The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (12 page)

W
hile he wasn’t worried by the prospect of duelling dal Dardi, he felt a sense of foreboding about the whole situation. His ambivalence about having to fight the duel at all, according to someone else’s rules had not subsided. Events had overtaken him and taken on a life of their own. Even on the street he had, to a certain extent, been the master of his own destiny. He was quickly learning that this was no longer the case.

He was full of nervous energy that he knew would keep him from sleeping, so instead he slipped out of River House after lights out and made his way to the training hall. He was hoping to kill two birds with one stone, the extra training would tire him out enough to sleep and the extra practice certainly would not hurt either.

He called out two drones, which like biddable animals came out from their storage area and hovered, waiting for further instructions. Soren equipped each of the four arms on both drones with practice rapiers. He had only ever been allowed spar against one at a time previously, but he had never found a single drone to be a particular challenge before, and his state of anxiety was such that he wanted as demanding a session as he could take without being hurt in the process. Despite the practice rapiers being blunt, button tipped and slightly more flexible than a real sword, being struck hard by one was still painful, and if that strike was in the wrong place, it could cause injury.

‘Drone one, all arms, two against one, random patterns. Drone two, all arms, two against one, random patterns,’ said Soren. With the commands given the previously lifeless arms lifted their weapons and prepared to attack.

The four arms were spaced equally around the body of the drones, which allowed them to attack no matter which way they were oriented. There was no benefit to be gained by attacking them from behind, nor any respite to be found by hiding there.

By some trick of the magic used to create them, when a drone was informed that it was working in connection with another, they would be able to coordinate their movements, rather than just bumping around independently. They came at him, one first with the other moving forward in a supporting role. Blades clashed and Soren twisted and turned between them, dancing to the sound of metal clashing against metal.

He knew the drones were fast; he had seen as much when watching others train with them from the sidelines. They just did not seem as fast when he used them. After several minutes he began to feel a little light headed. He ignored the feeling and kept pushing himself, but the light headedness became a piercing headache, and then he began to feel nauseous. He persisted a little longer, refusing to give in to discomfort but he found it difficult to concentrate and maintain his focus. His mental clarity became so confused that it seemed the drones were even slower now than they had been before. He must have pushed too hard and needed to stop. He ordered the drones to a halt and then back to their storage area. He quickly disarmed them and made his way back to River House, concerned now for the first time about the challenge he had set upon making in the morning. He hoped the sudden ailment would subside with a good night’s sleep. The last thing he wanted was for an illness to seem like fear to the others in the dining hall.

He had been awake for some time when the morning bell rang to wake all of students. Happily his nausea and headache from the night before had subsided. He got up, dressed and washed quickly. When he got down to the common room, Jost was already there, waiting for him. He bore such a solemn expression that Soren almost laughed.

‘Come on then,’ said Soren cheerfully. ‘I’m starving!’ Now that he was set on a course of action that was in motion, he found that his spirits, which had been flagging over previous days, lifted considerably.

It was obvious to Soren as soon as they entered the dining hall that Henn and Jost had both remained silent about Soren’s intentions, as the atmosphere in there was perfectly normal. There was no air of tense expectation, which Soren had feared there might be. There was no sign of dal Dardi when they arrived, so Soren and Jost went about things normally, collecting their breakfast and sitting down to start it as they ordinarily would.

Soren sat facing the doorway, his heart speeding up a little each time the door opened as he waited for dal Dardi to arrive. Several students entered, pushing Soren’s anxiety levels up a little each time. Henn arrived also, but he sat with a different group, giving Soren and Jost an encouraging nod as he passed by. Eventually dal Dardi stepped into the hall.

‘I’m just going to get right to it,’ said Soren. ‘No point in dragging this out any longer than is needed.’

As dal Dardi made his way down the central aisle between the tables toward the food counter, Soren stood and stepped out in front of him. Jost had taken his place reassuringly behind Soren’s left shoulder, which he was grateful for. As soon as dal Dardi noticed Soren, his usual smug, arrogant expression deserted him. Soren stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. The crack of the open handed strike rang out over the sounds of morning chatter in the hall, and silenced the room almost instantly.

‘My honour demands satisfaction,’ said Soren, before walking back to his breakfast. It was customary to address one’s opponent as ‘sir’ when making the challenge, but Soren refused to be completely dictated to by the requirements of the honour code, and in any event did not wish to afford dal Dardi the respect addressing him as ‘sir’ conveyed. Jost stepped into the place in front of dal Dardi that Soren had just vacated.

‘Have your second call on me at River House to arrange the particulars,’ he said, before also returning to his breakfast.

News of the challenge spread around the Academy like wildfire. Soren was instantly uncomfortable with his new found celebrity, as he immediately became the subject of conversation wherever he went on campus.

For the time being, his participation in the duelling process was not required. Jost and whoever stood as second for dal Dardi would make all the arrangements and inform the principals of when and where the duel would occur. Soren had no intention of allowing it to dominate his thoughts and so instead threw himself into his studies, particularly on working at his reading and writing, which was improving quickly, to his great satisfaction.

He distanced himself from everything to do with the duel all of that day, until the evening, when he met with Jost in the common room of River House. Jost explained to him that the duel would be fought the following morning outside of the city walls at ten bells, in a field near the Blackwater Road that was often used for such purposes. Soren was a little surprised at the detail that went into the organisation. Soren and Jost would leave the Academy shortly after eight bells and leave the city by the Blackwater Gate. Dal Dardi and his second would leave a little earlier and exit the city via the North Gate, so as to ensure the opposing parties would not encounter one another before the duel.

Jost had also organised a physician to attend on them at the duel. It was the mention of the physician that really brought home to Soren the seriousness of the whole matter. He had been so preoccupied with the danger of killing or injuring dal Dardi and the consequences that would have had for him that he had not considered the possibility of being injured or killed himself.

Being killed didn’t bother him all that much. He had already lived longer than he had ever expected that he would, but living with a serious injury did concern him. It would mean the end of his chance at the Academy. Amero would most certainly not want a half trained, crippled retainer, which meant a return to the streets, but as a cripple. He had seen crippled former soldiers begging around the city. They never lasted long. Death would be a better result for him. What made matters worse was the realisation that unless he was careful, in terms of consequences, there would be little difference between defeat or victory.

C h a p t e r   1 3

THE DUEL

T
he field chosen for the duel was a short distance from the road and was screened from passing traffic by a row of squat trees. Soren and Jost arrived first despite leaving later; dal Dardi had a slightly longer distance to travel. The physician was already there. He had arrived in a small cart and had a medicine chest open at the back, displaying bottles, bandages and a number of metal surgical instruments. The experience felt surreal. Surely giving dal Dardi a few punches at an opportune moment would have been a far better way to deal with this.

Rapier and dagger were the weapons that had been chosen by dal Dardi. Jost had obtained a reasonable pair from his family’s house in the city, and it occurred to Soren that it was the first time that he had ever held a real, sharpened sword. He disliked waiting but used the time to familiarise himself with the balance of the sword. He had not spent very much time training with a dagger in addition to the rapier, but he thought he might as well have it as not and did not see how it could get in the way.

The sword felt good and Soren appreciated Jost having lent it to him. The alternative would have been to break into a weapons locker in the Academy to get at one of the sharp rapiers contained within. While perfectly functional, they would have lacked the craftsmanship and attention to detail that Jost’s family would demand from a weapon. He went through a few practice positions to loosen up and develop a feeling for the sword and dagger. While he was doing so, Reitz dal Dardi, his second and a third man arrived on horseback. Dal Dardi’s second was Ranph dal Bragadin. Soren did not recognise the third man, who dismounted first and took the reins from the other two as they also dismounted.

They stood together and talked as dal Dardi unbuckled his cloak and handed it to the third man who Soren took to be a servant. Dal Dardi was wearing a fitted leather duellist’s doublet, similar to the ones that were worn in the arena. It would provide some protection to the torso, but only against a glancing blow. Nonetheless it would reduce the chance of blood being drawn by a deflected attack. Soren wore only his white cotton shirt; he had nothing else. Jost had made it abundantly clear that he could not wear his blue academy doublet for fear of bringing the Academy into disrepute. The extra protection was certainly an advantage in dal Dardi’s favour, but Soren did not intend for the matter to be decided by a lucky strike.

Soren and Jost stood together by the rear of the physician’s cart when Ranph approached them. He carried with him a sword and dagger.

‘I’d like to inspect your sword and dagger, if I may,’ said Ranph.

Soren handed him both, and Ranph handed the pair of blades he was carrying to Jost.