The Tattered Banner

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  He walked slowly behind the couple, a few yards back, with his hands resting on the hilts of his blades. It was difficult to keep up concentration under the circumstances. Other than the young lady, the gardeners were the only other people visible. To keep his mind active, he started imagining scenarios where each of the gardeners was an assassin. He imagined what they would do to remain outside suspicion until they were ready to make their attack.

  He ran through dozens of scenarios, deciding how he would react to each of them. If he was honest with himself, he would have acknowledged that he was bored at the Palace. He had not known what to expect, but in the two weeks he had been there, the Duke had only left the grounds on that one occasion to go to the Cathedral. Otherwise, it was all meetings, balls and banquets. Soren enjoyed being around beautiful women as much as anyone, but Amero and Alessandra were there regularly, which made him uncomfortable. He was beginning to feel as though he was not achieving anything useful, and allowing his abilities to go to waste.

  Palace gossip seemed to be more up to date than the news announced by the crier on Crossways everyday, and it seemed that war with Ruripathia was only days away. He thought of Alys with regret. It seemed stupid to be going to war with them, when the potential for friendship was there. He wondered how things had gone so wrong. He had a nagging doubt about the killing of Chancellor Marin, but he could not reconcile in his head what Amero would gain if it had not been done in the best interest of the Duchy. His grandfather had been a duke, so he was ineligible.

  The General had ordered him to assassinate three of the most powerful men in Ostenheim, but surely those orders had to have come from the Palace. They were supposedly all men whose power represented a threat to the Duke, but what dal Dragonet had said sowed seeds of doubt in his mind about that. Of course there was no one he could ask. His role in the killings, if they were indeed an attack against the Duke’s reign, however unwitting, was something he did not wish to have discovered.

  Something beyond his understanding was going on, and he was beginning to feel that he had played a role in it without his consent. That bothered him greatly.

  The Duke’s stroll with the young lady ended, leaving Soren to escort him back to his apartments. They walked in silence initially, the Duke’s tension palpable. Eventually he broke the silence.

  ‘That really didn’t go at all as I had intended,’ he said.

  ‘It rarely does, sir, in my experience,’ Soren replied, giving what he hoped came across as a fraternal and conciliatory grimace.

  The Duke was speaking at the Barons’ Hall, at the opening ceremony of the Council of Nobles’ term. During the summer and harvest months, most of the nobles would be away on their estates. With the drawing in of winter, they congregated in the city for the six months that their assembly sat. Soren wasn’t exactly sure what it was they did, only the elector counts had a say in the Ducal elections, and once elected the Duke had supreme authority over the Duchy, but he supposed there were other issues in which their input would be required. The edicts that were read out by the city criers at the beginning of each week had their origins in the debates there.

  They went out in a procession of two carriages with forerunners clearing the streets ahead of them as usual. Soren stared out of the window of the carriage he was in as it rattled over the cobbled streets, constantly looking for any potential threat.

  The city was in a high state of agitation, and it was clear that the majority of the debate at the House of Nobles would be concerned with the Ruripathian transgressions on the border. Their chief speaker was dead, which was Soren’s doing and there was a lack of political unity and direction as a result. It was the Duke’s hope that he could address the issue and inject some stability with his opening speech. The guilds remained a problem for him however. With Spiro dead, they had been vying with each other to have their candidate fill the vacancy. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that the obvious successors to Grand Burgess Spiro, those next in the hierarchy of the Congress of Guilds, had also been killed around the time that Spiro had. With no clear successor, chaos had descended on the guilds. Violence had already erupted more than once, with several men dead as a result of the last incident. He had heard that the City Watch were becoming increasingly alarmed.

  With the increase in random acts of crime, the Watch were under siege. Parts of the city had become no go areas in a matter of days as violence erupted between the criminal gangs. They too had experienced the killings of several of their higher ranking members. With no clear-cut order of succession, there was an intense and violent power struggle spilling over into the streets. While the guild members tended to restrict their violence to broken bones and cracked heads, the criminal gangs were killing with reckless abandon.

  Dal Gawan kept a small office at the Palace where he worked when he was not accompanying the Duke or training with the New Guard. He had called Soren in for unknown reasons, so Soren felt a little apprehensive as he entered the room.

  ‘Soren, thank you for coming. I don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief. You’re efficiency and discretion have caught the Duke’s eye, and he has singled you out for praise. He asked me to make you a small award, so I have given you the rest of the day off and a small financial reward.’ He slid a small coin pouch across his desk. ‘Be back to barracks by eight bells if you would.’

  Ten crowns was a tidy sum and the acknowledgement of his work by the Duke was a huge reward in itself. If he continued to gain the Duke’s favour he would do very well indeed. He made straight for the artisans’ district to find a scabbard and suspension that would better fit his sword. He could have one made up, but that would add to the expense and there would be a very good selection to choose from amongst the leatherworking shops there anyway. On campaign they tended not to last long, so he really didn’t see the sense in commissioning one especially and putting himself through that additional expense.

  As he walked across the city, he felt good about himself. The approbation of the Duke had far more of an effect on his spirits than he thought it would, and it seemed to give reason to the evenings sitting uncomfortably at balls and the boredom of waiting around the Palace. For the first time it occurred to him that the job was not just about actually keeping the Duke safe, but it was equally about making him feel that he was safe.

  He purchased a medium tan coloured scabbard, sheath and suspension at the third leather workers that he visited. It was plain, but of good quality and solid workmanship and he felt it was a worthy accompaniment to his sword.

  His last task for the day was to pay a call to the Bannerets’ Hall, where the Emblazoners of Banners kept their office. He still had no idea what he would have on his banner, but had more or less decided to allow the emblazoners to guide him on the matter. He had been putting off having it made for some time, but now that he was part of the Duke’s retinue, not having one had become somewhat conspicuous.

  In keeping with custom, the banner would be white, with whatever design he settled on embroidered onto it. Had he completed his studies at the Collegium he would have been entitled to have a blue banner, the colour of Ostenheim and the Academy.

  After some thought and discussion with the emblazoner who had been assigned to him, he decided on two belek, standing rampant on either side of a sword, a representation of his greatly prized Telastrian steel blade. The belek had also seemed like an appropriate choice. Having hunted them, killed one and having nearly been killed by it himself, he felt he had more of a connection with them than any of the other beasts, real or mythical, that the emblazoner had suggested.

  The chosen colour of the design could not be changed at a future date, so he chose a silver thread for the bulk of the embroidery, which he felt would stand out equally well on either the white cloth he was currently entitled to, or the blue of a Collegium graduate. He had decided that he would return to the Academy to complete his studies as soon as his commitments to the New Guard were satisfied, or as now seemed to be most
likely, when the impending war with Ruripathia was over.

  The only features of his design not in silver were the tongue, teeth and eyes of the belek, all of which he wanted emphasised, the tongue a brilliant red, the teeth white and the cold blue eyes the shade of a clear winter sky.

  The process of having the banner designed and made was free, a gift from the city to those that would serve her. The emblazoner ensured him it would be delivered to him at the Palace as soon as it was ready.

  With his errands all complete, he decided to treat himself to a mug of ale and a pie before returning to the barracks. It would pale in comparison to the food he was becoming used to at the Palace, but there was something about ale and pie’s simplicity that appealed to him. It was hearty eating and not too rich, like many of the delicacies served up to him at the Palace. He had a plain palate, and after years of scavenging for every meal, even the simplest of fare seemed like a feast.

  He chose a tavern on his way back toward the Palace that placed it at the edge of Oldtown, on the street one would take if going from the centre of the city to Oldtown. Soren would turn right once he crossed the bridge over the Westway river and go up the hill toward Highgarden and the Palace, rather than left through the gate in the old city wall and into Oldtown.

  He sat by the window and let his mind drift as he stared out over the street and the river beyond. Barges plied their way up and down the river. They were long and flat to allow them under the bridges while still maintaining good cargo capacity and were towed by teams of horses that walked along the bank of the river when they were outside of the city walls. Once they reached the city, the barges were connected to a series of cogs and chains that dragged them up and down the river. The cogs were turned by teams of horses in tow-houses at various intervals along the river as there was not the space on the riverbank for a towpath as there was outside of the city. They brought goods and trade up and down the river. The Westway went as far as the Blackwater to the north, while the Eastway River on the other side of the city was navigable by the barges all the way to the Silver Hills in the North East, nearly as far as barbarian territory.

  He received his food and didn’t waste a moment in starting. The pastry was thick, crusty and rich, and the ale was sweet and bitter at the same time. As he ate, he watched a noblewoman and her two attendants walk by with a number of packages. The attendants were clearly overloaded and struggling, and one of them dropped a package on the ground. As she struggled to retrieve it, she managed to drop the rest that she was carrying.

  Soren could not help but let out a chuckle at the comedy of the moment. Square and cylindrical boxes tumbled across the cobbled street, and the noblewoman turned to scold her servant. She was dressed in a fine scarlet and gold silk cloak with a hood that had concealed all but a few dark curls. As she turned however, he could see her face. It was Alessandra. His heart jumped into his throat, and the mouthful of pie nearly choked him. She looked exquisitely beautiful. She had been at several of the Duke’s balls, but the ballroom was enormous and she had never been closer to him than a dozen paces. Now though, little more than the length of an arm and a pane of glass separated them. The glass was warped, which gave his view a slightly surreal appearance. His heart raced and he felt a tightness in his chest as he watched her turn.

  Her view passed over the alehouse window as she turned; to Soren it seemed as though she moved in slow motion. Almost like when the Gift was strong. Perhaps it was. As her view passed by him, he saw her eyes widen. Where a moment before there had been exasperation, now there was uncertainty. She looked back to where he sat and their eyes met. He didn’t know what to do. Their gaze locked for an instant, which felt like an eternity. There was a sadness on her face and he didn’t know how to react. Part of him wanted to go out onto the street and take her into his arms, but he couldn’t do that. He was too ashamed of the way he had behaved. All he felt was pain. She gave a sad smile that almost broke Soren’s heart. All he could do was stare. She turned back and began helping her attendant gather up the packages, the chastisement that had been on her lips now well and truly gone. Then she was also gone. It felt to Soren that part of him was gone too.

  The bill for his ale and pie arrived. It was far higher than he expected, far higher than it should be, even in a reasonably nice alehouse such as this. He didn’t quibble over the price though; all he wanted was to get out of there, into the open air. It felt as though he was suffocating.

  C h a p t e r 5 5

  THE DUKE’S BODYGUARD

  Soren sat in the antechamber to dal Dragonet’s office at the Palace. The walls were paper-thin though, and sitting next to it, he could hear the conversation on the other side.

  ‘It’s been a month since the last shipment got through,’ said a voice.

  ‘And what are our reserves like?’ said another, which Soren thought to be dal Dragonets.

  ‘Fine for now, my Lord, but we are entirely reliant on the supplies coming down river. Not a single grain ship has come into the Ostsea since before the feast of Eilet. The merchant’s are well aware of this, and already the price for basic foodstuffs has gone up fourfold. Needless to say there has been a knock on effect on the sentiment of the populace!’

  ‘Not what we need right now,’ said dal Dragonet. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will discuss it with the Duke immediately. For now, start to release grain from our reserves to keep prices from going any higher. I want to be kept updated on how the situation progresses.’

  The official making the report came out of the office and dal Dragonet’s secretary went in.

  ‘Banneret Soren is here for you, my Lord.’

  ‘Thank you. Send word for Admiral dal Assegar to attend on me at the soonest possible time. Show the Banneret in,’ said dal Dragonet.

  Soren walked into the office. Dal Dragonet did not even look up from the pile of papers he was going through. The burden of work on the man had increased enormously in recent days, and the strain was beginning to show on him.

  ‘There is a demonstration in Crossways Square. It’s been going on since daybreak and shows no sign of abating. We have decided that it will be necessary for the Duke to address the crowd himself. Banneret dal Gawan is away attending to family matters, so I’m putting you in charge of the bodyguard for the day. Are you willing to take on the responsibility?’

  It was an opportunity that was not likely to come a second time, so Soren accepted.

  There was some urgency to their task, and the Duke’s departure had been delayed as long as possible to allow for adequate security to be put in place. As it was there had not been time to recall any of the members of the New Guard who were off duty and about the city somewhere. Including dal Dragonet, there would be six of them to protect the Duke. They were going on horse back, as the Duke wanted to be able to get to the steps of the Cathedral without drawing undue attention, and to make his address from there.

  They rode out, cloaked and unidentifiable, at a brisk pace through Highgarden, slowing only when they crossed the river and entered the narrower and more crowded streets of the centre of the city. There was little to arouse Soren’s suspicion, and they arrived at the square with nothing to cause him concern. What they found when they got there was a different matter however. A man was already addressing the gathered protestors, who were silent and attentive. There was something eerie about them, so many people so completely silent. The man had a firm hold on them. It was Amero.

  They carefully drew closer to hear what he was saying. The Duke decided not to press on in and make his appearance, but rather wait a little longer to gauge the sentiment. When dealing with large and angry crowds, care was always appropriate.

  By the time he had finished speaking, the crowd seemed calmed and slowly began to disperse. On the face of it, every thing Amero said seemed to be in support of the Duke, but there was an underlying tone to it hinting that the Duke was weak and not capable of dealing with times of difficulty, but that it was not rea
lly his fault, he was simply not up to the job. As they rode away from the square, the Duke said one thing to dal Dragonet.

  ‘That man is dangerous.’

  They began their return journey to the Palace the same way they had come, a slightly longer route north out of the square and then west to the river, so they could avoid having to pass directly through the square and risk recognition. There had been too much vitriol in the mob that day to make it worthwhile for the Duke to take the chance. It was a bad state of affairs when the leader of a city could not pass through it as he chose without fear of assault.

  As they rode back, Soren tried to be aware of everything that was going on around him. There was something nagging at him though, in the back of his mind. There had been a man in the crowd who he had seen looking at them one too many times for it to be coincidence. Perhaps it was nothing.

  As they passed through a narrow street with high, balconied buildings lining either side, he heard a dull grunt from one of the other men in the New Guard. He turned to see the man looking down at his chest. The thick stubby shaft of a crossbow bolt stuck from the centre of it. He took hold of it with one hand as though he was going to try to pull it out. His face held an expression of incredulity as blood began to bubble from the corners of his mouth. He reached graspingly for the hilt of his sword with his other hand in an automatic but futile response to danger, before toppling off his horse.

  It had taken a fraction of a second for what was happening to register with Soren.

  ‘Ambush!’ he yelled at the top of his voice, while he drew his sword. He took a deep breath and focussed on the energy. Everything flashed blue for an instant, the glow disappearing as soon as he directed his thoughts elsewhere. The world around him slowed perceptibly.

  There were bowmen on two of the balconies above them. One was reloading while the other had just loosed a bolt. Soren watched as it flew through the air, its tip and tail oscillating while its centre remained still. It was on a direct trajectory toward the Duke, appearing to Soren as though it was trying to force its way through a viscous liquid rather than air. It drew ever closer as all around him was chaos. The Duke had seen it too; his face was frozen with resigned terror. Soren reached out with his sword, and with an upward flick of his wrist he lopped the steel tip off the bolt, and with the following downward flick, he batted it to the ground with the flat of the blade. The look of terror on the Duke’s face was replaced with one of astonishment.