The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (8 page)

Dal Dardi was poor at concealing his emotions and there was a flash of anger across his face that he quickly tried to supress. Despite this, Soren knew his next attack would be fuelled by anger, rather than cunning or finesse. He was correct and dal Dardi came at him furiously with as much force behind his attacks as he could muster. Rather than being intended to skilfully score a touch, these hacks were intended to cause pain.

As Soren toyed with the attacks, parrying them away with little difficulty, it was evident to him that dal Dardi based his technique around intimidation and bullying rather than skill. He could see how this tactic could be brutishly effective and had encountered similar demeanours on the street many times, but it surprised him a little that the instructors had not steered dal Dardi away from it, as it was unlikely to take him far in the company he was in.

Dal Dardi left many openings to counter attack, and when one was so glaringly obvious that Soren was certain he could not fail to score, he took it. He threaded the tip of his sword past steel and limb to strike dal Dardi squarely on the chest. He stepped back and lowered his sword as he did. He only narrowly dodged dal Dardi’s continued attack. He pounced back a pace and regained his guard. Dal Dardi continued to come at him furiously. Soren parried the strikes away but found it difficult to see the duel as a practice bout any longer. Their duel had gained the attention of one of the roving masters, but he did not intervene. It appeared that Soren would have to take matters into his own hands.

He stepped inside dal Dardi’s reach and shoved him backward, then took another step forward to follow up the push with something a little more strenuous.

‘Stop that!’ came a shout.

Soren lowered his raised fist. The master who had been watching had evidently seen enough.

‘There is no physical contact in these duels. It is a pure test of swordsmanship. You should both know that. Save the brawling for your unarmed fighting lessons. Tyro dal Dardi, step down. Tyro Soren, step up. Shake hands and await your next duel,’ said the master.

Soren was being given the match, which was of some small consolation. However, he wasn’t satisfied at allowing treatment like that to go unanswered. He put out his hand to shake, which dal Dardi did grudgingly. Soren could see clearly in his eyes that the matter was not done with. That suited him quite nicely.

Soren sat in the library of Amero’s house, at a large table at one end of the bookshelf lined room. A sheaf of paper and a pile of pencils had been left out for him. He tapped one end of a pencil against the table as he waited and wondered what was to come.

It had not been difficult to get out of the Academy for a few hours. Many of the older students seemed to leave for various reasons during their free time in the afternoon. In particular it seemed expected that those at the Academy on patronage would be required to attend to the matters of their patrons from time to time. When seeking permission to leave, he was told that the only rule was that they were back by eight bells in the evening. After this they would be considered absent without permission, which was a serious offence. The steward that had outlined the regulations explained that the rule was an old one that stemmed from students going into the city at night, getting drunk, and starting fights that had very often ended in deaths, of citizens rather than students. This did nothing for the reputation of the Academy, nor the popularity of students in the city, so strict rules had to be applied. As a result, all students, except those in the Collegium were essentially confined to the campus every night.

A few minutes passed by before Emeric came into the room with another man in tow. The man was slight of build with a mop of grey hair and a short, neat beard. He wore a pair of wire spectacles, and from his body language, he was clearly terrified of Emeric. Emeric gestured to the table and the man bustled forward clutching a bulging leather satchel. He looked back to Emeric, and Soren thought he was actually shaking.

‘Sit,’ said Emeric, in exasperation. ‘The boy has two hours, make the best of the time.’ With that he left Soren alone with the extremely awkward man.

He sat down and took some books and papers from his satchel. ‘My name is Eluard Frerr. I’m a professor of Imperial at the University. I understand you are a tyro at the Academy.’

‘Yes, I am,’ replied Soren, with more than a hint of pride.

‘Ah, so next year, if we get you properly taught, you will be an adeptus. Tyro means a novice, or beginner, in Old Imperial you know, while adeptus means to have obtained, or attained,’ said Frerr. He relaxed a little now that he was on familiar territory. ‘But I digress, I am told that you have some difficulty reading.’

‘More than difficulty. I can’t read at all,’ said Soren.

‘I see, I see,’ he said. ‘Such a pity that a lad of your age is ignorant of the written word. Still, we shall remedy that. The Count’s retainer has made it clear to me that you are to be taught to read in the shortest possible time. In view of that, I would suggest at least one hour of study in addition to the time you spend with me each afternoon. I expect you will be able to read to good standard of literacy in six months of regular tuition, although I would hope that you will be at a functional level in a much shorter time. Now, to begin.’

Frerr had given Soren a number of books to take away with him. They contained only the most elementary things, as Frerr had gone to pains to point out how important it was that he had a firm grasp of the foundations before he try to move on to other things. He spent each night in his room poring over the book, copying out letters while sounding them out at the same time. It made him feel like an idiot, but at least there was no one else to see it, and after only a few days of lessons, Frerr had him reading simple passages and this progress was enough to convince Soren to place his trust in Frerr’s method. Nonetheless, Soren’s eyes ached each evening when he finally went to bed, which he thought was somehow appropriate, as with all the training, they had been the only part of him not to beforehand.

C h a p t e r   8

UNEXPECTED ALLIES

T
he first week went by quickly, with the routine of training and classes quickly ingraining itself into his life. At first it had felt odd having somewhere that he had to be at a particular time, but now he found that he enjoyed the sense of purpose that it brought. When he awoke one morning toward the end of that week to find his blue doublet waiting outside his door in a brown paper parcel, it felt as though he had reached a watershed moment. Until that point he had not been able to shake off the feeling that at any time this dream scenario that he found himself in would come crashing down around him. Now, with the finely tailored doublet with its expensive crest embroidered with silver thread sitting across his lap, the dream seemed to solidify into reality. This was now his life, and what went before was the dream, or perhaps more fittingly, the nightmare.

He had not encountered dal Dardi for the remainder of that week. He had kept progressing through the ranks of the duelling ladder whilst dal Dardi had remained much where he had been on the day Soren duelled against him. Even in the dining hall their paths had not crossed. Soren was not sure how he would deal with the situation when they did inevitably encounter one another again, but he was still tempted to seek him out and thrash him just to be done with the matter. He knew that if he wasn’t seen to respond aggressively to disrespect, that treatment would become the norm.

He wore the doublet to the dining hall that morning; the weight of it across his shoulders lifted his spirits in some way, instilling a sense of something that he had not experienced before. Pride.

He was minding his own business, trying to decide between honeyed figs or peaches, a process he took particular delight in, considering how ridiculous it would have seemed to him only a few weeks before, when dal Dardi walked straight up to Soren and slapped his tray from his hands. He only had a couple of items on it at that stage, but they went spilling across the floor.

‘Watch where you’re going, street rat,’ dal Dardi said, as he began to walk away, eliciting laughter from a group of the other tyros standing behind him.

The laughter stopped abruptly with Soren’s response. He may only have been learning swordsmanship for the past few days, but he had been learning to defend himself, often at the peril of his life, for as long as he could remember. He grabbed dal Dardi by the shoulder before he could get out of arm’s reach and spun him back around. Their eyes met and for an instant Soren saw fear in them. He smiled and with an open right hand, he slammed his palm into dal Dardi’s face three times in quick succession. On the final strike, he could feel dal Dardi’s nose break with a satisfying crunch.

He let go of dal Dardi’s shoulder, allowing him to drop to the ground. Soren smiled viciously and looked around to see if anyone else wanted to pick a fight with him. At first there was no one, which was what he expected, but then he spotted three students headed his way, Ranph dal Bragadin leading them. By the time they got to Soren however, two prefects, Blades they were called, had arrived on the scene to break things up. Soren noticed that Ranph was wearing the same badge as the prefects. He was also a prefect, it seemed. They spoke to him quietly for a moment, and the look of anger on Ranph’s face dissipated a little as he stared at Soren with steely eyes.

He directed his two hangers-on to take dal Dardi to the infirmary, and then stepped forward to Soren, still carefully watched by the other two prefects.

‘You’ve struck a Stornado, and it will not be quickly forgotten,’ said Ranph. He meant it to be threatening, but Soren was unmoved.

‘Perhaps you should bring more lackeys next time; swords and fists don’t seem to be the strong suit of Stornados,’ Soren replied.

Anger flashed in Ranph’s face again, but he cast a glance to the other two prefects who were still standing there. He composed himself again and smiled at Soren before walking away. It occurred to Soren that he should perhaps start applying himself more in Diplomacy class.

The incident had done nothing to dissipate his appetite and he reloaded his tray and then attacked his breakfast with vigour. He sat alone, as he always did in the dining hall. He had spent most of his time alone when he lived on the street, and it had not bothered him. It was safer not to rely on anyone, and it was certainly easier not having to worry about anyone else. However, in the short time he had been at the Academy, he had started to feel isolated, something that he had never felt before. On the street, it had always appeared to him that in reality everyone was alone and that anything else was merely an illusion. Here though, everyday all he saw were groups of friends laughing and joking together, and also supporting one another when necessary. In seeing this every day, he began to notice its absence in his own life.