The Tattered Banner

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  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

  His 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.

  ‘Well, you look a sorry state. I must admit that yours is a face I did not expect to see again. I got word that you had carried out your mission, but then my agents lost track of you. When you didn’t re-join the army, I assumed you were rotting somewhere out on the plains!’ he said.

  ‘Happily not the case, General,’ Soren replied.

  ‘So I see. Well, to business then. Thinking you were dead, the death of the barbarian shaman had a bit of spin put on it. It was thought it would be better for morale in the city if the people thought the barbarians had turned on each other after their catastrophic defeat and are no longer a threat, which is pretty much the case now anyway. So, you won’t get any credit for that I’m afraid. You’ll be rewarded of course, I promised you that. You’ll be given the Duke’s Cross for slaying the barbarian champion, so count yourself lucky.’

  Soren’s eyes flitted over to the General’s doublet where a Duke’s Cross sat amongst a host of other awards, including the Grand Cross. The red and white jewels on the Duke’s Cross must have been worth a small fortune. If nothing else, he could sell it if he ever needed the money.

  ‘We’ll come up with something flattering for the official citation; you won’t have to worry about that. I think that satisfies my part of the bargain.’

  The adjutant returned to the office and handed the General a sealed envelope. He took it and rapped it against his knuckles and smiled.

  ‘Your discharge papers. I had the adjutant prepare them when I heard you had returned. It’s honourable of course,’ he said, with an insincere smile.

  This took Soren aback. Since his break with Amero, he had planned for a career in the military. It seemed to be his best chance for advancement. He had done everything that had been asked of him, and barring that one incident when he killed the barbarian champion, he had not done anyth
ing wrong. Why was he being discharged?

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, Banneret. You have your strengths and your uses, but they aren’t best suited to the regular army. Now that you’ve returned, I’m confident that I can find a better use for your ability to kill and survive. Placing you outside of the army makes you all the more,’ he paused for thought, ‘flexible! There’s trouble in the city, and that trouble sometimes needs dealing with outside of official channels.

  ‘You’ll be on half pay and officially on the reserve list. You can call yourself Captain, Banneret of the Duke’s Cross, whatever you like. In the meantime, you can do as you choose. I shall call on you from time to time to take care of the things that need taking care of. Half pay will keep you alive, but not much more, so feel free to supplement your income. Low profile and not too illegal is preferable. By preferable I mean required.’ He quickly spotted the look of indignation that appeared on Soren’s face. ‘Required if you wish to have any future in this city, or this entire Duchy, if you take my meaning.’ He seemed satisfied with the look of resignation that replaced it. ‘Good. Here are your papers. You will be contacted with details of your award ceremony. Any other questions?’

  ‘Am I not already too well known for the kind of work you have in mind for me?’ Soren asked. He was not entirely happy with being railroaded into being what he knew would be no more than an in-house assassin. It was not at all what he had hoped for, and certainly not how he saw himself spending his career.

  The General let out an incredulous laugh. ‘Come now, hero of Fort Faraway, slayer of the barbarian giant? I’d be surprised if more than a dozen people on the street even remember either of those events. The routing of the barbarian army was the talk of the town, as was I, for a few days, and perhaps we will continue to be spoken about with less frequency for a few more weeks to come and then something else will happen and this will all be relegated to a book of histories. Then there will be another battle or tragedy, and then another and so on. Heroes might live long in books, but they live short in the memories of the citizens, not many of whom can read. Such is the way of the world. I’m sorry if it shatters any illusions of fame and glory you may have held, but I assure you that you won’t have any difficulties passing through the city unnoticed. Maintain a low profile from here on and it will be plain sailing. My adjutant will sign a chit for you to pick up your back pay from the commissary. So, until needs must I call on you again, fare well!’

  After Soren left, the General called on his adjutant once more. As the lieutenant entered the room, the General finished sealing the note he had just written, in red wax but not with his own signet. He used only a flat, round shape to press down on the wax, devoid of any sigil, betraying no clue as to the author of the note.

  ‘Deliver this to the Count of Amero,’ he said. ‘Personally.’

  PART III

  C h a p t e r 4 5

  AN ENTREPRENEUR, OF SORTS

  With money in his pocket Soren’s first order of business was to find somewhere to live. He had wanted to live in Highgarden ever since he had first been there. While grand mansions and parks dominated the area, there was a fashionable shopping district opposite the entrance to the Academy where many younger, single gentlemen kept apartments. It did not take Soren long to discover that they were far beyond his price range and he would need to be a little more humble in his choice of accommodation.

  Oldtown would have been the next obvious choice but with Alessandra living there, he did not want to set foot beyond the walls of the old district. That ruled out the west of the city. Docks was where he had spent a great deal of his childhood and he had no desire to return to living there. The artisans’ district on the east bank of the Eastway River was a bustling hive of activity with craftsmen and merchants plying their trades. Soren wanted somewhere a little quieter than that, which left one of the quarters around Crossways. The four quarters were named after the principle building that occupied them. The northeast was Cathedral, home to the eponymous building, among others. The southeast was Guilds, where the Great Guilds’ Hall and most of the guild chapter houses were located. The southwest was Bankers, where the Great Exchange was situated, as well as the houses of the city’s banks, moneylenders and counting houses. The northwest was Barons after the great domed Barons’ Hall where the Council of Nobles met. Each quarter was also home to many of the city’s inhabitants. He felt that Barons was where he was most likely to find something that suited his requirements.

  He had never rented a property before and he wasn’t entirely sure of how to go about it. He walked around the quarters for a little while and soon became aware of signs advertising properties for rent. They were usually one floor of a building above a shop, although some of the buildings were purely apartments. He chose one in Barons that was above a bakery and across the street from a small tavern. The convenient access to prepared food was a prerequisite, as he did not know how to cook anything he would wish to eat.

  The apartment was sparsely furnished, but it was more than adequate for Soren’s needs. It was on the second floor of a six-storey terrace with a small metal balcony beneath three windows that looked down over the street. Access was by way of a doorway to the side of the bakery that led to a communal stairway up to each floor. The baker, whose family had been there for generations, owned the building. There were three rooms, a bedroom, a living area and a kitchen. The rent seemed reasonable to Soren, and his half pay would just cover it. Despite the tavern opposite the bakery, it was a quiet street and that suited Soren nicely. The back of the apartment overlooked a yard that was surrounded on all sides by the block of terraced buildings. It was accessed by three narrow alleyways and Soren was confident he could climb the back wall if needs be, which would give him the comfort of more than one way to get into his home, and also out of it. It also contained a small, fully functional water closet next to bedroom, which was a luxury he had not expected, but was glad of all the same.

  With his rent covered he could put his mind to more material needs. He had his trunk sent over from storage at the Academy. What had filled his tiny room at the Academy was barely a drop in the ocean in his new apartment. All of his clothes took up a tiny portion of his closet and wardrobe. With the expanses of bare walls he could begin to understand why people wasted their money on art, but it still wasn’t an extravagance he could afford to take.

  The only extravagance he was willing to take was at the bottom of his trunk. It was the small cloth-wrapped block of Telastrian steel that Princess Alys had given to him. He picked it up and the heavy solid block was oddly comforting in his hands. He had no idea how much it would cost to convert it into a sword and dagger, but his back pay and the various bits of booty he had gathered up during his times in the east added up to a not inconsiderable sum. He also wanted to have to have his banner made up, but he had still not had time to think of a design. He would have to rely on the Emblazoners of Arms to suggest something appropriate.

  He was enjoying being back in the city. Its sights, sounds and smells, while familiar to him seemed new and vibrant, but comforting at the same time. He walked briskly down the narrow streets to the Blackwater Road and turned left toward Crossways. He dodged his way through the crowds around the market stalls and continued on down Merchantsway to the artisans’ district. In the Academy, all of the students talked of owning a sword made by one man. His name was Carlujko and his workshop was just off the Merchantsway, the road that ran east from the Crossways, through the city and then on toward the frontier. It was said that his swords were surpassed only by the legendary blade ‘Adparatus’, the sword of Saludor, the first emperor. It was to Carlujko’s studio that Soren was headed.

  Soren had not been sure what to expect, but he was a little surprised by the size of the workshop. It was far bigger than he would have thought. It was clearly a prosperous business, but that was hardly surprising considering Carlujko’s reputation. Men came from all over the world to have a blade forged by him. He went insi
de to the reception room. A young man in a smith’s apron sat behind a desk with a bored expression on his face. He became more alert when Soren entered the room.

  ‘My name is Nicolo, smith’s apprentice, sir. How may I help you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d like to have a sword made,’ replied Soren.

  ‘Well then, you’ve come to the right place. If you’d like to take a seat I’ll take your details, and put together a quote for you!’

  Soren sat. ‘I had hoped to speak with Master Carlujko.’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid that isn’t possible. The Maestro is far too busy with his work,’ said the apprentice.

  ‘I very much wish to speak with him personally. Perhaps if you show him this, he might make himself available,’ said Soren. He placed the wrapped block of steel on the table.

  The young man looked at Soren quizzically and then, with a resigned look, he reached forward and opened the oilcloth wrapping. At first his face remained impassive, but when his eyes fell on the Ruripathian Royal Insignia, they widened with surprise.

  ‘This is what you wish your sword to be forged from?’ he asked.

  Soren nodded.

  ‘I’ve never actually seen Telastrian steel of this grade before. I recognise the mark of course, but even the Maestro has only forged from this grade of Telastrian steel a handful of times. If you’d like to wait here, I shall see if I can interrupt him,’ said the apprentice.

  He quickly locked a drawer in his desk and disappeared through a curtained door. Soren smiled with satisfaction and crossed his hands on his lap. Small victories like this never failed to please him. He could hear the muffled sound of hammering from the back of the building stop. A few moments later a bald man, who appeared to be toward the end of middle age appeared through the doorway.