The First Blade of Ostia (8 page)

‘I’m sure you don’t think it’s fair that I got a mid-ranked opponent first time out, but you don’t know what I would give to have no-namers in a grotty little arena for my first few duels to get some experience under my belt before having to deal with all those beady little eyes and big opinions. It was intended that I fail.’

‘I know it must be hard,’ Bryn said. ‘I certainly didn’t envy you having such a difficult opponent first time out, but don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid about it?’

Amero smiled in a way Bryn had never seen before, cold, empty of any sentiment. ‘You have no idea.’

Bryn shrugged. ‘Sometimes we just have to take the situation as we find it—particularly if there’s nothing we can do about it. All you can do is train hard and do your best. People are always going to have their opinions, and by the time we’re in the Amphitheatre there will be tens of thousands of them, and most likely half of them’ll want you to fail. It’ll get easier, I’m sure that it will.’

He hoped the mention of a successful future in the Amphitheatre might cheer Amero up a little but all he got was a resigned sigh and a change of subject. Bryn needed to steer the conversation to the matter of his moving out.

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ Bryn said.

‘Oh?’ Amero put his fork down. ‘What?’

‘Well, now that I’ve got money coming in, I’m going to take an apartment of my own.’

Amero said nothing for a moment, and then continued eating. ‘Of course. That was always your plan, wasn’t it?’

Bryn nodded.

‘Give me the address and I’ll have my man bring your things over,’ Amero said, without looking up from his plate.

W
ith lunch eaten
and paid for, they left the tavern. Amero hadn’t said much since Bryn broke the news he was moving to his own apartment. With his mood so changeable, Bryn wasn’t sure what to think. Someone called out from behind them.

They both turned to face the source of the shout. It had come from a young man called Thadeo dal Strenna, who had been at the Academy with them but who Bryn only knew passingly.

‘Hello, chaps,’ he said, as he approached them. ‘Long time no see.’

‘Indeed, how have you been, Thadeo?’ Amero said. There was no enthusiasm in his voice.

Bryn felt a flash of alarm at Amero’s tone. The fact that he reacted that way was as big a cause of concern as the alarm. Was he so worried by Amero’s moods? Was it now him being paranoid?

‘Well, thank you,’ he said. ‘I hear you’ve taken to a career in the arena.’

‘Just something to pass the time,’ Amero said. ‘What are you doing with yourself these days?’

Thadeo ignored the question, ploughing on with jovial bluster. ‘Heard you had a bit of a close run thing the other day. I always thought you Bannerets of the Blue were supposed to be indestructible.’

It was the type of friendly banter made by someone who was trying too hard to fit in, and the unfortunate fact was he didn’t know either Amero or Bryn well enough to talk like that to them, and their shared history at the Academy was too tenuous to make up for the fact. To make matters worse, it was the wrong day to expect Amero to dismiss the comment with good grace, if that was possible any more.

‘Were you there, Thadeo?’ Amero said.

‘Well, no, but I heard about it. One of the other chaps—’

‘Well, why don’t you shut the fuck up then and limit yourself to things within your knowledge. Quite a narrow field I dare say,’ Amero said.

Bryn cringed but was still hopeful that the conversation might come to an end before it grew any more acrimonious. If Thadeo had any sense he would make his excuses and leave.

‘I’m not sure I like the tone of that,’ Thadeo said in indignation, puffing out his chest as he did. ‘I think you should apologise.’

Bryn couldn’t remember much about Thadeo from their time at the Academy, which didn’t bode well; it meant he had not stood out as a quality swordsman, and he was now demonstrating that he lacked the intellectual capacity to identify and then extract himself from a rapidly deteriorating situation.

‘I think you should take your half-baked opinions and shove them up your arse,’ Amero said, smiling viciously.

Bryn noticed that Amero’s hand had drifted to the hilt of his sword. Amero wasn’t just being insulting any more, he was trying to precipitate a fight.

‘Now, gentlemen,’ Bryn said, feeling as though he was stepping into the path of a charging bull. ‘There’s no need to continue with this conversation. I think we should all be on our way.’

‘No,’ Thadeo said, his face flushing red with anger. ‘I won’t be spoken to like that by anyone, son of a count elector or not.’

‘I’ll speak to you any way I please, you bloody oik,’ Amero said. He made to draw his sword and Thadeo took an abrupt step backward, his eyes widening.

There was no stopping it now. The opportunity for Thadeo to get out of this mess was now long past.

‘Gods alive,’ Bryn said, ‘what the hell are you thinking of? What’s going on with you?’ He put out a hand to stay Amero’s sword arm. He could feel the tension in it ease and began to hope that the situation could be salvaged.

Amero took a deep breath. ‘Of course, it really isn’t the place.’ He reached inside his doublet and took out a small, cream-coloured piece of card.

Calling cards were a standard accessory for the aristocracy and since becoming a Banneret of the Blue and a member of the gentle classes, Bryn had been meaning to have some made.

‘Have your second call on me at the soonest opportunity,’ Amero said, holding the card out to Thadeo.

Thadeo took it with slight hesitation. His honour had been wounded and he was angry at the fact. Being faced with a duel put a different perspective on things, particularly one with a Banneret of the Blue. To try and make amends now would do nothing more than mark him out as a coward.

‘You’ll hear from him directly,’ Thadeo said. He gave a curt nod to Bryn before turning and walking away.

‘That could have been dealt with differently,’ Bryn said.

‘To hells with him. Maybe the rest of them will learn to keep their idiot gobs shut from now on.’

They walked in silence for the remainder of the route that they shared. They stopped when Bryn indicated that he needed to head in a different direction.

‘You’ll stand for me, won’t you?’ Amero said.

He said it in a way that Bryn was unsure if it was a question or an order. It was irrelevant of course, Amero was his friend and of course he would stand for him; he just didn’t like the way it had been put.

‘Yes, of course,’ Bryn said. ‘I suppose I’m going to have to get some bloody calling cards made up now.’

Amero laughed and his hard countenance softened a little for the first time that day, or for weeks.

B
autisto called
Bryn aside after training the next day. At first he thought it was to discuss Amero’s attitude, but when he became slightly cagey Bryn realised that he would be the subject of the conversation.

‘I haven’t been able to find another duel for you yet,’ Bautisto said.

‘It doesn’t need to be particularly fancy,’ Bryn said. The bare patch on the wall flashed into his mind. ‘Until I get a few more wins and move up the Ladder, I’m happy to take anything that’s available.’

‘Yes, I realise that, but even finding you another match like your last one is proving more difficult than I would have expected. It seems there are a great many low ranked duellists around at the moment, and not very many people who wish to see them duel.’

‘Ah,’ Bryn said. There wasn’t much he could add. He had known that it would be difficult to get matches when he started off, but had hoped that being a Banneret of the Blue would make him a more attractive proposition to duel organisers. Sadly it didn’t seem to be the case. It made Amero’s anger at his ranking stick in Bryn’s craw all the more.

‘It will only be a matter of time, I’m sure. Quality such as yours won’t go unnoticed for long. I must also admit that the fault is not entirely yours; I don’t have many contacts in this city, and you Ostians don’t always think that highly of Estranzans. My salon doesn’t have the reputation to bring promoters to my door. Something will come along soon though, rest assured that I’m doing everything I can to get you a match.’

It was disappointing news, but Bryn didn’t see what he could do about it. He had known that Bautisto was something of an unknown when deciding to train with him, so he had to accept the consequences of that decision. He couldn’t see the situation lasting for long though.

‘Thank you for letting me know.’

‘That brings me on to the other thing that I need to discuss. Amero has another duel scheduled so I hope you won’t be annoyed if we maintain our focus on him until your next one is coming up.’

‘It stands to reason,’ Bryn said. It was infuriating, frustrating. Bryn wanted to break something, but to go looking for matches himself was just not the done thing; it was seen to be beneath the dignity of a banneret so he had to rely on Bautisto. In any event, turning up looking for a duel in person smacked of desperation, and that would do him no good. If Amero won his next duel, it would give Bautisto’s salon a higher profile, which would in turn benefit Bryn. He would have to content himself with that thought for the time being.

A
mero felt naked
without his rapier. He had carried one every time he stepped out in public for years. It made him wonder how ordinary people got by. A rapier at his waist marked him out as a banneret, however, and that day he wanted to look like everyone else. He complimented his swordless appearance with his oldest, worst suit of clothes; he looked as ordinary as he possibly could.

Some carefully placed questions had given him a name, and the address where the person could be found. ‘A healer of bones and solver of problems’ was how they were described. Amero had no broken bones, and his problem was not the one he imagined was being referred to, but if they could mend bodies they might be of use to him.

He found the address; a doorway in a tight alley in Artisans. He paused before knocking, but pushed his doubts aside. His decision was made.

‘Who is it?’

‘I’ve hurt my hand,’ Amero said. ‘I’m here for your ointment.’

There was a scraping sound from behind the door and it opened. An old man stood in the doorway. He scrutinised Amero.

‘Let me see your hand,’ he said.

Amero held both up.

‘Nothing wrong with those.’ The man’s eyes narrowed and he gave Amero another intense stare. His eyes worked over Amero, his face, his clothes, his boots.

‘You’re too well dressed for an Intelligencier,’ the man said. ‘Come in.’

Amero stepped inside. ‘How can you be so sure I’m not one?’

The man looked at him and smiled. ‘I’m sure, and it’s not just the clothes, if you’re thinking I’m some sort of idiot. What are you really here for?’

‘Can you make a man stronger? Faster?’ Amero asked. He felt foolish saying it, but he had no idea what magic could do.

The man laughed. ‘Of course not. You been reading fairy tale books? No one can do that type of thing anymore. I fix bones and help women with their troubles is all. Your bones look fine to me, and you’re not a woman. You’re welcome to waste my time, but you’ll have to pay for it.’

‘My work takes a heavy toll on me,’ Amero said. ‘I’m tired and sore all the time. Can you help with that?’

The man raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe. There’s only one way to find out. What is it you do? Soldier of some sort by the look of you.’

Amero smiled, but said nothing.

‘If that’s the way you want to play it, it’s fine with me,’ the man said. ‘I’ll see some coin first, though.’

‘How much?’ Amero asked.

‘Gentleman like yourself? Five crowns.’

Amero laughed and looked around the small, shabby room. ‘One, and you’re lucky to get it.’ He took a gold crown from his purse and flicked it to the man.

The man caught it and turned it over in his fingers. ‘Come closer,’ he said.

Amero stepped forward, feeling his heart accelerate.

The man held out his hands. ‘Tired and sore?’

‘Tired and sore,’ Amero said. It was the truth. He had trained all morning and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. His joints ached and his muscles burned; even standing still was a strain.

The man held his hands over Amero’s chest and closed his eyes. Nothing happened, and Amero felt ridiculous. The whole thing was a farce. He had always scorned the idea of anyone being able to do anything worthwhile with magic. No one had since the days of the Empire—

A chill flooded though his entire body, so strong that it caused him to shiver uncontrollably. ‘Wh— what are you doing to me?’

The man said nothing, but the cold became worse, penetrating every part of his body. Amero was about to order him to stop when the man slumped into a chair. The freezing sensation started to fade.

‘Is that it?’ Amero asked, indignantly.

‘That’s it.’

The feeling of cold was almost completely gone, and Amero realised he did not feel nearly so tired. Far from it. He felt more rested and refreshed than he could remember. He stretched his arms and shoulders. All of the ache, fatigue, and stiffness was gone. ‘Astonishing. How often can you do this?’

‘Often as you like,’ the man said. ‘Within reason. I need rest myself after doing it. Once a day maybe.’

‘I’ll be back every day,’ Amero said. ‘Same time, and you keep this to yourself.’

‘I will,’ the man said. ‘But it’ll be five crowns the next time.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Amero said, revelling in the fresh sensation that filled every limb.

B
ryn returned
home from training to find a letter pushed under his door. The address was in Amero’s handwriting. He broke the seal on the letter and shut the door behind him, pausing to take in the first few lines. There was a second note contained within. In Amero’s scrawling handwriting, he explained that the other letter was from Thadeo dal Strenna’s second, a banneret by the name of Giaco dal Barraco. Bryn wracked his brains in an effort to remember the name, but he couldn’t. It didn’t matter; it was rare that seconds were ever required to fight each other.

The second letter contained all the formalities required to start the organisation of a duel. After the introduction it went on to point out that at this early stage of proceedings an apology would still be satisfactory. Bryn had expected that this would be the case and had broached the matter with Amero in anticipation of the offer. Amero’s response had been couched in similar terms to his original statements. Bryn saw nothing to be gained by putting the matter to him a second time now that the offer had been formally made. Blood would be shed and no amount of talk would change that fact.

He moved farther into his apartment and sat on the stool beside his small writing table before continuing to read the note. The remainder was sketchy on detail and Bryn couldn’t help but get the impression that the injured party was still hopeful that an apology would be forthcoming when cooler heads prevailed. He was sadly mistaken if that was the case. Bryn pulled a sheet of paper from a tray on the desk and flipped open the lid on the bottle of ink sitting in its recess. He tapped the end of his pen on the desk as he thought, then started, disappointing dal Strenna’s hopes of avoiding the acquisition of a new scar.

Dal Barraco’s note had said that in the event of an apology not being made, the injured party—dal Strenna—chose to fight the duel with sword alone, to the usual rules, meaning the duel would cease after the first wound causing blood. Date and location were all that remained to be decided upon.

Bryn sighed as he read back over his note, sadly all too familiar with the process of setting out the details of a duel and fulfilling the role of a second.

W
ith the duel
scheduled for two days hence, Bryn took the time to return to the Academy to collect some things that had been left behind in the confusion of his move down to Amero’s apartment. He had a full day of training scheduled, so had gotten up earlier than usual in the hopes of collecting them and being back at the salon on time. His hopes took their first blow when he arrived at the Blackwater Bridge and was presented with a large number of people gathered at the bridge’s end.

As he grew closer he spotted a member of the Watch standing and holding the crowd back. Bryn pushed his way through the crowd, the rapier at his waist marking him as a man of status not to be obstructed.

‘What’s the problem?’ Bryn said.

‘A steelwood barge hit the bridge during the night,’ the watchman said. ‘The engineers’ve restricted access until they’ve had a chance to give it a proper look. Foot traffic only, and no more than ten people on it at any time. If you want to cross, you’ll have to join the back of the queue.’

Bryn thanked the watchman and joined the queue as instructed. It was something of a haphazard queue at best, more of a mob surrounding the end of the bridge. The watchmen blocking access to the end of the bridge had to use the butts of their halberds to clear enough space to allow the people coming over from the other side get through.

Once the bridge was clear, the watchmen shepherded ten people through their picket and on toward the other side. The undisciplined crowd pressed forward a little farther, and the wait continued. There seemed to be regular movement, and Bryn wasn’t yet in any hurry so he decided to wait.

The Blackwater Bridge was the main crossing point of the Westway River, although there were others, and it was not long before a substantial crowd had gathered behind Bryn. There was little difference in terms of distance with the other bridges over the river from his apartment, and he was beginning to regret not having chosen to go with one of the others. Not only did the crowd at his end of the bridge have to be allowed across, so did those gathered on the other side, doubling his initial estimate.

Slowly but surely, the crowd in front of him diminished while that behind him grew. Eventually he found himself at the picket—a couple of barrels and halberds manned by four members of the Watch. They counted off ten people before preventing anyone else from going onto the bridge.

Bryn came toward the front of the crowd, gently pressing his way forward in an effort to ensure he was in the next ten chosen to cross. The watchmen were nearing the end of their count as he came to the front. A watchman beckoned to him to come forward, which Bryn did eagerly. As he passed through the picket he could hear a woman’s voice remonstrating with the watchman. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see a young woman who had the look of a lady’s maid about her beseeching the watchman to let her through to join her lady who was already on the bridge.

The difficulty, as was bluntly stated by the watchman, was that there was no more space to pass across in that batch. He was in the process of pushing the lady’s maid back into the throng when Bryn was struck by a sudden notion of chivalry. It was no doubt compounded by the fact that the lady standing on the bridge waiting for her maid was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘I’m not in any hurry.’ At this point it was something of an untruth. ‘I’d be happy for you to take my place.’

The maid nodded to him in appreciation and pushed away the watchman’s restraining hand.

The lady stepped forward. ‘How very gracious of you, sir. Thank you very much.’

She held his gaze for a moment and Bryn felt as though he had been completely robbed of his wits. It was all that he could do to doff his hat in a gentlemanly fashion; speech was completely beyond him.

The lady continued on her way, leaving him to wait at the picket a little while longer, but she cast a glance back at him as she went that set his heart racing.

B
ryn was nearly
a full hour late by the time he got back to the salon. He had often wondered how Bautisto would deal with a breach of salon discipline. He had some inkling of it from Amero’s initial wilfulness when they started training there, but it had not betrayed the extent of the brutal training Bryn was subjected to when he had eventually turned up. Lateness was a mark of disrespect, something he would not forget in the future.

He was utterly exhausted by the time he got home. With each step, he felt as though he would be unable to take a single one more. His legs burned and his shoulders were so strained that he couldn’t lift his arms. The effort of breathing almost seemed too much. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of collapsing into his bed after he had finally made it up the flight of stairs to his apartment. The benefits of a ground floor apartment seemed all too evident now, and he regretted his frugality in taking the cheaper option four floors above. Never before, not even in his first days at the Academy, had he found a flight of stairs so daunting.

When he got to his building’s doorway he found his sister, Gilia, sitting on the step before it. For a moment, his fatigue was forgotten and replaced by concern.

She stood when she saw him appear and brushed down her skirt with her hands.

‘What is it?’ Bryn said. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing that can’t wait until we get inside,’ she said.

‘Come up then,’ Bryn said, feeling a wave of relief pass over him.

Bryn struggled to hide his exhaustion from her as he climbed the stairs, and breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the top. He unlocked the door and led her into his sparsely furnished apartment. He looked at her face as she entered and caught the briefest hint of the disapproving look that he had seen so often. Were it not for his concern at her being there at all, it would have made him smile.

‘Please, sit,’ he said, gesturing to the solitary chair beside his writing desk. ‘I’d offer you tea but I’m afraid I haven’t brought up any water.’

‘That’s all right,’ Gilia said. ‘I’d rather just get to what I’m here to talk to you about.’

Bryn sat on the foot of his bed, glad of the relief on his legs but concerned by what she had to say.

‘The other day when you called, you noticed that the clock was missing.’

Bryn nodded.

‘It isn’t being repaired. It had to be sold, but I think you already worked that out for yourself. The fact is Father didn’t leave us with very much, and things have been difficult.’

‘Surely there’s still enough to live on?’

‘There would be,’ Gilia said. ‘If it weren’t for the debts.’

‘Debts?’

‘How do you think all of those fencing lessons were paid for? The years at the Academy before you got your scholarship?’

Bryn felt his stomach turn. ‘Father said that his manager at Austorgas’ had agreed to put up most of the money in patronage. The bank’s well known for sponsoring students at the Academy.’

Gilia shook her head. ‘No. He told you that because he knew you’d refuse to go if you thought that he had to find the money himself. Which is exactly what he had to do.’

Bryn rubbed his brow. The fees at the Academy were enormous. In theory, admission was open to any citizen of Ostenheim. It was the great social leveller and something the people were fiercely proud of, even if in reality it was far beyond the grasp of most of them. Some wealthy individuals and organisations sponsored promising young men of limited means to allow them to attend. This was not at all uncommon, and as one of the wealthiest institutions in the city, Austorgas’ Banking House was a prolific sponsor. When his father had told him that he had managed to convince one of the managers to put his name on their sponsorship list, he hadn’t given it a second thought. Questioning good fortune always seemed like such an ungrateful thing to do. He had been too excited in any event.

‘How did he get the money?’ He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer.

‘How do you think?’

She could only mean one thing. Moneylenders. Aside from Austorgas’, there were many reputable banks in the city, although none quite as large. Convincing any of them to give a loan to pay for a son to go to the Academy would be a difficult sell; there was no real collateral involved as there would be in the purchase of a house or some land. A swordsman in training was too nebulous a thing for any of them to take a gamble on, even on the signature of a man of respectable position and career such as his father. If the young swordsman were to be injured or were to fail and be thrown out of the Academy, he would be of no value and the loan moneys would have been squandered. It was a bad investment for any responsible banker.

The moneylenders who kept their shops on the back streets of Bankers were not so discerning. With a home and a good job, Bryn’s father had plenty of value that an avaricious moneylender would have no compunction in taking in payment. Their rates were also higher, reflecting the greater risk they were taking in making the loan and also factoring in their greed.

There was little need to ask who the moneylender was as there was little to distinguish them; one was just as bad as another. Bryn couldn’t help but wonder how his father must have felt when he had announced that he would be continuing on to the Collegium, making it another two years—perhaps longer—before he would be earning money. He hadn’t complained or made any mention of Bryn going out to find work. He had just beamed proudly at his son’s achievement. Bryn wanted to throw up.

‘How bad is it?’

‘Bad, but not impossible,’ she said. ‘We’re not in default, but the repayments take such a large amount of the pensions left since Father died that any time there’s anything else that needs paying for, we’re short.’

‘So there’s something else that needs paying for?’

‘Yes, nothing serious, but it needs to be dealt with. Mother hasn’t been feeling well and needs medicine. It’s only a mild illness but if it isn’t dealt with now I’m afraid it might grow into something larger.’

‘And there isn’t the money to pay for both medicine and the loan.’

Gilia shook her head. ‘Each time anything like this happens, something has to be sold. The difference is there’s nothing left worth selling.’

It made Bryn guilty to the point of self-loathing to think of the sacrifices that his family had made to give him a life of privilege. His sister was old to be unmarried. He had always thought that it was because she was proud to the point of haughtiness, but clearly there had been no money for a dowry. He’d been so focussed on his own career and the rewards it would bring to all of them that he hadn’t stopped to think of what they would do in the interim.

He reached for his purse and felt his heart drop when he realised how light it was.

‘Take this,’ he said. ‘It’s all I have at the moment, but there should be more coming in now that I’m duelling.’

Gilia said nothing, but took the purse.

He could see how difficult it was for her to accept it, and knew how hard she must have found it to come and ask for help.

‘I’m going to help with this,’ Bryn said. ‘I want to take care of the repayments. How much time is there until the next one is due?’

‘Next week.’

‘Give me a day or two. I’ll do what I can.’