The First Blade Of Ostia

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  The only issue that remained was a tricky one. How would he broach the issue of moving out of the apartment with Amero without causing irreparable damage? He felt less concerned about the sensitivity of it after the previous night, but it was best not to burn any bridges. One way or the other, he needed to find somewhere to live first.

  He couldn’t afford to be extravagant, so Oldtown and the other more fashionable parts of the city were out of the question. Considering that Bautisto’s salon was in Docks and that he was always utterly exhausted leaving there, somewhere nearby seemed to be the most sensible idea.

  Living in Docks itself was something he wasn’t willing to do. It was a hardworking and rough part of the town and definitely not somewhere he wanted to make his home.

  Docks was sandwiched between the two rivers that ran through Ostenheim, the Westway and the Eastway. The Westway separated it from Oldtown, Highgarden and Castle Hill, while the Eastway did the same with the industrial parts of the city, most immediately where the shipbuilders and all of the related business were located.

  Moving farther into the city, there were the four quarters that surrounded Crossways. Bankers and Guilds were the first quarters that one came to, sitting on either side of the main road that bisected the city from the docks in the south to the city wall in the north. Prices there for anything he was willing to live in would be higher, perhaps more than Bryn could afford.

  Bankers was home to many of the counting houses and banks of the city, and also the Great Exchange where much of the city’s trade was arranged. It was also home to a great many people, living in apartments above the businesses. Of the four quarters, it was one of the wealthier ones, the better parts at least comparable to Oldtown and Lowgarden.

  Guilds contained not only the institutions it took its name from, but also the homes of guild members. It was unusual for anyone not working in a trade represented by a guild to live there, and he would be an outsider in a close knit community were he to rent there.

  All Bryn wanted was somewhere safe, convenient to the salon and reasonably quiet that fell within the rental bracket he had budgeted for.

  He left Oldtown, passing through the ancient walls that marked the city’s original boundary and walked over the bridge that crossed the Westway. Turning left, he made his way along the embankment until the warehouses along the edge of Docks gave way to the four and five storey buildings of Bankers.

  At various intervals along the embankment there were circular stone buildings that emitted a dull mechanical noise. They were the tow-houses, where great cranks turned all hours of the day without any intervention, a left over machination from the days before magic was outlawed. They were connected to heavy chains that pulled barges back up the river and away from the harbour. Once they were clear of the city walls, teams of horses pulled them to their destinations, but within the city there was not the space for the constant traffic on the embankment road.

  Barges passed up and down the river day and night and the dull rumbling from within the tow-houses would only seem louder when the background noise of the city faded with the light. He had no desire to lie awake at night listening to it. In any event, Bautisto’s salon was toward the centre of Docks and he wanted to be closer.

  Although Bryn had grown up in Ostenheim, it was a large city and surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. Once away from familiar areas and the main streets, it was easy to get lost. For natives, the warren of streets and alleys could be confusing—for a stranger, a nightmare. Bryn headed into the city to begin his search properly.

  The first place that he looked at was small, dark and damp. If that wasn’t enough to put him off, the landlord looked sinister. Bryn didn’t have an especially active imagination but it did not take much to feel extremely uncomfortable in his presence. He excused himself politely and moved on.

  Three more apartments fell short of the mark, but the fourth appeared to be exactly what he was looking for. It was small, but he really only needed somewhere to sleep. It was less than half the distance to Bautisto’s salon than Amero’s apartment, which he would be grateful for many times over. He signed the lease there and then, paying a deposit and his first month’s rent to the landlord.

  * * *

  AMERO DID NOT CONSIDER himself the pensive type. He had no quiet place that he would go to be alone with his thoughts, nor had he ever felt the need for one. The Academy might have been the reason for that; there was always the common room or the training halls to spend time in, thinking things through or thrashing them out while surrounded by noise and activity.

  It was thus he found himself wandering the streets after Bryn had gone out that morning, trying to put his thoughts in order, losing himself to the city’s constant commotion. He knew how it all must seem to others; the privileged rich boy landing on the middle of the Ladder before his first duel with dubious foreign ranking points. They must all think him lucky, spoiled, not having to drag himself up through the rankings like everyone else. He knew damn well what the reality was, but no one would ever believe it. This was all meant to be a burden on him, one that would break him.

  He knew his father too well to have thought the matter was settled that morning in his office. He had not expected this to be the answer though, a high Ladder ranking and a fight that he was unlikely to win. One that would most likely end in Amero being beaten, humiliated even, and left wanting no more to do with the arena or a career as a duellist.

  It was one of Renald’s more subtle efforts of manipulation, and Amero had to hand it to his father; it was quite a feat to pull off, even for an elector count. Altering the Ladder rankings was a criminal offence. Amero laughed at the thought of his father being arrested for it. There was no way that would ever happen though. He was far too powerful, far too influential, as his ability to have the Ladder doctored showed.

  He laughed too when he thought of how his father must have reacted when he heard his plan had backfired, but knew he wouldn’t have long to enjoy his victory. Amero felt sorry for the inept idiot who had arranged the whole thing; Renald was unlikely to be pleased with them. Amero knew only too well what his father’s displeasure could be like. There was something very satisfying about the thought of provoking more of it.

  The duel had frightened Amero, however. It had taken everything he had to win, and even then he knew it was luck that Banda had fallen for his tricks. His duels were only going to get harder. He would not get the chance to ease into professional duelling and find his feet with a few less challenging matches. It was just a matter of time before his father got his wish, and saw Amero humiliated in the arena.

  There was only so much punishment that his body could take each day before it needed rest. Even the training regime they had now was exhausting him. Each morning when he woke, he felt like he had been charged over by a stampeding bull. Given time—the year or two most fledgling duellists would have before they faced their first high ranked opponents—he knew he would be able to cope. He had the natural talent and the physical competence, just not the time to develop it. There was no point ruing the situation he found himself in; there was no way around it. How to deal with it and come out on top was the challenge.

  CHAPTER 11

  Bryn had only found the time to make a couple of brief visits home since leaving the Academy. He knew he was neglectful, and determined to call more often when time allowed. While at the Academy he had called home at least two or three times a term. He knew his mother had been expecting to see more of him since he had left, but if anything he had been busier.

  His sense of familiarity grew as he made his way through the streets that led him home until he was finally standing at its front door. He knocked and had to wait only a moment before the door opened and he was greeted by the sight of his sister. She looked at him for a moment, her expression changing from surprise to haughty indifference.

  ‘And you are?’ she said.

  Bryn smiled. ‘It’s nice to see you too, Gilia.’

&
nbsp; ‘Mother was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten where we live.’

  ‘May I come in?’ Bryn said.

  ‘I suppose so.’ She stood aside and let him pass through.

  His family home was an apartment on the ground floor of a building in Barons, a few streets back from the Blackwater Road. It was larger than his new apartment, but it couldn’t be described as spacious. It had never seemed too small when he was growing up and the advantage of being the only boy in the family was that he had a room to himself, while his two sisters had to share one. After Amero’s apartment though, he wondered how a family of five had lived there for all those years without driving each other mad. He supposed that at times they had.

  Gilia led him into the living room and the table around which they had eaten all their meals together. His mother, Isotta, had come out from the kitchen to see who was there.

  They knew that he had started his career as a professional duellist, but he had not told them about his first match. Telling them would be awkward, but unavoidable.

  His mother said nothing but made her way across the room and embraced him. Gilia watched, still displeased by Bryn’s lack of contact but her countenance had mellowed a little.

  ‘Sit,’ his mother said.

  Never one to disobey her, Bryn sat.

  ‘Are you eating properly? Are you still living in Oldtown with your friend?’

  ‘Yes, and no,’ Bryn said, interrupting what would have been a continuing stream of questions.

  She was already moving in the direction of the kitchen by the time he spoke. She stopped when he answered.

  ‘Where are you living?’

  ‘I’ve taken a small apartment in Bankers. It’s close to the salon I’m training in. Closer to here also, so I’ll be able to call home more often.’

  Gilia snorted in disbelief. Despite being younger than him, both she and his older sister had mothered him up until the point he had left for the Academy. She sat down at the table. ‘You’ve settled on the arena then.’

  ‘Yes, it seemed like a better option than the army. I’ll give it a year or two and if it doesn’t work out I shouldn’t have any difficulty in securing a commission. Bannerets of the Blue are always in demand.’

  ‘And when will we see you fight your first duel?’ his mother said.

  Bryn grimaced. There was no delicate way of putting it.

  ‘I’ve fought it already,’ he said. He could see his mother’s face drop. ‘It was in an awful little arena. I just wanted to get my first one out of the way before I told anyone about it. I’ll be sure to let you know when my next one is coming up.’

  Gilia scowled. ‘Be sure you do. I’m just sorry Father didn’t live to see it. He dreamed of watching you in the arena.’

  Bryn felt his spirits drop, but still thought his decision was for the best. He had seen the pressure that Amero had been under for his first duel and he was glad that he hadn’t been subjected to anything similar. It had never been his intention to hurt or offend his family. He wondered if he would have been better off lying about the duel.

  ‘It really was just a case of getting it out of the way. It was a long way removed from the Amphitheatre, or even the arena on Carinale Street.’

  He was trying to downplay the importance, but you only ever had one first duel. He was all too well aware of the sacrifices his family had made to provide him with the training and education needed to get into the Academy, and Gilia mentioning his father tugged at his heartstrings. He’d wanted his father to see him duel just as much.

  They had never been wealthy; his father had been a clerk at Austorgas’ Banking House, a respectable middle class profession, but one which would struggle to pay for someone to get to and through the Academy. By rights Bryn should have left as soon as he had earned his banner to start contributing financially, but when he was able to get a scholarship to remain on for the two years required to achieve colours at the Collegium—the right to be called Banneret of the Blue—he had jumped at the chance. The long-term payback would be greater but income would be a longer time coming. He suddenly felt very guilty, and determined to change the subject.

  ‘How’s Lena?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s well,’ his mother said. ‘I had a letter from her only a week ago. She enjoys life in Tanosa. She’s settled in well there. I don’t think that we’ll see her back in the city though. Business seems to be going well for Nicolano so I expect he’ll wish to remain there.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Bryn said. Lena’s husband hadn’t had much luck in business in Ostenheim, so he was glad to hear that their move to the regional city had proved to be a wise one.

  It was only now that he noticed something different about the house, or rather an absence. There had always been the ticking sound of a clock in the apartment, a family heirloom that hung on the wall beside the door to the kitchen. It was gone.

  ‘Where’s the clock?’ he said.

  His mother looked away as she answered. ‘It’s being repaired.’

  She was lying. Bryn looked at his sister, who also avoided his gaze. He said nothing, hoping that an awkward silence would elicit more information, but he already knew what was going on. He needed to get money to them soon. His mother disappeared into the kitchen and Gilia fidgeted with a saltcellar that was sitting on the table.

  ‘I’ve written down my address,’ he said, finally breaking the silence. ‘I’m out most of the day, but I wanted you to have it so you know how to get hold of me.’

  ‘That’s good, just leave it on the table,’ his mother said from the kitchen. She popped her head through the open doorway. ‘I haven’t been to the market yet, but there’s some bread and salt beef if you want a sandwich.’

  ‘That’s all right, mother,’ Bryn said. ‘I’ve already eaten.’

  ‘You’re eating right?’ she asked. ‘With all that training you’ll need to make sure you do now that you can’t just call into the dining hall at the Academy.’

  Bryn smiled at her concern. ‘I can’t really stay any longer I’m afraid, but I’ll try to call in more frequently now that I’m settled and have a regular routine. I’ll let you know when my next duel is.’

  * * *

  BRYN FELT UNSETTLED as he walked home. Guilt at not having visited more often was one part of it, as was the fact that he had not told them in advance about his duel. Being home had reminded Bryn of how much he had wanted his father to see him in the arena. The apartment seemed empty without him. He had died suddenly, when Bryn was away across the Middle Sea taking part in the Competition in Humberland. His father was long buried by the time he got home. Their trips to watch the duels had been a regular, and favourite, part of Bryn’s youth. His father had at least seen him graduate from the Academy. That was something. The look of pride on his face would never leave Bryn.

  That was not the main cause of his unsettled feeling, however. The missing clock bothered him. His mother had very obviously been lying when she said it was being repaired. They must have been very hard pressed if they had been forced to sell it. Clocks were expensive, and good ones were difficult to come by. He would replace it though, with something even better.

  The fact that there was little food in the house also concerned him. His mother always kept the pantry well stocked; too well stocked if anything. Now that only the two of them were there, it was understandable that there would be less. Bryn himself had eaten nearly as much as all three of the women of his family when he had lived there, so his absence was one possible explanation. He could not explain it all away so easily though, and the feeling in his gut would not go away. He wasn’t in a position to help yet, but that would change. He would make sure of that.

  * * *

  AMERO HAD THOUGHT LONG and hard about what he could do to survive the next few months of duelling against skilled, experienced opponents. He was already training at the limit of what his body could endure, so increasing his workload was not an option. In any event, quantity did not mean quality and e
xtra hours were of no use if his body was too fatigued to train effectively. It occurred to him that he should drop out of the arena for a few months, but that would be counter-productive; in order to improve, he needed the fitness and sharpness that only came with fighting regular competitive duels.

  An idea had lurked in the back of his head for several days. It had not been one that he was willing to give attention to initially, but as he circled his problem over and over and continually failed to find an answer, the idea solidified and became more tempting.

  There were people in Ostenheim who could help with problems; unwanted pregnancies, injuries and illnesses. Practitioners of magic still lived in the city. It was illegal, and they were few, but they could be found when needed. None were as powerful as the mages of old; the city’s Intelligenciers saw to that. Amero had heard gossip of duellists seeking out magical aid when he was at the Academy. They were always scurrilous rumours, never naming names or saying what benefit they sought or whether they received any.

  He did not like the idea of letting one of these backstreet magic practitioners anywhere near him, but he wondered what they could offer. There was risk involved, and not just the potential of some feckless sorcerer blowing him up or turning him into a goat, ridiculous as the notion seemed. If it were to be found out that he had received some sort of magical assistance, the disgrace would be far greater than any he could earn in defeat on the arena floor. It could also land him in the city dungeons, son of an elector count or not. He could imagine many risks and consequences, but no benefits. Anything he considered seemed like foolish speculation. He thought of his father, of how smug he would be to see Amero made a fool of, then of having to scurry off to Breganzo’s Regiment of Medium Horse.