The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (45 page)

‘Well, you look a sorry state. I must admit that yours is a face I did not expect to see again. I got word that you had carried out your mission, but then my agents lost track of you. When you didn’t re-join the army, I assumed you were rotting somewhere out on the plains!’ he said.

‘Happily not the case, General,’ Soren replied.

‘So I see. Well, to business then. Thinking you were dead, the death of the barbarian shaman had a bit of spin put on it. It was thought it would be better for morale in the city if the people thought the barbarians had turned on each other after their catastrophic defeat and are no longer a threat, which is pretty much the case now anyway. So, you won’t get any credit for that I’m afraid. You’ll be rewarded of course, I promised you that. You’ll be given the Duke’s Cross for slaying the barbarian champion, so count yourself lucky.’

Soren’s eyes flitted over to the General’s doublet where a Duke’s Cross sat amongst a host of other awards, including the Grand Cross. The red and white jewels on the Duke’s Cross must have been worth a small fortune. If nothing else, he could sell it if he ever needed the money.

‘We’ll come up with something flattering for the official citation; you won’t have to worry about that. I think that satisfies my part of the bargain.’

The adjutant returned to the office and handed the General a sealed envelope. He took it and rapped it against his knuckles and smiled.

‘Your discharge papers. I had the adjutant prepare them when I heard you had returned. It’s honourable of course,’ he said, with an insincere smile.

This took Soren aback. Since his break with Amero, he had planned for a career in the military. It seemed to be his best chance for advancement. He had done everything that had been asked of him, and barring that one incident when he killed the barbarian champion, he had not done anything wrong. Why was he being discharged?

‘Don’t look so shocked, Banneret. You have your strengths and your uses, but they aren’t best suited to the regular army. Now that you’ve returned, I’m confident that I can find a better use for your ability to kill and survive. Placing you outside of the army makes you all the more,’ he paused for thought, ‘flexible! There’s trouble in the city, and that trouble sometimes needs dealing with outside of official channels.

‘You’ll be on half pay and officially on the reserve list. You can call yourself Captain, Banneret of the Duke’s Cross, whatever you like. In the meantime, you can do as you choose. I shall call on you from time to time to take care of the things that need taking care of. Half pay will keep you alive, but not much more, so feel free to supplement your income. Low profile and not too illegal is preferable. By preferable I mean required.’ He quickly spotted the look of indignation that appeared on Soren’s face. ‘Required if you wish to have any future in this city, or this entire Duchy, if you take my meaning.’ He seemed satisfied with the look of resignation that replaced it. ‘Good. Here are your papers. You will be contacted with details of your award ceremony. Any other questions?’

‘Am I not already too well known for the kind of work you have in mind for me?’ Soren asked. He was not entirely happy with being railroaded into being what he knew would be no more than an in-house assassin. It was not at all what he had hoped for, and certainly not how he saw himself spending his career.

The General let out an incredulous laugh. ‘Come now, hero of Fort Faraway, slayer of the barbarian giant? I’d be surprised if more than a dozen people on the street even remember either of those events. The routing of the barbarian army was the talk of the town, as was I, for a few days, and perhaps we will continue to be spoken about with less frequency for a few more weeks to come and then something else will happen and this will all be relegated to a book of histories. Then there will be another battle or tragedy, and then another and so on. Heroes might live long in books, but they live short in the memories of the citizens, not many of whom can read. Such is the way of the world. I’m sorry if it shatters any illusions of fame and glory you may have held, but I assure you that you won’t have any difficulties passing through the city unnoticed. Maintain a low profile from here on and it will be plain sailing. My adjutant will sign a chit for you to pick up your back pay from the commissary. So, until needs must I call on you again, fare well!’

After Soren left, the General called on his adjutant once more. As the lieutenant entered the room, the General finished sealing the note he had just written, in red wax but not with his own signet. He used only a flat, round shape to press down on the wax, devoid of any sigil, betraying no clue as to the author of the note.

‘Deliver this to the Count of Amero,’ he said. ‘Personally.’

PART III

C h a p t e r   4 5

AN ENTREPRENEUR, OF SORTS

W
ith money in his pocket Soren’s first order of business was to find somewhere to live. He had wanted to live in Highgarden ever since he had first been there. While grand mansions and parks dominated the area, there was a fashionable shopping district opposite the entrance to the Academy where many younger, single gentlemen kept apartments. It did not take Soren long to discover that they were far beyond his price range and he would need to be a little more humble in his choice of accommodation.

Oldtown would have been the next obvious choice but with Alessandra living there, he did not want to set foot beyond the walls of the old district. That ruled out the west of the city. Docks was where he had spent a great deal of his childhood and he had no desire to return to living there. The artisans’ district on the east bank of the Eastway River was a bustling hive of activity with craftsmen and merchants plying their trades. Soren wanted somewhere a little quieter than that, which left one of the quarters around Crossways. The four quarters were named after the principle building that occupied them. The northeast was Cathedral, home to the eponymous building, among others. The southeast was Guilds, where the Great Guilds’ Hall and most of the guild chapter houses were located. The southwest was Bankers, where the Great Exchange was situated, as well as the houses of the city’s banks, moneylenders and counting houses. The northwest was Barons after the great domed Barons’ Hall where the Council of Nobles met. Each quarter was also home to many of the city’s inhabitants. He felt that Barons was where he was most likely to find something that suited his requirements.

He had never rented a property before and he wasn’t entirely sure of how to go about it. He walked around the quarters for a little while and soon became aware of signs advertising properties for rent. They were usually one floor of a building above a shop, although some of the buildings were purely apartments. He chose one in Barons that was above a bakery and across the street from a small tavern. The convenient access to prepared food was a prerequisite, as he did not know how to cook anything he would wish to eat.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, but it was more than adequate for Soren’s needs. It was on the second floor of a six-storey terrace with a small metal balcony beneath three windows that looked down over the street. Access was by way of a doorway to the side of the bakery that led to a communal stairway up to each floor. The baker, whose family had been there for generations, owned the building. There were three rooms, a bedroom, a living area and a kitchen. The rent seemed reasonable to Soren, and his half pay would just cover it. Despite the tavern opposite the bakery, it was a quiet street and that suited Soren nicely. The back of the apartment overlooked a yard that was surrounded on all sides by the block of terraced buildings. It was accessed by three narrow alleyways and Soren was confident he could climb the back wall if needs be, which would give him the comfort of more than one way to get into his home, and also out of it. It also contained a small, fully functional water closet next to bedroom, which was a luxury he had not expected, but was glad of all the same.

With his rent covered he could put his mind to more material needs. He had his trunk sent over from storage at the Academy. What had filled his tiny room at the Academy was barely a drop in the ocean in his new apartment. All of his clothes took up a tiny portion of his closet and wardrobe. With the expanses of bare walls he could begin to understand why people wasted their money on art, but it still wasn’t an extravagance he could afford to take.

The only extravagance he was willing to take was at the bottom of his trunk. It was the small cloth-wrapped block of Telastrian steel that Princess Alys had given to him. He picked it up and the heavy solid block was oddly comforting in his hands. He had no idea how much it would cost to convert it into a sword and dagger, but his back pay and the various bits of booty he had gathered up during his times in the east added up to a not inconsiderable sum. He also wanted to have to have his banner made up, but he had still not had time to think of a design. He would have to rely on the Emblazoners of Arms to suggest something appropriate.

He was enjoying being back in the city. Its sights, sounds and smells, while familiar to him seemed new and vibrant, but comforting at the same time. He walked briskly down the narrow streets to the Blackwater Road and turned left toward Crossways. He dodged his way through the crowds around the market stalls and continued on down Merchantsway to the artisans’ district. In the Academy, all of the students talked of owning a sword made by one man. His name was Carlujko and his workshop was just off the Merchantsway, the road that ran east from the Crossways, through the city and then on toward the frontier. It was said that his swords were surpassed only by the legendary blade ‘Adparatus’, the sword of Saludor, the first emperor. It was to Carlujko’s studio that Soren was headed.

Soren had not been sure what to expect, but he was a little surprised by the size of the workshop. It was far bigger than he would have thought. It was clearly a prosperous business, but that was hardly surprising considering Carlujko’s reputation. Men came from all over the world to have a blade forged by him. He went inside to the reception room. A young man in a smith’s apron sat behind a desk with a bored expression on his face. He became more alert when Soren entered the room.

‘My name is Nicolo, smith’s apprentice, sir. How may I help you?’ he asked.

‘I’d like to have a sword made,’ replied Soren.

‘Well then, you’ve come to the right place. If you’d like to take a seat I’ll take your details, and put together a quote for you!’

Soren sat. ‘I had hoped to speak with Master Carlujko.’

‘Oh, I’m afraid that isn’t possible. The Maestro is far too busy with his work,’ said the apprentice.

‘I very much wish to speak with him personally. Perhaps if you show him this, he might make himself available,’ said Soren. He placed the wrapped block of steel on the table.