The Telastrian Song (4 page)

An hour at the tavern enlightened him about two affairs, both unrelated to his current inquiry and neither of which Giura thought would ever be useful leverage points in the future, and one shipping clerk whose underling was convinced was embezzling company funds and forging bills of lading. That might be useful and Giura made note of it. There was nothing about a new healer in the area, or the whispered mention of someone practising the forbidden sciences. It was time for a proactive approach.

There was not much activity in the tavern, so Giura was able to engage the barman in idle chat over a mug of ale. Giura never wasted words; everything he said and every question he asked was probing for something that could be useful: information that he could exploit, an interest with which he could feign common ground.

A boy appeared out of the backroom behind the bar, looking around at the afternoon’s customers for a moment before the barman ordered him to go back to his mother.

‘Son?’ Giura said.

‘My youngest,’ the barman said. ‘Always curious about what’s going on in here.’

‘What is he? Seven? Eight?’

‘Six,’ the barman said, proudly.

‘He’s a big fella,’ Giura said, further swelling the barman’s pride. ‘Mine’s nine. Not much bigger than your lad though.’

The barman nodded.

‘Had a tumble down the stairs of our building the other day. Broke his collarbone. Breaks my heart to see him in so much pain. Doctor said it’ll be like that for a week or two until it starts to heal, and even then it might not heal right.’ He paused to take a drink, giving the barman the opportunity to say something.

‘That’s too bad. I hope he gets better soon.’

Giura suppressed a grimace of disappointment. ‘Thanks. I hope so too. Doctors aren’t much bloody use though. It’d give a father reason enough to go looking for someone who can do more than a sling and a poultice.’

‘Right enough,’ the barman said. He turned his attention to cleaning some glasses, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

‘Ever hear of anyone like that? I’m told there are plenty around the city, just a case of finding them.’

‘Heard talk of it, but it’s not something I’d ever consider. That kind of thing can be bad news.’

‘I was told there was a fella near here that could help me,’ Giura said.

‘I wish your lad all the best,’ the barman said, ‘but I think it’s time you left.’

Giura nodded and did as he was told. He didn’t think the barman knew anything useful, but it was worth investigating.

I
t was a cold
, drizzly day when Soren and Alessandra arrived in Voorn, the capital of Venter—a kingdom that had once been a province of the Empire, hundreds of miles north of Estranza and on the other side of the Middle Sea from Ostia.

The weather cast a sombre, bleak mood over the city that matched the way Soren had felt ever since meeting the assassin on the road from Sejura. After the attack on the farmhouse there was no way he could leave Alessandra there alone. It was something he should never have considered in the first place.

There were two people that Soren felt he could rely on. Apart from Alessandra, his old Academy friend, Ranph, was the other. Soren believed that he now lived in Venter, the Ostian commander of the Northern Guard in Shandahar having told him as much. Soren needed to know that Alessandra would be safe while he was in Ostia, and in Venter with Ranph was the only place he could think of where that might be possible

Ranph was also forced to flee Ostenheim when Amero seized power, leaving his houses and estates behind. He must have lost nearly everything, although his family was so wealthy that would still leave a fair amount. Soren knew that Ranph would also be under threat himself; he was one of the few senior Ostian nobles still alive, so he would have to have attended to his own safety and security. That would mean wherever he was, he would have the resources in place to ensure Alessandra would be safe on his estate also.

That was only one part of it. Ranph was a fine swordsman and not one to turn his back on danger or adventure. Since he had lost so much to Amero, Soren hoped that Ranph would be willing to help, either in person or in other ways. The wealthy and powerful had contacts and influence that Soren couldn’t begin to fathom. Perhaps there was something that could help him achieve his goal.

Soren hadn’t yet told Alessandra of his plan to leave her with Ranph’s family. He knew what her reaction would be, and he dreaded having to face it. After the attack on the farmhouse, she felt that she had more than proved her worth—and ability to take care of herself—which was indeed the case. She thought this stop in Venter was to recruit Ranph to their cause and nothing more. The deceit was difficult for Soren to stomach.

The voyage north had been long and cold, as the Niepar, the northern wind, swept down from the mountains unimpeded by land. It became milder as the ship neared the coast of Venter, which was a welcome relief. After so long in hot climates, the cold came as a shock to the system. The only benefit of the lengthier journey was that there was nothing to do on board the ship other than rest and train when his recovery—hastened as it was by the Fount—allowed for it. Soren’s shoulder had healed well, and he had been able to knock much of the rust from his swordplay during the weeks on board. Nonetheless, he was glad to be back on dry land.

Although Soren was confident that Ranph was in Venter, he wasn’t sure exactly where. He knew Ranph’s family had an estate in the country, but nothing more. Voorn, the capital city, seemed the best place to start his search.

Having left Sejura behind, there was no reason to maintain the facade of struggling farmers. The reward Soren received for returning the Shandahari Khagan’s betrothed made him wealthy beyond the need to ever give thought to money again, and Soren thought it was well past time to start enjoying it.

They had taken on the personas of a well-to-do banneret and his wife from the time they arrived at the Estranzan port. It was true but for the part of Soren and Alessandra being married. That was a matter that needed to be addressed as soon as more settled times prevailed.

By the time they arrived in Venter, they had completely settled into this new life. He had booked them an expensive hotel in what he had been assured was a good part of the city, intending that they enjoy all the comforts they had foregone on their small farm. Soren hired a carriage to take them from the harbour to their hotel.

‘The houses are as fine as anything in Ostenheim,’ Alessandra said, as she peered out the carriage window, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Soren took a look and nodded in agreement. It was different to Ostenheim, the buildings with their ornate gabled roofs giving the streets a unique character. Neither of them knew much about Venter or Voorn, but Soren shared her expectation that nowhere could be quite as impressive as Ostenheim. He only hoped the hotel would live up to the description the agent in Estranza had given.

When the carriage came to a halt outside their hotel, Alessandra turned back and looked at him, mouth agape.

‘We’re not staying here, are we?’

Soren smiled and nodded. He looked out of the carriage window and liked what he saw. It was his plan to treat Alessandra at every possible opportunity while he was in Voorn, and if the exterior of the hotel was anything to go by, the Ventish were no strangers to luxury.

‘It’s a palace,’ she said. ‘We can’t afford to stay here.’

Soren smiled again. ‘Yes we can.’

She looked at him with the same disapproving look of inquiry she gave him every time he did something foolish.

‘The money from the Khagan,’ Soren said.

‘Didn’t we spend all of that on the farm?’

‘Not even close,’ Soren said. ‘Not by a very long way.’

She looked at him cryptically, but Soren didn’t elaborate.

W
ith Alessandra settled
into the hotel, and coming to terms with the notion that while there she would not be allowed to do anything for herself, Soren set off to make more specific enquiries after Ranph.

The obvious place to begin his search was at Voorn’s Bannerets’ Hall. Each such hall had a register of all bannerets currently residing in that region, and Ranph was far too high profile a banneret and aristocrat to have escaped entry onto it.

The hall occupied pride of place on the city’s main square, opposite Venter’s academy itself and at the end of a boulevard that led to the King’s palace—which sat on a shallow hill farther inland. Soren walked in with the sword prominently displayed at his hip stating his credentials. The foyer was large and airy with a polished white marble floor. The walls were decorated with banners in various colours, orange—the state colour of Venter—as well as others; trophies of battle.

‘Can I help you, Banneret?’ the adjutant at the reception desk said.

‘Yes, I’m looking for a friend. I understand he’s living in Venter now.’

‘Ostian?’

Soren smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘We keep a separate register for Ostian exiles out here at the reception.’ He opened a drawer in his desk and took a large, leather-bound book from it. ‘So many have settled here in the past couple of years we get almost daily requests for information. Confused times. What’s the name of the banneret you are looking for?’

‘Banneret of the Blue Ranph dal Bragadin.’

The adjutant opened the book and began scanning the pages. He flipped through page after page until he arrived at the end of the section for the letter “B”. ‘Odd,’ he said. He furrowed his brow for a moment. ‘Dal Bragadin, you say?’

‘Yes, Ranph dal Bragadin.’ Soren felt his heart sink. He was always rushing into things, and cursed himself for not giving this move further consideration. Would he ever learn?

The clerk’s eyes widened and he smiled. ‘Of course. Foolish of me to forget. He’s the highest ranked nobleman to come across from Ostia,’ he said. ‘Wait here a moment, if you wouldn’t mind.’ He left the desk and went through an open door.

He returned with another large book, which he opened out on the desk. ‘Banneret dal Bragadin has taken the title of “Medenmeer” since coming to Venter. I’d forgotten the name of his Ostian title.’

Soren breathed a sigh of relief.

‘He keeps a house in the city,’ the clerk said, ‘but I’m given to understand he doesn’t spend much time here, preferring his estate.’

‘Where’s Medenmeer?’

‘It’s a barony in the south of the country. It’s about four days by post-carriage, less if you’re willing to take the discomfort of an express.’

‘Post-carriage it is,’ Soren said, with a smile. He had no desire to spend two or three days sitting non-stop in a cramped carriage with a stiff shoulder. The post would allow them to spend each night in the greater comfort of a coaching inn. It made Soren wonder if he was getting soft. ‘Thank you for your time,’ he said.

‘If you are new in the city, perhaps you might like to fill out the registry. We do like to keep it up to date.’

Soren smiled and shook his head. No need to leave a trail for someone unwelcome to follow.

S
oren hadn’t expected
it to be difficult to track Ranph down; he was a wealthy aristocrat. Disappearing into obscurity was never likely to happen. After so long on the ship, it was good to be getting things done again. Waiting and planning was something Soren had always found difficult; he far preferred to be getting on with things, a trait that was a drawback as often as it was an advantage.

A quick call to the post-carriage stables informed him that there were several carriages heading south each day, so there would no issue finding transportation.

With their arrival so recent, and their new identities, Soren expected that they had several days—probably longer—before anyone tracking them picked up the trail and arrived in Venter. With luck this was being over cautious, but Soren’s experience of luck was rarely good.

He had already led Alessandra on a merry dance, and he wanted to do something pleasant for her before they headed south. Although Soren hadn’t directly considered the possibility, in the back of his mind was the fact that when he left Alessandra in Medenmeer it might be the last time he ever saw her. Voorn could be their final chance to experience happiness together.

He returned to the Bannerets’ Hall to enquire as to where Ventish society found their entertainment. The adjutant suggested the theatre, which struck Soren as being exactly what he was looking for.