him.
It came as a relief when the Honest Christophe finally did arrive. He was eager to be gone from Voorn and back to the more clement weather in Ostia or Auracia, but patience was not so much a virtue as a necessity in his line of work. He continued to wait and to watch.
Nobody went far from the ship while she was being unloaded, but he didn’t see the face he was looking for on board or on the dockside. When the cargo was completely unloaded, the crew made their way into the city in twos and threes, but still there was no sign of the man he was waiting for. Once he felt he had satisfied the requirements of patience, Ferrata went to the ship for a closer look.
At first glance there was no one on board, but sailors tended to get all out of sorts when someone set foot on their ship without permission.
‘Ho there. Anyone on board?’ He waited for a reaction for a moment before vaulting over the bulwark and looking about.
‘Who are you?’
Ferrata turned to the source of the voice, a man who had just come out of the companionway beneath the poop deck.
‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘I did call out, but got no answer.’
The man glared at him, but said nothing.
‘I’m looking for a friend. I was given to understand that he would be arriving on the Honest Christophe .’
‘Who might your friend be? A sailor?’
‘No, a passenger. He’s an Ostian by the name of Soren.’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘ Honest Christophe ain’t a passenger ship. You must have been told wrong.’
‘I don’t believe that I was,’ Ferrata said. He had seen Soren board the Honest Christophe with his own eyes, and had watched the ship sail out of the harbour in Auracia.
‘Ain’t no one called Soren on the Christophe . Didn’t bring any passengers into Voorn. Is there anything else you’re wanting?’
Ferrata smiled and tipped his hat, but felt his temper rise. ‘No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Good day.’
The sailor nodded, but said nothing more.
Voorn was not yet a dead end. There were other men who had sailed on board the Honest Christophe from Auracia, and they all had tongues.
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
It came as a relief when the Honest Christophe finally did arrive. He was eager to be gone from Voorn and back to the more clement weather in Ostia or Auracia, but patience was not so much a virtue as a necessity in his line of work. He continued to wait and to watch.
Nobody went far from the ship while she was being unloaded, but he didn’t see the face he was looking for on board or on the dockside. When the cargo was completely unloaded, the crew made their way into the city in twos and threes, but still there was no sign of the man he was waiting for. Once he felt he had satisfied the requirements of patience, Ferrata went to the ship for a closer look.
At first glance there was no one on board, but sailors tended to get all out of sorts when someone set foot on their ship without permission.
‘Ho there. Anyone on board?’ He waited for a reaction for a moment before vaulting over the bulwark and looking about.
‘Who are you?’
Ferrata turned to the source of the voice, a man who had just come out of the companionway beneath the poop deck.
‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘I did call out, but got no answer.’
The man glared at him, but said nothing.
‘I’m looking for a friend. I was given to understand that he would be arriving on the Honest Christophe .’
‘Who might your friend be? A sailor?’
‘No, a passenger. He’s an Ostian by the name of Soren.’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘ Honest Christophe ain’t a passenger ship. You must have been told wrong.’
‘I don’t believe that I was,’ Ferrata said. He had seen Soren board the Honest Christophe with his own eyes, and had watched the ship sail out of the harbour in Auracia.
‘Ain’t no one called Soren on the Christophe . Didn’t bring any passengers into Voorn. Is there anything else you’re wanting?’
Ferrata smiled and tipped his hat, but felt his temper rise. ‘No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Good day.’
The sailor nodded, but said nothing more.
Voorn was not yet a dead end. There were other men who had sailed on board the Honest Christophe from Auracia, and they all had tongues.
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
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