‘This better be good, Soren,’ he said, exasperated as he buttoned up his shirt.
‘You didn’t give her the message,’ Soren said quietly, his voice full of anger.
‘What?’ Amero asked, his voice still exasperated before he realised what Soren meant. ‘Oh, her. Come now, she’s a tavern wench. What’s the difficulty?’
‘In point of fact she’s a whore. At least she is now. Why didn’t you give her the message?’
‘Soren, I fully expected you to have forgotten about her by now. In truth I thought I was doing you a favour. In point of fact,’ he said, mimicking Soren, ‘I still think I have done you a favour! You’re a banneret. Have some bloody sense! A girl like that is no good for you!’
‘I loved her,’ Soren replied, his words slurred.
‘Find a woman of quality to love,’ Amero said angrily. ‘You’ll thank me for it later. Anyhow, you can still rut the wench if you want, it’ll just cost you a few crowns now! Your allowance will stretch to it I should think!’
‘Don’t say that!’ Soren screamed at him, tears streaming down his face.
‘You uppity little bastard! How dare you come in here and bark at me!’
In a pique of anger Soren reached for his sword. He felt a strong hand grip his sword arm and prevent him from drawing it.
‘Don’t be a bloody fool, lad,’ Emeric whispered in his ear.
Amero cast a wild glance at his own sword, sitting in its wooden mount on his desk before looking back to Soren.
‘So that’s how it is. You’d throw it all away for a whore. You bloody little fool. Well, if that’s what you’re after, then you’ve got it. I’m finished with you. Emeric, throw this piece of gutter trash back where it belongs.’
Emeric gripped Soren more forcefully and pulled him back toward the front door. Addled with booze, Soren didn’t resist.
A bucket of cold water brought him partially to his senses. He was sitting on the street outside Amero’s house. Emeric dropped the bucket and sat beside him.
‘Well, you’ve gone and spoiled it, lad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the boss quite that angry. Still, you got further down the track than I did. Some of us just aren’t meant to reach the top, no matter how much skill and luck we have. You’ve done all right though. You’ve made a bit of a name for yourself in the right circles, you’re a banneret now, and that title can never be taken away from you, so you’ll be able to stand on your own feet from here. But to throw it all away over a girl?’ He chuckled. ‘My temper was my problem, that and I killed a count’s son in a duel at the Academy, but that one followed the other.’ He paused, becoming reticent. ‘She was a bloody mess when she arrived here you know. She’d been raped. More than once the physician said. Beaten too. Her uncle hadn’t been paying his protection money to the local gang, and they made an example of him. They killed him, burned his tavern to the ground, and, well… She came to Amero as a last resort. He had tried to get her into bed the previous time she had come calling looking for you, but she was only interested in you. He’d said that he felt responsible and guilty about the way you had treated her and that he would help her if she ever needed it. So this was where she came when she did.’
Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Soren felt as though he was in some terrible nightmare, where misery was being piled upon misery and he could not wake up from it.
‘She has the face of an angel though; thank the Gods that wasn’t permanently damaged. A face like that is worth something. One thing my Lord is good at is seeing value in folk, as well you should know. So he patched her up and set her up. After what she’d been through she seemed agreeable enough to it. It’s a better life than she might have had. Now she passes back any amorous whispers her well-heeled clients let slip that might be of use. You might not like the way the world turns, but there’s not much people like you and I can do to change it. You’re best off accepting that and getting on with it. Find yourself a rich wife and forget about this one. Good luck, Soren; be a clever lad and take my advice to heart. If I see you here again, I’ll kill you. Don’t think for a second that I can’t manage it. You’ve a trick or two to learn yet! Now, off with you!’
C h a p t e r 3 9
A CHANGE OF DIRECTION
He skipped lessons the next day. Soren had been so caught up in things that he had not even thought to introduce himself to his new tutor. There was no doubt that he was starting off on the wrong foot, but it was the farthest thing from his mind. He found a tavern that opened early, one that catered for dockers that worked through the night. They were a tough crowd, and after several hours of drinking he ended up in a fight with one. He couldn’t remember why when he came to several hours later in an alley outside the tavern, or even what the man looked like. He stumbled back to the Academy, bruised, bloodied and still drunk.
He sat in the dining hall the next morning trying to force some food down, but after the previous day’s excess it was a struggle. His head was still a tangle of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He could not understand how Amero could have played him so cheaply and he could not forgive him for it. He could also not forgive himself for having judged Alessandra so quickly. He thought of trying to apologise to her, but he had no idea how he could even begin to make amends for the things he had said to her.
His train of thought was broken by the appearance of Jost at the far end of the hall. Like Ranph, he had also chosen to return to study at the Collegium. Soren watched him as he collected his breakfast and made his way up to the top table. As he drew near, Soren adjusted his things in expectation of Jost sitting down next to him, as he had done hundreds of times before.
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
Fort 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.
‘Can I help you?’ It was less a question than a challenge. Soren recognised the lieutenant who stood up from where he had been sitting in the corner as having been an adeptus at the Academy when he was in his first year.
‘I have orders and am reporting for duty, Lieutenant,’ Soren answered, holding out the papers Colonel dal Vecho had given him. The lieutenant’s eyes widened a little when he saw the crossed swords on Soren’s collar and realised that the scruffy man standing before him was a superior officer.
‘Yes, of course, thank you, Captain.’ He took the papers and scanned them quickly. ‘The General has retired for the night, but I can direct you to your unit. These orders make you senior officer of the Legion, so you will be required to attend the staff briefing tomorrow morning at bugle call. I shall send an orderly with you to take you to your men.’
Soren was surprised that the rank of captain would put him in command of the Legion. The losses taken while he had been back in the city must have been very heavy. It took a moment for the orderly to appear and then he briskly led Soren through the camp. It was the first time Soren had seen a full army on campaign, but it was much like a smaller patrol camp, with each unit building a cooking fire and erecting its tents around it. Hundreds of units had set up their small communes all across the plain, their fires twinkling in the darkening evening.
‘That’s the Legion’s bivouac just there,’ said the orderly, pointing and clearly eager to return to his own fire as quickly as possible.
Soren thanked him and walked up to the fire. There weren’t many of them there. From the time that he had left the frontier, the Legion had been under constant attack by the barbarians. It had taken its toll, but hearing the reports in the city and seeing the effect were very different things. There had been over five hundred men in the regiment when he had joined them almost a year before, now there were less than half that, and he was the senior officer. He looked around but did not see many faces that he recognised. Seemingly most of the men that he had known had been killed or invalided, but he should still have known a few. He was about to give up the search and read his orders to the assembled men when he spotted Sergeant Smit.
‘Smit!’ Soren shouted. The recognition made him feel at ease. Smit glanced up, a puzzled look on
his face for a moment before it broke into an approximation of a smile.
‘Captain! Good to see you.’ He stood and gestured for Soren to sit by the fire. There was none of the formality that would be expected in any of the other regiments. Soren sat and looked around. He didn’t recognise the other men.
‘How many are there in the regiment now?’
‘A little more than two hundred. We were having a hard time of it out here before the army arrived,’ said Smit. ‘Not long after you left, there was another surge of activity and it cost us dear every time we drove the war parties back. Of the few of us that survived Faraway, I’m the only one left, and you now too.’
‘I’m sorry it’s been so hard,’ said Soren, trying to be considerate.
‘Well, with luck this army will put an end to it. The barbarian army is camped over yonder.’ He gestured out into the darkness. ‘We came upon them the day before yesterday and have been sat here ever since.’
‘A full army?’ said Soren. The barbarians never formed war parties larger than a few hundred men, and even parties that large were a thing of recent times. ‘How many?’
‘Don’t know, sir, but it’s a full army all right. Some of our lads have been scouting. They said it was more barbarians than they had ever seen before, ten times over. None of them seem to be able to come up with an exact number though. Every time they come back from a mission, they seem to be a bit confused. It’s odd; they’re good, steady lads. Makes me think back to that strange wind that blew up before Faraway and that bloody shaman.
‘It has the officers in a right state though. They won’t order an attack until they’ve a better idea of what we’re dealing with. Don’t know how much longer the lads will be able to stick just sitting here waiting though.
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