The Tattered Banner

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  The guard nodded and left, leaving Soren to look back on the scene before him. The far panel of the tent had been cut, allowing a blade of light into the otherwise dull tent. Two attendants lay dead on the ground; there was no sign of a struggle, indicating the speed with which they had been killed. The Duke sat on a chair beside his morning table, his head lolling back with his throat open to his backbone. An assassin who had killed three men in such silence was a skilled professional who would be long gone. Or he could be one of the men in the camp, disguised and unidentifiable.

  The tent had the tangy metallic stink of blood. Soren turned and stepped away from the tent. His eyes met Alessandra’s. Her face was pale and shocked. Her role in the assassination had been unknown to her; looking at her he was sure of that. He gestured with his head to her carriage.

  ‘Go now. Quickly. Get what you need, leave the city and don’t come back. You are part of this now, knowingly or not and you’ll pay for it with your life if you stay,’ he said, his voice flattened by complete and utter defeat.

  ‘What about you? Come with me, we can escape together,’ she said hopefully. ‘Please.’

  ‘This lies at my feet. I have to stay. I’ll come and find you if I can. Now go, quickly!’ he said. She nodded solemnly, tears welling in her eyes, but she did as he said and walked to the carriage. As she stepped up into it and shut the door behind her, Soren rushed forward. He reached through the window and took her face in both hands. He kissed her. He could feel her tears on his cheek. He pulled back.

  ‘Drive on!’ he shouted to the carriage driver. As it jolted to a start he let go of her and stepped back off the running board. As he did, he spoke to here one last time.

  ‘I love you.’

  C h a p t e r 5 8

  AN UNWANTED REUNION

  Dal Dragonet came galloping into the camp with five men. He dismounted and walked quickly to where Soren was sitting on the ground, cross legged and completely dejected. He cast a glance at Soren but continued past and into the Duke’s tent. He emerged a few moments later with a grave look on his face. The five men who had ridden in with him had gathered outside the entrance and they parted to let him pass.

  He knelt down beside Soren and looked at him intently. He made to say something, and then stopped. He shook his head and stood, turning to his men.

  ‘Pull down his banner and bring it to me,’ he said, ‘and arrest the Banneret.’

  Soren didn’t struggle. He slipped his sword and dagger from their scabbards and handed them, hilt first, to dal Dragonet.

  ‘I don’t know what part you played in this, if any, but he was killed on your watch. At best you’ve failed in your duty.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I’m disappointed in you. What else is there to say?’

  One of the men brought Soren’s banner to dal Dragonet. He held it in his hands and looked at it gravely before looking back to Soren.

  ‘I’ve never had to do this before,’ he said, with a pained look. With that he took his dagger from his belt and roughly cut through the crumpled banner several times before handing it to Soren. No more needed to be said. Soren’s banner was torn asunder by one of his peers, signalling his dishonour and damning him for it.

  Dal Dragonet turned back to his men. ‘Hold him under guard and send for a gaol wagon and an ambulance from the city.’

  The gaol wagon did not have any windows so it was only the sound of the wheels clattering on cobbles that let him know that he was back in the city. He was less afraid of his fate than disappointed in himself for having allowed Amero to so easily get the better of him. It was beyond doubt now that Amero had been behind it all and that his seemingly good act of telling Alessandra the truth was in fact another one of his manipulative schemes.

  There were so many pieces that fitted together now. Princess Alys had said that Chancellor Marin was against a war, and yet they had killed him for the stated reason of securing peace. Dal Dragonet had not been familiar with General Kastor, whose orders now seemed to have been designed to stir the people up against the Duke. He must also have been involved in the plot. That unrest gave Amero the opportunity to take the stage and once again become the champion of the people. He had seen Emeric the day of the attempted assassination in the city, he was sure of that now, although at the time he had not been. It all seemed to make sense but for one thing. Amero could not become Duke by having the old one assassinated. There would still have to be an election, and Amero’s family would not be eligible to run for another generation. Nevertheless, whatever his motivations, it was done, and at his whims, Soren had been made and undone.

  He was hauled out of the wagon in the courtyard of the old castle, which sat on top of the cliff over-looking the bay. The sun was setting, and although it hurt his eyes after the darkness of the wagon, he watched it and took pause in its beauty, not knowing if he would ever see such a sight again. He was shackled at wrist and ankle and shoved unceremoniously forward by his guards. From the courtyard it was into the castle and down into the dungeons. They led him through a labyrinth of passages before stopping by one of the heavy oak doors that lined it. They took off his shackles, shoved him into the small room that lay on the other side of the door. He tensed as he waited for the inevitable sound of the thick wooden door slamming shut.

  Time lost all meaning in the small, dark room. He was not sure how many times a day he was being fed, so counting meals was useless. After six or seven he had lost count anyway. It was difficult to discern between the meals he had, those he dreamt of and then to remember how many there were. Life blurred into one big void.

  The door opened and a mage lamp cast an orange light into his small room. He looked up, but even that dim light pierced his eyes painfully. He looked back to the corner of his cell and tried to watch what was going on at the doorway from the corner of his eye. A large person stood framed in the doorway, larger than his usual gaoler. He stepped in, realising the effect the light from the lamp was having on Soren’s eyes and shielded it behind his back.

  ‘You’re a sorry sight, lad. A sorry sight indeed. Shoulda taken my advice when you could! Now get up, you’re coming with me.’

  Soren struggled to his feet and looked at Emeric, who gestured for him to walk out into the passageway. He had not gone more than a few yards before his legs ached and he felt as though his calves were going to cramp. He stumbled on with Emeric and the gaoler as his eyes gradually became accustomed to the light, dim though it was.

  They brought him to a guardroom that contained several mage lamps and was thus brighter than anything he had experienced in some time. He had to shield his eyes as the gaoler shoved him into the room, and onto a short stool.

  ‘Well, well, you’re looking worse for wear indeed.’

  Soren recognised the voice immediately. ‘What do you want Amero? Come to gloat?’

  ‘Not at all, and it’s “Your Grace” now, I feel the appropriate honorifics are important to maintain the proper respect,’ he said.

  Soren barked out a short laugh, as much a consequence of the fluid in his lungs as his disdain. ‘How did you manage to wrangle that? How many aristocrats did you have Emeric kill for you?’

  Amero looked at Soren with a smile on his lips for a moment before continuing. ‘After Duke dal Tanosa was murdered by Ruripathian assassins, the army was sadly routed during a day long engagement with the Ruripathian army near a town called Sharnhome. But before that, when news of the Duke’s untimely death and of an impending battle reached the city, an emergency election was held. Pietr dal Lloedale was elected as Duke, being head of the most senior eligible family. He rode north to join the army and led our forces at Sharnhome, but sadly he fell in battle, as did the heads and heirs of several of the other senior elector families. It was a grim day for the Duchy, but not one from which we could not recover. In the absence of enough elector counts or enough readily identifiable candidates for Duke, I offered myself up as interim ruler.

  ‘I bought a little time with a peace delegation while
I regrouped the army and counter attacked. This caught the Ruripathians entirely by surprise and I am happy to say that we defeated them utterly. When I returned to the city, I was naturally amazed to discover that the people were calling for my investiture as Duke by popular acclaim. After much soul searching, I acceded to their demands,’ said Amero.

  ‘And how was it that you managed to catch the Ruripathians so completely by surprise?’ Soren asked.

  Amero smiled and leaned back languidly in his chair, which, Soren noted, looked far too comfortable for the guardroom. He paused thoughtfully for a moment and gestured to Emeric with his eyes. Emeric shoved the gaoler out of the guardroom and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Because they weren’t expecting it of course. They do still teach about the value of the element of surprise at the Academy do they not? It may also have had something to do with the fact that it was an express breach of the agreement I made with the Ruripathians on our visit there. I give them Baelin, the warm water port they so desperately want, an easy victory in the field and they agree to peace and return to their own borders. They had no real stomach for a hard fought war, which I assured them they would have if they tried to go beyond the limits of our agreement, which happily they did not. Of course, all of that wouldn’t be quite enough to get me elected Duke, now would it. I would need to pull off something a bit more impressive!

  ‘Half the army was loyal to me, under the command of General Kastor, or Marshal Kastor dal Cadena as he is now. They managed to get lost during the night advance toward Sharnhome and by the time they found their way back to the rest of the army, the battle was well and truly lost. They did the only sensible thing and withdrew. A shame really, as had they been there, we would almost certainly have won. Nevertheless, with those troops and the survivors from the battle, I was able to cobble together an army. We fell on the Ruripathians as they were marching home. It was a magnificent victory, and one that I was able to take full credit for. Who better to lead Ostia than their saviour in their hour of need? When I retake Baelin and bring the war to Ruripathian territory, sending word of victory after victory home, the people will be confident that their choice was the correct one, a unified and confident voice in support of my confirmation as Duke. A voice far too strong for any noble to question with trifling issues such as legality.

  ‘You’re a clever lad, Soren; it’s one of the things I always liked about you. I’m sure you can put the pieces together now, why everything that was done was done. The only thing I hadn’t counted on was how much you liked that bloody girl! At first I had hoped your skills would be added to my plans. But after your little tantrum I feared you might become a problem. Try to kill me, or some such mischief. So, I had Kastor send you off on a suicide mission. Problem solved, or so I thought, and then you turn up in the city a half starved husk. Still you looked better then than you do now! With you alive and back in the city, we thought you could be useful again. We needed the city’s civic leaders killed off, so we had you take care of a few of them. The unrest it created would help make dal Tanosa unpopular, and leave the people looking for a figure to unite behind. Me. The nobles fear nothing half as much as the popular voice. When that voice is united, it is a fearsome thing indeed.

  ‘Why all the killing, you might ask. Well, even my wealth is not limitless, and it very quickly becomes more cost effective to kill people rather than to keep paying them off. Curiously aristocrats seem to be easier to keep a grip on, which is convenient as killing them is a damn sight harder. An unsavoury gambling debt, a catamite, a pretty whore.’ His voice trailed off as he saw Soren’s eyes widen and his jaw tighten.

  ‘Ah, yes, everybody had their role to play, large or small, even your little strumpet. I have to admit, it came as something of a shock when dal Tanosa made you his personal bodyguard!’ He chuckled. ‘It took several hours of brainstorming to come up with a solution, as we didn’t think we’d be able to get anywhere near him while you were protecting him. In the end the answer was right under our noses, as well you know. She knew nothing of our plans, for what it’s worth. Just another unwitting piece on the board. A concept I think you should be familiar with by now.

  ‘Well, enough of this. Now to my reason for bringing you here. I had my plans, and I’ve used people when and where necessary, but that doesn’t change the fact I’ve always been fond of you, Soren. I’m only sorry that this story will end for you on the headsman’s block, but that’s the way of things sometimes,’ said Amero.

  He stood and walked to the door and turned. ‘Goodbye Soren, I do not think that we shall see one another again.’

  C h a p t e r 5 9

  A DEBT SETTLED

  He had no idea of when his execution was to be carried out. Each time the door to his cell opened, he waited to be bundled out to wherever it was to be done. Crossways perhaps, in front of a huge crowd baying for his blood, or more discretely in the courtyard of the castle, where the military executions were usually carried out. Most likely it would be the latter. As far as he could tell he hadn’t been found guilty of any crime and execution was an unlikely punishment for not having been able to stop the assassination. It seemed that Amero wanted him out of the way and that his execution would be extra-judicial.

  When the day finally came, he met it with reserved acceptance. He prayed that Alessandra had gotten away. As long as she had managed that, he could accept his fate. It pained him to realise that it was unlikely he would ever find out, one way or the other. The fact that Amero had not mentioned her capture, imprisonment or execution gave him hope, however.

  His hands were tightly bound behind his back. They pulled a hood over his head as they dragged him from the cell. He realised that it was an act of mercy, whether they knew it or not. After so long in the darkness, candlelight would be painful to his eyes. Sunlight would likely blind him, not that it would matter much.

  Down the corridor, up some steps, another corridor and more steps and then out into fresh air. All the while a strong pair of hands gripped onto his upper arms guiding him toward his impending death. He sucked in a deep lungful of the fresh sea air. How wonderful it was. He smiled to himself beneath the hood. He had had an incredible run. Once it had been unlikely that he would live past his teens on the streets. Instead he had rubbed shoulders with the finest society had to offer, he had been instrumental in the affairs of great nations and he had been one of the finest swordsmen who had ever lived. And he had known a love, one second of which made all the other achievements seem worthless. He was ready.

  It seemed that he was to be executed in Crossways as they were bundling him into a wagon. He would have preferred the castle courtyard, there would be some shame in dying as a public spectacle, but so be it.

  The wagon jerked to a start and the wheels rattled on the cobbles. It stopped at the castle gate for a brief, muffled conversation before starting off again and he could feel it angle down the hill toward the city. He tried to absorb every sensation, the sound of the wheels on the cobbles, the creaking of the suspension and the jostling motion of the wagon. Each experience was amongst his last, and he wanted to drink it all in, to imagine he was sharing each one with Alessandra.

  Finally the wagon came to a complete halt, and he was pulled down onto the ground. The hood was pulled from his head and he squinted around, looking for the scaffold. It took a moment to focus, and when he did, it was not a scaffold he saw, nor an executioner. Instead he saw a jetty, and Ranph. He let out a crazy, desperate laugh.

  ‘Ranph! What’s going on?’

  ‘I told you I wouldn’t forget,’ he said, a sad smile on his face. ‘I’m sorry it took so long, but I’ve been having my own problems. I expect my estates to be declared forfeit any day now. Despite his power, Amero hasn’t been having it all his own way in clearing out the old families, but he is getting there. As soon as I’m done here I’ll be heading home to Bragadin to get my sisters, and from there, on out of the Duchy. You needn’t fret; my family have adequate resources in othe
r cities that will ensure we won’t go hungry! I couldn’t just leave you here to be executed though!’

  ‘So what now?’ Soren asked.

  ‘The wherry there will take you out to a ship in the harbour which will sail as soon as you set foot aboard,’ said Ranph.

  ‘Where to?’ Soren asked.

  ‘Auracia. I hear that it’s nice there at this time of year,’ Ranph said sardonically.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Ranph. You’ve been a better friend than I could have ever asked for.’

  ‘Don’t get all gooey on me. Let’s just call it even, shall we?’ Ranph replied, with a smile.

  ‘Did you hear anything about Alessandra?’

  ‘She fled the city. She sent a maid to find me with a message, to let you know she was safe,’ Ranph said.

  Soren breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Any idea of where she went?’

  ‘Auracia,’ Ranph replied, breaking into a wider smile. ‘Now enough with the questions, we both need to be going.’ He offered his hand, which Soren took, and shook firmly.

  ‘Good luck, Ranph. I hope our paths cross again in happier times,’ said Soren.

  ‘I do also,’ he said, before turning and walking to a waiting horse.

  Soren walked quickly down the jetty and hopped into the wherry.

  ‘Pull away now, quick as you can,’ he said to the boatman. He sat down in the small boat and looked nervously around him. Each stroke away from the shore was one closer to safety. He looked into the bilge and saw an oddly shaped bundle, wrapped in a familiar blue material. He reached for it and gasped with surprise when he realised it was his belek cloak. It was wrapped around his Telastrian sword and dagger. His heart jumped and he looked up and around. Standing on the now distant dock stood a tall man. He was dressed in black and was completely bald, and had only moments before been standing out of sight, unseen but watching.