The Tattered Banner

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  Mateo launched into a speech that Soren didn’t pay any attention to. He looked at the man at the other end of the black carpet. After the last night, there would be no element of surprise available to Soren. After that display, he wondered what kind of man would put himself forward for this duel. Was he there by choice? It didn’t matter. It was not Soren’s intention to kill this man, although that had also been the case on the last night when he had killed. The fact unnerved him a little, but he was aware of it and forewarned was forearmed.

  The man was again much older than Soren. This club seemed to attract a certain down on their luck type of swordsman. He was dressed in worn but well fitted duelling clothes, and his blades looked well maintained with a keen edge. The condition of a banneret’s weapons was often a better indicator of his mettle than his appearance. His face was firm and his eyes showed no fear. He looked like a man that had faced many hard fights, but had come through them on top. What would bring a man like that to a club like this? Could it have been the thrill of combat? The same thing that had brought Soren there?

  Mateo had finished his introductions, so it was time to begin. They both saluted and it began. Soren fought off his initial urge to try to tap into the energy in the room. He was hesitant as a result of the death of his previous opponent. The killing had been uncontrollable, as though his body were entirely detached from his mind and was operating purely on instinct. Some detachment made for the best swordplay though. While the mind commanded the body, it was separated from the pain and fatigue signals that the body would ordinarily send back. The Gift seemed to have prevented him from sending a stop command back to his body though, and this bothered Soren.

  Without any effort on his part, the Gift of Grace gave him an almost constant advantage in speed and strength. He reasoned that his perception of time was probably affected when he was in this state, although for him this was what was normal, and if there was any effect on how he saw things, it was not enough for him to notice. He had come to think of this as his ‘state of grace’. He could not forget however, the occasion when he fought dal Dardi and the state of grace had seemed to desert him completely, something he still had no explanation for.

  The initial excitement in the crowd seemed to be waning quickly. After two or three exchanges there were more disappointed mutterings than excited gasps. Soren decided it was time to take the initiative. As he had on the previous night, he pictured the blue glow in his mind, and focussed all of his concentration on it. Distracted, he allowed a gap in his defence, which even with his superior speed he was unable to completely close in time. His opponent’s blade glanced from a parry and was deflected across his upper arm, neatly slicing through his shirt and flicking a little blood into the air. The man’s face betrayed the slightest hint of a smile as he backed away to recompose himself. He thought he had Soren’s measure. There was some tittering in the crowd and Soren felt a flash of anger. He forced himself to ignore the laughter and the pain in his arm, shutting out the world around him, focussing on his mental image of the blue glow surrounding everything. With his mind concentrated on this image and concept, everything suddenly became illuminated with the ethereal blue glow. His purpose achieved, he let his concentration return to his opponent, and the glow disappeared. It had been enough though, that fleeting connection with it. He felt the energy course through his body. His opponent’s movements slowed and Soren could not suppress a smile.

  He lunged forward with speed that elicited a shocked gasp from the onlookers. In a smooth movement he neatly pushed aside the other man’s guard with his dagger and cut three times with his sword. The increase in speed had surprised even him to some extent, and he fought to focus on not killing the man. Only wound him, he thought.

  The duel was over almost as soon as Soren had drawn on the energy. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the man was still standing before him. His sword and dagger dropped from his hands, which hovered over the three diagonal wounds on his gut. He looked at Soren with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. It was an expression that Soren was becoming familiar with. There was something of a stunned silence in the room that gradually gave over to excited whispering and then applause. Soren looked at the man and began to smile, but his mirth was replaced with sick realisation. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth, and his dark clothes had concealed the fact that blood had been running down his body. It was now beginning to pool on the floor. He gasped once, a raspy, gurgling sound before dropping to his knees and then falling over on his side. The fall exposed the three deep rents in his abdomen, one of which went all the way to the spine. Soren looked at the blade of his sword, half of which glistened with ruby red blood. Full applause broke out and Soren turned and bowed, trying to supress the wave of panic that was flooding over him. He couldn’t control it. Whenever he used it, his opponents would die. Could he learn to control it, as he had learned to unleash it?

  He felt in limbo, not really sure what to do next. Mateo beckoned to him, and he was relieved to move away from the spotlight. The crowd parted to let him through, women applauding him and men clapping him on the back. He wondered how much Mateo had made from the duel. It was clear that the fifty crowns he had offered Soren was a bargain for him, but Soren had no idea the duel would draw so many aristocrats so he hadn’t thought to drive a harder bargain. Perhaps his prowess with a blade would allow him to renegotiate the terms, but that was a little too ruthless, even for him.

  Mateo was standing by his small table with the strongbox flanked by his two guards.

  ‘The man of the moment!’ said Mateo in an overly familiar way. ‘Another excellent result, well done!’ He pushed a fat coin purse across the table to Soren. ‘After tonight it will be harder to find you an opponent. You’re the man to beat now, and the reward will be big for anyone willing to take the chance. That will attract someone to the challenge sooner or later, but for now, I don’t have anything more for you. I’m not one for sending notes, so if you call in here to see me in a week, I expect I’ll have something for you then.’

  Soren nodded and took the purse. He was already beginning to feel woozy and wanted to get out of the cellar as quickly as possible. He had achieved most of what he had set out to in coming to the black carpet. He now knew how to draw on the energy, and he expected, by extension, also the Moment, although he had not yet tried this. He was no closer to controlling it, and the thought of piling up a stack of corpses while he tried to learn how was not appealing to him. He had already decided that he would not be returning.

  As he left, there were two men watching him closely, but fighting off the fatigue that was falling heavily on him, Soren did not notice them.

  C h a p t e r 5 1

  A FRESH START

  Soren awoke the next morning to the sound of something being pushed under his door. At first he thought that it was another call from General Kastor and he was surprised to find that the thought filled him with dread. He picked up what proved to be a small letter, and noticed that there was a sigil pressed into the red sealing wax holding it closed. He broke it open and took out the note contained within. It was a request for a meeting that afternoon. There was little detail; if anything the tone of the note was rather cryptic. It simply asked for him to meet with the author, one Banneret of the Blue dal Dragonet, at the Bannerets’ Hall.

  He was unsure of how to react. The note did not ask for a reply so it seemed he was just to turn up if he so chose. It occurred to him that he had little to lose and in any event he was curious.

  He stood in the vestibule of the Bannerets’ Hall waiting for the porter to bring him to his meeting. The Bannerets’ Hall provided a continuing point of contact for graduates of the Academy. It was a club of sorts, containing lounges, dining rooms, meeting rooms and accommodation where bannerets could stay when they visited the city. As a banneret, Soren was automatically a member, although he had never before actually visited the building. He had been intending to for some time, as it also housed the Emblazoner
of Banners, who would make up Soren’s banner if and when he got around to having it done.

  The porter returned and brought Soren to one of the private meeting rooms that were available for the use of members. There were two men sitting at a table that dominated the centre of the room, smoking and sipping at what appeared to be whiskies. They both stood when Soren entered the room.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Swordsman,’ said the taller of the two men. He extended his hand to Soren. ‘I am Rudigar dal Dragonet, Banneret of the Blue. I’m very glad you decided to come. I have a proposition for you.’

  Soren took his hand, a firm handshake. A proposition then. He wondered what it might be.

  ‘We have been tasked with putting together a bodyguard for a member of the high aristocracy. We need good swordsmen who are discreet and aren’t shy of killing when it’s needed. We feel that you would be suitable for a place on that bodyguard. The pay will be excellent, and we know that you are well trained for the job. The instructors at the Academy speak very highly of your skill, and Master Dornish spoke very strongly of your suitability for the position. As a matter of fact, he actively encouraged us to seek you out. In any event, the initial contract is only short term, until the current unrest that has been building in the city of late has subsided, but if you impress, further opportunities exist,’ said dal Dragonet.

  It seemed that Soren’s clandestine work for General Kastor and whoever gave him his orders had been worthwhile. By putting his head down and getting on with things without complaining, it seemed that he had indeed opened doors to better opportunities.

  ‘I don’t need an answer right now, but I will need it soon. By tomorrow at the latest. We feel that the matter is time sensitive and want to get the process in motion as soon as is possible,’ said dal Dragonet.

  Time sensitive. It seemed to Soren that the aristocrat in question must be in fear for his life. Perhaps the forces that Soren had been working against had employed assassins of their own to strike back against the Duke. He was pleased to have been considered for the work. He found the idea of protecting lives considerably more palatable than taking them.

  ‘Come to this address when you have decided,’ dal Dragonet added. He handed Soren a stiff white card with raised black lettering. ‘I cannot emphasise enough what a good opportunity this is for you.’ He stood and clicked his heels together making a staccato bow of his head before sitting again. It was the salute of a banneret and a mark of respect, but also a gesture that indicated the meeting was over.

  Dal Dragonet watched Soren leave the room, and took another sip of whisky as the door closed. When it had, the other man spoke for the first time.

  ‘Do you really think he’s suitable?’ he asked.

  ‘I do,’ replied dal Dragonet, without hesitation.

  ‘But you found him in a black carpet duelling club,’ said the other man. ‘Is that really the type of person we want?’

  ‘That may be the case, but I have made my enquiries and I am confident that he’s a perfect fit. I’ve never heard Dornish singing anyone’s praises so strongly, and he has battlefield experience, as well as two duelling kills. I think he will do quite nicely.’

  It was no surprise to Soren that the address dal Dragonet had given him was a house in Highgarden. He watched it from across the street for some time, something holding him back from going straight in. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was hard to fight down. He realised that he was on a precipice, and in real danger of becoming something that he did not want to be. If he did not take this job, it seemed likely that he would remain in the shadows as an assassin, which was a life he did not want.

  When he approached the black iron gates that fronted the house, an attendant appeared from the small gatehouse and brought him through. The driveway was wide and circular, designed to allow carriages entry and exit without the need to turn, and was surrounded perfectly manicured lawns. The wealth in the city never failed to amaze him, no matter how many times he was exposed to it. At the door to the house, Soren was handed over to a butler, who led him to a small waiting room.

  He only had to wait for a moment before a man emerged from another room. He wore a military uniform, but not one that would have been practical on the battlefield. It was tightly fitted and sported an abundance of brass buttons and gold braid.

  ‘I am Lord Dragonet’s aide de camp. If you’d like to come this way please,’ he said. He brought Soren into the room he had just emerged from, which was a small office, and then through to another room, which was much larger. Dal Dragonet lounged in a leather armchair on the far side of a large desk covered with dark green leather.

  ‘Banneret Soren!’ he said. ‘I’m glad you decided to take me up on the offer. Please sit.’ He gestured to a chair opposite the desk.

  As he sat, Soren became aware of the other man who had been with Dal Dragonet at the Bannerets’ Hall standing by the fireplace to the left. There was no fire, and the light from the large window in the left wall had lost much of its brilliance by the time it got there, leaving him somewhat in shadow.

  ‘I am correct in assuming that you are here to accept my offer?’ Dal Dragonet asked.

  ‘You are,’ Soren replied.

  ‘Excellent. Now, I’m sure you are eager to hear what the job is. As you may or may not know, I am equerry to the Duke. With the growing unrest in the city, some of us in the Duke’s circle have become concerned that the Duke may be at greater risk of an act of violence when moving about the city. As a result, we have decided to put together a bodyguard for him, of somewhat different character to his official one. There won’t be any fancy uniforms or highly polished boots. We want tried and tested men who will be able to get the job done when things get tough.

  ‘A little background will be necessary for you to adequately carry out your duties, and it of course goes without saying that all you see, hear and do in the execution of your duties will be kept in the utmost confidence, on your oath as a banneret.

  ‘We fear there is a faction within the city that seeks to strike at the Duke. With the growing tensions on the northern border, war with Ruripathia seems inevitable. This kind of thing always stirs up a population, for better or for worse, so we are going to have to be extra vigilant. The Duke has enemies within the city and we must do all we can to ensure they do not get to him,’ said dal Dragonet.

  Soren presumed that the men he had already killed numbered among these enemies, but for some reason there was a nagging concern beginning to form in his mind. ‘General Kastor made it clear that there was unrest in the city and it’s starting to become quite noticeable. I’m just very grateful that you’ve chosen me for this new role.’

  Dal Dragonet’s brow furrowed for a moment. ‘Kastor? Oh yes, of course, the general who broke up the barbarian incursions into the marches. But to return to matters at hand, any ordinary man could decide to strike at the Duke, so you must be alert at all times, and be ready to kill quickly and without hesitation to protect the Duke’s life. What I am saying is, if in doubt, strike. We can clean up any unpleasant mistakes afterward. The Duke’s safety is paramount. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly, my Lord,’ replied Soren. He was a little puzzled by dal Dragonet’s reaction to the mention of General Kastor. Had it not been him that recommended him for this appointment? Was dal Dragonet so concerned over security that he would obfuscate any details that were not directly pertinent despite Soren’s steadfast service to date? His fledgling concern grew a little stronger.

  ‘We don’t want you to be all spit and polish. We want to send a message that the new bodyguards are not just for show, that you will take the gloves off and get your hands dirty without hesitation. However, you will be representing the Duke, and certain standards need to be maintained. On your way out, speak with my aide and he will arrange for you to be suitably attired.’ He started to write on a piece of paper, and then held a stick of red wax over the flame of a candle, dripping the melted wax onto the bottom of the
page. He pressed his signet ring into the soft wax and slid it across his desk to Soren.

  ‘Take this letter to the Commander of the Guard at the Palace. You will be quartered there, and you will take your orders directly from me, or the Duke. His safety is my sole concern, so in the event of a conflict of orders, I will expect you to follow my command, even if it means doing so discretely so as not to incur the Duke’s wrath.’

  Soren took the letter and spent several uncomfortable minutes in dal Dragonet’s aide’s office as he fussed around him with a measuring tape. The job was an opportunity to break with the life it appeared he was going to lead in the shadowy service of the General, whose fidelity he was now not so sure of. His first order of business upon leaving the house would be to clear the account at Austorgas’ Bank and then collect his blades from Carlujko’s. There was little packing to be done in his apartment, which was unfortunately already paid up to the end of the month and he could be reporting to the Palace that evening.

  C h a p t e r 5 2

  A THING OF BEAUTY

  The teller at Austorgas’ was suspicious of Soren from the start, but was even more so when he saw the balance in the account that Soren was seeking to close. It took several minutes of the teller conferring with his supervisor and comparing forms and signatures before he returned, grudgingly satisfied that Soren was the right person and had the authority to make the withdrawal. He was paid a part of the sum in a bill of exchange, which would satisfy the bill at Carlujko’s and the rest in cash which would be a good sum to live on until his pay at the Palace started to come through.