The Tattered Banner Page 11
Soren began to go through the positions, which at this point he had practiced so many times, repeating them required no thought whatsoever.
‘That will do,’ said Bryn, once he had finished his glass of water. ‘Take your guard.’
He walked forward purposefully and launched into his attack without pause or salute. Soren parried the initial barrage but was forced to take several steps backward. Bryn’s class showed through in his swordplay. In every way he was superior to the students Soren was accustomed to sparring against, even Ranph who many of his classmates would have considered to be of a similar ability level to an instructor.
He attacked again, with an angry intensity that startled Soren. It was almost as though he viewed the sparring as being for real. The hesitation caused Soren to execute a parry an instant too slowly and all he could do was deflect the point of Bryn’s blade away from its intended target, Soren’s heart, and into his shoulder instead.
‘A touch!’ said Bryn, through gritted teeth. ‘This is not just about defending!’ He launched into another combination of attacks. As Soren parried, he smiled to himself as he recognised the combination from one of the manuals he had studied. Bryn executed it perfectly but Soren was able to duck out of the way and move to his blind side. He made an economical thrust to Bryn’s midsection and evened the score.
‘Excellent!’ said Bryn. ‘Truly excellent. Well done. That will be all.’
With one night of the regular term remaining, there was little for Soren to do. Most of the other students had gone home as soon as they had completed their matriculation tests, but as Soren had nowhere else to go, he had remained. Once again River House was empty of its usual sounds of life, which was something that made him feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t that the silence was particularly eerie, it was just something that prevented him from being completely at ease. The solution that came to him most readily was the same one that always did, to train.
He wheeled between the drones as they hacked and slashed at him. A blade passed so close to his face that he could feel the rush of air against his skin. Other students always complained about how they hated the drones, but Soren had never found them to be much of a challenge. Beyond being a moving opponent and providing a tough physical training session, Soren did not especially rate them. They always seemed to be much faster when he watched them than they actually were when he trained against them.
He had continued to give thought to what Master Dornish had said to him about the ‘Gift of Grace’ but still could not identify anything specifically out of the ordinary, but then it was unlikely that he would have; he knew no different.
When he deactivated the final drone, he was swallowed whole by a wave of exhaustion that forced him to one knee. As he fought to catch his breath he felt a nauseous ache in his stomach and his head throbbed. Despite the improvement in his fitness and physical condition over the course of the academic year, training against the drones always brought him past the point of exhaustion. No matter how skilled an opponent he sparred against, he could never push himself to that level of physical distress any other way.
‘Exceptional physical fitness was the only solution the old bannerets ever found to the exhaustion, but even that was lacking. It seems that exhaustion and even nausea were common side effects of the Gift of Grace.’
The voice startled Soren, and he turned to see that Master Dornish had entered the hall.
‘The gift seems to have come in two parts. The first part was simply the gift. This aspect seems to have been enjoyed by bannerets most of the time, to varying levels of intensity. I’m not sure how or why the intensity varied; perhaps they could control it to some degree. This state was a lesser manifestation of what was called “the Moment”, which seems to have been the very highest expression of their powers and appears to have occurred far more rarely. Only in the most extreme times of peril to the banneret or the mage he guarded. That was the original purpose of the bannerets you see, to provide physical protection for mages. The side effects for the Moment seem to have been far more severe than the exhaustion and nausea that could be caused by the Gift. I did a little research, but that is the sum total reward for my labours,’ Dornish said.
‘After the Mage Wars, all writings pertaining to the use of magic were destroyed, and I suspect almost all mentions of the Gift of Grace were also. The only mentions of it that I did find were from books that would have been written decades after the last of the old bannerets had died. But it is something to go on. If you can contemplate on the way you feel when in training and combat, perhaps you can identify if you have the Gift, and if you can identify the extreme effect of the Moment, but be careful! There is a more pressing matter however, which is the reason I am here.’ He clutched several oddly shaped swords loosely wrapped in oilcloth in his hands. He handed them to Soren.
‘They are properly known as “storta”, but they are more often called Ruripathian backswords due to only having a single sharp edge and the fact that it is mainly the Ruripathians who use them. Usually we don’t train students in the use of and defence against foreign swords until they are adepti, but I think you ought to become accustomed to them rather sooner. The Count of Moreno has notified me that he will be here to pick you up tomorrow so that you can accompany him on a diplomatic mission north. He wants to give you a taste of your future duties with him no doubt,’ said Dornish.
Soren nodded, still too tired to make conversation and took the items from Dornish, his arms shaking with fatigue.
‘While we place a broadly even emphasis on cut and thrust, these swords are primarily used for cutting, although they can be used for a thrust also. The drones will know how to use them, but to look at you I would be inclined to recommend some rest over more training this evening!’ said Dornish.
Soren nodded again. Sweat dripped from his face with the movement of his head. It was all he could do to stay standing and he fought to control his breathing.
‘In case you are wondering, you did well in your exams, and have again impressed Master Bryn. Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ he said.
Soren nodded a final time, the fact that it would be the first time he had ever gone beyond sight of Ostenheim’s great walls sinking in and filling him with excitement and uncertainty.
C h a p t e r 1 8
JOURNEY NORTH
Soren had spent the morning packing and was quite surprised by the luggage all around him. In the course of one academic year at the Academy, he had gone from owning nothing but the rags on his back to having several cases of clothing. A ceremonial uniform, a mess uniform, several sets of training clothing and various other accoutrements required for daily life at the Academy sat neatly folded in his cases. He was waiting in front of the Academy to be collected by Amero, and was quite taken aback when his patron finally did arrive.
A great black carriage drawn by a team of six horses pulled up outside the Academy gates, followed by one other smaller carriage that stopped behind it. Two men sat on the seat at the front, one of whom he recognised as Emeric. Emeric hopped down from the carriage, and made a quick hand gesture to the men on the second carriage.
He walked up to Soren and was followed by two liveried servants from the other carriage.
‘Well, Tyro, I hope you’ve enjoyed your year so far. I dare say you’ll be earning your keep in the weeks to come,’ said Emeric, as a matter of fact. He cast a glance back into the Academy and for the briefest of moments his face darkened. The two servants gathered up Soren’s baggage and Emeric gestured for him to get into the main carriage.
He stepped up into it. Getting into a carriage was another first in a long list of firsts for him that year. He had to check his balance as it rocked gently under his weight. The interior was something of a surprise to him. Pale blue silk upholstery lined its entirety, with two plush couches facing each other front and back. Amero, Count of Moreno looked up at him from a bunch of papers that he had been reviewing. He caught Soren’s inquisitive gaze.
‘Very well, my Lord,’ Soren said respectfully.
Amero smiled broadly.
‘Well, I see that old prick Rilid’s etiquette lessons are still good for something. Master Dornish tells me you are something of a phenomenon. From scrawny wretch to near top of your class in only a year. I knew you would be good when I first saw you, but that really is quite an achievement. Nonetheless it is gratifying to hear from someone as tight with compliments as Dornish that I haven’t pissed away eight hundred crowns on tuition,’ said Amero.
‘I’m very grateful for the opportunity you have given me, my Lord,’ Soren replied, balking at the size of his tuition fee. It was more than an ordinary worker would earn in years, perhaps even a lifetime.
‘I only expect to be called “my lord”, “count”, or any of that other rubbish in front of others, Soren. In private Amero will more than suffice. And there is no need for gratitude, be very assured that I will have full value from my investment in you in the full passage of time!’ he said, with a wolfish smile that Soren had seen so many times in the arena just before Amero made his winning strike.
The carriage jolted to a start and clattered away from the Academy and down the cobbled road.
‘It’s down to the docks where we will take a ship north to Baelin. It’s the most northerly port in the Duchy and the powers that be want me to call in and deliver some dispatches seeing as we’re passing that way anyway. Regardless, we couldn’t get any further north by sea at this time of the year. It will still be iced up any farther north. We will overland from there to Brixen. I hear that they call it the “Mirrored City”, because of the lake it overlooks. I’ve never been there myself but it’s meant to be beautiful, as are their women, which I have to admit I’m a damn sight more interested in seeing!’ said Amero.
The door to the carriage opened, and Soren made as to close it, thinking he had not pulled it shut behind him properly, but as he reached over Emeric swung in. He took a seat next to Soren and nodded to them in greeting.
‘Ah, Emeric! So, what was it like being back at the Academy?’
Emeric glowered at Amero for a moment, before turning his head to look out of the window without giving a response. Amero continued.
‘Emeric here was my father’s protégé, as you are mine. He was expelled though. He killed another student in a duel. It caused quite a fuss at the time. I was still an under cadet, but I’ll never forget it. By rights he shouldn’t even be carrying swords, but he was booted out only a few weeks shy of graduating, so I suppose it doesn’t do any harm. At least not so long as you’re on the right side of him!’
Emeric continued to look out of the window, as though to hide embarrassment, but he did not strike Soren as the kind of man who was embarrassed so easily.
‘He had it coming,’ said Emeric. His hand involuntarily went to the scar that ran down the right side of his face. ‘Being able to call yourself Banneret isn’t the be all and end all. You’d do well to remember that, lad.’ He returned his gaze out of the window, at the city passing by.
‘I don’t know how much Dornish told you about what you’d be doing on this trip, but it won’t be a holiday. I don’t know how well you cope with refinement now, passably well by the look of you, but you will certainly be tested on this trip. There will be plenty of formality and ceremony, so it should be a worthwhile experience for you.
‘The Duke has determined that I should go north to renew and reaffirm the treaty of peace between the Ruripathians and us. Every few years, factions up there start agitating for a warm water port. All of theirs become completely iced up in the winter. Can’t get any shipping in and out, so they want one of ours, by treaty or by force, but we don’t want them to get their paws on one. If it weren’t for all the metals and gems they dig out of their mountains, I dare say the entire principality would be back to eating raw meat and using stone tools by now. As it is, with a limited trading season, it puts a bit of a choke on their wealth, which suits us very nicely. Ostenheim isn’t quite the crossroads of trade between east and west that it was in the days of the Empire. If Ruripathia were to grow too wealthy and powerful, they would be in a position to challenge us for dominance in the eastern Middle Sea, and we can’t have that.
‘Usually this kind of job would be given to a more seasoned diplomat, but with my reputation, they thought I would be a better choice, a better statement of our strength and also our sincerity in maintaining the peace. I’ve brought you and Emeric along as my two toughs!’ he added, with a smile.
‘Sending three of the most dangerous swordsmen in Ostia should be a clear enough message if it comes to that, which I doubt it will. Although with these Northern types you never know when a show of strength will be needed. A demonstration duel or something like that. I’d rather like to see you measured against one of them myself, truth be told! There may be other little tasks for you along the way too, so keep on your toes!’ said Amero.
The carriage pulled up at the docks where Emeric jumped out and walked briskly down one of the wooden jetties that stretched into the inner harbour from the stone quays. He chatted with a man in a naval uniform before returning to the carriages and barking orders at the servants.
‘They’re ready to take us on board whenever you want,’ said Emeric when he arrived at the window of the carriage. They got out and Soren cast an eye over the harbour. He had always liked it there, the bustle and crowds of workers created an energy about the place that he enjoyed. There were so many strange faces, accents, tongues and smells that it never ceased to pique his curiosity.
There were only three large ships, Oceanmen, warped to the jetties in the inner harbour. It was large enough to accommodate more, but the empty space allowed more freedom of movement for the smaller merchant vessels and coasters. Out in the bay, past the two towers that guarded either side of the entrance to the harbour, a half dozen or so more Oceanmen sat at anchor waiting for their turn to enter.
The vessel they were to board, the Paryso, was significantly smaller than the behemoth Oceanmen, and was of a sleeker design than one would expect of a merchantman. It wasn’t rigged for fighting either, so Soren assumed it was one of the Duchy’s dispatch ships. Fast, well enough armed for a fight, but also able to take more cargo than a warship.
When he lived on the street, violent sickness had often followed eating a suspect piece of food, usually fowl or rancid meat of some description, but often the hunger had over ridden any concerns he might have had and he had chanced a suspect morsel. The reward was a full belly for a few hours, a few hours of violent vomiting and then the ever-present problem of an empty belly once more. It had not been an issue ever since he had started at the Academy and he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be physically ill. The sea voyage was reacquainting him though.
The master’s mate, Ensign Phenning, a young man about Soren’s age and a student at the city’s Naval Academy on his second practical posting, had told him that it would not likely last past the first twelve to twenty four hours, but each minute seemed like a lifetime as he clung to the bulwark of the ship, doubled over, his empty stomach trying to eject non existent contents. Occasionally a little fluid came up, but for the most part the violent contractions in his chest and belly produced nothing but pain.
While Amero and Emeric drank, ate and gambled in the captain’s stateroom, Soren swore that he would never set foot on a ship again if it could be avoided. The prospect of the return journey would doubtless haunt him for the duration of their stay in the north.
Ensign Phenning’s first prediction had proved to be incorrect. Soren remained violently ill for the duration of the six day voyage. After what had seemed an eternity at sea, Soren was delighted to put foot on land, only to di
scover with dismay that Ensign Phenning’s second prediction was completely correct. Land sickness. Six days at sea had made him become accustomed to the constant pitching, moving and angle of the deck of the ship. Now that he was on firm, dry land, he could not adjust, and the movement continued, the solid ground pitching, never being where his foot expected it to be when he took a step.
Baelin was a small and bustling harbour town that benefitted from Ruripathia’s lack of a port that did not ice up during the winter. The buildings were a mix of designs, betraying the fact that it had changed ownership on more than one occasion since the fragmentation of the Empire. The air was far cooler than in Ostenheim. The temperature had steadily dropped since they had left on their voyage north, although Phenning had told him that a few weeks earlier it had been far colder.
Baelin was the most northerly port on the east coast of the Middle Sea that was not susceptible to winter ice, which explained why the Ruripathians had been so eager in the past to have control of it. It was sheltered on the southern lip of the headland that formed the bay to the north, which suffered the full force of the winter wind, the Niepar, which blew down from the Telastrian Mountains to the northeast. Everything north of that headland spent nearly half of the year frozen, ice as far as the eye could see. Then, when the Niepar was spent a second airflow prevailed over the north, this one from the deserts to the south. This wind was called the Nistra, and was hot, causing a rapid thaw and hot summers. In autumn this airflow stalled, and the Niepar returned, the cycle repeating each year.
The ships were all smaller here than they had been in Ostenheim and the harbour was not big enough to accommodate an Oceanman, but the air was fresh and everything was so new that Soren felt incredibly excited. All the time at the Academy there was an overbearing sense that everything was just a dream that could end at any moment and that he would be plucked from the fragrant air of Highgarden and dropped back in the cess and filth of the backstreets in the city slums. Now he was having his eyes opened to how much more there was to the world than just Ostenheim.