The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (15 page)

‘Lads!’ he managed to gasp. Soren brought his elbow down on the back of the man’s shoulder as he had been taught in class, while holding the arm straight, twisted and high. Soren felt the tension across it give way as the man’s shoulder popped out of its joint. He gasped again as Soren hammered his fist down on the back of the man’s neck, dropping him to the ground.

One of the others had reacted to the now unconscious man’s gasp and grabbed Soren from behind. Soren pinned the man’s hands to his chest with one hand and shifted to the side, slapping back between the man’s legs with his other hand. The man jumped back to protect himself, giving Soren the space he needed to twist out of the hold and pull one of the man’s arms into a lock similar to the one he had used on the unconscious man. In a swift and well-practiced movement, he dislocated the man’s shoulder, and pulled him into a knockout hold. He dropped the body as soon as he felt it go limp and turned to the other two.

The victim had taken full advantage of his change in circumstances, and it seemed he did not have the same compunction about killing the attackers as Soren did. One of the other assailants was staring glassy eyed at the stars with his hands clutched around his neck. His blood appeared black in the darkness as it flowed from between his fingers. The final man had backed up and drawn a short bladed weapon. He stood crouched before the now standing victim. He had taken no notice of Soren, who stepped up behind him quickly and grabbed two handfuls of the man’s hair. He bashed his head off the alley wall until he felt the body go limp and then dropped it. Only then did he have the chance to take a proper look at the victim.

Like Soren, he was wearing the blue doublet of the Academy. His face had been so badly beaten that he was hard to recognise though. It was only when he spoke that Soren realised that it was Ranph. His words were slurred by the swelling, but the voice was unmistakable.

‘You’re the last person I expected to see,’ he said, his swollen mouth twisting into a smile. ‘Thank you, you’ve done me a great service. I won’t forget it. I hope we can put that other business well and truly behind us!’

‘I do too,’ Soren replied. Perhaps Jost and Henn had been right about him after all.

Their nocturnal adventure was not over yet however. By the time they made their way out of the alleys, it had passed eight bells. They could hear the chimes of the bell in the Cathedral tower echo out through the cold air over the city. There was no way that they could get in through the front gate of the Academy without being spotted. They paused on the square for a moment, their breath clouding in the air before Ranph had an idea.

‘Follow me, there is a place we can get in over the fence that I know about,’ he said, heading off in what Soren assumed was the correct direction.

How he knew about it, Soren didn’t ask. He suspected that it was the route taken by some of the students to sneak in and out of the Academy at night. Drinking, gambling and whoring were all popular diversions with the students and none of them could be indulged on the campus. Soren had heard some of the adepti in River House, drunkenly trying to sneak back into their rooms at all hours of the morning on more than one occasion. Soren had never felt any reason to try sneaking out. Other than his reading lessons, his entire world was contained within the walls of the Academy.

An alley ran along the eastern wall of the campus that provided access to the rears of the houses that fronted onto the next street over. A pile of rubble had accumulated, or had been intentionally left there for this very purpose, next to the wall a few hundred yards down this alley. It was high enough to allow them to get up onto the top of the stone wall, which was surmounted by thick, black iron railings. Just by the spot where the rubble was piled, two of the bars seemed wider at their base. It was perfectly sized to let a man of normal build squeeze through, but Soren was taller than average and with all the food and training, had finally begun to fill out. He was concerned that he would not fit, but after Ranph slipped through and turned to wait for him, he knew he had to try.

It all seemed to be going well until he got to his hips. In the position that he had squeezed his head and shoulders through, he had no leverage to twist his hips to get them through as well. When it became apparent that he was stuck fast, Ranph shuffled along the ledge toward him and grabbed him. He grimaced in pain as he twisted Soren and pulled him through. They both tumbled off the wall and into a bush below, with far more noise than either of them would have liked.

After they crawled out and dusted themselves off, Soren took stock of his surroundings. Ranph seemed quite familiar with where they were, but it took Soren a moment to realise that they were behind the dining hall. Ranph had a reasonably short journey to get to Stornado House, but Soren would have to make it all the way across campus to get to River House, without being caught by a steward.

‘So I suppose we wish each other good luck now and make our separate ways,’ Soren said.

‘Not a chance,’ replied Ranph. ‘You’ll never manage to get to River without being spotted by a steward; there’s too much open ground between here and there. There are usually a dozen of them patrolling the grounds all night. No, we’ll go to the infirmary. I’ll need to pay a visit there anyway, and it’s about half way. If we get spotted we can tell them I had a training accident and you’re helping me to the infirmary, which isn’t too far from the truth. Once we get there the doctor will give you a pass to get back to River. Now, let’s get going.’

Although obviously injured, Ranph was well able to make his own way, or could have waited until morning. Soren recognised the gesture for what it was. As soon as they got out of the cover of the dining hall, Ranph draped his arm over Soren’s shoulder and began to feign a pronounced limp. It was well that he did for they were barely half way across Dining Hall Square when the warm orange-yellow glow of a mage lamp appeared around the corner with the shadowy figure of a steward attached to it.

At one time, the nocturnal misdeeds of Academy students had made it a danger for them to move about the city alone. The Academy was being brought into such disrepute that harsh measures were enacted. The curfew was imposed, and it was made an expellable offence to be out after dark. What angered wronged citizens even more was the fact that students enjoyed immunity from the City Watch and the laws of the city. They led a privileged life, raised hell in the city and had the ability to maim or kill almost anyone who tried to stop them. All the Watch could do was arrest them and deliver them to the Master, which once would have amounted to nothing more than an irritated telling off, but now would be far worse. Dishonourable expulsion from the Academy was a shameful stain that a man would never be able to wash from his character so long as he remained in the Duchy of Ostia.

‘Well, gentlemen, out a bit late aren’t we?’ said the steward. He was careful to remain polite.

Ranph groaned as though he was dazed, giving Soren his queue.

‘My friend was injured training. A drone caught him a bad one in the face,’ Soren said. It was a well-delivered lie, but the steward seemed well used to tall tales.

‘I assume neither you nor your friend has a pass to be out this late?’ the steward asked.

‘No, steward, we don’t,’ Soren replied.

The steward let out a long ‘hmmmm’

‘Got hit more than once, by the looks of ‘im,’ he said slowly, stepping closer and holding his lamp up for a better look. He scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment before moving his head closer to Ranph’s and inhaled deeply through his nose. ‘Well, no smell of booze anyway. Not so sure I believe your story, but I don’t reckon the young gentleman’s been drinking. Get ‘im to the infirmary as quick as you can and don’t let me catch you out again after hours.’ With that, the steward shuffled off, the glow of his lamp bobbing around in the darkness.

Ranph painfully stifled a laugh as they made their way to the infirmary.

C h a p t e r   1 6

THE GIRL

I
t tended to only be the wealthier and more senior students that sneaked into the city at night regularly, although most students did at some point or another. Since Soren’s steady rise in popularity had begun after defeating dal Dardi in the duel, he had been getting occasional requests to accompany the group sneaking out of the campus and finally decided to go along. While the idea had never really appealed to him before, he eventually relented to Henn and Jost’s entreaties and agreed to go once they had assured him that there was another way over the wall that was closer to River House that Soren would fit through without difficulty.

The Sail and Sword was a large tavern in Docks, the warehouse district of the city that fronted onto the harbour. The tavern was a favourite with the Academy students and had been for some time. The long history of custom that they brought to the tavern meant that the owner turned a blind eye to some of their drunken excesses and would provide an easy escape for them on the rare occasion of the tavern being raided by the Watch, who would happily hand over what they viewed as the spoiled Academy students to the Academy Provost.

The tavern was large but not particularly full, although it was early in the week and Soren expected it would be fuller when the stevedores and other dockworkers received their wages. There was a mixed crowd there, with the Academy students occupying the tables and booths near the fireplace away from the rest of the patrons, who were a mix of merchants, sailors, off duty watchmen and a variety of other difficult to pin down denizens of the city.

Soren sat quietly in a corner of the booth while the other students chatted. House divisions seemed to be present here as well as on campus, as students tended to congregate at tables according to their houses. As he sat sipping at a glass of ale, a girl working behind the bar caught his eye. She was cleaning glasses with a cloth before returning them to the shelf behind the bar and worked with the practised nature of one who had done the job many times before and no longer needs to give it any thought. She was slender and of average height, with long curly, dark brown hair and pale skin. She was quite simply the most beautiful girl Soren had ever seen.

As though she sensed his stare, she turned abruptly and looked in the direction of the booth in which Soren sat with a slightly bemused look on her face. She paused her cleaning and Soren looked away quickly, feeling his face flush slightly with embarrassment.

‘Would you consider entering for it?’

Jost was speaking, but it took Soren a moment to realise that he was speaking to him. Eager for the distraction, he asked Jost what he had meant.

‘The Competition of course. The thing I’ve been talking about for the last ten minutes. Are you going to enter it?’ asked Jost.

‘I hadn’t really given it any thought,’ Soren replied. ‘I don’t really know very much about it. I thought you had to be in the Collegium to enter for it.’

‘No, usually someone from the Collegium represents the Academy, but it isn’t a requirement. They just tend to be the best, but with your speed and another year of training, you’ll easily be up to that level by then,’ said Jost.

Each of the cities of the old Saludorian Empire had an Academy of Swordsmanship. The Competition was one of the few ties that still held them all together. After the Mage Wars, the Empire had dissolved and each city went out on its own, becoming a duchy or principality in its own right. For a few decades they had remained in a confederation, but that too had fallen apart. Each city claimed to have the finest swordsmen, and each year, the finest student from each city’s Academy was selected to compete against the others for the honour of that title.

‘Perhaps I will, then,’ Soren said thoughtfully. Winning the Competition was a quick route to celebrity status in the arena. Ostenheim had won the Competition a few times during his lifetime, and each of the winners had gone on to great careers in the arena, each of them becoming wealthy and famous. It was an appealing thought. Even winning selection would be a feather in his cap.

A tap on the arm and a nod from Jost broke his contemplation. He was nodding toward the bar girl, who was now moving about the tavern collecting glasses and wiping down tables. She moved with ease and confidence, but with none of the haughtiness that Soren had seen beautiful women comport themselves with in the past. She was beautiful, but did not seem to realise it.

‘A Competition winner would be sure to catch the eye of a girl like her,’ Jost said, with a grin. ‘Most of us have tried, but she’ll be saving herself for some wealthy merchant I dare say, to whisk her off to a life of luxury. Getting knocked up by an Academy brat with no intention of marrying her isn’t likely to be high on her list of things to do!’