‘Now, now,’ he said.
His voice was level, but cold and gravelly. Bryn could feel some of the terror that he had inspired in all of the younger students once again.
‘This one’ll be too messy for it to be worth the effort, and we’d see the inside of a dungeon before the day’s out.’
Bryn could see the strain on Emeric’s arm as he ensured that Amero did not draw. Finally Amero relaxed, as did Emeric. Amero cast the assembled men a filthy glance and they continued on their way. Bryn breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I’m sick of them passing judgment. Everywhere I go it’s “ooh look, it’s the Count of Moreno’s son. Bored and spoiled and making a fool of himself in the arena”. Fuck them.’
* * *
BRYN HAD BIDED his time for what he thought was a sensible period before calling on Joranna, neither wanting to seem too keen nor disinterested. He felt nervous as he hopped up the steps to knock on the door of her family’s townhouse and was beginning to wonder if it was all worth the stress. It was the first time he’d had a real interest in the girl he was courting, or seeking to court, and it added a level of pressure that he wasn’t comfortable with. He would have been far happier if he was able to maintain a distant lack of concern, but there was no chance of that.
For one who had grown up in an apartment in the centre of the city, her house was an opulent and impressive building. However, sitting on the edge of Highgarden and—as some of the more elitist in Ostenheim put it—precariously close to Lowgarden, it wasn’t nearly as grand as the mansions that occupied the higher part of the hill. Lowgarden tended to be the domain of wealthy merchants, professionals and some poorer nobles, and as such was looked down upon by the high aristocracy in Highgarden, both figuratively and literally. Snobbery was rampant in Ostian society and permeated every level of it—Bryn had heard it said the beggars in the Cathedral district were venomously scornful of those resident in Docks, an absurd thought but apparently true nonetheless. Despite it all, Bryn would be very glad if he were ever able to afford to live in Lowgarden.
He waited for a moment after knocking before a servant opened the door.
‘I was wondering if Lady dal Verrara was at home today?’
‘Senior or junior, sir?’
‘Junior, I presume,’ Bryn said. ‘It’s Lady Joranna that I’m looking for.’
‘Junior it is, sir. Might I ask who is calling?’
‘Banneret of the Blue Bryn Pendollo.’
Bryn raised his eyebrows in surprise when the door was closed. It was usual convention for a caller of rank to be allowed to wait in the hall and Bryn began to wonder if he was being punished for not calling sooner. A few minutes went by before the door opened again.
‘My lady will see you, sir. If you would come this way please.’
The servant led him through to a parlour where Joranna was sitting on a sofa, looking slightly flushed, betraying the rush and fuss there must have been when it was announced that there was a gentleman calling for her. Bryn had to suppress a smile at the thought of having won back some of the initiative in their fledgling courtship.
The same older woman that had been with Joranna at the ball sat in the corner of the room, ostensibly reading a book but glancing in his direction as discreetly as she could every few moments.
‘Good afternoon, Banneret,’ Joranna said, without standing. ‘Please sit.’ She gestured to the sofa opposite her.
He did as he was bade.
‘I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to call,’ she said.
‘Well, I’ve been very busy with training.’
‘Ah yes, you’re in the arena, I’d almost forgotten. It must be a very exciting lifestyle.’
He wasn’t sure if she was teasing him or putting on the display of rigid formality for her chaperone.
‘Well, that’s what I’m hoping for,’ Bryn said, his eyes drifting inquiringly toward the chaperone. ‘Right now it’s something of a struggle. Getting duels when you’re starting off is harder than I thought it would be. I’m hopeful things will pick up though, sooner rather than later.’
She smiled and cast a furtive glance in the direction of her chaperone, giving Bryn reason to believe his second opinion was the correct one.
‘I’m afraid that I have other engagements to attend to this afternoon, but I thought that if you were free tomorrow you could call and we could go for a walk.’
‘That would be very nice,’ Bryn said. ‘Tomorrow then.’
* * *
‘THAT WAS WELL FOUGHT, well fought indeed, Banneret.’
Bryn looked up from the leather case that he was putting his duelling sword into. The arena’s owner was standing next to him with a broad, toothy smile.
‘Thank you.’
‘I was speaking with your trainer a little earlier. He mentioned that you’ve been finding it difficult to get matches.’
It was late in the evening, and Bryn was tired. He was in no mood to speak with anyone, much less make pleasantries with an arena owner.
‘It’s certainly been more difficult than I was expecting,’ Bryn said.
‘Yes, that’s often the case these days. No one’s particularly interested in watching the lower ranked swordsmen duel. That means owners like myself can’t afford to host many lower ranked matches.’
‘It’s unfortunate, but if that’s the way things are there’s little I can do about it,’ Bryn said. There was something about the owner that he didn’t like; there was something insincere about him.
The promoter smiled again, confirming Bryn’s dislike.
‘That might not be entirely the case,’ the promoter said. ‘I’ve been thinking for some time about what might bring more people in to watch lower ranked matches, and then something occurred to me.’
Bryn couldn’t quite work out what the owner was playing at, but he could tell that he was trying to draw Bryn into the conversation, to pique his interest. He wasn’t willing to play along, so he remained silent and stared at the man.
‘Well, when I heard from your trainer how eager you are to get more matches, I thought perhaps we could help one another to solve our respective problems.’
Bryn continued to stare.
‘The last occasion that this arena was regularly filled was in the period following a death.’
So that was it. The weasel of a man wanted him to kill an opponent. ‘If you’re still within arm’s reach by the time I stand up, there will be a death in this arena, this very evening,’ Bryn said, giving the promoter the most venomous look he could muster, while pausing in closing his sword case.
‘Now, there’s no need for that, all that I meant was that—’
‘I’m standing up now,’ Bryn said, tensing his legs and making to stand.
The owner scurried away leaving Bryn alone once more. He sighed and slumped. He looked around at the grotty arena as the last of the patrons filed out of the stands toward the exits, not that there had been many present even during the height of the evening’s entertainments. Had it really come to the point that he needed to kill someone on the arena floor to get ahead? He had another five points to add to his tally after that evening. Surely that would be enough to improve things?
CHAPTER 20
There was a slight chill in the air as Bryn strolled with Joranna through one of the parks in Highgarden. Her chaperone, the woman who had been her childhood nanny as it transpired, followed a short distance behind them. After the long, hot summer, the crispness of the early winter evenings was a novel experience. It was dry and made for the perfect evening; many young couples had taken advantage of it.
As they walked, Bryn found it difficult to believe this was his life. He had never been poor, but the parks of Highgarden, the status of a duelling swordsman, and a beautiful aristocrat on his arm represented the culmination of a dream and a lifetime of hard work. It was almost too much to believe. All he needed were regular fixtures, and his life would be perfect.
Joranna was
an only child. If Bryn were to marry her, their eldest child would take her family’s title. The thought made Bryn want to laugh out loud. He wondered how his father would have reacted if told his grandchildren might bear titles of nobility. It was a gigantic step up the ladder of Ostian society, but Bryn took none of it for granted. It had been earned with blood, sweat, and coin that his family had little enough of. He deserved it, and felt as though his reward for all of that sacrifice was so close, he could almost reach out and touch it.
‘So, when will I hear your name mentioned by the criers in Crossways?’ Joranna said.
‘Ha! Possibly never,’ Bryn said. ‘Progress is proving to be extremely slow.’
‘But you’ve won all your matches so far. Haven’t you?’
Bryn nodded. ‘Yes, but there’s more to it than that. There’re a lot of duellists on the Ladder these days, and half of them are winning their matches. I’m beginning to realise that the crawl up through the bottom ranks is going to take longer than I thought, or I’d like.’
‘Oh,’ Joranna said, a hint of concern in her voice.
Bryn smiled. ‘There’s no need for you to give it a second thought though; I’ll get there eventually. It’ll just take time.’
‘I just know how hard you’ve been working for it,’ she said hastily.
It reminded Bryn of something that Amero had said to him, about Joranna’s family being poor. He was sure that was of a comparative nature to other aristocrats, but it occurred to him that she might be less than inclined to step out with a penniless swordsman.
* * *
BRYN PRESSED Amero back across the floor of Bautisto’s salon, mixing cuts with thrusts, none intended to strike, merely to pressure Amero and tire him. He might be getting choicer duels, but Bryn wanted to constantly assert his skill and make it very clear who the superior swordsman was.
‘I hear you were out with Joranna dal Verrara the other night,’ Amero said.
If he was hoping to break Bryn’s concentration, Amero was labouring in vain. ‘How’d you hear about that?’
‘I have my sources,’ Amero said, dodging Bryn’s blade and countering. ‘I did mention that her family don’t have a pot to piss in?’
Bryn smiled, parrying and retaking the initiative with a riposte. ‘Yes, you did.’
They had to speak loudly to be heard over the thud of leather boot soles on the wooden floor and the clash of blades.
‘That’s all right then,’ Amero said. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea about her.’
Amero came forward with two swipes that Bryn stepped back from. Bautisto had left them to spar while he was out running some errands, trusting them not to slack off.
‘Does your mother know you’re stepping out with a penniless aristocrat?’
Bryn laughed. ‘No, not yet. I wonder if Joranna’s parents know she’s stepping out with a penniless swordsman.’ He lunged forward in riposte to Amero’s attacks but was parried away. He hadn’t expected Amero to catch it.
‘A penniless swordsman with prospects,’ Amero said. ‘I heard that Mistria was paid a thousand crowns for his last duel. Two more wins with no conceded touches and he’ll hit a hundred and twenty-five points.’
Bryn raised his eyebrows at the size of the prize purse and was almost caught off guard by Amero’s next attack. His boots thumped out on the wooden floor as he moved abruptly, and more heavily than he would have liked, the sound echoing around the empty shell of a building.
‘I expect I have a while to wait before I can demand that size of a purse,’ Bryn said.
A thousand crowns was an enormous sum. Not even a drop in the ocean for a wealthy aristocrat, someone of Amero’s stature for example, but it was an unimaginable amount for only one duel. Mistria fought at least once a month, usually once every two weeks. Earnings of that amount were verging on being overwhelming to think about. A house in Highgarden, an estate in the country, titles; all of these things were possible with regular earnings like that. The money Bryn had made for his last duel wouldn’t even have paid Mistria for the first step he took on his way out to the black line for the start of that duel.
‘Probably never if you keep fighting like this.’ Amero parried and lunged, following up his barbed comment with another attack.
Bryn forced himself to concentrate and parried both before dancing back out of the way, focussing on staying light on his feet. ‘It’s enough to keep you on your back foot,’ Bryn said, launching into another series of attacks and taking back all the ground Amero had made. ‘I hope she isn’t counting on me pulling in money like that, though. Setting herself up for a big disappointment if she is.’
Amero attacked with a three-stroke combination. Bryn stepped back, parried twice, dodged and countered. He put a touch on the centre of Amero’s chest. Amero acknowledged and they reset to begin once more.
Bryn enjoyed those lazy mornings of swordplay. There was no pressure, no scrutiny, commentary, or verbal abuse from Bautisto. It was swordsmanship plain and simple; in those moments nothing else really mattered. Above all, it was fun.
‘What about you?’ Bryn said. ‘I saw you dancing with some fairly attractive types at the ball last week.’
Amero said nothing for a moment, starting their next bout with two neatly executed thrusts. Bryn could not help but notice how over the past weeks his swordsmanship had really benefitted from Bautisto’s tuition.
‘I’ve my mind on someone else right now.’
Intrigued, Bryn raised his eyebrows, but Amero dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
‘Nothing but a little trifle,’ he said. ‘It’s not like I have any real say in who I end up with anyway.’
Amero’s face darkened. It was something Bryn had noticed happening more and more often. He found it just as unsettling every time.
‘My future in that regard has been long since planned out for me. I’ve been betrothed since the moment they knew I was a boy,’ Amero said.
‘Really?’ Bryn said, lowering his sword. ‘You’ve never mentioned that before.’
Amero shrugged, but his face turned melancholy. ‘My mother made the match. It’s a good one, and I’ll abide by her wishes.’ His face brightened again, but it looked forced. ‘Not to worry though, I’ve a couple of years left to enjoy myself before then!’
He continued his attack, fast and determined and Bryn strained to defend. So much of Amero’s life was dictated to by expectation and it was clear how much he hated the fact. All the same, with the wealth, titles and privilege that would be his, it was difficult to pity him his situation. However, none of it managed to distract Bryn from his surprise at how much better Amero was getting.
* * *
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, Bryn began to see less and less of Amero outside of the salon and more of Joranna. For the most part they went their separate ways each day after training instead of spending several hours enjoying a lazy lunch and chatting as they had in the past. On the occasions they did, Amero seemed distant and was poor company.
Each evening, which ordinarily would have been spent reading in his apartment before an early night, Bryn now called on Joranna and spent the time walking with her in Highgarden or taking tea at her house, all under the watchful gaze of her former nanny.
He fought another duel, one that would have been as unremarkable as his previous were it not for the fact that it put him within reach of a tally of twenty Ladder points, the level at which he hoped his advance would quicken. As he was walking back to the Bannerets’ Enclosure, he had spotted someone sitting in the audience who seemed peculiarly out of place.
A bald man with a neat beard had been watching him. He was sitting too far away for Bryn to be able to make him out during the duel, and was obscured from sight when Bryn was sitting in the small enclosure. It seemed almost too much to believe that the star of the moment would deign to visit a small, out of the way arena to watch unknown duellists, but Bryn would have sworn the bald man was Panceri Mistria.
&nb
sp; CHAPTER 21
Bryn looked over the family accounts one last time in the forlorn hope of seeing something different. The numbers were depressing. His mother worked as a seamstress, and Gilia was a governess to a wealthy family in Highgarden, but their income was consistently below their weekly expenses. Even with a duel on the level he was getting intermittently, every week, there would not be much left over to live on. His own expenses—salon fees, entry fees, maintaining his equipment—were not insubstantial, and the money he could add to his family’s accounts was not enough to cover all the expenses.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked around. There was nothing in his tiny apartment to distract him from his worries for even a moment. No matter what way he looked at it, the problem seemed insurmountable. The fat, greasy promoter who suggested he kill someone in the arena popped back into his head. People died there from time to time; it was a risk every duelling swordsman accepted when going into the arena. He pushed the idea from his head, disgusted with himself for giving it even a moment’s consideration. Unintentionally killing a man in the heat of a duel was one thing, walking into the arena to kill a man to further his career was a stain on his honour he would never be able to erase.
There was a knock at his door. He was glad of the distraction and got up from his desk to see who it was. He opened the door to a cloaked and hooded figure, and suddenly regretted not having his sword closer to hand. Ostenheim was a dangerous city; robbery and murder were common.
‘Can I help you?’ he said.
‘I certainly hope so,’ a feminine voice said. Joranna cast the hood back and smiled mischievously. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
‘I’m not sure that’s proper,’ he said. ‘I’ve my reputation to think of.’ He feigned as self-righteous a pose as he could. Then it occurred to him that trying to be funny could cause more problems than it was worth, so he gestured for her to enter.
The First Blade Of Ostia Page 14
