The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (29 page)

S
oren had missed the first week of term the previous year, so he had no idea what to expect from the first week back that all of the other students seemed to hold in such dread. He was not too worried about it though, as he had been training hard with Bryn twice a day, and then spending an hour or two in the evenings with the drones since he had gotten back. He had been keeping careful track of any symptom that could be attributed to the special ability that Dornish had suggested he might have. He began to suspect that it had something to do with how he perceived time. On any occasion where it seemed that something was moving more slowly than Soren felt it ought to be, he paid particular attention. The effect seemed to be stronger when he fought the drones, less so when he trained with Ranph or Bryn, but Soren felt that it was always present to some degree. It was never so strong as it had been in the final moments of his fight with the belek. He did not understand what was going on, or if indeed he was just imagining it all because Master Dornish had put the idea in his head.

He found it both frustrating and exciting. If it was true he had something that set him apart from all others, that thought was more than a little intoxicating. There was something very appealing to him about having something in common with the heroic bannerets of the past. He also wondered, if indeed he did have the ability, what other benefits there were to be enjoyed.

Despite the two weeks of hard work, the first few days back at the Academy were a mix of painful limbs, strenuous exercise, and a ravenous appetite to allow the body to repair itself from its exertions. When the end of the week approached, he was almost too tired to leave his bed, but he was determined to do something with his day off as a reward for all the hard work and in order to spend some time with Alessandra. The weather was still fine, although the autumn chill in the air was becoming ever more pronounced, particularly in the mornings and evenings, so he had decided to take Alessandra on a picnic.

He had approached the issue coyly with Ranph, who was envied for courting some of the most beautiful young ladies in Ostenheim’s society. Ranph had teased him mercilessly, but Soren had prepared himself for that, and had reckoned that the advice would be worth it. Ranph’s suggestion had been to take her on a picnic to one of the Breakers’ Islands. They were a small archipelago of islands in Ostenheim Bay that were sheltered from the sea by a series of reefs that were a danger to shipping at low tides and during stormy weather.

In times past, ne’er do wells from the city that were no better than common pirates had used false signals to lure unsuspecting ships onto the reefs, and then scavenged the cargoes that washed up on the small beaches of the islands. The Empire had stamped these activities out long before the Mage Wars, and one of the remaining landmarks from those days was the great lighthouse that stood on one of the islands as a warning about the reefs and to direct safe passage into the harbour. The largest mage lamp in existence sat at the top of the lighthouse, and its light had not dimmed an iota in hundreds of years. They said the lighthouse would crumble into the sea long before the brilliance of the lamp was diminished.

Ranph regaled him with a story of how he had taken lady something-or-other to one specific island, and that she had been putty in his hands as a result. The story also included the finely equipped family barge he had used to get there, the team of servants who had rowed it, and the staff at his town house who had prepared a sumptuous picnic. Soren could see immediately several issues in transposing this suggestion to his own needs with less than modest resources.

Nonetheless, it was better than any of the ideas he could come up with himself. After investigating the possibilities and expense of hiring a small rowboat for the day, he came to the conclusion that he could just manage to scrape together enough money from his small allowance to hire the boat, and the food he could sneak out of the dining hall. He had a note sent to Alessandra, who responded right away. Her enthusiasm was obvious from her note, and she outlined at length, in what was approaching being a written stream of consciousness, what she would bring in the picnic basket, the responsibility for which she made her own.

The reply came as something of a relief to Soren, both her pleasure at the thought of spending the day with him and also that she was taking charge of the picnic basket, something that Soren had briefly put his mind to, but had come to no satisfactory decisions on.

He hired one of the small rowboats that were available at the slip in Oldtown and collected her from the pleasure boat docks that were a brisk row across the busy inner harbour, which left him with a sheen of sweat on his brow. She was waiting for him, a basket in hand on the dock side, looking beautiful and attracting admiring glances from every man that went past her. He held the boat steady for her as she stepped down from the dock, feeling an enormous sense of pride as she looked at him with a trepidatious smile for reassurance as she cautiously climbed into the boat.

‘So, what’s our destination then?’ she asked, as they pushed off and Soren broke into a steady stroke.

‘That’s a surprise,’ Soren replied mirthfully, as he tried to concentrate on their course, weaving between wherries and lighters that darted back and forth between docks and ships. He was able to keep up a brisk pace, almost matching the boatmen who plied the waters on a daily basis.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the traffic eased when they passed between the two great towers that guarded the entrance to the inner harbour and out into the open anchorage in the bay. He was beginning to tire though; despite all of his training, he still found the rowing to be hard physical work. He wished he had been able to afford to hire a boatman as well as the boat, as those heading out to the islands ordinarily would. Having access to a private barge and crew would be even nicer. Alessandra sat comfortably in the stern of the small boat, idly curling her hair as she watched the bustle of the harbour traffic slipping by. Occasionally she would cast Soren a coy look, and for a moment the burn in his arms would seem to fade.

The boatman had warned him that the row was longer than it appeared, but Soren had presumed that he had exaggerated in the hope of earning the fare as well as the rental. It was indeed farther than it appeared from the shore though, and Soren was grateful when they finally reached the sandy beach of the island he intended for their afternoon.

It was a small island, but consisted of a dozen or so trees and a small patch of grass and a sheltered beach, just large enough for a picnic. He helped Alessandra out and then hauled the boat halfway up the pebbly shore before tying it to a nearby tree. As Alessandra spread a rug which she had taken from her basket on the grass, Soren took the bottle of Blackwater wine that Ranph had given him out of its hiding place in the bottom of the boat. Ranph had told him that it was good, so it was with a smile on his face that he presented the bottle to her. Her jaw dropped when she spotted it.

‘Where did you get that?’ she asked.

‘I have my sources,’ Soren replied, trying to sound as mysterious and well connected as he could, the latter of which, it struck him, wasn’t all that far from the truth in this instance.

‘We keep a couple of bottles of this at the tavern, but no one ever drinks it because it’s too expensive! You are really spoiling me today!’ she said.

They exchanged slightly awkward small talk for the first few minutes, commenting on how lucky they were with the weather that day, and how it was nice to be away from the chaos of the city, but soon their conversation once again slipped in to the same easy flow that it had the night he walked her home.

She had filled the picnic basket with all sorts of treats, pilfered, she had said mischievously, from the pantry of the Sail and Sword. There were slices of delicious pastry pies with various fillings, grapes, apples and oranges, and a pie of custard and lemon that Soren thought was one of the nicest things he had ever eaten, even nicer than the desserts in Brixen. It was all washed down with a fruit cordial that Alessandra had brought, and the bottle of Blackwater wine which, even to Soren’s unrefined palate, was quite superb.

The day seemed to slip by dreamily, in the light haze of the wine and easy conversation. They lay beside one another on the rug, chatting and laughing bathed in the warm sunlight. Soren wished the moment could go on forever.

C h a p t e r   2 8

A GRATEFUL NATION

S
oren always felt awkward in his full dress uniform, and despite having worn it several times now, he doubted he would ever feel completely comfortable in it. This occasion was one of the many ceremonial functions that Academy students were obliged to attend as a mark of respect. Ranph’s father was being awarded the Grand Cross and several of his officers and men were being given lesser awards for bravery in what had been far more than the small border dispute that Ranph had casually referred to it as.

Seemingly quite a major action had been fought in one of the more strategically important southern passes on the border where Count Bragadin’s regiment had been dispatched. It appeared that they had been outnumbered and caught by surprise, but had fought tenaciously and had turned back the attackers from the Confederation of Free Principalities of Auracia. The Grand Cross was the highest award that could be given to a citizen of Ostenheim, noble or commoner and required Count Bragadin’s presence to receive it from, as was the tradition, both the Duke and Grand Bishop, who were the nominal heads of the Order of the Grand Cross.

Ranph had seemed on edge since the announcement was made. At first Soren had wondered why, but was then reminded of the evening he had saved him from attack. There were many things that Soren did not understand about Ostenheim, most of which had never had any cause to affect him when he had lived in the orphanage or on the street. He had understood the dangers of the rivalry between various street gangs, and that these rivalries seemed to work their way up through society to some degree. Organised crime and occasionally violence between the guilds was as much as he had ever witnessed but it appeared to him that wherever there was power to be had, people would fight over it, even aristocrats.

Ranph asked Soren to stay close by him for the duration of the ceremony. He explained that it was not likely that anything would happen, but just in case. He did not elaborate on what ‘anything’ might be, which bothered Soren. He knew his friend was probably not able to elaborate, but it would have been nice to have an idea of what to look out for.

The ceremony consisted of a triumph through the city gates and a march down Northgate Road with an honour guard to Crossways and the Cathedral. The Academy students would line the steps of the Cathedral to honour the recipients of the awards. The banners of the swordsmen receiving their awards fluttered proudly from flag poles at the top of the steps. That of Ranph’s father took pride of place in the centre, a little higher than the others. It was a pleasant affair, but Soren took Ranph’s comments seriously and he was not able to relax.

As it transpired, nothing happened. The honour guard entered the Cathedral while the students remained in their positions outside. A modest crowd had gathered, perhaps not as large as one would expect for the award of the Grand Cross, but the size and significance of the battle had clearly been played down for whatever reason, and none of the men receiving awards would have been known to the citizens, with Count Bragadin being the only likely exception.

When the ceremony was finished, the awardees all left, with the Duke being hurried to his awaiting carriage by his personal bodyguard of half a dozen men. After the nervous energy of expecting trouble, Soren felt somewhat deflated when the event ended with no incident. Ranph had clearly been more worried than he had wished to appear and Soren doubted that any threat he spoke of had been imagined. When the son of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the world feared for his safety, despite being well able to take care of himself, Soren realised that there were forces at work in Ostia that were beyond his awareness or ability to influence.

Nevertheless, Count Bragadin and his retinue returned to their townhouse, and Soren, Ranph and the other students returned to the Academy safely.