The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (28 page)

Initially Soren fell back into a steady defence, allowing Bryn to dictate the pace and direction of the duel. The sound of real blades clashing and sliding against each other was far more satisfying than the dull feeling in a practice sword. It was the first time that Soren had been in what seemed like a ‘real’ fight with a master, and more than once the thought flashed through Soren’s mind that he might ultimately be outclassed.

He needn’t have been worried though. Bryn was very good, but could not best Soren. Despite not having the speed to beat him outright, Bryn’s technical proficiency was greater, and Soren found, with satisfaction, that he had learned something new, or improved slightly, with each training session.

Soren was fast and he knew it. It frustrated Bryn that even his most perfectly executed attacks could not find their way home. At times he was even faster, but he could not explain why. He was never slow; not since the day he duelled dal Dardi had he experienced that. His speed advantage did seem to vary though. Some days he was fast and on others his speed was such that it surprised even him. Why, was the great mystery. He had also not experienced anything like the intensity he had when he killed the belek on any other occasion. That added even more confusion to his understanding of what it was that set him apart from the others.

He was going out for one of his now regular post lunch walks through the city a few days before the beginning of term when a large black carriage rattled past him and turned into the Academy. When it stopped, Ranph stumbled out, stretching his back and walking stiffly as he stepped away from the carriage. He spotted Soren.

‘Back from your adventures in the North I see!’ he said. ‘Are the women there really as beautiful as they say?’

Soren was not surprised that this was the first question Ranph asked him. To say he had a roving eye was something of an understatement. ‘Well, if blonde is to your taste!’

‘Always! I need a drink, let’s go into the city while they stow my things,’ said Ranph.

‘I was just heading to the Sail and Sword as it happens,’ said Soren.

‘Drinking alone? You?’ He paused for a moment, the look of surprise on his face changing to a smile. ‘Ah, no, the barmaid! I recall you giving her the glad eye last term, how could I forget! Come on then, let’s see if she still looks as good,’ said Ranph.

They walked slowly back toward the Sail and Sword, Soren recounting his tale of the belek hunt. Ranph had spent the vacation running his family estate. His father had gone south with a regiment of foot to put an end to a border dispute with the Principalities of Auracia to the south. They had stopped their usual practice of fighting one another and were going through a period of national unity, taking the opportunity to try to expand their borders by flexing their collective muscle.

Soren felt a rush of excitement as they entered the Sail and Sword. Alessandra was standing behind the bar, working the ale tap.

‘Two mugs of ale please!’ Ranph said.

‘Hello, back for the new term already?’ she asked as she reached for two empty mugs.

‘Not at all, back early just to see you!’ Ranph replied flirtatiously.

‘Aw that’s very sweet of you! Here you go, a shilling please,’ she said.

They went back to one of the usual Academy booths, with habit overriding practicality as one of the servants was scraping the ash out of the fireplace beside them, with loud scraping noises irritating Soren and making conversation difficult.

‘No wine today, Ranph?’ Soren asked.

‘Gods no, I’ve had enough wine to last me quite some time. Last year’s vintage was awful and father made the decision to sell on our reserves of the good stuff to cover the bad year. Which means we’ve had to drink this year’s slop ourselves. No, it’s ale for me for the time being at least.’

‘Alessandra is looking well,’ Soren said idly, but hoping that something would come from the comment.

‘She always looks well. Just ask her out, stop being such a wimp,’ said Ranph.

Soren put down his mug and looked over to the bar.

‘Fine, I will,’ he said.

Ranph raised his eyebrows, and then his cup in salute when he realised that Soren was being serious. Soren stood up and walked purposefully to the bar. For some reason the image that was burned on his mind was that of the belek as it stared him in the face.

‘Finished already?’ asked Alessandra.

‘No, I, well, I was wondering if you might like to go for a drink some night, when you aren’t working,’ he said.

She seemed completely taken off guard. The usual cheeky casualness with which she deflected requests such as this was gone. ‘Well, I work every night,’ she replied.

‘Maybe I could walk you home after then?’ he said, grasping for anything other than outright rejection.

‘Maybe,’ she said awkwardly, trying to seem distracted with the mugs she was stacking.

Deflated, Soren returned to the booth, where Ranph had an uncomfortable look on his face.

‘Well?’ he asked, cringing.

Soren just shook his head. Ranph nodded.

‘Nothing another few ales won’t fix!’ he said hopefully.

Soren sighed. ‘I’m going to go home, I have some things to do before training in the morning.’ There was a sound of despondency in his voice.

Ranph looked at him closely and realised there was no point pressing the issue. He looked away then, and over toward the bar. Alessandra was staring over at them, but quickly looked away when she saw Ranph looking back at her. He smiled to himself while Soren stared into his empty mug. Perhaps all was not lost just yet. They left the tavern, Soren shyly saying goodbye and Alessandra trying to avoid his gaze.

Soren did not want to ever return to the Sail and Sword, but when his other classmates started returning it became impossible not to do so without letting his reason be known. Ranph was discreet enough and would not mention his refusal, and had given Soren space since then, not trying to pressure him into going into the city. When the others returned it was a different story though. They all wanted to share their summer tales and hear about Soren’s adventures in the snowy North. The Sail and Sword was the obvious place to do that.

He felt a little sheepish going in, not knowing how to react when he saw Alessandra. A few months before he would never have thought he had a chance with a girl like that, but life had changed so much so quickly, anything seemed possible now. It was this sense of optimism that had led him to hope, and it was this hope that led to him feeling so disappointed.

He recounted his adventure in Ruripathia, again and again, leaving out one obvious part, but gradually embellished the rest with each telling, despite it not being needed and without really meaning to. Each night, it was the same story but a larger audience. Some of the others had vaguely interesting tales to tell, but Soren could never really pay much attention to them. All he could think of was Alessandra, and all he could do was concentrate on not staring at her when his own tale was finished.

Jost and Henn made regular exclamations of their envy. Their own summers had been mundane by comparison, with rural life on their family estates seeming very dull after the activity of the city. The more he heard of how little the others had been up to, the more he began to realise how lucky he had been in getting to go north with Amero.

With term due to begin the following day and the restrictions that would place on their leaving the campus, a larger group than normal had gone into the city for drinks. Students would be welcomed back with several days of very hard training to shake the summer cobwebs off so the evening was far from a riotous party. No one wanted to be the worse for wear over the next few days, and then have to spend the rest of the year climbing back through the class standings. The mood was convivial; there was a lot of joking, laughing and shouting, but not a great deal of drinking, to the landlord’s chagrin. They stayed until closing time, the stories of what each student had gotten up to over the vacation keeping them entertained all evening.

Gradually the students began to return to the Academy, and Soren’s group was among the last to go. As Soren was walking toward the door, he heard a voice call his name. He turned to see Alessandra standing by the bar, a small purse clutched in her hands and a nervous, hopeful expression on her face.

‘Do you want to walk me home then?’ she asked.

‘Well, yes, of course,’ replied Soren with surprise, his face involuntarily breaking into a smile.

They left the tavern, walking out into the dark night. The air was cooler than it had been and Alessandra tightened her shrug around herself. Since returning from Ruripathia, Soren had thought it very warm, although he did notice that the evenings had begun to take on an autumn chill.

‘Why did you ask me?’ he said after they had been walking in silence for a few minutes. ‘I didn’t think you liked me.’

She smiled, but continued to look forward. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I’ve been watching you, and you didn’t seem like the others. Not so full of it! Like you have nothing to prove. It’s nice.’

They both laughed, the ice finally broken. They chatted and laughed for what seemed to be an age. It seemed odd to Soren that she would live so far away from where she worked, but he did not mind. The conversation flowed freely and without end. When she had first asked him, Soren had wondered what they would talk about, and had felt something like panic in his gut. After the first laugh however, his worries had been allayed. Just like Alys, they seemed to laugh at the same thing, to have similar dreams.

They were both orphans. Her mother had died in childbirth, and her father had been a small merchant. He had gone off with a trading caravan to the east one spring, and had never returned. She had been left with her uncle and aunt and as the years went by they came to the sad conclusion that he was never going to return. Soren felt a pang of sadness for her, even though he had never known either of his parents. It must have been harder to have known him, and then lost him.

Soren had been completely honest with her, telling her how he had been thrown out of the Cathedral orphanage at fourteen to make room for younger children. He said it matter of factly. It had only been fair, they had looked after him for more than a decade, and at fourteen you were considered old enough to fend for yourself on the streets. She had listened sympathetically, but he tried not to labour on his deprived youth, which even he found depressing. He tried to put emphasis on the life that was ahead of him now, all the fantastic opportunities that had been opened up to him, through a stroke of luck and the generosity of the Count of Moreno.

He hadn’t really been paying attention to where they were going as they talked, and was thus surprised when he looked up to see that he was standing back in front of the Sail and Sword.

‘What are we doing here?’ he asked incredulously.

‘This is where I live,’ she said, with a smile.

‘But?’

‘Take no mind of it. I told you I didn’t think you seemed like the rest. I just wanted to make sure!’ she said. She rested her hand against the doorknob, but paused before she opened it. ‘I know it gets tougher to get out of the Academy in the evening once term starts, but will you call on me when you can?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Soren. With that she opened the door and disappeared inside. He felt as though his heart was going to leap from his chest.

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