The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (9 page)

He was very surprised when two tyros that he vaguely recognised came over and sat beside him. They nodded to him in acknowledgement and started into their own breakfasts.

‘You didn’t do yourself any favours beating Reitz dal Dardi like that,’ said one of the tyros after a moment, between bites of bread and jam. ‘I’m Henn dal Raffio by the way. This is Jost dal Dreuss.’

For them to sit next to him had been surprise enough, but actually engaging him in conversation was a complete shock. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Only moments before he had been in a fight and it felt as though he was staring down everyone in the Academy, but now two of his contemporaries were being quite friendly.

‘I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you talking to me? I thought everyone here hates me,’ Soren said.

They both started to chuckle.

‘A lot do. You seem to have a particular knack for making friends! You knock the stuffing out of Reitz today and on your first day you made Ranph look like an Under Cadet. Everyone knows he was caught off-guard, but even still, he wasn’t happy about having a touch put on him by a blow-in, no offense. I wouldn’t bother applying for a room in Stornado House anytime soon. You’ve also skipped two years of study, the first of which was hell and nearly half the class get thrown out of the Academy after it. The second wasn’t much easier, but at least by that point we knew there wasn’t as much chance of getting chucked out. Not having to go through all of that is bound to generate a bit of resentment!’ said Jost. ‘To tell the truth, Ranph isn’t the worst of fellows, but you really embarrassed him. He’s the best in our year and only one or two people have been able to put a touch on him in all the time we’ve been here. For someone fresh off the street to put a touch on him, well let’s just say he was less than pleased. As a result, all of his friends are less than pleased, and anyone who wants to be his friend is less than pleased.’

‘And you two aren’t in either of those groups?’ Soren asked suspiciously.

‘Nope,’ replied Henn, this time over a mouthful of porridge. Soren waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t Soren raised his eyebrow quizzically.

‘Don’t get me wrong; we don’t have any problem with him. Like I said, he’s not that bad once you get to know him a little, but our fathers’ baronies are in the county of Moreno,’ Henn added finally.

Now it was beginning to make sense to Soren. Friendships and house memberships in the Academy seemed to run along similar lines to family alliances outside of it. That was not to say that friendships did not form outside of these lines, often they did and would ultimately lead to future familial alliances when those boys became heads of their respective households.

‘You are here on the Count of Moreno’s sponsorship, which means we’re friends, more or less,’ Jost said.

‘So I take it most friendships here work that way?’ Soren asked.

‘Pretty much, although most chaps here are pretty easy going about things. Tensions outside of the Academy don’t tend to find their way in here. There’s enough competition here as it is without that adding to things, but at the end of the day, we all have to know where our loyalties lie,’ said Jost.

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Ranph. He might try and see to it that you get a few thumps when you aren’t expecting it, but he’ll have forgotten about it before too long. Reitz is another matter though, he’s a nasty little shit. You would be well advised to keep an eye out for him,’ added Jost.

‘I hear that you are still rooming in the Under Cadet dormitory,’ said Henn. ‘You should petition River House to take you in. That’s where most of the students from Moreno families are. Ancelot is okay too, but we’re in River so don’t tell anyone I said that. Obviously you can forget about Stornado, and New House is full of royalists. Amero and the Duke’s supporters have never been on the best of terms, so with him as your patron I doubt you’d fit in too well there! I don’t think you’d have any problem getting in to River though. Some of the lads will be jealous that you got to skip two years and are still able to thrash most of them after being here for only a few days, but someone who can put a touch on Ranph dal Bragadin is always going to be welcome enough.’

‘Bragadin? As in the county of Bragadin?’ Soren asked.

‘It is indeed. He’s the oldest son, and will one day be one of the richest men in the Duchy,’ said Jost.

Bragadin was a county that sat a couple of day’s ride to the northwest of the city. It was best known for the large lake there, Lake Blackwater. Its name came from its dark murky water and it was the source of the Westway River that ran through the city. Miles of dense forest lined one side of the lake, the trees from which produced a particularly strong and hardwearing timber, known as steelwood. The trees were cut and the logs were floated down the river to Ostenheim, where they were either exported around the Middle Sea at a premium price, or used by the city’s shipyards to keep its merchant and military fleets supplied with ships. As if this wasn’t enough, vast vineyards lined the other side of the lake, producing some of the finest and most expensive wines in the world. The county was a comparatively small one, but it was extremely wealthy, and the Count of Bragadin was one of the most powerful men in the Duchy, not to mention he was also one of the Electors of Ostia, eligible to vote in Ducal elections, and also eligible to be elected. So far, Soren didn’t seem to be doing well in his choice of who he rubbed the wrong way.

C h a p t e r   9

THE DRONES

O
nce the masters were confident that Soren could tell one end of a sword from the other, he was given the chance to train against the drones. He had seen them on his first day in the training hall, but had so far not been allowed anywhere near them. They were hideous, marvellous things. Ugly and ungainly to look at, their smooth movement was almost creepy. They were ancient too, a leftover from the time of mages, who built them to train their soldiers. There were all centuries old, perhaps even over a thousand years in some cases. Such was the quality and skill of their construction that they still functioned perfectly. Perhaps the magic had something to do with their longevity. They were cylindrical and as tall as Soren was, but floated half a metre off the ground when they were activated. They were thicker than an average man and had four appendages at what would be shoulder height when they were activated. Each drone had a number stitched into its brown leather covering and could attack with four different weapons at a time, through a range of three hundred and sixty degrees.

He watched them put student after student through their paces, moving faster and with more precision than most human attackers would be able to. One after another, they scored a hit on the student who was fencing against them, which signalled that their turn was over. A hit was considered to be a kill, and all students were given time to think that over before they were allowed to try again. Soren was tingling with excitement when his turn came. Its massive physical presence created a huge psychological challenge, far more so than when squaring up to a human opponent. Its monstrousness represented the childhood bogeyman he had often dreamt of defeating in battle. What made the challenge all the more appealing was that it had bested all of his peers.

The drone held four individual blunted rapiers, one in each of its hands. They were articulated in such a way that it could attack with all four at the same time if required, which made it like fighting two or more men. There were a number of heavily scuffed patches on the brown leather surface of its body, the leather here both worn but newer than the rest, having been replaced over time. These were deactivation, or kill points. A strike to one of these would turn the drone off. To increase the challenge to the student, the drone could be set to not deactivate until it had been struck cleanly on more than one of the different kill points, up to the full six that were on it.

Master Bryn called the drone by its number and it came to life. For a moment Soren thought he saw a faint blue glow around it, but then dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. Bryn barked out a command and Soren jumped to respond before realising that it had been directed at the drone. They functioned entirely by voice command. It moved forward, gliding silently across the wooden floor toward Soren. Floating as it did, it towered over him. Its ominous advance placed a momentary seed of doubt in Soren’s stomach, but as soon as it engaged him his nerves subsided.

Its attacks were precise and relentless. Unlike a person, it did not slow. It did not need to pause to catch its breath after a particularly intense series of attacks and Soren could see for the first time the value of the intense physical training they were subjected to. In his present condition, still scrawny, weak and unfit, not to mention stiff and sore, the drone would wear him down and strike him even more quickly than it had with his peers.

He knew he could not last long, as the drone did not yet seem to have reached its full speed and he did not expect to be able to keep up with it when it did. When he had watched it attacking the other students it had seemed to be far faster. He began to wonder if Master Bryn was going easy on him, but surely if he was holding his own Bryn would increase the intensity to an appropriate level. Perhaps it was just deceptively fast and it was his apprehension that had increased its apparent speed.

His confusion turned to impatience before long, so he decided to end it. If Master Bryn was underestimating him, he would highlight the mistake Bryn was making to ensure he realised it. As he fended off the attacks, he made his plan. He had seen Amero win a duel in the arena with a flashy strike from behind his back. It began with a quick straight thrust, followed by a twist when he made a second strike with the sword behind his back. He waited for the drone to attack, parried and then quickly stepped inside its reach, thrusting the button at the end of his training rapier into a kill patch on the drone’s left side, before twisting and flicking his sword around behind his back, using the force of the twist of his body to drive the tip home onto another patch on the drone’s left side.

The instant the tip touched the second kill patch, the drone’s arms went slack and it slowly dropped back to the floor. He turned to face Master Bryn and saluted him with his rapier. Bryn had a bemused expression on his face, and waved Soren to the back of the queue without a word.

Soren petitioned River House as Henn and Jost had suggested and was pleased to find that he was quickly accepted. He felt a little sad leaving his small, lonely room at the top of the Under Cadet Dormitory as it had been the first proper home he had ever known, even if only for a brief time. However, life in River was far more enjoyable than the isolation of his attic room had been. For a start his new room was larger, as was his bed. The number of steps he had to climb to get to it were far fewer also, which after a tough training session was a blessing. There was also a sense of camaraderie there that he was quickly included in, purely by virtue of his membership of the house.

Life at River centred around a large common room on the ground floor. The pecking order of the Academy was at its most apparent here, confusing as it was to a newcomer like Soren. Generally speaking the oldest students, the adepti, had seniority over the tyros. That meant if a tyro was relaxing on one of the sofas in the common room, and an adeptus wished to sit there, the tyro had to move. There was another layer to it however. The best students of the Academy were members of the Society of Blades, the name given to the Academy’s prefects, and they were senior to all others irrespective of the year they were in. Membership was attained in one of two ways. The most usual way was when a Blade graduated and either left the Academy or moved to the Collegium to continue his studies, his place became vacant. Students who wished to become a Blade put their name forward and would have to duel for the spot. The winner would be admitted to the Society, and the variety of privileges that this entailed.