The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (44 page)

As he leaned back against the gnarled trunk he watched the leaves moving gently in the breeze. Where their edges touched the sky, there was the faintest of blue tinges. It was strange, yet familiar. A trick of the light he thought, or perhaps he was hallucinating. He let his mind drift. He thought of the snowy north. He had liked the peacefulness of the snow-blanketed woods. It would have been nice to see them again. He thought of Alys and of the belek. He wondered what she was doing now. It was a shame he had never had the opportunity to wear his cloak. It was just too damned warm in the south for the heavy fur. He thought of Alessandra, and the way he had reacted when he found out what she had become. He wished more than anything that he had apologised for the way he behaved before he had left, but there was nothing that could be done about that now. The thought caused him pain, but what she had become caused him more. And Amero. He had caused it all. He didn’t even want to think of him.

His rambling train of thought came to an abrupt halt. His mind suddenly felt clearer. Where for so many hours there had been only a disorientated stream of consciousness and a primal desire to survive, there was now focus. He didn’t feel quite as tired as he had. His eyes flicked to the leaves as his mind demanded an answer to his sudden feeling of wellbeing. The blue tinge was still there, but his eyes were no longer foggy and ranging in and out of focus. His sight was sharp once more and the tinge was, if anything, even clearer. He reached out with his hand to touch it and felt the faintest, almost imperceptible tingle at his fingertips. Warmth spread through his hand, which had been numb with cold the second before. The tinge fluctuated ever so slightly, and understanding came to him like a light being turned on in a darkened room.

As the clarity continued to return to his train of thought, he could recall the times that he had seen the blue glow before, the belek standing out foremost in his mind. He considered that to have been the first time he had experienced the Moment. He had noticed the glow just before he had entered it and now it seemed that he could see it again. He had discounted it on those previous occasions as a figment of his imagination, and perhaps this time it was also, but unlike the previous times, it was not a fleeting glimpse; the glow remained.

The warmth it had bestowed on his cold, tired fingers continued to spread down his arm toward his shoulder. He looked elsewhere for the blue glow, but the tree was the only feature for miles around and he could not see anything on the short, scrubby grass that covered the plains.

He toyed with the glow, which stuck to his finger as he slowly drew it away from the leaf until it stretched and pulled away as though it was syrup. His head felt so much clearer that he was sure he was not imagining it. The tingle was unmistakeable and the glow did not go away, it was definitely there. What was more, there could be little doubt in his mind that it was responsible for, or at least connected to, his increasing feeling of well being. Considering that he had seen the blue glow prior to entering the Moment on previous occasions, did that also mean that it was responsible for causing the Moment? Was this blue glow the manifestation of the energy that caused the Gift of Grace, that fuelled the Moment?

He thought over what he knew of the history of the old bannerets, but there was so little that was of any use to him now. The old stories and legends had made them out to have exceptional speed and strength that allowed them to achieve feats far beyond those of a normal man. He would have discounted the stories as nothing more than fairy tales were it not for Master Dornish having lent them credence when he suggested that Soren too might have these exceptional abilities. Now they started to make sense. If this blue glow was indeed an energy source that he could draw on to enhance his speed and strength, then perhaps they were true.

He did not know enough about what the Gift of Grace was, nor how it had come about to work out how it related to the energy, but it made sense that the Gift was what had allowed the early bannerets to make use of this energy. The Order of the Bannerets had been created by the mages, an elite bodyguard to protect them, presumably in times of vulnerability, although the reason was never mentioned in any of the histories he had read. So much of the documentation had been destroyed or lost to the passage of time; perhaps it would never be known.

Once bestowed with the Gift, the bannerets could experience the Moment, but that was all either he, or seemingly also Master Dornish could find out about it. To Soren, it seemed he was influenced by the Gift almost all the time, although it did wax and wane in intensity. Then there was the Moment, which it seemed allowed him to push beyond all physical limitations.

One glaring question remained. If it was the mages that bestowed the original bannerets with their ability, the Gift of Grace, how did he come by it? There were no mages left; they had been wiped out in the Mage Wars centuries before. The practice of magic had been illegal and mercilessly rooted out ever since. To his knowledge there was no one alive in Ostia, or any of the other states of the Middle Sea, who could perform anything more than a parlour trick. There had been the shaman of course, but he had experienced the Moment before ever coming into contact with them. Indeed, when he thought on it, he had been exhibiting signs of the Gift since his late teens.

The mages, their society had been known as the College of Mages, had grown arrogant and drunk on power. They had thought themselves beyond the laws of men and had delved into ever darker magics as, in their megalomania, they sought out more power. Eventually their dark acts became too much to bear and the Empire, and even their own bodyguards, the bannerets, turned on them. The wars lasted for years, but in the end the mages were defeated and any survivors were hunted to extinction, by the bannerets.

With the mages gone, there was no longer anyone to imbue future bannerets with the Gift of Grace. They, like their former masters, were gone from the world in only a generation. There was an irony in that, Soren thought. The concept of bannerets continued however, until the present day, but those with the right to bear their own banner no longer had any skills beyond those earned through countless hours of training. That was until Soren, it seemed.

It appeared that the Gift of Grace had been simmering away in the background without Soren ever really noticing it until he had started to look for something out of the ordinary. Now that his body was being pushed to the very brink of survival, the Gift was taking a more prominent role to ensure that he did not die. All the parts of his mind that dealt with it subconsciously were being opened to him. It was the only explanation that he could come to. Did it mean that he would see this blue glow everywhere the energy existed from now on? Where did the energy come from and where else did it gather? There were so many more questions that Soren had, but on his limited information and his only limited experience, they would have to remain unanswered, at least for the time being.

While he still felt hungry and thirsty, his body felt stronger, no longer on the verge of failing. Now that he was presented with the energy right in front of him, it seemed like a good opportunity to experiment with it. He needed to know if the Moment was something that would happen of its own accord, or if he would be able to influence its coming. He already reckoned that he could stave it off through will alone, he had discovered as much when he killed the shaman. Could he likewise bring it on?

He focussed his mind on the blue glow, willing it into himself. He felt a flush of warmth across his body, but neither the sensation of the Gift gaining in strength, nor the Moment. Perhaps there was not enough energy here, gathered around that lonely little tree. Perhaps this simply wasn’t the way to do it. He tried once more, but the result was the same. He did, however, feel a little stronger.

He sat under the tree for some time, allowing his body to recuperate further. Despite feeling better than he had, he was still desperately thirsty and his stomach felt as though it was twisting itself into knots. As he sat there he continued to try to reason out the aspects of his gift. It did not appear that he was drawing energy from the tree, merely from around it. Perhaps the energy gathered where there were living things. Perhaps it leaked out of those living things and accumulated around it. It was purely speculation, but it seemed to make sense. He looked at his hand. There too was the faintest of blue tinges. How had he never noticed this before? He pulled back his sleeve. All of his bare skin had it.

It was clear now that despite his expectations, he was not going to die under that tree. The energy was giving him strength and in spite of his hunger and thirst, it was enough for him to carry on.

He got up, and began to walk.

C h a p t e r   4 4

AN UNEXPECTED FACE

H
is mind was so full of thoughts that time passed quickly as he continued his trek home. He was hungry and thirsty all of the time, almost to the point of mania, but it didn’t seem to have any serious negative effect on him. His clothes were looser on him, but it was clear to him at this point that he was not going to starve. He could absorb enough energy to keep him alive.

Finally he found a river. After sating his thirst, he began to follow it downstream. He had not gone more than twenty paces before he vomited up the water he had just drunk. After so long without anything to eat or drink, he had gorged himself and paid the penalty. He drank again, this time a more measured amount, and then continued on his way.

Eventually he came upon a village. The guards gave him inquiring and not entirely friendly looks. He was still wearing his barbarian’s garb and combined with many days of rough living, he was quite certain that he did not look like the type of person a sleepy rural village would want visiting.

He went to the magistracy, and after some effort, convinced the guards and the magistrate’s clerk to allow him an audience with the resident magistrate. A great deal more convincing was needed to make the magistrate believe that Soren was in fact an officer of the Duchy, but eventually his accent, manners, and rhetoric was enough to win the magistrate over. He agreed to allow Soren free passage on the next carriage back to Ostenheim, and board and lodging until it left.

When he arrived in Ostenheim many days later, he looked little better than he had when he arrived at the village. The magistrate’s generosity had extended only so far, and Soren was still wearing the same barbarian clothing he had worn since starting his mission.

He wasn’t really sure what to do initially. He was no longer a student at the Academy and for the first time it struck him that he was in fact homeless once again. After wandering for a little while trying to work out what to do next, he decided to head to the city barracks. It had occurred to him that he should report in to be debriefed. It amused him to think of how surprised the General would be when he turned up. On his wanderings he discovered from overheard street gossip that General Kastor and his army had returned a week previously to great acclaim. It appeared the tribes had turned on themselves after their defeat on the plains and their leader had been killed. Their coalition had disintegrated and as such they were not expected to be more than a minor annoyance during the raiding seasons once again.

After convincing the sentries that he was a banneret and an officer, something he seemed to be doing a lot of, one of them reluctantly agreed to escort him into the barracks. He reported to the officer of the day who did not know what to do with him. He sent an orderly away with a note and told Soren to sit and wait. Sitting in the dim light he realised how tired he was. He drifted in and out of sleep jolting himself awake each time he felt his head dropping. He spotted the orderly whispering to the officer of the day. He had completely missed him coming back into the room. The officer of the day cleared his throat.

‘Banneret Captain, General Kastor will see you now. The orderly will take you to his offices,’ he said, visibly disdainful of Soren’s appearance.

Soren followed the orderly up several flights of stairs and through a labyrinth of corridors before finally reaching the General’s offices, a route that did not seem to be the most direct. He was whisked through the anteroom by the adjutant into the General’s office. It was spacious and luxurious as was befitting the current hero of the Duchy. The General sat on the opposite side of his desk, framed by a large window that opened out onto a balcony overlooking the city. He was in his shirtsleeves with his dress doublet sitting on a stand beside his desk.