The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (18 page)

The door to the carriage opened, and Soren made as to close it, thinking he had not pulled it shut behind him properly, but as he reached over Emeric swung in. He took a seat next to Soren and nodded to them in greeting.

‘Ah, Emeric! So, what was it like being back at the Academy?’

Emeric glowered at Amero for a moment, before turning his head to look out of the window without giving a response. Amero continued.

‘Emeric here was my father’s protégé, as you are mine. He was expelled though. He killed another student in a duel. It caused quite a fuss at the time. I was still an under cadet, but I’ll never forget it. By rights he shouldn’t even be carrying swords, but he was booted out only a few weeks shy of graduating, so I suppose it doesn’t do any harm. At least not so long as you’re on the right side of him!’

Emeric continued to look out of the window, as though to hide embarrassment, but he did not strike Soren as the kind of man who was embarrassed so easily.

‘He had it coming,’ said Emeric. His hand involuntarily went to the scar that ran down the right side of his face. ‘Being able to call yourself Banneret isn’t the be all and end all. You’d do well to remember that, lad.’ He returned his gaze out of the window, at the city passing by.

‘I don’t know how much Dornish told you about what you’d be doing on this trip, but it won’t be a holiday. I don’t know how well you cope with refinement now, passably well by the look of you, but you will certainly be tested on this trip. There will be plenty of formality and ceremony, so it should be a worthwhile experience for you.

‘The Duke has determined that I should go north to renew and reaffirm the treaty of peace between the Ruripathians and us. Every few years, factions up there start agitating for a warm water port. All of theirs become completely iced up in the winter. Can’t get any shipping in and out, so they want one of ours, by treaty or by force, but we don’t want them to get their paws on one. If it weren’t for all the metals and gems they dig out of their mountains, I dare say the entire principality would be back to eating raw meat and using stone tools by now. As it is, with a limited trading season, it puts a bit of a choke on their wealth, which suits us very nicely. Ostenheim isn’t quite the crossroads of trade between east and west that it was in the days of the Empire. If Ruripathia were to grow too wealthy and powerful, they would be in a position to challenge us for dominance in the eastern Middle Sea, and we can’t have that.

‘Usually this kind of job would be given to a more seasoned diplomat, but with my reputation, they thought I would be a better choice, a better statement of our strength and also our sincerity in maintaining the peace. I’ve brought you and Emeric along as my two toughs!’ he added, with a smile.

‘Sending three of the most dangerous swordsmen in Ostia should be a clear enough message if it comes to that, which I doubt it will. Although with these Northern types you never know when a show of strength will be needed. A demonstration duel or something like that. I’d rather like to see you measured against one of them myself, truth be told! There may be other little tasks for you along the way too, so keep on your toes!’ said Amero.

The carriage pulled up at the docks where Emeric jumped out and walked briskly down one of the wooden jetties that stretched into the inner harbour from the stone quays. He chatted with a man in a naval uniform before returning to the carriages and barking orders at the servants.

‘They’re ready to take us on board whenever you want,’ said Emeric when he arrived at the window of the carriage. They got out and Soren cast an eye over the harbour. He had always liked it there, the bustle and crowds of workers created an energy about the place that he enjoyed. There were so many strange faces, accents, tongues and smells that it never ceased to pique his curiosity.

There were only three large ships, Oceanmen, warped to the jetties in the inner harbour. It was large enough to accommodate more, but the empty space allowed more freedom of movement for the smaller merchant vessels and coasters. Out in the bay, past the two towers that guarded either side of the entrance to the harbour, a half dozen or so more Oceanmen sat at anchor waiting for their turn to enter.

The vessel they were to board, the
Paryso,
was significantly smaller than the behemoth Oceanmen, and was of a sleeker design than one would expect of a merchantman. It wasn’t rigged for fighting either, so Soren assumed it was one of the Duchy’s dispatch ships. Fast, well enough armed for a fight, but also able to take more cargo than a warship.

When he lived on the street, violent sickness had often followed eating a suspect piece of food, usually fowl or rancid meat of some description, but often the hunger had over ridden any concerns he might have had and he had chanced a suspect morsel. The reward was a full belly for a few hours, a few hours of violent vomiting and then the ever-present problem of an empty belly once more. It had not been an issue ever since he had started at the Academy and he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be physically ill. The sea voyage was reacquainting him though.

The master’s mate, Ensign Phenning, a young man about Soren’s age and a student at the city’s Naval Academy on his second practical posting, had told him that it would not likely last past the first twelve to twenty four hours, but each minute seemed like a lifetime as he clung to the bulwark of the ship, doubled over, his empty stomach trying to eject non existent contents. Occasionally a little fluid came up, but for the most part the violent contractions in his chest and belly produced nothing but pain.

While Amero and Emeric drank, ate and gambled in the captain’s stateroom, Soren swore that he would never set foot on a ship again if it could be avoided. The prospect of the return journey would doubtless haunt him for the duration of their stay in the north.

Ensign Phenning’s first prediction had proved to be incorrect. Soren remained violently ill for the duration of the six day voyage. After what had seemed an eternity at sea, Soren was delighted to put foot on land, only to discover with dismay that Ensign Phenning’s second prediction was completely correct. Land sickness. Six days at sea had made him become accustomed to the constant pitching, moving and angle of the deck of the ship. Now that he was on firm, dry land, he could not adjust, and the movement continued, the solid ground pitching, never being where his foot expected it to be when he took a step.

Baelin was a small and bustling harbour town that benefitted from Ruripathia’s lack of a port that did not ice up during the winter. The buildings were a mix of designs, betraying the fact that it had changed ownership on more than one occasion since the fragmentation of the Empire. The air was far cooler than in Ostenheim. The temperature had steadily dropped since they had left on their voyage north, although Phenning had told him that a few weeks earlier it had been far colder.

Baelin was the most northerly port on the east coast of the Middle Sea that was not susceptible to winter ice, which explained why the Ruripathians had been so eager in the past to have control of it. It was sheltered on the southern lip of the headland that formed the bay to the north, which suffered the full force of the winter wind, the Niepar, which blew down from the Telastrian Mountains to the northeast. Everything north of that headland spent nearly half of the year frozen, ice as far as the eye could see. Then, when the Niepar was spent a second airflow prevailed over the north, this one from the deserts to the south. This wind was called the Nistra, and was hot, causing a rapid thaw and hot summers. In autumn this airflow stalled, and the Niepar returned, the cycle repeating each year.

The ships were all smaller here than they had been in Ostenheim and the harbour was not big enough to accommodate an Oceanman, but the air was fresh and everything was so new that Soren felt incredibly excited. All the time at the Academy there was an overbearing sense that everything was just a dream that could end at any moment and that he would be plucked from the fragrant air of Highgarden and dropped back in the cess and filth of the backstreets in the city slums. Now he was having his eyes opened to how much more there was to the world than just Ostenheim.

He stood on the dock, arms akimbo in the fashion he had seen Dornish adopt with an air of authority, and struggled to maintain his balance. He wondered how long it would be before the feeling that the ground was moving beneath him would go. He thought it unlikely that he managed much authority, swaying like a drunk as he surveyed the small but bustling port town. He was hundreds of miles from anything he knew, in this strange and foreign place, but wearing the blue doublet of a banneret in training, even this far from Ostenheim, he was recognised for what he was by everyone that passed. It was not as a street urchin, but as a man of importance, position and danger. It was empowering and for the first time in his life he felt as though he actually represented these things, rather than merely being a gutter rat trying to eke out an existence, or an imposter in fancy cloths.

He felt a firm hand on his back and turned to see Amero, his blue banneret’s doublet standing out among the crowds on the dock. It was trimmed with silver and gold embroidery, which differentiated it from an ordinary banneret’s doublet that was trimmed with white, and denoted Amero as a Banneret of the Blue, a master swordsman of the highest level. It bore the arms of the Academy and the city on the sleeves and chest. In his hands he carried a long slender wooden box.

‘They aren’t exactly a work of art, but they are as good a pair of working blades as you could want. I dare say you will need them sooner than you might think, or than either of us might like. Don’t thank me for them though. They are less a gift than a necessity. You’re wearing the blue of Ostenheim and the insignia of the Academy, so you are permitted to bear arms while within the town limits. I suggest you put them on now,’ said Amero.

He handed Soren the box and went back to confer with one of his servants as to the loading of the two carriages that would be taking them the rest of the way north. Soren opened the box, to reveal dark wine coloured felt, a sword, dagger and their scabbards and baldrics pressed into its mouldings. He took the dagger out and fastened its baldric around his waist, and then, scarcely able to contain his excitement did the same with the sword, its steel wire guard forming a loose basket around the hilt inviting his hand to sit neatly in it.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he drew the sword from its scabbard, and revelled in the smooth dark sheen of the unmarked blade. It was an inch wide at the hilt and tapered into a spear point tip. It measured about thirty inches long and it was sharp down the full length of both edges. The blade was thick for strength with a narrow fuller running down the centre and the balance felt so much more natural than any blade he had held at the Academy.

‘Excuse me, sir.’

It took Soren a moment to realise that the voice was directed at him, and then for an instant his old instincts set his pulse racing. He remembered who and where he was, and turned to the voice.

‘Yes?’ Soren asked in response. It was a member of the Town Watch. The town crest was embroidered in gold thread on the left breast of his black leather gambeson.

‘If you wouldn’t mind re-sheathing your blade, sir, makes people nervous,’ he said. He was polite and deferential.

The last time Soren had a run in with a member of the City Watch in Ostenheim he had been given a thorough beating.

‘Oh, yes, of course, I’m terribly sorry,’ Soren replied. He resheathed it with a satisfying hiss of the metal against the leather and felt that lined the scabbard.

‘Quite all right, sir, enjoy your time in Baelin,’ he said, and with that he moved on.

Soren watched him wander off into the crowd and then became aware of a presence beside him. Wearing a long black coat with a high collar that almost completely hid his face and a wide brimmed hat, Emeric was standing beside him.

‘We are a long way from home now, lad, and swords aren’t for play and impressing young ladies. When the time comes you will have to use it like it’s meant to be used and not think twice about it. All our lives might depend on it. Understand?’

Soren nodded, the solemnity of what Emeric had said bringing his mood down. What questions would be asked of him in the days to come? Emeric continued, preventing Soren from reflecting more on what he had just said.

‘We have been to war more times than I can count with the Ruripathians. There are enemies all around us. Keep an eye out and we’ll be all right.’ He gave Soren a slap on the back. ‘The blades look good on you.’