The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (7 page)

Soren was surprised to discover that he found the classes fascinating. He had been disheartened when he had first learned that nearly half of the tuition at the Academy was in classrooms. He had the misconception in his head that it would be all swordplay and physical exercise, but it was clear that almost as much time was devoted to the mental faculties as was to the physical.

The first class had been History. The lecturer, Master Terhorst, had spent almost a full hour speaking on the execution, successes and failings of a cavalry charge during a battle hundreds of years before. Despite seeming tedious at first glance, the analytical way the lecturer approached the subject matter caught Soren’s attention. Instead of merely outlining what had happened, one boring step after another, he broke it down into causes and effects; how an action of the enemy commander had caused the Ostian commander to react. Then he considered whether the commander’s reaction was justifiable both with the benefit of hindsight, and subjectively under the conditions of the battle and then to whether or not he made the correct decision. He then examined how that decision was acted upon, and if those actions had been executed effectively. The class was over before Soren had realised more than ten minutes had passed.

The second class had been Politics and Diplomacy. Soren had not found this quite as interesting, as it had not centred on combat. However, he could see that it would have its uses, not just on the wider scale, but also in how he survived society with his fellow students. As he left that class, the professor had called him over and told him not to forget that he had to have submitted the form with his chosen elective courses by the end of the week. He had no idea what the professor meant, but he just nodded and said that he would not forget. The final class of the day was Etiquette.

‘New boy!’ said the Master.

It took Soren a moment to realise that it was he who was being referred to.

‘Answer, boy, we don’t have all day.’

‘I, well I don’t know, Master Rilid,’ Soren replied.

‘Did you read the required materials? You were given your requirements in the papers supplied to you yesterday. I know this because I helped to prepare them.’

‘No I didn’t. I mean to say, no I didn’t, Master Rilid, I’m sorry,’ Soren replied. He was still having difficulty adjusting to the formality of the Academy. Speaking with deference was not something to which he was accustomed. ‘I’m still settling in, Master, I haven’t had the chance to find the library yet.’ It was a lie of course; he passed by the library to get to and from the dormitory. Knowing where it was wasn’t much use to him though, considering the fact that there was not a single word contained within that he could read.

Master Rilid frowned at the lack of a textbook in front of Soren. He flung his copy at Soren and seemed disappointed by the ease with which Soren caught it. He had a petulant face, black hair cut shorter than was the common style and heavily oiled giving it a slick sheen. It was showing the first signs of greying and he had a perpetual shadow of dark stubble beneath his smooth face. Rilid continued to glare at him, and Soren could feel his face heat with embarrassment. Most of the other boys in the class were looking at him.

‘Find the answer, I will be coming back to you,’ said Rilid.

Soren opened the book, his face down to hide the red shame glowing from it. There were sniggers from around the room, one from Ranph who had turned around to watch him in his discomfort. Soren flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the jumble of squiggles on the paper, a hope somewhere deep within him that he might find the answer here by some divinely inspired miracle.

It had never occurred to him that there would be more to the Academy than learning the use of weapons. He had no idea how he would survive classes such as this.

‘As Tyro Soren here has failed to realise, etiquette is as important for a swordsman as prancing about with a length of steel spilling blood. I was as fine a swordsman as you could hope to find in my youth,’ he said, smiling at his self-flattery. He looked around the class for support, but finding none, he continued. ‘As I have said, it is all well and good to wander around slaughtering all comers,’ he made an ape at a thrusting motion with his chalk stick, still impressed by his own notions of grandeur, ‘but for a swordsman to truly make his way in the world, particularly for one of humble origins, one must know the workings of princely courts, of embassies and of polite society. I feel confident in saying that when you venture out from this great Academy into the world, it is the lessons that you learn in my class that you will feel serve you the best. Hearts and minds cannot be won with steel alone. Tyro Soren!’ He turned his attention back to Soren. ‘Do you have my answer yet?’

‘No, Master Rilid, I’m sorry, I don’t,’ said Soren. There were more sniggers from his classmates.

‘Don’t be sorry, boy, be competent! Well, gentlemen, it appears that we have a dunce in our midst!’ Rilid said, with satisfaction.

The bell in the Campanile rang out signalling the end of the class and Rilid sighed dramatically. Soren felt a wave of relief at this lucky timing.

‘You may all go.’ Rilid made a spiralling gesture with his hand and returned to his desk. ‘The next chapter of the text for next lesson,’ he added as they began to file out. All of the boys left, glad to be finished with classroom lessons for the day. As Soren passed Rilid’s desk he spoke again.

‘Wait!’

Soren stopped, a feeling of exasperation washing over him. Had this prick not chided him enough already?

‘My text please, Tyro Soren,’ he said, holding out his hand.

As Soren handed the book over Rilid scrutinized him carefully. ‘You can’t even read, can you?’ he said.

Soren cringed as he realised his secret was out. He hadn’t even managed to bluff his way through one day. He remained silent and glared at Rilid.

‘You will find the academic requirements of your studies rather difficult to pass if that is the case,’ he said. ‘I will be interested to see how long you last here. I expect it won’t be long at all, and then it will be back to the gutter. You may go.’

C h a p t e r   7

NEMESIS

S
oren was relieved to be done with academics for the day. His encounter with Master Rilid had left him a little shaken, and he was confident that he had not heard the last about the discovery of his inability to read. It would not be long before one of the other masters came to the same conclusion that Rilid had. He could only hope that whatever solution Emeric had come up with would be effective and fast.

There was more fencing practice in the afternoon, after which the students were left to their own devices, the intention being that they would train further, study, or work on assignments for their academic classes. This free time would allow Soren to get out to see Emeric at four bells. Before that happened however, there was lunch, and one more training session.

Lunch had been an enjoyable experience, even if he had been given the cold shoulder by all of his classmates. It didn’t bother him though, as he found the thought of conversation quite unappealing when faced with so much food, and he had to admit that he was finding it difficult to stop himself from over eating. Having access to that much food was still a novelty to him and he hoped that once this had worn off he would be able to moderate his attitude to the dining hall.

The afternoon training was duelling. After a morning of classes where he had to either hide in the back, or look like an idiot, the chance to assert himself over the other students was a welcome opportunity. He was still smarting over the humiliation he had experienced in Rilid’s class, and he was looking forward to returning the favour to his sniggering classmates.

Pairs were assigned to duel against each other with respect to position in class. Each odd numbered tyro duelled against the even numbered student ranked below him. Each duel was the best of three touches and a win moved you up a place in class, while a loss would see you paired against the student beneath you who was hoping to keep moving upward. As Soren was the newcomer, he was starting at the very back of the class.

The scoring was based on the honour code system that all students were expected to follow. It was assumed that they were honourable enough to acknowledge a hit against them fairly. By and large, the system worked well, but the instructors did maintain a vigilant watch to ensure it was abided by.

The session started easily enough. While everyone who had reached this level of the Academy had proved themselves and there were no poor swordsmen there, the comparatively weaker students resided at the back of the hall where Soren found himself during the duelling class. Because of this, the first few duels were not difficult for Soren. His speed allowed him to exploit weaknesses that would be inaccessible to others. He progressed steadily over the course of the session only conceding one scoring touch over the course of five duels.

Toward the end of the session he was matched with a stocky student only an inch or two shorter than he.

‘Tyro Soren,’ he said, by way of greeting. The masters had instructed him to introduce himself to each of his opponents as a way of getting to know them.

‘Tyro dal Dardi,’ said his opponent.

Another aristocrat. Soren was beginning to wonder if he was in fact the only commoner student in the year.

They saluted and took their guard. Dal Dardi came at Soren fast and hard, determined to stop his swift advance through the ranks. Soren was able to swat his attack out of the way but dal Dardi’s elbow struck him on the follow through, which Soren had not been expecting. It knocked him off balance and coupled with the surprise, allowed the other student to put a touch on him.

It rankled Soren to concede another touch, but he supposed that he must accept the fact as he moved up through the ranks and faced opposition of greater skill, conceding the occasional point would be difficult to avoid. Despite his speed he had much to learn and had to accept he was well behind the other students in all other areas of swordsmanship. As such, this once he was willing to pass the elbow strike off as an accident. He acknowledged the touch against him and they reset the duel.

Dal Dardi came at him hard again, but once more Soren was able to parry his attack, which in truth was not that skilfully executed. As Soren had suspected might happen, an elbow followed, but this time he was prepared for it. With any doubt as to the other student’s intention in the previous point now cleared, Soren decided to send a blunt message in response. He easily ducked out of the way of the elbow and slashed back with his own sword, whipping painfully across dal Dardi’s shoulder. He let out a gasp in pain as Soren stepped back.

‘One touch each, I believe,’ said Soren, as menacingly as he could. He wanted to make it clear to everyone there that he was no fool and would brook no disrespect. If he was shoved, he would shove back.