The Telastrian Song (13 page)

G
iura was
in a remarkably good mood as he sat in his office in the Grey Tower. It was a dreary little cubicle, dark stone walls, no windows and only a small, poor quality mage lamp providing illumination. Knowing the young man’s name, Soren, and that he both carried and knew how to use a rapier—really knew how to use a rapier—meant that a call to the Academy was now a worthwhile move. After that, if Soren still looked like he could be useful, Giura would make contact with him at the new inn he had taken a room in.

It was such an encouraging prospect; if he could get Soren and Amero in the same room, that would probably be enough. It almost made him forget his other problem, but sadly he wasn’t that fortunate. His mage hunt was at a dead end, and his last hope was to take the notebooks to the University to see if anyone there could make anything of the contents. He had used up his luck for that week, so didn’t expect anything to come of it—but as the past few days had shown, opportunity presented itself in the most unexpected places.

He had freed up his day to allow him the time to pay a visit to the Academy to try to dig up something on the young man. The more he thought on it, the more Giura felt that he had encountered the name Soren somewhere before, but he couldn’t place it. Perhaps the trip to the Academy would jog his memory. That done he would take the notebooks to the University—something that was long overdue at that point—although he couldn’t help but feel that it would be a futile trip.

His morning correspondence dealt with, Giura left his office to head for the Academy. A familiar face greeted him as he walked into the courtyard outside the Grey Tower.

‘Pierfranco. I’m surprised,’ Giura said.

‘Yes, everyone is. The decision to come back was sudden.’

Sudden. That was interesting. As was the way dal Lupard had worded his reply. ‘What brings you back?’ Giura said.

Dal Lupard smiled knowingly. ‘Ah, exigencies of the service and all.’ He tapped his nose with his index finger.

Curiouser still. ‘Well, it’s nice to have you back. So few of the old faces around the Tower these days.’

‘Nice to be back. I’m sure we’ll be seeing one another frequently…’

Giura nodded and smiled before continuing on his way. Dal Lupard was a snake, the worst kind of man and the type who gave the Intelligenciers the darker parts of their reputation. He had been propelled from a similar level of seniority as Giura as soon as Amero took the throne. He was even awarded a minor barony and given full autonomy with regard to his duties at the Grey Tower. It continued like that for some time—no one was ever able to find out what he had done to earn the favour he was shown—until it was over as quickly as it happened. He was made ambassador to Venter, a grey, wet country that was not considered a choice appointment.

Dal Lupard had been punished for something but, like his sudden rise to favour, no one was able to uncover the reason for his equally sudden fall. It hadn’t been of any interest to Giura; he was happy to see dal Lupard go. It was just a shame that he had the opportunity to smear the Ostian reputation in another country.

His thoughts dwelt on dal Lupard no longer than they might have on an unpleasant smell. He was sure that he would discover what dal Lupard was up to in due course, but didn’t see how it could concern him. He had enough to deal with in any event.

It had been many years since Giura had been a student at the Academy, or had cause to visit it. Not since he graduated all those years before. The Intelligenciers had an awkward relationship with the Academy. Many of those in the Intelligenciers’ ranks were bannerets—it was a requirement for certain positions—but the connection with the Academy that many bannerets maintained was lost to them. To be a banneret was to be a gentleman, but to be an Intelligencier one certainly could not afford to be a gentleman. The Banneret Intelligenciers were thus treated with distaste by the Academy and often with disdain by their brother bannerets.

There was nothing about his appearance that immediately suggested his profession, but the rapier at his waist proclaimed him to be a banneret so he was instantly admitted to the Academy where he headed for the Master’s office.

Giura was not prone to bouts of nostalgia—he had seen too much of the unpleasant in life to place much stock in anything but the here and now. Nonetheless, his days at the Academy had been happy, and the opportunities given to him by getting to study there were something he would never take for granted, no matter how cynical he became. Rikard dal Bragadin was responsible for all of that.

The adjutant sitting at his desk outside the Master’s office was the first person to identify Giura as an Intelligencier. The black clothes drew his eye to the hilt of Giura’s sword, which bore the arms of the Intelligenciers. He sniffed condescendingly as Giura approached. It was a delicate moment. The disdain bannerets showed Banneret Intelligenciers was as much based on fear as contempt. Bannerets were all equals, be they noble or commoner. A dispute would always be settled with steel on equal terms, but that was not so with a Banneret Intelligencier. To challenge a Banneret Intelligencier to a duel was a crime against the state. The Intelligencier could also have his fellow banneret dragged off to a dungeon never to be seen again—they could satisfy their honour by means other than steel and skill. That was something they would never be forgiven for.

‘How can I help you, Intelligencier?’ the adjutant said.

Giura ignored the abbreviated use of his title, which he knew was intended as a slight. ‘I’d like to speak to the Master. Urgently.’

The adjutant grimaced. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

Polite, careful, obstructive. Nothing that Giura could have him dragged to the castle dungeons for, or worse, the Grey Tower’s dungeon—not that it was ever Giura’s preferred way of dealing with things. There were times though, when he was tempted to dangle the threat.

‘The reason being?’ Giura said, as evenly as he could.

‘He’s very, very busy.’

Polite, careful, obstructive, but now verging on the condescending. Giura was ever more tempted to prove the adjutant’s prejudices correct, but knew that would be counter-productive. There were always better ways to deal with these things.

‘I wouldn’t ordinarily impose upon the Master’s time, but it’s come to my attention that a brother banneret,’ he noted the adjutant’s failed attempt to suppress a sneer, ‘is in danger. I’m having trouble finding him to warn him, and hoped the Master might be able to help.’ He smiled as amiably as he could.

The adjutant looked at him suspiciously and said nothing as he decided what to do. It would be contrary to any banneret’s sense of honour to refuse Giura’s request under such circumstances, but it didn’t mean that he would be happy acceding to it. His face relaxed. ‘If you’d like to wait a moment, I’ll see if the Master can fit you in.’

‘Thank you,’ Giura said. He couldn’t help but think it might be fun to see the look on the adjutant’s face as he was being dragged out of the building by a couple of the Grey Tower’s toughs. There was little point in having power unless one abused it from time to time—but that would have to wait for another day.

The adjutant went into the Master’s office and re-emerged a moment later. ‘He can give you a few minutes now.’

W
illard Dornish had been
an instructor at the Academy when Giura was there, only being made Master several years later. Giura never had much to do with him, but by all accounts he was a decent man who had a genuine interest in his students.

‘Banneret Intelligencier Giura, what can I help you with?’ Dornish gestured to a seat in front of the desk he sat behind.

Giura sat. ‘I’m looking for some information on a banneret. I don’t expect he’s more than a few years graduated.’

‘Name?’

‘Soren.’

The blood drained from Dornish’s face. It was one of the most marked reactions Giura had seen on someone in a very long time. He did his best to conceal his surprise, but it was difficult.

‘You’re familiar with the name then?’ Giura tried to work out why he found it familiar also, but couldn’t recall anything that was of use.

‘Well, yes. I am. I wasn’t sure if he was still alive though. The last I heard of him, he was in the castle dungeon. There was nothing after that. I assumed that he had… disappeared. As so many have.’

It was a very guarded cut at the Intelligenciers, who were responsible for much of the disappearing over the past few years, but interesting. What was it that put Soren in the dungeon—and if he was freely walking the streets of Ostenheim, what had gotten him out again?

The wheels turned in his head and he remembered why he recognised the name. He forced himself not to smile. ‘Well, I can assure you that he’s not dead, and he’s not in the castle dungeon. He is in danger though, and I need a way to find him.’ Giura knew where Soren was but he needed to pretend that he did not in order to gather the information he wanted.

‘As much as I’d like to, I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ Dornish said. ‘It’s been a few years since I’ve seen him and, as I said, after he was thrown in the dungeons I heard nothing more about him.’

Giura studied him closely. There was no reason to believe that Dornish was lying. Everything about his demeanour said he was being genuine. ‘What can you tell me about him? Anything that might help me find where he is.’

Dornish shifted in his seat uncomfortably. If a lie or obfuscation were to be told, it would come soon. People were so easy to predict. It often came as a disappointment to Giura.

‘He was sponsored here by the Duke. They had a serious falling out—I’m not sure why—and the Duke withdrew his sponsorship. The lad was more than worthy of a scholarship and I arranged one for him, but there were other issues involved, which I’m afraid I know nothing about. He came here older than he should have, had a difficult life beforehand. Lads like that often have trouble adjusting. Still, he was one of the most gifted students to pass through in my time here, and I’ve seen some good ones. Then he got involved in that business with the old Duke. That’s what landed him in the dungeon. I don’t think he had anything to do with Duke Valens being killed, but he was part of the Duke’s bodyguard, so…’

Of course. That was why Giura thought he had heard the name before. He hadn’t been involved in any of the investigations, so he didn’t know all that much about it. It was curious. If the lad had been involved in Amero’s plot to kill the Duke, was imprisoned by those loyal to him and then mysteriously disappeared from the castle dungeon—no mean feat—not long after Amero took power, what was he doing visiting the head of the most cogent movement opposed to Amero’s rule?

Could it be that after having lain low for a few years, he had returned to his master’s service, and Amero was now using him to deal with the previously ignored threats? It was curious, and possibly disappointing. If he was Amero’s creature, then he would obviously be no use to Giura in assassinating him. Likewise, he could be a threat to Giura’s best hope for an individual or group who might be able to do the job. If he was sent out to wreak havoc on Kastor’s cabal, he could be a very big problem. With the way he’d handled those men outside the inn, he could wipe them out in a matter of days. That meant Giura would need to deal with him, and he wasn’t sure how he’d manage to do that. Then there was the way he had tripped the guards and helped the egg-thrower on Crossways to escape. That would be odd behaviour indeed if Soren was working for Amero. Risky too, whatever his true intentions were.

If he wasn’t in Amero’s service, how had he managed to get out of the dungeons? It was a nigh on impossible task, and Giura had never heard of it being done before. Then there was the fact that Soren had not been seen or heard of in such a long time. Could it be that he had only recently escaped? That was unlikely though, surviving for that long in the dungeons was even less plausible than escaping. In any event, he didn’t have the colour or physique of a man who had been locked up in a dungeon cell until recently.

Giura felt escape or release were the two most likely options. The behaviour he’d witnessed on Crossways suggested that the latter—release by Amero’s regime—was not the credible one. If the former, what was Soren doing back in Ostenheim? If it were Giura, he would have gotten as far from the city as he could and never come back; Amero was a spiteful bastard who never let a grudge go ignored. Giura wondered if Amero had made any efforts to track Soren down. That would certainly be worth looking into. He was still hopeful that the young man could be of use. Anyone that lethal with a blade would be a huge asset.

He realised Dornish was staring at him inquiringly. ‘Pardon me,’ Giura said. ‘Tell me a little more. You say he’s particularly talented.’

‘As talented as I’ve ever seen. He was one of the best students we’ve ever had here. An incredibly hard worker and he held a sword like he was born with one in his hand. He’s truly lethal—I expect that’s how he got himself out of the dungeon—and I wouldn’t be too worried about him. He’s well able to take care of himself.’