The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (40 page)

Instead of sitting down next to him, Jost continued past and sat with some others who had been in Ancelot House before moving to the Collegium. When Soren tried to catch his eye, Jost looked away awkwardly. It made sense though, all of Amero’s friends, and anyone who wanted to be Amero’s friend would now treat Soren like a pariah. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.

Jost’s behaviour had upset Soren more than he would have cared to admit as he made his way to the salon where his class was due to be held that morning.

‘So, you’ve finally decided to appear. Your absence makes little difference to me; I am paid regardless. It is only you that loses out,’ said the man. He paused for a moment before shutting his book and standing. ‘I am Banneret of the Blue, Gustav Caravello. Master Dornish has appointed me as your instructor. Take a practice blade and we shall begin.’

There was something about the man’s casual, arrogant air that instantly irritated Soren. Hungover, he was not much in the mood for company. Less so for social niceties. He picked up a blade, but despite his rising temper, his mind felt clogged and his reactions felt slow.

Caravello came at him quickly with perfectly executed attacks, but even in his befuddled state Soren had little trouble parrying them or stepping out of their way. Caravello attacked again, and again after, increasing the intensity each time. Still Soren managed to find it within himself to defend against them, eventually drawing the slightest hint of frustration from Caravello’s face.

‘You are fast, of that there is no question. While your technique is functional, it is far from good. We have a great deal of work to do. Were it not for your speed, I doubt you would even have graduated!’ he said, with a sneer.

Soren did not rise to the bait, but inside he raged. Soren stormed out while Caravello was mid sentence. He had heard enough of the man’s prattling.

Ranph found Soren in an expensive tavern in Highgarden, more expensive than he could afford, but the one closest to the Academy. After his brief session with Caravello, the thought of spending at least another year at the Academy did not seem so appealing. What was the point of spending another year shut away from the real world when he knew that he could already fight more than well enough for war? He saw no reason to delay leaving the Academy to become a soldier now that he was no longer obligated to Amero’s service. All the more so when it seemed that for the first time in more than a decade the city was going to war, with the barbarian tribes.

Ranph sat with him in silence for half an hour, although it felt like longer. It took him that long to throw caution to the wind, as he was confident that there was nothing he could say that would be well received.

‘Bad day?’ he asked.

‘I’m leaving the Academy,’ Soren said.

A stunned silence followed. It could not have been longer than the initial silence, although it felt as though it were.

‘Not the answer I was expecting,’ Ranph replied, trying to sound cheery.

‘I’m going to re-join the army, see if I can get posted back to the frontier.’

‘I’m sure there will be plenty of fighting left when we finish at the Collegium. Master swordsmen are highly sought after,’ said Ranph, hoping to inject some reason into the conversation.

‘I’m no longer under the sponsorship of the Count of Moreno,’ said Soren. ‘I can’t afford to stay here any longer. I have to stand on my own two feet.’

‘I’d heard about your spat with him,’ said Ranph. ‘It’s been doing the rounds of the rumour mill. But if it’s money that’s your worry, I can—’

‘No,’ said Soren, more abruptly than he had intended. ‘Thank you, Ranph, but no. It’s time that I strike out on my own. I’ve learnt all I need to know for killing. There’s nothing that prancing ponce Caravello can teach me that’s worth a damn on the battlefield. I was fooling myself with all the things I thought I would have, a family, a home, a place in the world. Now I know what my path is. My mind’s made up. I’m going to leave tomorrow.’

‘I’m sorry you have come to this decision, but it is not for me to try to persuade you otherwise. Just know that the issue of fees and lodging should not trouble you. The Academy can always afford to keep on promising students who cannot afford it on their own,’ said Dornish.

‘You’ve heard then,’ replied Soren.

‘Of course, there is little that happens involving my students that I do not hear. I would have thought that you of all people would have realised that by now! Irrespective of that, there are also other opportunities available to you now that you are a banneret. There are many young men looking for private tuition to assist in their admission here. That can pay very well, more than enough to keep you in comfort while you remain in the Collegium. The time spent here will be invaluable in discovering the intricacies and full potential of your gift. I would also welcome the opportunity to work with you and learn more about it. I would prevail upon you once again to reconsider.’

Soren smiled grimly. ‘I just feel that I’ve learned all that will be of benefit for me in the army. A career as a duellist doesn’t appeal to me anymore and I have no interest in teaching. I want to get back out of the city, where things are really happening.’

‘I understand,’ said Dornish. ‘I know how hard it can be as a young man to sit by when great events are going on. I sometimes feel the pull myself, even now. Just know that there will always be a place for you here should you ever choose to resume your studies.’

He bought a good set of blades from a reputable, but not famed swordsmith in the city before returning to the Academy to scrounge travelling rations from the dining hall and pack his things. Having not risen until well after noon, it was dark by the time he finally left the Academy, much as he had first entered it. Alone, in the middle of the night, and with no idea of what lay ahead of him.

C h a p t e r   4 0

A RETURN TO THE EAST

F
ort Laed was very different in appearance from the last time he had passed through. Where it had been a sleepy, somewhat run down outpost the previous time he had arrived, it was now a hive of activity, being the supply hub for a major army in the field rather than just supporting a handful of patrols. He didn’t recognise any faces as he walked his horse across the parade ground, but as he approached the commandery, a subaltern recognised the rank insignia on his worn doublet and rushed forward to take his horse.

Colonel dal Vecho looked up from a stack of papers and his harried face relaxed somewhat, but didn’t quite manage to break into a smile.

‘Banneret Soren! It is good to see you. I assume from your doublet you wish to return to duty?’

‘Yes, sir. That is what I was hoping to do,’ Soren replied.

‘Excellent. I’ll assign you back to the Legion. It is short of officers but was attached to the main army to provide skirmishers and scouts.’ He reached for a piece of paper and scribbled on it before sliding it across the desk to Soren. ‘The army headed north four days ago after reports that a large barbarian force was moving south in the direction of the fort. My latest report says they have been bivouacked for two days now, so they are only two days march away. You would probably like to rest first, but they should be reachable by nightfall for one man on horseback if you were of a mind to leave now. A marching army is never a hard thing to follow!’

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll leave immediately,’ replied Soren.

Colonel dal Vecho had not been exaggerating in his advice. The army had left a wide brown scar on the plain twisting away to the northern horizon. He pushed on at a hard pace and was pleased to sight campfires in the distance as darkness began to fall. He passed the pickets after only a few moments delay while the less than alert guards tried to confirm his identity. With directions it did not take him long to find the General’s tent. It was large and partitioned into several sections with thick cloth screens. Beyond the entrance, there was a large area with a camp table in the centre. It had been laid out for campaigning, and judging by the maps that were spread out all over it, it appeared that contact had been made with the enemy.