The Huntsman's Amulet by Duncan M. Hamilton Page A

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,