The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (27 page)
Read The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) Online
Authors: Duncan M. Hamilton
‘I’m sorry, Alys, I don’t have anything for you!’
‘My life is all the gift that I need or want! You broke your sword saving me, and I never thanked you. I hope this will be enough.’ She handed him the smaller object, its weight taking Soren by surprise. It was a metal ingot. ‘It’s Telastrian steel, the very finest grade. My father keeps it back for diplomatic gifts, and rewards and such. There should be more than enough for a sword and dagger. I hope you can find a smith worthy enough to work it. I’m only sorry I didn’t have time to have it forged, but I understand that such a thing cannot be rushed.’
She stepped forward, kissed Soren gently on the cheek and then was gone. He looked out for her every moment until they left, but he did not see her anywhere. And so his great northern adventure was over.
T
he sea journey home was slightly longer than the outward one due to having to beat against the wind, zigzagging back and forth as they inched their way south. He was glad to get back to the Academy and to his own room, rather than the vomit scented cabin he had occupied for the sea voyage.
Term had not yet begun when he got back; there were still two weeks of the vacation remaining. The Academy was quiet, but not empty. All of the staff were there, as were the students who had graduated the year before and had been offered a place in the Collegium. It would be one of those students against whom Soren would be competing for the place in the Competition, which would be a focus for him this year.
The Collegium was a very different experience to the standard three years of the Academy and one that Soren eagerly looked forward to. While the Academy in itself taught on a wide range of topics that would be advantageous in the future lives of its students, the Collegium focused on one thing only, swordplay. Although only one year of study was required to earn one’s colours and the title of Banneret of the Blue, some stayed there for years, studying and training to perfect their swordsmanship. They would travel to other Academies and serve in the military, but would still remain part of the Academy, with furthering their studies being their primary motivation for all they did.
Although his room in River House bore none of the luxury of his accommodation in Brixen, it was a pleasure compared to his cabin on the ship. Added to this was the fact that there was something comforting about being home. It still felt odd calling somewhere ‘home’, but home it was and it felt that way now too. He opened his trunk and removed the belek cloak that he had carefully folded and placed in it. He had not worn it home for fear of soiling it, most particularly by vomiting on it while at sea, although it would have provided a welcome shield against the chilly sea breezes.
He held it out in front of him and the thick fur felt deep and silky on his hands. The belek’s curved fangs had been polished to a high sheen and crafted into the cloak’s fasteners. It had been lined with blue silk, the colour of Ostenheim and the Academy. It was a nice touch that made Soren feel a little nostalgic for Brixen, and more importantly, Alys. He draped the cloak over his shoulders. It was heavy and very, very warm. Wearing it felt like being trapped in a cosy world of comfort and luxury. He noticed that thankfully none of the belek’s scent remained on it. He took it off and carefully folded it once more before turning to the second of the two gifts he had been given in Brixen, the ingot of Telastrian steel.
It had been wrapped in oiled paper that left the steel with a damp sheen, but this did not mask its majesty. Its surface was embossed with the royal arms of Ruripathia and the steel was a deep grey with swirling patterns of differing darkness giving it an almost translucent appearance. It was almost the colour of the belek’s fur, but when the light caught it in a certain way, it gave the briefest glimpse of a lightening blue sheen. He wondered where he should get the sword made, and when it occurred to him that there was only one, easy answer to that question for steel of this quality, the more pressing question was where he would find the money to get it done.
With his unpacking finished, Soren went into the common room and took brief pleasure in sitting on one of the couches that had been previously always been claimed by adepti in the year above him. The pleasure was short lived though, as he found River House to suddenly be quite depressing, what with it being empty. Three former River Housemen had joined the Collegium, but they all lived in apartments in the front building overlooking Old Square now. Where there usually was noise, laughter and chatter, there was only silence, which was disquieting.
As term hadn’t started yet, there were no restrictions on leaving campus, so he could come and go as he pleased, for the next two weeks at least. He decided to take a walk around the city, so donning his blue doublet, he left the Academy and walked up the Duke’s Road. He crossed over the Westway River by Blackwater Bridge and stopped. There was something about being in Crossways that still made him uncomfortable, even just standing there thinking about it made him uncomfortable. It would be busy and he didn’t feel like pushing his way through the crowds, but his reluctance stemmed from the deep-rooted fear he had of running the risk of a beating from the City Watch. Of course that was a ridiculous thought now. In his Academy blues, their scrutiny would be directed elsewhere. It irked him and he told himself that he really needed to get over these obsolete feelings. Nonetheless, he turned right after the bridge and walked along by the river towards the docks, avoiding the square. As he walked down the gently sloping street to the docks, the smell of the city was replaced by the smells of the sea, salty air, fish and the smells of all the exotic goods that were shipped through the city.
He let his mind drift as he wandered through the streets. The sounds and the bustle were strangely cathartic. He was not entirely surprised however, when he found himself standing outside the tavern where Alessandra worked, the Sail and Sword. He went in. Early in the day, it always seemed to be quiet, but there was something about the relaxed atmosphere that was anticipatory of busier times to come that he enjoyed. He certainly preferred that to a packed crowd.
He stood in the centre of the room feeling slightly awkward as he looked around to see if he could catch a glimpse of Alessandra, but he could not. He felt a twinge of disappointment and considered leaving, but realised that it would look odd. Already the barkeeper was looking at him with a quizzical expression, so he went over and ordered a mug of ale.
He sat by the window nursing the mug for a while, not really feeling like drinking it. He idly watched the coming and going of people, dockworkers, traders, merchants, and occasionally one or two that were unmistakably sell-swords. They all had a relaxed, watchful air about them, and scars, more often than not. They had a quiet confidence in themselves and a comfort in their surroundings that suggested they were happy to deal with whatever came their way, devils may care. There was something about their attitude that appealed to Soren. It was a far cry from scavenging and cowering in the gutter. They had no ties, a life of complete freedom where no one but their chosen employer got to tell them what to do, and only then for the duration of the contract they chose. They probably weren’t particularly wealthy, or owners of great estates, but they certainly didn’t lead dull lives.
When he returned to the Academy late that afternoon, there was a note pinned to his door. It was from Master Dornish’s adjutant, and requested that Soren present himself to the Master of the Academy at the first convenient opportunity, no appointment necessary.
Dornish was clearly enjoying the peace and quiet of the Academy out of term. There was a far more relaxed atmosphere around his office and everything was being done at a slower pace.
‘Welcome back, Adeptus,’ said Dornish warmly. ‘I trust your journey to the North was worthwhile.’ He placed his hand on some papers on his desk and continued. ‘I have here your application for the Competition. Are you serious about going for the Academy’s place?’
‘I am,’ Soren replied.
Dornish studied him closely for a moment before continuing. ‘Good! Ordinarily I would try and talk an adeptus into withdrawing his application. It only draws out the selection process and inevitably they fail to win the spot. You, however, I feel are different. That’s not to say you won’t be at a disadvantage to the Collegium candidates. They will have far more time to train, not to mention a little more experience. As you may or may not know, each member of the Collegium has a personal tutor assigned to him. For the duration of your involvement in the Competition, I am assigning you to Master Bryn. Your classes with him will take place outside of the hours of your other classes.’
Soren nodded and Dornish’s face took on a more serious expression.
‘I am allowing you to compete for selection because we both know how very good you are and how much better you can be with the appropriate guidance and effort. Do not let that make you complacent. There are many very good swordsmen in the Collegium, all of whom will be working very hard to win the right to represent this Academy, and this city. You will have to beat each of them, and they will sell their dreams dearly, mark my word. Master Bryn is on campus, and I would recommend that you seek him out and make the most of the next two weeks before term starts.’
‘D
rones are all well and good, but disarming two or three of them at a time is little more than a parlour trick. A man has his instincts and sometimes, pure luck, which can often be enough to dodge or parry a blow that would have a drone. Now, take your guard!’ said Bryn.
They were in one of the private salons in Front House that were used for the Collegium. It had a high ceiling and wooden floors, and was in many respects a miniature of the training halls, but was equipped purely for fencing, with mirrors lining the walls, giving the room a feeling of being larger.
While he had watched Bryn perform demonstrations in the past, and had even sparred against him as part of his examinations, it was only now that the true level of the man’s skill became evident. He had always been something of an enigma at the Academy. He had a short and undistinguished career on the duelling circuit before he had returned to the Academy to teach. He lacked the swaggering ostentation that had won Amero so many of his fans, but his movements were precise and technically perfect. He attacked with an almost mechanical rhythm that was at once mesmerizing and deadly, and an intensity as though each point was for his life.
