The First Blade Of Ostia Read online

  ‘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.

  * * *

  BRYN’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.

  * * *

  THE 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.

  * * *

  BRYN 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.

  * * *

  BRYN 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 a
n 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.

  * * *

  AFTER 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.

  CHAPTER 48

  While Bryn had been gaining good ground all night, with dawn now a couple of hours behind him, Ayla would most likely be on the move again. His hope was to catch up with her when she stopped that coming night, if not before.

  His own pace was necessarily slowed. He had to give his horse longer breaks, stopping completely rather than mixing the halts with periods of walking alongside it. There might be the opportunity to trade it for a fresh mount at the next inn but he couldn’t count on it. Each second he stopped felt like an age and he was anxious to get going again. It was as though he could feel Ayla getting farther away. Reason dictated that by resting the horse he was going to be able to make better time, but it was difficult to convince himself of that fact.

  As he stood next to the horse, Bryn worried that the rest he was affording the animal was still not enough. As eager as he was to catch Ayla, he couldn’t afford to have it drop dead underneath him. He didn’t know this horse well enough to be sure of how hard he could push it.

  He still thought of her departure as sudden, but after what his mother said, he knew that it was only sudden to him. He wondered if he’d ever learn. He’d let Amero get back inside his head, but it wasn’t just Amero. Bryn had spent his entire life dreaming of being a swordsman and a duellist. It was too deeply ingrained in him to easily let go of. He had convinced himself he could have it all; the people he cared about and the dream he so desperately wanted to realise. His mother was right that he was a fool. Even with Bautisto putting the facts right in front of him, he refused to see the whole thing for what it was. There were things in life that were more important than settling a score, and they were too valuable to sacrifice for something as hollow as revenge. There was nothing as important, not even a dream. His horse was staring at him. Even he knew it was time to move on.

  * * *

  IT WAS dusk when a coaching inn came into view farther down the road. He smiled as he wondered how Amero had reacted to his absence, the appointed hour for their duel now long past. His thoughts didn’t dwell long on Amero, however. Bryn couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than a hot meal and a warm bed, but if Ayla wasn’t there he would have to make do with the meal—probably cold—before riding on.

  The inn was quieter than Bryn would have expected. He slowed as he approached it and watched carefully. The war was a long way to the north, so Bryn didn’t think it likely marauding soldiers had raided this far south. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t something wrong, though. The roads were dangerous at the best of times, and banditry was always worse during times of war. Once you were a few miles from a city or town and beyond the protection of their watchmen, the roads were dangerous places, war or peace.

  There was something about the scene that bothered him, but he could not put his finger on what it was. He dismounted before he reached the inn and secured his horse to a tree. Bryn drew his sword and started forward. The inn’s windows glowed with the light from inside, and he could hear movement in the stable to the inn’s side. He peered in to see the shapes of several horses in the darkness. He continued forward, stopping at the first window. It was made up of dozens of lozenge-shaped pieces of glass held in place by lead cames. It was an old window, and the pane had flexed outward, distorting the view of the interior.

  There were several people moving around inside, and Bryn saw nothing to support his concerns. He watched a moment longer, but everything going on within was as he would expect of an ordinary coaching inn. He sheathed his sword and went inside.

  * * *

  ‘EVENING THERE, traveller. Pardon me, Banneret,’ the innkeeper said, as soon as Bryn closed the door behind him.

  Bryn self-consciously pulled his cloak back over the hilt of his rapier, and nodded to the innkeeper before surveying the taproom. Four other men, all minding their own business. Nothing threatening.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Banneret?’ the innkeeper said.

  ‘Water,’ Bryn said. ‘And some food. Whatever’s hot. Please.’

  ‘There’s still some stew in the pot,’ the innkeeper said. ‘Cider’s good too, if you fancy something more interesting than water.’

  Bryn shook his head. ‘Is there a stable boy? My horse could do with some feed and water.’

  ‘Erco!’ the innkeeper shouted.

  A boy of no more than sixteen appeared from the back room.

  ‘Take care of the Banneret’s horse.’

  ‘Just a light feed,’ Bryn said. ‘I might be riding on tonight.’ He flipped the boy a penny, which was dextrously caught as the boy headed for the door.

  Bryn sat by the bar to wait for the food. ‘When did the last post carriage stop here?’

  ‘Few hours ago. Didn’t stop long though. Continued on to make the next inn before dark. Next one north should stop tomorrow afternoon. If you’re looking to take it?’

  ‘No,’ Bryn said. ‘I’m looking for someone that was on it. Do you have any fresh horses I could trade you for?’

  The innkeeper shook his head. ‘Not at the moment. Sorry.’ He flicked his eyes toward someone behind Bryn. ‘I’ll get your stew,’ he said.

  Bryn turned to look at the other occupants of the taproom. They were all sitting alone, keeping to themselves. They were a rough looking bunch, not necessarily what he would have expected, but a life on the road can have that effect on a man. He remembered his own appearance the last time he had called at a rural inn, so Bryn didn’t think too much of it.

  The innkeeper returned from the kitchen with a bowl of stew in his hand. He placed it down on the bar counter in front of Bryn and smiled. His teeth were in bad condition, the kind of teeth a man accustomed to violence had.

  Bryn looked down at the bowl as the innkeeper withdrew his hand. His knuckles were bruised, with traces of dried blood on them. Not something Bryn would have expected, unless he was using his fists to tenderise meat.

  The innkeeper watched him, as though waiting for Bryn to start eating. He caught Bryn’s strange look. ‘Best eat up before it gets cold.’

  ‘What happened to your hand?’ Bryn said, nodding to the bloodied knuckles.

  ‘Ah. These.’ The innkeeper smiled and raised his hand up. ‘Shoulda washed ‘em better I suppose.’

  ‘Customer didn’t pay up?’

  ‘Something like that.’ The innkeeper’s eyes flicked to someone behind Bryn again.

  He was communicating with one of the men. Something was up. ‘When did you buy the place?’ Bryn said, his suspicio
ns all but confirmed.

  ‘Whatcha mean?’ the innkeeper said.

  ‘Well, when I passed this way a couple of months ago, there was a different owner.’ Bryn heard a chair move behind him. The innkeeper kept staring at Bryn, but said nothing. Bryn stood and drew his sword as soon as he heard a second chair move.

  ‘I don’t know what you lads are up to, but it’s none of my business, and I don’t want any trouble.’ It was his second lie in as many minutes, but there were five of them, six including the stable boy and he needed to put them off guard. If they had taken over the inn, it was with the intention of robbing whatever travellers passed through. There was no way a post carriage had gotten through untouched.

  All of the men stood and slowly moved around Bryn, who backed toward the door.

  ‘‘Fraid you’ve found it, Banneret. Bad luck for you. Good luck for us. If you’ve anything worth having.’

  ‘Last chance, lads. Tell me what you did with the post carriage, and I’ll let you go.’

  The innkeeper and his friends all roared with laughter.

  Bryn only needed one alive to tell him what they had done to the carriage. The thought that they might have hurt Ayla filled him with rage. He lunged at the closest.

  The men had all drawn weapons of some description; swords, hand axes and clubs. Bryn had spent so much of his life training to fight skilled swordsmen that it came as a surprise to fight one that wasn’t. The first man didn’t react to Bryn’s lunge at all, and still didn’t seem to have registered his injury even after Bryn had pulled his sword free. Bryn had already moved on to his closest colleague by the time he started his collapse to the floor.

  Bryn cut down the next in the same movement. The third charged at Bryn with his small axe raised in the air. He roared with anger, but Bryn dodged his clumsy attack and stabbed him through the back when his momentum carried him past.