The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (11 page)

A
s sore as he had felt the day before, a night’s sleep did little to improve things. All of his joints ached, every muscle was stiff and to top it all there was a large purple bruise running from his backside to half way down his left thigh that screamed at him every time he put any pressure on it or brushed against something, even gently.

He sat in the dining hall seeking the comforting solace that food usually brought him, but was so uncomfortable sitting awkwardly on his right side that the food was little help in lifting his spirits. It didn’t stop him from making short work of it, but he could not get past the fact that dal Dardi had gotten the better of him and that twisted his insides with a mixture of anger and impuissance.

He was just contemplating a second plate when Henn and Jost appeared in the hall. Soren had been woken every time he had rolled onto his bruised side and eventually gave up on sleeping, so he had arrived far earlier than necessary for breakfast, when the hall was still empty and the staff were only beginning to put things out. The main crowd was only beginning to arrive as he finished. He asked Jost to bring him another glass of orange juice as they passed. They collected their breakfasts and then joined him.

Jost slid the orange juice across the table, regarding Soren closely as he did.

‘You know your little spill on the manoeuvres field is the talk of the Academy,’ he said.

Soren groaned inwardly. He disliked being the centre of attention when the event that drew the attention was not of his design.

‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ said Soren, ‘but I’d really rather that wasn’t the case.’

‘He’s never been popular, dal Dardi, but what he did could have gotten you killed, and that’s just beyond anyone’s opinion of what’s acceptable. Most people expect you to call him out,’ said Henn.

‘Yeah, Ranph said something about calling him out. What does that even mean?’ asked Soren.

‘To call him out. For a duel. Things have gotten to the point where it’s the only acceptable way to settle the matter. It’s against the Academy rules of course; duelling between students is strictly forbidden, but it does go on, more often than you might think,’ said Henn. ‘Just so long as you don’t kill or maim him, everyone will look the other way. If you do kill or maim him, well, let’s not even consider that!’

‘You’re talking like it’s already settled that I will duel him,’ said Soren. ‘Until a moment ago, I hadn’t even thought of it!’

‘Well, look at the alternative,’ said Jost. ‘Dal Dardi and everyone else expects you to now. It’s part of the unwritten honour code. If you don’t, it will be difficult for you to get any respect from anyone, and dal Dardi will take it as an invitation to run roughshod over you for the rest of your time here.’

‘I don’t like being dictated to, least of all by some bloody honour code that isn’t even permitted by the Academy. Maybe it’s different for you two; you have nice little estates to run home to in Moreno if anything goes wrong here. It won’t make much of a difference to your life if you get thrown out. If I cock up here and get thrown out, I’m done. I’m back on the street and have nothing. For me, being here is everything. I’m not going to risk that for your honour code or anything else,’ said Soren.

Henn just looked to Jost, who shrugged his shoulders.

‘There are just certain ways that things have to be done Soren, like it or not. You know what the alternative is; if you’re ok with that…’ said Jost.

Soren found that he was actively avoiding company over the next several days. Gradually the pain and stiffness from his fall from the horse faded and he had been trying to avoid thinking about dal Dardi and the expectations that ‘honour’ seemed to be placing on him, but on a number of occasions he had seen others looking at him and whispering. He was beginning to become concerned that the whispers were no longer about if he would duel dal Dardi, but rather saying that he was a coward, and it was difficult to keep the issue from the forefront of his mind.

It was easy for the privileged aristocrats to make such judgements on honour, but Soren had not exaggerated when he had told Henn and Jost that being at the Academy was everything to him. Honour alone would not fill his belly. The whole matter was playing on his mind far more than he would have liked. He had hoped the matter would blow over and he would be able to exact an appropriate but more discreet revenge on dal Dardi, but even that seemed as though it would be impossible. Any action that he took would be viewed as dishonourable and carried out because he was too craven to face dal Dardi in a duel.

He sat in Hoplology class, usually one of his favourites, and not down to the fact that it involved little reading or writing, which was the case, but because he found the study of different weapons fascinating. For him the rapier, or the rapier paired with a dagger would always be the ultimate. He had spent far too many years sneaking into the Amphitheatre to watch them being used to perfection and imagining himself doing the same, to be tempted away to a preference for something else. A hand and a half, or perhaps a two handed sword would have been more appropriate to his large and rapidly strengthening frame, but despite encouragement to focus on them by the master, he steadfastly refused and maintained the rapier as his primary weapon of study.

Despite his interest in the subject, he found that he could not concentrate. His mind was too occupied by dal Dardi, and the whispers that were being exchanged with him as the subject matter. His attention was pulled back to the class every time the master removed a new object from the glass display cabinet at the back of the lecture theatre, but the diversion was only temporary, as he felt the need to deal with dal Dardi to be ever more pressing. What fools these pampered aristocrats were, to risk so much for something as intangible as honour.

Soren was not in any way worried by the prospect of facing dal Dardi in a duel. On the one occasion in which they had crossed swords, Soren had found him to be only a middling swordsman who relied on underhand tactics and cheap shots to cover his shortcomings. These things were not an issue for Soren. Perhaps had he been steeped in the rigidity of a formal training since childhood it may have been different, but for him, a kick, punch or elbow intermixed with swordplay seemed to be no more than a common sense approach. It took considerable concentration to ensure he did not incorporate any of this into his own swordplay during sparring, as it was explicitly against the rules. Dal Dardi seemed to have no compunction about it however, which made Soren smile bitterly when he compared dal Dardi’s behaviour to the lofty notions of honour that were so hypocritically espoused in the Academy. It seemed to him that honour was a shoe that fit many feet.

However angry it made him, he knew that anger would not bring him any closer to a solution. Henn and Jost had outlined how honour duels were fought. All the usual rules of the Academy applied, except that sharp blades were used and the fight was to first blood. Once blood had been drawn, it was considered that honour on all sides was satisfied and life would return to normal as though the duel, and all matters leading to it, had never happened. It seemed to be a bizarre way to do things, but then he could not profess to understand how the aristocratic mind functioned.

Soren’s only concern about a duel was the potential impact it might have on his presence at the Academy. He didn’t give a damn if he killed dal Dardi. In his estimation Soren had met few that deserved it more, but this would be devastating to any hope he might have to remain at the Academy. Not only would he be expelled, he would more than likely be handed over to the Watch and from there dumped in a dungeon cell, with the release of the headsman’s block being the only thing to look forward to. Maiming would have much the same result, perhaps only with the omission of the headsman’s block.

As long as he was careful, he saw no reason for either of these eventualities to occur. He knew that dal Dardi would happily utilise whatever dirty trick he could come up with, so he felt his best plan of action was to utilise his speed to score a quick cut to a non-vital part of the body and be done with the whole thing.

He realised that he had started planning how to deal with the duel before ever acknowledging even in his own mind that he would actually fight it. It seemed that the duel was always a foregone conclusion, even in his own head. He still disliked the way he felt as though he had been left with no option but to take this course, but if he wished to remain at the Academy and to thrive there, it seemed he would have to tread a narrow line between doing what was expected of him and what was required to ensure his own advancement.

With his course of action settled upon, he found it was far easier to return his attention to his classwork, and the gnawing sense of anxiety he had been feeling seemed to have disappeared.

Alien as it was to him, Soren’s next step was to discuss with Henn and Jost how exactly he would go about calling dal Dardi out. As everything else seemed to be dictated by the honour code, he expected that the method of initiating a duel would be also. The whole matter made Soren quite uncomfortable. It was not the way he would have chosen to deal with matters.

He did not want the fact that he now intended to fight a duel to put the issues with dal Dardi behind him to become common knowledge. He accepted that once the challenge was made it would be the gossip of the Academy and there was little that could be done about that. Up until that point however, he wanted as few people to know of his intentions as possible.

He arranged to meet Henn and Jost in one of the private reading rooms in the library. He made sure that he was there well before them, but felt faintly ridiculous about the surreptitious way he was going about things.

Henn and Jost arrived together and sat down with Soren around the single table in the room.

‘How does this work?’ asked Soren.

‘The duel you mean?’ said Henn.

‘Yes, of course the duel. What else?’

‘Well, you have to call him out. I think that means a challenge to him in public,’ said Jost. ‘I’ve never actually seen it being done though. Striking him in front of others and demanding satisfaction is the traditional way I think.’

‘And won’t making a public challenge bring the whole thing to the attention of the masters?’ said Soren.

‘Yes and no,’ said Jost. ‘As we told you before, as long as there isn’t a death or serious injury, there isn’t a problem. I assume you’ve seen the scars on Master Dornish and Master Bryn’s faces?’

Soren nodded. He thought also of the scar on Emeric’s face.

‘Well,’ continued Jost, ‘how do you think they got them? A blind eye will be turned so long as the duel is limited to first blood. Just make sure that it is. There will be others there to make sure tempers don’t flare and cause things to get out of hand. Which brings me to the other thing. You’ll need a second to take care of all the details once the challenge is made. I’m happy to do that for you, or Henn said he would either; it really doesn’t matter. All the seconds do is arrange the time and venue and inspect the weapons before the duel and ensure that the rules are complied with.’

‘All right,’ said Soren. ‘Tomorrow then, in the dining hall at breakfast. Since you offered, Jost, I’d like you to be my second.’

Jost nodded. ‘Tomorrow then.’

C h a p t e r   1 2

THE CHALLENGE