The First Blade Of Ostia

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘A tragic tale, good citizens, of friendship destroyed by greed, jealousy and ambition. If I didn’t know it to be true, I would not believe it myself! It promises to be one of the most epic battles and tragic tales to unfold in the Amphitheatre, as Amero, the Giant Slayer, the most dangerous young blade in the city, makes one last gesture of friendship to a bitter, jealous and utterly deadly rival!’

  Bryn was flabbergasted. He stood there, jaw agape, trying to take in the sensational and false light in which he was being presented. At first Bryn found it hard to believe that the story of how Amero had behaved had gotten out, but his heart sank as he realised that the greed and jealousy the crier spoke of were in reference to him and not Amero. He was beyond disbelief. He couldn’t even begin to understand what Amero was about, but Bryn was the one painted the villain.

  Part of him wanted to walk away and ignore it, but a morbid curiosity locked him in place and compelled him to listen.

  ‘Friends from their earliest days at the Academy, they chose to train together when Banneret Pendollo followed his friend Amero into the arena. However, Banneret Pendollo grew jealous at his lack of success and it was not long before he began to resent his former friend. Now good citizens, we shall see that jealousy and resentment take its place on the arena floor where it will be tested against bravery, skill and daring. Yes, good citizens, it promises to be the duel of the century. Tickets are available from reputable vendors here in Crossways or from the Amphitheatre itself. Prices from only one shilling!’

  Bryn felt sick.

  CHAPTER 28

  There was only one way for Bryn to deal with Amero’s slander campaign: to try to ignore it. It was difficult to avoid Crossways, but it was the only way to remain out of earshot of the criers, who were enthusiastically painting him as the worst villain in Ostenheim. When Crossways was unavoidable, as was unfortunately the case on a couple of occasions, he felt as though every eye was on him as the criers waxed lyrical about the upcoming duel and how Amero, now being called ‘the Lightning Blade’ had been so wronged and injured by his friend that a duel was the only option left to him. He wondered if there was any way to correct the falsehoods, but short of having a very public disagreement with a city crier nothing jumped to mind.

  There were many inconsistencies in the tale as it was being recited, but no one was bothered to stop and think about it. It was sensational, it was black and white and it involved the current darling of the city. It gave them someone to love and someone to hate, and that was all they wanted. He dreaded to think of how his mother would react when she found out what was being said.

  Bryn focussed on training, but it was not possible to dismiss it entirely. Each time his mind drifted toward it he could feel his anger grow, and he knew this wasn’t the state of mind to fight a duel in. As well as anger there was another new sensation he had to deal with. The deluge of hatred directed at him was oppressive. It felt like a great weight pressing down on top of him, threatening to crush him. There were moments when he feared that it would.

  When he left the salon one afternoon, there was a group of boys gathered on the other side of the street. As Bryn pulled the door shut behind him, one of the boys called out.

  ‘Hey, are you Bryn Pendollo?’

  He hesitated, not knowing whether to answer, then decided ignoring them was the best option.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon you are!’ shouted another one of them. ‘You’re a right bastard!’

  The rest of them took this as a cue to start throwing things at Bryn. It wasn’t until one of the objects actually hit him that he realised it was rotten fruit, the same variety of object favoured for use against those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the stocks in Delinquents’ Square, beside the City Watch barracks. He shielded himself with his arm as he walked away from the salon. He was thankful when the boys stopped following after he had gone only a few yards. Perhaps the window at the back of the salon would be a better choice in the future.

  He felt his chest falter as he took a breath. He knew in that moment that even if he beat Amero in the Amphitheatre, Amero had already won. If Amero offered to make it all go away, he would have gladly accepted.

  * * *

  AMERO STARED out the window of Cavzanigo’s, the only one that allowed a glimpse of Crossways. He knew the town criers were there painting Bryn as the worst villain in history. It was an unkind thing to do, but no one knew the truth of it, and having been so thoroughly indoctrinated the crowd wouldn’t believe anything to the contrary. It was unfortunate that his old friend should bear the indignity of it all, but the opportunity it gave Amero to enhance his standing was too good to pass up. It made him look like the tragic hero of legends, scorned and betrayed by the friend he trusted most.

  It occurred to him that it might be worth bringing the Verrara slut into the story; that Bryn stole away his one true love while he was training hard and living the honest, pure life of a hero-banneret. He dismissed the idea. Losing a woman to Bryn might make him look weak, and it was not worth taking the chance.

  If everything went to plan, he would come out of this duel with greater fame and status than the top five ranked duellists put together, even though he was still some time away from sharing the same page in the Ladder with them. He would be untouchable. He just needed to make absolutely certain he won the duel. Even now, after all the extra training and improvement he had made, Bryn was still the person who had bested him each year at the Academy, and that spectre was a difficult one to disregard.

  * * *

  ‘I WAS IN CROSSWAYS TODAY,’ Joranna said.

  Her arrival at his door came as a surprise. Hers was not a face he expected to see.

  ‘I wanted to see how you are,’ she said.

  ‘I’m fine.’ It was a lie, but she was the last person he would bare his soul to.

  ‘Is this over me?’ she asked.

  Bryn laughed sardonically. ‘No. There’s a lot more to it. Maybe a little.’

  She nodded. ‘I hope you make a fool of him.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ he said.

  She stood before him silently for a moment, as though she expected him to say something else or invite her in. When he didn’t, she smiled sadly, turned and left.

  * * *

  THE DAY BEFORE THE DUEL, Bryn felt utterly miserable. He was sneaking in and out of the salon via the back window like a criminal. Avoiding Crossways was no longer enough to keep from hearing the constant hype about the duel, as it seemed to be all anyone was talking about in the city. Tickets had sold out and despite having done nothing, Bryn’s name was as well known in the city as Amero’s, but for all the wrong reasons. The only saving grace was that there was hardly anyone who could put his name to his face. Bryn was surprised Amero hadn’t had likenesses of him made and posted all over the city to make sure his campaign of mud-slinging was complete. Clearly Amero wasn’t as thorough an assassin of character as he might have thought.

  The stress of it all had been affecting Bryn’s sleep for days; at night all he did was toss and turn, getting angrier one moment and wishing that none of it had happened the next. He should have left Amero to his deceit and gotten on with things. It would have been a bitter pill to swallow, but it had to be better than what he was going through.

  He was sitting in his apartment reading a book, trying to put any other thoughts from his mind when there was a hammering at his door. With his notoriety at an all-time high, the way the door was being pounded gave him cause for concern. His immediate thought was that there was someone there at the very least wanting to give him an earful, at the worst, to do him harm. He had long since taken to leaving a sword hanging by his doorway. Ostensibly it was there for decoration and he had positioned it in line with his notion of how best to achieve decorative effect, but it was a sharp and functional weapon that was always close to hand any time he opened the door.

  He opened the door as abruptly as he could, hoping to surprise whoever was on the other side. His sister stood
there, distraught.

  ‘Bryn, they’re trying to throw us out of the house. You have to come quickly.’

  He grabbed his sword belt from the wall and strapped it on, before hurrying out of his apartment behind his sister. They rushed through the evening streets of Ostenheim as the mage lamps were beginning to illuminate, but Bryn wasn’t able to enjoy the magical quality to that hour of the day as his sister continued on with unabating pace.

  The door to his family’s apartment building was open, and there was a commotion coming from inside. He could hear his mother’s voice and those of at least two men.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said to Gilia, before going in.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Bryn said, loudly enough to be heard over the noise, and loudly enough to achieve his desired effect as the three men standing there turned to face him.

  Bryn’s mother looked furious but desperate at the same time. Two of the men were tall and rough looking while the third, of average height, had a shrewder look about him and was obviously the brains of the operation.

  ‘This is none of your business,’ the shrewd looking one said.

  ‘That’s my mother, and this is very much my business. I’ll ask again. What are you doing here?’

  On Bryn’s words, the two larger men moved closer to their boss and puffed out their chests.

  ‘Everything’s legit, friend,’ the shrewd one said. ‘We’re just here settling a debt. I have the papers here, you can take a look if you want.’ He rapped a fold of papers against the knuckles of his other hand.

  Bryn stepped forward and held out his hand. There hadn’t been a single missed payment on any of the loans his parents had taken out. They had been close on a number of occasions, but Bryn had managed to ensure they had never fallen from good standing in regard to their debt.

  The shrewd man flicked his eyes nervously to one of his companions, but Bryn’s hand didn’t waver. With resignation he handed the papers over. Bryn snatched them and scanned through their contents. He had never taken out a loan in his life, so he had no real idea of what he was looking for, but perusing their credentials seemed to be the appropriate thing to do.

  ‘Why are they being called in now?’ Bryn said, as he read.

  ‘Not for me to say, sir, we just do the collecting,’ the shrewd one said.

  Bryn kept flipping through the pages until he finally came to what appeared to be the answer to his family’s current predicament. The loans had all been purchased by one individual, several days before. Sadly, the name of that individual was not mentioned. One of the larger men started to move forward, slowly.

  ‘Who purchased the loans?’ Bryn said.

  The shrewd looking man smiled and shook his head. ‘None of my business. We just do the collecting.’ He emphasised each word.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to do it another time. I’m going to have my lawyer take a look at these. Until then, you can tell whoever it is you work for to tell whoever it is that bought the loans, to piss off.’ Bryn’s eyes involuntarily flicked to his mother, and even under the circumstances he could see the look of disapproval on her face over his choice of words.

  ‘We don’t want no trouble, but we’re here to do a job and we’re gonna do it.’

  ‘It’ll end badly for you if you try,’ Bryn said.

  The man nodded in resignation. ‘The boss said that might be the case.’

  A man appeared at the doorway, immediately behind where Bryn was standing. It was luck as much as anything that Bryn caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He must have been lurking in the shadows outside, unseen when Bryn went into the apartment.

  The fourth man lunged through the doorway with a dagger. Bryn’s fortuitous glimpse gave him enough time to duck out of the way, but it still caught him a glancing blow on the side beneath his right arm, neatly slicing through cloth and into flesh.

  He gasped in pain but had enough wits about him to defend himself. He grabbed the dagger-bearing wrist as it passed him and pulled forward hard, hauling the man completely into the apartment and hurling him across the room. Bryn drew his sword. He needed to reduce threats quickly. He ran the man he had just thrown against the wall through the chest. His mother had had the sense to duck into the kitchen and neither of the other thugs had the opportunity to grab her. The shrewd looking one had taken a step back from the danger, behind the screen of his two remaining men.

  Bryn’s mother was the main weakness in his defence. He had to get between her and the men as quickly as possible, and hope that his sister remained safely outside.

  One of the big men yelled in anger at Bryn, having just seen his comrade slain in front of him. He hurled the table over and both he and his mate came forward, drawing cudgels from under their robes. The shrewd looking man remained with his back to the wall, seemingly confident that his minders would be able to take care of the trouble.

  The minders were wary though, and didn’t throw themselves at Bryn. Bryn worried that the shrewd one might get it in his head to go after his mother, given the time.

  Since he wore a rapier within the city limits they knew he was a banneret, and that was likely the reason for their caution. If the new owner of his family’s debts was Amero, as he suspected, the men would have been well briefed and the best available. If they were hesitant, Bryn would make their choice for them.

  He thrust forward with blistering speed, running the rough to his right through the belly. Pulling his blade free he whipped it to the left, slashing the other rough’s midsection. The men’s screams of pain mingled as Bryn looked to their leader, satisfied that neither minder any longer posed a threat.

  The shrewd man was slumped in the doorway to the kitchen. His mother stood over the body, looking down, a large frying pan in her hand.

  Bryn breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Are you all right?’

  His mother nodded. ‘Where’s your sister?’

  Bryn groaned and turned, jogging out the door onto the street.

  Gilia was slumped against the wall, her head lolling on her chest. Bryn rushed forward and knelt beside her. He checked her over for wounds, but could see none. It seemed the thug who had come in after Bryn had some semblance of propriety and had just given her a knock on the head. Bryn picked her up and carried her inside. His mother replaced the table in the centre of the room and Bryn laid Gilia down on it.

  His mother tended to her while Bryn dragged the bodies out of the house. He was pulling the shrewd man out—the blow to the head had been fatal—when the City Watch arrived. The commotion had inspired someone to send for them, but only after it had ceased rather than when they might have been of use in throwing the bailiffs out.

  The Watch lieutenant gave Bryn a very suspicious look. Backed up by a half dozen watchmen, he had every right to feel confident.

  ‘What’s happened here?’ he demanded.

  ‘These men were debt collectors, forcing payment on a debt that wasn’t outstanding. They became violent when I brought that up and attacked. You can see my sister inside if you like. One of the bastards cracked her over the head.’

  The lieutenant nodded to one of his men who went inside to verify what Bryn had just said.

  ‘And the four bodies, sir?’

  ‘Like I said, they became violent and I defended myself, my family, and my property.’

  ‘As you say, sir. And the sword? Are you a banneret?’ This question was asked with the most suspicious tone so far.

  ‘Yes, I am. Banneret of the Blue as it happens. I believe my mother still keeps my parchments framed on the wall inside if you’d like to take a look at those too.’

  The lieutenant gestured to another one of his men who also headed inside. He came out a moment later and nodded to the lieutenant.

  ‘Right enough, lieutenant,’ he said. ‘Banneret of the Blue Bryn Pendollo.’

  The lieutenant’s eyes widened in recognition. Bryn cringed on the inside, but puffed out his chest defiantly. It was a bad time to be the owner of his n
ame.

  ‘Well, sir, I’m sorry for the trouble. We’ll take care of the bodies and see that an investigation is opened into why they were getting rough if there was no default in payment as you say.’

  The lieutenant chewed at his lower lip and continued to stare at Bryn. As an officer of the City Watch, he could not say anything improper and would most certainly lose his commission if he insulted a banneret. However, it was clear that he wanted to say something, just that he felt he could not. He maintained his gaze a moment longer, until he was sure that Bryn had taken its meaning, before getting his men to take care of the thugs heaped on the side of the street.

  Bryn went back inside where his sister was waking. His mother held her head gently and looked up to Bryn.

  ‘We can’t have any more of this,’ she said. ‘I want these debts cleared and your sister married with a good dowry. We’ve given up far too much to hear your name being called out like a curse on the streets. After tomorrow, when you’ve beaten that Moreno bastard and shown him up as the liar that he is, it’s the army for you. A regular wage to support your family isn’t too much to ask, is it? No more of this duelling rubbish.’

  He sat down in the wreckage of their living room, his sister barely in charge of her wits and his mother dealing with the emotion of just having killed a man. She was right. It was all too much. His foolish dream had brought all this misery to their doorstep. There was no reason good enough for all of this.

  Once he was done with Amero, he was finished with the arena. There were other ways to make his living, ways beyond the filthy tarnish of life as a duellist.

  CHAPTER 29

  Bryn awoke with a jolt. He wasn’t sure how late it had been when he’d finally fallen asleep, but he had tossed and turned for hours. His side burned and throbbed. He should have attended to it properly the night before, but with his sister’s injury and the rest of the commotion he hadn’t given it any thought. He’d been cut a number of times by blades in the past, and the wounds always healed quickly. However, those cuts were made with clean, well maintained blades. The debt collector’s thug who cut him the night before was probably less particular in keeping his dagger clean.