The First Blade of Ostia (27 page)

As was the case every day, he was training with Bautisto. There had been no improvement in his arms in some time, but he had enough movement, speed and strength for what Bautisto required of him. Each day they pushed a little harder and Bautisto introduced a new element for Bryn to practice and perfect. He was attempting to do exactly that when there was a commotion by the door.

Bryn lowered his sword and turned his attention away from the practice dummy to the door. A portly, ruddy-faced man with a bald head and a thick white moustache had entered, followed by two men who were obviously subservient to him.

Bryn groaned as he remembered the face. Ricoveri dal Corsi, the old banneret who scheduled all of the duels in the Amphitheatre. The last time Bryn had seen him was before his duel against Amero. As displeased as he was at seeing the old man again, Bryn was curious. What was he doing at Bautisto’s salon? Bautisto hadn’t mentioned any promising pupils, but that would not be unlike him. He only hoped that whoever the swordsman was, he had a better experience of the Amphitheatre than Bryn did.

‘Pendollo? That you?’ dal Corsi said.

Bryn furrowed his brow. ‘Yes…’

‘Excellent. I was told you’re back in training, and looking tasty enough to boot. I’ve a proposal for you.’

‘How did you know I’m back training?’ Bryn said.

‘Pal of mine from the Academy, Serrol dal Ventro, said he had you in to interview for tutoring his son. Remembered who you are. Said you fenced like nothing he’s ever seen, and that you weren’t half bad.’

Bautisto emerged from the back room. ‘Banneret dal Corsi. What brings you back to my salon?’

‘Was just telling Pendollo here,’ dal Corsi said, ‘that I’ve an opportunity for him.’

‘And what might that be?’ Bautisto said, blatantly hostile to dal Corsi’s presence in his salon.

‘Well, I’d like to chat with Pendollo alone if that’s all right,’ dal Corsi said, as though affronted by Bautisto’s chilly reception.

‘I don’t think there’s anything you could say that’s of interest to me,’ Bryn said.

‘How about a rematch with dal Moreno?’

A
rematch
with Amero was the last thing that Bryn expected. He wandered around the city for hours after leaving the salon, trying to order his thoughts and separate them from his emotions, but he wasn’t having much luck.

Dal Corsi was an arrogant old prick, and a bully if the way he treated his two underlings was anything to go by. Quite how any self-respecting banneret would put up with that treatment was beyond Bryn, but he supposed the reward of a match in the Amphitheatre was enough to make most overlook his behaviour. Naturally he had expected Bryn to jump at the chance to fight in the Amphitheatre again. Dal Corsi was so full of his own self-importance that he was flabbergasted when Bryn didn’t sign an appearance contract there and then.

Bryn needed to make sense of it all before deciding. Why was he being offered this chance? There was no way the offer was made without Amero’s contrivance, but what was in it for the bastard? Could it be that he now felt so secure in his position that he was extending the hand of charity to Bryn? A gesture motivated out of guilt after the way he behaved? That felt like such a ridiculous notion Bryn laughed aloud as he walked down the street, attracting several curious glances.

The reason why was one thing, but his own feelings about the match were just as important. He knew what to expect from Amero now. He knew the dirty tricks he would try, and how he would deal with them. Now, as then, he felt he could beat Amero. Even after all that had happened, he knew he had it in him to win. Just as Amero’s new style had surprised and devastated all of his opponents, Bryn’s tight, punchy style of swordsmanship was something that Amero would never have seen before. He knew it was effective and with a couple of months dedicated to its perfection, he was convinced he would be as good as he ever was; perhaps better. It would be as much of a surprise to Amero as his flashy new technique had been to Bryn when he first revealed it.

The memory of all that had happened angered Bryn every time it popped into his head. The thought of having the chance to settle the score was impossible to ignore. Tutoring jobs would always be available, and they could wait until after any rematch. It was only a few more weeks, and then he could let the whole episode rest with satisfactory resolution and not have to give it another thought for the rest of his life. He would have to ensure that Amero wasn’t able to get to him in any way this time, either into his head or by causing physical injury.

The idea of standing over a defeated Amero on the Amphitheatre floor set Bryn’s heart racing. The chance to wipe the smile off the smug bastard’s face was too much to resist. Bryn realised that the decision was already made. He had no idea how he would break the news to everyone at home.

‘
O
tto
. What brings you to Ostenheim?’ Amero said. To the best of his knowledge, Otto, the family steward, had not left Moreno in decades.

‘Your father, my Lord. I’m so terribly sorry. He’s dead,’ Otto said.

Renald dead?
‘Has the date for my investiture been set?’ Amero said.

Otto frowned. ‘Don’t you want to know what happened, my Lord?’

‘Would it change the fact that he’s dead?’

‘Well, I, well, no, my Lord.’

‘My investiture. When will it take place?’ Amero said.

‘We haven’t gotten to that yet. We thought you should be notified immediately—’

‘You best attend to it then,’ Amero said, ‘and stop prattling around here like an old woman.’

Amero returned to his couch and looked out the window, out at the ships in the inner harbour. He wondered what changes being count would bring to his life. He saw no reason for any. The draw of the arena was too strong to turn his back on. If anything, the power being the most famed duellist in the city brought him felt as though it eclipsed that of being an elector count.

B
ryn waited
until dinner was over and he was helping his mother wash the dishes before he brought up his news. He hadn’t mentioned it during the meal as he didn’t want to be outnumbered at the table.

‘I bumped into someone interesting today,’ Bryn said.

‘Really?’ she said, not looking up from the dish she was cleaning. ‘About a job?’

‘Yes,’ Bryn said. ‘After a fashion.’

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. ‘After a fashion?’ Her voice was the same as it had been when he was a child, and caught out on a lie.

‘The scheduler from the Amphitheatre called by the salon.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a job?’

‘I am, that’s how he found out I was training again. One of the interviews I took, the employer knows the scheduler.’

‘So you’re going to take a duel then?’

‘I don’t know. I’m thinking about it.’

‘Well, then you’re an even bigger fool than I took you for. Did you not learn your lesson last time? Months of hard work only to look a laughing stock in front of the entire city.’

Bryn swallowed hard. ‘They want to give me a rematch against Amero.’

She looked at him with complete astonishment. ‘You’re going to make exactly the same mistake? Again? Going back to the arena at all is daft enough, but this? Did you bang your head in the north as well?’

‘I can beat him. Wipe the smile of his face. Put things to right.’

‘No you can’t. Even I know he’s gone unbeaten for months, and I hate duelling. You need to get your head straight. I can’t believe you’d even consider this. You come home exhausted every night, and barely utter a single word to that girl. How do you think that makes her feel? She thinks you don’t want her around anymore, that you regret bringing her back with you. She saved your life and I’d say you’re an idiot for not seeing the way she looks at you, but you’ve proved that already tonight.’

Bryn dipped his head.

‘Keep carrying on as you are and you risk losing the only good thing that’s happened to you in a very long time.’

‘The money would help too,’ Bryn said, not feeling at all confident now.

‘I hope it’s enough to pay rent. Because that’s what you’ll have to do. Take this duel and I don’t want you around here anymore.’

He felt a flush of anger. ‘I have to beat him. I can’t let him get away with what he did.’

‘Get out.’

B
ryn stayed
at an inn not far from his mother’s apartment that night. He might as well have spent the night pacing the streets for all the sleep that he got. The more he thought about it, the more his anger at Amero burned.

Dal Corsi’s offer had crystallised Bryn’s opinion of Amero and his desire to get his own back—he couldn’t let it nag away at him for the rest of his life. He could see the other things in his life, but they seemed peripheral. Amero was in the centre of his focus—until he was dealt with Bryn knew he could not give proper attention to the other things. It would all be over with in only a few weeks, a couple of months at the most, then he would be able to devote more time to the people he cared about and have the money to do it properly. Everything would be different. Better.

‘
Y
ou realise
why the offer was made, don’t you?’ Bautisto said, as they put their training blades away for the day.

Bryn looked over at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The duel. Why they offered it to you.’

‘I’ve never thought it a smart idea to question good fortune. It’s not like I see all that much of it,’ Bryn said.

‘Perhaps you should start. Amero has been unbeaten since he first fought in the Amphitheatre. He raced to one hundred and twenty-five points so quickly, fighting twice in one day on some occasions, he had the city in a frenzy. It was impatient of him, and foolish. Once he got there, what then? What could he do to top that and keep the crowds interested? Before you got back to the city, people were beginning to say that his new style could not be bested, that his thrust is perfect and cannot be defended against.’

Bryn laughed. The thrust for which there was no defence was the elixir that had driven swordsmen throughout the ages mad. It was a myth, something unattainable, something that did not exist except in the minds of those who believed it was possible. There was no way Amero had happened upon it.

‘My point is,’ Bautisto said, ‘people are bored with him now. He has nothing left to keep them interested.’

Bryn raised an eyebrow.

‘They see the same thing every week. Three touches, duel over. The last time I went to the Amphitheatre, it was half empty by the time Amero scored his first touch. Lower ranked swordsmen are drawing bigger crowds, because people don’t know what the result will be. Filling the Amphitheatre and the money that means for everyone involved is only part of it. No one will bet on his duels now, and that’s where the real money lies. If he didn’t have the right of top billing as First Blade of Ostia, they’d have thrown him to the gutter weeks ago. They can’t get rid of him, and they can’t make enough money out of him. He’s not at all popular with the promoters, and it’s only a matter of time before he gets completely side-lined, and he knows it. This offer is proof of the fact.’

‘My heart bleeds for him,’ Bryn said.

‘That’s exactly what he wants. If they get you back on the sand with him, Amero is going to kill you. I’m sure of it. It will solidify his reputation as an arena killer, and that will drive the people back into their frenzy. You’ll be his second and most tragic kill; his former friend but now bitter enemy. That will have the crowds back in their thousands, and they’ll bet on whether Amero wins by touches or by kill. He’ll make the arena no better than the Black Carpet.’

‘You say it like it’s a certainty,’ Bryn said. ‘That he’ll kill me.’

‘He’s gotten very good, Bryn. Far better than he was. The new style he developed, it’s perfect for him. I don’t like him any more than you do, but I have to give him credit for that.’

‘I can’t leave what happened unanswered. I can beat him. I know I can. You’ve seen how much I’ve improved. I’m as good as I ever was. Better even. And our new style? It’ll take him by surprise.’

Bautisto shook his head. ‘You’ve far exceeded my expectations and hopes, Bryn. I’ve never seen such hard work from a pupil, and I agree you’re probably better now than you ever were. The new technique is a very good match for you, but I’m not convinced it’s enough.’

Bryn shook his head and started to open his mouth, but Bautisto cut him off.

‘I despise Amero for what he did, but he has grown into a truly magnificent swordsman and the risk now is too great. If all you had to worry about was losing, I would say go for it, take the money and maybe you’d win, maybe not. That’s not the case this time. Amero doesn’t want to just win. He has to prove to the promoters that he can fill arenas, and as I see it there’s only one way for him to do that. To kill again. The risk is too great. It’s not worth it.’

‘I thought you of all people would stand by me on this. Show a little more belief in me.’

‘I do believe in you, Bryn. Surely all the hours I’ve spent with you over the past weeks have demonstrated that. It is your choice, and if you decide to fight, I will stand with you, but I wouldn’t be doing right by you if I didn’t speak up.’

‘Have you been speaking to my mother?’

Bautisto laughed, and shook his head.

‘We’ll just have to work harder then,’ Bryn said.

B
autisto was alone
in the salon, but had a paying client later in the morning, and Bryn would be returning for his second session of the day after that, so he took the opportunity to tidy up. Business was steadily improving, and as a consequence he had to put more effort into keeping the salon clean. It might be a dump, but he couldn’t abide dirt. He was sweeping dust into a pan when he noticed that a man had come into the salon, so quietly that Bautisto did not hear him. He was of medium height, wiry, and had a rapier strapped to his waist. His black hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, was showing the first signs of grey.

‘Can I help you?’ Bautisto said. He set the pan on the ground, and stood straight. It was a little embarrassing for a banneret to be happened upon doing the cleaning, particularly by another banneret, but needs must.

‘Perhaps,’ the man said. ‘I’m looking for Banneret of the Blue Bryn Pendollo. To whom do I speak?’

Bautisto relaxed. ‘Banneret of the Starry Field Baltasar Bautisto. I’m afraid Banneret Pendollo is not here at present. Might I pass on a message?’

‘Ah, the Estranzan maestro. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He nodded in salute. ‘I’m Banneret of the Blue Willard Dornish. No need for a message, I’ll call again in a day or two.’

He nodded again before leaving, a gesture Bautisto mirrored and then returned to his dustpan and brush.

B
ryn’s mother
rarely spoke without meaning what she said, and it was no different with her ordering him out of the apartment. Bautisto’s classes were now well enough subscribed to allow him to rent an apartment elsewhere in the city, leaving the cot in the back room of the salon free for Bryn’s use. With virtually no money it was the most luxurious accommodation he could hope for.

He was punishing himself with such a gruelling workload that he was glad of only having to go a few paces before he could collapse into his bed each evening.

There was no vitriolic build up to worry about this time, but Bryn was under no illusion that this was out of any consideration on Amero’s part. It was because Bryn made it an express condition of his taking part in the duel. The duel would be prepared for in secret, and only be announced the morning before. At the first sign of leak, or any hate campaign against him, he would withdraw.

The thought of having to go through another ordeal like the last one was the only thing that made the prospect of a rematch unpalatable, no matter how attractive the terms. He insisted on this, making it clear to Amero’s flunkies that this was a deal breaker.

The fat walrus dal Corsi had thought keeping it a secret to be a great idea, confident that surprising the city with a big event at the last minute would stir their passions to a crescendo. He reckoned that tickets would be sold out by lunchtime, and the gambling would be furious, as Amero faced the last man to put a touch on him once again.

Even after only so short a time away from home, he missed his mother and sister. Above all, he missed Ayla. There was something about her presence that made him feel at peace, a sense of happiness and contentment that left him feeling hollow without her. As he lay alone on his cot in the cold, damp back room each night, he thought of their journey back from her ruined town. Of the nights they had spent in that draughty little shack while he prayed for his shoulders to heal. Despite it all, the memories filled him with happiness.

Alone in the darkness of his thoughts, he dwelled on what Bautisto had said. Was Amero really that good now? Could Bryn beat him? Was he as big a fool as his mother said? The match was only a few days away, so there was no backing out now. Not that he wanted to. He would win, or he would die. Either outcome felt better than letting Amero away with it.

T
he night before the duel
, Bryn lay in his small cot, staring at the damp patches on the roof. He wasn’t sleepy and felt incredibly alone. He had tried to keep Bautisto engaged in conversation—a difficult thing to do at the best of times—but even that had failed to delay his departure, leaving Bryn alone with his thoughts in the ramshackle old fencing salon.

It was not late—he had gone to bed early in preparation for the duel—so he got out of his cot, dressed, and headed for his mother’s apartment. If anything, his nerves grew as he walked through the quiet evening streets. He had no idea what his reception would be like. The last words he had exchanged with his mother were harsh. He couldn’t even remember what his last words with Ayla had been. He brought her to the city to repay her for her kindness to him, for saving his life. He hadn’t been able to do anything for her at all. If it hadn’t been for his family, like as not she’d have been living on the streets by now. In one more day, everything would change. He would win, and he would give them everything they deserved, and more.

B
ryn knocked
on the door and waited, listening for the sounds on the other side. His sister opened the door and raised her eyebrows when she saw Bryn standing there.

‘Well,’ Gilia said. ‘Can’t say I expected to see you. Come to your senses? Better late than never, I suppose.’

‘Can I come in?’ Bryn said.

She stepped back from the door to let him pass.

‘I wanted to come over to ask you all to come to the Amphitheatre tomorrow,’ Bryn said.

His mother looked up from the table where she was sitting. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.’

‘I’d like you all to be there,’ he said. ‘After tomorrow, everything will be better. I promise.’

‘Better like the last time?’ Gilia said, joining their mother at the table.

Bryn looked around. ‘Where’s Ayla? Still at work?’

‘Ayla’s gone,’ his mother said.

‘What? Where?’

‘She’s gone back north. She was able to contact some cousins in Ruripathia. She decided she should be with her family. You’d know all this if you’d been around the past couple of weeks.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘She never said. Just said that she’d let us know when she was settled.’

‘When did she leave?’

‘This morning,’ Gilia said.

‘How?’

‘She took a post carriage. We tried to stop her. The roads are still dangerous.’

‘I know,’ Bryn said. ‘There’s still fighting up around the border. What was she thinking?’

‘She was thinking she had no reason to stay. If you’d been around, shown any sign that you wanted her to stay, she would have.’

Bryn felt dizzy. He had thought he had time, that he could make amends later when he had fixed everything. What a fool he had been.

‘I have to go and bring her back,’ he said.

B
ryn didn’t hesitate
before turning and rushing out of the apartment to start after Ayla. He had gotten to the corner before he realised he was going nowhere fast. Without money, there was no way he would catch up with her until long after she had reached wherever she was going.

The post carriage, along with most land traffic, took the one main road north. It would stay on it until she branched off for her specific destination, so it wouldn’t be difficult to follow her for the first few days of the journey. That was meaningless though, unless he could move faster than she was. The post carriage was not the fastest way north, but it was the cheapest. It meant that Bryn would be able to go faster by almost any method other than walking. Without any money, walking was all that was available to him.

He turned on his heel and backtracked to his mother’s apartment. He knocked on the door. His mother opened it, a leather purse in her hand.

‘Bring her back safe,’ she said. She handed him the purse.

He nodded in thanks and took it, breaking into a run as he headed for the north gate and the stables outside the city walls.

When he arrived, he stood outside the stables and weighed the options of hiring a horse or taking an express carriage. If she had taken the post, which stopped each night at one of the many coaching inns along the road, Bryn reckoned he had a good chance of catching up to her. She had only left that morning, so was possibly still within the range of a day’s hard ride. That would exhaust the horse, so if she had gone any farther an express would be a better idea. If he were to have any hope of being back in time for the duel, he needed to move as fast as possible. He decided to hire a horse.

He cast his eye over several of the animals, checking them for one that looked well rested and injury free. Settling on a dappled grey, he paid the tired looking stable hand. He bought a water-skin, a bag of apples and a near stale loaf of bread from the stall of an opportunistic vendor by the stable while the stable hand saddled the horse.

Bryn jumped onto the horse as soon as it was led outside, and spurred it on to a gallop. He tried to adopt as comfortable a position as he could, knowing that he would be in that saddle for many hours to come.

A
fter several hours
on the road, Bryn’s entire body ached. His backside and thighs burned from chafing and he determined that once this journey was over, he wouldn’t go near another horse for at least a year. He reckoned it could well take the same length of time before he was able to sit down again. There was a growing bright line on the horizon and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the sun rose.

Since learning that Ayla was gone, he hadn’t thought of anything other than getting her back. The duel seemed insignificant by comparison, but as his thoughts returned to it, he realised his hope of getting back to the city in time was forlorn. Even if he did manage it, he would be exhausted by the ride. It was almost dawn and he had been riding hard all night. He reined the horse back to a halt. Unless he turned around now, there was no way he would be back in the city in time for the duel.

The horse circled and snorted. Its blood was up and it was agitated by Bryn’s hesitation. He looked back in the direction of Ostenheim, and realised he didn’t care about the duel. He thought of Amero’s smug face, and for the first time felt nothing. He thought of Ayla’s lazy smile when they woke that morning under the tree. He felt a flash of despair. He spurred the horse on.