The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (51 page)

The initial excitement in the crowd seemed to be waning quickly. After two or three exchanges there were more disappointed mutterings than excited gasps. Soren decided it was time to take the initiative. As he had on the previous night, he pictured the blue glow in his mind, and focussed all of his concentration on it. Distracted, he allowed a gap in his defence, which even with his superior speed he was unable to completely close in time. His opponent’s blade glanced from a parry and was deflected across his upper arm, neatly slicing through his shirt and flicking a little blood into the air. The man’s face betrayed the slightest hint of a smile as he backed away to recompose himself. He thought he had Soren’s measure. There was some tittering in the crowd and Soren felt a flash of anger. He forced himself to ignore the laughter and the pain in his arm, shutting out the world around him, focussing on his mental image of the blue glow surrounding everything. With his mind concentrated on this image and concept, everything suddenly became illuminated with the ethereal blue glow. His purpose achieved, he let his concentration return to his opponent, and the glow disappeared. It had been enough though, that fleeting connection with it. He felt the energy course through his body. His opponent’s movements slowed and Soren could not suppress a smile.

He lunged forward with speed that elicited a shocked gasp from the onlookers. In a smooth movement he neatly pushed aside the other man’s guard with his dagger and cut three times with his sword. The increase in speed had surprised even him to some extent, and he fought to focus on not killing the man. Only wound him, he thought.

The duel was over almost as soon as Soren had drawn on the energy. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the man was still standing before him. His sword and dagger dropped from his hands, which hovered over the three diagonal wounds on his gut. He looked at Soren with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. It was an expression that Soren was becoming familiar with. There was something of a stunned silence in the room that gradually gave over to excited whispering and then applause. Soren looked at the man and began to smile, but his mirth was replaced with sick realisation. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth, and his dark clothes had concealed the fact that blood had been running down his body. It was now beginning to pool on the floor. He gasped once, a raspy, gurgling sound before dropping to his knees and then falling over on his side. The fall exposed the three deep rents in his abdomen, one of which went all the way to the spine. Soren looked at the blade of his sword, half of which glistened with ruby red blood. Full applause broke out and Soren turned and bowed, trying to supress the wave of panic that was flooding over him. He couldn’t control it. Whenever he used it, his opponents would die. Could he learn to control it, as he had learned to unleash it?

He felt in limbo, not really sure what to do next. Mateo beckoned to him, and he was relieved to move away from the spotlight. The crowd parted to let him through, women applauding him and men clapping him on the back. He wondered how much Mateo had made from the duel. It was clear that the fifty crowns he had offered Soren was a bargain for him, but Soren had no idea the duel would draw so many aristocrats so he hadn’t thought to drive a harder bargain. Perhaps his prowess with a blade would allow him to renegotiate the terms, but that was a little too ruthless, even for him.

Mateo was standing by his small table with the strongbox flanked by his two guards.

‘The man of the moment!’ said Mateo in an overly familiar way. ‘Another excellent result, well done!’ He pushed a fat coin purse across the table to Soren. ‘After tonight it will be harder to find you an opponent. You’re the man to beat now, and the reward will be big for anyone willing to take the chance. That will attract someone to the challenge sooner or later, but for now, I don’t have anything more for you. I’m not one for sending notes, so if you call in here to see me in a week, I expect I’ll have something for you then.’

Soren nodded and took the purse. He was already beginning to feel woozy and wanted to get out of the cellar as quickly as possible. He had achieved most of what he had set out to in coming to the black carpet. He now knew how to draw on the energy, and he expected, by extension, also the Moment, although he had not yet tried this. He was no closer to controlling it, and the thought of piling up a stack of corpses while he tried to learn how was not appealing to him. He had already decided that he would not be returning.

As he left, there were two men watching him closely, but fighting off the fatigue that was falling heavily on him, Soren did not notice them.

C h a p t e r   5 1

A FRESH START

S
oren awoke the next morning to the sound of something being pushed under his door. At first he thought that it was another call from General Kastor and he was surprised to find that the thought filled him with dread. He picked up what proved to be a small letter, and noticed that there was a sigil pressed into the red sealing wax holding it closed. He broke it open and took out the note contained within. It was a request for a meeting that afternoon. There was little detail; if anything the tone of the note was rather cryptic. It simply asked for him to meet with the author, one Banneret of the Blue dal Dragonet, at the Bannerets’ Hall.

He was unsure of how to react. The note did not ask for a reply so it seemed he was just to turn up if he so chose. It occurred to him that he had little to lose and in any event he was curious.

He stood in the vestibule of the Bannerets’ Hall waiting for the porter to bring him to his meeting. The Bannerets’ Hall provided a continuing point of contact for graduates of the Academy. It was a club of sorts, containing lounges, dining rooms, meeting rooms and accommodation where bannerets could stay when they visited the city. As a banneret, Soren was automatically a member, although he had never before actually visited the building. He had been intending to for some time, as it also housed the Emblazoner of Banners, who would make up Soren’s banner if and when he got around to having it done.

The porter returned and brought Soren to one of the private meeting rooms that were available for the use of members. There were two men sitting at a table that dominated the centre of the room, smoking and sipping at what appeared to be whiskies. They both stood when Soren entered the room.

‘Pleased to meet you, Swordsman,’ said the taller of the two men. He extended his hand to Soren. ‘I am Rudigar dal Dragonet, Banneret of the Blue. I’m very glad you decided to come. I have a proposition for you.’

Soren took his hand, a firm handshake. A proposition then. He wondered what it might be.

‘We have been tasked with putting together a bodyguard for a member of the high aristocracy. We need good swordsmen who are discreet and aren’t shy of killing when it’s needed. We feel that you would be suitable for a place on that bodyguard. The pay will be excellent, and we know that you are well trained for the job. The instructors at the Academy speak very highly of your skill, and Master Dornish spoke very strongly of your suitability for the position. As a matter of fact, he actively encouraged us to seek you out. In any event, the initial contract is only short term, until the current unrest that has been building in the city of late has subsided, but if you impress, further opportunities exist,’ said dal Dragonet.

It seemed that Soren’s clandestine work for General Kastor and whoever gave him his orders had been worthwhile. By putting his head down and getting on with things without complaining, it seemed that he had indeed opened doors to better opportunities.

‘I don’t need an answer right now, but I will need it soon. By tomorrow at the latest. We feel that the matter is time sensitive and want to get the process in motion as soon as is possible,’ said dal Dragonet.

Time sensitive. It seemed to Soren that the aristocrat in question must be in fear for his life. Perhaps the forces that Soren had been working against had employed assassins of their own to strike back against the Duke. He was pleased to have been considered for the work. He found the idea of protecting lives considerably more palatable than taking them.

‘Come to this address when you have decided,’ dal Dragonet added. He handed Soren a stiff white card with raised black lettering. ‘I cannot emphasise enough what a good opportunity this is for you.’ He stood and clicked his heels together making a staccato bow of his head before sitting again. It was the salute of a banneret and a mark of respect, but also a gesture that indicated the meeting was over.

Dal Dragonet watched Soren leave the room, and took another sip of whisky as the door closed. When it had, the other man spoke for the first time.

‘Do you really think he’s suitable?’ he asked.

‘I do,’ replied dal Dragonet, without hesitation.

‘But you found him in a black carpet duelling club,’ said the other man. ‘Is that really the type of person we want?’

‘That may be the case, but I have made my enquiries and I am confident that he’s a perfect fit. I’ve never heard Dornish singing anyone’s praises so strongly, and he has battlefield experience, as well as two duelling kills. I think he will do quite nicely.’

It was no surprise to Soren that the address dal Dragonet had given him was a house in Highgarden. He watched it from across the street for some time, something holding him back from going straight in. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was hard to fight down. He realised that he was on a precipice, and in real danger of becoming something that he did not want to be. If he did not take this job, it seemed likely that he would remain in the shadows as an assassin, which was a life he did not want.

When he approached the black iron gates that fronted the house, an attendant appeared from the small gatehouse and brought him through. The driveway was wide and circular, designed to allow carriages entry and exit without the need to turn, and was surrounded perfectly manicured lawns. The wealth in the city never failed to amaze him, no matter how many times he was exposed to it. At the door to the house, Soren was handed over to a butler, who led him to a small waiting room.