A group of them were clustered in the streets around Crossways, the large market square that dominated the centre of the city, so he decided to try there first.
It was still early in the summer, but it was already growing uncomfortably warm in the middle of the day. Over the next few weeks the wealthy parts of the city would become quieter as the aristocrats who had country estates left for them to escape the heat and stink of the city at the height of summer. That wasn’t an option for someone like Bryn, but he had spent his entire life in the city and was used to the experience, uncomfortable as it was.
The central part of Ostenheim—that which lay between the two rivers flowing through the city—was always busy. The city was home to over two hundred thousand people and that was its beating heart.
Other than a few wide main streets that ran through the city from its gates, converging on Crossways, Ostenheim was a warren of twisting streets, alleys and lanes that snaked between her tall, pale brick buildings. The salons Bryn was looking for were all situated on these small streets, away from the main thoroughfares.
The first was not difficult to find. He knew the street, as it was only a short distance from the apartment he had grown up in. Bryn had yet to call home since moving out of the Academy or inform his mother about his new living arrangements, and he felt guilty about it. He could not put it off much longer, but there always seemed to be something more pressing.
The salon was listed as being on the top floor of its building. When he got there the name had been crudely scratched off the list of occupants on the door. Bryn swore, hoping he was not going to waste his day with similar experiences.
He was relieved to find that the next salon was still in operation. Like the previous one, this salon was on the top floor of the building, four stories up. The immediate issue that came to mind was how far it was from Amero’s apartment in Oldtown. Trekking home after hours of training through busy streets didn’t fill him with much enthusiasm, but he thought it would be foolish to come all the way here and not take a look.
Bryn went up the stairs and into the salon, and was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. It was far closer to what he was looking for. The entire loft of the building had been opened up into one large room. It was well lit with windows set in the dormer roof and it was tidy, but there were no traces of luxury. The advantage of being on the top floor was that it was high enough for a gentle, cooling breeze to pass through the open windows. Gone were the comfortable rest areas and the swarm of servants buzzing around ensuring that all of their clients’ needs were attended to. Gone too were the bored looking gentlemen lounging around, trying to decide if they would actually pick up a sword rather than just chat about doing so. This was a place where serious training was carried out and there was plenty of it in evidence.
It was busy, which was a problem. There were at least twenty men sparring, doing exercises or waiting their turn to do so. The room was full of the sounds of sword play; boots stamping on the wooden floor, the chink of steel against steel, the gasps of exertion. It smelt exactly how Bryn thought a salon of arms should: of leather, sweat, and oily steel.
He wanted somewhere that would allow him to focus but also where he would be able to get the attention from the fencing masters that he wanted. If he was going to pay out the subscription fees required, he wanted to get full value for money and this place struck him as being too hectic. He was disappointed—it was otherwise exactly what he was looking for.
It didn’t take long before the arrival of a new face was spotted, and a man of middle age with greying hair pulled back into a tight ponytail walked over.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he said.
‘I’m looking for somewhere to train,’ Bryn said. ‘I came to have a look at your salon.’
‘Very good. I am Banneret of the Blue Gendo, assistant to Maestro Valdrio. There isn’t much more to see than what’s before you; we offer no frills and no luxuries. Most of the men here are either in the arena or work in private service. We also have the occasional army officer preparing for a posting.’
‘Is it always this busy?’ Bryn said. There wasn’t much room for anyone else to train there; if it was that busy every day he would need to look at other options.
‘I’m afraid it is, and has been for a while. One of Maestro Valdrio’s duellists has won several notable duels recently, which has attracted quite a few new duellists to the salon. Might I ask what your own circumstances are?’
‘I’ve just left the Collegium,’ Bryn said. ‘I’m intending to try for a career in the arena. I need somewhere to train, for myself and another Collegium graduate. I’d like regular access to a trainer also.’
‘I think we should have room for another couple of regular attendants, Bannerets of the Blue are always especially welcome, but I’m afraid Maestro Valdrio’s schedule is entirely taken up. I or one of the other assistants are usually available; we are all Bannerets of the Blue. If you wish I can talk you through our fees and what we can offer in terms of training.’
The crowd gave Bryn pause for thought. He could not help but get the feeling they were taking every advantage of their newfound status to bring in as many new clients as possible. If the salon’s fencing master was completely preoccupied with their new star, then it seemed unlikely that Bryn would be able to get the type of attention he was hoping for.
‘Thank you,’ Bryn said. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary right now.’
‘Very good, please don’t hesitate to call back if you have any further questions.’ He nodded his head in a Banneret’s salute and walked away.
Bryn returned the gesture and turned to leave. As he was making his way down the stairs he passed by a bald man, exquisitely dressed in purple clothes with silver-thread embroidery that were cut to resemble fencer’s kit, but were slightly more relaxed for day-to-day wear. He had a neat moustache and pointed beard and carried himself with a level of confidence that was bordering on arrogance. Despite this, he shrugged his black cloak over his shoulder and stepped to the side politely to let Bryn pass.
Bryn gave him an appreciative banneret’s salute, assuming this man to be a banneret also. There was something familiar about him, but it wasn’t until he was out in the street that he realised it was the impressive man he had seen duelling in the small arena. He racked his brain, and eventually remembered the duellist’s name. Panceri Mistria. He had an air of success about him, something that Bryn very much wanted for himself.
* * *
BRYN SPENT the remainder of the afternoon calling at the other salons on his list, becoming more disconsolate as each one fell short of what he wanted. There were two that came close, but neither was ideal. After nearly a full day trudging around the city, he was beginning to think his expectations were unrealistic and was ready to give up on the idea of finding exactly what he was looking for, frustrating though it was.
They all offered some of the things that he had liked about Valdrio’s but were quieter and would allow for him to get both the space and attention he felt he would need to progress on the duelling circuit. However, none of them had it all. Perhaps he was being picky, having been thoroughly spoiled by access to the best facilities and the very finest fencing masters when he was in the Collegium. He hoped that the couple he had earmarked would be acceptable to Amero, but he was hot, tired and grimy from his day’s wanderings and had no interest in looking at any more.
He decided to leave his search at that, cheered by the prospect of having a cook waiting back at the apartment.
CHAPTER 5
As Bryn walked it occurred to him that he would be passing by one of the other salons on his list and it would be lazy not to stop there on his way home.
The quickest route back to the apartment from Crossways was straight toward the harbour, around its edge and over the Westway until he reached the old city walls, which marked the boundary of Oldtown. The salon was in Docks, the part of the city that was filled with warehouses, trading companies,
mixed with apartments, inns and taverns that were frequented by a tough crowd; dock workers, sailors, thugs, and mercenaries. It could be a rough part of the city, hosting some of its least salubrious streets, and rents were appropriately low. It did not bode well for the salon Bryn was investigating, but he would give it the benefit of the doubt. At least it would be cheap.
The address brought him to a small building tucked between two larger warehouses. It was rundown and looked as though it hadn’t been in use for some time. The windows were grimy and the woodwork was bleached and rotting. It had obviously been many years since anyone had thought of painting it. His first thought was that the building was derelict and that any salon had long since closed.
Out of curiosity, he pushed on the door. It creaked open to reveal a large open plan interior, punctuated by the wooden pillars that held up the roof of the single storey building. It was bright and airy, with a number of open skylights in the roof letting in both light and fresh air.
There was no sign of damp or water damage on the floor, so they couldn’t have been open for long. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, which was swept clean, but any traces of varnish had long since vanished. He looked around and realised what an ideal space it was for training in. Perhaps he should try to see if the lease was available and set up there himself. Amero would be more than able to provide the meagre funds that would be needed. His planning was brought to a halt by the sound of footsteps that were not an echo of his own.
‘Can I help you?’ a voice said.
Foreign. Estranzan perhaps?
‘Yes,’ Bryn said, as he turned to face the direction of the voice. It belonged to a man of average build and cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He had a thick moustache that had been left much to its own devices, contrasting strongly with Bryn’s own finely sculpted effort. He was standing at the doorway to another small room at the back. ‘I was told that there’s a fencing salon here.’
‘You have been informed correctly,’ the man said.
Bryn didn’t speak for a moment, expecting something more in the way of information but it didn’t appear to be forthcoming. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me where I might find the salon’s master.’
The man’s clothes had seen better days; they weren’t rags, but they were shabby which gave Bryn to presume that he was merely a caretaker.
‘I am the master,’ he said. ‘This is my salon. Banneret of the Starry Field Baltasar Bautisto at your service.’
An Estranzan then. Bryn’s initial guess had been correct.
‘I’m Banneret of the Blue Bryn Pendollo. I’m looking for somewhere to train. I thought I’d come to have a look at your salon.’
Bautista eyed him suspiciously. ‘What is the nature of your training?’
‘I’m planning on competing in the arena. I’m looking for a basic salon where there will be few distractions. Coaching also.’
‘This isn’t the most well-appointed salon that you will find.’ Bautisto walked forward from the doorway and gestured to the open space of the room with both hands. ‘I dare say it might be the worst. But it is clean and dry, and there are no distractions to be had other than the whores who ply their trade on the street outside after dark.’
It was hardly the most compelling sales pitch. ‘Thank you for your time, Maestro Bautista. I’ll give it consideration. I’ve viewed several salons today and will need time to make my decision,’ Bryn said. He felt uncomfortable being the only other person there, and a sense of something akin to pity for a Maestro with no students. Despite the emptiness of his salon, Bautisto didn’t seem particularly motivated to entice one.
‘You would consider a salon without testing it?’ Bautisto said, cocking his head inquiringly.
‘Well, I suppose not.’ It struck Bryn that he had been slipshod in his approach thus far. He knew what he was looking for in terms of facilities by sight, but the only way to truly gauge a salon’s worth was to train in it.
Bautisto ducked into the back room without another word and re-emerged a moment later carrying a rapier and matching parrying dagger. Neither were particularly ornate, ‘tools rather than jewels’ as Dornish would have called them.
‘The arena is generally fought with both sword and dagger, I suggest that is what we use now. I have practice blades if you would prefer…’
An unusual approach, but Bryn was willing to play along. ‘Live steel will be fine,’ he said.
He undid the fastening of his cloak and allowed it to drop from his shoulders to the ground. He unsheathed his rapier and dagger and dropped his sword belt on the cloak.
‘Shall we begin?’ Bautisto said.
Bryn nodded and dropped into a low, wide stance, flexed at his knees with his body leaning forward. He held his dagger out in front of him at waist level, his rapier farther forward and a little higher. It was a neutral posture, that of a man not sure what to expect.
‘Fine form,’ Bautisto said, before launching into an attack of a precision and speed that surprised Bryn. It was a little more enthusiastic than he would have expected of a friendly spar with sharp blades, but nothing he couldn’t cope with.
Bryn parried with both sword and dagger, stepping back with each attack to invite Bautisto to overreach himself. He was not to be easily drawn however, moving forward lightly on the balls of his feet, never over-committing his weight and always remaining balanced.
He paused to invite attack and Bryn was only too eager to oblige. He thrust forward from his low guard, stepping forward with his rear foot to follow in with a secondary attack with his dagger. Bautisto danced backward, swatting both out of the way but instantly reversed and launched into a perfectly executed counter with his rapier that almost caught Bryn off guard. He parried it out of the way but took two fast steps back to give himself a chance to reform his guard, both surprised and impressed by the Estranzan’s ability to change tempo. Bryn found himself enjoying the bout.
They continued back and forth for several more exchanges before Bautisto stopped, stood straight and lowered his blades.
‘Excellent form all-round,’ he said. ‘I can see some areas that might need work, but I think you have a very solid technical foundation. Should you choose my salon I would be very pleased to work with you.’
Bautisto was agile and fast. His technique was exceptional, albeit distinct from what was the norm in Ostenheim. Before they sparred Bryn had been trying to get out of the salon as quickly but as politely as possible, now he found it hard to imagine training anywhere else.
Bautisto had easily been a match for any of the tutors in the Collegium and it was only with strenuous effort that Bryn had been able to keep up with him. There was no doubt that he would learn from Bautisto and he felt that the man’s skill was enough to make up for the grotty location. Hopefully Amero would feel the same way and agree to train there. The consideration of cost never even entered his mind. This was the right place.
* * *
BRYN FELT his anxiety build as he and Amero turned the corner onto the street where Bautisto kept his salon. He had been deliberately cagey in his description of the place, knowing that the only thing to speak in its favour was the man himself. The salon could be improved upon without much difficulty, but as it was, there was little to recommend it on first glance.
He stopped outside and it took Amero another two steps before he realised that they had arrived. He looked at the shabby exterior and then to Bryn, a bemused expression on his face.
‘This is it?’ he said.
‘This is it,’ Bryn said. He stepped forward and opened the door. His memory had done little to alter the first impression given by the interior, neither embellishing nor degrading it. Clean, but grotty and run down. He cleared his throat loudly, but there was no response.
‘Maestro Bautisto?’ he said.
The Estranzan master swordsman appeared from the back room and walked toward them.
‘Banneret Pendollo, I had not thought to see you again,’ he said. From t
he sound of his voice he was genuinely surprised. ‘This is the friend you spoke of? I am Banneret of the Starry Field Baltasar Bautisto.’ He gave a curt bow of his head, not offering his hand.
‘Banneret of the Blue Amero dal Moreno, pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He returned the saluting nod, but there was no mistaking his disdainful countenance. ‘I wonder if you might excuse us for a moment, I’d like to have a word with my friend.’
‘Of course, gentlemen, take all the time you need,’ Bautisto said. He wandered off toward the back room leaving Bryn and Amero alone.
Bryn could feel his body tense.
‘Are you serious?’ Amero said. He clearly wasn’t looking for an answer. ‘A short-arse Estranzan with a head like a pot scrub and a salon that looks more like a convalescent home for rats? What are you thinking?’
‘Just give it a chance,’ Bryn said. ‘The salon is clean, bright and large. Everywhere else I went was crowded, expensive and full of distractions. As new members, we wouldn’t have been able to get access to the maestro in those salons for months at best, if ever. Bautisto is good. I sparred with him yesterday and he’s as good as any I’ve come across. I promise you that we’ll both learn from him. Give it a month, and if you don’t agree, we can go somewhere else.’
Amero looked around for a moment, very obviously not happy. His plans of a little training intermixed with relaxed socialising would not be realised here—but he had not dismissed it out of hand, which Bryn took as a good sign.
Amero let out a deep sigh. ‘One month, and if this little ponce doesn’t have me winning duels with both hands tied behind my back I’m going to be signing up at Cavzanigo’s faster than you can say “greasy Estranzan shyster”.’
‘Fine. I really don’t think you’ll be disappointed,’ Bryn said.
CHAPTER 6
The First Blade Of Ostia Page 4
