount, the longer you’ll need to rest.’

Soren nodded. It explained the headaches and the speed with which he was tiring.

‘As a general rule,’ Berengarius said, ‘the greater the concentration of life the stronger the Fount will be, and the easier it will be to draw on. It’s what made Vellin-Ilora such an ideal site for the College of Mages. At its peak, there were over a million people living here. The Fount was limitless. It allowed us to shape some of the most breath-taking and important magic you could possibly imagine. Now, the city and the Isles are dead. It’s a struggle to draw even a small amount.’

Mention of the word ‘dead’ led Soren to an uncomfortable memory. He had seen a shaman kill someone, and seem to gain energy by doing so. ‘If I were to kill someone…’

‘No, that never worked for the bannerets, and I am certain some tried it. It was only the mages, the sorcerers, who could use that energy, and even then only for destruction. Only a few did, but they blackened all our names.

‘I tap into the Fount at will, but that skill took many years of training and practice. The greatest difficulty is accepting that it is everywhere. Once you can do that, to draw on it is as easy as reaching out to touch it.’

‘It’s a gentle blue glow that surrounds things?’ Soren said.

‘You’ve seen it then. Yes, that’s how it manifests itself to human eyes that are open to it. Seeing it is the first and most difficult step. And you say that you are able to see it at will?’ Berengarius said.

‘To a degree. It needs a huge amount of concentration. That can be difficult to achieve in a fight.’

‘I see,’ Berengarius said. ‘It really just comes down to practice once you have reached the point that you have. Eventually it appears quickly and with little effort. Accept that it is there when you want it, and it will be. The danger is that the Fount might rush in and overwhelm you. It was something that had to be practiced carefully, breaking the connection quickly and at will, until the desired amount of energy could be drawn without danger of being flooded.’

‘That’s something I’ve wondered about,’ Soren said. ‘A number of times, when the Gift has been stronger, things that I didn’t intend to happen have happened. At least, things I intended to do went farther than I meant them to.’

Berengarius bent down and picked up two similar sized pebbles from the ground.

‘Take these,’ he said, handing them to Soren. ‘Now throw one of them out into the water.’

Soren did as he was asked. He watched the pebble as it sailed through the air and plopped into the water.

‘Very good,’ Berengarius said. ‘Now, throw the other one, but don’t do anything differently.’

Soren felt a tingle on his skin as he threw the pebble. It went farther, despite him not throwing it any harder.

‘I channelled some of the Fount into you when you threw the second stone. Not very much, but does that explain to you why that happened? If I channelled more, the stone would have gone farther again. It’s about controlling the flow of energy. With the Moment though, there is no control. Everything you do will be with absolutely maximum effort, everything you attack will be destroyed.’

Soren nodded. It made sense, but he had no idea of how he could ever hope to master it.

‘How close do I need to be to draw on the Fount?’ Soren said.

‘That depends on a great many things,’ Berengarius said. ‘How far away you are from the source, how strong the source is and how skilled you are at drawing from it. The Fount accumulates more around living things, so there is more of it close to larger amounts of life, a city for example. With more skill, or more focus, more energy can be drawn from weaker concentrations. Certain things can dampen, or block a connection. Stone, for instance will dampen, and water will block it.’

‘What about magical objects, like mage lamps? Can I draw from those?’

‘No. We could imbue objects with magic, but not draw it back out again. We could never find a way to store the Fount for later use.’

Soren nodded, but didn’t contradict Berengarius. It was interesting and gave Soren pause for thought, but he saw no reason to reveal that to Berengarius. He was certain that he had drawn from the drones, both in the Academy, and again when they attacked him in the city. Perhaps it was something peculiar to bannerets born with the Gift that mages were never aware of.

Chapter 17

A Shocking Discovery

‘M
y ship won’t be
back for another thirty-five days or so,’ Soren said. ‘I was hoping you would help me practice with the Gift.’

‘Thirty-five days? From when?

‘Well, forty since I arrived on the island, a few days before I met you.’

‘Soren, it’s been nearly forty days since we met.’

Soren looked at him as though he had lost his mind. ‘I’ve only been here six days, including the days it took me to get to the city.’

Berengarius shook his head. ‘I didn’t think to mention it. With an affinity to the Fount, your body is also more dependent on it. It’s so weak here, it takes you longer to restore your reservoir. Your first night here, you slept for six full days. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake.’

Soren couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but when laid before him, it made sense; the extensive and vivid dreams, the ravenous hunger when he woke, the unusual tiredness. Then he realised what it meant; he could miss his rendezvous with the
Honest Christophe
.

‘I have to go,’ Soren said. ‘If I miss that ship, I’ll be stuck here.’

Berengarius sighed. ‘I had hoped that we could avoid this for a little longer; it’s been so nice to have company. I can’t let you leave.’

‘What do you mean?’ Soren said. His hand drifted to the handle of his sword.

‘After the war, bannerets came here to destroy the library, to wipe out the last trace of magic. They couldn’t manage it; the spell protecting the library made it impossible. I made an agreement with them and swore an oath to watch over the library and prevent its secrets from ever escaping. I’ve kept that oath ever since. It’s not a task I’ve enjoyed, or one I would ever have wished upon myself, but it is necessary. The few deaths I cause here prevent countless more if these secrets returned to the world.’

The reason the myths about the Isles had lasted so long. It should have occurred to him before. ‘You told me that you don’t have the power to kill me,’ Soren said. ‘When you tried, it didn’t work.’

‘You’re right of course,’ Berengarius said. ‘The Fount isn’t strong enough here for me to be able to do a banneret of birth like you harm. I regret the fact; it would have been fast and painless if I could. The alternative, I fear, is unlikely to be so. The Fount is too weak for you to put up much of a fight. It will be over faster if you just accept it.’

Soren caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head slightly. There were two drones behind him, and another two approaching. He was not sure if the headache had already gone before he spotted them or if it happened at the same time, and fought to suppress a smile.

‘I really am very sorry about this. If there was any other way… But the risk is simply too great. I hope you can understand that. I’m sorry we didn’t have longer to talk. Goodbye.’

Berengarius turned and started to walk back toward the College, leaving Soren alone with the drones.

As the drones surrounded him, Soren felt stronger and more positive than at any point since arriving on the island, confirming what Berengarius said about the effect the Fount had on his physical well being.

Flushed with the energy for the first time in days, he felt almost euphoric as he fought off the drones and deactivated each one. Soren wondered if Berengarius really did not know that he could draw on the energy stored within the drones, or if he was simply paying lip service to the oath he made and never really intended Soren to be killed. One way or the other, Soren had no intention of staying in the city long enough to find out.

As soon as he deactivated the last of the drones, he turned in the direction of the city gate he had come in through and started to run. Fatigue would be hitting him soon, perhaps also the headaches and nausea. The discomfort they would cause paled in comparison to the notion that he could be stuck on that dead island for the rest of his life.

The night closed in quickly; it was difficult to tell when the evening was drawing in with all the cloud above so it went from dim and murky to dark with no warning.

He moved more slowly than during the day, but still making better progress than if he had stopped for the night. The darkness was complete. The clouds above, which did so much to hide the light of the day, completely choked out moonlight. His eyes adapted, but not enough to allow him go much faster than a crawl. A twisted ankle, or worse a broken one, would destroy any chance he had of getting to the spot where he would meet the
Honest Christophe
, if it was still there. He had no real sense of how long he had been on the island, but he refused to accept that he had already missed his rendezvous; the prospect was simply too terrible to contemplate.

The darkness allowed him to develop a sense of tunnel vision, with nothing else existing other than his goal. It allowed him to block the thoughts of what he would do if they were gone by the time he got there, which he knew was a very real possibility.

He continued on relentlessly, despite fatigue setting in. One foot carefully placed in front of the other, tentatively looking for a safe place that wouldn’t cause him to slip and fall and take away any hope of him getting off the island. Occasionally the going was easier, smooth sand rather than pebbles and rocks, and he was able to increase his pace. He couldn’t let it make him complacent however, as there was always another patch of rocks looming in the darkness.

He had no way of knowing how far he had managed to go during the night. When light finally began to appear, it brought with it despair when he realised he had not travelled anywhere near as far as he needed to. He suspected that day was the last that the
Honest Christophe
would wait for him and he still had a great deal of ground to cover.

Being able to see his route helped him increase his pace once again, but not nearly so much as he would have liked. Fatigue, which had been a nagging strain, was now a severe problem. His thighs and calves threatened to cramp any time he pressed too hard on them. The lack of sleep was beginning to affect him also. He found his mind wandering from periods of clarity to ones where he was not sure if he was awake or dreaming.

Had the Fount been stronger, he knew it would have sustained him enough to keep pushing on with the certainty that no matter how awful he felt he would be able to keep going. He had experienced that once before, and although he had not then known what the Fount was, it was what had kept him alive and moving toward safety. Here, with nothing, he had no idea when his body or his mind would give up. He had never been separated from the Fount for so long, even though he was only now aware of how important it was to him.

He felt thirsty and nauseated. His head pounded as though he had spent the whole of the previous night drinking cheap booze. His joints ached and his muscles burned, but still he had to force himself on. To be trapped on that island was not a fate he could contemplate.