The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (30 page)

In the days since their picnic on the island, Soren had found it difficult to think of much else. He had seen Alessandra a number of times since, but only briefly. Their respective responsibilities had kept them from another outing like the picnic. It had been the perfect day. In class he daydreamed of her, the sound of her voice, the way she laughed, the smell of her hair. In practice he imagined she was watching him, and he pushed himself to ever more flamboyant swordplay. His skill and speed with a sword was all that he had to offer her. With no money, land or titles, it was all he had to set himself apart from all those who he knew had far more to offer than he ever would. As long as it was not enough to support himself, how could he ever contemplate being able to keep a girl like Alessandra?

When he was in a normal practice class, this ostentation was fine. By now there was not another student in his class who could match him. It was different in his private lessons with Master Bryn.

Bryn had long since acknowledged Soren’s skill. Master Dornish had always made it clear that Bryn’s evaluations of him had been exemplary. Although each of their duels in training were close, Soren was beginning to come out on top by ever greater margins. When he introduced unnecessary flourishes into his swordplay, it enraged Bryn, who would hurl abuse at him for being a popinjay and for the dangerous openings they left. Soren knew they were there, knew the danger existed, but was also certain that he could get away with them. Bryn knew it too. In point of fact, every time he did try to exploit one of the openings, Soren easily parried and countered, further angering Bryn.

Bryn was an angry fighter. He had a flawless technique, but there was a deep-rooted anger in every attack he made, as though each time he struck, it was not his opponent he saw, but some other person or event. It intrigued Soren, but he was well aware that it was unlikely that he would ever find out its cause.

He made to leave the salon at the end of the evening’s practice, a spring in his step as he was going down to the Sail and Sword to see Alessandra.

‘Soren!’ Bryn shouted. The towel he was using to wipe the perspiration from his face muffled his voice somewhat. Soren paused, his hand hovering over the door handle. Bryn stared over at him, his face hard, the towel held just below his face. ‘One day you will meet a man who is at least your match. On that day, do not let your arrogance kill you.’ He returned to wiping his face and neck as Soren left the salon.

As he knew that it was likely Alessandra would be busy again this evening, he brought Ranph along for company. She was, as he suspected, rushed off her feet and only had time to give him a warm smile as he passed by the bar with Ranph to take possession of the booth by the fire. A convoy had arrived the previous week and its sailors were still in coin enough to pack out every tavern around the harbour. It was great for business, but it meant that Soren would not get to spend time with Alessandra for some days yet.

She always got a lot of attention from the patrons at the bar and this gnawed at Soren. He knew that there was nothing he could do about it and for the most part he pushed it from his mind. Most of her admirers were men of little means and would have even less to offer her than Soren did. The regulars never bothered him, former sailors and stevedores on their guild pensions with nothing better to do, but the crowd for the past few days was different. Merchants with money were in town, and they were spending it readily.

There was one man in particular that stood out, one that Soren could not ignore and put down to just being another example of him being overly sensitive to the inadequacy of his own means. He was a grown man and he could not stand on his own two feet, let alone provide for a girl like Alessandra and that chafed at him. Until he graduated, he was still a nobody with no more to show for himself than he had when living on the street. His position was entirely dependent on Amero’s continued goodwill and generosity. His livelihood and success after graduating would almost certainly also be dependent on Amero.

At first Soren had thought the man to be Captain Varrisher, but he was mistaken in this. He was just a prosperous looking merchant who dressed similarly and held himself with the same overconfident swagger. He looked a little too wealthy to be in a place like the Sail and Sword though. From his finely tailored clothes with silver thread embroidery, Soren would have thought him more comfortable in one of the expensive inns elsewhere in the city. From the way he watched Alessandra though, it was clear why he was there.

‘How can I ever hope to compete with the likes of him?’ Soren said idly. ‘What do I have to offer her?’

‘Well, you can cross good looks, charm and talent off the list for starters!’ replied Ranph, hoping to lighten the mood. He did not succeed.

Soren continued to watch the merchant as he tried to make conversation with Alessandra every time she passed near. He wished that he had the money to be able to take her out regularly, or to get her something that would show her how much she meant to him. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he had something already.

The award ceremony at the Cathedral was not the only formal occasion for Soren that term. He also had his own, in the form of his initiation into the Blades Society. Only the other Blades were present, and several of the masters who had been Blades in their student days. He was given a fine platinum badge of crossed swords and a perfect sapphire set in the centre, the same shade of blue as the city’s.

It was a moment of enormous pride for him. He had achieved this on his own with his own skill and hard work. No amount of influence from the Count of Moreno could have won him this place. It was reserved for merit alone and was proof of his acceptance by his peers.

C h a p t e r   2 9

A QUESTIONABLE OPPORTUNITY

S
oren slipped out of the Academy early and stopped at a silversmith’s shop on his way to the Sail and Sword. He had Alessandra’s name engraved on the reverse of the huntsman’s amulet he had been given in Ruripathia. Aside from the block of Telastrian steel that would not have made an attractive gift to anyone other than a swordsman, it was the only thing of value that he owned.

The prosperous looking merchant was there again when Soren arrived. He regularly bought rounds for the other sailors at the bar. His sailors, Soren assumed. As he had been on the previous night, he was propped up against the bar, joking with Alessandra every time she was there, watching her hawkishly when she was not. He was the focus of attention at the bar, the type of man who was friends with everyone. Money was the key. Without it, charm was useless. It was the only way he could keep Alessandra, to show her that he would be able to give her a good life. As he watched the merchant another man caught his eye and a solution to his problem formed in his mind.

‘Mr Braggock?’ Soren asked.

‘Just Braggock, lad,’ he replied, his face breaking into a smile that did not seem to suit him.

‘You mentioned before that you might have some work. I’m a student at the Academy,’ said Soren.

‘I did indeed. What’s your name then?’

‘Soren.’

‘Soren?’ asked Braggock.

‘Yes, just Soren.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll tell you what, Soren, come back to me in a day or two, and I should have something for you. The work pays well, lad, but I’m not going to lie to you, it’s dangerous,’ said Braggock.

‘I know how to handle myself. I’ll see you here in two days then.’

Braggock turned back to his drink at the bar and Soren cast a look to Alessandra, who was still laughing with the merchant, although he thought he caught her give him an unusual look. He waited for some time to talk to Alessandra, to give her the gift, but as was always the case these days, the tavern was busy and she could not afford him anything more than a warm smile.

It grew late and he could not remain there any longer. On his way out, he gave the small paper packet that he had put the amulet in to her uncle, the tavern keeper, and asked that he give it to her, which he said he would. He left the tavern and walked out onto the street. The air had more of a chill in it than he had noticed recently, the bite making him think fleetingly of Ruripathia.

He had only gone a few paces up the street when he heard a voice calling his name. He turned to see Alessandra standing by the door.

‘Going already?’ she asked, smiling.

‘Your rich merchant friend seems to be keeping you occupied. I need to get back to the Academy to train,’ he said.

‘Oh, don’t be like that. You know I have to be nice to the customers. My uncle would tan my hide if I wasn’t,’ she replied, detecting the sulky tone in his voice.

‘Well, I need to go,’ he said.

‘Will you come tomorrow?’ she asked hopefully. ‘I promise that I’ll have some time for you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll try,’ he replied. He turned again to walk away, but she called out to him again.

‘Promise me you’ll stay away from that man you were talking to. He’s bad news.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, ignoring her request, before walking on into the darkness of the night.

He did not go back to the Sail and Sword the next night. Instead he spent it with Bryn in the salon, channelling his frustration into each attack, discarding his flourishes for determined thrusts. He tried desperately to find a way to consciously bring on the Gift, the Moment, or whatever it was, but it seemed that the harder he focussed on it, the more nebulous that it became. He felt that the Gift was influencing him, but he could never clearly identify how much, and no matter how hard he reached for it, he could not bring on the Moment, if that was in fact what he had experienced when fighting the belek.

He attacked relentlessly, without rest or fatigue, constantly willing on his ability to envelop him completely, so that he could demonstrate to Bryn exactly how good he could be, and in some way prove to himself that he was enough for Alessandra. His determination was such that he had even earned a grudging nod of approval from Bryn as he left to return to his room.