The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (52 page)

He only had to wait for a moment before a man emerged from another room. He wore a military uniform, but not one that would have been practical on the battlefield. It was tightly fitted and sported an abundance of brass buttons and gold braid.

‘I am Lord Dragonet’s aide de camp. If you’d like to come this way please,’ he said. He brought Soren into the room he had just emerged from, which was a small office, and then through to another room, which was much larger. Dal Dragonet lounged in a leather armchair on the far side of a large desk covered with dark green leather.

‘Banneret Soren!’ he said. ‘I’m glad you decided to take me up on the offer. Please sit.’ He gestured to a chair opposite the desk.

As he sat, Soren became aware of the other man who had been with Dal Dragonet at the Bannerets’ Hall standing by the fireplace to the left. There was no fire, and the light from the large window in the left wall had lost much of its brilliance by the time it got there, leaving him somewhat in shadow.

‘I am correct in assuming that you are here to accept my offer?’ Dal Dragonet asked.

‘You are,’ Soren replied.

‘Excellent. Now, I’m sure you are eager to hear what the job is. As you may or may not know, I am equerry to the Duke. With the growing unrest in the city, some of us in the Duke’s circle have become concerned that the Duke may be at greater risk of an act of violence when moving about the city. As a result, we have decided to put together a bodyguard for him, of somewhat different character to his official one. There won’t be any fancy uniforms or highly polished boots. We want tried and tested men who will be able to get the job done when things get tough.

‘A little background will be necessary for you to adequately carry out your duties, and it of course goes without saying that all you see, hear and do in the execution of your duties will be kept in the utmost confidence, on your oath as a banneret.

‘We fear there is a faction within the city that seeks to strike at the Duke. With the growing tensions on the northern border, war with Ruripathia seems inevitable. This kind of thing always stirs up a population, for better or for worse, so we are going to have to be extra vigilant. The Duke has enemies within the city and we must do all we can to ensure they do not get to him,’ said dal Dragonet.

Soren presumed that the men he had already killed numbered among these enemies, but for some reason there was a nagging concern beginning to form in his mind. ‘General Kastor made it clear that there was unrest in the city and it’s starting to become quite noticeable. I’m just very grateful that you’ve chosen me for this new role.’

Dal Dragonet’s brow furrowed for a moment. ‘Kastor? Oh yes, of course, the general who broke up the barbarian incursions into the marches. But to return to matters at hand, any ordinary man could decide to strike at the Duke, so you must be alert at all times, and be ready to kill quickly and without hesitation to protect the Duke’s life. What I am saying is, if in doubt, strike. We can clean up any unpleasant mistakes afterward. The Duke’s safety is paramount. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly, my Lord,’ replied Soren. He was a little puzzled by dal Dragonet’s reaction to the mention of General Kastor. Had it not been him that recommended him for this appointment? Was dal Dragonet so concerned over security that he would obfuscate any details that were not directly pertinent despite Soren’s steadfast service to date? His fledgling concern grew a little stronger.

‘We don’t want you to be all spit and polish. We want to send a message that the new bodyguards are not just for show, that you will take the gloves off and get your hands dirty without hesitation. However, you will be representing the Duke, and certain standards need to be maintained. On your way out, speak with my aide and he will arrange for you to be suitably attired.’ He started to write on a piece of paper, and then held a stick of red wax over the flame of a candle, dripping the melted wax onto the bottom of the page. He pressed his signet ring into the soft wax and slid it across his desk to Soren.

‘Take this letter to the Commander of the Guard at the Palace. You will be quartered there, and you will take your orders directly from me, or the Duke. His safety is my sole concern, so in the event of a conflict of orders, I will expect you to follow my command, even if it means doing so discretely so as not to incur the Duke’s wrath.’

Soren took the letter and spent several uncomfortable minutes in dal Dragonet’s aide’s office as he fussed around him with a measuring tape. The job was an opportunity to break with the life it appeared he was going to lead in the shadowy service of the General, whose fidelity he was now not so sure of. His first order of business upon leaving the house would be to clear the account at Austorgas’ Bank and then collect his blades from Carlujko’s. There was little packing to be done in his apartment, which was unfortunately already paid up to the end of the month and he could be reporting to the Palace that evening.

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A THING OF BEAUTY

T
he teller at Austorgas’ was suspicious of Soren from the start, but was even more so when he saw the balance in the account that Soren was seeking to close. It took several minutes of the teller conferring with his supervisor and comparing forms and signatures before he returned, grudgingly satisfied that Soren was the right person and had the authority to make the withdrawal. He was paid a part of the sum in a bill of exchange, which would satisfy the bill at Carlujko’s and the rest in cash which would be a good sum to live on until his pay at the Palace started to come through.

With a feeling of cheerful excitement, he walked across the city to Carlujko’s. When he arrived he was brought directly to a small room that was laid out to display weapons to their prospective owners. He waited for a few minutes before Carlujko bustled into the room carrying a long package wrapped in oilcloth.

‘Good afternoon, sir, I trust you are well!’ Carlujko said. He didn’t extend a hand to shake, which was proper etiquette when addressing a banneret. Instead he placed the package down on the red felt covered table against the wall. He unwrapped it with what was almost reverence, revealing the physical manifestation of the sketch that Soren had seen the last time he had been there.

The steel glistened with an oily sheen and the lines of the blade were perfect in every respect. The pommel was a perfect disc with a slightly concave surface and the quillions of the crossguard flared at their curved ends. The knuckle guard curved back elegantly from the cross guard, stopping by the pommel, but not connecting to it, its end mirroring the curved edge of the pommel. The entire hilt, while simple in its physical design, was covered with beautifully elaborate etching that appeared black on the surface of the steel. The dagger was a smaller copy of the sword, the etching on its hilt slightly less elaborate, but it was still the perfect match for the sword. Carlujko gestured for him to pick the sword up.

He did, and instantly it felt perfect. The balance was better than any other sword he had ever held. It felt as though his hand had merged with the grip and the sword became an extension of his arm. There was no movement or pressure points, and he had to resist the urge to swing it in the confined space of the room. Carlujko smiled with satisfaction as he watched Soren’s reaction to the weapons.

‘How is the balance?’ he asked, in a manner that suggested he already knew what the answer would be.

‘Perfect,’ Soren replied distractedly.

‘And the grip? How does it feel?’

‘Perfect,’ Soren said, a smile breaking out on his face as he looked at Carlujko.

Carlujko returned the smile with satisfaction. It was clearly a scene he was accustomed to witnessing.

‘Telastrian steel is hard to work, but when it has been properly forged, it is second to none. It won’t rust, it will hold its edge far better than ordinary steel and it will give far more flex when it is required! All in all, I feel comfortable stating that these are two of the finest blades I have ever created. The hilts, as we discussed, are simple but elegant, reflective of truly great swordsmanship, I think. Those blades will serve you well, and your son, and his son. They are a truly magnificent possession, and utterly lethal weapons. All that remains is the fee we agreed,’ said Carlujko. If anything, his smile was broader at this point.

As always seemed to be the case with new experiences, Soren approached the Palace with a degree of trepidation. All of his belongings had fit quite easily in his campaign pack, and he had slung his blades over his shoulder in the oilcloth covering. He would have to have scabbards and a suspension made for them soon. He would probably be able to make do with an old one until he found the time to do so.

After passing the guards at the gates to the Palace, he went to the guardhouse and reported in. He was expected there and an orderly brought him to his quarters. He had thought he was destined for a bunk in a barracks room, as there was a full regiment stationed between the Palace and the older castle on the cliff overlooking the bay below, but he was brought directly into the Palace itself.

The interiors of some of the buildings at the Academy had been magnificent and he had been in one or two very impressive mansions, dal Dragonet’s standing out, but none of them came close to the splendour of the Palace, not even the palace in Brixen could match it. The walls and ceilings were a mix of intricate white plasterwork and gilt, while the walls were lined with massive portraits of former dukes and notables of the Duchy. The Palace was enormous, and for the briefest of moments, Soren thought that his quarters were going to be unbelievably luxurious.

As the guard led him through the Palace and up several flights of stairs, his expectation began to build, and it seemed as though he had landed himself a very cushy number.

‘These are the Duke’s personal apartments,’ said the guard, gesturing to ornate double doors in a corridor. He didn’t stop however, instead continuing down the hall to a door that was camouflaged into the plasterwork of the wall and was barely visible. He opened it with a discrete handle, and went through. The décor on the other side of the door was non-existent. It appeared to be part of the warren of service corridors that often existed, invisible in the houses of the rich. He stopped at one of the unadorned doors that lined the corridor.

‘This is your room. Once you’ve settled, report back to the guard house.’

The room reminded him of the one he had in his first year at the Academy. It was spartan, utilitarian and small. It didn’t bother him though. He sat on the bed and began to unpack his belongings. It was then that he noticed a brown paper parcel on the floor beside the chair and small table. He opened it to find that it contained several suits of clothes, those that he had been measured for by dal Dragonet’s aide. They were not particularly stylish, but they were about what he expected from what dal Dragonet had said. He changed into one of them and then unwrapped his blades.

Every time he looked at them, their austere beauty struck him. They were the weapons of a warrior, not some dandy who strutted self-importantly around the city. Yet despite that there was something captivating about them. He strapped his old suspension on around his waist and put the blades into the scabbards. They were not a perfect fit, a thumbs width of the blade showed above the neck, but they would do for the time being. He would have something made for them as soon as he possibly could.

The clothes fit as well as any clothes he had worn before, and they suited him, he thought, with satisfaction. He checked himself over quickly, and then returned to the guardhouse by the way he had come.

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